(no subject)

[ladyofleithian]

Title: No One Here Gets Out Alive.

Summary: The Ninth Doctor and company on the VALIANT, during the Year That Never Was.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Prompt: Manipulation and control.

Author's Notes: Mostly playing around with the idea of the Ninth Doctor in the Harold Saxon era. Which I think could be possible, if, say, he hadn't regenerated after the Time War. Or if the whole Satellite Five business had come a bit later -- just to name a few possibilities. First DOCTOR WHO fanfic I've done. *Prays she doesn't butcher anything*

Title from "Julien" by Placebo.

If there's ever been a worst case scenario, the Doctor thinks that he's found it. Imprisoned on the VALIANT, at the mercy of deranged Prime Minister Harold Saxon, or the Master, along with Martha and the other Joneses, and Jack, with only Rose out there to boost the signal.

All right, looking at it that way, perhaps it's not that bad. He still remembers what he whispered to Rose, the day that the Master took control of Earth, the day the Toclaphane invaded.

Boost the signal, Rose. No matter what the Master does, he can't stop the signal. Do that for me, Rose. Boost the signal. Use the countdown against him. Keep doing those things I can't know about. 

And Rose, bless her -- she had understood. She was out there, boosting the signal -- if the rumors streaming in were true.

The Master didn't understand why the Doctor had such faith in Rose Tyler. The Master doesn't know why the Joneses still hold out hope. The Master doesn't know why the Doctor still resists him long after the Master has all but taken everything from him. The Master knows nothing of anything. 

He doesn't realize that the Doctor resists if only for Rose and the others -- Rose gave him hope when hope seemed to be gone. Back in his eighth incarnation, when he had wandered the Earth, confused, grieving, alone, a far cry from the naive, unworldly creature he used to be.

That doesn't mean he's fully well, of course. But he's going to be damned if he lets the Master win.

***

The food's terrible. And to add insult to injury, the best bed the Master could have rented out for him seems to be a dog kennel, of all things. Granted, there are worse places to sleep (in his eighth incarnation, he should know), but if the Master was trying to top "dying in a dungeon in Cardiff", the Doctor thinks he's found it.

Congratulations, Master; you've managed to make dying in a dungeon in Cardiff look pleasant. You must be so proud.

Of course the Master is, of course he is. He's developed a tendency to visit the Doctor in his dog kennel -- even now, the Doctor can't help but wonder why the Master would need a dog kennel. He's got multiple theories, none of which he particularly likes -- if only to gloat about the progress of his grand reign -- leveling Japan. Placing acid pits in Europe. Then going about to "playing" with the Doctor. Using the Lazarus technology to age him one hundred or so years older -- or just going for the same old torture methods. Knives. Whips. Some sort of torture device that the Doctor has barely even heard of.

Of course, the Master doesn't kill him. That would be too easy. He just wants to make the Doctor suffer -- suffer for all these years. The Doctor, however, isn't going to give him the satisfaction.

He isn't the man that he used to be. Not since the Time War, at least. Not since Rose.

So even as the Master continues to torture him, lashing him with the whip, turning up the electricity just a bit more -- the Doctor refuses to make a sound.

He's survived Van Statten and his chamber of horrors down in Utah. He's faced the Dalek Emperor, and the Beast, and so many others.

The Master has never fazed him.

And he never will. 

***

Rose will be back. Rose will be back...

But even that mantra doesn't seem to sustain him for long. The Doctor welcomes sleep -- he hasn't welcomed sleep in a while since the Time War. When he sleeps, he dreams -- dreams of Davros' ship falling into the jaws of the NIGHTMARE CHILD as the Doctor vainly tried to save him. He sees the Degradations of Skaro, and Gallifrey falling to the Daleks, and him, with one figurative press of a button, wiping out both Daleks and Time Lords alike.

Ten million ships on fire. The Daleks all destroyed -- or so he thought.

The Master had to rub his face in it, of course. You must have felt like God...

He knows it's not true. He'd never enjoyed it.

So why did it have to hurt this much?

The Doctor, however, has a feeling he already knows the answer. 

***

Next morning. The Doctor is called to the bridge of the VALIANT. Grumbling at just how bloody sore he is from the past few days, he staggers to the bridge. There's the Master as usual, as well as his wife, Lucy Saxon.

She doesn't look too good. She looks pale, almost tired, and on the verge of tears. And nervous as well. As if the slightest affront could provoke the Master's wrath. Even looking at her, the Doctor's heart aches for her, aches to help her. Poor creature. Poor lonely creature...

She mouths something, quickly, when the Doctor is led up to see the Master. Don't be afraid.

He isn't. Not for himself, at least. Just for his companions. 

The Doctor had already failed the first time in terms of infiltrating the VALIANT. Watching the Toclaphane attack Earth. And earlier, watching them cut President Winters to ribbons. Now what could he possibly -- ?

"Doctor," the Master says, in that infuriatingly smarmy tone of a practiced politician. "How wonderful of you to join us."

The Doctor doesn't answer. //Don't give him the satisfaction,// he tries to tell himself. //Rose will be there soon.// And that's enough to give him some degree of steel.

The Master talks on. "We caught this one trying to escape the prison block. Guards?"

They bring Jack forward. Even now, the Doctor winces. Dear Rassilon, Jack looks like hell. Bruises, scars, and Gallifrey knows what else -- even now, he manages to give the Doctor a bleary grin. "Hey, Doc. Long time, no see. Doing all right?"

"Well," the Doctor says, trying in vain to make some sort of a joke, "rotting in a dungeon in Cardiff sounds awfully pleasant right now..."

"Enough." The Master cuts off their conversation abruptly. "Now, Captain Jack -- it seems that we're going to have to teach you a very important lesson. In other words, we're going to teach not only you, but your companions what happens when you dare to defy me."

He gives the Doctor a very pointed look. 

"Leave him be," the Doctor says, "He's done nothing wrong."

"Nothing wrong? Oh, Doctor -- are you honestly that naive? Captain Jack and his team have caused quite a lot of trouble for me -- especially now because of you. You, after all...you seem to have a talent for making some people want to play hero, don't you?"

The Doctor makes his move.

He doesn't know whether he's trying to save Jack or snap the Master's neck (how could he say that, how could he -- ?) but either way, the guards manage to shoot him with some sort of stun device, using a powerful enough charge to subdue him. He falls to the deck -- it's only feeling Martha supporting him that he smiles, if slightly.

"Are you all right?"

"I -- '' The Doctor winces, if slightly. "I'm all right."

At the front, Jack is being prepared for...some sort of ritual. Some sort of breaking wheel. Even now, as Jack's tied to the breaking wheel, he tries to crack a smile. "Don't worry, Doc. I'll be all right."

Even now, though, as the Master pulls out the club he's going to use just for this purpose, the Doctor doesn't believe him.