Chapter Three
Prologue: Timey-Wimey
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There. It was done. The Mother watched as the small speck of light shot across the sky like a falling star, and vanished into the deep indigo of night. Her bright red hair was bound up in an intricate array of braids and bun. In a way, she was sad to see the little one go. It was her first child, and likely to be her last. Despite her husband's assurances, she doubted this little scheme was going to meet fruition. A shame, that. As she gazed up into the stars, she couldn't help but feel a small squeeze of sorrow between the two of her hearts. She was curious to see how the little one would turn out. Not from an overly sympathetic, motherly standpoint, no, not that. She was curious for the sake of observation. How would the little thing manage with no Time Lord influence, no one to act as a guide? Surrounded by aliens with limited intellectual capacity…would the little creature ever truly actualize full potential? Well, as far as a hybrid could have potential.
"Mother?"
The redhead turned and looked at her husband, the Father. "Father."
"Has it been done?" He was a tall man, slender, with long fingers and cold, clear grey eyes. Perhaps it was a weakness, but she loved the way the spot between his eyebrows wrinkled whenever he was deeply lost in thought.
"It is done. The Star is fallen."
He turned his face up towards the stars above, trying to see past the fire that seared the horizon. Daleks were swarming. Millions upon millions upon millions. That speck that he hadn't had the opportunity to see off was their last chance. Well, their most likely chance.
"Do you think he will come?" the Father asked, giving his back to the burning sky. He put an arm around his wife's shoulders, led her inside.
The Mother laughed, a somewhat sarcastic sound, as she allowed herself to be taken inside. "You mean the Doctor, don't you? No, I've no faith in that particular madman. I'm betting on our Star, if anything."
The Father looked down at his wife, the explosions in the air a bit of a distraction. "Really? Are you so certain of the Master? Of the two, I imagine his madness to be more consuming."
"That is precisely what we need. We need a madman, Father. The Master will save us. The Doctor…his skewed sense of morality is too great. The Master will have no qualms with putting our needs before those of lesser beings."
The Father paused as he closed and locked the doors to their laboratory. Was it his imagination, or had a star winked out above? His hands lingered on the doorknobs, his grey eyes focused above. "I think it is precisely the Doctor's morality, if you will call it so, coupled with his unending determination, which is precisely what will be our salvation."
He closed the doors with a quiet snap, locking them with a snap of his fingers. He loved that feature.
"You are naïve, Father. It is not goodness that will save us. We are too beyond that. We are beyond morality. The Master will understand that. Not the Doctor. He relies too heavily on the morality of lesser beings—aliens who cannot comprehend the mysteries of the universe."
He sat in his favorite arm chair, worn and patched, much to Mother's disapproval. It was fit perfectly to this form, hugged him exactly where it should. Years and years of sitting, of thinking, of working, had gone into this chair.
"Sometimes age improves things, Mother. Age and use. The Doctor understands the need for change—how it can make something better. The Master knows only madness."
The Mother cringed as another explosion rocked the laboratory.
"Madness," she said, bitterness edging the corners of her words, "is the only salvation we have left. So yes, I think if anything will save us, it will be our plan—it will be the Master."
The Father rubbed at his chin, watching his wife tighten up, coil closer and closer together, trying to cope with the end of their way of life. "You and I never did agree on that. You see, the Master is not one to take companions. The Doctor is the one who takes the broken and mends them, as they mend him."
The Mother looked at her husband and gave him a withering glare. "The child will not be broken. She will not be a mere companion. She will be our savior, through the Master."
The Father reached over and picked up a lab chart. He tapped it thoughtfully against his knee, then smiled at his wife. "My dear," he ignored the pained expression she cast his way; she did so hate affectionate indulgences, "we have designed her to be broken. We have sent her somewhere to guarantee her brokenness. We have given her to a woman who is certain to instill in her a sense of brokenness. There is little more we could have done to make sure she will never be complete until…"
"Until the Master finds her, and gives her the ring."
The Father shook his head, laughing at his wife's stubbornness. "Darling, do you think that crazed lunatic is likely to share anything? The Doctor, on the other hand…"
The Mother took the chart from her husband's hands and flung it across the small space. "Don't talk about him. Our daughter won't be a simple pawn in another Time Lord's scheme! She will work hand in hand with—"
Her husband's laugh stopped her short. She stared at him, laughing like a loon.
"Darling, don't you even realize?" he looked up at her, his cold grey eyes sparkling with amusement. "That's the first time you've called her that. Our daughter. Ours."
The Mother looked down at her hands, her fingers trembling. She looked at her husband and shook her head. "She…she can never be that. I misspoke. She isn't ours. She isn't our daughter."
"No, you're right." He stood, smiling as he walked to his wife. "She isn't our daughter. She's the most important woman in creation. She's going to be the salvation of us all." He wrapped his arms around her and held her. Normally, they didn't waste time with physical affection. Circumstances being what they were, he didn't think there would be much time for his wife to argue.
The door rattled, banged and thrashed. Something was coming through. The Father had a feeling he knew exactly what their fate would be, momentarily.
"My love," he said, cupping her face in both his hands, forcing her to look at him. "We will never have this moment again. Kiss me."
The Mother gazed into the eyes of the Father, and as the doors to their lab shattered, as the Daleks poured in, screaming, "Exterminate!" over and over, she stood up on her toes, wrapped her arms around her husband's neck, and kissed him. As their bodies exploded into a thousand-thousand particles, the Mother and the Father embraced one last time.