Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, nor do I own the Master and Lucy.
Tomorrow
"Mark the day, love," he said expansively, a glittering grin highlighting the triumph in his mad eyes. "Tomorrow it all begins."
He didn't notice how fake her smile was in response, and she was resentful, and secretly a little grateful, that he never required more of an answer. He still believed that she was a willing accomplice to his plans, still believed that she shared in his excitement—his madness. He whirled away, his fingers tapping a quick, blurry one-two-three-four along the tabletop as he walked towards his captive. The Doctor was sitting silently, watching the clouds scud past the window he could just see from his cage. Almost dreamily, she realized, and not for the first time, that the Doctor's opinion was the only opinion that mattered to the Master. Automatically, she turned away so she would not have to hear the cruelty in the Master's voice to which she had always turned a blind eye. She moved towards the window, her heels tapping a slow staccato echo—one-two-three-four. She looked down, as he never did, on the ruined world.
Tomorrow, a hundred thousand rockets would rip the sky apart. Tomorrow, the already-decimated human race would know true destruction. Tomorrow, Martha Jones, and human hope, would die. All to glorify the Master, to ruin the Doctor. All for the lost Gallifrey and the last remnants of the Time Lords in this universe. All to start another Time War—one that the Master would win—a horrible parody of the union between humans and Time Lords that the Doctor dreamed of, alone in his cage…A beginning, indeed. Quiet anger filled her; she had finally realized that she was no more to him than all those tiny people down below. The fixed smile slid from her lips, and, for a moment, her expression matched the feelings hiding behind her eyes.
"Mark the day, love," she murmured mockingly, a wry melancholy softening her empty, tired eyes. "Tomorrow it all ends."