I'm thinking I'm just going to post the whole thing as one story on my fic journal when I'm done, so you get more commentfic for now.
*
Martha screamed. She didn't mean to, and she stifled it quickly, but here was the bogeyman, the man who had haunted her dreams since she and Jack and the Doctor returned from the end of the universe. Standing here in front of her with his Cheshire cat smile, like he'd won some victory.
And he had, she realized, if she was here at all. It was all over.
His hands were empty, no weapons, but that hardly made him less frightening. She didn't even have a clue what he might do to her.
Martha stumbled backwards, just to put as much distance between them as possible, forgetting the bed until she hit it with the backs of her knees and tumbled back onto it. She let out a slight, startled squeak and scrambled to the opposite end of the bed, pushing herself with her arms - her legs hurt too much to move them any more than she had to.
"You're not real," she said softly, so softly she wasn't sure he'd be able to hear her, standing in the doorway, across the room.
The Master raised his eyebrows, leaving no doubt about whether he heard her. Martha spoke louder anyway, feeling her voice grow stronger.
"You're not. You're a... a dream, or a hallucination. I hit my head and this is a bleeding nightmare."
He was still standing in the doorway, and she couldn't imagine why. In her nightmares, he was always lunging at her immediately, his hands around her throat, laser screwdriver in his hand. This wasn't the Master of her nightmares. The way he just stood there, one hand on the door frame, head tilted to one side in what could almost be concern and looking more like the man she'd believed Harold Saxon was than the insane, megalomaniacal Time Lord who had conquered the earth... This was much worse.
"I'm afraid not." He took just one step into the room, enough to set her heart racing even faster than before. She hadn't thought that was possible, and it didn't help with her headache. "If anything, the world out there is a fantasy. That you really thought you could run from me... Aren't you a little old for that kind of childish daydreaming?"
In the back of her mind, Martha kept thinking that if she curled up under the blankets on the bed, put a pillow over her head, he'd go away. He was just a nightmare, after all. A high, hysterical laugh forced its way up her throat, just barely bit back at the last second. Childish daydreaming indeed.
If the Doctor were here, if the Doctor was even still alive, he wouldn't be scared. Martha focused on that, clung to the thought as the most precious thing in the world, and tried to look less terrified than she actually felt. It might have even worked, a little.
"I managed for five months," she said, and somehow her voice didn't shake. "Not bad, all things considered."
M is for Master
Martha screamed. She didn't mean to, and she stifled it quickly, but here was the bogeyman, the man who had haunted her dreams since she and Jack and the Doctor returned from the end of the universe. Standing here in front of her with his Cheshire cat smile, like he'd won some victory.
And he had, she realized, if she was here at all. It was all over.
His hands were empty, no weapons, but that hardly made him less frightening. She didn't even have a clue what he might do to her.
Martha stumbled backwards, just to put as much distance between them as possible, forgetting the bed until she hit it with the backs of her knees and tumbled back onto it. She let out a slight, startled squeak and scrambled to the opposite end of the bed, pushing herself with her arms - her legs hurt too much to move them any more than she had to.
"You're not real," she said softly, so softly she wasn't sure he'd be able to hear her, standing in the doorway, across the room.
The Master raised his eyebrows, leaving no doubt about whether he heard her. Martha spoke louder anyway, feeling her voice grow stronger.
"You're not. You're a... a dream, or a hallucination. I hit my head and this is a bleeding nightmare."
He was still standing in the doorway, and she couldn't imagine why. In her nightmares, he was always lunging at her immediately, his hands around her throat, laser screwdriver in his hand. This wasn't the Master of her nightmares. The way he just stood there, one hand on the door frame, head tilted to one side in what could almost be concern and looking more like the man she'd believed Harold Saxon was than the insane, megalomaniacal Time Lord who had conquered the earth... This was much worse.
"I'm afraid not." He took just one step into the room, enough to set her heart racing even faster than before. She hadn't thought that was possible, and it didn't help with her headache. "If anything, the world out there is a fantasy. That you really thought you could run from me... Aren't you a little old for that kind of childish daydreaming?"
In the back of her mind, Martha kept thinking that if she curled up under the blankets on the bed, put a pillow over her head, he'd go away. He was just a nightmare, after all. A high, hysterical laugh forced its way up her throat, just barely bit back at the last second. Childish daydreaming indeed.
If the Doctor were here, if the Doctor was even still alive, he wouldn't be scared. Martha focused on that, clung to the thought as the most precious thing in the world, and tried to look less terrified than she actually felt. It might have even worked, a little.
"I managed for five months," she said, and somehow her voice didn't shake. "Not bad, all things considered."
(continued in the next comment...)