Word Count: 638
A/N: Day two of a writing challenge.
Summary: And he never smiles, he never cries.
Accusation
All over Great Britain people turned on their tellies while impatiently waiting for their favorite shows to come on. They huffed and puffed and sighed as the news rolled on; the clock slowly ticking away, counting down the seconds until the dull program finished. A collective joy swept through those in Great Britain as the news anchor exuberantly waved and stated 'Ta-ra!' and advertisements replaced the show.
As the screen went black people blinked, wondering what was wrong with their tellies. Some even resorting to yelling at the machines as the poor things puttered about; trying and failing to locate the signal they had lost. When the screen flickered back on, displaying a blond man, people cheered. Not knowing why they did, they just did. Smiles lit the faces of all the people in front of their tellies as the blond waved calmly, briefly talked about politics, and finished up with the solemn words, 'Vote Saxon.' The people of Great Britain failed to notice their cellphones blink, silently sending out signals that drove thought out of their minds. All they cared about was the man, Saxon, and how he could be trusted.
Not a month later the citizens of Great Britain cheered merrily as Harold Saxon gave a speech that thanked them for making him the Prime Minister. People yelled out in joy, parties were held, and men and women tumbled home sloshed. All the while the man that they had just elected into office stared at the stars and contemplated his next move.
Only a few months after Saxon had announced the presence of the Toclafane the President of the United Sates was assassinated. People in the States cried out in rage, demanding that the beasts who were responsible be put to death. As this happened the man that had set the Toclafane on the president leaned back in his chair and quietly watched as his plan unfolded.
In 2009 what was left of humanity toiled away wearily, fearing for their lives they kept their heads down. Only looking up when a whispered name reached them; The Doctor, a legend that had reached out and touched the remnants of humankind. The stories claimed that he could save them, that he could free them from the oppressive might of The Master. The man who sat on high, who watched them work from his perch in the Valiant.
Time swirled angrily as it was forced to shift and stretch. The last year disappeared and horror and manipulation vanished. It screamed it's displeasure as Jack Harkness destroyed the paradox machine.
The Doctor watched in dismay as The Master died; refusing to regenerate, refusing to stay.
As The Master died he felt himself crumble inside, his body wailing out as he forced it to not regenerate. While the life drained from him time blurred; allowing him a moment to see what he had done in the year that never was. Once the last grain of sand, the last tick of the clock, the final stroke of time played through he came to. His vision cleared and he saw, he saw the man that had beaten him. But he hadn't, not yet, because he refused to regenerate.
"I win."
And then he let himself go, he let it all wash away as the drumming finally stopped. Silence at last.
As the flames rose higher and higher into the air The Doctor stared somberly. Silently lamenting on The Mas- Koschei's death. He was the last one now, the last Time Lord. As the fire roared and burned he turned away and walked. Leaving The Master like The Master had left him.
When he says good bye he never smiles, he never cries. Because it is never truly good bye, there is always a next time.