A/N: I decided to do a little interlude chapter between The Sound of Drums and Last of the Time Lords to see exactly what was going on in the Valiant while Martha was on Earth and to see a few things that were hinted to in the last chapter when the Master finally captured the Doctor, Rhea and Jack.
Fair warning, a lot of shit happens in this chapter and it's not for the faint-hearted, so consider the warnings below carefully and please take them literally, because I'm not kidding.
Warnings: Violence, Torture, Language, Character Death, Attempted Sexual Assault, Canonical Domestic Abuse, Discussion of Infant Death.
The Dread of Tomorrow and Yesterday
Chapter 75
A Most Violent Year
There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold
And she's buying a stairway to heaven.
When she gets there she knows, if the stores are all closed
With a word she can get what she came for.
Ooh, ooh, and she's buying a stairway to heaven.
Pain.
She knew there was a word to adequately describe the plethora of feelings coursing through her at that moment. But they all clotted together and aligned into one singular word that echoed right through her.
Pain.
Not that she felt it, of course.
It was all murky now.
And the lyrics she had been mouthing since the moment they had shoved her into the hatch in the floor currently beside her had wound up inside her so tightly that she wasn't letting herself feel anything but those words, on repeat, in her head, for what she realised had been seven million, seven-hundred-and-seventy-six thousand seconds.
Like she didn't have iron bands wrapped around her wrists, shackled with chains pinning to the floor, dressed in crude bondage gear that, in her full mind, she would have balked at for its inaccuracy. At least it was leather, she thought with amusement. Two wide strips of leather wrapped around her breasts and pelvis – to protect my modesty, she snickered – was adequate in the eyes of a man who called, ironically, himself 'the Master'.
Baby, you need a new name. Or a BDSM for Time-Travelling, Alien Dummies book as a birthday present.
Blood clung to her face from a jagged cut across her the corner of her forehead, clotted and dark brown and infected. She licked her cracked, split, blood-stained lips and took a deep breath, gritting her teeth as her broken ribs rattled in protest in her chest. She took a quick assessment of her injuries, ignoring her the way her head pounded with every slight gesture or thought she made.
Various cuts and wounds on forehead, arms, legs, stomach. Reaching infection. Lashes on back: still bleeding, but not yet infected. Needs to be dressed. Split lip. Healing. Cracked cheekbone. Might need surgery. Black eye. Should fade. Dislocated shoulder. Needs to be popped back. Burns on wrists. Needs to be dressed. Broken finger. Requires a splint. Broken ribs. I need to wrap them up. Possible internal bleeding. Might need surgery. Dislocated kneecap. Brace. Sprained ankle. Crutches or a brace.
All in all, she was a fucking disaster. But she was still alive, and it wasn't the worst the Master had done to her over the past year. The only reason that she had survived was because of the TARDIS medbay's intervention when her injuries become too serious (the Master had significant interest in seeing her live through this).
It hurt to breathe and her ribcage contracting as air poured into her lung only made her want to throw up from the sharp, shooting pain sent careening into her nerves.
It had been a year since she had been shoved into this room and locked up. She eyed the metal grill on the floor beside her, the latch mocking her. When the world had first gone to hell, the Master had her shoved in a hole with bare food and water at appropriate times of the day, her only company the song and the knowledge that she was slowly going insane. But she would not give the Master the satisfaction of screaming or clawing at the walls, even though every day that passed in that Godforsaken darkness made her want to reach in and rip her own heart out if it could end it.
In the months she had put up with his brand of torture, she hadn't screamed – it was a pride thing to her. Not when they had yanked her out after three months and chained her to the floor like she was a rabid dog that they didn't want to put down just yet because they were having way too much fun beating the shit out of it. Not when the Master's men had broken out the fun toys and cracked their fists into her over and over again until her entire body was one giant welt. Not when the Master came in and taunted her with the different ways he killed Jack every day, or the scorch marks that graced the Jones' women's wrists when they pissed him off just a bit too much, or how he lost his temper and cracked the Doctor's feeble, old skull against the table for not rising to the bait every time he opened his mouth about whatever the newest wound that Rhea's body now hosted.
The door slid open and Rhea raised her head, staring with hooded eyes at the presence in the room. Her hair hung around her in clumps, matted with dirt and filth.
"Come on in," Her voice sounded like razor-blades scraping over wood. "It's a party."
The Master clucked his tongue. "The sarcasm is getting a bit dry, don't you think?"
Rhea felt her lips crack and bleed as they stretched into a smile. "Anything else from me would mean that you have more of an effect on me than you actually do. I'd never want to give you that satisfaction."
The Master's jaw tensed. "You're boring me, Rhea. Can you guess what happens to people who bore me?" He cooed, reaching out to brush her hair away from her face, his thumb grazing her cheekbone with extraordinary gentleness.
"Let me guess," Rhea's throat ached with the effort of talking. "They die."
The Master shrugged, a happy grin on his face. "Well, yes," His fingers moved from her cheek to curl around her jaw, tightening. A light danced in his eyes when he saw the way her eyes crinkled with pain and annoyance when the bones in her sore face ground together, insistent upon his grip. "But, you've always been my special case." He leaned in, his mouth almost touching hers. "You won't die. Not just yet, at least. Not until I can be sure that your death won't unravel everything that's already happened." He licked his lips. "Only because I don't exactly fancy the idea of being wiped by existence now that I've finally won."
Rhea straightened in her chains, her bare feet scraping against the cement. She tipped her head up, freeing herself from his grip, and the chains clinked against her skin, the metal around her wrists and ankles rubbing raw.
She cocked her head, all emotion leaving her face. "Are you done yet? Because I've got some self-introspection that I'd like to get back to, if you'd just stop talking." She hummed. "And I've heard this whole victory speech over and over again, Harry." She stressed, watching the angry colour bloom on the Master's face. "Repetition is not your friend, believe me. All those words lose meaning sooner or later."
"Don't call me that," The Master teeth gritted together.
Rhea chuckled. "Don't expect me to call you Master, sweetie." She bit out.
The Master's lips curved. "We'll see, won't we, dear, sweet Rhea?" He said, mockingly.
"I may have an underlying predisposition towards BDSM and sadomasochism, but I'm very selective when it comes to my partners. And I'm sorry, babe, but you don't exactly make the cut. There's just not enough… danger… in you that would make me bend over."
Rage seared in the Master's eyes and he stormed forwards, his calm, teasing façade slipping to show the insanity that lurked beneath his skin. His hands reached out like claws, but Rhea stood her ground, her muscles tensing in anticipation. His fingers wrapped around her throat and squeezed, his grip tightening and his nails digging into her soft skin as Rhea fought for breath. Her skin went hot and her eyes went wide and unfocused, her lungs burning up as small, retching gasps broke from her throat. Suddenly, the talons around her throat pulled away and Rhea coughed, swallowing down pained, hoarse gasps, anything that would make the Master think he had won by his unrestrained show of anger.
Once he stepped away from her, a cackle rose in her, hoarse and wrecked, and she laughed, a grin widening on her face when she saw his face contort in fury that he still hadn't been able to get a rise out of her, let alone break her.
"I love provoking you," She rasped, choking on the air that she gulped down. "If you're going to torture me some more, get on with it before I fall asleep and miss everything." She said, dryly.
The Master scowled. "Rhea. My dear, sweet Rhea." His voice slid back into its easy charisma. "You'll break soon. I have plenty of tricks I haven't tried out on you yet."
With that, he turned on his feet and walked out of the door, the harsh, steel airlock doors slamming closed behind him, leaving Rhea to tip her head back and gaze at the obscure ceiling.
And as we wind on down the road
Our shadows taller than our soul.
There walks a lady we all know
Who shines white light and wants to show
How everything still turns to gold.
And if you listen very hard
The tune will come to you at last.
When all are one and one is all
To be a rock and not to roll.
And she's buying a stairway to heaven.
She smiled.
Rhea was jarred from her song when the door swung open again.
My, my, aren't I the popular one today? She thought, dryly.
A blonde woman lingered in the doorway.
Rhea grimaced, vaguely remembering the girl from when everything fell apart around her. Saxon's wife. This should be good.
"Hello, Lucy. It's Lucy, yeah?" Rhea said, as gently as she possibly could to the meek blonde who had stumbled into her cell.
"Oh, yes, it is. Hello," Lucy said, tentatively, her steps careful, almost hesitant in the room. She looked around with barely-concealed horror, taking in the hatch in the floor and the chains that bound Rhea to the ground with disgust. Finally, her pale blue eyes landed back on the prisoner. "It's Rhea, isn't it?" She asked, uncertainly.
Rhea nodded, ignoring the ache in her jaw and cheekbone and the sting of her split lip, not to mention all of the other cuts and bruises that burned the moment she shifted her head, the chains scraping against her wrists until they were raw and bleeding.
A dark chuckle rose in her throat.
"You know, in times like this, I'd show you all of my bruises and broken bones and the cuts all over my body and tell you this is the kind of man your husband is, but judging by the shiner on your face, something tells me you already know what he's capable of," Rhea said, lightly, her eyes glinting.
Lucy bit her lip and stepped away from her, pressing herself against the wall. "I know what you're thinking." She smiled, hesitantly. "That he's one of those wife abusers that they warn us about, but he's not. He just gets angry. Usually at the Doctor or you." She shrugged. "Not that I'm blaming you." She said, quickly, her face falling. "But he really is quite obsessed with you and your… partner. Both of you seem to set him off."
And suddenly, that's an excuse?
Rhea shook her head. "If it makes you feel better to think of it like that, go ahead. But a word of advice from someone who's been knocked around by her husband before, in much worse ways that Saxon's capable of, and an expert on covering up bruises like that beauty around your eye, the next time you look in the mirror and you desperately want to believe your husband's a good guy, there's something you should probably learn… like the back of your hand. Primer, tint to balance the colour, concealer, foundation, set with powder."
Rhea knew the drill like the back of her hand, bitterness sliding into her veins like a familiar poison.
Lucy swallowed hard, a question trembling on the edge of her mouth, choosing to ignore the implication that Rhea had brought to the table before the shackled woman could twist her into saying something that Harry would most certainly not like.
"I would like to know why he's so obsessed with you, though," She said, sharply, the green tinge of jealousy coming out in her words.
"Worried that he and I used to be a thing?" Rhea mocked, her lip curling with disgust at the mere words. She smiled, coldly, her face turning to stone. "It's because I don't break, honey. And men like that, like him…? They get a real kick out of women who don't break. It makes them work for it. It takes up all that empty space in their minds until they start wondering how they ever lived without us. It makes them want to do everything and anything to make us break. It's fucking orgasmic for them." She purred.
She took careful steps forward, mindful of her kneecap and ankle being jarred in their tentative condition, until the chains tightening around her wrists, warningly, preventing her from going further. She watched with an unfathomable gaze as Lucy backed away from her with fear on her face, something akin to glee in the green of her eyes.
"Look, I'm not going to hurt you," She said, soothingly. But the gentle tenor of her voice was suddenly broken by her teeth, bared in a snarl that sent Lucy scurrying back against the wall. "At least, not when I'm like this. You see, I like to enjoy myself with women like you." She hissed, violence thrumming underneath her skin.
It was the only thing keeping Rhea alive at the moment, the comforting push and pull of the promise of vengeance swirling inside her. It was no wild rage that she would savour, but a bridled, methodical wrath that she would relish and take out on her captors.
Lucy straightened, her shoulder squaring as she stepped forward, slightly, the heels on her feet lightly twisting on the uneven floor before she righted herself. "Women like me?" She asked, mock confidence colouring her voice, although her eyes still flashed with a deep fear of the woman who looked like war even while she was so beaten down.
"While I don't necessarily believe in the tired old cliché, there is a special kind of hell for women who don't stick up for other women. And you just took the President spot in that club," Rhea snarled. "So, if you were coming here to find some sort of kinship with me because your husband beats us both black and blue, while those poor women slog around as your fucking slaves, get the fuck lost." She said, coldly, her eyes wild with fury.
Lucy stumbled back and almost leapt out of the room, stunned by the force of Rhea's vitriol, when she was suddenly stilled by Rhea's voice.
"I'm not trying to be a bitch," Rhea said, coldly. "But you are, technically, my enemy. You're the wife of the bastard who's spent the better part of a year torturing me every chance he gets. But you want another piece of advice from someone who's been exactly where you are? Kill him before he kills whatever is left of you." Her voice was dark with intent.
She leaned back, the chains clinking around her wrist, looking pleased beyond belief.
"Now, you can leave."
Rhea raised an eyebrow. "Did it ever occur to you that I may want to be left alone?" She asked, dryly.
The Master shrugged. "But torturing you is so much fun." He whined. He straightened. "Guards." He called out. "Bring him in."
Rhea tensed. This should be good.
Two armed guards, decked in dark, non-descript military uniforms, strode through the room, nonplussed that they were carrying a grime-smeared sagging body between them. Rhea ran her tongue over her lower mouth, chewing on it thoughtfully, as her eyes scanned over Jack's weak form. She could see the remnants of the wounds littered across his body, dirt clinging to all the holes in his shirt and pants, presumably from gun shots. There was a certain redness to his neck, as if he had been hung or even an attempt to have his throat slit – which she definitely didn't put past the Master. Blood still stained his clothes, but injury accompanied it, his skin and flesh and bone whole. But his tired eyes, as he looked up into hers, told Rhea that her friend had been through the ringer over and over again.
"Do you like my surprise, Rhea?" The Master, joy leaping into his eyes.
"I was hoping for some fries, to be honest," Rhea said, wryly.
The Master rolled his eyes. "That darling wit of yours will fail today, dear, sweet Rhea. I'll make sure of it." He turned to his guards. "Hold him up." He ordered.
The guards tightened their grips around Jack and yanked him up, Jack's legs trembling as they desperately tried to find purchase on the ground.
"This isn't going to work," Rhea shook her head, a smile growing on her face. She pulled on the chains. "You think that just because you drag someone in here and hurt them and that'll make me break?" She chuckled. "You can't be that stupid."
The Master clucked his tongue. "Come now, Rhea. He's not just someone now, is he?" His eyes twinkled.
Rhea raised an eyebrow. "It won't work." She said, lightly, not offering anything else.
The Master's smile grew. "We'll see."
He stepped back and allowed her a full, unadulterated view.
"Kill him," The Master ordered.
The guards released Jack, who fell to the floor in a heap, too weak to stand on his own, and stepped away, pulling guns from their holsters and aiming them at Jack, who didn't even have the strength to look up into the barrels. Rhea's muscles tightened, and she twisted her wrists, wrapping the chains in a single loop around her wrists and pulling them taut.
Two identical shots rang through the room.
Something in her twisted when she watched him seize on the ground, choke on his own blood, pooling in his throat, and then fall completely still. Her teeth ground down and she forced herself to watch until his eyes snapped open again, the breath rushing out of him and her quickly.
Jack turned weary eyes onto her and her eyes widened, a message passing between them, before a light groan escaped him and he curled into himself on the ground.
The Master walked forward until he was right in front of her. He reached up and gripped her jaw with one, tight hand, nails digging painfully into her cheek. He pushed her head back and stepped into her until he was staring deep into her eyes. His grey-brown seared into her green, searching for something that he just couldn't find, much to Rhea's glee.
"Well," He sighed, long-sufferingly, moving back. "That was disappointing."
Rhea shrugged. "Told you." She said, pointedly.
The Master's lips twisted. "I guess I'll have to try harder." He turned around, crouching beside Jack and placing a hand on his shoulder, shaking it lightly. "Wakey, wakey, Jack Sprat."
Jack's eyes opened, and he stared at the Master with undisguised hatred, sheer loathing darkening his face.
The Master chuckled. "Come on, Jack. It was good. You have to admit it." He jumped to his feet. "Well, I think your cooperation deserves a reward. I'll let you two have some alone time." He waggled his eyebrows. "Now, Jack, don't do anything that I'd have to kill you for. I know she looks absolutely decadent in those chains, but unfortunately, if the guards can't touch Rhea, neither can you. Well, toodles. The guards'll be back in twenty minutes to collect their cargo again." He grinned, gesturing to Jack.
He batted his fingers at them in a mocking wave before he and the two guards left the room, slamming the door shut behind them.
Jack groaned, pulling himself to a haphazard heap on his knees, finally being able to look Rhea in the eye. "Well, he's a bundle of joy, isn't he?" He asked, dryly.
Rhea snorted. "You don't know the half of it." She grimaced.
Jack's mouth tightened, and a shadow covered his face. "What did he do to you, Rhea? None of us have seen you in months. All His Royal Asshole does is make some stupid comment about how you're being tortured and waits for some reaction from the Doctor."
Rhea shook her head. "The Doctor won't give him a reaction." She said, firmly.
"Well, he should," Jack grumbled.
"A reaction would only be giving the Master what he wants," Rhea said, gently. Her face grew cold. "And I'll be damned before I give that son of a bitch anything except my fist in his face and my knife in his throat." She said, darkly.
Jack ran his eyes over the cuts and bruises that littered her skin, taking in the way she tensed or the flash of pain in her eyes – gone as quick as it was there – whenever she moved in a certain way, betraying injuries that were hidden deep beneath skin and flesh.
If he got his hand on the Master, he'd – no, if he let himself think like that, be consumed by the rage that was thrumming just below his skin, he'd be no good to anyone when the time came to escape.
"What did he do to you, Rhea?" He asked, quietly.
Rhea ran her tongue over her lower lip, ignoring the smarting from the small slice off to one corner.
"See that hatch over there," She gestured with her head. "It's a hole. Four walls. All cement. And grating that closes over you." She tilted her gaze up, towards the ceiling. "He kept me down there for three months. The guards opened the hatch two or three times a day to give me food. That was the only time I saw light. And sometimes, if he was feeling particularly angry – or maybe even horny, now that I think about it – 'cause he looks like the kind of guy who'd get off on shit like this – he'd get his guards to pull me out and beat on me for a little while." She paused. "I think he's waiting for me to snap." She mused.
"And will you?" Jack asked, hesitantly.
Rhea pursed her lips. "Better men have tried and failed to conquer me, Jack. I've taken worse than a couple of beatings and I've never broken." She said, grimly. "I won't let the Master win."
Jack shook his head. "That doesn't mean you're okay, Rhea." He said, earnestly.
Her eyes went sharp. "I'm alive. That's all you need to know." She said, coldly, her voice terse. She paused, silence ringing through air. "You know, speaking of being alive, I heard your conversation with the Doctor at that stupid, freaking silo." She muttered the end of that sentence with self-admonishment.
Jack slid to his feet, groaning in both pain and disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me." He grumbled. "What part of 'you're not supposed to hear that' didn't you understand?" He asked, incredulously.
Rhea gave him a scathing look. "Oh, please, honey. I rarely do what people tell me to do. It's my gift." She said, loftily.
"You know I can't tell you anything right," Jack said, pointedly.
"Come on, give a girl in pain a break," Rhea batted her eyelashes, ignoring the way her eye throbbed in protest at the movement. She winced, finally, her ribs scraping against her lungs, painfully, almost to the point of piercing soft, tender tissue and filling her lungs with blood. "Fuck," She swore. "That hurts like a motherfucker."
As if it were psychological in nature – a sudden onset of split personality disorder, as Rhea would intone in different circumstances – solemnity returned to her in a flash and she straightened, her eyes sober and her lips set in a hard line.
"Do you still want to die, Jack?" She asked, quietly. "I know the Doctor asked you that question and you said 'no', but I was wondering if your answer had changed since then… what with the… change in circumstances." She said, awkwardly.
"Do you?" Jack challenged. Rhea raised an eyebrow. Jack shook his head. "I was in charge of Torchwood, beautiful. I did my research on you. I know what happened. Do you want to die?"
Rhea ducked her head down, fingering the metal bands that circled her wrists, momentarily, before lifting her head.
"I did, once upon a time," She said, honestly, licking her dry, cracked, bleeding lip. "It was right after I got out of the hospital and I had this bottle of painkillers – I think it was morphine or oxycodone – and I was holding them in my hand and I was thinking… I could end it now. It would feel like nothing, but it would probably be the most merciful thing done to me since Dad died. So, yes, I did. I really did." She confessed.
"And now?" Jack was almost afraid to ask.
Rhea shrugged, as nonchalant as she possibly could be being chained to the floor. "I'm better. I'm not saying I'm perfect. I'm not saying that I'll ever become perfect. But, I'm better. My priorities are clearer now. I know what I'm living for." She looked at Jack, seeing the wariness in his eyes. "I'm better, Jack." She affirmed, gently. "That's all I can say. Don't ask me for more."
Her stomach turned, and she resisted to urge to fall to her knees and wretch, pathetically.
Sorry, Gorgeous, I'm not going to be of much use to you just yet, she thought, morosely, feeling the TARDIS' discomfort echo through her once again. Especially not today.
Her hands twisted in her hair and she pulled, hoping that the pain from strands of hair being pulled from the roots would be enough to distract from the churning in her stomach. But, despite the nausea that was currently circling through her, all she could focus on was the tightness in her throat and chest, the grief welling up inside her, ready for the moment to burst. She bounced on her feet, restlessness eating up at her.
Tiny hands reached out to her, wrapping around her finger and gripping tight. Two sets of identical green eyes stared up at her in wonder, and curling into her, as if she were the only one who could keep them safe from all the evil in the world.
She suddenly had an idea.
She swung her chains hard against the floor, smiling once the metal clanged against the cement, the sound echoing through the air. She was sure that whoever was stationed outside to guard her would hear. She twisted the chains around her wrists, using the leverage to bang the chains even more fervently against the ground.
"Hey, you spineless scuzzballs, I know you can hear me! Tell that time-traveling, apocalypse-causing, innocent-human-torturing, grade-A-nutcase alien bastard to get his ass in here before I do something that I don't even know yet!"
"Shut up in there!"
"Fine, but the next thing I plan on doing is wrapping these chains around my neck and squeezing and squeezing. I wonder what your boss would have to say about that. Last chance, get him down here!"
"Fine! Just… don't do anything stupid. We'll get Mr Saxon down here."
Rhea snorted. "Mr Saxon, really? You aren't still buying that whole charming Prime Minister routine, are you? The guy destroyed the fucking planet. He's a regular Emperor Palpatine. Everyone knows the kind of guy he really is now. Don't pretend like he's the messiah sent to save humanity."
"I'm hurt, Rhea," The Master hummed, striding into the cell, a hand pressed against his heart, his face contorted with mock-hurt. "And here I thought we were becoming BFFs."
Rhea paused. She cocked her head. "Do you actually know what 'BFF' means?" She asked, incredulously. "Just when I thought you couldn't be lamer." She shook her head. "I mean, I grew up and went to high school in 21st century San Francisco, so I have a pretty good excuse. But you? That's just embarrassing. Your street cred just dropped into negative values."
Her voice was slightly hoarse, raw from screaming at the guards outside her dungeon, but it spoke with dry amusement and veiled grief.
The Master crouched down in front of Rhea, far enough that she wouldn't have any advantage over him. He fingered the gouges in the cement floor that Rhea had so ardently made with the swinging of her chains.
He clucked his tongue.
"Honestly, Rhea, do you have to make such a scene? I understand that you may be having withdrawals by not being constantly in my presence, but there's no need to be so rude," He said, disapprovingly.
"Oh, well, you know me. I can be determined when I want something," Rhea shrugged.
The Master's eyes lit up with excitement and he slid to his feet, stepping into her personal space. "And what might that 'something' be?" He asked, curiously.
"I want to see the Doctor," Rhea said, impassively.
The Master exhaled in disappointment and rolled his eyes. "I thought you were smarter than that, Rhea. You know I can't do that."
Rhea smiled and shook her head, a sudden viciousness entering into her eyes.
Oh, what the hell. This may actually be worth the thrashing.
"You know," She began. "I've been spending all of this time, wracking my brain to figure out what the hell is wrong with you," She admitted. "Call it psychologist's curiosity. But from what I can tell, you have one hell of an inferiority complex. When you were growing up, you probably only had the Doctor as your friend, and he's fucking amazing, and you're… ordinary… when compared to him." She smiled when she saw the anger brim on the Master's face.
But then he smiled, all traces of rage seemingly wiped from his skin – it was a dark, sly smile that made her wonder if she had actually manage to touch a nerve in the whole Time Lord, nothing-that-you-worthless-primates-think-will-get-to me-will-actually-get-to-me act the Master had been performing since he had first revealed himself to the cameras.
She wondered if he now intended to give as much hell as she had dished out. She looked forward to finding out.
Don't worry, I've got way more where that came from, baby.
The Master regarded her carefully. "You know, after I got sworn into office, the first thing I did was see what kind of information I could find out about you," He began, slowly. "I thought, at last, I've finally got the resources to dig deep into the mystery that is Sunehri Adwani. Of course, a lot of that was kept under lock and key. Mind you, what I did find stumped me. Ex-marine, black-ops-trained uncle was the only clue. But you disappeared for years after your stint in the hospital. Where did you go, Rhea?" He asked curiously, staring deep into her eyes, anticipating that his taunting would unravel a single seam that would reveal pieces in the puzzle had always been desperate to solve.
Rhea smiled, mysteriously. "Wouldn't you like to know?" She purred. "So, you feel inadequate." She went on, acting like he had never said a word to interrupt her. "You're always going to be in the shadow of your more brilliant friend and you can't stand it. But you hate to think about it. You hate feeling inferior to the Doctor, so you take it out on everyone else. That's why you're a textbook psychopath. You hate yourself for feeling inadequate, but you blame everyone else for your own shortcomings, and that's what you tell yourself to make it easier for you to be an all-around dick and absolute, Grade-A nutcase. Did I hit the nail on the head?" She asked, her voice mockingly warm, to the point of condescension.
"You're a smart girl, Rhea. You always have been. I'm glad to know you've always been that way, no matter how young you are," The Master hummed.
And then, his hand simply swung out and cracked across her cheek in a blow that sent her head tilting to the side with a harsh snap, her ears ringing. Her cheek caught one of her teeth during the strike, slicing deep into tissue and drawing blood that pooled in her mouth.
The blow didn't faze Rhea at all. She needed to bleed today. She needed to open herself up, skin and flesh and tissue, and hurt. Because if she didn't, everything would be worthless. She would be worthless. Today was her punishment. It was the one day she snapped and let everything spill to the ground.
She spat out the blood with disgust and bared blood-stained teeth at the Master.
"Real men don't hit women," She said, coldly. "Real men don't need to hit women. Real men don't need to hit people who can't fight back. You are a boy. A sad, pathetic little boy who was always in the shadow of his much greater, more brilliant best friend." She hissed with violence that glinted in her eyes with a deranged light. "And that is what you will always be. The universe will remember the Doctor as being the absolutely amazing man he was. But you? Everyone will only remember you as the slightly less amazing psychotic bastard that you are."
The Master leaned in, suddenly feeling a bone-crushing desperation winding around every inch of him. He couldn't break this woman in front of him. No matter what he said, no matter what he did, it didn't seem to affect her. It was as if she were made of iron and she were simply toying with him the entire time, wanting to see if she could drag him to his breaking point in the meantime, while she laughed at him for being stupid enough to think himself so important that he thought he would have the slightest effect on her whatsoever.
It made him furious.
"What do you want, Rhea?" He growled.
Rhea tipped her head up, her lips almost touching his, he could see the flecks of gold in her eyes and knew that there was something otherworldly working in her. In fact, if he squinted and reached out his senses, he could almost swear that the TARDIS was shadowing her as he spoke. He wanted her. He wanted her moaning underneath him while he fucked her. He wanted her to whine Koschei in his ear as she rode him desperately. He wanted her speared on his cock, clutching something for dear life. But her mouth was etched in disdain and spite.
He hated her for making her want her, like he was some animal desperate to dip his wick in something wet for some release – he was a Time Lord; he was above such things.
In any case, she had never wanted him.
He had never been good enough for her.
It had always been the Doctor, he thought, bitterly.
"I told you. I want to see the Doctor," She snarled back, eyes flashing with absolute hatred for the man in front of her. "Today is the day I need to see the Doctor. If you don't let me see him, I will make such a scene. I will kill everyone on this ship because today is not a day where you screw with my self-control. If it means going all Lizzie Borden on your ass and the ass of every single soldier on this ship, I'll do that too, if that's what it takes. I will bathe in their blood if you do not let me see the Doctor today."
If she couldn't bleed, then she'd make others bleed. There was a monster in her cage and it would be happy she was finally feeding it.
After all, she and her monster had such a good relationship.
When they dragged her into the control room hours later, she had to squint to bear the brightness that leaked through the windows. After spending months stuffed in a hole with only the darkness to accompany her, and later chained to the floor of a room that hadn't seen light since four walls closed around it upon construction, the gleam of the sun in the Valiant did nothing but burn her eyes in their sockets.
"Ugh, I feel like I have the worst hangover ever," Rhea groaned. "You mind rolling down the shades? It's like there's glass in my eyes." She paused. "Although considering the treatment and your fabulous resort, there might very well be." She said, dryly.
The Master rolled his eyes. "You told me you wanted to see the Doctor." He said, pointedly.
Rhea's head swung around to the large, conference table that was centre in the room. An old, withered man that vividly resembled the young, energetic, sometimes annoying Doctor that she held in her heart sat in a wheelchair at the front, his eyes raking over her with such intensity, as if he feared she would cease to exist in the next moment. Her teeth sank into her lower lip and she could read everything he wanted to say in his tired eyes: Are you hurt? Has he hurt you? Are you alright? We'll survive this. Everything will be fine. I promise.
His face, no matter how different he looked after the Master's little experiment, even after all these months, was like a balm to her scarred heart.
She swallowed hard, something thick lodging itself in her throat at the mere sight of him. She had the desperate urge to fling herself in his arms and have his arms wrap around her, but she forced herself to look away. Her eyes fell on the cloistered Jones' in the corner, their faces horrified at the injuries that tracked across her skin. Jack was surrounded by two armed guards a small distance away from him, superficially uninjured but his skin and hair and clothes were caked with dirt from whatever shack they were keeping him in. He winked at her and she couldn't help but smile, his playfulness soothing her, even though they both knew one of them could die any moment now.
"But," The Master drawled. "I didn't just bring you in here so you star-crossed lovers could have your little rendezvous in the stars." He smirked. "I actually have a surprise here that I think is going to make all the difference in the world, Rhea. I've been planning it for a while, but I wasn't sure when the perfect time would come. So, I waited. But, after your… dramatics… today, I decided that today was my Frabjous Day. It wasn't easy, but I figured out exactly what it'll take to snap that steel in your spine in half. Plus, I wanted to give everyone the chance to see the indomitable Sunehri Adwani shatter into a thousand pieces."
"Am I supposed to be impressed?" Rhea asked, dryly.
"Oh, you will be," The Master waggled his eyebrows. He turned to the guards who were standing in front of the door. "Bring her in." He ordered.
Rhea frowned.
The guards slipped from the room, disappearing for a few moments, before entering with a woman held between them.
"No," Rhea breathed.
The woman had long blonde hair that hung limply from her face and her feet dragged behind her, too weary to hold herself up. Her skin was pale and drawn, but her features were sharp and beautiful and green eyes were still striking as they met identical ones to hers across the room.
"Rhea?" She asked, weakly.
Her only reply was a broken sound coming from Rhea's throat.
"See, I told you I had the perfect surprise!" The Master said, cheerfully. "My last-ditch, do-or-die, eleventh-hour effort. I had my men collect her just before the Toclafane were released." He explained, proudly, as if it were the greatest plan he had ever come up with.
"Mama," Rhea whispered, surprising everyone in the room but the Doctor, who had already recognised the woman when the Master had brought her inside.
Rhea's voice was quiet and awed and terrified, much like a child.
The Master nodded at the guards, who stepped away from Seraphina, who sank to the ground in a heap with a groan. Rhea lunged forwards before she was knocked to the ground by the guards who had brought her from her prison cell. On her hands and knees, she looked up and met her mother's eyes, the same as hers, dark with confusion and worry, but her stare defiant in its entirety. Rhea felt pride flash right through her – her beautiful, unyielding mother who was as much capable of making the best vegetarian lasagne the world has ever seen, as taking a baseball bat and breaking a burglar's legs – which she had done once, although Rhea and her father had sworn never to mention it in their mother's presence ever again because she was still incredibly touchy about the event – could stare down a psychotic alien like the Master and not flinch no matter what he did to her.
Not that Rhea would let anything happen to her.
When the guards pulled their guns from their holsters and aimed, squarely, at her mother's forehead, she knew she had to act. She swore under her breath and she twisted to the side, knocking the legs of the guards, who were standing ominously at her side, out from underneath them.
Before she could slide to her feet and grab the men shadowing her mother, a familiar pulsation broke through her skin and she crumpled to the ground, her muscles tightening seizing uncontrollably. Her flesh went numb and hot and she grimaced, her hand curling against the floor, pathetically.
I keep forgetting the fucking taser, Rhea thought, dryly, as the aftershocks continued to burn her skin.
"Rhea, tesoro, are you alright?" Her mother's voice was panicked and worried in her ear, sounding as if she were very far away from her.
She looked up and saw the guards pull back the hammer with their thumbs and adrenaline surged through her, out of the corner of her eye seeing Jack fight his guards as well, his show of support only encouraging her. If Jack could fight for his friend's mother, who he had never met before, then she could fight for the only person in the world who accepted her for what she was. Who never tried to change her, who loved her beyond everything else in the world. Who threw away family and friends to love her father and bring Rhea into the world.
"No. NO!" She shouted, struggling against the grip the guards suddenly had on her arms all over again. "Let her go. Let her go now. LET HER GO NOW!"
She lashed out with her arms and legs and sank teeth into flesh over and over again until she could feel blood in her mouth that was not her own. Nails scratched and clawed, and fists struck, but more and more guards appeared out of nowhere and shoved her to the ground, pinning her there.
She suddenly hated herself more than she had ever thought possible.
What was the point of all that training, all that effort and discipline, if she couldn't protect her?
"Now, why would I do that?"
Rhea's trembling, terrified eyes turned on the Doctor, who sat there, quiet with anger and powerlessness.
"Doctor, help! Doctor, do something. He's going to kill her. Please, do something!"
"Oh, Rhea, haven't you figured it out yet? He's useless to you," The Master murmured, mock-comfortingly.
"I will kill you for this," Rhea swore, hate spilling from her mouth.
The Master smiled, benignly. "I have no doubt that you will at least try." He hummed. "Kill her." He told the guards, harshly.
Seraphina's eyes snapped to her daughter's, her nails dug into her palms as she watched those wastrels – she thought with disgust – lay their hands on her baby girl. Her face softened as she watched sheer horror pass over her daughter's face at the thought of what was about to happen. She looks different, she mused. She chewed on her lip. She looks older. Her hair was longer, her eyes were sharper, her face colder. She looked like she had been through the ringer and back.
Someone hurt my baby. That's why she hasn't talked to me in so long, Seraphina realised with dawning horror. I haven't seen her in months, ever since New Years. And that was five months ago. I haven't spoken to her in over three. What has that bastard done to my baby? Who are all these people? Where's Damian? Why is Rhea even in England? She should be in LA, at Stanford, with Damian. He promised me he would protect her. What did he do to her? How did she end up here with this monster? He murdered the whole planet. I watched him on TV. How did Rhea fall into his grasp?
Too many questions, too many inconsistencies, too much confusion, it was hard for her to understand any of it. But when she saw the fear on her daughter's face, none of it mattered. She didn't care that her daughter called her only every couple of months, and when she did, she was distracted and confused and emotional. She didn't care that the woman in front of her, pinned down by four armed men in military uniforms, had the sleekness and grace and skill of a trained fighter. She didn't care that when she searched the face she knew better than her own – a face that she had once spent hours just staring at when her daughter was a baby – seemed almost like a stranger to her, but at her heart, she was still the same pretty Rhea who used to pick flowers out of their garden with her pudgy, toddler hands and give them to her to plait into her hair. The same Rhea who demanded bedtime stories like they were candy. The same Rhea who complained that she couldn't breathe when her mother gave her a hug.
She didn't care that this woman had scars that her beautiful, strong, lively daughter didn't have – scars that spoke of more than just the grief of a dead father or a collapsing marriage, scars that raised the hackles of this ageing mother who loved her daughter very much.
But she didn't care.
This was Rhea.
Her Rhea.
"It's okay, baby. It's okay," Seraphina whispered, leaning forward, her eyes earnest. "Everything's going to be just fine." She heard the gun cock. "Don't look, Rhea. Don't look. I love you, Rhea. I love you more than anything in this world. Everything's going to be fine. You're going to be fine. Don't worry about me. I'll be with your father now. We love you so much, baby. You were the best thing that ever happened to us, the best thing in our lives. Be safe, be strong, be happy, baby. And we'll always be watching over you-"
Gunshots rang through the air and Seraphina broke in mid-sentence, blood splattering across the floor and her body falling limply to the floor, completely still. Blood roared in Rhea's ears and she vaguely heard the most painful scream she had ever heard. It was only later on that she realised it had been her that had screamed.
"No. No. No," Rhea sucked in a deep breath, tears falling down her face. She couldn't have stopped them even if she wanted to. Crying may be forbidden in her life, but she would cry for her mother. "No. No. No. NO. NO. NO. NO! NO! NO!"
She screamed and screamed and screamed.
What seemed like hours later, she was scrambling forwards on her hands and knees – an almost non-existent part of her surprised that the guards had let her go so easily, which was quickly silence by the overwhelming surge of grief and horror –, her palms slipping across the wet blood that still lingered on the floor (her mother's blood, God help her), and dragging her mother's bloody body into her arms.
"Oddio," She sobbed. "It's okay, mama. Everything's going to be just fine. It's like you're going to sleep. Just go to sleep, mama." She smoothed back her mother's curly blonde hair, her eyes riveted on her mother's closed eyelids. She looks like she's just sleeping. "You don't know it, but you have a daughter who's somewhere in the world, who loves you very much. She is so sorry for all the pain and the heartache she's caused you, but she loves you very, very much. And I'm sorry, this is all my fault." She whispered into her hair. "But I'm gonna sit with you. I'm gonna be here, so you know exactly how much I love you. I love you, mommy."
"Oh, how sad," The Master's voice was like another Taser charge.
Her eyes snapped to his, her face smooth and calm in her fury that she even worried the Doctor, who had seen her angry and vengeful and spitting rage, but he had never seen her so impassively hating.
Rhea would never forgive a transgression of this magnitude.
Finally, Rhea spoke.
Her voice was dead. It sent uncomfortable chills down the spine of everyone in the room, especially the Doctor and Jack, who were desperate to comfort Rhea in the moment where her entire universe had fallen apart. Anyone who knew Sunehri Adwani, knew that she based her entire foundation, her entire concept of reality, on her mother. And to lose that.
Well, it was an understatement to say that they were worried.
"When you look back on your extremely long life," Rhea began, coldly. "This should be the moment where you realise you signed your death warrant. I will never stop. I will hunt you down to the ends of the universe if I have to. But you will die at my hands. I can assure you of that."
"And on that day," Her voice was lifeless as she stared up at him. "When you are broken and bleeding and seconds away from death, you will know that I paid the debt you have earned today."
The Master looked at her with something akin to horror and awe and disbelief.
"What? Are you surprised?" Rhea asked, mockingly, her face lighting up with glee at the Master's shock. "Did you think I'd break?" She said, condescendingly. "Did you think you'd just… what? Kill my mother and get some horrible, maudlin, pathetic, weak reaction out of me? Did you think you'd win?"
"Shut up," The Master snarled, yanking her to her feet with claws around her shoulders.
Jack surged forwards but was knocked to the grounds by the guards. The Doctor's withered hands curled around the armrests of the wheelchairs.
"Or what?" Rhea challenged. "You can't kill me. We both know you can't. It would disrupt the timelines or whatever." She waved off. "Because you know and I know and any idiot who understands what I go through knows that if you kill me, all of these people are screwed in some way. The Doctor, you, Jack, the Joneses, the whole freaking universe is in danger if I don't live past you. The past, the present and the future goes to hell." Her face flashed with hatred, a sudden break in her impassive mask. "So, why don't you sit down and shut up before I ruin everything by ripping your head right off?" She snarled, savagely.
And then she did something that she had wanted to do since she had seen his smug face.
She spat right in his eyes, her face etched with defiance.
The Master smacked her hard across the face, his face pinched with anger, and she couldn't help but laugh. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Doctor livid at the Master's slight against her. She imagined he could pretend she was being kept safe and happy and unhurt when she wasn't in his midst, but to see her so blatantly abused was more than he could take. Even Jack was having trouble not to simply reach out and beat on the Master like they were a couple of middle-schoolers on the playground.
"Wow, you must feel so powerful, huh?" Rhea said, sweetly. "You think hitting me makes you strong? You think you have any power over me? You still think you can break me? Let me show you just how wrong you are." She bared her teeth at him.
"Take her back to her cell," The Master ordered the guards behind her, coldly, turning his back to her.
But she could see, with amusement and delight, that his fists were clenched so tightly at his side that veins popped to the surface.
She laughed the entire time they dragged her away.
"Eat," The guard snapped, shoving the spoon, laden with food, against her closed mouth.
"I want Trish to feed me," Rhea said, simply.
The guard snorted. "Bitch, you really think that's going to happen?" He asked, amused. "Eat the damn food."
"I want Trish to feed me."
"Maybe I'll fill your mouth with something else instead if you keep acting out, sweetheart," The guard threatened, crudely grabbing his crotch. "Now, eat."
Rhea did not react visibly to the guard's taunt, having heard worse, which only angered the guard even more. The guard shoved his fist into Rhea's stomach, winding her. Rhea couldn't stop her mouth from jarring open at the sudden pain that broke through her diaphragm, such that the guard was now able to shove the spoon in her mouth and make her choke.
"See," The guard said, smugly. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
Her only answer was to throw her head back and tip it forward quickly, spitting out the food in a dribbling mess across his face.
"You fucking whore!" The guard snarled, wiping the food off his face, and punched her square in the jaw and then the stomach, making her rattle against the chains. "You bitch. I'll teach you to spew food at me."
"I want Trish to feed me," Rhea repeated, impassively, as if she hadn't used his face like a washing basin.
"Well, now that's definitely not going to happen," The guard said, gleefully. "I think I'm just going to teach you some manners, instead." He smirked. "And believe me, I've got a few ideas." His voice dripped with innuendo.
Rhea cackled. "If you say so, but, fair warning, next soldier to put anything near my mouth will get it ripped off by my teeth." She smiled, her words touched with insanity.
"Crazy bitch," The guard sneered. "Hold her up." He told the other guards, who rushed to Rhea's side and grabbed her arms, so that she couldn't drop to the floor.
His fist reared back.
"Gentlemen, enough," The Master's soothing voice came from the door. "I know she can be rude and provocative and belligerent, but I still need her. Alive." He stared at the guards in the cell, dismissively. "You may leave now." He said, pointedly.
The guards swarmed out of the cell in an ordered fashion, as if the Master were using mind control.
The Master sighed, long-sufferingly. "I just don't know what to do with you?"
Rhea smiled through cracked lips. "Yeah, I hear that a lot." She said, dryly.
The Master chuckled. "You're funny. I've always appreciated that, you know. But…" He trailed off. "Your humour and sarcasm are starting to get on my nerves." He said, grimly.
Rhea shrugged. "Honestly, I can't help it." She licked her lips. "I don't know what to tell you. I don't process emotions like normal people do anymore." She explained.
The Master snorted. "Like I haven't realised that." He sighed. "But don't worry. All that… corporeal pain may be easy to ignore, reality's too concrete, I'll find the 'something' that carves into that thick skin of yours." He said, reassuringly, more to himself to her.
Rhea shook her head. "You still don't get it, do you?"
Anger brewed deep in her stomach.
"Get what?" The Master asked, sharply.
"You have spent the better part of a year torturing me," She said, slowly. "You have killed my mother in front of me." Hatred began to colour her voice. "Let me spell out for you, you absolute fuckwit." She snapped. "You cannot break me. Better men than you have tried and failed. You have nothing left to use as leverage against me, because we both know that the two people that you could use, you won't, because you want them alive. So, why don't you stop wasting my time and go and do something useful?" She growled.
"Watch yourself, Rhea," The Master said, coldly. "I like you. A lot. But that doesn't mean I'm not capable of tearing you apart."
Rhea laughed, the thought beyond amusing to her. "We both know that if I wanted to, I could destroy all of you. I've dreamt about it. You know, when your boys pull me out of that hole, you know what I could do to them, right? Do you have any idea of what I'm capable of?" Rhea asked, curiously. "I could kill them all. Break all of their necks. Or maybe I'd make it creative. All it would take was a piece of shrapnel on the floor and I could make a Jackson Pollock painting with their blood. Anyway, I'd make it hurt." She shrugged. Her eyes lit up. "And that's not the least what I've planned for you. I'd bite your carotid artery clean, so you'd be bleeding to death at an alarming rate. And then, just when you're about to regenerate, I'd break your neck and you'd be dead-dead. No more coming back for you. No more cheating death. You'd just be dead." She taunted.
He backhanded her across the face, his go-to move to shut her up. However, in this instance, whether it was to snap her out of her hysteria or to punish her, she didn't know. But she laughed anyway.
"See, Master, you're delusional. There's nothing else that you be other than delusional. You may think that you're in control of everything. Maybe you are. I mean, you have Jack strung up from the ceiling like some blow-up doll, you have the Joneses walking around like your own personal slaves – which is an insult on so many levels – and you have me here, chained by my wrists to the floor. And you know I won't do anything to you as long as you have them as leverage. But, the second I think that they won't be affected by my actions, I'm prepared to go all Friday the 13th on your ass," Her voice turned cold with promise. "But don't mistake that as being power, honey. Let me make this very clear to you. I am here, chained to this floor, because I want to be. Make no mistake that anything that happens between us is my choice. I am letting you and your stooges hit me, punch me, break my bones, slice into me, cold-cock me with your guns, humiliate me, stuff me in a hole for days on end. I am letting you torture me. That is my choice! And you are the stupidest son of a bitch I have ever seen if you think you have any power over me."
She leaned back with satisfaction, a smile appearing on her bruised, bleeding, pretty face.
Something in his eyes changed and her lip curled, reading the understanding in his face as clear as it was to him.
"Guards!" He called out. They came rushing in. "Put her back in the hole." The Master said, darkly.
And after, when they shut the grilling over her head and she was trapped in darkness, six walls closed around her, she smiled.
A/N: Woah. Now that was the hardest chapter I have ever had to write, I think. It definitely took a lot out of me and I spent weeks avoiding it, if I'm being honest. But that aside, hopefully you guys liked it. I think we got a definite insight into Rhea on an individual level, away from the Doctor and Jack and Martha, and just how she sees fit to deal with the Master. But their relationship is definitely interesting. I'm actually really looking forward to writing more of them together in the future. They have this whole psychotic-psychologist dynamic thing going on. Each one is trying to screw with the other.
We had a lot of depressed and manic and frankly nutty Rhea in this chapter. She was kind of stripped bare in this chapter and we got to see her when she's backed against the wall. She definitely lashes out and retreats into a more violent state where she feels she can defend herself better.
Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed the chapter as much as I did writing it and I hope you weren't too bummed out by everything that happened. It will get better.
See you next chapter!
Reviews:
grapejuice101: As you can see, it wasn't pleasant for her at all.
Lipstick Survivors: I'm glad you liked the last chapter! Yeah, this whole paradox machine thing is taking its toll on her. And as for how young the Doctor was, let's just say he was very young and yes, it was a future Rhea on Gallifrey.
ImsebastianstanButter: Fair enough, hopefully you managed to get through this chapter okay.
RandomFandoming: Aww, that's so sweet of you to say! I love you too!
NicoleR85: Thank you so much! I'm so glad you liked it!
djmegamouth: Oh, my God, you have no idea how many times I told Rhea the same thing throughout this chapter.
Serendipity989: Aww, well, I'm glad you caught up. Hopefully you're still a fan. I actually agree with you. At the end of the day, I think the Master is just Rhea who's been stripped bare, as you can see in this chapter. They really do parallel each other, which is sad because the way they portray it, both the Master and Rhea are made monsters, they weren't born this way, other people manipulated them into these violent, survivalist types. And I absolutely cannot wait to write 13 and Rhea. Seriously, it's my dream.
AGBreads: Thank you, I know it was a pretty long wait. Hopefully I can get back on track, but everytime I say that, something completely sidelines me.
deathb4beauty: Yep. She's definitely been there for a very long time. And yeah, it'll probably be giant, considering it's already at 600K and I've barely scratched the surface. I will definitely try my hardest not to give up on it. I'm so glad you like Rhea!
LookAliveSunshine03: Not so quickly, I'm afraid. But by Rhea's illness, it's pretty obvious to say that the TARDIS definitely has something to do why Rhea moves through the Doctor's timeline. Hopefully, this chapter was on the right side of bad for you. Oh, and yeah, totally. The knife is very symbolic for the two of them. Martha was Rhea's first Padawan, after all.
Michael Thomas1: Thank you so much! Rhea's not really a Gallifreyan but it will be explained in the story why she moves through the Doctor's timeline. I totally feel bad for Amy, frankly the Doctor screwed up there. I can only imagine how therapy must have been for her, and from what The Eleventh Hour tells me, she was clearly made fun of because her Raggedy Doctor story. It must have been hell for her. I'm so glad you liked Rhea's rant at Queen Victoria – as an Indian, the mention of colonialism gets me going and I can see that for Rhea too. Yeah, she's not had such a great life. Uh, I do have every intention of finishing it. I may not update consistently, but I always come back to it. I'm glad people are sticking with the story, but I do have an actual life and commitments and I unfortunately can't sit and write the whole day. I don't think that's something to be ashamed of.
purpleXorchid: I totally feel you. Hopefully you were able to stomach this chapter, because it was pretty intense. She did pretty much have her breaking point in this chapter though, but she's using all that anger and grief against the Master now. Yeah, she won't be okay once this is all over either. She already has PTSD, this will make things worse. I think the reason why people lack a reaction to Rhea's violence is because they meet her out of order; a lot of the time, they've already seen her be violent, so they're kind of used to it, I suppose? Sometimes, of course, they see the practicality in what she does, maybe there's even some part of them that enjoys it (like with Martha and the Headmaster), but don't get me wrong, they don't approve all the time and sometimes she does scare them, but the Doctor scares them too, and they do care about her very much. It's kind of hard to explain but I hope that helps. Thank you so much!