CHAPTER NINE

Of Pain Yet to Come

Warning: To me, non-con implies more than what happens in this chapter. But if you are sensitive to that sort of thing, or to violent situations, you may want to skip or skim this one.

Although she'd never met Rose, Martha had no trouble identifying her. She knew enough. Blonde, young, pretty, and the one thing out of place in the endless hallway of white nothingness. Not only that, she was the one thing that responded, immediately, to Martha's presence.

"Who are you?" Rose asked, eyeing her warily.

Forcing a smile, Martha took a step closer and extended a hand. "Martha Jones. You must be Rose."

Rose relaxed noticeably as she shook her hand. "And you're here to help?"

"Yep, just... point me in the right direction."

Looking up and down the endless hallway, stretching into the darkness on either side, Martha listened to the choppy explanation of where they were and what they were trying to do. She couldn't help the feeling of trepidation that was creeping over her. She had been hoping for a scenario that was a little less... blind.

She'd also been hoping for a few less questions to answer about who she was and where she'd come from. It wasn't that Rose was prying, particularly. She was just trying to make small talk as they walked slowly down the hallway, keeping an eye out for Sarah Jane and wherever she would emerge.

"The thing is," Martha finally offered, cautiously, "I'm not sure how much I can really say. There are a lot of things I remember that the Doctor probably hasn't experienced yet. To tell you the truth, I'm not even sure I should be here. I mean... my mind inside of his mind - how does that work?"

"Beats me," Rose answered with a slight chuckle. "I don't really understand how any of this works!"

Martha smiled. "Makes you wish he was a bit better at explaining things, doesn't it? I know I'm too afraid to even ask, most of the time. Get a headache just listening to him try to answer."

Rose smiled. "Yep, that definitely sounds like the Doctor."

Martha continued in silence for a few moments, then paused. "Maybe we should split up," she suggested.

"No," Rose answered firmly. "He wanted us to be together. And we need to find Sarah Jane."

"Right. Any suggestions on how we might do that?"

Rose shifted anxiously. "I've always ended up back in the hallway. She should return here when she's finished."

"Finished with what?"

"I don't know. Whatever memory she's gotten pulled into."

"What if she ends up in a different part of the hallway? Do we just wait?" Martha didn't like that idea. The Doctor and the woman outside had very much given her the impression that time was of the essence. "We can at least open doors while we wait. You go on that side of the hall and I'll go on this side."

She was already reaching for one of the doors. She was only vaguely aware of Rose's voice crying, "No, wait!" before she pulled it open. Suddenly, the hallway had vanished and she was standing in the center of a room that was all too familiar. It was the realm of her nightmares...

*X*X*X*

He was invincible. And she felt invincible when she stood beside him. It was written on her face - in her eyes. She walked around these halls, queen and goddess of the Valiant, in a half-drugged stupor, most of the time. Not that she was truly drugged. At least not with any chemical combination. The Master's drug of choice was much stronger. He controlled her mind. He controlled her completely.

Startled by her surroundings, and the hyper-awareness of a woman whose path she'd barely even crossed, Martha spun to take in everything about the scene around her all at once. She knew this scenery. But how did he know it? The Doctor hadn't even met her yet; he was still travelling with Rose. So how did he have this memory of a time that was still in his future?

"What did he say?" the Master growled.

The voice sent a shiver down her spine. She'd dealt with the scars that man had left on her family. She was acutely aware of their presence in the room. Her mother and father, her sister, standing apart from them and a bit too close to the man of her nightmares. Huddled on the floor, in a dog house created by the Master's own hands, the Doctor, aged and weak, watched silently. He could no more come to her rescue than he could come to his own. And so he watched. And so Martha watched.

The Master grabbed Lucy's hair, jerking her head back so hard it was a wonder her neck didn't snap. She let out a quick gasp of surprise, but no more. She knew better than to speak when that fire was in his eyes.

"What. Did. He say?"

"He said nothing, Harry."

"What!"

"Master!" she corrected, wincing as he jerked on her hair again.

He studied her for a long moment, bent back and vulnerable, his hand tangled in her hair. Then slowly he released his grip, letting her stand up straight again. Watching her eyes, he stroked his fingers along her jaw. "Are you lying to me?" he asked softly.

"No." She shook her head, tears in her eyes.

"Are you sure?"

"Nobody said anything to her, Saxon!"

The Doctor closed his eyes. Why? Why was defiance worth the pain? He knew, of course. He understood the psychology at play. Their defiance was the only thing they had left. Stripped of their self worth and their dignity, they fought to maintain the last shreds of who they once were. And after nearly three months, they were still fighting.

Saxon's eyes were like a predator's, fixed on its prey. But Tish - poor Tish who hadn't had a shred of defiance in her when this had all begun - didn't move away. Where could she go? How could she possibly escape?

As if realizing her folly, Tish's eyes grew wide as saucers as he advanced on her. "Please," she said weakly, her voice trembling. "Nobody said anything. I was right there. I would've heard it."

She gasped as he gripped her jaw, stepping in close enough for his eyes to burn into hers. Martha felt her heart hammering against her chest. The stuff nightmares were made of... And she was caught right in the middle of it, unable to escape.

"Are you afraid of me?" Saxon asked low, a wicked smile on his face.

"Yes," Tish whispered back, shaking as he loomed over her. There was terror in her eyes; she would've been a fool to even try and deny it.

Her admission made his evil smile broaden as he growled out a dark, "Good," and pulled her forward, crushing her mouth with his.

She squealed, struggling instinctively to get away. On the opposite side of the room, her father acted immediately and instinctively, rushing forward until the butt of an assault rifle wielded by one of Saxon's guards stopped him in his tracks. He doubled over, dropping to his knees, his wife crying out from behind him.

"No, please! Don't hurt her!"

"Stop it!" The Doctor, frail and incapable as he was, had found his way to his feet. "Stop it now!"

He didn't advance; he wouldn't have dared. But his eyes were fixed hard on Saxon as Tish finally stopped struggling. Saxon waited a moment more, then finally, slowly withdrew. With a look of mocking pity, he wiped away the tear on her cheek with his thumb, and glanced over at her father, struggling to his feet.

"I'll kill you," the man growled. "I swear to God, I'll kill you..."

"I can see we need to have a lesson about who's Master around here."

"Master, stop," the Doctor said quietly. Even pleading and powerless, his voice somehow held authority. "You've made your point. Now just stop."

"Oh, I don't think my point's quite made."

She screamed as he spun her and slammed her forward on the table so hard her head bounced back up. Again, her father lunged. Again, he was brought to his knees. Grabbing the back of her neck, Saxon ignored the cries and pleas of her mother as he slid a hand up her thigh, underneath her skirt, all the way to her hip. Vision blurred with tears, her own hands trembling, Martha watched the scene like a car wreck she couldn't look away from.

"Please don't." Tish was breathless, gasping for air through her sobs. "Please don't do this. Please."

"Oh, please," he mocked. He glanced at the others. "All in unison now... please!"

Her mother was sobbing, hugging herself tightly as her father struggled back to his feet. This time, the guard didn't give him a chance to lunge again. He simply brought him back down with the barrel of the rifle at the back of his neck.

"Stay down."

Martha couldn't remember ever seeing her father cry before that moment.

Blonde haired Lucy stood numb and blank, watching the entire scene with a glazed look. The guards had no expressions. The Master spun, fixing his eyes on the Doctor. "What about you? Don't you have anything to contribute?"

The Doctor stared back defiantly, but his voice was low and subdued when he answered. "There's nothing I can say to you to make you stop. We both know that."

"You could at least give it a good try," Saxon mocked. "Go ahead. Say something profound that will make me reconsider the need to put these pathetic humans in their place.'

The Doctor watched him for a long moment, evaluating the situation, choosing his words carefully. Martha barely breathed. Finally, the Doctor spoke, slow and even and cold, barely above a whisper.

"You're a Time Lord. You don't do that."

Whatever passed between the two of them in that moment, it was very nearly tangible. Understanding, anger, resentment... But whatever it was, somehow, it worked. Saxon shoved her down as he turned away, and she remained still, clinging to the table as he took a step back. He paused for a long moment, then turned to smile wickedly at the Doctor.

"Just what do you think I was going to do to her, Doctor?"

He didn't give time for a response. Instead, he flicked his belt open with one hand and in one smooth move, withdrew it from the loops. Martha couldn't help the cry that escaped from her lips, but it was lost in Tish's scream as the belt cracked against the backs of her thighs. She crumpled to the floor. Immediately, Saxon was looming over her.

"Did I tell you to move?"

She only cried.

"Did I tell you -" the belt cracked again, like a whip, this time catching her across the arm - "to move!"

"No!"

"Then get up."

Trembling with fear, she stared up at him. She wasn't moving fast enough.

"Get up!"

The belt caught her again, this time across the face. With a screaming sob, she made it back to her feet, hugging herself, shaking like a leaf.

"Now. Be a good girl and bend back over that table."

Martha could feel the tears streaming down her cheeks as Tish hesitated, terrified.

"Now!"

Still shaking, she complied. She was sobbing loudly as she shut her eyes hard, fingers clawing at the wood tabletop, bracing herself for anything. Saxon glared at her for a long moment, then crossed to where the Doctor was standing.

"It's sort of ironic, don't you think?" he whispered. "This is your fantasy, not mine."

The Doctor said nothing, only stared back with cold, unreadable eyes.

"All alone in the universe with your little human whores and no one to tell you when to stop."

Saxon moved behind him, looking over his shoulder at the trembling girl, her skirt riding too high for modesty in the vulnerable position.

"What do you say, Doctor? Want to have a row?"

Still, the Doctor said nothing.

"Oh, that's right. I forgot. She's not your type, is she? Lucy!"

The Doctor shut his eyes and turned his head away as Lucy stepped obediently forward. The Master moved forward, grabbed the sleeve of her loose fitting gown, and ripped it away so fast and hard she stumbled over her high heels. The dress fell in a heap of satin at her feet, leaving her naked but for her shoes, stockings, and garter belt.

"Oh, come on, Doctor, have a look. She doesn't mind, do you darling?" The Master looked her up and down, then cast a wicked smile in the Doctor's direction. "You might like what you see, Doctor. She looks a bit like Angela..."

*X*X*X*

"Doctor, are you -"

"Don't touch me!"

River stepped back as he yelled. Eyes wide, she watched him kneel to the floor, breathing a bit ragged, the heels of his palms digging into his eyes. He was still for a moment, he then turned and curled in on himself, knees drawn up, crossing his arms over them and resting his forehead so that she couldn't see his face. She stared. Whatever he was feeling, whatever Sarah Jane or Martha or Rose had brought to the forefront of his mind, it had hit him as suddenly as it had powerfully. He took a moment to regain his composure, a deep breath and determination of steel, and then finally looked up.

"Are you alright?" River asked cautiously.

"Martha," he answered. "She..."

He trailed off, shaking his head and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes again. He took another breath, and pulled himself up slowly, as if he wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up on the floor. "Her reactions..."

"Reactions to what?"

"A memory she shouldn't have even been able to access."

"Why not?"

He looked up at her, blank and lost for just a moment before he responded. "Because it hasn't happened yet. Not for him. It shouldn't even be there."

She nodded slowly, still watching him carefully. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know. But the structure is breaking down, I can feel it. The walls are..." He fisted his hands in his hair. "I'm getting confused. I can't keep it straight. And I can feel... Everything they're thinking, I can feel it. Martha, Rose, Sarah Jane... all at the same time..."

"I can't feel Rose at all anymore," River said quietly as the Tardis materialized at the coordinates the Doctor had set before the memory had brought him to his knees in the span of only a few seconds. She glanced up at the scanner, but there was nobody in sight. They were in a parking lot, in what looked like late twentieth century Earth.

"She's there," the Doctor said quietly. He took a deep breath, refocused, tipped his head back and stared up at the console for a moment. He let the memories and emotions of Martha Jones slip into the background. "I can feel her. She's in her own time."

"Her own time? What do you mean?"

"Her own memories, but the way I remember them."

"Good."

"Good?" The Doctor frowned. "Why is that good?"

"Well, she ought to know her way around well enough. Maybe it'll help the process to go quicker."

"No, I don't think so."

"Why not?"

He hesitated. "Because we remember some of the same events very, very differently."