The Master stretches his legs
Mar. 4th, 2008 03:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ans99Characters: The Master, and later Gwen
Rating: PG13 (violence).
Date: Present
Location: Somewhere between Diagon Alley and Malibu Castle
((OOC: Sorry this is so long; I'm secretly Stephen King. I decided to pick up from my application post, reworking it a bit. I've lj-cut all but the initiating action, but suffice to say for any cut-to-the-chase readers that the Master is pretty grumpy and needs to get out of his flat.))
Things were not moving quickly enough.
The Master frowned, stabbed at his calculator buttons, delete delete delete deleted out his latest tentative schematics. He wished there was some paper to crumple-- it was much more satisfying to throw, for one thing, and for another, easier to guard from prying eyes-- he still didn't trust the Network. But the only time he'd actually managed to procure some, it had bitten him, sprouted legs, and run off before he'd even gotten the chance to write on it.
The situation, as he could see it, was verging on completely intolerable.
And this decor. He glared at the treacherous wood-paneled walls; they were enough to pummel his sense of aesthetic to a bloody pulp, but the overabundance of cloying folk art, spreading across them like a mephitic fungus, delivered the final killing blow. Changing it had done no good; his repeated attempts to redecorate had not lasted more than a few minutes, and they had become more half-hearted as he began to realize that the room apparently liked the way it looked already, and did not desire his input. He never even heard or saw his surroundings shift, but one minute he'd be focused on his work and the next he'd look up and be back in Americana Hell.
And now it was raining blood out there. Perhaps worst of all, he wasn't even involved.
Intolerable.
He'd been stranded before, and he'd seen it through. Quite admirably, in fact. But that had been so very, very different. Earth was, in some ways, his easiest conquest. Its people were so malleable, its culture and technology so primitive and easily worked out. This place... well, frankly, trying to accomplish anything was like trying to get a toasted cheese sandwich to spring fully formed from Rose Tyler's left nostril. Although he suspected that somewhere in Wonderland that might actually be possible, and that just made him all the more irritable. Of all the ideas he had formulated and summarily rejected, that was probably the most likely to succeed.
and time... goes by... so slowly...
He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned back in what stubbornly refused to be anything but a simply carved rocking chair. He'd had this song stuck in his head for hours now. It had played at their wedding, doubtless Lucy's father picked it out. He was big on Controlling Things. And she had been so utterly devoted to him. So the Master'd had to keep smiling, twirling slowly around and around with her in his grasp, like a toy on a string, although he secretly detested the song. What horrible, horrible sentiment, to have time drag on and on and on. So ploddingly human. The reality of that torture still so fresh in his mind, and really, when he'd thought about it, the future only promised more of the same.
Because you're a new man now, Harry. And you're trapped. and time... can do so much...
It was the waiting that was the hardest, last time. Knowing what was to come, watching the Doctor pass by right underneath his nose again and again like a mouse in a field, oh, that delicious little buzz in the back of his brain. But he had to crouch perfectly still, he'd realized, just so. Eighteen months. It had gotten harder and harder to hold it together, and patient though he was, a few times he'd been quite ready to stand up from his hiding place. Shout "Here I am!" and undo all of his hard work. Himself, even, unraveling neatly into a ribbon. Stretched across time and snapping back. But he had to show him.
Now? He no longer knew. He had nothing to show. Sitting still was not a strategy, but a symptom of defeat. He had to regain some measure of control.
"Can't even control my own flat," he muttered to himself, and then giggled hysterically. The peals ricocheted off those hideous walls, echoing upon themselves so many times that after a while he was afraid the room itself was laughing back at him.
And why wouldn't it be?
...goes by... so slowly.... and time....
Sod this.
Sod this.
The Master slid his chair back as violently as he could manage and vaulted out of it. There was a yellow rain slicker— had to be yellow, of course— on the wobbly wooden coat rack near the front door. He took pleasure in running his arm along the wall as he stalked toward it, knocking down framed cross-stitches, small quilts, wood carvings on bits of curled wire hanger. Piles of patriotic hearts and ducks and straw dolls with their eternal sickly-sweet smiles tumbled to the floor behind him.
He wrestled with the arms of the coat for a while before finally slipping it on. Motor skills, motor skills. He was useless like this. After fumbling with the three deadbolts and the chain, the Master thudded down the stairs unapologetically and yanked the shop door open, swallowing back an immediate gag reflex. He stood in the doorway, letting himself adjust to the stench and scanning the Alley.
Not surprisingly, the streets were nearly deserted. The Master regarded the rain for one more small moment, then, pushing up the hood of his coat, slipped neatly out into it. Where exactly he was going was anyone's guess, including his own.
The Master hadn't gotten far out of Diagon Alley before the blood rain abruptly ceased. He stopped for a moment, tilting his head and looking up warily. Perhaps this was just a brief intermission, and then a rain of, say, corpses would commence. In that case he was fairly sure he'd completely lose it. Whatever "it" he still had.
When the first drop of real rain hit his face he slumped a little, not so much relieved as vaguely disappointed, and kept walking on.
Once the real rain had started, Gwen set out from the castle. She was happy to get out, and the rain felt amazing, especially watching it wash the blood away that seemed to have seeped onto everything. She didn't bother with am umbrella, just kept her jacket bundled tightly around herself. On her way to Diagon Alley, she only stopped when her mobile buzzed in her pocket, letting her know she had a reply on the network.
She was typing a message when she glanced up and saw someone in a yellow slicker. She couldn't make out of the face, but she was in a friendly mood from the change in the weather. She walked toward them quickly, from behind. "Hello...its good to see the rain, isn't it?" she said, cheerfully, with a big smile on her face.
He had just made it to the outskirts of Malibu Castle when he heard a familiar voice off to his left and slightly behind. He stopped abruptly and smiled for the first time in what felt like ages.
"Ah, Miss Cooper." He slowly turned around, his smile spreading wider. "How lovely to see you again."
Gwen's face fell flat at the sound of his voice and she shrunk back, visibly. This isn't exactly the type of person she was hoping to run into on a rainy, dark path. Suddenly the night felt much scarier.
"Master..." she said almost breathlessly. "I wasn't--I didn't mean to--" she cut herself off, she didn't want to appear scared, although that plan was pretty much already out the window. She tried to straighten her posture and look calm. She nodded once. "Hello."
He ignored her pathetic, bleating attempts at a greeting and continued to stare at her for a long while, grinning that horrible grin. Soaked to the skin, vulnerable, scared. Such a lovely package offered to him. "And caught out in the rain without an umbrella, I see!" He made a derisive clucking noise. "Torchwood, prepared as ever, hmm?"
She glanced down at herself before looking back up to him. She gave a confident smile, the kind of smile reserved for an enemy and narrowed her eyes. "I don't really mind the rain, considering the previous alternative. And you're looking lovely, I might add."
The Master paused briefly, the smile frozen on his face. He had quite forgotten about the raincoat. She was smiling that little faux-brave smile he had seen all too well on Earth, but he knew what was underneath it. And he thought perhaps he knew how to break it. "Oh, yes, all the blood. I gather it must have bothered you more than it did me. Made me a little nostalgic, actually. Reminded me of Jacky-boy."
Gwen didn't even try to look calm at his words. Her mouth fell open in shock. She felt her fingers ball up into fists, and it was all she could do to keep from shaking. "What?" she couldn't manage to say anything else, so she just repeated herself, louder, and with more panic in her voice. "What?!"
The Master laughed giddily-- much more giddily than perhaps he actually felt in that moment-- and clapped his hand over his mouth, using the other to point at Gwen.
"Ha! Sorry, Gwen Cooper," he gasped, wiping tears from his eyes. "But if you could see your face!" He sniffled a little, cleared his throat, bringing it back down by degrees until he was simply smirking calmly-- quite as if he had not just had a fit of hysterical mirth at all. "I suppose Jack never told you about our little... history."
She completely lost any shred of calm she was holding onto. She'd been trying to suppress any feeling, any memory of Jack and to have this thrown in her face was more than she could stand.
She beat her fist against the Master's chest. It wasn't the kind of blow intending to wound an opponent, it was more for her own sake and anger. "What are you talking about?!" she screamed. If she would have stopped, she would see this was the kind of reaction the Master was gunning for, but she didn't stop, her thoughts were racing, making her more upset. Jack never left Wonderland. The Master did something to him. He killed Jack. Jack is dead.
He caught her wrists easily, dug into them with his fingers and pulled her closer. "Careful. You're a pretty fragile species, all things considered. It would be a pity if the same thing had to happen... twice."
Although. Would it really? He could hear her heart beating from here, could sense her panic panic confusion pain panic oh Jack--
It was delicious. It was almost too much. He firmly reminded himself that unlike Jack, this one broke, there was only one chance, one time, he'd better make it good. Oh. But he needed this so badly. Just to clear his head. He squeezed harder, almost absently, staring into her eyes.
Gwen froze in his grasp, but looked defiant. This time it wasn't a lie.
She tried to pull away once, but then didn't struggle, trying to calm herself, trying to figure out what to do. She swallowed hard and shook her head just a little. "You don't want to do this, not here...Let me go," she said plainly and glared up into his eyes.
The Master shook her a little by her wrists, reproachfully. "Manners, manners, Miss Cooper," he murmured, his eyes a little distant, mouth slightly open. Not a trace of his previous smile remained. He spoke as if only half of him was present, here holding onto Gwen in the middle of the street, while the rest of him was off somewhere doing something quite different. "What's the magic word?" His fingers dug in further.
Gwen shut her eyes when he shook her and tried to pull away, but his grip only tightened. She turned away briefly, trying to hide any fear she was showing. She knew what had happened before with Rose, only this time there was no one here looking for Gwen. No one was on their way.
She turned back to him, starting to panic and pulled away again, harder, fighting with all her strength, but her footing was slippery in the mud and thick globs of blood that still hadn't been washed away. She slipped and fell to her knees, still in his grasp.
"Let me go!!" she screamed this time, hoping someone was out there. Her jaw clenched and she looked up at him. "What are you going to do? You think you can get away with this?!"
His hearts raced a little faster as he watched her struggle like a bird caught between the jaws of a cat. If she wasn't more careful... if he wasn't more careful.
Her subsequent blatherings gave him pause, though. What was he going to do? Could he get away with it? He suddenly felt angry that she had put him in this position. That she had the gall to attack him, then demand her release. Little prey animal.
"Magic word," he repeated, hissing down at her. His eyes were like ice.
Gwen shut he eyes, tightly. She didn't want to look at him. She cursed herself for even trying to come out in the rain...it was a bad idea, this place wasn't a fairytale. It was a nightmare.
Gwen pulled her eyes even tighter, when she spoke. "Please!!" she cried out, finally.
The Master's ear-to-ear grin spread slowly across his face again. What a warm, fuzzy feeling. He could bottle it and sell it to Hallmark.
He suddenly released his grasp, quickly enough to cause her to lose her balance. He noted with mixed apprehension and satisfaction the angry red marks slowly filling in around her wrists. "That's better," he whispered, and looked down at her with what almost seemed like sincerity.
Gwen didn't expect to be released, she was still pulling back with own body weight and fell quickly into the mud and blood puddles. She scrambled to her feet as quickly as she could. She was shaky from the experience, and it showed.
"Don't touch me!" her voice quivered as she took a step back from him, just barely keeping her balance, but once her feet were firmly planted she raised a finger to him. "I swear to God, if you try and touch me again..." she narrowed her eyes and glared.
The Master felt a small flare of anger at the blatant unfairness of her mandate, but he waited for her to finish her sentence, genuinely curious. When it became obvious she wasn't going to, he raised an eyebrow. "You'll what? Run away? Scream?" He smiles wistfully. "I always did like it when you screamed."
Gwen continued to glare at the Master, but she took another step back, trying to keep a safe distance from him. She didn't answer his question, she didn't have an answer for it. "What the hell do you think you're going to do to me?" She raised her voice. "Nothing you do to me can be worse than being stuck in this fucking place!"
Oh, we can test that theory.
But the Master simply tilted his head, pouting. "Oh, Gwen-Gwen, you wound me. And here I thought we were just having a nice chat." He took a step forward, casually. "I shouldn't have to remind you that you attacked me."
Gwen stood her ground, but braced herself to take another step back if he came any closer. There's no one here, no one can hear me, there's no one out here..
"What did you do to Jack?" she finally asked after a moment of silence.
"Nothing permanent." The Master's mouth quirked up a little. "What I did to you, on the other hand..." He took another step forward, hoping her confusion and curiosity would win out over any flight instinct. He wanted this devastation to be total, complete. He wanted her to know.
Gwen's face showed her confusion plainly. She shook her head a couple of times, not understanding. Whatever the Master was trying to pull on her was working. "What..." Gwen's voice wavered, and then cracked. "What are you talking about?! You haven't...done anything to me!"
The Master chuckled. "Nothing you'd remember, anyway. But poor, dear, pretty Jack. He has to live with those memories!" It had grown so dark that the Master's face was just a shadow, a non-space inside the yellow hood that his voice emanated from.
"You're missing a year, Gwen-Gwen. Well, not a whole year, technically," he caught himself in a pedantic tone. "You were really only alive for... two, three months, maybe? Your teammates drastically less, of course. I had to save you for last. I knew how much watching you suffer, especially, would hurt him."
There was a pause in which the Master breathed in deeply in a satisfied sort of way. "But in the end, you did die. And it was... glorious. Broke him for a good long while."
Gwen's eyes grew wide as the Master kept talking. Nothing he said made any sense to her, but coming from him it was completely terrifying. She forgot about the rain, the bloody mud puddles, even Wonderland for the moment and just focused on his voice.
"I don't--" she started but stopped herself and glanced over her shoulder. She couldn't make out his face any longer in the dark, and she didn't want to, but she still found herself staring into the void of the yellow hood. "I don't know what you're talking about! That's not true! That never happened! That never happened!!" She screamed the last part, as if raising her voice would make it true.
The Master's voice continued in its almost scholarly tone, as if he were discussing the nature of quantum thermodynamics. "Of course, in the strictest sense, that's quite true. Time was... reversed, with much thanks to the Doctor." He spit the name out like poison. "Only those of us on the Valiant-- those above it all, so to speak-- remember a thing. But I wanted to tell you. Do you know why?"
He took a final step forward. He was more than close enough to touch her now.
Gwen shook her head. She didn't know enough about the Doctor to say he didn't have the power to do that, but she kept thinking it to herself.
She faced him, confident. If he was going to kill her, or hurt her, he would have done something by now. She paused before answering him. "Because you're an arrogant bastard? Because you've got nothing better to do?" A smile crept over her face.
He leaned closer. "Because it was so easy," he hissed in her ear. "Despite your bravado and stubbornness. I already know what makes you tick. I know how to make you scream until your vocal chords tear. How much pain you can take before you beg for death. How to keep you alive-- conscious, even-- through all of it." His voice was chillingly matter-of-fact. "I already know all of these things, Gwen Cooper, because I've done them. And it can just as easily happen again, given the proper impetus. I'd advise you take great care. Do you understand?"
Part of him hoped she did, and a smaller part of him really hoped she didn't. His head was still pounding. But she had been right. Not here, not now. He wasn't supposed to be getting his hands dirty until things were significantly more certain.
Gwen closed her eyes when he leaned over. There was something deeply hypnotic about his words, even without his meaning them to be. There was truth in them, and that alone was enough to make her feel faint. She nodded, with her eyes still closed and then finally opened them, even though she didn't want to look at him.
"Yes, I understand," she said quietly. It was best to pick her battles, especially in a place like this. A place she had very few allies, and way too many strangers. If she thought about it, if she thought about what the Master was doing to her, she'd get angry, and that wasn't the best thing to do right now.
Of course, she couldn't help it, and she quickly snapped back at him.
"I also understand you're stuck here just like the rest of us. You haven't got anyone here, or anything. You have no power here. You're not nearly as intimidating as you'd like to be without the British army holding up your back." She only half regretted it once she'd said it.
Before he could stop himself, the Master's right hand had snapped out and grabbed her shoulder, hard. He closed his eyes briefly in annoyance and spoke through gritted teeth. "Yes, I am stuck here, Miss Cooper, without an army. Quite astute. But I assure you, I need little power and little help to bring you to levels of pain you've never dreamt of." He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "You and any friends you've managed to find."
Gwen grabbed the Master's arm in response, she tried to push his arm off her, but she didn't push as hard as she might to someone else. She was afraid of making him too angry, if she pushed him over the edge what he might do. She was treading a very thin line, and she was well aware of it.
Gwen almost pouted involuntarily at the last comment. "Then I guess I haven't got a thing to worry about, cause I haven't got any friends in this shit hole of a place! My friends were all taken from me!!"
The Master couldn't help but smile at that. "Nobody to miss you, then? That is excellent news."
He looked at her hand still on his arm. "Oh, now this won't do." He grabbed the hand almost casually, twisting it sharply. "Do you still want to know what I did to Jack? I could... show you. Some of it, anyway."
Gwen screamed and tried to pull away, but it only intensified the pain. "Let me go!" her voice faltered, realizing it was a stupid request. She took a few shallow, panicked breaths before answering him with a clenched jaw. "What...what did you do to him?"
She knew she was going to regret asking, but she had to know. She couldn't let it go.
The Master tilted his head, stared off into space, thinking where to begin. "I suppose the question really should be, 'What didn't I do to him?'" he finally said. "He was such an entertaining pet. Couldn't kill him, not permanently anyway. No real lasting damage. I remember in the beginning it was fascinating enough just to shoot him over and over, see him come back again and again, oh, how I loved that look in his eyes! It must have really, really hurt.
"I tired of that in the first week, though. I mean, you must admit, something like that loses its novelty fairly quickly, no matter how entertaining it is. Experimentation, though-- that never got old." The Master grinned. "I was particularly fond of hanging him like a pig and letting him bleed out. Sometimes it would take hours for him to die. Or flaying-- flaying was always nice for a change-up. Vivisection. Do you know how many layers you can cut through before a man goes into shock?" His tone was strangely conversational, as though Gwen were meant to reply with her own comparative data.
"Hmmm, or limb amputation. He really didn't last long there, but you'd be amazed how long it takes for the limbs themselves to stop twitching. Decapitation was over far too quickly. Oh. Death of a thousand cuts? Turns out you really only need about twenty or so, if they're deep enough. Kind of a disappointment."
He looked at Gwen speculatively. "Killing you, though. That's what got to him the most. He taught me a lot, in that year. I'll always be so grateful to his sacrifice."
Gwen tried to cut him off, she wanted him to stop talking, but every time she tried to open her mouth, she had to choke back on tears instead. Instead she hung her head and listened, intently to every word that dripped from his mouth. And each one hit its mark precisely. She twisted her head away from him when he spoke, feeling sick to her stomach.
There was a long moment of silence after he finished before Gwen spoke. Everything he said kept playing over in her mind, and she could feel her stomach lurch picturing Jack; picturing herself. It was all she could do to keep her breath steady, and herself from throwing up.
"Stop..." she finally said. Her voice was soft at first, but quickly found its strength. "Stop it! I don't want to hear this!" There was a beat, and then an honest question.
"Why are you doing this to me? Please...stop.."
"Gwen, dear, you did ask." The Master sounded perversely wounded. There was a small moment of silence, in which he could distinctly hear her trying not to vomit.
"I understand," he continued soothingly. "You thought you'd poke at a dangerous animal with a stick, just to see what happened. Humans are such children, really, of course you were curious. But now you know better, don't you?" He twisted her wrist a little more, like an odd sort of punctuation.
The hand on her shoulder moved up to her hair, stroking it. "Would you like to go now? Because you've asked so nicely this time, I'm inclined to let you off this time with a warning."
Gwen cried out when he twisted her wrist again. She thought it'd snap if he moved it anymore. She couldn't even pull her arm back, the pain was so great. She tried to move her head away from his hand, though, not wanting to be stroked.
"I tried to help you, when you were about to be shot..." It was almost formed like a question. How could you do this? I tried to help you...I was defending you. She swallowed hard, her act was over. She was scared. She was terrified. And it was obvious, now.
"Very sweet of you. I haven't forgotten."
The Master swiveled his head around, suddenly sure there was someone else nearby. Perhaps someone coming down the path. But he only saw tall silhouetted stands of trees. He had steadily backed Gwen off the path during their encounter, effectively trapping her between the path and the forest interior, not even completely aware of what he was doing. Nobody approaching in either direction would be able to see a thing.
If it came to that.
He turned back to her. "But you never answered my question. Would you like me to let you go now?"
Gwen had noticed the Master pulling her back toward the trees, and it hadn't helped with her frightened state. She didn't want to put up too much of a fight though, she was trying not to make him angry. It wouldn't help anything at this point in time. She had to get out of here, even if it meant asking him.
She nodded strongly before answering. "Yes. Yes!" Her voice was desperate, begging, and she pulled her eyes tight. "Please..." the last word came out as a sob.
"Ssshhh, ssshhh." The Master brushed her hair back from her forehead gently, then suddenly snapped his left hand open, releasing the lock on her wrist. "Go on then," he said softly, nodding in encouragement.
Gwen took a step from him immediatly when he released his grip. She faced him as she walked further back, until she felt comfortable to turn around. She wanted to run, she wanted to start running and not look back. But she walked carefully back to the path instead, she didn't turn back.
"One more thing." His voice was in her ear again; he'd somehow managed to close the distance between them without her even realizing. His hand lashed out like a snake and grabbed her wrist again, spinning her almost completely around. He pulled her close, reeling her back in, bringing his face close to hers.
Silly little bird, thinking she could just fly away.
"You forgot to thank me," he breathed. "Say it. 'Thank you, Master, for letting me live.'"
Gwen didn't even have a chance to react. It happened too quickly. She took a few deep breaths, gasping for air, trying to make up for the breaths she missed. She stared into his eyes, she didn't have a choice.
"What kind of monster are you?" There was no bite to her words.
The Master tilted his head, as if deep in thought, for a second. "Hmmm, no. Sorry. Try again." And he twisted the fingers of his free hand into her long, wet hair and yanked. Somehow, pain seemed to be the only way to get through to her. Not that that was unexpected.
Oh, she was. So. Infuriating. Monster? Why she couldn't understand and accept gratefully the gift he was offering was beyond him.
"Yes!" she screamed an answer to nothing. She grabbed at his hand tangled in her hair, trying to relieve the pressure. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!--Thank you!...." she sobbed freely now. "I'm sorry....thank you....thank you for letting me live..."
Instead of letting her go immediately, as she might have hoped, the Master pushed her head up and pulled it against his chest, entrapping her further. He kissed the top of her head, delicately, as if she were a penitent child. "Good girl," he whispered, hugging her close and staring off into the trees. "Good girl."
He thought a moment, then added, "I'd really prefer if we just kept this little incident to ourselves, hmmm? In the spirit of... understanding we've come to share." He hoped she wasn't thick enough to completely miss the meaning of that.
Gwen didn't say anything at all. She only nodded against his chest. Even through the raincoat, she could still smell the faint traces of his cologne and it made her sick. She bit at her bottom lip, and kept nodding against the slick surface of the raincoat. She could barely breath against the vinyl and started to push back against him, distancing herself from him.
He knew she was nodding, could sniff out her fear and compliance even if he weren't a Time Lord. But he liked to hear her choke on her words-- these things she probably would never have imagined saying just a short time earlier.
"Gwen-Gwen? Gwennie? Darling? What do you say?" He squeezed, not as hard as the times before-- just enough to let her know how very, very wrong this could go, and all too quickly—
But only if you make me, Gwennie.
And on the tail of that: Come on. Make me.
She pushed her hands against her chest, giving her enough space to breathe without being smothered against the plastic. "Yes."
She just wanted go now. There was no fight left in here, she just wanted to go, and she was willing to twist her words, make herself sick over it, as long as it sounded like something he wanted to hear.
"Yes," she repeated herself. "Yes, Master. I won't tell anyone, please, I want to go home. I want to be out of the rain. I'm cold. I'm afraid."
"Admirably done." The Master couldn't decide whether he was more relieved or disappointed. He shoved her away from him, mildly disgusted at all the conflicting feelings she-- this situation-- managed to stir up.
"Now run. Run on home. Run!" He had begun to shout.
She started to speak to him, but could only stammer. "I-I-..." she trailed off. The ground was still muddy and slippery, and when Gwen turned she nearly fell. She caught herself quickly and broke into a run. She stayed on the path and ran as quickly as she could toward the castle. Home.
She only slowed down when her lungs burned too much to carry on at the same pace.
(THE MASTER WAS SWEATING AND IT WAS HOTT)
The Master watched her go, silently, but inside his mind raced along in strange recursive loops and tangles. Had he done the right thing, letting her go? He was usually so sure; despite all the compulsive rethinking, recalculating the answer almost always came out to at least roughly the same. But that. That had been--
Wrong. That was the only word for it. He should have killed her. He knew that. He should have walked. He knew that too. Either or. Although he had won this, although he'd been able to hurt her, cow her, control her. Break her down into a simpering sobbing mess. He couldn't shake the nagging feeling that she had been controlling him too, that he had been quite out of control of himself.
The Master leaned back against a tree, listened to the rain pat dully on his coat. He had let her dictate his actions, and that was a problem. And something was surely going to come of it, something not so rewarding, something along the lines of retribution. And that was a problem. He had not been ready for this, not today.
He shifted, suddenly noticing he was quite damp beneath his coat. He briefly wondered whether it had sprung a leak and had begun to meticulously examine the outside before it dawned on him. Although he had no recollection of it, and although he now felt quite cold, he had been sweating profusely during that little encounter.
The Master was afraid again, as afraid as the first time he'd regenerated and realized the drums weren't going anywhere-- actually, quite happy and comfortable where they were, thank you very much. As before, the same thought. I can't stop it. And as before, he waited out the panic patiently as he could, breathing shallowly, eyes tightly shut, fingernails digging into each palm.
When he'd gotten himself significantly more under control, he stepped carefully back to the path. Home. That did seem like a good idea about now.
http://community.livejournal.com/nonevidence/61519.html
Rating: PG13 (violence).
Date: Present
Location: Somewhere between Diagon Alley and Malibu Castle
((OOC: Sorry this is so long; I'm secretly Stephen King. I decided to pick up from my application post, reworking it a bit. I've lj-cut all but the initiating action, but suffice to say for any cut-to-the-chase readers that the Master is pretty grumpy and needs to get out of his flat.))
Things were not moving quickly enough.
The Master frowned, stabbed at his calculator buttons, delete delete delete deleted out his latest tentative schematics. He wished there was some paper to crumple-- it was much more satisfying to throw, for one thing, and for another, easier to guard from prying eyes-- he still didn't trust the Network. But the only time he'd actually managed to procure some, it had bitten him, sprouted legs, and run off before he'd even gotten the chance to write on it.
The situation, as he could see it, was verging on completely intolerable.
And this decor. He glared at the treacherous wood-paneled walls; they were enough to pummel his sense of aesthetic to a bloody pulp, but the overabundance of cloying folk art, spreading across them like a mephitic fungus, delivered the final killing blow. Changing it had done no good; his repeated attempts to redecorate had not lasted more than a few minutes, and they had become more half-hearted as he began to realize that the room apparently liked the way it looked already, and did not desire his input. He never even heard or saw his surroundings shift, but one minute he'd be focused on his work and the next he'd look up and be back in Americana Hell.
And now it was raining blood out there. Perhaps worst of all, he wasn't even involved.
Intolerable.
He'd been stranded before, and he'd seen it through. Quite admirably, in fact. But that had been so very, very different. Earth was, in some ways, his easiest conquest. Its people were so malleable, its culture and technology so primitive and easily worked out. This place... well, frankly, trying to accomplish anything was like trying to get a toasted cheese sandwich to spring fully formed from Rose Tyler's left nostril. Although he suspected that somewhere in Wonderland that might actually be possible, and that just made him all the more irritable. Of all the ideas he had formulated and summarily rejected, that was probably the most likely to succeed.
and time... goes by... so slowly...
He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned back in what stubbornly refused to be anything but a simply carved rocking chair. He'd had this song stuck in his head for hours now. It had played at their wedding, doubtless Lucy's father picked it out. He was big on Controlling Things. And she had been so utterly devoted to him. So the Master'd had to keep smiling, twirling slowly around and around with her in his grasp, like a toy on a string, although he secretly detested the song. What horrible, horrible sentiment, to have time drag on and on and on. So ploddingly human. The reality of that torture still so fresh in his mind, and really, when he'd thought about it, the future only promised more of the same.
Because you're a new man now, Harry. And you're trapped. and time... can do so much...
It was the waiting that was the hardest, last time. Knowing what was to come, watching the Doctor pass by right underneath his nose again and again like a mouse in a field, oh, that delicious little buzz in the back of his brain. But he had to crouch perfectly still, he'd realized, just so. Eighteen months. It had gotten harder and harder to hold it together, and patient though he was, a few times he'd been quite ready to stand up from his hiding place. Shout "Here I am!" and undo all of his hard work. Himself, even, unraveling neatly into a ribbon. Stretched across time and snapping back. But he had to show him.
Now? He no longer knew. He had nothing to show. Sitting still was not a strategy, but a symptom of defeat. He had to regain some measure of control.
"Can't even control my own flat," he muttered to himself, and then giggled hysterically. The peals ricocheted off those hideous walls, echoing upon themselves so many times that after a while he was afraid the room itself was laughing back at him.
And why wouldn't it be?
...goes by... so slowly.... and time....
Sod this.
Sod this.
The Master slid his chair back as violently as he could manage and vaulted out of it. There was a yellow rain slicker— had to be yellow, of course— on the wobbly wooden coat rack near the front door. He took pleasure in running his arm along the wall as he stalked toward it, knocking down framed cross-stitches, small quilts, wood carvings on bits of curled wire hanger. Piles of patriotic hearts and ducks and straw dolls with their eternal sickly-sweet smiles tumbled to the floor behind him.
He wrestled with the arms of the coat for a while before finally slipping it on. Motor skills, motor skills. He was useless like this. After fumbling with the three deadbolts and the chain, the Master thudded down the stairs unapologetically and yanked the shop door open, swallowing back an immediate gag reflex. He stood in the doorway, letting himself adjust to the stench and scanning the Alley.
Not surprisingly, the streets were nearly deserted. The Master regarded the rain for one more small moment, then, pushing up the hood of his coat, slipped neatly out into it. Where exactly he was going was anyone's guess, including his own.
The Master hadn't gotten far out of Diagon Alley before the blood rain abruptly ceased. He stopped for a moment, tilting his head and looking up warily. Perhaps this was just a brief intermission, and then a rain of, say, corpses would commence. In that case he was fairly sure he'd completely lose it. Whatever "it" he still had.
When the first drop of real rain hit his face he slumped a little, not so much relieved as vaguely disappointed, and kept walking on.
Once the real rain had started, Gwen set out from the castle. She was happy to get out, and the rain felt amazing, especially watching it wash the blood away that seemed to have seeped onto everything. She didn't bother with am umbrella, just kept her jacket bundled tightly around herself. On her way to Diagon Alley, she only stopped when her mobile buzzed in her pocket, letting her know she had a reply on the network.
She was typing a message when she glanced up and saw someone in a yellow slicker. She couldn't make out of the face, but she was in a friendly mood from the change in the weather. She walked toward them quickly, from behind. "Hello...its good to see the rain, isn't it?" she said, cheerfully, with a big smile on her face.
He had just made it to the outskirts of Malibu Castle when he heard a familiar voice off to his left and slightly behind. He stopped abruptly and smiled for the first time in what felt like ages.
"Ah, Miss Cooper." He slowly turned around, his smile spreading wider. "How lovely to see you again."
Gwen's face fell flat at the sound of his voice and she shrunk back, visibly. This isn't exactly the type of person she was hoping to run into on a rainy, dark path. Suddenly the night felt much scarier.
"Master..." she said almost breathlessly. "I wasn't--I didn't mean to--" she cut herself off, she didn't want to appear scared, although that plan was pretty much already out the window. She tried to straighten her posture and look calm. She nodded once. "Hello."
He ignored her pathetic, bleating attempts at a greeting and continued to stare at her for a long while, grinning that horrible grin. Soaked to the skin, vulnerable, scared. Such a lovely package offered to him. "And caught out in the rain without an umbrella, I see!" He made a derisive clucking noise. "Torchwood, prepared as ever, hmm?"
She glanced down at herself before looking back up to him. She gave a confident smile, the kind of smile reserved for an enemy and narrowed her eyes. "I don't really mind the rain, considering the previous alternative. And you're looking lovely, I might add."
The Master paused briefly, the smile frozen on his face. He had quite forgotten about the raincoat. She was smiling that little faux-brave smile he had seen all too well on Earth, but he knew what was underneath it. And he thought perhaps he knew how to break it. "Oh, yes, all the blood. I gather it must have bothered you more than it did me. Made me a little nostalgic, actually. Reminded me of Jacky-boy."
Gwen didn't even try to look calm at his words. Her mouth fell open in shock. She felt her fingers ball up into fists, and it was all she could do to keep from shaking. "What?" she couldn't manage to say anything else, so she just repeated herself, louder, and with more panic in her voice. "What?!"
The Master laughed giddily-- much more giddily than perhaps he actually felt in that moment-- and clapped his hand over his mouth, using the other to point at Gwen.
"Ha! Sorry, Gwen Cooper," he gasped, wiping tears from his eyes. "But if you could see your face!" He sniffled a little, cleared his throat, bringing it back down by degrees until he was simply smirking calmly-- quite as if he had not just had a fit of hysterical mirth at all. "I suppose Jack never told you about our little... history."
She completely lost any shred of calm she was holding onto. She'd been trying to suppress any feeling, any memory of Jack and to have this thrown in her face was more than she could stand.
She beat her fist against the Master's chest. It wasn't the kind of blow intending to wound an opponent, it was more for her own sake and anger. "What are you talking about?!" she screamed. If she would have stopped, she would see this was the kind of reaction the Master was gunning for, but she didn't stop, her thoughts were racing, making her more upset. Jack never left Wonderland. The Master did something to him. He killed Jack. Jack is dead.
He caught her wrists easily, dug into them with his fingers and pulled her closer. "Careful. You're a pretty fragile species, all things considered. It would be a pity if the same thing had to happen... twice."
Although. Would it really? He could hear her heart beating from here, could sense her panic panic confusion pain panic oh Jack--
It was delicious. It was almost too much. He firmly reminded himself that unlike Jack, this one broke, there was only one chance, one time, he'd better make it good. Oh. But he needed this so badly. Just to clear his head. He squeezed harder, almost absently, staring into her eyes.
Gwen froze in his grasp, but looked defiant. This time it wasn't a lie.
She tried to pull away once, but then didn't struggle, trying to calm herself, trying to figure out what to do. She swallowed hard and shook her head just a little. "You don't want to do this, not here...Let me go," she said plainly and glared up into his eyes.
The Master shook her a little by her wrists, reproachfully. "Manners, manners, Miss Cooper," he murmured, his eyes a little distant, mouth slightly open. Not a trace of his previous smile remained. He spoke as if only half of him was present, here holding onto Gwen in the middle of the street, while the rest of him was off somewhere doing something quite different. "What's the magic word?" His fingers dug in further.
Gwen shut her eyes when he shook her and tried to pull away, but his grip only tightened. She turned away briefly, trying to hide any fear she was showing. She knew what had happened before with Rose, only this time there was no one here looking for Gwen. No one was on their way.
She turned back to him, starting to panic and pulled away again, harder, fighting with all her strength, but her footing was slippery in the mud and thick globs of blood that still hadn't been washed away. She slipped and fell to her knees, still in his grasp.
"Let me go!!" she screamed this time, hoping someone was out there. Her jaw clenched and she looked up at him. "What are you going to do? You think you can get away with this?!"
His hearts raced a little faster as he watched her struggle like a bird caught between the jaws of a cat. If she wasn't more careful... if he wasn't more careful.
Her subsequent blatherings gave him pause, though. What was he going to do? Could he get away with it? He suddenly felt angry that she had put him in this position. That she had the gall to attack him, then demand her release. Little prey animal.
"Magic word," he repeated, hissing down at her. His eyes were like ice.
Gwen shut he eyes, tightly. She didn't want to look at him. She cursed herself for even trying to come out in the rain...it was a bad idea, this place wasn't a fairytale. It was a nightmare.
Gwen pulled her eyes even tighter, when she spoke. "Please!!" she cried out, finally.
The Master's ear-to-ear grin spread slowly across his face again. What a warm, fuzzy feeling. He could bottle it and sell it to Hallmark.
He suddenly released his grasp, quickly enough to cause her to lose her balance. He noted with mixed apprehension and satisfaction the angry red marks slowly filling in around her wrists. "That's better," he whispered, and looked down at her with what almost seemed like sincerity.
Gwen didn't expect to be released, she was still pulling back with own body weight and fell quickly into the mud and blood puddles. She scrambled to her feet as quickly as she could. She was shaky from the experience, and it showed.
"Don't touch me!" her voice quivered as she took a step back from him, just barely keeping her balance, but once her feet were firmly planted she raised a finger to him. "I swear to God, if you try and touch me again..." she narrowed her eyes and glared.
The Master felt a small flare of anger at the blatant unfairness of her mandate, but he waited for her to finish her sentence, genuinely curious. When it became obvious she wasn't going to, he raised an eyebrow. "You'll what? Run away? Scream?" He smiles wistfully. "I always did like it when you screamed."
Gwen continued to glare at the Master, but she took another step back, trying to keep a safe distance from him. She didn't answer his question, she didn't have an answer for it. "What the hell do you think you're going to do to me?" She raised her voice. "Nothing you do to me can be worse than being stuck in this fucking place!"
Oh, we can test that theory.
But the Master simply tilted his head, pouting. "Oh, Gwen-Gwen, you wound me. And here I thought we were just having a nice chat." He took a step forward, casually. "I shouldn't have to remind you that you attacked me."
Gwen stood her ground, but braced herself to take another step back if he came any closer. There's no one here, no one can hear me, there's no one out here..
"What did you do to Jack?" she finally asked after a moment of silence.
"Nothing permanent." The Master's mouth quirked up a little. "What I did to you, on the other hand..." He took another step forward, hoping her confusion and curiosity would win out over any flight instinct. He wanted this devastation to be total, complete. He wanted her to know.
Gwen's face showed her confusion plainly. She shook her head a couple of times, not understanding. Whatever the Master was trying to pull on her was working. "What..." Gwen's voice wavered, and then cracked. "What are you talking about?! You haven't...done anything to me!"
The Master chuckled. "Nothing you'd remember, anyway. But poor, dear, pretty Jack. He has to live with those memories!" It had grown so dark that the Master's face was just a shadow, a non-space inside the yellow hood that his voice emanated from.
"You're missing a year, Gwen-Gwen. Well, not a whole year, technically," he caught himself in a pedantic tone. "You were really only alive for... two, three months, maybe? Your teammates drastically less, of course. I had to save you for last. I knew how much watching you suffer, especially, would hurt him."
There was a pause in which the Master breathed in deeply in a satisfied sort of way. "But in the end, you did die. And it was... glorious. Broke him for a good long while."
Gwen's eyes grew wide as the Master kept talking. Nothing he said made any sense to her, but coming from him it was completely terrifying. She forgot about the rain, the bloody mud puddles, even Wonderland for the moment and just focused on his voice.
"I don't--" she started but stopped herself and glanced over her shoulder. She couldn't make out his face any longer in the dark, and she didn't want to, but she still found herself staring into the void of the yellow hood. "I don't know what you're talking about! That's not true! That never happened! That never happened!!" She screamed the last part, as if raising her voice would make it true.
The Master's voice continued in its almost scholarly tone, as if he were discussing the nature of quantum thermodynamics. "Of course, in the strictest sense, that's quite true. Time was... reversed, with much thanks to the Doctor." He spit the name out like poison. "Only those of us on the Valiant-- those above it all, so to speak-- remember a thing. But I wanted to tell you. Do you know why?"
He took a final step forward. He was more than close enough to touch her now.
Gwen shook her head. She didn't know enough about the Doctor to say he didn't have the power to do that, but she kept thinking it to herself.
She faced him, confident. If he was going to kill her, or hurt her, he would have done something by now. She paused before answering him. "Because you're an arrogant bastard? Because you've got nothing better to do?" A smile crept over her face.
He leaned closer. "Because it was so easy," he hissed in her ear. "Despite your bravado and stubbornness. I already know what makes you tick. I know how to make you scream until your vocal chords tear. How much pain you can take before you beg for death. How to keep you alive-- conscious, even-- through all of it." His voice was chillingly matter-of-fact. "I already know all of these things, Gwen Cooper, because I've done them. And it can just as easily happen again, given the proper impetus. I'd advise you take great care. Do you understand?"
Part of him hoped she did, and a smaller part of him really hoped she didn't. His head was still pounding. But she had been right. Not here, not now. He wasn't supposed to be getting his hands dirty until things were significantly more certain.
Gwen closed her eyes when he leaned over. There was something deeply hypnotic about his words, even without his meaning them to be. There was truth in them, and that alone was enough to make her feel faint. She nodded, with her eyes still closed and then finally opened them, even though she didn't want to look at him.
"Yes, I understand," she said quietly. It was best to pick her battles, especially in a place like this. A place she had very few allies, and way too many strangers. If she thought about it, if she thought about what the Master was doing to her, she'd get angry, and that wasn't the best thing to do right now.
Of course, she couldn't help it, and she quickly snapped back at him.
"I also understand you're stuck here just like the rest of us. You haven't got anyone here, or anything. You have no power here. You're not nearly as intimidating as you'd like to be without the British army holding up your back." She only half regretted it once she'd said it.
Before he could stop himself, the Master's right hand had snapped out and grabbed her shoulder, hard. He closed his eyes briefly in annoyance and spoke through gritted teeth. "Yes, I am stuck here, Miss Cooper, without an army. Quite astute. But I assure you, I need little power and little help to bring you to levels of pain you've never dreamt of." He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "You and any friends you've managed to find."
Gwen grabbed the Master's arm in response, she tried to push his arm off her, but she didn't push as hard as she might to someone else. She was afraid of making him too angry, if she pushed him over the edge what he might do. She was treading a very thin line, and she was well aware of it.
Gwen almost pouted involuntarily at the last comment. "Then I guess I haven't got a thing to worry about, cause I haven't got any friends in this shit hole of a place! My friends were all taken from me!!"
The Master couldn't help but smile at that. "Nobody to miss you, then? That is excellent news."
He looked at her hand still on his arm. "Oh, now this won't do." He grabbed the hand almost casually, twisting it sharply. "Do you still want to know what I did to Jack? I could... show you. Some of it, anyway."
Gwen screamed and tried to pull away, but it only intensified the pain. "Let me go!" her voice faltered, realizing it was a stupid request. She took a few shallow, panicked breaths before answering him with a clenched jaw. "What...what did you do to him?"
She knew she was going to regret asking, but she had to know. She couldn't let it go.
The Master tilted his head, stared off into space, thinking where to begin. "I suppose the question really should be, 'What didn't I do to him?'" he finally said. "He was such an entertaining pet. Couldn't kill him, not permanently anyway. No real lasting damage. I remember in the beginning it was fascinating enough just to shoot him over and over, see him come back again and again, oh, how I loved that look in his eyes! It must have really, really hurt.
"I tired of that in the first week, though. I mean, you must admit, something like that loses its novelty fairly quickly, no matter how entertaining it is. Experimentation, though-- that never got old." The Master grinned. "I was particularly fond of hanging him like a pig and letting him bleed out. Sometimes it would take hours for him to die. Or flaying-- flaying was always nice for a change-up. Vivisection. Do you know how many layers you can cut through before a man goes into shock?" His tone was strangely conversational, as though Gwen were meant to reply with her own comparative data.
"Hmmm, or limb amputation. He really didn't last long there, but you'd be amazed how long it takes for the limbs themselves to stop twitching. Decapitation was over far too quickly. Oh. Death of a thousand cuts? Turns out you really only need about twenty or so, if they're deep enough. Kind of a disappointment."
He looked at Gwen speculatively. "Killing you, though. That's what got to him the most. He taught me a lot, in that year. I'll always be so grateful to his sacrifice."
Gwen tried to cut him off, she wanted him to stop talking, but every time she tried to open her mouth, she had to choke back on tears instead. Instead she hung her head and listened, intently to every word that dripped from his mouth. And each one hit its mark precisely. She twisted her head away from him when he spoke, feeling sick to her stomach.
There was a long moment of silence after he finished before Gwen spoke. Everything he said kept playing over in her mind, and she could feel her stomach lurch picturing Jack; picturing herself. It was all she could do to keep her breath steady, and herself from throwing up.
"Stop..." she finally said. Her voice was soft at first, but quickly found its strength. "Stop it! I don't want to hear this!" There was a beat, and then an honest question.
"Why are you doing this to me? Please...stop.."
"Gwen, dear, you did ask." The Master sounded perversely wounded. There was a small moment of silence, in which he could distinctly hear her trying not to vomit.
"I understand," he continued soothingly. "You thought you'd poke at a dangerous animal with a stick, just to see what happened. Humans are such children, really, of course you were curious. But now you know better, don't you?" He twisted her wrist a little more, like an odd sort of punctuation.
The hand on her shoulder moved up to her hair, stroking it. "Would you like to go now? Because you've asked so nicely this time, I'm inclined to let you off this time with a warning."
Gwen cried out when he twisted her wrist again. She thought it'd snap if he moved it anymore. She couldn't even pull her arm back, the pain was so great. She tried to move her head away from his hand, though, not wanting to be stroked.
"I tried to help you, when you were about to be shot..." It was almost formed like a question. How could you do this? I tried to help you...I was defending you. She swallowed hard, her act was over. She was scared. She was terrified. And it was obvious, now.
"Very sweet of you. I haven't forgotten."
The Master swiveled his head around, suddenly sure there was someone else nearby. Perhaps someone coming down the path. But he only saw tall silhouetted stands of trees. He had steadily backed Gwen off the path during their encounter, effectively trapping her between the path and the forest interior, not even completely aware of what he was doing. Nobody approaching in either direction would be able to see a thing.
If it came to that.
He turned back to her. "But you never answered my question. Would you like me to let you go now?"
Gwen had noticed the Master pulling her back toward the trees, and it hadn't helped with her frightened state. She didn't want to put up too much of a fight though, she was trying not to make him angry. It wouldn't help anything at this point in time. She had to get out of here, even if it meant asking him.
She nodded strongly before answering. "Yes. Yes!" Her voice was desperate, begging, and she pulled her eyes tight. "Please..." the last word came out as a sob.
"Ssshhh, ssshhh." The Master brushed her hair back from her forehead gently, then suddenly snapped his left hand open, releasing the lock on her wrist. "Go on then," he said softly, nodding in encouragement.
Gwen took a step from him immediatly when he released his grip. She faced him as she walked further back, until she felt comfortable to turn around. She wanted to run, she wanted to start running and not look back. But she walked carefully back to the path instead, she didn't turn back.
"One more thing." His voice was in her ear again; he'd somehow managed to close the distance between them without her even realizing. His hand lashed out like a snake and grabbed her wrist again, spinning her almost completely around. He pulled her close, reeling her back in, bringing his face close to hers.
Silly little bird, thinking she could just fly away.
"You forgot to thank me," he breathed. "Say it. 'Thank you, Master, for letting me live.'"
Gwen didn't even have a chance to react. It happened too quickly. She took a few deep breaths, gasping for air, trying to make up for the breaths she missed. She stared into his eyes, she didn't have a choice.
"What kind of monster are you?" There was no bite to her words.
The Master tilted his head, as if deep in thought, for a second. "Hmmm, no. Sorry. Try again." And he twisted the fingers of his free hand into her long, wet hair and yanked. Somehow, pain seemed to be the only way to get through to her. Not that that was unexpected.
Oh, she was. So. Infuriating. Monster? Why she couldn't understand and accept gratefully the gift he was offering was beyond him.
"Yes!" she screamed an answer to nothing. She grabbed at his hand tangled in her hair, trying to relieve the pressure. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!--Thank you!...." she sobbed freely now. "I'm sorry....thank you....thank you for letting me live..."
Instead of letting her go immediately, as she might have hoped, the Master pushed her head up and pulled it against his chest, entrapping her further. He kissed the top of her head, delicately, as if she were a penitent child. "Good girl," he whispered, hugging her close and staring off into the trees. "Good girl."
He thought a moment, then added, "I'd really prefer if we just kept this little incident to ourselves, hmmm? In the spirit of... understanding we've come to share." He hoped she wasn't thick enough to completely miss the meaning of that.
Gwen didn't say anything at all. She only nodded against his chest. Even through the raincoat, she could still smell the faint traces of his cologne and it made her sick. She bit at her bottom lip, and kept nodding against the slick surface of the raincoat. She could barely breath against the vinyl and started to push back against him, distancing herself from him.
He knew she was nodding, could sniff out her fear and compliance even if he weren't a Time Lord. But he liked to hear her choke on her words-- these things she probably would never have imagined saying just a short time earlier.
"Gwen-Gwen? Gwennie? Darling? What do you say?" He squeezed, not as hard as the times before-- just enough to let her know how very, very wrong this could go, and all too quickly—
But only if you make me, Gwennie.
And on the tail of that: Come on. Make me.
She pushed her hands against her chest, giving her enough space to breathe without being smothered against the plastic. "Yes."
She just wanted go now. There was no fight left in here, she just wanted to go, and she was willing to twist her words, make herself sick over it, as long as it sounded like something he wanted to hear.
"Yes," she repeated herself. "Yes, Master. I won't tell anyone, please, I want to go home. I want to be out of the rain. I'm cold. I'm afraid."
"Admirably done." The Master couldn't decide whether he was more relieved or disappointed. He shoved her away from him, mildly disgusted at all the conflicting feelings she-- this situation-- managed to stir up.
"Now run. Run on home. Run!" He had begun to shout.
She started to speak to him, but could only stammer. "I-I-..." she trailed off. The ground was still muddy and slippery, and when Gwen turned she nearly fell. She caught herself quickly and broke into a run. She stayed on the path and ran as quickly as she could toward the castle. Home.
She only slowed down when her lungs burned too much to carry on at the same pace.
(THE MASTER WAS SWEATING AND IT WAS HOTT)
The Master watched her go, silently, but inside his mind raced along in strange recursive loops and tangles. Had he done the right thing, letting her go? He was usually so sure; despite all the compulsive rethinking, recalculating the answer almost always came out to at least roughly the same. But that. That had been--
Wrong. That was the only word for it. He should have killed her. He knew that. He should have walked. He knew that too. Either or. Although he had won this, although he'd been able to hurt her, cow her, control her. Break her down into a simpering sobbing mess. He couldn't shake the nagging feeling that she had been controlling him too, that he had been quite out of control of himself.
The Master leaned back against a tree, listened to the rain pat dully on his coat. He had let her dictate his actions, and that was a problem. And something was surely going to come of it, something not so rewarding, something along the lines of retribution. And that was a problem. He had not been ready for this, not today.
He shifted, suddenly noticing he was quite damp beneath his coat. He briefly wondered whether it had sprung a leak and had begun to meticulously examine the outside before it dawned on him. Although he had no recollection of it, and although he now felt quite cold, he had been sweating profusely during that little encounter.
The Master was afraid again, as afraid as the first time he'd regenerated and realized the drums weren't going anywhere-- actually, quite happy and comfortable where they were, thank you very much. As before, the same thought. I can't stop it. And as before, he waited out the panic patiently as he could, breathing shallowly, eyes tightly shut, fingernails digging into each palm.
When he'd gotten himself significantly more under control, he stepped carefully back to the path. Home. That did seem like a good idea about now.
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