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kat_lair***
Title: Deliverance
Author:kat_lair
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Simm!Master
Tags: Spooktober, Ficlet, Rescue, Enemies, Obsession
Rating: T
Word count: 689
Summary: ““Well, well, well…” The Master draws it out as much as he can, really savouring the moment. After all, it’s not every day, not even every century, that one finds one’s bestest beloved enemy shackled in a cell. “What do we have here?”
Author notes: Spooktober 2024, Day 24/31. Prompt/theme: Villain.
Deliverance on AO3
"Well, well, well…” The Master draws it out as much as he can, really savouring the moment. After all, it’s not every day, not even every century, that one finds one’s bestest beloved enemy shackled in a cell. “What do we have here?”
The Doctor’s head jerks up in surprise at the familiar voice. The look on his face is… Indescribable. The Master really wishes he had some way to preserve a picture of it for all eternity.
“We found him on the hills,” the Grekoorian guard says, “just wandering around, all dazed and confused.” She rattles her massive link of keys in a way of prison guards everywhere, truly one of the universal constants that.
The Doctor opens his mouth as if to say something, but the Master lifts a finger in warning and sends him a quelling look. If the Grekoorians realise the two of them know each other, the game will be up before it even really gets started. Luckily, his message is interpreted correctly, and the Doctor contents himself with simply glaring in their general direction. The Master doesn’t doubt the sincerity of the ‘not-quite-hatred-but-certainly-stronger-than-just-irritation’ in his eyes. It’s good to be appreciated. The Master allows him a delicate little shudder, relatively sure the guard will interpret it as disgust even though that couldn’t be farther from the truth.
“Is that a crime in these parts?” he asks, faux innocently. “Traversing the hills when not in full command of one’s faculties?”
“No,” the guard says, solemnly. Oh well, the Grekoorians aren’t well known for their sense of humour. “But attempted murder of the Queen is.”
The Master quirks an eyebrow.
“I was not trying to murder her!” the Doctor interrupts, voice near quivering with righteous outrage. How adorable. “I told you, your Queen is infested by a mind-controlling parasite that—” The rest of the sentence is cut off by a sudden crackle of electricity and the Doctor’s body arches off the wall, head thrown back, mouth open on a silent scream as he spasms. Then, just as suddenly as it began, it’s over, and the Doctor slumps down, passed out, hanging loose and heavy on the chains.
The Master whips around to stare at the guard, just in time to see her let go off the triangular pendant hanging from her neck. Not just a pretty accessory then, that.
“What…” And he has to pause then, to consciously smooth his expression and tone of voice back to ‘bored dignitary’ and not let his true reaction seep through. “What was that?”
“Conditioning,” the guard says, placidly. “Grekoorians are a civilised people. We believe that everyone can be reformed and rehabilitated. Admitting one’s crime is the first step on that journey but this one…” She sighs, disappointed like a parent with a misbehaving child. “He’s being stubborn.”
The Master breathes through his teeth. He doesn’t want to know the answer to his question, but he asks it anyway. “How many times have you had to… Correct him?”
“Almost daily for as long as he’s been here.”
Another breath. He will not kill this guard. Not yet. “And how long…”
“Thirty-six days.”
The Master wants to raze the prison to the ground. He wants to tear the whole city apart with his bare hands, until the streets are drenched in blood and the screams are drowned only by the chanting of his name as people beg for mercy.
There will be none.
“Stubborn indeed,” he says, voice mild as milk. He watches the Doctor’s unconscious form for a long time, his current body too slender, all sharp ankles and jutting bones, probably not helped by the time in captivity, his current face odd but… not unpleasant. Except for the lines of pain and exhaustion marring it.
Blood. There will be blood.
“I think,” the Master says in careful, measured tones, “that I would like to tour the Royal Palace now.” He’s going to pull out that parasite through the Queen’s fucking throat and bite its head off, grizzle on his teeth, offal running down his chin. And that’s just for starters.
No one hurts the Doctor. Except him.
***
Title: Deliverance
Author:
kat_lair Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Simm!Master
Tags: Spooktober, Ficlet, Rescue, Enemies, Obsession
Rating: T
Word count: 689
Summary: ““Well, well, well…” The Master draws it out as much as he can, really savouring the moment. After all, it’s not every day, not even every century, that one finds one’s bestest beloved enemy shackled in a cell. “What do we have here?”
Author notes: Spooktober 2024, Day 24/31. Prompt/theme: Villain.
Deliverance on AO3
"Well, well, well…” The Master draws it out as much as he can, really savouring the moment. After all, it’s not every day, not even every century, that one finds one’s bestest beloved enemy shackled in a cell. “What do we have here?”
The Doctor’s head jerks up in surprise at the familiar voice. The look on his face is… Indescribable. The Master really wishes he had some way to preserve a picture of it for all eternity.
“We found him on the hills,” the Grekoorian guard says, “just wandering around, all dazed and confused.” She rattles her massive link of keys in a way of prison guards everywhere, truly one of the universal constants that.
The Doctor opens his mouth as if to say something, but the Master lifts a finger in warning and sends him a quelling look. If the Grekoorians realise the two of them know each other, the game will be up before it even really gets started. Luckily, his message is interpreted correctly, and the Doctor contents himself with simply glaring in their general direction. The Master doesn’t doubt the sincerity of the ‘not-quite-hatred-but-certainly-stronger-than-just-irritation’ in his eyes. It’s good to be appreciated. The Master allows him a delicate little shudder, relatively sure the guard will interpret it as disgust even though that couldn’t be farther from the truth.
“Is that a crime in these parts?” he asks, faux innocently. “Traversing the hills when not in full command of one’s faculties?”
“No,” the guard says, solemnly. Oh well, the Grekoorians aren’t well known for their sense of humour. “But attempted murder of the Queen is.”
The Master quirks an eyebrow.
“I was not trying to murder her!” the Doctor interrupts, voice near quivering with righteous outrage. How adorable. “I told you, your Queen is infested by a mind-controlling parasite that—” The rest of the sentence is cut off by a sudden crackle of electricity and the Doctor’s body arches off the wall, head thrown back, mouth open on a silent scream as he spasms. Then, just as suddenly as it began, it’s over, and the Doctor slumps down, passed out, hanging loose and heavy on the chains.
The Master whips around to stare at the guard, just in time to see her let go off the triangular pendant hanging from her neck. Not just a pretty accessory then, that.
“What…” And he has to pause then, to consciously smooth his expression and tone of voice back to ‘bored dignitary’ and not let his true reaction seep through. “What was that?”
“Conditioning,” the guard says, placidly. “Grekoorians are a civilised people. We believe that everyone can be reformed and rehabilitated. Admitting one’s crime is the first step on that journey but this one…” She sighs, disappointed like a parent with a misbehaving child. “He’s being stubborn.”
The Master breathes through his teeth. He doesn’t want to know the answer to his question, but he asks it anyway. “How many times have you had to… Correct him?”
“Almost daily for as long as he’s been here.”
Another breath. He will not kill this guard. Not yet. “And how long…”
“Thirty-six days.”
The Master wants to raze the prison to the ground. He wants to tear the whole city apart with his bare hands, until the streets are drenched in blood and the screams are drowned only by the chanting of his name as people beg for mercy.
There will be none.
“Stubborn indeed,” he says, voice mild as milk. He watches the Doctor’s unconscious form for a long time, his current body too slender, all sharp ankles and jutting bones, probably not helped by the time in captivity, his current face odd but… not unpleasant. Except for the lines of pain and exhaustion marring it.
Blood. There will be blood.
“I think,” the Master says in careful, measured tones, “that I would like to tour the Royal Palace now.” He’s going to pull out that parasite through the Queen’s fucking throat and bite its head off, grizzle on his teeth, offal running down his chin. And that’s just for starters.
No one hurts the Doctor. Except him.
***