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lizbeeTitle: How Martha Jones Saved the World and Lucy Saxon Initiated Divorce Proceedings with Extreme Prejudice (4/5)
Summary: Entirely AU conclusion to "The Sound of Drums", in which companions come to the rescue, UNIT blows stuff up and Lucy Saxon's pocket-watch is opened.
Spoilers: "Human Nature" and "Family of Blood", "Utopia", "The Sound of Drums" and so forth.
Notes: The plot part is finished, there's just a wee epilogue to go. Only I'm about 2 minutes away from being picked up for my brother's engagement party. HELLO DEADLINE!
"Romana," said Martha. "It is Romana, isn't it?"
"And you're Martha." Romana threw the watch across the room. It broke into pieces as it hit the wall. "I am Romanadvoratrelundar, now. No thanks to -- tell me, Martha, how did you know?"
"I didn't. Not until I had the watch."
"Oh, that watch. He worked so hard to get it. It protected itself from him -- or I protected myself. As far as I could. Is my mother dead? Lady Cole, I mean. He really did hate her -- so did I, for a while. Poor woman."
"Lady Cole?" Martha asked, "or Lucy?"
Romana smiled. "Poor, stupid Lucy," she said. "I'm glad to be rid of her. She was getting a bit unstable there, towards the end."
"Not like you," said Ace.
"Be fair, Dorothy, I've only just woken up." She stretched. "And I've had the Master sitting in my head for the last year, not to mention a delayed reaction to a forced regeneration." She started towards the door. "Come on, you two," she called over her shoulder, "we've got work to do."
Martha mouthed, Dorothy? at Ace, who shook her head.
Then they followed.
*
Romana led them through the corridors leading down to the lower levels. No one stopped them. Her swipecard gave them access to all areas, and she marched past the guards with her head held high. They had just reached the TARDIS when there was a distant explosion. Klaxons rang out.
"That'll be UNIT," said Martha.
"About bloody time," said Ace.
"As long as they don't shoot us," said Romana.
Inside the TARDIS, she pulled a pin from her hair, straightened it and said, "right ... paradox machine. How bloody typical. Martha, there should be a storeroom next to the laundry, or possibly the third door on the right after the kitchen."
"I know the one. It's around the corner from the second bathroom."
"Right. Good. It should contain an emergency repair kit."
"Black box with red writing?"
"That's the one. Quick as you can, please. And Dorothy, please check the dimensional stabiliser, if it still exists, and let me know if we're about to explode."
*
Martha returned to find Romana standing, barefooted and messy-haired, in the middle of the burnt out console room. Ace sat on the charred stairs nearby, head resting in her hands.
"Can you fix it?" Martha asked.
"Maybe." Romana ran a dirty hand through her hair. "He used the machine to open a hole in the fabric of space and time. That was the paradox, convincing the universe that one thing existed where there was in fact something else entirely."
"Can it be reversed? Can you send the Toclafane back where they came from?"
"I can send them somewhere. I could open the void and send them into the space between realities, if you don't mind a bit of collateral damage."
"How much collateral damage?"
"Most of this galaxy, for a start," said Ace.
"Oh. Good."
"What we could do," said Romana, kneeling once more before the paradox machine, "is use one of those vortex manipulators to jump back eighteen months. Catch the Master at the moment of his arrival and stab him in the hearts."
"New paradox," said Ace. "Might as well go back further and kill his grandfather."
"I'm certainly considering it," said Romana. She was carefully opening the machine, pausing every few moments to examine something more closely. "No," she murmured. "Impossible."
Martha dropped to her knees at Romana's side. "What is it?" she asked as Ace joined them.
Romana closed her eyes. "I know where the Toclafane came from," she said.
After that, it only took an hour.
*
Leaving the TARDIS turned out to be more difficult than entering, largely on account of the battle taking place outside its doors.
"Looks like UNIT's raid's going well," said Ace.
"Good," said Romana. "We'll need a distraction."
They ducked behind a bulkhead to avoid being shot, stunned or disintegrated.
"What now?" Martha asked.
"We head for the bridge," said Romana. "I expect the Doctor needs rescuing, and I need a word with my husband."
"There's an elevator around the corner," said Ace.
"Yeah, and only a few armed soldiers in the way," Martha pointed out.
"Don't worry," Ace said. "Martha, give Romana your gun. She's probably a better shot than you."
"Can't be any worse," Martha agreed, although she had private doubts about the wisdom of arming a slightly crazed Time Lady. "Is there any more to your plan?"
"Oh yeah," said Ace, still watching the passing soldiers. She reached out, grabbed one, and pulled him into their makeshift refuge.
"Harkness," she said. "Got a job for you."
*
Martha would have quite liked to collapse into a crumpled heap on the floor of the elevator, but since everyone else was standing, she settled for leaning against the wall and listening to the conversation going on around her.
"You're a good shot," Jack was saying to Romana. "Switching sides?"
"Marital difficulties," she said.
"Irreconcilable differences?"
"Oh, quite." There was a moment of silence, then she added, "that's not an invitation to enter my personal space."
"Right. Sorry."
"Harkness," said Ace, "you've got the worst timing of anyone I ever met."
*
As they approached the bridge, Romana pulled a phone from her pocket and dialed.
"Darling Harry," she cooed, "do you have a moment?" She listened, then said, "no, actually, I can't think of a better time. I've been doing some serious thinking about our relationship," she swiped her card and the doors to the bridge slid open, "and I think it's time we got a divorce."
A flicker of surprise crossed the Master's face as he saw them. It was swiftly masked, but Martha felt a small thrill of triumph. She scanned the bridge; it was almost empty but for the bodies that littered its floor. Martha crouched by one, but the woman had been dead for hours. The Doctor sat on the other side of the room, watching closely. He met her eyes and gave her a very small smile.
"Oooh," said the Master, "my deepest secret's uncovered. How will I cope?" He tapped his cheek in mock-thought. "What do you think, should I brazen it out, or pretend to be contrite?"
"You could start," Romana suggested, "by running." She tapped Martha's gun against her leg, circling him.
"Oh, but I had such a good excuse prepared. We always had such good excuses at school. Let's see," he counted on his fingers, "it seemed like a good idea at the time, I thought it was funny, the Doctor made me do it, the Rani made me do it, I didn't know it would trigger a regeneration and a recursive paradox loop, Cardinal, really I didn't." He was advancing on Romana, his eyes cold. "The drums made me do it," he hissed.
"Always with those blasted drums."
Martha slipped over to the other side of the room and squeezed the Doctor's hand. His skin was paper-thin.
"Do you know what they mean, Lady President? Do you know what the drumming means?"
"Temporal schizophrenia, I expect. Caused by exposing an inherently unstable psyche to the vortex at an early age, and inadequate training in youth."
Martha slipped the syringe out of her pocket and injected it into the tool Romana had given her.
"Oh yes," said the Master, "that's a very good answer, very dry, classic Gallifreyan. And very," he hit the table, and Martha jumped, "very wrong."
Romana tilted her head.
"The drumming was always there, but they went and made it louder. It's always with me, now. Human, Time Lord, always the drums. Do you hear them? Do you?"
"No."
"There's a message," said the Master, "buried in my head. Inside the drums. Orders."
"Orders to do what?"
He laughed. "It's ironic, you know. You'll laugh. You'll laugh 'til you cry." He ascended the stairs two at a time, leaned against the railing and said, "I, ladies and gentlemen, am the appointed saviour of Gallifrey."
The Doctor uttered a short laugh. Martha froze, but the Master only spared him a quick, contemptuous look.
She took a deep breath, pressed the cellular regenerator against the Doctor's wrist, and hit the activate button.
"I know! It's brilliant! It's the kind of thing that only a dry old senator on his twelfth regeneration could come up with! The Chancellor -- he'd seen the simulations. He knew we couldn't win. He -- and his faction, because the men in big collars never took a step without having someone to blame by their sides -- they arranged for the Lady President to be transported to safety. And then they asked themselves, 'Who among our forces would have the imagination to rescue Gallifrey from oblivion and restore her to her former glories?"
The Doctor choked -- the reversal was beginning; he was already looking younger. Ace glanced at him, met Martha's eyes, and stepped forward.
"And they picked you?" she asked loudly. She laughed. "Come on, no one's that crazy."
"Well, you know, war makes everyone a bit -- wait!" The Master's face lit up and he bounded towards her. "I know you! You were the latest in a long line of lost little girls. And now you're still trailing after him. It's so touching." He leaned back, towards Romana. "Just your type," he said in a stage-whisper, "Lucy always loved cats." To Ace he said, "They selected me -- out of an admittedly miserable group of contenders, they weren't much for imagination on Gallifrey -- because they had the charming idea that I could be controlled. Also, the Doctor was still catatonic in his TARDIS after Arcadia. Terribly pretty, he was, but not what you'd call robust. They created a contingency plan -- mutant Time Lords, genetic material was short, it was quite obscene, of course, but they hoped the need would never arise. They planted their orders in my head." Now he was circling Romana. "Inside the drums. And the sound drove me quite mad."
"I can see that," said Romana.
The Doctor stood up.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"So am I," said the Master.
"What?" Romana whirled on the Doctor. "You're sorry for him? Have you lost your mind?"
"Maybe it's a kind of Stockholm Syndrome," the Master said helpfully. "Or maybe he just likes me better." He looked at Martha. "I didn't know cellular regeneration was on the curriculum for medical students. I think," he flicked his fingers, and a Toclafane appeared, rotating slowly in the air. "I think," he said, "it's time to put you out of your misery."
"No!" shouted the Doctor, and Romana, Ace and Jack were all firing their weapons, but the spinning globe deflected their shots and descended.
"It's okay," she tried to tell the Doctor, "it buys us some time--"
Then the Toclafane descended, and everything went white.
*
Linaquist, Arcalian of the House of Moonfall, Capitol statistician and sometime war heroine, opened her eyes. Around her, all was chaos: a soldier was dying and a man in a black suit (Earth professional garb, she recognised) was shooting at an armoured woman.
"What," she started, but her mouth was dry and her voice was unfamiliar.
Oh. Death. Yes, she remembered dying, and a long silence afterwards. Darkness, emptiness. Had the regeneration gone wrong? Her new body felt strange. Alien.
"Martha," a man was saying urgently. She knew him, or at least, she had seen him from a distance and the senior co-ordinator had identified him: the Doctor, the famous renegade. He was leaning over her, cupping her face in his hands, eyes naked with concern. "Martha?"
"My name," she said slowly, adapting to new teeth, new tongue, "is Lenaquist."
The Doctor's face darkened. He let her go and stood up, whirling around to face the man in the suit.
"What have you done to her?" he demanded.
"I thought you didn't want to be alone."
"Not like this."
Lenaquist tried to sit up, and her head swum. Everything was wrong, she thought, she only had one heart. This body was--
Sorry, mate. Already occupied.
It was a voice, in her mind. Another entity. A primitive mind in a primitive body.
That's nice. Coming from the bodysnatcher.
"Who are you?" Lenaquist shouted, and the others stopped to stare at her. "Who is she?" she demanded, "please, why am I not alone?"
"Don't worry," said the pale man, and Lenaquist abruptly realised she knew him, too, by reputation. The Master. She wasn't sure if it was her mind, or its other occupant, who supplied his name. "She'll die soon." This was directed at the small woman by his side, the Lady President herself, who was regarding Lenaquist with barely-concealed horror. "What do you think of your new Gallifreyan empire?" he asked.
"I think I should have killed you in your sleep."
On the other side of the room, the dead man rolled over with a groan, swore loudly and crawled over to his comrade's side.
"Her name is Martha." The Doctor's voice was low and flat as he spoke to her. He hated her, she realised. Because she was killing his dearest friend.
Oh, said Martha's voice. I didn't realise -- but it's not going to last. I'm just buying time.
"What?" She had spoken aloud, and the Doctor stared at her.
If this doesn't work, said Martha, tell the Doctor---
"What do you mean, doesn't work?" she asked.
Tell the Doctor I---
The world around her shifted, and cracked, and Lenaquist's body was racked with pain. "No!" she shrieked. "No, I won't go back to the darkness!"
"The paradox machine," the Master howled, grabbing Romana by her hair and spinning her around. "What have you done?"
"Reversed it," Romana hissed. "Doctor, did he tell you where the Toclafane came from?"
"The paradoxical dimension created in the crossfire," he said. "A state of pure mathematical chaos."
"I'm sending them home," said Romana. She was laughing and crying at the same time.
Lenaquist was shaking; this was death without regeneration. She was so scared...
"The darkness," she choked, "please don't send me back to the darkness."
"I'm sorry," said the Doctor, but his eyes were merciless. "It has to be this way."
Behind him, the Master grabbed Romana by the shoulders, putting his hand to her throat in a tender, intimate gesture.
"Please," said Lenaquist.
I'm sorry, said Martha. I'm truly sorry.
Everything went white.
*
Martha rolled over and retched, but her stomach was empty. The Doctor squeezed her shoulder and helped her to her feet.
"All right?" he whispered.
"I'll be okay," she said. "I'll be okay."
"That's terribly sweet," said the Master. "I'm actually touched. Is it warming the cockles of your hearts, Romana?" He had her weapon; he ran it down the side of her face. She made a choking noise and twisted. He laughed. "Oh," he added, "I did, in fact, prepare for the eventuality of your ... awakening. Murderous as you might feel, you'll never be able to kill me." He drew her closer against him. "Think of it this way, Romana -- if you did kill me, the Doctor would never forgive you."
Martha dared to glance at the Doctor. He didn't disagree.
"Martha," said the Master, "give me your vortex manipulator."
Martha looked at the Doctor.
"Do it," he said.
Slowly, she drew it off her wrist and threw it at the Master. He caught it neatly.
"Thank you," he said, hit the button, and vanished with hostage.
The moment he was gone, Martha rushed to Ace's side. She was conscious, but her pupils were dilated.
"Take mine," she said, offering her wrist.
"Not yet," said Martha, taking her pulse.
"I'll live," said Ace. "For God's sake, Martha--"
"She's right," said the Doctor, pulling the manipulator off her wrist. "I can recalibrate this to follow yours. Are you coming?"
"Don't worry," said Jack, reaching for Ace, "I'll take care of her." He handed his gun to Martha, his fingers brushing hers.
Martha stood up slowly, reaching out for the Doctor's hand. His fingers closed around hers and he squeezed them, and then they slipped into the vortex.
*
They arrived in Downing Street, in the middle of a big, empty room that still smelled of fresh paint. The Doctor took a quick look around and said, "This way."
As she followed him through the long hallways and up the stairs, Martha whispered, "So ... do you have a plan?"
"I'm improvising."
"Oh. Great."
"I'm also open to suggestions."
"Aim for the head," she said. "And before he regenerates, cut him into little pieces and bury them separately."
"At a crossroad, at midnight, with stakes through his hearts?"
"Dammit, I'm not joking," she snapped, but then they rounded a corner, and conversation abruptly ceased.
Romana stood at the threshold of the Prime Minister's apartments, gazing straight ahead, hands by her side. A slim grey box hung around her neck.
"If you come any closer," she said evenly, "you'll trigger the kinetic sensors and blow all of us into little pieces."
"Not to worry," said the Doctor, reaching into his pocket. "Ah," he added with a look of chagrin. "I forgot. No sonic screwdriver."
"Please." The Master appeared behind Romana. "You must give me some credit for forward-planning." He pulled his laser screwdriver out of his coat pocket. "Also, I have my own detonation key. In case you decide to improvise, or if you annoy me."
The Doctor waved his hands, as if to say, Fair enough.
"Now," said the Master, throwing himself back on a sofa, "isn't this nice? Just the three of us at last. And Martha." He gave her a childish wave. "Hello, Martha. If you sit still and keep quiet, we'll reward you with a sweet later."
"Don't patronise the natives, Harry," Romana murmured. "I expect they'll be here any minute with orders to shoot on sight."
"And my plans for escape are well underway, I promise." He put his feet up on the coffee table and said something, but Martha's attention was on the door behind him.
She slipped away from the Doctor's side and went to explore.
One room. Two rooms. Offices and a library, both littered with corpses. A smashed piece of Toclafane armour lay on a staircase; someone had done a good job of defending themselves. Another office, a bathroom -- and yes, she could hear the Doctor's voice on the other side of the door.
For the first time, she considered Jack's gun. It was heavy in her hand, and words like recoil presented themselves in her mind, along with worrying mental images. Ace's weapons had fired energy bolts, not bullets. Tish had dated a cop once, who had sat through CSI complaining about how shooting was never as easy as it looked on television. And she herself had treated bullet wounds, or at least, watched while Mr Stoker treated bullet wounds, and there was nothing uglier than shooting metal into vulnerable skin.
He's killed millions of people. The Doctor can't or won't deal with him, and by the time anyone else gets here--
It was a bit like that idea of Julia's, that Harry Potter should just get a gun and shoot Voldemort. Which had promptly been mocked, but Martha had lingered on the idea just long enough to be appalled at the idea of a weapon like that in the hands of a child, even a fictional one. And it's not like a bullet could kill him anyway. Not nearly mythical enough.
Of course, she thought, you're also assuming that you'll hit him.
And another voice, older and alien, whispered in her mind, I held the Arcalian marksmanship trophy when I was at university.
Martha nearly dropped the gun. Instead, she froze, held her breath for a moment and thought, Still here?
In fragments.
Well. At least she wasn't alone.
She closed her eyes for a moment, offered up a silent, hopeless prayer, then threw the bathroom door open, raised the gun and -- thinking of Lenaquist -- fired.
Several things happened at once:
The Master swung around, a look of surprise crossing his features. A red spot appeared on his chest and spread slowly, but he was already laughing.
The Doctor shouted, "No!"
Martha fired again, and missed.
The bullet struck the bomb around Romana's neck -- freezing the kinetic sensors, Linaquist thought, without triggering detonation, did I not tell you I held the trophy?
"Yeah," said Martha, "you mentioned it," as Romana lunged forward, pushing the explosive towards the Master, while he tried to operate the vortex manipulator with bloody fingers.
The Doctor's hands closed around Romana's shoulders as the bomb finally detonated. It was a disappointing explosion, half-swallowed by the operation of the vortex manipulator. Romana and the Doctor were thrown across the room; Martha just swayed on her feet, black spots dancing in front of her eyes.
When she could see again, the Master was gone.
But he's injured, Linaquist promised happily, he took the brunt of the force. The manipulator was damaged. He's neutralised for the moment.
"Not exactly the ringing victory I was hoping for," Martha whispered, "But it'll do for now."
She wanted to sink to the floor, but she still had a patient. The Doctor was cradling Romana's burnt body, speaking to her quietly and urgently. Martha rested her hand on his shoulder.
"Don't look so maudlin," Romana said hoarsely. "This is--" she broke off to gasp in pain as the effort to speak became too much -- "exactly what I needed."
She was shaking now, reaching for the Doctor with the remnants of her burnt hand.
Halfway there, she faltered.
The Doctor closed his eyes. Martha held him more tightly.
Romana sighed and became light.
Out of the corner of her eye, Martha saw the Doctor smile.
to be continued (in a wee epilogue)
Summary: Entirely AU conclusion to "The Sound of Drums", in which companions come to the rescue, UNIT blows stuff up and Lucy Saxon's pocket-watch is opened.
Spoilers: "Human Nature" and "Family of Blood", "Utopia", "The Sound of Drums" and so forth.
Notes: The plot part is finished, there's just a wee epilogue to go. Only I'm about 2 minutes away from being picked up for my brother's engagement party. HELLO DEADLINE!
How Martha Jones Saved the World and Lucy Saxon Initiated Divorce Proceedings with Extreme Prejudice
by LizBee
Four
by LizBee
Four
"Romana," said Martha. "It is Romana, isn't it?"
"And you're Martha." Romana threw the watch across the room. It broke into pieces as it hit the wall. "I am Romanadvoratrelundar, now. No thanks to -- tell me, Martha, how did you know?"
"I didn't. Not until I had the watch."
"Oh, that watch. He worked so hard to get it. It protected itself from him -- or I protected myself. As far as I could. Is my mother dead? Lady Cole, I mean. He really did hate her -- so did I, for a while. Poor woman."
"Lady Cole?" Martha asked, "or Lucy?"
Romana smiled. "Poor, stupid Lucy," she said. "I'm glad to be rid of her. She was getting a bit unstable there, towards the end."
"Not like you," said Ace.
"Be fair, Dorothy, I've only just woken up." She stretched. "And I've had the Master sitting in my head for the last year, not to mention a delayed reaction to a forced regeneration." She started towards the door. "Come on, you two," she called over her shoulder, "we've got work to do."
Martha mouthed, Dorothy? at Ace, who shook her head.
Then they followed.
*
Romana led them through the corridors leading down to the lower levels. No one stopped them. Her swipecard gave them access to all areas, and she marched past the guards with her head held high. They had just reached the TARDIS when there was a distant explosion. Klaxons rang out.
"That'll be UNIT," said Martha.
"About bloody time," said Ace.
"As long as they don't shoot us," said Romana.
Inside the TARDIS, she pulled a pin from her hair, straightened it and said, "right ... paradox machine. How bloody typical. Martha, there should be a storeroom next to the laundry, or possibly the third door on the right after the kitchen."
"I know the one. It's around the corner from the second bathroom."
"Right. Good. It should contain an emergency repair kit."
"Black box with red writing?"
"That's the one. Quick as you can, please. And Dorothy, please check the dimensional stabiliser, if it still exists, and let me know if we're about to explode."
*
Martha returned to find Romana standing, barefooted and messy-haired, in the middle of the burnt out console room. Ace sat on the charred stairs nearby, head resting in her hands.
"Can you fix it?" Martha asked.
"Maybe." Romana ran a dirty hand through her hair. "He used the machine to open a hole in the fabric of space and time. That was the paradox, convincing the universe that one thing existed where there was in fact something else entirely."
"Can it be reversed? Can you send the Toclafane back where they came from?"
"I can send them somewhere. I could open the void and send them into the space between realities, if you don't mind a bit of collateral damage."
"How much collateral damage?"
"Most of this galaxy, for a start," said Ace.
"Oh. Good."
"What we could do," said Romana, kneeling once more before the paradox machine, "is use one of those vortex manipulators to jump back eighteen months. Catch the Master at the moment of his arrival and stab him in the hearts."
"New paradox," said Ace. "Might as well go back further and kill his grandfather."
"I'm certainly considering it," said Romana. She was carefully opening the machine, pausing every few moments to examine something more closely. "No," she murmured. "Impossible."
Martha dropped to her knees at Romana's side. "What is it?" she asked as Ace joined them.
Romana closed her eyes. "I know where the Toclafane came from," she said.
After that, it only took an hour.
*
Leaving the TARDIS turned out to be more difficult than entering, largely on account of the battle taking place outside its doors.
"Looks like UNIT's raid's going well," said Ace.
"Good," said Romana. "We'll need a distraction."
They ducked behind a bulkhead to avoid being shot, stunned or disintegrated.
"What now?" Martha asked.
"We head for the bridge," said Romana. "I expect the Doctor needs rescuing, and I need a word with my husband."
"There's an elevator around the corner," said Ace.
"Yeah, and only a few armed soldiers in the way," Martha pointed out.
"Don't worry," Ace said. "Martha, give Romana your gun. She's probably a better shot than you."
"Can't be any worse," Martha agreed, although she had private doubts about the wisdom of arming a slightly crazed Time Lady. "Is there any more to your plan?"
"Oh yeah," said Ace, still watching the passing soldiers. She reached out, grabbed one, and pulled him into their makeshift refuge.
"Harkness," she said. "Got a job for you."
*
Martha would have quite liked to collapse into a crumpled heap on the floor of the elevator, but since everyone else was standing, she settled for leaning against the wall and listening to the conversation going on around her.
"You're a good shot," Jack was saying to Romana. "Switching sides?"
"Marital difficulties," she said.
"Irreconcilable differences?"
"Oh, quite." There was a moment of silence, then she added, "that's not an invitation to enter my personal space."
"Right. Sorry."
"Harkness," said Ace, "you've got the worst timing of anyone I ever met."
*
As they approached the bridge, Romana pulled a phone from her pocket and dialed.
"Darling Harry," she cooed, "do you have a moment?" She listened, then said, "no, actually, I can't think of a better time. I've been doing some serious thinking about our relationship," she swiped her card and the doors to the bridge slid open, "and I think it's time we got a divorce."
A flicker of surprise crossed the Master's face as he saw them. It was swiftly masked, but Martha felt a small thrill of triumph. She scanned the bridge; it was almost empty but for the bodies that littered its floor. Martha crouched by one, but the woman had been dead for hours. The Doctor sat on the other side of the room, watching closely. He met her eyes and gave her a very small smile.
"Oooh," said the Master, "my deepest secret's uncovered. How will I cope?" He tapped his cheek in mock-thought. "What do you think, should I brazen it out, or pretend to be contrite?"
"You could start," Romana suggested, "by running." She tapped Martha's gun against her leg, circling him.
"Oh, but I had such a good excuse prepared. We always had such good excuses at school. Let's see," he counted on his fingers, "it seemed like a good idea at the time, I thought it was funny, the Doctor made me do it, the Rani made me do it, I didn't know it would trigger a regeneration and a recursive paradox loop, Cardinal, really I didn't." He was advancing on Romana, his eyes cold. "The drums made me do it," he hissed.
"Always with those blasted drums."
Martha slipped over to the other side of the room and squeezed the Doctor's hand. His skin was paper-thin.
"Do you know what they mean, Lady President? Do you know what the drumming means?"
"Temporal schizophrenia, I expect. Caused by exposing an inherently unstable psyche to the vortex at an early age, and inadequate training in youth."
Martha slipped the syringe out of her pocket and injected it into the tool Romana had given her.
"Oh yes," said the Master, "that's a very good answer, very dry, classic Gallifreyan. And very," he hit the table, and Martha jumped, "very wrong."
Romana tilted her head.
"The drumming was always there, but they went and made it louder. It's always with me, now. Human, Time Lord, always the drums. Do you hear them? Do you?"
"No."
"There's a message," said the Master, "buried in my head. Inside the drums. Orders."
"Orders to do what?"
He laughed. "It's ironic, you know. You'll laugh. You'll laugh 'til you cry." He ascended the stairs two at a time, leaned against the railing and said, "I, ladies and gentlemen, am the appointed saviour of Gallifrey."
The Doctor uttered a short laugh. Martha froze, but the Master only spared him a quick, contemptuous look.
She took a deep breath, pressed the cellular regenerator against the Doctor's wrist, and hit the activate button.
"I know! It's brilliant! It's the kind of thing that only a dry old senator on his twelfth regeneration could come up with! The Chancellor -- he'd seen the simulations. He knew we couldn't win. He -- and his faction, because the men in big collars never took a step without having someone to blame by their sides -- they arranged for the Lady President to be transported to safety. And then they asked themselves, 'Who among our forces would have the imagination to rescue Gallifrey from oblivion and restore her to her former glories?"
The Doctor choked -- the reversal was beginning; he was already looking younger. Ace glanced at him, met Martha's eyes, and stepped forward.
"And they picked you?" she asked loudly. She laughed. "Come on, no one's that crazy."
"Well, you know, war makes everyone a bit -- wait!" The Master's face lit up and he bounded towards her. "I know you! You were the latest in a long line of lost little girls. And now you're still trailing after him. It's so touching." He leaned back, towards Romana. "Just your type," he said in a stage-whisper, "Lucy always loved cats." To Ace he said, "They selected me -- out of an admittedly miserable group of contenders, they weren't much for imagination on Gallifrey -- because they had the charming idea that I could be controlled. Also, the Doctor was still catatonic in his TARDIS after Arcadia. Terribly pretty, he was, but not what you'd call robust. They created a contingency plan -- mutant Time Lords, genetic material was short, it was quite obscene, of course, but they hoped the need would never arise. They planted their orders in my head." Now he was circling Romana. "Inside the drums. And the sound drove me quite mad."
"I can see that," said Romana.
The Doctor stood up.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"So am I," said the Master.
"What?" Romana whirled on the Doctor. "You're sorry for him? Have you lost your mind?"
"Maybe it's a kind of Stockholm Syndrome," the Master said helpfully. "Or maybe he just likes me better." He looked at Martha. "I didn't know cellular regeneration was on the curriculum for medical students. I think," he flicked his fingers, and a Toclafane appeared, rotating slowly in the air. "I think," he said, "it's time to put you out of your misery."
"No!" shouted the Doctor, and Romana, Ace and Jack were all firing their weapons, but the spinning globe deflected their shots and descended.
"It's okay," she tried to tell the Doctor, "it buys us some time--"
Then the Toclafane descended, and everything went white.
*
Linaquist, Arcalian of the House of Moonfall, Capitol statistician and sometime war heroine, opened her eyes. Around her, all was chaos: a soldier was dying and a man in a black suit (Earth professional garb, she recognised) was shooting at an armoured woman.
"What," she started, but her mouth was dry and her voice was unfamiliar.
Oh. Death. Yes, she remembered dying, and a long silence afterwards. Darkness, emptiness. Had the regeneration gone wrong? Her new body felt strange. Alien.
"Martha," a man was saying urgently. She knew him, or at least, she had seen him from a distance and the senior co-ordinator had identified him: the Doctor, the famous renegade. He was leaning over her, cupping her face in his hands, eyes naked with concern. "Martha?"
"My name," she said slowly, adapting to new teeth, new tongue, "is Lenaquist."
The Doctor's face darkened. He let her go and stood up, whirling around to face the man in the suit.
"What have you done to her?" he demanded.
"I thought you didn't want to be alone."
"Not like this."
Lenaquist tried to sit up, and her head swum. Everything was wrong, she thought, she only had one heart. This body was--
Sorry, mate. Already occupied.
It was a voice, in her mind. Another entity. A primitive mind in a primitive body.
That's nice. Coming from the bodysnatcher.
"Who are you?" Lenaquist shouted, and the others stopped to stare at her. "Who is she?" she demanded, "please, why am I not alone?"
"Don't worry," said the pale man, and Lenaquist abruptly realised she knew him, too, by reputation. The Master. She wasn't sure if it was her mind, or its other occupant, who supplied his name. "She'll die soon." This was directed at the small woman by his side, the Lady President herself, who was regarding Lenaquist with barely-concealed horror. "What do you think of your new Gallifreyan empire?" he asked.
"I think I should have killed you in your sleep."
On the other side of the room, the dead man rolled over with a groan, swore loudly and crawled over to his comrade's side.
"Her name is Martha." The Doctor's voice was low and flat as he spoke to her. He hated her, she realised. Because she was killing his dearest friend.
Oh, said Martha's voice. I didn't realise -- but it's not going to last. I'm just buying time.
"What?" She had spoken aloud, and the Doctor stared at her.
If this doesn't work, said Martha, tell the Doctor---
"What do you mean, doesn't work?" she asked.
Tell the Doctor I---
The world around her shifted, and cracked, and Lenaquist's body was racked with pain. "No!" she shrieked. "No, I won't go back to the darkness!"
"The paradox machine," the Master howled, grabbing Romana by her hair and spinning her around. "What have you done?"
"Reversed it," Romana hissed. "Doctor, did he tell you where the Toclafane came from?"
"The paradoxical dimension created in the crossfire," he said. "A state of pure mathematical chaos."
"I'm sending them home," said Romana. She was laughing and crying at the same time.
Lenaquist was shaking; this was death without regeneration. She was so scared...
"The darkness," she choked, "please don't send me back to the darkness."
"I'm sorry," said the Doctor, but his eyes were merciless. "It has to be this way."
Behind him, the Master grabbed Romana by the shoulders, putting his hand to her throat in a tender, intimate gesture.
"Please," said Lenaquist.
I'm sorry, said Martha. I'm truly sorry.
Everything went white.
*
Martha rolled over and retched, but her stomach was empty. The Doctor squeezed her shoulder and helped her to her feet.
"All right?" he whispered.
"I'll be okay," she said. "I'll be okay."
"That's terribly sweet," said the Master. "I'm actually touched. Is it warming the cockles of your hearts, Romana?" He had her weapon; he ran it down the side of her face. She made a choking noise and twisted. He laughed. "Oh," he added, "I did, in fact, prepare for the eventuality of your ... awakening. Murderous as you might feel, you'll never be able to kill me." He drew her closer against him. "Think of it this way, Romana -- if you did kill me, the Doctor would never forgive you."
Martha dared to glance at the Doctor. He didn't disagree.
"Martha," said the Master, "give me your vortex manipulator."
Martha looked at the Doctor.
"Do it," he said.
Slowly, she drew it off her wrist and threw it at the Master. He caught it neatly.
"Thank you," he said, hit the button, and vanished with hostage.
The moment he was gone, Martha rushed to Ace's side. She was conscious, but her pupils were dilated.
"Take mine," she said, offering her wrist.
"Not yet," said Martha, taking her pulse.
"I'll live," said Ace. "For God's sake, Martha--"
"She's right," said the Doctor, pulling the manipulator off her wrist. "I can recalibrate this to follow yours. Are you coming?"
"Don't worry," said Jack, reaching for Ace, "I'll take care of her." He handed his gun to Martha, his fingers brushing hers.
Martha stood up slowly, reaching out for the Doctor's hand. His fingers closed around hers and he squeezed them, and then they slipped into the vortex.
*
They arrived in Downing Street, in the middle of a big, empty room that still smelled of fresh paint. The Doctor took a quick look around and said, "This way."
As she followed him through the long hallways and up the stairs, Martha whispered, "So ... do you have a plan?"
"I'm improvising."
"Oh. Great."
"I'm also open to suggestions."
"Aim for the head," she said. "And before he regenerates, cut him into little pieces and bury them separately."
"At a crossroad, at midnight, with stakes through his hearts?"
"Dammit, I'm not joking," she snapped, but then they rounded a corner, and conversation abruptly ceased.
Romana stood at the threshold of the Prime Minister's apartments, gazing straight ahead, hands by her side. A slim grey box hung around her neck.
"If you come any closer," she said evenly, "you'll trigger the kinetic sensors and blow all of us into little pieces."
"Not to worry," said the Doctor, reaching into his pocket. "Ah," he added with a look of chagrin. "I forgot. No sonic screwdriver."
"Please." The Master appeared behind Romana. "You must give me some credit for forward-planning." He pulled his laser screwdriver out of his coat pocket. "Also, I have my own detonation key. In case you decide to improvise, or if you annoy me."
The Doctor waved his hands, as if to say, Fair enough.
"Now," said the Master, throwing himself back on a sofa, "isn't this nice? Just the three of us at last. And Martha." He gave her a childish wave. "Hello, Martha. If you sit still and keep quiet, we'll reward you with a sweet later."
"Don't patronise the natives, Harry," Romana murmured. "I expect they'll be here any minute with orders to shoot on sight."
"And my plans for escape are well underway, I promise." He put his feet up on the coffee table and said something, but Martha's attention was on the door behind him.
She slipped away from the Doctor's side and went to explore.
One room. Two rooms. Offices and a library, both littered with corpses. A smashed piece of Toclafane armour lay on a staircase; someone had done a good job of defending themselves. Another office, a bathroom -- and yes, she could hear the Doctor's voice on the other side of the door.
For the first time, she considered Jack's gun. It was heavy in her hand, and words like recoil presented themselves in her mind, along with worrying mental images. Ace's weapons had fired energy bolts, not bullets. Tish had dated a cop once, who had sat through CSI complaining about how shooting was never as easy as it looked on television. And she herself had treated bullet wounds, or at least, watched while Mr Stoker treated bullet wounds, and there was nothing uglier than shooting metal into vulnerable skin.
He's killed millions of people. The Doctor can't or won't deal with him, and by the time anyone else gets here--
It was a bit like that idea of Julia's, that Harry Potter should just get a gun and shoot Voldemort. Which had promptly been mocked, but Martha had lingered on the idea just long enough to be appalled at the idea of a weapon like that in the hands of a child, even a fictional one. And it's not like a bullet could kill him anyway. Not nearly mythical enough.
Of course, she thought, you're also assuming that you'll hit him.
And another voice, older and alien, whispered in her mind, I held the Arcalian marksmanship trophy when I was at university.
Martha nearly dropped the gun. Instead, she froze, held her breath for a moment and thought, Still here?
In fragments.
Well. At least she wasn't alone.
She closed her eyes for a moment, offered up a silent, hopeless prayer, then threw the bathroom door open, raised the gun and -- thinking of Lenaquist -- fired.
Several things happened at once:
The Master swung around, a look of surprise crossing his features. A red spot appeared on his chest and spread slowly, but he was already laughing.
The Doctor shouted, "No!"
Martha fired again, and missed.
The bullet struck the bomb around Romana's neck -- freezing the kinetic sensors, Linaquist thought, without triggering detonation, did I not tell you I held the trophy?
"Yeah," said Martha, "you mentioned it," as Romana lunged forward, pushing the explosive towards the Master, while he tried to operate the vortex manipulator with bloody fingers.
The Doctor's hands closed around Romana's shoulders as the bomb finally detonated. It was a disappointing explosion, half-swallowed by the operation of the vortex manipulator. Romana and the Doctor were thrown across the room; Martha just swayed on her feet, black spots dancing in front of her eyes.
When she could see again, the Master was gone.
But he's injured, Linaquist promised happily, he took the brunt of the force. The manipulator was damaged. He's neutralised for the moment.
"Not exactly the ringing victory I was hoping for," Martha whispered, "But it'll do for now."
She wanted to sink to the floor, but she still had a patient. The Doctor was cradling Romana's burnt body, speaking to her quietly and urgently. Martha rested her hand on his shoulder.
"Don't look so maudlin," Romana said hoarsely. "This is--" she broke off to gasp in pain as the effort to speak became too much -- "exactly what I needed."
She was shaking now, reaching for the Doctor with the remnants of her burnt hand.
Halfway there, she faltered.
The Doctor closed his eyes. Martha held him more tightly.
Romana sighed and became light.
Out of the corner of her eye, Martha saw the Doctor smile.
to be continued (in a wee epilogue)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-06-30 01:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-30 01:14 pm (UTC)I AM WRITING THE EPILOGUE NOW EVEN THOUGH I'M QUITE DRUNK
no subject
Date: 2007-06-30 08:33 pm (UTC)(this story is made of awesome. yes.)
no subject
Date: 2007-06-30 01:24 pm (UTC)ifwhen I get up in the morning and discover that this isn't what happened over night, I shall be very disappointed (yes, I'm making myself an icon that reads "batshit Romana fan").LOVE. Much love. There isn't enough Jack/Romana out there, either (nor enough [any?] Doctor/Jack/Romana).
"Just your type," he said in a stage-whisper, "Lucy always loved cats."
I'm drinking hot chocolate and there may have been some issue with my nose then.
no subject
Date: 2007-07-01 09:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-30 03:10 pm (UTC)"You're a good shot," Jack was saying to Romana. "Switching sides?"
"Marital difficulties," she said.
"Irreconcilable differences?"
"Oh, quite." There was a moment of silence, then she added, "that's not an invitation to enter my personal space."
*dies* Oh Jack...though, running off with Jack Harkness would not be Romana's worst idea ever.
LOVE this!
no subject
Date: 2007-06-30 03:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-30 03:42 pm (UTC)But hurry the bloody hell up with the epilogue!!!!
no subject
Date: 2007-06-30 03:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-30 04:15 pm (UTC)If the show would really have Lucy as Romana...
When's the epilogue due? *considers searching your pockets* ;-D
no subject
Date: 2007-06-30 04:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-30 04:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-30 07:52 pm (UTC)...and the episode's going to be a letdown, after this. No realli!
no subject
Date: 2007-06-30 10:23 pm (UTC)70% YES!!
no subject
Date: 2007-06-30 10:28 pm (UTC)If I find I don't like "The Last of the Time Lords", I'll enshrine this in fanon. Actually, I'll enshrine it anyway.
take a leaf out of my friend sugarplum's book
Date: 2007-07-04 04:00 am (UTC)"Marital difficulties," she said.
"Irreconcilable differences?"
"Oh, quite." There was a moment of silence, then she added, "that's not an invitation to enter my personal space."
"Right. Sorry."
ROTFL! Jack so would, wouldn't he. *shakes head and smiles affectionately*
"Aim for the head," she said. "And before he regenerates, cut him into little pieces and bury them separately."
"At a crossroad, at midnight, with stakes through his hearts?"
OMG! Doctor ftw! :)
Looking forward to the epilogue!