The Doctor paced the Console Room, hands shoved deep into pockets.
Thinking.
He'd ended up here after his row with Tegan, but not directly. He'd been so furious – not to mention aroused – that he feared contact with either of the other two passengers would be…not dangerous, certainly not for them, but certainly awkward. Yes, they deserved to know how he and Tegan had escaped from the Master's clutches, but not until he was calm enough to tell them without losing his temper all over again.
And had lost the erection his body didn't seem to want to let go of.
In short, until he'd got himself thoroughly under control.
It had taken hours of prowling about the TARDIS storage levels, stalking in and out of rooms he hadn't visited in decades, before he felt able to make his way back to the upper levels of his ship. Perhaps fortunately, his hard-won control hadn't been put to the test on the way back; he'd seen no one — not Nyssa, not Adric, not even Tegan, whom he'd half-expected to come hunting him down to give him another piece of her mind after he'd essentially assaulted her and then run off.
And now here he was in the empty Console Room. Pacing and thinking, now that his head was clear enough to do so, although he wished he could force his thoughts onto a different path than the one they eventually settled upon.
He couldn't stop thinking about Tegan's accusations.
Her well-founded accusations.
It was all true; he'd left Gallifrey when he was young enough to convince himself that nothing untoward could possibly happen to him, that he'd never have to face regeneration or any possible negative repercussions since he'd originally intended to return before it ever came to that. But one thing led to another, as it always did, and in consequence he was now on his fifth life and hadn't seriously entertained the idea of returning home since long before Susan had joined his first self in exploring the Universe.
He'd been burying his head in the sand, to borrow a quaint Earth expression.
No, worse than that. He'd been lying to himself. Yes, Gallifrey was stultifying, destroying his spirit, wearing it down, but was that enough of an excuse to expose those he considered friends to the possibility of…well, of what had happened to him?
Of what had happened to Tegan?
Taking the long view, he could easily argue that even in light of his current circumstances, when he'd run from Gallifrey to explore the Universe he'd been absolutely right to do so, that he'd been no more a danger to anyone than any other Time Lord. Except the Master. Or Omega. Or the Rani…. no, don't go there. Don't compare yourself to the brutal exceptions to Time Lord self-restraint and repression; compare yourself to the norm.
The chances of turning into a vampire, as he'd told Tegan, were infinitesimal, the same for him as for any other living Time Lord. Even though the last known sanguiferous — no, stop hiding behind the technical phrasing, call it what it really is — Blood Regeneration had been to an indirect ancestor of his, that meant nothing. The odds were still the same.
But still…he had played those odds, no matter how much they seemed in his favor, and as Tegan had so bluntly pointed out, he'd lost.
He'd lost, and she was paying the price.
Even though he still didn't consider himself a danger to his companions, even though Tegan had been unfortunate enough to get caught up in his regeneration and thus turned into his Sanguinaria against her will, he wasn't willing to go so far as to agree that he and his fellow Time Lords had no right leaving Gallifrey with such a taint in their collective genome.
She did, however, have the right to fault him, personally, for not warning them to keep more of a physical distance from him when he did regenerate. He'd taken the time to tell them the moment had been prepared for, then neglected to offer up even the vaguest warning that might have prevented Tegan's unintended transformation.
That much blame, he conceded, was on his shoulders.
As the Doctor circled the console one last time, he found himself trailing his fingers along its edge, once again unconsciously mimicking Tegan's movements from their mental union.
He exclaimed aloud in annoyance; how could he have forgotten there was yet another aspect to their situation that he hadn't explained to her, this emotional bond they now shared? He reached up and rubbed his fingers against his temples in frustration; she was already furious with him – although his anger at her actions on the Master's TARDIS had abated, he very much doubted hers had. She'd started to become resigned to her situation and the Master's revelation had needlessly stirred things up; how much worse would she react when he told her he could sense her feelings?
"Right," he said aloud, straightening his shoulders and facing the interior door. Time to beard the lion, to borrow an ancient phrase…one that he himself had actually introduced, come to think of it. His first self had had a rather eloquent way with words at times.
Tegan needed to know this last piece of information he'd been keeping to himself, and she needed to hear him admit something that he rarely did: that he'd been wrong, that if he'd explained the possibility of a Blood Regeneration happening, then yes, she might possibly have been spared her current condition.
Worst of all, he would have to admit that she was at least partially right. And oh, wouldn't she just love that.
oOo
Tegan expected the Doctor to shut himself into his quarters until he got himself back under control, so it was the first place she went to hunt him down. When she didn't find him there, she'd searched the public areas of the TARDIS, including the Console Room, the creepy cloister room, and a few of the various libraries. No luck.
She did, however, find Adric and Nyssa sharing a quiet meal in Adric's study area.
They'd been surprised to see her. "We thought you and the Doctor were having a row," Adric said through a mouthful of something pasta-like.
Nyssa nudged him and gave him an exasperated look, to which he responded with a pair of lowered eyebrows and an expression that clearly said "What? What did I say?"
"We were, but it's over now," she replied, keeping her tone light. "I just need to…talk to him about something else." Some devil made her add: "Something that sort of…came up…while we were fighting."
She bit her lip to hold back a giggle as the others stared at her uncomprehendingly. Maybe one day she'd share the joke. When they were a bit older, perhaps. What had come over her, dropping an innuendo on two pairs of innocent ears like that?
Then again, they were sitting awfully close together, sharing an armchair that wasn't quite long enough to be considered a davenport. They were teenagers, after all; who knew what they were getting up to on the sly?
She dismissed the temptation to speculate about the nature of Nyssa and Adric's relationship with ease; she had her own, overly-complicated relationship to work on just now.
And some explanations might be due as well… "Did you see him, the Doctor? Has he been by?"
Adric shook his head. "Not yet." He slanted a look at Nyssa, one Tegan found impossible to interpret. "Do you mind telling us what happened after the Doctor made me leave?"
His look turned uncomfortable, possibly even a shade guilty; Tegan had no difficulty interpreting that, having worn it herself a great many times. Especially recently. She sighed and took the chair opposite theirs, reaching for a piece of what looked like garlic bread as she did so, then pulling her hand back as her memory prodded her. Weren't vampires supposed to be allergic to garlic or something? She wanted to attract the Doctor, not drive him further away than he'd already run. "The Master poisoned the Doctor with silver." Her hand strayed to her neck, brushing the red marks from his bites, and she shivered in a combination of uncomfortable memory and unsatisfied desire.
Hoping the others hadn't noticed her reaction, she launched into an explanation of how the Doctor's poisoning had come about, how the Master had never revealed what exactly he wanted the Doctor to do – besides, Adric interjected wryly, suffer – and how the Doctor had attacked the Master once he'd been restored to a semblance of health by drinking Tegan's blood.
She blushed as she recounted that part; she hadn't been his Sanguinaria, his Blood Giver, for long enough for her to feel comfortable talking about it yet. Maybe she never would reach that level of comfort, especially considering how…stimulating…a process it was for her – and as she'd so recently discovered, for the Doctor as well.
That thought brought her stumbling to a halt as she felt a blush spreading over her cheeks. "Anyway," she stammered, "after that things got a little crazy. The Doctor tried to kill the Master…"
"And you stopped him, he said as much," Nyssa interrupted. Her own cheeks had gotten a bit flushed and her eyes were bright with some emotion Tegan very much wanted to pretend wasn't anger. "Why? Why did you do that? You of all people know what a monster he is, that he needed to be stopped…"
"Yes, stopped," Tegan agreed, heavily emphasizing the word. "Not murdered." She used the word deliberately, hoping to shock Nyssa's growing temper right out of her.
It appeared to work; Nyssa's mouth opened and then snapped shut, her expression turning a shade less belligerent than it had been. Tegan didn't miss the fact that Adric had quietly taken her hand in his, lacing their fingers together, but seemed content to let the two women hash it out.
"Nyssa, I know the Master's a monster," Tegan continued quietly. "Believe me, if I'd been able to get free from those blasted manacles, I'd have tried to kill him myself. But what the Doctor did…" She fell silent, groping for the right words to explain to them how she'd felt, how she still felt, about the Doctor killing the Master in what amounted to cold blood. "He could easily have incapacitated him," she finally said, gazing down at her hands. "He's so much stronger, so much faster now than he was, that all he needed to do was slap the weapon out of the Master's hands and knock him out. Then we could have tied him up or stuck him in that energy web he used on you, Adric."
She glanced at him with a small grin, encouraged to see him return it. Her conscience prodding her, she asked: "I haven't had the opportunity…how are you? Will you be all right?"
His smile broadened as he nodded. "Nyssa checked me out in the medical bay. No lasting effects. And it did give me a chance to learn what I'd used on Logopolis…although I don't think I'd like that kind of 'opportunity' again."
Nyssa managed a smile for that one before she turned back to Tegan. "I understand," she said. "At least, I think I do. You didn't want the Doctor to commit deliberate murder."
"Yeah, that about sums it up," Tegan agreed with a rueful sigh. "I know you hate the Master, that you have every right to hate him, even more than I do, but…I just think it would have been wrong. If he died in a struggle or when he was about to kill someone else, that would be different. I mean, yes, he had a gun – or a something, a weapon, anyway – but the Doctor took him down so easily it was clearly never the threat he thought it was."
She turned pensive as she saw what she perceived to be a lingering doubt in Nyssa's expressive eyes. "Look, maybe it was wrong of me to knock the Doctor out…"
"You knocked the Doctor out?" "You hit the Doctor?" Nyssa and Adric exclaimed at the same time, she in horror, he with a distinctly amused twinkle in his eye.
Tegan nodded, shamefaced. "Yeah, but I've already told you why. And then I wasn't really thinking straight after that or I'd have tied the Master up straightaway instead of wasting time dragging the Doctor off the TARDIS."
She quickly finished the narrative of "Tegan Jovanka Makes A Complete Cock-Up of Saving The Doctor From Himself" and fell silent, gnawing absently on her thumbnail as she waited for one of the others to say something.
"Well, at least the Master knows better than to underestimate you in the future," Adric finally pronounced with an admiring grin. "And the Doctor's probably gained a bit of respect for you as well."
Nyssa simply nodded. Although she'd released Adric's hand as Tegan spoke, it still rested quite close to his on the seat cushion. Tegan took that as her signal to leave the two of them alone and rose to her feet. "Well, that's about it. I'm sorry I've let the Master run off again, because that means he'll be back to bother us sooner or later, but I'm not sorry I stopped the Doctor killing him." Her face settled into a determined expression. "And the sooner he understands that, the better. I think I'll just have another look round for him; he can't hide from me forever."
With those ominous words, she turned and left the other two to their devices.
oOo
Nyssa and Adric watched as Tegan strode off, Adric absently stuffing the last bite of pasta into his mouth and chewing. "She certainly took off in a hurry," he said, his mouth still half-full.
Nyssa made a face; who had taught him — or rather, not taught him — table manners? "Tegan's not one to let things go," was all she said, restraining herself from a lecture on not speaking when one's mouth was full of pasta.
"She was right, you know."
Nyssa, who had reached down to take a piece of the buttered garlic bread, turned to him with a wary expression. "About what?" she asked, although she had an uncomfortable feeling she already knew what he would say.
He didn't disappoint her as he placed his empty dish on the low table facing their chair. "About the Doctor. About him not murdering the Master. You know she's right, too."
Nyssa sighed and leaned back, resting her head on the curve where the arm and back of the chair met. "I know," she said after a minute, her hands clasped in her lap. "It just…the Master, he really is a monster."
Without looking at her, Adric reached out and gently pried her fingers apart, taking one of her hands in his and squeezing it sympathetically. "I know," he said.
oOo
The Doctor was on a mission, determined to find Tegan and bring a close to their earlier argument. At least, to the part where she accused him of being lax with other people's lives.
Unfortunately, much to his temper's detriment, he couldn't seem to find her now that he wanted to. Really, it was rather ridiculous; did he need to be so overcome by hunger that his intellect shut down before he could sniff her out as easily as he had in the past?
She wasn't where he'd left her, in the medical bay. Nor was she in her quarters; when she didn't answer his knock, he opened the door for a quick peep. No, not there. The wardrobe room, perhaps, trying on some new clothes? He'd noticed that was her favorite place to go when she was upset and needed comforting. But she wasn't there, either.
Not that he was looking forward to admitting that he'd been wrong; she would no doubt lord it over him (Hah! Lording it over the Time Lord! some juvenile part of his mind crowed) but he was determined to end this tension between them. The one based on his burying his head in the sand rather than the one that involved burying his head somewhere quite different. In the crook of her neck, perhaps, or, his ever-present and ever-irritating libido whispered, between her legs…
He shook off that insidious voice as best he could, quickening his steps to a brisk walk and hoping his eyes hadn't gone red again. Above all things, he was absolutely determined not to give in on this one aspect of his altered physiology, the way he'd been forced to accede to his need for regular feeding and sleeping. It simply wasn't in his nature to allow base bodily functions to have the upper hand, and sexual desire was the one area where he knew he could impose his will.
It was just taking a bit longer than he'd expected, that was all.
He would explain all that to Tegan, apologize for very nearly taking advantage of her, and hope they could move past it all and settle down into a simple relationship where he occasionally drank her blood (occasionally being at least once every twelve Earth hours at this point) and they otherwise avoided one another when not with Nyssa and Adric, or out on an exploratory expedition to a new planet.
He had it all worked out very neatly, and even though he knew she wanted him, he was convinced she would accept his offer of…of what, exactly? Physical neutrality, that was the phrase he was groping after.
No, not groping after. Searching for. No need for such suggestive language when he had no intention of allowing his body's needs – wants; he didn't need sex – to continue to dominate his higher functions.
Physical neutrality. She would surely accept that in their relationship. Yes, she wanted him (stop telling yourself that, it's patently obvious) but he knew she was also put off by the fact that he was an alien. And a vampire. Even if she allowed herself to give in to temptation — to give in to him — he knew she'd regret it the instant reason returned, would fret over it and berate him for allowing it to happen…and…and…
Both his feet and his chaotic mental chatter stopped dead as he opened the door to his quarters and saw Tegan lying back on his bed.
Naked.
While he stood there as if rooted, she leaned up on her elbows and regarded him out of half-closed eyes. "Shut the door," she ordered in a husky voice, and his hands automatically obeyed, his feet unsticking themselves from the carpeted floor as he did so.
He was staring, he was staring and he needed…what, exactly, did he need, again? Oh yes. To tell Tegan…something. Something about physical neutrality and her being right and…and…
His mouth had gone dry and his brain had stopped functioning and his fangs were elongating as if trying to emulate the way his eyes were drinking in the sight of her. His skin was flushed and heated and his feet were moving again, but instead of turning and marching him out of the room, the traitors were bringing him closer to the bed.
Closer to Tegan. Who continued to just…watch him. Smiling seductively, not at all self-conscious in spite of the fact that every inch of her body was exposed to his view.
"You've gone red-eye," she commented, and he supposed he had. No surprise there; strong emotion colored his lenses and tinted his whites, and lust was a very, very strong emotion indeed.
As he approached the foot of the bed, his conscience woke up and told him that this was all well and good, but he'd better just throw the comforter over her and give her that lecture about physical neutrality or they'd both be in big trouble. The kind of trouble one didn't necessarily get out of easily, if at all.
Excellent advice. Someone wiser than he might have actually taken it.
What he did instead was perch on the edge of the bed and continue to regard her, eyes raking her from head to pink nail-varnished toes before settling on her face. "Tegan," he said, his voice nearly as husky as hers had been.
He cleared his throat then fell silent, not quite sure what he wanted to say, or really, if there was anything to say at this particular moment.
As the silence – and his discomfiture – grew, her smile turned mischievous. "Yes, Doctor?"
Innocent tones, impish smile, seductive body…with a low growl he gave in to what his own body was urgently demanding he do and covered her, not with a blanket but with his own, overheated self. His erection had returned, no surprise there, and he gave up entirely on the idea of controlling his lust and maintaining emotional neutrality or whatever other idiotic lies he'd told himself on the way here.
Instead, he did what his body was insisting he do: he kissed her. Thoroughly. As thoroughly as he'd kissed her whilst arguing with her in the medical bay.
At least their room had a large, comfortable bed for him to indulge himself on — and yes, damn it, it was their room, he could admit that to himself now that he was being completely honest. He'd never wanted her to leave it, the room or the bed; he had acutely missed her sleeping next to him after only a single shared experience. There was nothing for it; after this she would have to move her things in here, and he would allow no arguments on the subject.
Which was all very high-handed of him, but surely Tegan was used to that by now?
While his mind had been ticking away, his lips and hands had been busy tasting and exploring her lovely form, and she had been making very agreeable noises that indicated her happiness at how things were currently working out between them.
The key word, of course, being currently. His mind insisted on reminding him that at least one of his intentions in seeking her out had been honest: he needed to tell her she'd been right, and he needed to tell her before things went any further.
Right. NOW.
He pulled his mouth away from where it had been exploring a delightful hollow at the base of her throat and pushed himself up on his elbows in order to gaze down on her. "You were right," he said, speaking as distinctly as he could manage with her fingers busily undoing the fastening to his trousers.
"I know," she replied, and yes, there was a great deal of smug satisfaction in her tone as she did so.
"Not about me being in denial when I left Gallifrey," he insisted on adding. Just in case she was unclear as to what he meant. "But about not warning you all when I was regenerating…"
Her arms wrapped themselves around him, pressing him closer to her unclad form and bringing an abrupt halt to his stumbling attempts at speech. "I know," she repeated with a throaty laugh, nibbling his earlobe. "Can we fight about that later? Please?"
She breathed that last word into his ear as her fingers began undoing the buttons on his shirt, tugging it free from the loosened waistband of his trousers. One leg was sliding up and down his in a very distracting manner, and he distinctly felt his intellect throwing up its hands in disgust and stomping off to sulk.
Good, was his last clear thought. Who needed one's mind when one's body had such interesting things to do?
oOo
Tegan's heart was pounding as she watched the Doctor approaching. With his preternatural senses, he could probably hear it, that and the blood rushing through her veins, maybe even hear the thoughts rushing through her head.
Not that she had that many, not now; all she could think about now was how. Bloody. Much. She. WANTED. Him.
It wasn't love, she wasn't stupid enough to believe in fairy tales even if she'd been forcibly given to understand the reality of aliens and vampires and time travel. But she was also honest enough to admit that love wasn't entirely out of the picture; she could all-too-easily see herself falling in love with the Doctor. One day. When she'd figured out if she could love him and hate him at the same time.
But until that day, lust would do. This moment seemed inevitable if she looked back on it, from the second she'd been accidentally caught up in his regeneration to her capture by the Master to their ferocious argument a few scant hours earlier. As inevitable as Time itself.
The Doctor was looking at her as if he could devour her whole, and she felt a shiver cross her body at the thought. Then he was wasting time with words, talking to her when all she wanted to do was feel his body against hers, but she unwillingly made herself listen as he admitted she'd been right.
Of course she'd been right; why, of all times, did he feel the need to waste time stating the obvious now? Still, he'd admitted it and the least she could do was offer a gracious agreement. "I know," she said, but the words came out smug instead of gracious, and her lips turned up in a smile as she realized she derived a great deal of satisfaction hearing those words from him.
Not the type of satisfaction she was after, however, and when he kept on talking, she managed only enough patience to let him get out a few words before practically begging him to get his mind on other things. Such as letting her undress him. Which he'd most enthusiastically done, falling silent at last, although she suspected her teeth and lips on his earlobe had more to do with his sudden lack of ability to speak than anything she'd said.
With an inarticulate growl he pressed his mouth to hers, his tongue demanding entry even as she was opening her mouth to allow the kiss to deepen.
She broke her hold only long enough to impatiently push his shirt down his arms, hissing in annoyance when she realized she'd forgotten to undo the cuffs. With another growl he grabbed the sleeves and jerked them free, buttons popping and flying as he tossed it carelessly to the floor.
She busied herself undoing the zip to his trousers, helping to slide them and his silky boxers off, making sure to grab his socks and get the remainder of his clothing as far away from his body as humanly possible — in this case, meaning she yanked them down and bundled them up and tossed them onto the floor at the foot of the bed without caring where they landed or in what condition.
Fair was fair; he'd ruined enough of her own clothing the past few days.
After that it was all lips and tongues and the feel of his body beneath her hands, a jumbled blur with certain moments burning themselves into her memory with the clarity of a flawless diamond:
His tongue gliding over her breasts, flicking her nipples, teasing and taunting, the hiss of mingled pain and pleasure whenever the edge of one his fangs grazed the tips.
His fingers sliding into her welcoming slickness, thrusting into her after a timeless period of rubbing and fondling, his thumb against her clit, nearly bringing her off before stopping with what could only be interpreted as deliberate intent.
The heat of his gaze as she'd lifted her head to try and glare him into continuing what he'd been doing, the way the words of protest died in her throat as he brought his fingers up to his mouth and licked them, one at a time, just as deliberately as he'd touched her and with almost as devastating an effect.
Her head collapsing back onto the pillows as he positioned himself between her legs, nestling his head against the inside of her thigh before flicking his tongue across her entrance, eliciting a strangled moan from her lips and a frantic lift of her hips as she tried to grind against his mouth, to demand more.
The sound of his rasping chuckle as he splayed his fingers against her midsection and pressed her back down onto the bed, taking his bloody fucking time as he licked her slick wetness, tasting her, seeming to ignore her aching need for more pressure, more urgency, just plain MORE, until suddenly he turned with a predatory gleam in his eyes and buried his face between her legs.
He had a wicked tongue, and ooh! who had ever taught him to do that with it? She heard a high-pitched squeal escape from her lips as her fingers dug into the coverlet, heels sliding a bit against the slippery material, hips bucking beneath the frenzied thrusts of his tongue.
She managed to hang onto control for only as long as it took him to rub his thumb across her clit. The sensation completely unglued her, an urgent shriek tearing itself from her throat as the peak she'd been scrabbling for was reached and surpassed and she found herself on the dizzying slide down the other side.
He gave her no time to contemplate that downward slide, no time to recover, climbing on top of her and pressing her hand to his heated shaft, urging her fingers to close around it, to guide it to the spot they both wanted — needed — it to fill.
She took just a moment for herself, to caress his length before giving in to his silent urging, encircling his thickness with her fingers and widening her legs to allow its head to press against her entrance.
She pulled her hand away and he slammed into her, full force, a surging, powerful thrust that she felt throughout her entire body. Her knees were still pulled up and she left them that way, knowing it gave him just the right angle to penetrate her as fully as he possibly could. She felt another keening moan growing in her throat, gave in to it as she ran her hands up his back to clutch his shoulders.
He lowered his upper body to mold against hers, his lips and tongue and — oh God, yes! — teeth at her throat, licking, kissing…and finally, after an agonizing eternity in which she thought, he's not going to do it!...biting.
Sinking his fangs into her throat, taking her blood into his mouth while continuing the furious pumping of his cock into her welcoming heat.
Exactly as she'd fantasized.
And God, it felt just as good as she'd expected; no, it felt better, it felt so much fucking better she thought she was going to lose her mind.
And so, for a while, she did. He grunted and strained against her and she met his every thrust with one of her own, his every sound echoed by her own moans and gasps and eventually the screams she'd felt building in the back of her throat as she reached the brink of a second orgasm.
Reached it, passed it, nearly passed out as it literally shook her body, the most powerful sensation she'd ever experienced, ever, bar none, with his fangs buried in her throat and his cock deep inside her.
Dazed, amazed and thoroughly sated, she felt him reach his own satisfaction moments later, felt him pull his mouth away from her throat with what felt very much like reluctance as he strained against her, spilling his seed inside her, filling her with yet another part of himself.
God, if the make-up sex was always this good, she was going to make sure to pick a great many fights with him in future.
And when he came back to himself enough to notice the smirk on her lips, when he regained enough control of his panting breath to ask her what was so amusing, she merely shook her head and kissed him, deeply, freely, using her hands to coax him into relaxing on top of her now that the urgent need they'd been fighting so long had been met and conquered.
oOo
Afterwards, when she lay half-dozing in his arms, her head nestled beneath his chin, his hand tracing lazy patterns across her midsection, he spoke: "We really do need to continue our little…chat…from the medical bay, you know."
"Yeah," she said sleepily as she snuggled herself a little closer, slurring her words just the tiniest bit. "Later, all right?"
She felt his smothered laugh more than heard it, and managed a chuckle of her own. "Fine," he whispered in agreement after dropping a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "We'll fight later."
"Lots of times," she agreed, sinking even closer to sleep with every murmured word.
Fight, make up, make love…oh, the next couple of centuries were going to be absolutely grand.
Epilogue – Somewhere in Space and Time
"Well? What do you think? Can you isolate the alien elements? "
The scientist tore his gaze away from the microscope with a great deal of reluctance; the samples he'd been given to analyze were far and away the most fascinating things he'd seen in a long lifetime of experimentation. "It will be difficult, but not impossible, I think. However, if you're seeking a cure, the transmorphic qualities of the alien DNA and the invasive elements make it impossible…"
The dark visaged man who had been hovering by his shoulder raised one black-gloved hand and waved it impatiently. "Bah! A cure? No. I seek replication that will work on this genetic type."
He handed the scientist a clear plas-steel data sheet, waited until it was placed under the scanner's lens and then a few more minutes as the scientist studied the new data at his species' typical speed and accuracy. After an extra spent in carefully reviewing what he'd just learned, he leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers. "Yes, I believe it's possible. But it won't be easy and it certainly won't be…inexpensive."
His client handed him a currency strip, and he felt his eyebrows raising as the other man said: "I trust this will be sufficient?"
"Yes, more than sufficient," he agreed, mentally calculating exactly what he could do with this much currency in his account, even after the expenses for this little genetic alteration were taken into account. "Of course, as an ethical scientist, I am obligated to ask you if you've thought this through, if you're prepared to deal with the consequences of such a radical genetic alteration." He smiled politely to indicate that this was a mere formality, that his protestations of ethical behavior were simply that: protestations, for show. Because no one came to him for help if they were worried about scruples, either his or their own.
The other man responded with an equally polite – and equally cynical – smile of his own. "I can assure you, I've quite made up my mind in this matter. Having witnessed first hand the exponential increase in speed, strength and reflexes…yes, I am quite prepared to deal with the consequences, positive and negative." His smile deepened. "I've always had more of an affinity for the dark than the light."
The scientist nodded, satisfied with his client's response. "Names are not necessary between us, but it would be convenient for me to have something to call you when I contact you. What cognomen would you prefer?"
"Call me…the Master."