ROSE AND THE THORNE
A/N: This is an alternate universe tale, where the Doctor never met Rose Tyler in his Ninth incarnation, and the Master is the first to meet Rose. What happens when the Alternate Universe Doctor's Tenth Incarnation meets Rose?
This tale, BTW, is darker, and is definitely not light hearted fare. You have been warned, dear reader.
I have cast Julian McMahon as the Master…the casting for the Doctor and Rose remains the same as in the TV Series.
Disclaimer: I don't own nothin', and I'm making no money off of this.
Pairings: Rose Tyler/Master; 10th Doctor/Rose Tyler in later chapters
CHAPTER ONE
The cemetery had the dewy smell of a London rain as the last patron left. The caretaker reverently closed the gates for the night, pausing for a moment to check one last time to make sure everything was as it should be. He nodded, satisfied that no one was about, and that no graves had been disturbed during his watch. The little man went to the mausoleum that housed the latest Prime Minister of England, Harold Saxon. He bowed his head reverently, sad that such a kind and benevolent man had to meet an untimely end at the hands of his wife.
At least, justice was served in the end, he thought, remembering the video he had seen on the telly of Lucy Saxon being removed in handcuffs from the scene of the crime. He had no doubt that she would be permanently locked away after her trial for his murder. As for the others who had been witnesses, including the man dressed in a dapper pinstriped suit, he didn't know their part in the shenanigans…but he was willing to bet that somehow, somewhere, those people had more to do with that situation than they let on.
The caretaker sighed, going to his jeep and starting his engine, cursing as it stalled. Thumping the dashboard, the caretaker was rewarded with his motor revving up again. He backed out of his parking space, eager to get home to his wife and family. Had he looked at the mausoleum more closely, he would have seen the faintest of lights coming from inside the tomb. Inside it, the former Harold Saxon, aka Koschei, the Master, woke from a very deep trance. Using his superior strength to push the lid covering his casket aside, Koschei laughed as he rejoiced in his good fortune concerning the Doctor. It had been child's play to fool even the benevolent Time Lord's superior senses to make his enemy think he had actually died. It was also a lucky coincidence that the foolish git hadn't cremated him…otherwise, he would have had to come up with fail safe plan number two. As it was, the Doctor cradled his enemy, sobbing softly at his demise, vowing to honor his past memory with a decent burial.
Once the Master had been buried, he had counted the days until his "resurrection", waiting for his revenge. It had taken all of his strength to fake his death and to delay the regeneration process, but as he felt himself changing, the Master smiled. Once he knew the process was complete, he left the mausoleum.
He regretted having to engineer things so that his wife, Lucy, ended up in prison, but one did what one had to do to ensure that all loose ends were taken care of. Of course, that left him without a mate to carry out his future plans and take the fall, if need be. He needed another Lucy, and quickly.
He walked over to another tomb and strode inside. The tomb vanished from sight with a quiet hum. Inside his console room, Koschei accessed the computer, changing the records so that he was officially divorced from Lucy. He then patched into the London Gazette. He typed in the headline that, when circulated, would be felt around the globe.
Koschei ordered his TARDIS, saying, "Tap into the Northern Penitentiary…I wish to speak to the warden." He noticed that his new voice was somewhat deeper, and to his delight, more menacing. The sound of a phone ringing could be heard; the warden, a slender man with Asian features, answered, saying, "Yes?"
"I would like to speak to Mrs. Lucy Saxon," the Master said.
"Wait one moment…I'll put you on my speaker," the warden said. After turning it on, he told the Master, "Mrs. Saxon already had her one call today. If you call here tomorrow morning, we'll see what we can do."
The Master's pleading voice came over the speaker. "Please! I'm the only relative she's got…I must talk her…see her."
"You may visit her in the morning…ten AM," the warden said dryly.
"Very well," the Master said. He paused for a brief second before adding, "Thanks for all of your help. Have a nice night." The warden terminated the call. As the Master's screen went blank, he exited his console room to change his attire. He wanted to look his very best for his visit with Lucy in the morning.
XXXXXXXX
The next day, the Master visited the penitentiary. He strode up to a guard, saying pleasantly, "Good morning. I am wondering if the facilities are open for visitors. I wish to see Mrs. Lucy Saxon."
The guard answered, "Your name is?"
"Tell her Mr. Harold Masters is here to see her," Koschei responded. The guard used the phone, verifying the information. After about a minute, the guard said, "Go on in."
The Master sat down at the high window. Presently, Lucy Saxon was led in, hands cuffed behind her back. A guard opened the cuffs as she sat down. She took in the Master's new appearance, her eyes confused. The Master lifted the phone off of the wall; Lucy did the same.
"Treating you…are you all right?" He asked. He noted that while Lucy had circles under her eyes, she didn't look any the worse for wear.
"Do I know you?" Lucy asked.
"Yes," the Master confirmed. "I told you about my ability to alter my appearance, remember?"
"Then you are still my husband, Harold Saxon," Lucy responded. Koschei nodded. Lucy asked, "I don't recall…why have you changed?"
"What do you remember from the last few days?" The Master bounced back.
"I don't remember any of the last 72 hours, Harry," Lucy answered, trying to recall the events of the last three days. The malevolent Time Lord considered Lucy's remark. Although he had controlled her mind so that she would not recall any of the past few days' happenings, he knew that, given enough time, she might remember something that would upset his agenda. He seized on a plan, looking at his mate.
"You shot me Lucy," the Master said softly. "Don't you remember?"
Lucy's eyes were distressed. "I don't understand…what are you saying, I shot you?" Lucy's voice had started to rise. A guard approached the pair. The Master smiled, as if to reassure the guard, his eyes boring into him. The law enforcement official's expression was suddenly blank. He returned to his post.
"I wouldn't do that, Harry…I love you," Lucy pleaded with the Master.
"Of course you wouldn't," the Master said with mock sincerity.
"Then, why am I here?" Lucy asked, trying to remember.
"Because, for some reason, it looks as though you ended my existence," the Master answered his voice slightly sorrowful. He almost regretted his next course of action; Lucy had been a faithful mate. He said softly, "But I can help you. I can set you free."
"You can?" Lucy asked, hope shining in her eyes.
"Yes, my dear," the Master told his ex wife. "Here is what you must do…"
The next day, an attendant found Mrs. Harry Saxon dead in her cell.
XXXXXXX
(London, England, 2006; Two Months Later)
In a diner in Powell Estates, Rose Tyler tucked back a stray lock of bottle blonde hair that had fallen from her waitress cap. She went into the kitchen amidst the hustle and bustle of the dinner crowd and sat on the only chair in the room. Letting her shoes drop to the floor, the young woman started massaging her feet.
"Tired?" Shireen, her friend asked.
"Exhausted," Rose said, cracking her feet. "But I can't go home now. Have to wait until day shift."
"I can take your shift for you," Shireen volunteered.
Rose shook her head, saying, "Nope. You've got enough to worry about, with your unborn baby an' all." Her eyes flew to Shireen's large stomach.
"Really…it's no trouble at all," Shireen assured her friend.
"Not that I mind, but you get this way only when there is a man in sight," Rose said, standing up and putting her shoes back on.
"I do not!" Shireen protested. "I only get this way when there is a good looking man who looks like he's made of money in sight."
Rose snorted, saying, "Yeah, right, like that type would eat in a place like this!"
Gus, the rotund chef and part time owner, got into the conversation, saying, "An' why wouldn't someone like that want to eat 'ere? We got the best tea in town, and coffee, and beans on toast, an' we won't go into how great the chips are!" He handed a steaming plate to Rose, saying, "Table 11 gets this one." After grabbing the plate in one hand and a teapot in the other, Rose scurried out of the kitchen to bring the patron his or her plate. He turned to Shireen, saying, "An' I'll thank you not to turn my place into a datin' service. Twas datin' a stupid bloke what got you into the mess you're in now!"
"Yeah, yeah," Shireen said, grabbing a plate—this one for table 20—from the rack above the oven. She ran out of the kitchen, passing by Rose, who was on her way back to the kitchen. Shireen motioned to table number four as she walked by. Rose's eyes followed the direction Shireen indicated.
The man looked for all of his handsomeness as though he was royalty and everyone in the diner was a peasant several levels beneath him. He adjusted his dark blue Armani tie, which matched the midnight blue of his eyes. His dark brown hair, expertly cut, was neck length and framed a square face. His full lips were curled in a cold, sneering expression. His entire air was an arrogant one. Although he was wearing a blazer, Rose could tell that beneath the jacket, he had a muscular physique…not one of a body builder, but one like a panther's…all sinewy and wiry, as though he were waiting to pounce on any unsuspecting prey.
The young woman assumed an unaffected air, but the man looked at her as though he knew exactly what made her tick. His eyes commanded her to attend him right away; Rose walked slowly over to the table, taking her own sweet time. The man raised a brow, but declined to comment on her defiance.
"Tea?" Rose asked, holding up the pot.
"I'll have coffee," the man said. His voice was rich and very sophisticated sounding, as though he were a man of the world, Rose noted. She nodded, pulling out a pad and pencil from her pocket.
"Anything else?" Rose queried.
"No," the man answered, looking down at the menu, thoroughly engrossed in it. Rose left the table, non-plussed by his dismissal. The man's eyes followed her as she walked. Despite her lowly position, the human girl walked as though she were above the other people in the diner. She had not been broken by her situation…whatever it was. The man wondered how long it would take for him to bend such an obviously courageous individual's will to his. He decided this one merited further scrutiny.
XXXXXXX
As the wee hours of the morning announced their presence, Rose took the bus home. She crept up the stairs of the Powell Estates flat, hoping that he wouldn't see her. The plan seemed simple enough…get enough money to go somewhere, anywhere, and start over. After all, she reasoned, it wasn't like she was a frightened child of fifteen anymore. She slowly unlocked her door….
"Rose!" She heard a drunken voice bellow. Rose remained absolutely still; perhaps, she reasoned, she wouldn't give herself away. The teenager started back the way she came, and then the creaking wooden floors sounded under her oh-so-heavy feet. "ROSE!!" the voice cried louder. Before Rose could run, the man she never called "Father" but "Pete" emerged from the bedroom, a bottle in his hand. He downed some beer and came closer. Rose stood her ground; maybe, if she were lucky, he would pass out and she could escape.
"Hey, Pete," she greeted, forcing herself to not react to the odor of beer as he approached her.
"You got more beer?" Pete Tyler slurred, looking at Rose with cold, dark eyes. At age 37, Pete Tyler was pretty much the epitome of a washed up human being. He had been fired from every job he ever worked because of his drinking and carousing; his finances had long ago been used up for his habit and he was swimming in debt, and worse yet, he found himself relying on his only daughter to support him. I should never have snuffed her mother, Pete thought. At least, he reasoned, when Jackie had been alive, she was bringing money (all of which he took) into the flat with her job along with Rose's. Now, as he looked at his thin, yet pretty, daughter, Pete knew that his kid was all he had.
As far as looks went, Pete thought he looked okay enough. He was no handsome bloke, but women fell often enough for his soft, warm eyes, his silky hair (albeit a slightly receding hair line), his lips, and his not-too-fat-or-too-skinny body. His daughter was blessed with his good looks and her mum's too, he reasoned. She had a nice figure, even if it was on the thin side, generous lips, and hazel eyes. She seemed smart, too, earning her keep all on her own. Yeah, he thought, at least she's good for somethin'. As he dwelled on her tight belly and attractive face, he amended his earlier thought, now thinking, in fact, she's good for a lot o' things.
Rose didn't take her eyes off of her sire as she answered, "I got out too late. All the stores were closed." She slightly screamed as Pete backhanded her across her face.
"Wrong answer," he said. Pete hit his daughter again, sending her to the floor. Rose pulled herself to her feet, struggling to remain standing. The elder Tyler then threw his daughter to the floor, ripping her clothes. Taking off his, he took his daughter as he had so often done. Rose closed her eyes the whole time; after he was done, she could hear his snoring beside her.
Rose gingerly pushed him off of her lest he wake up. She stood up, picking up her clothes. While her father had done his worst, Rose, to her credit, didn't scream, nor did she say one word. She knew how to handle her father, and any other man. Her thoughts flew back to the patron in the restaurant earlier that night; he had seemed different when she had brought him his tea. Other men noticed her with lust in their eyes, their looks giving out a blatant invitation, or at the very least, a passing suggestion of their desire, but that one customer didn't seem in the least bit interested in her.
Of course, Rose knew it was only a matter of time before he subjected her to his sexual appetites, just like Jimmy Stone, her neighbor, and all the others. She ran to her bedroom, tugging on the suitcase in the back of her closet and throwing it on the mat she slept on. After changing into some clothes, the teenager tossed her sweats and other belongings into it, closing it with a decided bang. Glancing out the door, Rose breathed a sigh of relief that Pete didn't stir. She went into Pete's bedroom, looking to and fro for any money. She went to his closet, going carefully through the pockets, feeling for pounds, or even loose coins. When that search proved fruitless, Rose went into her mother's tiny bedroom, hoping against hope that Pete hadn't drained it dry.
She felt in the pockets, and then pulled out a five pound note out of one of her mother's skirts. Rose had just gotten lucky again a moment later, pulling out a twenty pound note, when she heard Pete moan. Her eyes darted about fretfully as she glanced at the window, and the fire escape beyond. She ran to her room to grab the suitcase before Pete fully woke up.
"Where are you going, sugar?" Her father called suddenly. "Didn't you like it last time?"
Rose started climbing out of the window. Her father's footsteps could be heard behind her. She felt him pulling her back and both persons fell on the floor.
"'You planning on running away, huh?" Pete asked her. He grabbed her hair and yanked it. Rose cried out as some of it came loose. "You won't get far from me," he asserted, his tone promising more tortures to come. Her father yanked her into his room next door and threw her on the bed, undoing his pants with one hand to take her once more. Rose's eyes darted around the room as he held her down with his other hand.
"OW!!" Pete cried as he felt Rose's teeth sink into the hand that was holding her in place. He slapped her face.
"You'll pay for that, you little git!" Her father shouted. Rose ignored the pain his slap had caused. She bounded off the bed, grabbing the suitcase. The girl looked around for any weapon she could use to her advantage. Spying a letter opener, Rose got it from the other side of her father's bed. Pete reached out, trying to restrain her, but Rose took the opener, stabbing him in the chest with it.
Pete slumped to the ground, crying, "Ow!" His eyes looked toward his daughter, who was escaping out the window. "You b!" The elder Tyler cursed. He pulled out the letter opener, wincing at the pain. Stupid whore! He thought. Not feeling a stabbing pain in his heart, Pete thanked his lucky stars that his dimwitted daughter hadn't stabbed him in a major spot. Crawling to the table where the phone was, Pete called a friend to fix his wound. The elder Tyler thought about his daughter going to parts unknown, but smiled when he realized she didn't have a soul in London that she could run to. As for the authorities, who would believe her in this part of town, where even the police didn't have time to get involved in petty squabbles?
It wasn't as though Jackie had any close relatives, and neither did he. He thought about his options as he managed to pull himself to his bed. His friend would patch him up, no questions asked, (unlike a hospital), and if need be, provide a place to hide out from the curious. Once he was bandaged, Pete would return eventually to the apartment to wait. His smile grew as he thought about the old, faded leather belt in his closet, and how he would use it to make Rose pay for skipping out on him. She'll be back afore long, and when she does come back…Pete thought, drooling at the possibilities.