leolandria (leolandria) wrote in who_fic, @ 2009-01-06 19:27:00 |
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“Little Faith”
In that cool, autumn morning Lucy's fingers barely managed to grasp the ring. Her hand shook as she pulled the item out of the funeral pyre, barely recognizing what she was doing in the haze of her command-induced stupor.
Her internal switch remained on autopilot these past few days, perhaps even weeks—she did not know anymore—not moving much except for the sake of knowing what was to come first. What was to come first was the instructions with which her husband Harry had left her. Harry. Her departed beloved, the Master. He had left her with so much, but the rest was up to her.
Faith would pull her through.
Strolling away from the smoldering piles of wood that still smoked in the crisp October air, she deposited the ring in her purse. Lucy could hear a small "ping" as it hit one of the metallic objects that lay within.
If she were to believe—and not doubt—her husband and Master's instructions, he would walk the Earth again. And they would be together, forever.
Forever. Such a bizarre word to use, in spite of all he had taught her about her own nature. Nothing was forever. She learned that when he had taken her to the end of the universe, to Utopia. He had made her see how meaningless everything was, and now made less significant by his absence. She felt her life slipping away from her with each passing day, the years on her clock ripped away. Each day was one less to spend, one less with innumerable regrets. Regretting, for instance, that she were not with him right now for one more moment with her arm strewn about his hips, her head leaning against his solid, warm shoulder. Sudden images of her naked, clutching black silken bedsheets as she gasped beneath him gripped her, and she forced them away with a shuddering sigh.
She fingered the instrument in her purse. It was long and slender, and she could almost see her husband grasping it in his hands, raising it above him as he commanded the masses below—a dark, yet distant fallen angel with whom she had fallen in love. How could she not? Lucy could still hear his voice and see him in her mind's eye: dark, bright, but beautiful.
Smirking, she remembered his words to the Doctor, telling him that the instrument was configured for his biodata alone and no other could possibly use it. For he was the Lord and Master of the miserable planet Earth, and soon over the entire world—and the Doctor was but dust beneath his feet.
But her husband in all of his puissance had lied. Within the laser screwdriver also contained codes which allowed Lucy—his beloved wife—the keys to be able to use the device when the time came.
And that time was approaching as the leaves fell to their freedom from the trees above her. They swirled around on the ground beneath her feet, hopelessly succumbing to the wind yet joyful in their mobility. Soon, so soon, she would have the ability to once again change the world—and resurrect her fallen beloved.
If only he would forgive her that one moment of weakness, eternity would be theirs. She fingered the still lingering bruise on her cheek. How many times had she doubted him, and received his blows of remorse? If only he had known how much she regretted her brief rebellions towards him, for still in all she knew how wrong she had been, and how so right he was.
So very, very right.
It was but a few days after the election that named Harold Saxon the Prime Minister of Great Britain and Lucy was still for all intents and purposes still the wife of the Prime Minister. No one could possibly know she was a widow, let alone desperately seeking the means for his return, still promised to her from tears and blood-soaked sheets and promises of renewal, regeneration, and rebirth. Still, her hands trembled as she removed the necessary items from her purse: the test tube containing her husband's blood sample, his laser screwdriver—the backup copy he had her keep in the eventuality that he would be otherwise indisposed—and the ring.
His ring. The one he wore on his hand. She could still see in her mind's eye Harry—the Master—fidgeting with it now. A sudden light in his eyes, a strange expression upon his face, an almost maniacal expression-all of these things she treasured about him as mysteries, and mysteries beyond mysteries.
Lucy's fingers moved over the laser screwdriver of their own accord, activating commands she just remembered receiving—if she remembered receiving them at all, for that matter. With a decisive determination, she aimed the device at the vial of blood on the table.
A short burst of energy flared from the apparatus, and the test tube exploded. For but a moment she feared for the worse, but then the blood on the table bubbled and shone with an eerie glow. It expanded and burst into a million stars, which coalesced into a form—a somewhat familiar humanoid form—which shimmered on the table before her.
When the right hand was solid, Lucy's hand shot out and placed on it the ring with which he had entrusted her—the ring which he had assured her would hold his spirit and everything whom he was in all of its bold majesty. All the skies above were torn asunder, and light beyond sight ruptured into a blinding flame in the center of the newly made being on the table. As life began anew in the form of an infant, so came her husband—her beloved, the Master of All—in flesh and blood on the table as he was in life, as if she had never pulled the trigger that sent him away from her.
As Lucy emerged from her post-hypnotic trance, she felt herself quiver. Moments later as she gazed upon the naked body on the table as it—he—slowly twitched into consciousness, she cried, hysterical with joy.
Her husband—her Master—was back.
***
The first breath from his body was almost anti-climatic after the dazzling light show which had preceded it. As his eyes fluttered and widened as they gazed around the room, Lucy's eyes watered once more, her grief-stricken face giving way to a maddening grin. He so loved her smile, her sparkling eyes, and the gentle waves of her blonde hair against her shoulders.
My angel, my precious angel….
His eyes found hers, and he chuckled. "Oh ye of little faith," he chided her.
With a huge gasp of breath, he arose to survey his surroundings. The Master was back at his residence at 10 Downing Street, where he was still a newly elected Prime Minister—and he realized, with a grin, that he was no longer a potential prisoner of the Doctor's but still the Prime Minister of Great Britain and Archangel Network still running about, able and ready to achieve his plans.
But he paused with a frown as he gazed upon Lucy—Lucy Saxon, his faithful companion. How he had trusted her—trusted her more than he had any other, and how his trust turned into rubble as she had joined in with the others as they chanted the Doctor's named.
Doctor, Doctor….
His hearts ached as his mind churned. Betrayal. Betrayal at the hands of this woman, whom he had married, shagged, and granted the title of Empress of the Galaxy with him as Emperor should his plans go through as intended. He had given her so much.
And his head pounded with the drumming in his head. Being dead made them stop, and for a brief moment, he almost wondered if it had been worth it to come back.
But he looked at his new body—which was identical to the old body, he was glad to note—and thought it good. His gaze then wandered to Lucy, who gripped his laser screwdriver with purpose, standing over him as if she governed over life and death itself.
How human. How dare she.
But still, she had brought him back from the dead, the wandering abyss from which he had sought to collect himself. That must mean something. Perhaps there was still hope left for her after all…?
However he recalled with chagrin her behavior aboard the Valiant. Her chanting the Doctor’s name along with everyone else, and the events which followed.
He fought off the image of the Doctor hovering him with a shiver. The Master did his best to conceal his discomfort at the memory.
"Did you miss me?" he asked her, a smile stretching across his face.
"Of course, Harry," she answered, kissing his cheek. "Of course."
"Ah, ah," he scolded her, holding his finger to her mouth. "Remember. Who am I?"
Lucy nodded with glazed eyes. "Master, my dear, you are the Master."
He smiled at her as she beamed at him. "Good girl." He gave way to a stretch as he bounced off the table. Lucy placed the laser screwdriver on the table, grabbed his robe from a nearby chair, and handed it to him.
"Thank you, dear." He put on his robe and within mere moments, had the laser screwdriver in his right hand. Lucy had been gazing at him with an adoring expression, but her eyes widened when she saw that the instrument was now pointed at her.
"Before I can express my full gratitude for bringing you back," he inquired, lowering his voice, "I must ask you something." He gave her another smile, but the insincerity of it stung his skin. She ran behind the chair that once held his robe as she held it tight, a meager gesture of protection from him.
An altogether useless move. He fought back a sneer. How pathetic.
"Yes, dear?" she asked, her tone calm. But he noted that her hands shook as they clenched the chair.
"My faithful, faithful companion. My wife." He sprung off of the table as he gazed upon her. "You chanted his name along with everyone else," he hissed. "His. Name."
She nodded again. His darling Lucy reminded him of a marionette, and it annoyed him.
"You did, didn't you?"
Her nods gave way to tears, then a wail. The sound made the drums in his head louder.
With a single stride, he grasped her wrists in his hands. So fragile, so weak. He could break them without the slightest effort if he so chose. Looking her in the eye, he noticed her skin grew pale. "Why?" he whispered, his lips just caressing her cheeks.
Lucy began to stutter. "I…I thought if they heard me…they wouldn't know…they would think…."
"Liar."
Her cheeks grew red, then white, her breath quickening. He observed with fascination how much her facial expressions reminded him of her reactions in bed. What was it with the connection between arousal and fear, anyhow?
"Harry…Master—"
"Silence." A single word, but he noted its effectiveness. She gasped when he took both of her wrists, and clutched them in one hand. With his other, he tilted up her chin to look at him.
"You betrayed me," he stated, "then you brought me back. Why?"
She sobbed, the noise painful to his ears. "I missed you, Harry. I really missed you."
"You brought me back because I made you do it. You were obeying my commands, obeying them blindly. You were my faithful, faithful companion. My slave. My obedient one." He shook his head, and Lucy realized that her hands and wrists were now freed from his grip as he ran his fingers with near brutal force through his hair. "No…no…you wouldn't have done it otherwise, would you? Only through me. My commands."
She continued to stare at him, silent.
"Would you?" he asked, his voice just above a whisper.
No reply, just tears.
The Master sighed. Women. Always the women. With reluctance, he altered a few settings on his laser screwdriver before he raised it with great care to the level of her chest.
"Lucy, sweet, dear Lucy…how I will miss you. How I will cherish the moments we've had together. And how I'll mourn your loss. You," he stated. How he mocked her even in his affection. She was fortunate to be loved so, but he knew she wouldn’t appreciate it, not one bit. Such ingratitude. What a pity.
"My little, darling you. You little, little human. How I adored you."
"Harry, what are you talking about?" she shrieked. "Harry?"
"I'll make it quick, as thanks for bringing me back. But…." He sighed. "Only that. Why, my dear Lucy, why? Why did you side with him? The Doctor, my arch-nemesis? Against everything I stood for? Against everything we stood for?"
"Harry, please! I didn't mean-"
He closed his eyes, and began tapping his fingers against the instrument . Tap-tap-tap tap. Tap-tap-tap tap. It didn’t make the music in his head any softer, but it soothed him a bit. If he could stop the drums, just once.... "Ah, Lucy, don't. Just…don't."
With a press of the button, and in a beautiful array of colours his wife dissolved into nothingness and was gone in a silent shriek and a flash of light.
The Master stood in the room. His hearts both mourned yet seethed with anger for her transgressions against him, and the drumming in his head made his temples ache.
"Oh ye of little faith," he repeated, placing the laser screwdriver into the pocket of his robe.
He had work to do, the least of which may include finding a new companion. Mourning Lucy would have to come later.
After all, Great Britain needed a Master.