Elsewhere
"Today is your lucky day, Tegan Jovanka. Your very, very lucky day."
It's the Master, of course; no one else speaks to her, and his voice is thoroughly imprinted on her consciousness. She tenses, hands fisted on her belt, then unclenches them and allows them to hang by her sides. She does not want to signal her intentions to the Master. Instead of screaming and lunging at him as she wants to, instead she turns as calmly as possible and faces him.
He is holding John. Tegan feels the blood drain from her face, then rush back into it again. She takes a step forward, then stops as the Master half-turns away from her, shielding the baby from her sight with the bulk of his frame and one hand over her son's face. "Come no closer, or I'll send him back to the village."
Tegan stands as still as the proverbial statue, mouth clenched tightly against the protests forming on her tongue. Her hands have balled back into fists, but all thoughts of the belt and the use to which she intended to put it have vanished from her mind. All she can see, all she can think of, is John. Her son. In the hands of the Master.
When it is obvious that Tegan will obey him, the Master removes his hand and turns back so she can fully see her son.
Her six month old son. Her son, with soft brown hair and inquisitive blue eyes. Her own eyes fill with tears; she blinks them away, determined not to allow anything to block her vision, not even herself. He is holding himself upright in the Master's arms, and looks all too comfortable there. More tears threaten; sternly, she orders herself to buck up. Brave heart, Tegan. The words echo silently through her mind, stiffening her spine. He is a lovely golden tan and wears nothing more than the simple loin cloths all the children on the island under school-age wear. No freckles, she notes with a tremulous smile. "Please," she whispers, hating herself for begging, but knowing no other way to get what she wants. "Please, let me hold him." She half-raises her trembling arms, the ache in her heart moving from dull throb to full stabbing pain.
"Not just yet." The Master hasn't moved, but John seems restless; he squirms, and the Master stares at him with an odd expression on his face. John's eyes meet his, and the baby suddenly becomes still. Then he smiles and leans forward, grabbing for the Master's nose with a coo of delight. The Master leans back, startled, then barks out a command in the native tongue. The woman who cleans Tegan's home, who presumably spies on her, hurries into the room and takes the child from the Master's arms. Tegan bites her lips to keep from crying out as he is removed from her sight, then she turns on the Master with a vicious curse, rushing past him, uncaring of consequences. She just wants to hold him...
The Master grabs her, jerking her to a stop and twisting her arm cruelly until she cries out in pain. She claws at him, but he is ready for the attack and holds her by the wrists as she kicks at him, fighting and cursing, to no avail.
"Why did you bring him here?" she finally asks as the spate of temper subsides. She looks at him, finally, directly in the eyes; if her son can do so, then so can she. "To torture me?"
"I brought him so you could see that he hasn't been mistreated. I've heard from the Doctor," the Master adds, in the same conversational tone, and Tegan reels backward at the news, terrified and delighted at the same time. The Master releases his two-handed grip, and she absently rubs her wrists as she stares at him. "He's entered the code I left for Nyssa to give him. Like I said, it's your lucky day. I gave him a full year to enter that code before I killed you and took our son to raise in my image."
Tegan feels nothing when he offers the threat to her life, but the thought of John living with the Master, becoming like him, sends a chill over her body that manifests as a violent shiver, a negative shake of the head, a horrified stare. The Master ignores them all as he walks around the main room of the cottage, pretending to examine the sparse furnishings, running a finger over the counter with a critical glance at his finger tips before returning his attention to her.
"It's only a matter of time before he arrives to give me my TARDIS back. Or his; I told him I wouldn't be fussy, although my own is less likely to be booby-trapped," he continues as his circle brings him closer to Tegan once again. "He's sickeningly predictable that way; always off to the rescue, women and children first. Even if they're my women and children."
Tegan can't help it; her hand shoots out, and this time the slap connects. "Bastard," she snarls. "We're none of us yours."
Surprisingly, the Master doesn't bother to retaliate. He smirks, ignoring the red mark on his cheek. "Wrong again, my dear Tegan," he purrs. "Myrak is my son. You are his mother; therefore, you are mine."
"His name is John," Tegan says, through clenched teeth. How dare he, how dare he rename her son? A Gallifreyan name, she assumes. One she vows her son will never answer to.
"His name is only your choice if the Doctor comes through," the Master replies, turning and walking away. "You'll know if he does after I've sent him the space/time coordinates for our meeting place. If he shows up, you'll never see me again. If he doesn't..." The Master shrugs and walks out the door without another word.
Tegan runs to the window, but the woman holding her son has already left, no doubt returning to the village at the Master's orders. She almost runs after them, but stops herself, shaking at the effort to remain still. The Master's bodyguards are following him as he takes the path; she almost forgets to be grateful that he has chosen not to use her body this time. "Hells' teeth," she mutters. "Who am I kidding?" Her shoulders slump in defeat. If it meant getting her son back, she'd not only tolerate the Master's touch on her body, she'd welcome it. Encourage it, even.
Just like before...
Tegan gives her head a violent shake and walks outside, forcing herself to go slowly. That damn voice, the one in her head, the one she insists on believing is a liar, the one that speaks up at the most inconvenient moments... She sits down on the cliff's edge and watches for the Master's boat. It speeds away from the island a few minutes later, and she fancies she sees him looking up at her. His head moves, at any rate, and it takes no imagination for her to picture the mocking smile on his lips. With a quiet sob, she kneels up and hurls a rock out over the ocean, knowing it to be a futile effort. The rock falls far short, as expected, and thunks into the surf with a distant splash.
Only one thought keeps her from giving in completely to despair, to the rage and anguish pouring through her soul, the one thread of hope the Master has ever deigned to offer.
The Doctor is coming.
The Doctor is coming, and she will have her son back, even if she has to hijack his TARDIS herself and offer it up to the Master on a silver platter.