Doctor Who fic, Master/Doctor, in the year that never was. The Master has some fun playing with the doctor, rated M for twisted torture and abuse. Will write more chapters if told to.
BBC owns these two, not me.
Sorry for the delay! I've gained a new roommate of sorts, lots of drama.. I'm back!
Also, it was pointed out to me how ridiculous the Jenny stuff was, so I fixed it.
The futurekind are out of their minds, onetwothreefour onetwothreefour. They found nothing, less than nothing. Just a chewed stick of gum. Doctor spit. Stupid little human freaks. A waste of my time. Onetwothreefour onetwothreefour. Lucy had the audacity to ask me where I had been. Stupid little human, not even that pretty. Empty headed onetwothreefour onetwothreefour little nitwit. Mostly harmless, not too bright. Perfect eyecandy. I let her know it's not her business what I do, haha. She's just to shut her mouth and onetwothreefour onetwothreefour look pretty, so smile and nod and bob to the music of me destroying the universe with the perfect paradox. Onetwothreefour onetwothreefour. Tomorrow, I will change my schedule. Tomorrow, I will let Theta heal, I will let him think on his onetwothreefour onetwothreefour sins.
Koschei. It's the name that enters my mind when I wake from terrible nightmares, retching and shivering. It's the name that haunts my head as I try to rest. Meyopapa. Master. He is my Master, I am nothing but his pet, his plaything. I want to resign myself to it, but am too proud, to afraid. What am I, if not the doctor? Not who, but what? I feel broken. I can't cry anymore, there is nothing left inside to cry out about. Jack continues to babble his optimistic babbles, a buzzing bee in my ear. I hate him. I hate everything. I have no capacity for anything but hate.
Although...except... unwanted memories, drifting through my mind. His hands, warm water, all around. The smell home, wafting through the air, clean hair, the feeling of his fingertips caressing, touching, being gentle. A bowl of soup. A soft kiss. Small gestures of genuine affection, contrasted by pain and insanity.
"He's not Evil. Not entirely." I don't mean to say the words aloud, but Jack's head whips around to stare at me in shock and disdain. I cringe.
I watch the Doctor cringe. He looks like a child, a confused child. I realize, quite suddenly, that I'm older than him. A lot older than him. That I have waited so long, doubled back, lived and lived and lived, waiting for him, and in the waiting, aged. Not physically, but still. My soul is old, and tired. "Maybe it's just the North American in me that wants to demonize him. It makes life easier to pretend there are absolutes. I am pretending that he is Evil, because that makes it easier to want to crush him. You do want to crush him, don't you doctor?"
"I want to forget." He mumbles.
"Forgetting will not win this war. People are dying down there, by the millions. Take up arms or you are no better than the genocidal monster who is ordering the killings. All it takes for evil to prevail is for good men to stand by and do nothing, Doctor. You are a good man, Doctor. And you must fight."
Great. He's sobbing again. It's going to be a long day.