Protected - A Lucy Saxon/Saxon!Master fic
Title: Protected
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG-13 (innuendo)
Word Count: 1,400
Pairing/Characters: Saxon!Master/Lucy Saxon, The Doctor
Summary: Character introspection on both the Master and Lucy’s parts, and then some angsty plot.
Author's Notes: I imagine that in next weeks episode Rusty will try to use Lucy against Saxon, so this is my small contribution to that failed possibility. And that eventually, unfortunately, Lucy Saxon will die (this is pure speculation not fact). Once again unbetad.
I.
Lucy Saxon was a pretty woman. She was aware of this fact, she wasn’t as seductive as some, she knew this, but she was pretty enough. Any prettier and Harry probably wouldn’t have married her, it would be indecorous for a Prime Minister to have a seductive wife. Sometimes she was painfully aware of what pleasure she allowed herself at others expense, but as time passed it seemed more and more that all she could think of was her own amusement, her own power, but more importantly Harry’s amusement, Harry’s power.
When she had first met him there had been an initial suspicion, but he was so charming, and despite his often sadistic, maniacal, tendencies he could be tender. She liked that he was only tender with her. It filled her with a child like glee. The more time she spent with him, the longer she lived as Lucy Saxon the more intoxicated by him she grew. Sometimes, late at night she would find him awake, he always seemed so serious, so haunted in those moments, but then he would look at her, and he would smile. He would tell her plans of the future, their future, Britain’s future, the Earth’s future. Sometimes he would lay his head on her stomach his hands beating that sound, that sound which had intoxicated everyone, and she was no exception. It wasn’t just the beat on the inside of her head though, it was the way each of his fingers would tap intimately on her thigh, it was as if she was branded. Every time a moment like this came and went, she would loose herself more and more to her own amusement and forget others grief. She loved other’s pain even more when he would present one of his projects to her as if it was a present. Those days, those “presents” made her think of many ways to thank him.
Sometimes it felt like she was going mad. Usually it just felt like joy, especially when he would look at her. He only looked at her like that even when he (the stranger who tried to stop her Harry, he was not good, Harry told her to stay away) came, Harry still only looked at her like that. The tenderness that he showed her he never showed to anyone else, and it made her feel like a child. It made her feel safe being able to flee into her own amusement.
II.
The Master was pleased with his new identity as Harold Saxon. He was even enjoying some of Earth’s comforts and populace. Most of course bored him to tears, but he didn’t have to put up with them for long. Then there was Lucy, sweet darling Lucy. She was the perfect wife, but it went farther then that, He genuinely cared for Lucy, well genuinely caring for him is not what genuinely caring is for most people, but it was still saying something.
Lucy was, in his opinion, not only part of the perfect cover, but an enjoyable part. It only took a little bit of cajoling to get her to begin to enjoy in destruction, and even less for her to fall for him. She was a little mad, he had seen that the first time they met, he only needed to exploit that part, and he did, and it had a very enjoyable outcome. A pretty girl like her from the right family, well to put it succinctly the Prime Minister was pleased to find the blonde hair and wide blue eyes hid many things about his wife. He felt that he had to protect her in much the same way a child had to protect a wounded bird he had found and nursed back to health. The Master may have felt only great tenderness toward Mrs. Saxon, but Harold Saxon was in love with Lucy, and would protect her to the last.
III.
He looked from where he stood. The Doctor was working on her. How dare he. The Doctor was trying to manipulate Lucy to turn on him. He had many reasons to hate the Doctor, many reasons to want to kill him, and in that moment his trying to use Lucy was at the top of the Master’s list (or was it Saxon, he was growing confused).
“Doctor.” The Master demanded as he walked from his towering place on the Valiant.
The Doctor turned alarmed to look at him, and Lucy seized this moment to draw herself back.
“Oh, Harry.” She ran to him. She was nearly in tears, and a part of him who was still undeniably the product of that blue-eyed child who never stood before the Vortex wanted to grasp her and apologise, hold her and stroke her hair until she calmed. The larger part of him felt anger though, not at Lucy, not at dear sweet Lucy, but at the Doctor. Lucy was a child compared to them, and she was broken compared to her own people, how dare he think he could use her. He felt indignant. Lucy sobbed into his chest, her body shaking with barely contained fear and fretting. He cannot murmur nothings to her, so instead his hand rubs her back soothingly and he glares at the Doctor over her head.
When she begins to calm, he whispers into her ear, a small soft, forced smile spreads on his lips. “Why don’t you go see the invasion, love?” He wipes a tear from her eyes. “What happened to that stiff-upper lip?” He asks as he outlines her lips softly with his thumb. She smiles weakly and walks to the upper deck where he had stood moments before. Her shoulders are straight but after more than a year as her lover, he can tell that she is still troubled. He turns from her retreating form to look at the Doctor.
“You do not speak to her again, or I swear to Rassilon I will kill you, thrice over.” He says the words softly, but the threat, the menace is strong. Even the Doctor feels something akin to fear. “I do not care if it means changing my plans for you or your precious Earth. You do not use her, you do not even look at her unless you want your eyes ripped from their sockets.” The Master was trembling with barely repressed rage. For seventeen months Lucy had been there for him, always there never edging to close and never retreating to far, loyal to a fault she was, even when a moment of doubt took her it would be overwhelmed by her loyalty, and that he respected. He would not let her be harmed, especially not mentally, and especially not by the Doctor, that was his battle, he would not let her fall to that.
He turned to look at her, some of her childlike glee had been gleaned back. Feeling his eyes on her back the young woman looked over her shoulder at the man she called her husband, she smiled nervously seeking his approval, he smiled widely at her and ran to her swinging her about. Lucy’s laugh rang through the hall in a way reminiscent of The Master’s, although made all the more frightening from its girlish tone as it resounded off the walls in a hollow manner.
IV.
He should have seen this coming, he thinks bitterly as the Doctor stands once again restored to youth vengeful, angry, and almost pitying above him. It is a sight he hates, a sight he hates more for what lies in his arms. Her once vivid eyes now lie empty, and from her lips usually lively with a smile or a quiver comes instead a trail of blood, the red so startlingly dark and vivid against her pale skin. He is shocked by the amount of emotion the death of this one human pulls from him. He looks up at the Doctor. In that moment he buries Harold Saxon, and with it all real and fake emotion. He digs down to where the little boy who knew nothing of eternal drums lies and places her there. And there she sings and dances, happy with him, well a version of him. In that one moment he buries Lucy Saxon deep within him, protecting her memory from his darker self, the self who rises, gracefully letting her limp body slip from his grasp without tenderness. Inside she dances and laughs, protected forever, even as her corpse is abandoned by the man she loved.
Please review it makes my day.
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG-13 (innuendo)
Word Count: 1,400
Pairing/Characters: Saxon!Master/Lucy Saxon, The Doctor
Summary: Character introspection on both the Master and Lucy’s parts, and then some angsty plot.
Author's Notes: I imagine that in next weeks episode Rusty will try to use Lucy against Saxon, so this is my small contribution to that failed possibility. And that eventually, unfortunately, Lucy Saxon will die (this is pure speculation not fact). Once again unbetad.
I.
Lucy Saxon was a pretty woman. She was aware of this fact, she wasn’t as seductive as some, she knew this, but she was pretty enough. Any prettier and Harry probably wouldn’t have married her, it would be indecorous for a Prime Minister to have a seductive wife. Sometimes she was painfully aware of what pleasure she allowed herself at others expense, but as time passed it seemed more and more that all she could think of was her own amusement, her own power, but more importantly Harry’s amusement, Harry’s power.
When she had first met him there had been an initial suspicion, but he was so charming, and despite his often sadistic, maniacal, tendencies he could be tender. She liked that he was only tender with her. It filled her with a child like glee. The more time she spent with him, the longer she lived as Lucy Saxon the more intoxicated by him she grew. Sometimes, late at night she would find him awake, he always seemed so serious, so haunted in those moments, but then he would look at her, and he would smile. He would tell her plans of the future, their future, Britain’s future, the Earth’s future. Sometimes he would lay his head on her stomach his hands beating that sound, that sound which had intoxicated everyone, and she was no exception. It wasn’t just the beat on the inside of her head though, it was the way each of his fingers would tap intimately on her thigh, it was as if she was branded. Every time a moment like this came and went, she would loose herself more and more to her own amusement and forget others grief. She loved other’s pain even more when he would present one of his projects to her as if it was a present. Those days, those “presents” made her think of many ways to thank him.
Sometimes it felt like she was going mad. Usually it just felt like joy, especially when he would look at her. He only looked at her like that even when he (the stranger who tried to stop her Harry, he was not good, Harry told her to stay away) came, Harry still only looked at her like that. The tenderness that he showed her he never showed to anyone else, and it made her feel like a child. It made her feel safe being able to flee into her own amusement.
II.
The Master was pleased with his new identity as Harold Saxon. He was even enjoying some of Earth’s comforts and populace. Most of course bored him to tears, but he didn’t have to put up with them for long. Then there was Lucy, sweet darling Lucy. She was the perfect wife, but it went farther then that, He genuinely cared for Lucy, well genuinely caring for him is not what genuinely caring is for most people, but it was still saying something.
Lucy was, in his opinion, not only part of the perfect cover, but an enjoyable part. It only took a little bit of cajoling to get her to begin to enjoy in destruction, and even less for her to fall for him. She was a little mad, he had seen that the first time they met, he only needed to exploit that part, and he did, and it had a very enjoyable outcome. A pretty girl like her from the right family, well to put it succinctly the Prime Minister was pleased to find the blonde hair and wide blue eyes hid many things about his wife. He felt that he had to protect her in much the same way a child had to protect a wounded bird he had found and nursed back to health. The Master may have felt only great tenderness toward Mrs. Saxon, but Harold Saxon was in love with Lucy, and would protect her to the last.
III.
He looked from where he stood. The Doctor was working on her. How dare he. The Doctor was trying to manipulate Lucy to turn on him. He had many reasons to hate the Doctor, many reasons to want to kill him, and in that moment his trying to use Lucy was at the top of the Master’s list (or was it Saxon, he was growing confused).
“Doctor.” The Master demanded as he walked from his towering place on the Valiant.
The Doctor turned alarmed to look at him, and Lucy seized this moment to draw herself back.
“Oh, Harry.” She ran to him. She was nearly in tears, and a part of him who was still undeniably the product of that blue-eyed child who never stood before the Vortex wanted to grasp her and apologise, hold her and stroke her hair until she calmed. The larger part of him felt anger though, not at Lucy, not at dear sweet Lucy, but at the Doctor. Lucy was a child compared to them, and she was broken compared to her own people, how dare he think he could use her. He felt indignant. Lucy sobbed into his chest, her body shaking with barely contained fear and fretting. He cannot murmur nothings to her, so instead his hand rubs her back soothingly and he glares at the Doctor over her head.
When she begins to calm, he whispers into her ear, a small soft, forced smile spreads on his lips. “Why don’t you go see the invasion, love?” He wipes a tear from her eyes. “What happened to that stiff-upper lip?” He asks as he outlines her lips softly with his thumb. She smiles weakly and walks to the upper deck where he had stood moments before. Her shoulders are straight but after more than a year as her lover, he can tell that she is still troubled. He turns from her retreating form to look at the Doctor.
“You do not speak to her again, or I swear to Rassilon I will kill you, thrice over.” He says the words softly, but the threat, the menace is strong. Even the Doctor feels something akin to fear. “I do not care if it means changing my plans for you or your precious Earth. You do not use her, you do not even look at her unless you want your eyes ripped from their sockets.” The Master was trembling with barely repressed rage. For seventeen months Lucy had been there for him, always there never edging to close and never retreating to far, loyal to a fault she was, even when a moment of doubt took her it would be overwhelmed by her loyalty, and that he respected. He would not let her be harmed, especially not mentally, and especially not by the Doctor, that was his battle, he would not let her fall to that.
He turned to look at her, some of her childlike glee had been gleaned back. Feeling his eyes on her back the young woman looked over her shoulder at the man she called her husband, she smiled nervously seeking his approval, he smiled widely at her and ran to her swinging her about. Lucy’s laugh rang through the hall in a way reminiscent of The Master’s, although made all the more frightening from its girlish tone as it resounded off the walls in a hollow manner.
IV.
He should have seen this coming, he thinks bitterly as the Doctor stands once again restored to youth vengeful, angry, and almost pitying above him. It is a sight he hates, a sight he hates more for what lies in his arms. Her once vivid eyes now lie empty, and from her lips usually lively with a smile or a quiver comes instead a trail of blood, the red so startlingly dark and vivid against her pale skin. He is shocked by the amount of emotion the death of this one human pulls from him. He looks up at the Doctor. In that moment he buries Harold Saxon, and with it all real and fake emotion. He digs down to where the little boy who knew nothing of eternal drums lies and places her there. And there she sings and dances, happy with him, well a version of him. In that one moment he buries Lucy Saxon deep within him, protecting her memory from his darker self, the self who rises, gracefully letting her limp body slip from his grasp without tenderness. Inside she dances and laughs, protected forever, even as her corpse is abandoned by the man she loved.
Please review it makes my day.