Note: As you all know by now, uni makes these updates pretty sporadic. I don't know when the next chapter will be up, but hopefully soon. Thanks for all the support so far (yes I know I say it all the time but that doesn't make me mean it any less).
Blog post is up.
Chapter 40
The Doctor waited until the Master's presence had faded before he moved again. Soon all that was left of it was that elusive echo in his ear. Wherever on the ship he was now, he obviously had no intention of returning any time soon. The Doctor let out another sigh, finally allowing his head to tilt back against the now vacant bed. It was still warm.
Christmas. He'd almost forgotten about Christmas. Life on the Valiant seemed so removed from reality that the idea of a world outside of it – one with Christmas and people and normal conversations – was beginning to feel like a long-forgotten dream. His entire existence had become focused on one single event: Launch Day. The Doctor smiled grimly up at the ceiling. For the first time since their first lifetimes, both he and the Master were waiting for exactly the same thing. The irony wasn't lost on him.
He pulled himself to his feet suddenly, all thought of sleep swept away by the Master's final words - which he knew had probably been the point. Christmas morning had arrived over whatever was left of America. He wondered if anybody down on the surface remembered it; if they were celebrating it in secret somehow. People always seemed to find a way. He began pacing across the enclosed space, giving his legs some well-needed exercise, his head bowed in thought.
The smallest of smiles came to his face as he remembered where he'd been this time last year. Donna Noble. He'd liked her. She'd given him earache, but she'd been so beautifully, honestly human. And the year before that…
The smile fell. He raised his eyes to the ceiling, blocking that memory out. She couldn't help him here. There were enough old wounds lingering on board the Valiant without adding more.
The Doctor halted suddenly as movement caught his eye. He tilted his head towards it with a confused frown. Outside the window, tiny flecks of grey were drifting downwards from the sky, flitting silently past the Valiant as they fell to the earth far below.
Almost reluctantly he made his way towards the window, raising his hands to the wall either side as he leaned forwards. It was snowing. Real snow. The Master had always had a taste for the dramatic. He couldn't help thinking that he had brought them here on purpose.
He stared out at it for a moment, eyes flickering across the horizon as he rested his forehead against the cold pane of glass. Whatever was beneath them was lost in the darkness of the night, and whatever it was he was sure he didn't want to see. Every time he looked from the window these days, he saw something more disturbing; some new act of vandalism or insanity that the other Timelord had visited on the planet. Thousands of rockets had begun to appear on what had once been green countryside; the Master had begun ripping open the face of the Earth for its natural resources. And then there were the Toclofane. The Doctor had pushed that grief back into his subconscious, but that didn't mean he didn't feel sick every time he saw one.
He just wished he could make the Master stand back and see this all the way he could.
He stood at the window, feeling the cold of the night outside permeate the glass, his eyes trained on the flakes of snow as they fell past him. Eventually he sighed, and for the first time in weeks, he heard the sound of his own voice.
"…Merry Christmas, Martha." He muttered.
A blast of cold air hit the back of his neck.
The sensation acted like a shot of adrenaline. He pulled away from the window and turned his head, looking at the door from the corner of his eye.
It was open.
For a moment, he wondered whether the other Timelord had returned, but the Master's presence was still just a distant whisper, somewhere far away from here. He frowned deeply, turning towards the mysteriously open door with his head tilted to one side. He couldn't imagine who else would be awake at this time of night, but the door had never opened by itself before.
He was listening carefully, listening past the droning of the ship for something else as he moved as close as he dared to the doorway. The corridor outside was swathed in black. He could see his own shadow on the floor, framed in the dull light from the window, but otherwise the hallway seemed to be empty.
And then he heard her move.
The Doctor leaned to the side, trying to see as far down the expanse of corridor as he could, narrowing his eyes as they grew accustomed to the dark. He suddenly froze.
Several meters down the hall, one of her paper-white hands placed delicately on the wall, stood Lucy Saxon. The Doctor looked at her uncertainly. She looked terrified, her eyes wide as they caught the glow of the night sky. It occurred to him that he hadn't seen a single person except the Master since Japan burned, and he couldn't remember even making eye contact with her before. It was strange to think about, now that they were staring so intently at each other in the silence.
After a moment her lips parted, hanging open as if steeling herself to say something. The Doctor held his breath.
Her hand lowered slowly from the wall. Her mouth closed, and she looked away from his gaze. A second later she turned and walked away, both as fast and as silently as she could, as if fleeing the scene of a crime. Soon she had turned a corner, her curls of mousy-blonde hair sweeping behind her as she passed from the Doctor's sight.
The Doctor continued to stand at the doorway, staring at the point where she had disappeared. He wasn't sure what to make of what had just happened, but there had been something in her face; some look or thought behind it that had significance. It was as though she had been trying to tell him something, to pass him a message that she was too frightened to speak out loud, or too confused to say.
He backed away, a deep and complex frown on his face as the door began to slide shut. Perhaps there had been no message; perhaps she was becoming unhinged, and the Doctor was just seeing what he hoped to see, but her expression was nagging at him, as though it were a puzzle he was meant to work out.
He raised a hand and ran it through his hair, blowing out a long breath. His head was already full to bursting without thinking about Lucy's problems, too. If she wasn't willing to talk to him, the only thing he could do to help her – help everyone - was concentrate on ending this.
He turned on the spot. Something hit the side of his shoe and began to roll across the carpet.
The Timelord looked down, watching the shadow of it move away from him across the room. He couldn't make out what it was in the darkness, but it seemed to be cylindrical from the way it moved. Eventually it came to a halt, lying still and silent in the low light from the window.
The Doctor's eyes widened, his brow knotting. He stared down at the shape before him as if he were looking at a ghost.
There on the floor, glinting blue and silver in the half-light, was his screwdriver.