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Jun. 18th, 2012 06:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladyofleithianTitle: Barely Surviving.
Summary: The Doctor writes about the Year That Never Was if only because, in the end, it's the best he can do.
Warnings: Triggering mentions of torture and domestic violence. And Doctor angst. And possibly rusty writing skills.
Prompt: Therapy.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Notes: Title taken from "Storm" by Lifehouse
The Doctor's been writing about the Year That Never Was -- though the people may have forgotten about it, though they've managed to defeat the Master and return Earth to how it was before Harold Saxon (or the Master) conquered Great Britain, the story cannot be forgotten.
He continues writing -- writing of Lucy Saxon's pain, suffering at the hands of her husband. Because should they catch up with the TARDIS, should anyone who still remembers, who was on Saxon's side, question her about why she shot him, this will be why. Occasionally, Lucy prods him to remember such details -- painful details, no doubt. He's protested, of course, said she doesn't need to --
But she disagrees. "The story needs to be told," she says, "For all our sakes." A rueful smile briefly touches her face as she says, "I'm...not very bright. But that doesn't mean I can't try."
"You're brighter than you think you are, Lucy."
Lucy Saxon doesn't smile, but for a moment, the Doctor swears he can see a gleam of light come back into otherwise empty eyes. She won't recover instantly from what her husband -- if that's the word for it. "Husband" is a too charitable word for the brute who hurt her -- did. But she's on her way to recovery -- hopefully.
He writes of what the Master did to Jack Harkness -- torturing him, killing him over and over again -- a man who simply could not die. His breath hitches when he writes of the breaking wheel, and how the Master was all but gloating about the idea of killing Jack in public. It's one of those moments when he briefly wants to put the in-progress story aside and not write any more. There are many parts like this, but this is one of the worst. Still, he writes, because if any of Saxon's supporters who still remember ask him why, exactly, this will be one of many answers.
He writes of Martha's father, as well as her mother, being taken away abruptly for seemingly no reason at all -- although it may have been to lure the Doctor himself out. Saving people is what he does, really -- if only because no society should be built on the back of fear. He's seen enough dictatorships and dystopias and other similar societies to know that.
Sometimes, Rose will prod him for either details he would prefer to forget -- the Toclaphane swarming on Earth, decimating one tenth of the population while that blasted, horrible song was playing, as if the Master had seen it more like a jolly good show instead of a massacre, as well as the Master's torture of him, keeping him in that blasted kennel that made a dungeon in Cardiff look *pleasant* -- or supply details that she knew while traveling the Earth: the deplorable living conditions, the Toclaphane all but enforcing martial law on the population, and so many other things...
Most of all, he writes of Jack's humor despite the situation, the sort of wisecracking that almost broke your heart (or hearts, in the Doctor's case, he mused with a wry smile before going back to his work), as well as his devotion and his love. His telling the Doctor not to worry before he was placed on the wheel. He writes of Martha's courage and defiance, of her support, of Rose's determination and devotion, and of Lucy and the acts of kindness she could spare under the nose of her husband.
And he writes of Koschei, the boy the Master used to be. Pleading with the Master to regenerate, to stay with him as he lay dying in his arms on the VALIANT because he'd be damned that he was going to lose anyone else. Because despite everything the Master had done, there was too much history between them to simply throw away.
Because he still loved the Master -- even if the Master couldn't care less for him. Even in between the brutality, he had thought he could see glimpses of Koschei in the Master's eyes. The red fields where they played together as boys. Koschei as a small child, playing soldiers vs. Sontarans with him, back when the thought of them becoming enemies was unspeakable, and the Last Great Time War was no more than a bad dream.
He doesn't know, if the Master had chosen life on the TARDIS, if anyone else would have forgiven him. Or, for that matter, if the drums could have stopped. But even the thought --
It's later that there's a knock at the door. "Doctor?" Rose's voice. Comfortingly familiar. "Dinner's ready."
"I'm coming."
Even getting up, opening the door to see Rose, she seems almost worried as she looks at him. "How are you doing?"
"Nearly done."
"Nearly done? That's..." Rose pauses, as if trying to find the right word. "Fantastic!"
The Doctor chuckles. It's usually his word, but there's something about Rose using it that's oddly comforting, really. "Well, I can't say it was easy. So much territory to cover." He grows more serious now. "Too much."
"Doctor, if you don't mind the question...you mentioned something about...you and the Master being friends once. If you don't mind me asking...?"
"It's all right." There's just so much territory to cover, so much that happened, that the Doctor doesn't know where to begin. But he can't be faulted, at least, for trying. "Let me...let me tell you about it."
Summary: The Doctor writes about the Year That Never Was if only because, in the end, it's the best he can do.
Warnings: Triggering mentions of torture and domestic violence. And Doctor angst. And possibly rusty writing skills.
Prompt: Therapy.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Notes: Title taken from "Storm" by Lifehouse
The Doctor's been writing about the Year That Never Was -- though the people may have forgotten about it, though they've managed to defeat the Master and return Earth to how it was before Harold Saxon (or the Master) conquered Great Britain, the story cannot be forgotten.
He continues writing -- writing of Lucy Saxon's pain, suffering at the hands of her husband. Because should they catch up with the TARDIS, should anyone who still remembers, who was on Saxon's side, question her about why she shot him, this will be why. Occasionally, Lucy prods him to remember such details -- painful details, no doubt. He's protested, of course, said she doesn't need to --
But she disagrees. "The story needs to be told," she says, "For all our sakes." A rueful smile briefly touches her face as she says, "I'm...not very bright. But that doesn't mean I can't try."
"You're brighter than you think you are, Lucy."
Lucy Saxon doesn't smile, but for a moment, the Doctor swears he can see a gleam of light come back into otherwise empty eyes. She won't recover instantly from what her husband -- if that's the word for it. "Husband" is a too charitable word for the brute who hurt her -- did. But she's on her way to recovery -- hopefully.
He writes of what the Master did to Jack Harkness -- torturing him, killing him over and over again -- a man who simply could not die. His breath hitches when he writes of the breaking wheel, and how the Master was all but gloating about the idea of killing Jack in public. It's one of those moments when he briefly wants to put the in-progress story aside and not write any more. There are many parts like this, but this is one of the worst. Still, he writes, because if any of Saxon's supporters who still remember ask him why, exactly, this will be one of many answers.
He writes of Martha's father, as well as her mother, being taken away abruptly for seemingly no reason at all -- although it may have been to lure the Doctor himself out. Saving people is what he does, really -- if only because no society should be built on the back of fear. He's seen enough dictatorships and dystopias and other similar societies to know that.
Sometimes, Rose will prod him for either details he would prefer to forget -- the Toclaphane swarming on Earth, decimating one tenth of the population while that blasted, horrible song was playing, as if the Master had seen it more like a jolly good show instead of a massacre, as well as the Master's torture of him, keeping him in that blasted kennel that made a dungeon in Cardiff look *pleasant* -- or supply details that she knew while traveling the Earth: the deplorable living conditions, the Toclaphane all but enforcing martial law on the population, and so many other things...
Most of all, he writes of Jack's humor despite the situation, the sort of wisecracking that almost broke your heart (or hearts, in the Doctor's case, he mused with a wry smile before going back to his work), as well as his devotion and his love. His telling the Doctor not to worry before he was placed on the wheel. He writes of Martha's courage and defiance, of her support, of Rose's determination and devotion, and of Lucy and the acts of kindness she could spare under the nose of her husband.
And he writes of Koschei, the boy the Master used to be. Pleading with the Master to regenerate, to stay with him as he lay dying in his arms on the VALIANT because he'd be damned that he was going to lose anyone else. Because despite everything the Master had done, there was too much history between them to simply throw away.
Because he still loved the Master -- even if the Master couldn't care less for him. Even in between the brutality, he had thought he could see glimpses of Koschei in the Master's eyes. The red fields where they played together as boys. Koschei as a small child, playing soldiers vs. Sontarans with him, back when the thought of them becoming enemies was unspeakable, and the Last Great Time War was no more than a bad dream.
He doesn't know, if the Master had chosen life on the TARDIS, if anyone else would have forgiven him. Or, for that matter, if the drums could have stopped. But even the thought --
It's later that there's a knock at the door. "Doctor?" Rose's voice. Comfortingly familiar. "Dinner's ready."
"I'm coming."
Even getting up, opening the door to see Rose, she seems almost worried as she looks at him. "How are you doing?"
"Nearly done."
"Nearly done? That's..." Rose pauses, as if trying to find the right word. "Fantastic!"
The Doctor chuckles. It's usually his word, but there's something about Rose using it that's oddly comforting, really. "Well, I can't say it was easy. So much territory to cover." He grows more serious now. "Too much."
"Doctor, if you don't mind the question...you mentioned something about...you and the Master being friends once. If you don't mind me asking...?"
"It's all right." There's just so much territory to cover, so much that happened, that the Doctor doesn't know where to begin. But he can't be faulted, at least, for trying. "Let me...let me tell you about it."
