This one's long compared to my other chapters, but there's not real way to break it up, and I didn't want to drag this out into the weekend anyway...better to for the weekend to have some sort of hope. This one was rough to write...getting into the Master's head is...uncomfortable.
Three months on Earth.
The Master carefully removed the splint on Rose's arm, testing the dexterity of her wrist and fingers. His growing fascination with her rapid recovery from injuries had prompted him to fracture her ulna and radius two weeks ago, and he was delighted to find that her strange healing powers had held true. An injury that should have taken her at least six weeks to heal from enough to go without support was already showing signs of remodeling more closely resembling twelve to fourteen weeks of healing.
"I'll need you to try to move it," he said.
Smack!
Although he really should have been expecting it, the slap she gave him across his face still surprised him for an instant before he grabbed her wrist again and hit her with the back of his hand.
"We've discussed this, Rose," he chided her as he strapped her wrist down on the chair. "I hold the power here. Not you. You really will be much happier and healthier once you learn that."
"So if I stop trying to hurt you, you'll stop hurting me?" she asked, arching an eyebrow at him.
"Probably not," he admitted.
"Yeah, forgive me if I'm not altogether on board with that plan then," she said.
He almost chuckled, but stopped himself in time. She really was fascinating, this little pet of the Doctor's. So feisty, so stubborn, so cavalier about her own well-being. The Doctor probably thought she was brave. The Master thought it more likely that she was mentally unbalanced, but it was impressive nonetheless. However, it would not do for her to see that he thought so.
"So who was that woman in the console room?" she asked conversationally.
"Ah, I meant to tell you," he said. "I'm afraid you are not the only important woman in my life anymore, Rose Tyler."
"Perish the thought," she said.
"Mmm…it is a little sad, isn't it?" he asked. "You'll just have to learn to share. Her name is Lucy. I met her after only being here a week. She's special. I took her to the end of the universe, managed to persuade the TARDIS to go to Utopia. Those people are a wreck, let me tell you. Anyway, it was a bit of an eye opener for her."
"I'm sure."
Badada dum badada dum badada dum
"I'm going to ask her to marry me," he said in conspiratorial tones. "I know it's a bit soon, but it's been a whirlwind romance, and when you know, you just know."
"I doubt you do," Rose said, arching an eyebrow. "I think it's a bit more likely that you just want to use her to enhance your image. That girl is nothing but an accessory."
"So judgmental," he tutted. "You should give her a chance. I think you'd like her."
"Really?"
No, he thought. You'd probably find her just as weak and boring as I do.
"Oh yes," he assured her. "She's going to make a wonderful wife. And, thanks to you, I've even got the ring."
He saw her eyes widen and smirked. He did love when he was able to get a rise out of her. He had removed her various pieces of sentimental jewelry almost immediately. The necklace and the bracelet had been tricky; the laser screwdriver he'd constructed had only burned her skin, leaving the jewelry intact, but once he'd managed to find one of the Doctor's old sonic screwdrivers, he'd had those off her as well. He'd been surprised to realize she was actually more upset about those then her wedding rings, but she'd still hate to see the latter on someone else.
"Listen to me you little—"
"Ah ah ah," he said, wagging his finger at her. "Given the tests I have in mind for your healing capabilities, I would keep the insults to yourself. I'm the one holding the scalpel, and it would really not be pretty if my hand were to slip."
He saw the fear in her eyes as she glanced to the side and saw his tray of scalpels and bandages, and watched in fascination as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath before giving him a hard look. She really was a credit to her species. It was almost a shame to treat her this way. Almost.
oOoOo
Seven months on earth.
A month after the scalpel experiment, the Master had gotten bored with the systematic investigation into Rose's physical pain threshold and healing capabilities. Using his new contacts through the Ministry of Defense, he'd moved her to an actual prison, putting a hood over her head to keep her from knowing exactly where she was. He'd evidently used some substantial mix of bribery and cajoling to design her cell to his specifications, including basic amenities such as a tiny shower and a toilet. These teases of normalcy were little comfort to her, instead kicking up her anxiety. Without needing to utilize a common loo or shower, he could keep her completely isolated for long stretches of time if he so desired. The television in the wall had confused her until she'd realized that she had no way of controlling it; it was another tool for gloating, and it tended to turn on when there was some report of the beloved Harold Saxon's many achievements.
Now, Rose watched despondently as the Master stood to receive yet more accolades for the Archangel network discuss his campaign for Prime Minister, little Lucy faithfully by his side as always, the public adoring him without question. One of these days, she was going to figure out how he was managing that.
Lucy, she was sure, was the product of months of work on her mind. The Master had brought her around to meet Rose the month earlier, just after the wedding. She was certain this was just so he could show off the fact that Lucy was wearing her rings and worshipped the ground he walked on. The girl was sweet, if a little strange. She knew the Master was an alien, and he'd shushed her when she made it clear he had big plans for the planet eventually. But she was completely alright with it all…she said he was a wounded soldier, someone who needed love and affection to heal his battered hearts. Rose had simply shaken her head as the Master grinned at her.
The sad thing was, it wasn't completely off. Based on what she could remember intermittently from her vision of the Doctor, as well as what he had told her, the Master had been a decent person once. Always a little colder and a little quick to suggest violent or cruel plans, but he really had wanted something good once. But the Time Lords had done a number on him as well, and that madness that was already in place had taken him in a far different direction than the Doctor. She could understand now why the Master was simultaneously one of the Doctor's only good memories as well as one of his worst.
So Rose and Lucy had ended up running the same sort of parallel that the Doctor and the Master did. They both had unwavering faith in the men they loved, and believed them to be better than the sum of their sins. But just like the Doctor and the Master, only one relationship had any capability of being healthy or honest. And a telepathic bond tied only one.
The Master had been furious when he'd found that Lucy's fragile mind couldn't support a bond the way Rose's could. He'd left Rose bleeding and unconscious for that crime. Thing was, she wasn't sure he even wanted a bond with Lucy. When his wife wasn't around, he occasionally slipped in his act, and regarded her with nothing short of disdain. This had led Rose to believe that his anger had been more due to the fact that he'd been denied something, specifically something the Doctor had.
She wasn't entirely surprised when, several hours later, she was collected from her cell and taken to an interrogation room. She was cuffed to the table, and the Master sauntered in a moment later.
"Did you see it?" he asked.
"You know I did," she said with an eye roll. "You've made yourself very hard to ignore. I bet you were the type to pull a girl's pigtails if you liked her too."
"Of course not," he said. "That would require me to 'like' someone, as you put it. But regardless, I do like having your attention, if only because I know it so bothers you to see me succeed."
"Because you're manipulating people to do it," she said. "And I'm fairly certain you have plans to take over the world and kill quite a lot people eventually."
"Now, now," he said. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves in our plans for such a shiny future. It was good, though, wasn't it?"
"What's the Archangel network?" she asked, not for the first time. "What's it for?"
"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," he said. "And I don't really want to do that yet. It's really less fun if the Doctor can't witness it."
"Why do you keep coming here?" she asked, studying him. "You've got plenty of friends now. You've got Lucy. Why do you keep stopping by here?"
"Rose, just because I'm married now doesn't mean you've lost any importance in my life," he said with a wounded look, and she rolled her eyes. "I don't want you to feel like you're being ignored."
"Strangely enough, I think I'd survive," she said. "Probably longer. And with fewer bruises."
"True," he admitted, and she felt a little queasy. There was something incredibly unsettling about the way they freely spoke of the physical pain he inflicted on her and the constant threat of death he hung over her head. "But, you know, if you just behaved, I wouldn't have to hurt you all the time."
"Right," she said, arching an eyebrow. "Does that little speech work on Lucy?"
"I don't hit Lucy," he said. "I doubt she'd tell anyone if I did, but someone might notice. Her, I keep happy. I have appearances to think about. You…oh, with how fast you heal, and your ever-present attitude, and your insistence on believing the Doctor will come—"
"He will," she interjected.
"Stop it!" he yelled suddenly, jumping to his feet and towering over her. "Even if he does," he continued, with an obvious effort to keep his voice calm, "he won't be able to do anything. I've taken his ship, his wife, I'm in a position to take absolute power over this backwards little planet and its substandard life forms, and there is absolutely nothing he can do about it. If he does make it here, I will break him. Don't doubt it, Rose Tyler. Piece by piece, I will take everything from him, and I will break him."
"He's beaten you so many times," she said. "What makes you think this one will be any different?"
"Because it's my turn," he said darkly, then straightened and turned away. He whirled back immediately, however, and backhanded her, his ring opening a gash over her cheekbone. He moved around the table and kicked the chair out from under her so she went down hard on her knees, her chin hitting the stainless steel top of the table while the handcuffs dug painfully into her wrists. He leaned down behind her, his hands resting on the table on either side of her. "You'll die. And I'll make the Doctor wish he was dead. If he comes back, I will make sure everything he cares about is destroyed, and I'll make him beg for death. So please…keep your faith in him, that he'll always come for you. It'll just give me something else to look forward to."
oOoOo
Nine Months on Earth.
Rose sat on her bed, willing herself not to cry, her breath coming in gasps as her arms wrapped around her middle. The only real contact she had with the outside world was the Master, but the life of Harold Saxon was a busy one; while he still visited her frequently, those visits were becoming more irregular, the days between stretching longer. The loneliness and despair that she tried to block tended to overwhelm her at odd moments, hitting her like a brick and making her feel like she was breaking apart at the seams. Her heart rate would kick up, and her lungs would begin to feel like they were impossible to inflate. She knew that this was as much a part of his torture as the beatings or psychological games he played in conversations, so she did everything she could to keep him from seeing her like this. She had no doubt, however, that there was a camera in her cell that showed him everything.
She couldn't help wondering, in these moments, if the Doctor really was still coming for her. But then she'd feel his presence in her mind, still there but so distant, and try to reassure herself. He was still breathing; he would still come for her.
The TARDIS helped; the ship's song soothed her frayed nerves and bruised psyche. In those brief moments of doubt, the ship would send her images of happy moments they'd had in the TARDIS…dancing around the console on New Year's…throwing popcorn at each other in the media room…his arms around her as they watched the simulated stars on the balcony…every moment the ship highlighted for her was full of happiness and love, bolstering her faltering faith.
She wondered if time was passing for him the same way it was for her. Was it taking days to find a way back? Months? Years? Was he in as much pain? Did he miss her just as much? She wanted nothing more than to feel his strong arms around her, the drum of the steady beat of his two hearts in his chest, to hear his voice telling her everything was going to be alright.
But she couldn't. Not now. Not yet. And if she tried to escape, if it were even possible, then the Master wouldn't hesitate to kill her. His only disappointment would be that he hadn't been able to fully utilize her as a weapon against the Doctor first. So for now, she had to be her own strength. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to take deep, painful breaths, imposing the calm neutrality back on her emotions. She only opened her eyes again when the television high up on the wall clicked on.
Harold Saxon was up in the polls. Harold Saxon was the voice of the people. Harold Saxon was going to change the world.
Rose screamed and punched the plexiglass over the screen.
oOoOo
One year on Earth.
The Master lay in bed, his fingers laced behind his head. He'd had sex with Lucy, because that's something you were supposed to do when you were married and loved each other, but it was a chore as usual. The only good thing about it was that she'd fallen asleep afterwards. But now he was bored. He'd travelled with humans before, of course, but still couldn't understand how the Doctor got over the intense boredom when they were asleep, and they seemed to sleep all the time.
Except Rose.
Today marked a year they'd been on Earth, one year since she'd shown up with the Doctor and his merry little band of idiots. It was their anniversary…after one of the longest years of his life. Even after spending decades as a human, he still hated that time moved so slowly when he actually stopped and let it.
Badada dum badada dum badada dum
Once the thought hit him, it nagged at him until he finally got up and pulled on a pair of jeans, a polo, and a leather jacket. He grabbed his keys and left without bothering to leave a note. Lucy rarely asked, and if she did, a scathing look from him would immediately prompt her to apologize.
He drove to the prison and requested to see her, smirking once again when there wasn't even so much as a raised eyebrow. A mix of bribery and staff turnover that allowed him absolute power over Rose. There had been a few mental nudges here and there to keep things smooth, but it amazed how willing these humans were to turn a blind eye on one of their own for the right price. This meant he could summon her whenever he desired, and regardless of any injuries she sustained, no one balked at occurrences in the interrogation room. From a blackened eye to a fractured femur, she was simply patched up and placed back in her cell, no questions asked.
And she was always awake. It had bothered him, at first, that he could never seem to catch her unawares unless he'd knocked her unconscious first, but now he'd made his peace with that, and instead chose to see the fact that she was always alert and fully aware of any abuse he inflicted on her, physical or psychological, as a happy thing.
He sauntered into the room to find her cuffed to the table. He stopped, watching her for a moment. She was slumped in the chair, not even lifting her head when he walked in. In anyone else, he'd take those as signs of defeat. In her, in seemed more like defiant resignation, as if he wasn't worthy of her attention. She might not be able to stop him, but she wouldn't give him the luxury of seeing it affect her. It was almost cute, her persistence of strength. He was still sure that it was a sign of an unstable, masochistic nature, but that was alright, because he had no problem being sadistic.
"If I remove the cuffs, do you promise not to hit me?" he asked.
"Not a chance," she said, finally looking up at him, her gaze steady.
He nodded. He hadn't really expected anything less. "Let's try this again. I'm going to remove the cuffs, and if you try to hit me, I'll break your arms. Understood?"
"Understood," she sighed, and he took his laser screwdriver, unlocking the cuffs and allowing her to sit back and cross her arms.
"Happy anniversary," he said as he took a seat across from her. She didn't reply, but rolled her eyes and shook her head a little. "Actually, come to think of it, when is your anniversary? Your wedding certificate said 1969, but I'm fairly certain that has very little bearing on how long you've been married. So how long has it been?"
She gave him a calculating look, then sighed. "A year last month."
"You'd only been married a month?" he asked. "Huh. Maybe that's why he was still so passionate about getting you back. You hadn't been together long enough for you to become a nag."
"I'd already been travelling with him for three years," she said calmly.
"He begged, you know," the Master said, ignoring her. "He pleaded with me to give you back. Even tried to threaten me through a deadlocked door."
"He does that," she said.
"Yes, but why?" he asked. "Why would he even bother? The ship, now…the ship I can understand. Apparently, a TARDIS is a hard thing to come by now. But why you?"
"Because he loves me," she said.
"Love," he scoffed. "Trust me, Time Lords can do many things, but loving someone is not one of their talents."
"You know that's not true," she said. "If you had never loved the Doctor, then you wouldn't hate him so much now." He stilled, watching her carefully. "It's true, isn't it? He was your best friend, closer than a brother, and you loved him, and believed he loved you. And then he betrayed you. He left you when you needed him most, ran away with his granddaughter and left you alone to fight the revolution he'd helped you start. And so now you'll always hate him…for abandoning you, for hurting you…but most of all, for ever making you love him in the first place."
He stood up quickly, knocking his chair back as he leaned on the table and towered over her. "Listen to me, you sanctimonious little bitch—"
"He still loves you," she said, and he stared at her in shock that she would dare interrupt him, much less with something like that. "Oh, he's aware that you're a psychopath and delusional and bent on the destruction of him and everyone else, and that he'll always have to put you down when you pick a fight, because he's the only one who can. But he still loves you…for who you were, and for who you could have been, and for who you still could be if you would just stop."
Badada dum badada dum badada dum
He shot an arm out, fisting the cloth at the front of her shirt and dragging her up so that they were practically nose to nose.
"Who I was was a weak, idealistic fool," he spat. "Who I am is a one of the most powerful beings in the universe, the most powerful one on this godforsaken rock you call a planet. And who I could be, who I will be, is the man who broke your precious little Doctor."
He shoved her back in her chair and righted his own, sitting down across from her again.
"I told you before, Rose," he said quietly. "Don't ever presume that you know me at all. That you ever could."
"Maybe not," she said after a moment. "But what I do know is you keep coming back here. You never answered me, months ago, when I asked you why. It's not just about torturing me though, is it? You're bored. You're stuck in a life you hate, married to a woman you hold in contempt, all to further your plans…and you're lonely, just like he is. Because no matter how much you might have hated everyone on Gallifrey, it doesn't change how lonely that emptiness makes you feel. And as messed up as it is, I'm the closest thing you have a friend. The only one here who knows anything real about you."
This time, he snapped completely, backhanding her hard and sending her sprawling on the floor. He stood and leaned over her, once again fisting her shirt and bringing her face up to his.
"We are not friends, Rose Tyler," he hissed. "You are nothing. A child. A pawn. A commodity whose value diminishes every time you open your mouth. Bear that in mind the next time you try to use your ridiculously inferior brain to try to psychoanalyze me, you self-righteous little mongrel."
He threw her back down on the floor, where her head connected with a satisfying crack. He stood up and turned to leave, but looked back at her in astonishment when she called for him to wait.
"Torchwood," she said, pulling herself up to her feet gingerly.
"What about it?"
"I've been through this time already," she said. "Something bad is coming. And you're going to have to decide just how valuable I am to you as a weapon against the Doctor."
oOoOo
Fourteen months on Earth.
It had been weeks, months since Rose had seen the Master. Whether it was because he was punishing her for what she said, or to assure himself that he didn't see her as anything but a tool, she wasn't sure—probably both. Either way, it meant an isolation that was driving her slowly mad. The only way she had of telling that the outside world was still running at all was the regular sound of the food tray sliding through to her, and the only indication of passing days was when they turned off the lights at night, shrouding her in darkness for ten hours at a time.
Even the TARDIS, her one other source of encouragement, of real, current presence, had stopped singing. She was still there, but it was a little like the Doctor. She was distant, out of reach and…sad. She didn't know what the Master had done to her, and she had no real way of finding out, but she knew it wasn't good.
And she was still alone. All the time. More alone than she'd ever been. Even when people were forgetting her in the parallel world, she'd at least been around them, and could usually get someone's attention a few times a day, if only for a moment or two. She'd thought she knew what loneliness was then. Now, she'd give almost anything for even that.
She was thankful now for the little boost in brain power the Vortex had given her. She calculated primes to several hundred digits. She calculated happy numbers, noting mentally the smallest pandigital happy number (10,234,456,789) and the greatest happy number that didn't repeat any digits (986,543,210). She ran through the Earth periodic table, even singing the song—she wished she could remember the universal one, but only the Doctor had the brainpower (or the patience) to memorize that one. She named the bones of the body, including cranial bones, and then went on to go through muscles—she'd picked those up while endlessly quizzing Martha. She remembered everything she could from Hamlet and Much Ado About Nothing, and made haikus about random adventures (Thugs with rhino heads/Judoon platoon on the moon/genetic transfer?). Between these different mental exercises, she went over everything she knew about what the Master had been doing, everything he'd said, all his actions, trying to piece together his end goal. Other than the usual world domination and high body count, however, she'd had little success. He was good at avoiding any hints of his larger plans.
All the while, she tried to fight the growing resentment she felt toward the Doctor for the first time in her life. It had been over a year. The only time they'd been separated this long was when they were trapped in separate universes. He swore he'd always come for her, and now his best friend turned greatest enemy was holding her prisoner, and where the hell was he? Why was she still sitting in a cell in the middle of a year she'd gone through twice already?
Why had he abandoned her?
Whenever these thoughts hit, the panic attack came next, and she was left gasping and wrapping her arms around herself to try to cope. She knew, intellectually, that he would never simply abandon her, and especially not with the Master. It didn't stop the feelings from coming, but she knew that was as much to do with her solitary confinement as anything else. He would come for her. He always did.
oOoOo
Fifteen Months on Earth.
A month after the Master made his anniversary trip to see the Doctor's wife the ghosts appeared. He'd watched in fascination as the humans had explained away what were obviously several scores of being pressing their way into this dimension. Always so quick to come up with the stupidest possible explanation conceivable. However, as talks grew heavy about the energy source that came with the ghosts, the part Torchwood was playing in it, he got curious, and started paying closer attention to the institute. He'd laughed out loud when he saw the Doctor and Rose mentioned in their charter, alien threats one and two. Poor, misguided Doctor…always so oppressed by the people he saved.
He'd talked his way into Torchwood Tower, and shook his head as he sat in Yvonne Hartman's office to observe one their so-called "ghost shifts". He really was appalled when he realized what it was…travel between dimensions had been possible for Time Lords back when they all still existed, but a rift like this was…beyond dangerous. And the Void ship was…unsettling. While he would be content to simply let the humans destroy themselves, maybe even help them along, of course the Doctor would show up to save the day. Whatever happened here, whatever Rose had been talking about, it was coming soon.
"Something bad is coming. And you're going to have to decide just how valuable I am to you as a weapon against the Doctor."
He'd avoided going to see her after she'd had the audacity to imply that he had anything other than disdain for her. What irked him was that she had been right about one aspect…he was bored without her. Aside from the frustration released in violence and torture inflicted on her, she was the only one around with any measure of intelligence beyond policy and demographics, and the only one who didn't turn into a sniveling twerp in front of him. While he certainly thought that these puny specimens should do no less than grovel before him, it didn't change the fact that it got a bit redundant and tedious after a while. It annoyed him that she would serve any purpose for him other than a hostage, and prompted him to continue avoiding her. The prospect of returning her to the Doctor with a broken mind that he'd be bound to for eternity did have its own appeal, however, so he watched her occasionally in her isolated little cell. As weeks wore on, she started pacing more, and muttering to herself. He'd thought that madness was setting in, and had been almost gleeful. But then he'd heard what she was saying. Endless number sequences, elements, anatomical parts, Shakespeare, strange little haikus…she was doing anything she could think of to keep her mind occupied, to keep herself from the exact madness he was trying to inflict on her…and she was good at it. He did see some signs that the seclusion was affecting her—the panic attacks, the insomnia, the lack of appetite, the rage she occasionally displayed by punching the walls, the nightmares—but as weeks turned into months, he grew ever more confused that she was able to keep a thought in her head at all.
When the Doctor landed, he finally went to see her. The other Time Lord wouldn't be able to detect him, the perception filter being firmly in place; likewise, so long as he kept them separated, that version of the Doctor wouldn't recognize the bond with the imprisoned version of Rose. But this date had to be the one she had referred to.
He'd gone to the prison and had her summoned, letting her sit for several minutes before finally entering the interrogation room. This time she looked up at him immediately. He barely kept himself from showing his shock at the change in her. The video hadn't covered it completely. She was thinner by far, with dark circles around her eyes. Her hair, far longer, was clean, but hung in tangles down her back. Her eyes, though, were still the same. Still looking at him with more intelligence than she should have, and deeper than should have been possible.
"What happens at Canary Wharf?" he asked once he'd collected himself again.
"Cybermen coming through the Rift," she answered immediately, in an odd, clipped tone. "Pressing their way into this world. Like tracing paper, the Doctor said. Daleks in the Void ship. Cult of Skaro, with a Time Lord prison ship."
He narrowed his eyes at her. She was still sane. But…odd. Not quite used to conversation anymore…or simply didn't care enough to stick to conventions. Interesting, either way.
"What does that have to do with you?" he asked.
"Nothing," she said with a shrug. "Safe in my little cell. But—the Doctor will open the Rift in reverse, pulling them all in, sending them back to hell. I'm covered in Void stuff. It'll pull at me, too, try to suck me in."
He snorted. "I should just throw you in. Less hassle for me."
"You could do that," she said, nodding. "Yeah, you could. It would break his hearts. Except…then what've you got? Do you want him broken that quickly? If you keep me alive, you've still got an ace in the hole, yeah?"
He narrowed his eyes at her. "You're scared."
"Terrified," she said honestly.
"Your cell is reinforced," he said after a moment. "Not a good chance that you'd be sucked out."
"A chance you want to take?" she asked. "Cause I don't."
He was almost completely sure that she wouldn't be in any danger. But he didn't want to deal with the complaints from the guards of her screaming herself hoarse in fear if she was flattened against the wall. They had already said something about the nights. And, strangely, he found little joy in her fear, at least not if it didn't have to do with him. He sighed.
"Will you be safe in the TARDIS?" he asked, and she immediately nodded vigorously. "Fine," he said, standing and calling for a guard. "But this is not because I care about a single atom of your person other than your value as the Doctor's wife. And if you try to escape, that won't save you—I will kill you without any hesitation. Is that clear?"
"Crystal," she said.
He used the psychic paper he'd found in one of the rooms of the TARDIS to give him permission to take the prisoner out for a few a hours, and drove her back to the TARDIS in its own secluded warehouse.
"What've you done to her?" she asked, looking around the console room as they entered the ship and he took the hood off her head.
"Upgrades," he said curtly, noting that her conversation was getting better.
"She doesn't like it," she said.
"Not really my problem," he said, taking a seat on the jump seat. She remained standing, pacing around the console room. Probably something about having space again.
"Are you just going to sit here?" she asked.
"Did you really think I was going to leave you alone with a psychic spaceship?" he asked.
"Suppose not," she said.
They were both quiet for a while after that. She seemed content to wander around the console room, not even trying to make a run for it down the halls. Smart. No point in risking her life now that he'd been kind enough to spare it. They both looked towards the door when they heard the unmistakable boom boom boom of the Cyberman footfalls, but the TARDIS would hide any signs of life within, and they were the only ones in the warehouse, so the noise faded quickly.
If only all noises did.
Badada dum badada dum badada dum
He rubbed his fingers over his temples, closing his eyes and trying to block out the infernal noise in his head, knowing it was useless.
"The drums?" she asked.
"Yes." He opened his eyes again to see her studying him. "What?"
"You seem less crazy than usual," she said. "Well, apart from the death threat if I try to escape."
"Thanks," he said sarcastically. Truth was, in the fifteen months they'd been here, he'd felt more in control when he was around her. Probably because he had control over her life. Possibly because he could feel the bond she had with the Doctor, and even that vicarious association took away from the emptiness that had added to the drumming in his head. Least likely was the fact that she had some influence over him. But the very idea of that irritated him, and he narrowed his eyes at her, wondering how best to put her in her place.
"Would you have bonded with Lucy if you could?" she asked randomly.
"Of course not," he scoffed. "She's serving a purpose, just like you."
"It bothers you that you can't get into my mind, doesn't it?" she asked.
"Yes," he said. "Now I suggest you shut up, or I might be tempted to try again, if only to hear you scream."
She made a derisive noise and turned away, only to turn back immediately. "How are you gonna do it, though? Even if you win the vote, that's only gonna give you power in Great Britain. There's gotta be more to it than that."
"Oh, I'll win the vote," he replied smoothly. He wasn't going to be sucked into a monologue with her. When the Doctor did make it back, he'd ask her for information first, and the Master didn't want any of his plans revealed earlier than necessary. "As for the rest…don't want to spoil the surprise, do we?"
She was quiet again for a few minutes, and he closed his eyes again, leaning back against the jump seat.
"You know what really drives me mad about you?" she asked suddenly.
"I cannot begin to express how much I don't care," he said wearily, not opening his eyes.
"Tough," she said, and he sighed and lifting his head to look at her. She was leaning on the railing across the room, studying him. "It's just that through all the bruises, and stitches, and broken bones…through all the threats and belittling and insults and vindictive isolation…I know, I know who you used to be, at least to the Doctor. And I know that what the Time Lords did to you was completely unfair. And I know that if they hadn't been such arrogant, myopic arseholes, you and the Doctor, you'd be so much…healthier."
He stared at the console, not entirely sure how to respond to this. Part of him wanted to hit her for once again assuming to know anything about him, but a part of him, some small, scarred part of him, was cheering at hearing this from someone else.
"They were what they were," he said finally.
"He told me once about how you two used to run away from the Academy together," she said quietly. "Back before…everything."
"We used to run through the fields," he said, a little absently, his eyes on the console but his mind on Gallifrey. "The grass would reach up to our waist, and we'd laugh to cover our terror. Hard to really hide from anyone in a society made of telepaths, but that never stopped us from trying. We once climbed a tree only to have it aged by the master who came to find us, the whole thing crumbling to ash underneath us. And we still kept running."
He'd yelled, the master…screamed at them when they'd jumped and taken off again, and they'd just laughed. They'd both had a beating for that, and had to put in extra hours doing galaxy supervision, but it had been worth it.
Badada dum badada dum badada dum
The drums once again came in full force, shattering the memory, and he looked up at her in rage.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" he thundered, striding toward her as she backed up hurriedly. "Those boys? Those boys are dead. Dust. Ground down by years and buried with their stupid, naïve delusions of grandeur. How dare you talk about the dead as if you have some sort of right, as if you had any comprehension of them? You were centuries from even being a thought, from even having traceable ancestors." He gripped her shoulders and threw her hard against one of the coral struts, following closely to loom over her. "You think you're something because some mutation made you live a little longer, because the Doctor seems to think you're more than you are, but don't believe it. You're a speck of dust to a Time Lord. And just as worthy of attention."
He hit her with the back of his hand, his ring once again marring the flesh of her cheek as the blow spun her to the floor.
"And what's more, Rose…I think you know it," he said softly, squatting next her. "You know you're nothing. And you know that's why he hasn't come for you. Why he won't come for you. Bond or no bond, you're nothing more than a mutant, a freak of nature. And he's figured it out. He's going to let you die here, because he can't face spending forever with an abomination."
She screamed and threw herself at him, landing blows wherever she could, and he felt her nails drag over his cheek before he picked her up and threw her at the console. She landed on her shoulder, and he heard the pop as it was dislocated before she fell to the floor. He rolled his eyes and approached her, one hand on her arm and the other on her shoulder.
"Get away from me!" she screamed, but he ignored her words and the scream she let out as he popped her shoulder back into place. He let go of her then, and she dropped to the ground gasping and sobbing.
"Pathetic," he spat. He used what was left of the ship's computers to set up an alert for when the crisis was over, and sat back down on the jump seat to wait, the drums in his head drowning out the sobs of the girl breaking apart on the grating.
oOoOo
Seventeen Months on Earth.
Rose stared at her cuffed wrists as she sat at the stainless steel table in the interrogation room. The Master had visited her intermittently after Canary Wharf, and occasionally turned on her TV for some press conference or other, but he'd changed again. The manic cheerfulness was back. For a while, he'd started to lose that when he was around her. For all the violence, for all the insanity, he'd at least seemed more honest. Something about that moment in the TARDIS had destroyed that, though. Now he was back to the happy lunatic he'd been when they first landed, and seemed to delight in the fact that moment had destroyed something in her as well, taking away her most of her strength and will. Despite the bonds she still felt weakly in her mind, she was beginning to feel like her entire life had been a dream. And despite the happier memories she tried to cling to, for once, she was losing faith in the Doctor. She knew that words the Master had spoken had been a precision attack on her psyche, and knew from experience that the Doctor had never and would never see her as an abomination, but that didn't change the fact that he still wasn't here, and she was still alone, and she was losing the fight for her own sanity.
The night before she'd had a nightmare. The Doctor and the Master meeting up after her death over drinks, laughing at her and her infallible belief that the Doctor would come for her. She'd woken up choking on resentment and anger at her husband that nearly bordered on hate. Regardless of his reasons, he'd left her to fend for herself against a known psychopath for nearly a year and a half. Logical thoughts like the fact that he didn't have a TARDIS and Jack's vortex manipulator was burnt out fought against it weakly, as did the last memory she had of him, when he'd kissed her and told her he'd be back before she knew it. The Master had said the Doctor had begged him to release her. He wouldn't just leave her. He couldn't.
Could he?
"Hello hello," the Master's chipper voice called as he sauntered in, and she looked up at him. "How's my favorite political prisoner today?"
"Peachy," she said. "How's my favorite psychopath?"
"Aw, am I really your favorite?" he asked, holding a hand over his chest. "I'm touched, really. I mean, you've met so many. And then there's always your husband."
She winced at the mention of the Doctor, and hated herself for it as his grin widened. "He's not a psychopath," she mumbled, automatically defending him.
"No, I'm sorry, just a mass murderer, traitor, and a coward," he said. "Oh…and really, really terrible at keeping promises. Guess we're both victims of that one now. Otherwise, all around nice guy."
"What do you want?" she asked wearily.
"Oh, just to tell you the exciting news!" he said. "I'm up in the polls…practically a dead lock for next month!"
"And?"
"Aren't you going to congratulate me?" he asked, but she only shrugged. "You're such a bore now," he said with a sigh, leaning back in his chair.
"Yeah, sorry for that," she snorted.
"I'll say this, Rose," he continued, eyeing her. "Brokenness isn't a good look on you. You're looking a little…limp, listless." She looked down, staring at the cuffs again. "Ah, well. It was fun while it lasted. I guess it was a little far-fetched to believe that spirit of yours might last a while longer. But no matter."
He got up to leave as she kept her eyes lowered, hating herself for losing it, hating him for breaking her, hating the Doctor for allowing it to happen.
Then a thought suddenly clicked in her head, and she looked up at him. "Why am I still here?"
"Why wouldn't you be?" he asked, looking confused.
"You were only keeping me alive until the Doctor came," she said slowly. "So you could use me against him. I'm nothing to you…except for my connection to him. Why am I still here?"
"Because I like to smash pretty things," he said with a shrug. "It's fun to watch you shatter."
"But I'm not," she said, sitting up straighter, her voice stronger, and he narrowed his eyes at her. "Shattered, I mean. Because just wanting to smash pretty things would have ended up with me dead in the TARDIS two months ago. No…you have a reason to keep me alive."
"He's not coming for you, Rose," the Master said, watching her carefully.
"Yes, he is," she said. "He will always come for me. And what's more, you know he's coming. I dunno what you've done to stop him, or confuse him, or throw him off your scent, but I promise you, he's coming. And he's going to stop you. Because him and me, we'd rip apart the universe for each other. And you? You're nothing. A speck of dust."
She smirked at the look of rage in his eyes, knowing that she'd hit her mark, that she still had some fight left in her. Then he hit her, and everything went black.
