A/N - I have substantially re-written this to fix continuity and expand the story. Hope you all enjoy it. :)
Chapter 1 – Bad Beginning
It was always the same, each week. Susan would get up, get dressed, kiss one of the grandkids softly as they slept, and then she'd slip out the door of the little blue row house. Every Sunday, at the same time, she would climb the gravel path up the hill to where the cemetery was and visit his grave. Fifteen years of solitary grief.
"David Campbell, Beloved Husband, Father, and Grandfather." A few lines carved on cold stone. Too little to encompass all that he had been to her. She would stand there, with the sky above and the cold earth below, and remember. She would remember that first kiss, stolen in the midst of danger, she'd see again the marriage ceremony, put together from what little anyone had back then. She would smile as she thought of birthdays, anniversaries, and all the moments of joy they'd shared during thirty years of marriage. Then, she would weep, missing him so much, and feeling so very much alone.
The battered city of London stretched away at the base of the hill, half-rebuilt, already a bustling metropolis, a port of refuge for millions across the world. Big Ben chimed in the distance, repaired, but still always a bit off on the time. This world was coming back to life, this world filled with all these wonderful, vibrant, all too brief human lives.
She was enmeshed in their reality. She ran the hospital and acted as doctor to half of London. Even though she'd trained half a dozen more doctors and nurses, still everyone came to Dr. Campbell first. She'd birthed hundreds of babies, eased the deaths of dozens of people grown too old or too sick to continue on. She was constantly studying, constantly researching, trying to find ways to save as many as she could.
But she did it all alone now, always alone, even when surrounded by family and friends. Only one man had known her for what she was and loved her completely. Only David had known the full truth of her, had whispered her real name in the darkness, and had fallen asleep to the double beat of her hearts. He was gone now and there was no one here to talk to about a world with a burnt orange sky and trees with silver leaves upon them, a world that was so very far away.
They all thought that she was human and she kept it that way. To the people of London, all aliens were Daleks, terrifying creatures that slew and tormented. She couldn't reveal herself to them, they wouldn't understand.
Her grandfather came up the hill behind her. She could feel his mind approaching and she knew, without having to speak, what he had come to say to her. She turned and studied him, memorizing the new face and body he'd taken recently.
He'd become dark of hair and with hazel eyes in a face that seemed sad even when he was smiling. His new body was strong and vigorous, but had a languid grace that she admired. She wondered what had caused this regeneration, but set that aside for another conversation.
"Susan," he began and she nodded.
"I know," she answered. "It's time to move on."
"I loved him too, you know, he was a truly wonderful young man," he sighed out and looked down at the headstone with regret, the hazel of his eyes seeming dimmed and without their usual sparkle.
"We need to go, of course we do," she murmured. "Forty-five years, I've tarried here, if I stay much longer, it will be dangerous for us."
She had traveled the universe with her grandfather for two hundred years, moving through various worlds and societies, but staying nowhere for very long. Until she'd met David and fallen in love with him, and she'd been content with the life they'd had together, as deeply in love at the end as they had been at the beginning.
Too short, she sighed to herself, his human life had been far too short and she was left alone to grieve.
"I know that you've been happy here, but he's been dead fifteen years now, Susan, the children are grown, it's time to go," he added and she looked back at the home she'd made with her husband. They couldn't have children of their own, her genetics and his weren't compatible, but there had been so many orphans who needed love.
She twirled the ring on her finger; the one Grandfather had given her so long ago. It had technology in it that made her look to others as though she were growing old. She wasn't though. Not the way they were, or at least not as fast as they were. Her children were grown now and had become parents themselves, but without the ring she wore, she would look younger even than they did.
Grandfather would come and visit, usually with some friend he'd made and traveled with for a while, but then he'd go again, as he always did. For years she hadn't understood why, but as the decades passed, she came to see it. They all grew old so quickly, died so soon. He wisely did not stay to watch them age and fade, leaving them behind to protect his own heart, as she now had to.
"Then let us go," she agreed and turned back to look up at the sky lightening with the dawn. The stars were fading, like a dream she could no longer recall, and it made her sad.
She was so very lonely.
They marched the Master into the High Council's chambers, guards surrounding him on all sides. He allowed himself a smile at their paranoid precautions. At least they appreciated that he was not someone to take lightly.
He'd died in the Eye of Harmony link on the Doctor's TARDIS and they had brought him back to life. It always seemed that as much as they despised him, they couldn't bear to let him die either. He was always being offered more regenerations, more life, by the very people who claimed to hate him. It was really quite amusing.
The room was large, but filled with shadows at the edges. A long table surrounded by high backed chairs dominated the room. The lighting had been designed to dramatically highlight the assembly, leaving petitioners to stand in the dark. It was a childish trick, he felt, and one not worthy of Time Lords.
Rassilon, dark haired and blue-eyed this regeneration, wearing flowing elegant red robes, sat in his chair like a king, rather than a president, smug, confident, his handsome face and genial exterior, inadequate to hide the power-hungry, grasping egotism of him, at least from the Master's eye, even if no one else present seemed to see it.
The Master glared at Rassilon and the High Council, his mouth twisted into a sneer. How he despised these pompous, useless politicians, with their petty plots and deceits. He could read their minds with ease. He could see that they believed they were actually smarter than him. Mad, sick, that's what they thought of him, and maybe he was, but he wasn't stupid. Chancellor Flavia and the Lady Professor were both watching him with greater wariness and care than the others were, but Flavia and the Doctor's mother were also far smarter than the rest of them.
The pounding in his head, the never ending drumbeat of his destiny rolled on and he bared his teeth at them with the smile of a wolf amongst sheep. That drumbeat told him of his greatness, of his importance, it drove him on to fight and survive. They couldn't hear that rolling cadence, and so they were lesser creatures, unworthy of his regard. It could be a harsh destiny, even painful at times, but nothing glorious was ever achieved without pain. That they cringed from greatness and effort, made them all quite contemptible in his eyes.
"We brought you back to life, with a full set of regenerations, so that you could serve us in the War. You will be the perfect soldier for us, ruthless, cunning, merciless, and utterly without compunction," Rassilon was explaining. The Master wasn't sure whether to feel insulted or complimented by the list of attributes. The hypocrisy of it all was so damned amusing. These pacifists, these weaklings, they hated him and everything he stood for, but the minute they needed his power, oh suddenly he was "perfect" for them.
"What war were you planning to join, my Lord President?" he asked idly. He really couldn't care less about their stupid conflicts, but if he was to be drafted, knowing thy enemy was always wise. He studied his new hands admiring the long slender fingers. His hands were strong and dexterous, he was pleased by that.
"The time has come to deal with the Daleks, once and for all," was the smug reply and the Master nearly laughed aloud at the presumption and arrogance of that statement.
"If you can," he mocked. Rassilon's overweening pride was rather comical.
"We'll rout them in the first battle, they are a lesser species, far beneath us," Rassilon assured him, but the Master could tell that not all of the Council agreed with the Lord President. He smiled at the Lady Professor, whose discomfort with this coming war was nearly palpable.
"Funny, my Lord President, I hear they think the same of us," he retorted, disdainful of these cowardly bookkeepers that sat safe on their little world, refusing to stretch out a hand to any greater destiny.
"You will be sent to Arcadia first to see to our defenses there," Rassilon ordered him.
"Why exactly should I help you?" he asked lazily, studying his fingernails with a bored expression.
"Because, if you don't, I will press this button," Rassilon informed him. Suiting action to word, he dropped a finger down on the table in front of him and agony lanced through the Master. It was like burning alive, or being electrocuted, and his cries of pain rang out through the room, startling the sheep and making them bleat. He was on his knees, barely able to keep from falling to the floor, rage, pain, and humiliation surging through him in equal measures. "You have been fitted with control mechanisms, boy, and now I am your master."
"Lord President! Is this really necessary?" the Lady Professor bit out, in a voice as cold as ice. "He's giving me the headache." Her hazel eyes were clouded as she watched him. The pain ended abruptly and he caught a brief look of compassion on her face, before she schooled it again to impassivity. There was more gray in her dark hair than the last time he'd seen her and he wondered why he even noticed.
The Doctor's mother had cared for the boy that the Master had been. He found it interesting that she still harbored some soft-hearted fondness for him still. She was simply another fool, of course. Pity was something only weaklings felt, but he was grateful for it just then. He recalled her kindness to him with something akin to anger. Her affection hadn't helped him in the end, nor had it kept the drumbeat at bay. They'd all prated about love and family, but they had all still betrayed him, judged him, and left him alone. He was always alone.
"My apologies, My Lady Professor," Rassilon soothed. "Mad dogs often need very short leashes." The look in his eyes wasn't pleasant and the Master knew he'd have to tread carefully around the ancient Time Lord. He'd find a way to escape, of course, but until then, best to play along.
"This 'dog' is quite clear on the length of the leash, Lord President," the Master murmured, keeping his tone neutral, when all he wanted was to rend Rassilon limb from limb. Someday, he'd have his revenge on that smug bastard. Someday soon, he hoped. He was pleased with his new voice. It had a clipped quality that he felt would be useful to him. He could drawl nicely and he planned to use that in the future.
"Yes, well, be aware that your leash can also be used to cut off your life. Fail us and you will die, do you understand?" Rassilon hissed at him and the light of madness in Rassilon's eyes was very clear to him. The Immortal Lord President was far more insane than anyone here seemed to realize, how amusing.
"Perfectly, my Lord President. Perfectly," the Master answered smoothly. He understood far more than any of the rest of these fools did. Gallifrey had been corrupt before, but now it was getting really interesting.
The Doctor stood before Rassilon and gaped in disbelief. The High Council of the Time Lords was seated around an oval table, watching him with various expressions. Some of them seemed quite smug with the situation, while others, like Flavia, looked distinctly nervous. His mother sat, unruffled and silent amongst them, watching him with a dispassionate gaze. If he hadn't known the depth of his mother's emotions, he might have believed in her calm. But, knowing her as he did, her very expressionlessness made him very nervous.
"My Lord President, with all due respect, our people haven't fought a war in over a hundred thousand years. We are ludicrously ill-prepared to fight anyone, let alone the full might of the Dalek Empire!" he tried to keep his tone light, but the blank expression on Rassilon's face wasn't encouraging.
"I'm sure that with me to lead them, our people will rise to the challenge," Rassilon replied and the Doctor stared at him for long moments, not quite believing his own ears.
"Have you actually viewed the historical records on the Daleks, Lord President?" he asked next, wondering if perhaps the problem was that the situation hadn't been clearly explained to him.
"Of course, but I have already designed several new weapons and with our mastery of time travel, things should go quickly in our favor," came the assured reply and the Doctor blinked in surprise.
"My Lord President, the Daleks have time travel as well," he pointed out, starting to feel genuinely alarmed. It seemed that the Lord President had absolutely no grasp on reality at all.
"A crude imitation of our own, my Lord Doctor. Your caution is surprising in someone renowned for his reckless and foolhardy behavior," Rassilon commented in a derisive tone.
"I've actually fought them, Lord President, my caution is well founded. The Daleks are the most dangerous foes I have ever faced. I have occasionally won out against them through cleverness, but mostly I've survived through sheer dumb luck," he admitted, running a hand through his curly brown hair.
"We will not need luck; we will have planning and our superior intellects. Very well, your arguments have been heard, my Lord Doctor," Rassilon dismissed him with a wave and fury raced through him. He turned on his heel and left quickly, before he said something he might regret.
That idiot was going to drag them into something truly awful. He needed to get back to Susan and find a place far away in time and space to hide her.
The plaza outside of the Panopticon was bustling. Crowds of robed councilors, of red and white clad guards, and of more casually dressed folk, milled and wandered about the place, laughing, talking, and gesturing, their minds a familiar music in his own. Above him the dome of the Citadel arched, clear and shining and above that the red sky stretched to the horizon, pierced by the twin mountains of Solace and Solitude that cradled the Citadel between them.
All around him the commercial district thrummed, trade goods and gossip from across the universe being exchanged everywhere he went. He jammed his hands in the pockets of his green velvet coat, thinking about all the people of the universe, people he loved and cared for, who were going to be endangered by Rassilon's stupidity.
"Doctor?" a familiar voice called out to him and he spun with a smile on his face.
"Fred!" he cried and she laughed at the old joke between them. Romana, her blond hair bundled on top of her head, her blue eyes merry, ran forward and hugged him hard. She had barely changed since the moment he'd left her behind in E-space. She still had that broad grin, the pointed chin and pixie face. She was still beautiful and still his dear friend.
"Oh Doctor! It's so good to see you!" she chuckled and he buried his face in her shoulder, hugging her tightly to him. She smelled like summertime and lemonade, just as he remembered.
"It's good to see you as well, Romana! What are you doing here?" he asked. "I thought you were busy freeing the Tharils from their slavery?"
"Oh, I did that ages ago, Doctor!" she laughed. "I was in E-space, in the midst of establishing a proper school system for their children, when the Castellan's Guards showed up and insisted that I return to Gallifrey with them," she told him, with her mouth turning down in annoyance. "Every Time Lord and Lady is being ordered back here to take part in the war effort."
"Rassilon wants to fight the Dalek Empire, Romana," he told her with a groan and she nodded. "This is the worst idea in the history of bad ideas." She rolled her eyes in agreement.
"Come on Doctor, let's go get something to eat and you can tell me what you've been up to since I last saw you. You've regenerated again, I see," she commented.
"Several times since I saw you last! You'd have liked the one right after old teeth and curls, I was blond, quite good looking too," he told her with a wink. "After that I was still blond, but a bit of a grump, then I got small, dark, and devious, and here I am looking all Byronic these days," he shrugged.
"How long has it been?" she asked in surprise.
"About two hundred years or so, give or take a collapsed timeline or two," he shrugged. "I'd have to check with the TARDIS, honestly, she keeps much better track than I do."
"She always did," Romana laughed and arm-in-arm they went to get food and catch up with each other.