A/N: Hey guys, another chapter of Master/Rose sexiness. I love this pairing so much it hurts. I have like two sequels for this story planned, so I'm having trouble restraining myself from getting in too far over my head.
Disclaimer: *insert witty disclaimer here*
The Master is running. What he's running from, he's not entirely sure, nor is he really sure why he's running from it anyway. What he does know, however, is that he's dreaming. He can tell that mainly because the drumbeat isn't pounding away madly in his head.
The muscles in his legs twinge with each stride that he struggles to lengthen in a desperate bid to escape something he can't see. Vines and brambles tear at his feet and legs, and he barely registers the fact that he's running through an entirely unfamiliar wood. His lungs ache from the effort the running has cost him, each breath inciting a ragged burning all through his chest. He realizes, with an ounce of something close to horror, that his respiratory bypass isn't working. At all. Both hearts pound wildly in his chest as he continues to struggle for breath, pace never slackening.
Unprecedented panic raises within him when the pain in his lungs is made worse by the intruding presence of smoke that scrapes its way through him with each and every pant. The roar of flame seems to surround him, and he can't exactly tell if he's running toward or away from the fire that feels suspiciously like it's closing in. He barely manages to dodge a blazing log that nearly falls onto him, and he smells the more acrid scent of his own suit jacket burning.
Still without stopping, he sheds the jacket, letting it slither to the dirt without a second thought. He's abruptly cut off by a wall of flame, and he barely manages to skid to a stop before it. Thinking quickly, he dashes to the left, ignoring the searing pain that shoots up his back. No doubt the flames are lapping at his shoulder blades now, and the heat is becoming close to unbearable. He's not sure how much longer he'll be able to remain coherent, the lack of his respiratory bypass making his mind hazy. Blackness creeps around the edges of his vision, but he presses on, growing in his desperation to escape. And then he hears the screaming.
It starts quietly, and he's not quite sure if he's actually hearing it or if it's in his head. He thinks it might actually be both. It's the screaming of millions and within seconds it drowns out the roar of the burning forest around him, and it continues to get louder and louder, screams full of anguish and agony. It's so loud, far too loud, and it's not long before he simply cannot take it anymore. He drops to his knees, hands pressed over his ears and curls in upon himself. Knees pressed against his chest and forgetting that he's dreaming, he lets loose a low moan, praying to whatever deity that may or may not exist to let the flames take him now. He'll do anything to escape this.
The screams seem to die down some, and he finally manages to unfurl from the fetal position he's adopted for what seems like several eternities. He's no longer in the forest, but everything's still burning. Grasses dance around him, the flora so dark red it's hard to distinguish from the flames themselves. Silver leaves rain down, many of which flicker with the deadly element. He's on Gallifrey and he's hearing his people die. But then there's a sound rising above the laments.
A wolf's howl, soft and wavering, rings out above the heartbreaking noise of the Time Lords' death. It makes the air around him quiver as well and it invades his mind, inexplicably soothing his panic. As the howl dies out, the screaming does as well, and though he's still standing alone on a burning Gallifrey, he's completely calm, as if he hadn't been running just a second ago.
How long he's alone in the silence, he's not sure, when without warning the wolf's howl pierces the air once again, though this time it's not in his head, and it doesn't calm him. It makes his very bones tremble in fear of a raw power he cannot even fathom. He whirls around, and it's standing not five meters from him.
There's no mistaking the creature for anything other than a she-wolf, ears pricked forward with interest, it almost looks like nothing more than a beast. Almost. Her jet black fur lays sleekly against her body in a savage beauty, her body angled in a way that looks a bit too human, but the main thing is the creatures eyes. Pure golden and flashing with deadly knowledge, the animal scrutinizes him with a look that, dare he say it, looks nothing more than forgiving. Her eyes hold all of time, and suddenly, he is nothing but an eight year old child, staring once more into time itself.
Without warning, she tosses her head toward the sky and looses a cry that breaks his hearts. The sound is misery itself, the very essence of brokeness, it brings tears to his eyes. And then the she-wolf changes. She's still the same being, that much he's sure of, the eyes are the same, and that gives it away. Suddenly her fur is dull and matted with blood, and there's not a bit of the animal that's not covered in a scar or gash beneath the fur. She's still beautiful, but in a much more savage way. And he wants to destroy whatever did this to the creature, who broke something so amazing.
"I'm sorry.." He barely even registers his own voice as he speaks to the creature, stepping backwards, away, because he cannot bear to look at what's been done. The wolf's upper lip curls, teeth lethal white against black lips, and she steps toward him, closer and closer, and he stops backing away. For once he's not the Master, for once, he's the one submitting, and for once, he doesn't care. He thinks his own eternal death might be worth it to spare this magnificent she-wolf the smallest bit of agony.
He drops to his knees, his eyes still locked on the glorious creature before him, and she looks right back at him. He thinks she's staring into his very soul, everything that makes him who he is, and he's ashamed. Golden and brilliant, her eyes meet his and she begins to approach him, shoulders thrust forward and pointed muzzle tilted downward. His eyes slide closed as he waits for the death that will surely come. And then she's so close he can feel warm breath dance against his neck, his face, but he doesn't move. And then he feels warm fur press against his chest, and he knows without even opening his eyes that the head of the she-wolf is pressed against him.
Unexpected warmth courses through him, as he feels acceptance and forgiveness radiate from... from where? He can't tell. He thinks it might be from the she-wolf, and his hearts are breaking all over again, because he doesn't deserve this, doesn't want this. What 'this' is he doesn't even know, but he knows he's not worthy of it. And then it's like the kiss with Rose, the silence is completely terrifying, but he doesn't move, because he'll survive the terror as long as he needs to. Because for once, it's worth it.
He wakes gently, a rarity for him. Usually when he sleeps he wakes up with a cry of terror, even as he lived the life of Harold Saxon. He curls his knees up to his chest and rests his forehead against them, curling in upon his lanky form as he fights the urge to press his hands over his ears. He wants to know why. Well, more to the point, he wants to know why the noise in his head seems to have gotten even louder. The drumbeat that has tormented him for so long now, sometimes so quiet he can almost ignore it, has increased to a volume that borders on the precipice of physical pain. He briefly wonders whether or not this pain is punishment for the brief relief he was allowed earlier.
It's almost inevitable for him to think that he might have finally gone good and properly mad this time. Maybe he actually lost it back on The Valiant, such a short time ago that feels like so very long, though he doesn't know. If he's entirely honest with himself, it's not even so much that he doesn't know as it is the staggering reality that he can't bring himself to even care. That should bother him, he knows, that he can't muster up the ability to give a shit about his own mental health, but again, he doesn't care.
For the first time he can ever remember, he actually feels envious of human beings. He wishes, desperately so, that he could make another attempt at sleep, lapse into a world of dreams that're void of the drums. The only time that the noise is gone completely - aside from when a certain human is close by - is in his dreams, and he longs for that peace.
A small sigh, barely audible, passes between his lips as he moves from one awkward position on the almost too-small bed to another. While the lights dimmed considerably earlier, when Rose and Mr. Mickey left, they didn't go completely out, and he isn't entirely sure how he feels about that. On one hand, he's glad that he can see his hand in front of his face again, but on the other he doesn't like the fact that everything is visible. He hates the vulnerability of knowing that whoever is on the other side of the CCTV can see each and every move he makes. Absently, he wonders why they think they'll accomplish with the camera. He supposes that they can makes sure that their prisoners don't go escaping, but other than that, he sees no use in it.
Without any warning, the door swings open, and for a brief second, a flash of hope (one that would never actually admit to) flares up within him as his entire body jerks toward the door. As the door opens fully and he sees that the person entering is not Rose, a rush of disappoint races through him, even stronger than the hope before it. A small, secret part of him is terrified that the presence, or lack thereof, of this simple human girl can incite such emotions within him.
The man, teenager really, dressed in grayscale camo and wearing an earpiece, carries in a tray of food in one hand and a folded table under his other arm. Setting the table up in two swift one-handed motions, he puts the tray atop it wordlessly.
"Aw.. Thank you." The Master croons, words positively dripping with sarcasm. The bringer of the food looks awkward, looking almost like he's not entirely sure whether or not he should say anything in reply or simply walk away.
"Don't thank me." He finally grunts as he nears to door to leave again. "Captain Tyler told me to bring it." The information makes The Master's eyebrows raise in slight surprise, yet he doesn't reply, doesn't dare say another word, because it seems that lately he doesn't have much control of anything, not even his own words. He's left alone in the room again, and it takes a considerable amount of time before his hunger amounts and he stands and makes his way toward the food. As he glances down at it, a small smirk plays at the corners of his lips.
Rose is smart. Either that or she's incredibly lucky. There's a considerable amount of food on the table, yet it's all incredibly low protein food. It'll keep his energy down, he knows, and he also knows that the food was chosen this way in an effort to make sure he doesn't escape. He thinks it ironic that they're doing this, keeping him locked up and having a constant video stream on him, because surely they must know that if he wanted out, he'd already have been long gone.
He eats very little, and though he's not entirely satisfied, it's enough. Considering he's not sure when (or even if) he'll be fed later, he wants to make the meal last as long as he possibly can.
Moving back to his bed, he leans against the wall, before leaping away with a yelp of pain. He slips his shirt over his head, wincing as the cotton assaults the sensitive skin, and stops in horror as he touches the flesh between his shoulder blades.
Covering almost all of his back are severe burns.
Thank you for reading this chapter, I love all of you, and if you love me back you'll review. Please? I can beg, I really can. But I need to ask you lovely people something. I want to change my username, something to reflect my love of Master/Rose pairing, but I can't think of anything. Any ideas?