Chapter 14 –Crawling Back Up

Andred watched Susan fall to her knees, screaming like a soul in torment. Mental Collapse, he realized.

He'd done this to her.

He'd forced her to do something so against her nature that she simply couldn't cope. The guilt, the suffering, had broken her mind. He lay there, unable to move, unable to go to her, and realized that for all her brave front, Susan had been held together by nothing but will and stubbornness. And he'd just destroyed all of that.

"Oh Doctor, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I was supposed to protect her…" he whispered, tears coursing down his face as her screams burned themselves into his brain.

The Doctor ran into the hospital, his satchel banging on his hip, unshaven, hair lank, dirt and blood still smeared on his jacket, and headed towards her room like a homing pigeon coming to roost.

He could feel Romana behind him, following at an equally breakneck pace, but his mind was consumed by the buzzing static in his head, the blankness where once Susan had resided.

He skidded around a corridor, burst through the door to her room and came to a sudden stop in the doorway, shocked by the sight before him.

Susan, regenerated once more, blond hair cascading down, eyes closed in a face sunken and bruised looking. She looked so slender and frail, her skin so pale milky white that it seemed almost blue tinged by her illness.

"Susan," he choked out and stepped forward finally to reach her. He took her hand in his and felt a jolt of terror go through him as he held it. She was so thin, so fragile, that she seemed almost translucent, as though she were just a ghost, rather than flesh and blood.

Her new face was lovely, he thought absently, like a Raphael Madonna, but she was so still, as though carved from marble. Seeing her on a viewscreen didn't do justice to the beauty that he saw in her, the radiant soul he loved so much. Yet just now, she wasn't radiant at all, she was shadowed and dark, a faded photograph of what she'd once been.

Romana stepped behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder. He leaned his face against her fingers and felt the tears starting to flow.

He hadn't protected her; he'd let her come to this. He did nothing but fail them all, time and again. There was no end to the many ways he could find to hurt the people who loved him best. He was useless. He was just a stupid useless old man. He hung his head in shame and despair.

She was alone, but it hadn't always been that way. She knew that. She'd had her grandfather, then David and the children. But they were gone now. They'd all left her to die on the floor of her cell, bleeding out her life to save her soul.

She would always be alone now.

"Don't be ridiculous! I'm here, you silly girl!"

There was a wall of ice between her and the world and behind it she was comfortably numb, but that voice, angry, possessive, passionate, mad, it did something to her. It made her feel something other than the icy coldness.

"Stop it! Susan, you're far too strong for this stupidity!"

Susan? Yes. That was her name. Strong? Was she? Somewhere deep inside a little flame of stubborn strength rekindled. She knew that voice that was yelling in her mind. It was her madman, she thought with a touch of euphoria. She wasn't alone.

"Koschei?" she asked with a strange sort of wonderment.

"Finally, woman! I've been shouting for hours!" he snarled back and she could feel the concern under the anger. Her madman had been worried.

"That's sweet," she murmured and felt a wave of disgust coming from him.

"For Omega's sake, Susan! If you're going to turn into a vapid imbecile, this is going to be one hell of a long eternity!" His aggravation seemed somehow endearing in the hazy state of her mind and she chuckled.

"Oh do stop bellyaching, you ridiculous man," she answered and felt him storming off in a huff, though his relief was palpable as well.

Susan felt hands on her, felt movement, conversation, but she couldn't seem to focus on any of it. She was still drifting, unanchored, floating quietly, but the wall of ice was gone and she knew that eventually she would have to wake.

However, that could wait for a while, for now, she just wanted to sleep.

The Master came back to himself. Sweat poured off of him and he was exhausted from the effort of trying to get through to Susan.

She'd finally broken, after everything they had done to her. She'd stayed strong for a hundred and fifty years, able to withstand all the agony and suffering those bastards had put her through, but killing three paltry little worlds had done her in. Her mind had been filled with the screams of the dying and his first job had been to dampen that memory for her. He didn't understand why she cared so much for such things. She'd saved Time Lords, hell, she'd saved him, from the incoming Dalek ships.

"Master?" Dar's voice reminded him that he needed to get himself back under control.

"I'm fine," he answered.

"She's okay?"

"She'll be fine eventually. I don't understand, Dar, explain something to me," he grumbled.

"Another fairy story?" Dar asked with a whimsical tone and the Master barked a laugh.

"Yes, exactly. Tell me a story about why someone could survive everything done to them, no matter how horrible, and then fall apart just because they destroyed a few billion people?" he asked and Dar blinked at him in surprise.

"Well, most sane people dislike killing others," Dar pointed out with a wry smile and the Master stuck his tongue out at him, making him laugh. "Look, this Anna girl is a Doctor, right?" the Master nodded. "Well, Doctors go into medicine because they want to save lives, prevent death, and help people. It's part of their identity, how they see themselves."

"The man who makes people better," the Master snarled. "He's infected her with his idealistic nonsense."

Dar watched him for a long time and he could see the CIA agent struggling for words.

"I'm not the best person to discuss morality with you, Master," he finally admitted. "You and I are more alike than not. I'm not a nice person, or even a very good one. My job it to kill people, interrogate prisoners, and spy, so morally, I'm a bit iffy." The last was said with a slightly self-mocking smile. It hadn't really occurred to him to think about Dar like that. He was just Dar, the only person who'd ever treated him like a person, rather than a rabid animal.

"The nice people are often the cruelest, Dar," the Master told him. "They're the ones who smile to your face and then stab you in the back. They tell you they care and then don't even stretch out a hand to save you when you're dying." He still remembered burning to death in that volcano while the Doctor watched and did nothing. He hadn't ever really forgiven him for that.

"I think you should read some things, Master," Dar sighed out and handed his notepad to him. "Look under 'Anna'," he suggested and the Master flipped through and found all the reports, letters, and electronic files for Susan all neatly tabbed. He looked up at Dar in surprise.

"You've been checking up on her?" he asked.

"I needed to know if she was a danger to you," he muttered, looking uneasy. "If she was ever taken in for questioning, you might have needed to 'disappear'." Dar looked as though he hated admitting it and the Master understood why. Dar was essentially telling him that he'd been working out plans to protect the Master in case Susan ever betrayed him.

"When did you start monitoring her?" he asked.

"Ever since that time on the Cruciform. Neither of you could hide your reaction to each other. I figured out pretty quickly what must be going on." Dar was as blank faced as the Master had ever seen him and the shock of Dar's confession left him speechless.

"You've been aware of this for one hundred thirty years?" the Master finally choked out. "You've been watching and planning all this time and you said nothing?"

"I had no proof and I don't want any!" Dar insisted, his face twisted in a sudden agony. The Master slumped on the bed, hands scrubbing his face. "She's never said anything to anyone, you know. Not one word of it has ever shown up in any report. She's kept the secret faithfully." With that parting comment, the CIA agent stomped out of the room, leaving the Master with a notebook filled with every scrap of information about Susanatrevalar.

Hating himself and his stupid obsession with the girl, the Master devoured the information, his face gone soft and gentle as he read.

Andred opened his eyes and saw Leela, curled in a cot beside his hospital bed. Her dark hair was tangled, her face drawn and tired, her uniform creased, but she was more beautiful to him than were she dressed in the finest of silks.

"Leela," he murmured. He hadn't checked to see if she was alive on the Station. He couldn't. If she'd been dead, he would have fallen apart, if he'd known she was alive, he'd have had to go to her. He'd kept himself from even thinking about her until he'd done his duty.

Her eyes opened, blue as sapphires, deep and brilliant as a galaxy.

"Andred!" she cried and rose to wrap him up gently in her arms. He ached, but he was healing, and she was the best medicine of all.

The Doctor was woken by a soft murmur and he looked up to see Susan shifting in her bed. She smiled in her sleep, lips curling up, and he held himself still, watching her, hoping.

Her eyes opened slowly and she looked around the room until she saw him.

"Grandfather?" she whispered and he launched himself at her, pulling her into his arms, holding her so tightly to him that she squeaked in surprise.

"Oh Susan!" he sobbed, still clutching her to him.

"Grandfather, oxygen, please!" she gasped out and he relaxed his hold on her a bit. Their arms were still around each other though, neither one willing to let go completely.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, searching her eyes for answers and she looked up at him with an expression of sorrow, of regret, and of shame so profound, that he gasped.

"No, I'm not. Too many innocent people died and I couldn't stop it, I couldn't find another way," she whispered. "You told me that there is always another way and I couldn't find it!" she burst into tears and he held her, rocking her gently, stroking her hair.

"Come now, Susan, you of all people know what a liar I am," he scolded her with a tender smile. "Sometimes, there isn't another way." She sobbed brokenly and he just stayed there, holding her, giving her what comfort he could.

The Master was back on the Cruciform, his problem child. Every time he left, it seemed like some other section would break down and he'd be sent to repair it. He was pacing back and forth, like a caged lion waiting for the opportunity to rend apart his captors.

He could feel the soft hum in his mind that was Susan, but it was so damn dim now. Omega, when he'd first touched her mind, it had been like a blazing sun, but this last time, it had barely been like scattered starlight. She was dimming. The longer this damn war went on, the fainter her light became.

He'd read through her files and been torn between pride and disgust. Everywhere she went she made things better. Terrible duty stations, places where soldiers knew they'd get little to no medical help, were turned into efficient hospitals where the death rates were cut in half, or quartered. She left a trail of healed patients, well trained nurses, clean orderly medical facilities, and commanding officers who sang her praises. All very well, of course, but she was also followed by reports that she didn't take good enough care of herself, that she worked herself to exhaustion, that she was often the only well trained medical officer on some of these stations. She obviously cared far too much about these lower life forms.

If she were by his side, he'd soon cure her of that (or she'd cure him, he always feels better after she's been in his head). He'd keep her from harm though, unlike the Doctor, he'd protect her properly, not risk her like this. Twice now he'd had to drag her back from the brink; it was obvious the girl had no sense of self-preservation whatsoever.

He was burning up thinking about her, about the sleepy sweetness of her mind when she'd realized it was him. She had displayed no fear of him, no antagonism. Did he dare to hope that she didn't hate him? She'd been half out of her mind, so perhaps it meant nothing.

"Oh do stop bellyaching, you ridiculous man." The words lingered in his mind, not so much for their content, but for the gentle amusement in her mental voice. She'd never reacted negatively to his mental touch, he realized. What did it mean?

He closed his eyes and reached out to her. Far away somewhere he caught the edge of her mind. She was asleep, her thoughts blurred with exhaustion and stress. He reached farther, wanting something, but not sure quite what, and found the scattered star field of her soul. It was brighter, just a bit, and he cupped a bit of that light in his fingers, giving it some of his own strength. It glowed brighter and he had the sudden feeling that she was somehow aware of him.

"Koschei?" the thought was in his head, a gentle sighing like the breeze in the trees, nearly a kiss, it seemed to him. "Don't do this, it's not safe," she chided and then she was gone, shut off from him and he frowned. Not safe? What the hell did she mean by that?

He forced his attention back to the phase array generator and swore venomously. It had taken six months to restructure the whole line of generators and this was the last one he had to finish. He bent to the task while trying to understand what it all meant. Did she hate him? Did she want him? Was he just something she would need later to fulfill that Vision? He didn't know. Why wasn't it safe and for whom? He had so damn many questions and so few answers.

"When you're done here, Master, there is a Dalek outpost that needs removing," Darginian announced as he stepped into the room. The Master looked up at him sourly. "What's wrong with you? I thought you'd enjoy the chance to get out of here and get out into the fresh air again." The wry comment was delivered with Dar's usual dry sense of humor.

"It's getting dull, Darginian," he admitted. "This stupid war is getting far too old."

"After one hundred fifty years of it, I should think so!" Darginian muttered a weary reply. "I'm ready for this whole mess to be over."

"Don't wish for that too hard Dar, you might not like the results," he warned the younger man with a raised eyebrow.

"You think we're going to lose?" the CIA agent asked with a small frown.

"The odds aren't in our favor," he replied, shaking his head. "We can't clone two million soldiers and have them ready for combat within a month. We have to hold the worlds we take, while they just wipe out all life on theirs and keep moving. Our technology is about even, we don't have a single weapon that is superior to what they have, and we can't fight them on the same level, the other disadvantages are too great." He shook his head again. "We might hold out another fifty years, Darginian, but after that, it will be all over. Gallifrey will fall."

"You've told this to the High Council?"

"Several times, but they won't listen to me. Well, I think the Lady Professor heard me, but then she was always far more intelligent than the rest of them," he conceded.

Darginian was leaning against the door jamb, eyes serious.

"Why haven't you just left, then?" he asked and the Master grimaced.

"You know that my TARDIS will only go to the pre-programmed destinations that the High Council has set for it."

"Which you could probably deal with fairly easily, what's the real reason?"

"Because the Lord President wired me up with control mechanisms throughout my nervous system; I do anything he doesn't like and I'm dead."

Darginian frowned.

"That wasn't part of your profile," he muttered and started pacing. "That's not very smart of them," he added, surprising the Master again.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, if I'd been in charge of the original operation, I'd have given you freedom to do what you wanted and then watched from a distance. The minute you fled from the scene, I'd have known what the tactical situation was and acted accordingly."

"I'd have been your 'canary in a coal mine'?" he asked, amused again by the way the other man's mind worked.

"Excellent analogy, Master," Darginian replied with an ironic little bow. "Honestly, as brilliant as you are and you are brilliant, when you get bored you're as dangerous to us as you are to the Daleks. I don't understand why they don't keep you better occupied."

"Because the only thing they have, that I actually want, is the one thing that they will never give me," he answered and his eyes blazed with the frustration he'd controlled so ruthlessly and for so very long.

"Is it something that they might give you in exchange for something else?" Darginian asked, his face perplexed, and the Master's laugh was bitter.

"Do you think the High Council would actually give her to me, Darginian, would they ever hand over that girl to me? Would they give me such a precious thing?" his voice had dropped low and his hands were clenching at his sides, as his mind was conjuring up the many things he wanted to do to her, with her, and the agent went still, eyes watching him carefully.

"No, I don't think they would," he admitted and the Master sighed out, forcing himself to relax. "Not that one."

"Nor should they," he conceded. "I'm not safe to be around." He might lose his temper and hurt her, he knew, even if it would hurt himself. He realized suddenly that as much as he needed her, and oh how he needed her, she was far better off away from him. He'd only destroy her, like he did everything, and then he'd be truly lost.

"That might be," Dar mused. "But, of far more concern to the Council, is that the Lady Professor would throw such a fit that they would lose the entire Prydonian Chapter's support for the War. Their majority makes them a formidable voting block and the Council could never risk alienating all of them." It was a political angle that the Master hadn't considered.

"True. Though it didn't stop Rassilon from sticking her in the Tower to be tortured by those bastards," the Master pointed out.

"All done according to law and tradition, Master," Dar reminded him. "Even there they released her after a while, when it became obvious that she wasn't going to become a Visionary. As tradition demands."

"Yes, Rassilon has been very careful to stay within the law at all times, hasn't he," the Master conceded.

"What bothers me, Master, is that all the files I've gathered, they were also sent to Rassilon. He's been following her very closely and ever duty station she's been sent to has been on direct order from him. He's made certain that the two of you are never near each other, but he's also sent her to every miserable, piss-poor excuse of a backwater hellhole he could find. It's like he's trying to break her spirit for some reason." Dar was pacing now, hands behind his back and the Master wondered if he even realized that he'd forgotten to couch all the terms as being part of a 'fairy story'.

Dar's theory also disturbed him a great deal. Was Rassilon pressuring her? Why?

He suddenly recalled the conversation they'd had after the Tower incident. He thought Susan was the Arkytior. Rassilon had said that she was supposed to be the vengeful goddess reborn. A less likely candidate than Susan he could hardly imagine, yet, she'd beaten him soundly in their mental battle. She'd had the Visions when they had been locked together in each other's minds, which had been real enough. Was Rassilon trying to turn her into the Arkytior? But why?

Power, of course, he sighed to himself. He pondered it for a moment for himself. What could he do with the power of the Arkytior? Burn, most likely. The legends were very clear that she was a pure destructive force capable of devastating galaxies. The Master had learned a valuable lesson at Logopolis, which was not to mess with any form of power until you'd figured out where the off switch was and what would happen when you flipped it.

"He must want something from her," the Master suggested and Dar nodded.

"I only wish I knew what," he grumbled and the Master shrugged. He didn't know that she was really the Arkytior and honestly, he didn't like the idea at all. She was Susan, his Susan, and he just wanted her, the woman, and not some ancient power. Because, if she really was some reborn goddess, then she would be kept forever out of his reach and that he simply could not accept.

"We'll figure it out eventually," the Master replied finally and grinned at Dar, his friend and ally.