DISCLAIMER: No, I don't own Doctor Who. Yes, I wish I did. No, I don't earn any money from this. Yes, David Tennant is My Doctor.
ALL PRAISE TO THE MIGHTY BBC! ;)
SUMMARY: Starting at the end of Utopia, things change for the Doctor and the Master. But in a good way, I promise! Doctor/Rose. (This is my first fic, so take it easy on me, please!)
01000100 01101111 01100011 01110100 01101111 01110010 01010111 01101000 01101111
In the months and years that passed, The Master accompanied The Doctor in the TARDIS. He saw companions come and go, taking a piece of his old friend with him each time they left, were forced to go or were taken. Each time, he saw The Doctor become less and less himself. More hollow. He was afraid for his friend and knew this lack of hope couldn't last forever.
He rarely accompanied The Doctor on his little "missions" anymore, but he helped when he needed to help, and celebrated when celebration was called for.
In all that time, he plotted. Not domination or death, but something infinitely more formidable.
His equations and tests and theories must stand under even microscopic scrutiny. He would not risk The Doctor or Rose, he would accept any liability and would plan for any contingency.
Finally, after collapsing from exhaustion one too many times, he ended up in the infirmary again. The Doctor hovered over him as he regained consciousness.
"You have to stop this. All these years, you've done nothing but help me, but you've got to stop this." The Doctor helped him sit upright.
"But..."
"No!" The Doctor ran his hands through his hair. "Just... don't." He sighed "It's been over 62 years since I lost her! Time travels faster in the parallel universe. One year here is three there. It's been 186 years, Koschei." The Doctor crumbled and leaned back, bracing himself on the TARDIS walls. "She's dead by now," he choked out.
"No."
The Doctor looked at his friend.
"No. I'm not quitting! I'm so close."
"Then, I'm sorry, but I have to stop you. Again." The Doctor pulled a prepared syringe from hip pocket and advanced on The Master.
"NO!" He swing and struck out, hitting the arm with the syringe and knocking The Doctor to the floor. His friend didn't move.
"Doctor?" He jumped down from the bed. "Doctor!"
The Master turned him over and saw the syringe stuck awkwardly into the doctor's abdomen, the plunger fully depressed. He yanked the offending item out and checked his pulses, then released the breth he didn't realize he held.
"Sleeping. Thank Rassilon." He picked The Doctor up, moved him to the bed The Master had just vacated, and left the room, locking the door behind him. Swaying as he walked down the corridor, he made his way to the console room. He needed help.
01000100 01101111 01100011 01110100 01101111 01110010 01010111 01101000 01101111
Jack sat at his desk looking at the myriad of pictures scattered around the room. More than 100 years had passed since he'd seen many of those familiar faces, but the memories remained as fresh as the day the snapshots were created.
Gwen and Rhys with their daughter, Anwen, grinning up at him at Gwen's 50 birthday party.
Ianto, smiling over his shoulder at Jack while making coffee.
Tosh, smiling lovingly at Owen as he ranted to anyone that would listen about the injustices of having to track Weevils.
Alice and Steven, chasing each other through sprinklers in their backyard.
Many showed Jack posed with politicians and celebrities, some with lovers wrapped around him, all grinning for the whole world to see.
One picture stood out from the rest.
The Doctor, tied at his ankles and hanging like a giant fish, soaking wet with arms crossed at his chest. He was red in the face and yelling at Jack and The Master to cut him down immediately. The Master laid on the boardwalk to the side of Jack, laughing like a maniac at the Oncoming Storm. Jack stood to the side gesturing wildly at his "catch".
Jack laughed to himself, wondering how his friends fared.
His latest team was brilliant, but it never stopped the memories when things were slow. Had been slow, too. Months and months with barely even a spike in the rift. Good thing, too. They all needed a break.
He looked up to the giant cog door rolling back in the main entrance to the Hub. It had taken years and millions of dollars to rebuild Torchwood Three, but he did it. Making it better and better as time passed.
Gwen's namesake, and great-great-granddaughter, strolled in holding a massive cup of coffee in one hand, pressing the other tightly to her temple. "Can you please do something about those damn sirens?" she yelled at him.
He grinned. "Long night?
"Like you wouldn't believe. Well... maybe YOU would." She walked away and to her desk, muttering something that sounded an awful lot like "Damn you, Jack bloody Harkness" in a voice that could have belonged to the original Gwen. He laughed loudly until he heard a series of beeps from his wrist strap, and answered it, still laughing. "Harkness."
The face of The Master showed on the viewscreen. "Jack. I need you."
Jack smirked. "Oh, I have waited YEARS to hear those words."
The Master sighed and shook his head. "Just let me in."
"Alright, alright." He pressed a series of buttons on the Hub's security console. "Mi casa, and all that"
"Thanks." The screen went blank and Jack stiffened. "He thanked me...oh, this is bad. GWEN! Incoming TARDIS!"