Categories > TV > Doctor Who > The Master's Mistress

the Deceit

by mcrluver4life113 0 reviews

Things are heating up.

Category: Doctor Who - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama - Warnings: [!] - Published: 2010-07-02 - Updated: 2010-07-02 - 565 words

“I’m sorry for the mess, Doctor,” I said over my shoulder, picking up a shirt from my couch and tossing it across the room. “I wasn’t expecting the greatest hero of the universe today.”
“Few ever are,” he mumbled, giving the dozens of burning candles and half-empty glasses a wary look. “Where is your friend, Maria?”
“This way,” I said, leading him to my bedroom. For a moment, I worried if I was giving a suggestive impression. I dismissed it, realizing I could play that to my advantage. “You looked tired, are you sure you don’t need rest? My friend, he’s been hurt for a long time. He could wait a few minutes.” I shot him a slightly sexy look. “Or hours.”
“No,” the Doctor rushed out. Perfect, he was nervous. “No, if your friend is suffering, we should end that quickly.”
“Of course,” I smiled. “Right this way.”b/>
Through my bedroom, over to my closet, we stood shoulders touching. I looked up at him, for he was rather tall. “Doctor, this might make you a little sick.”
“I’ve seen more than you can possibly imagine,” he said, his eyes flashing with something older than I’d considered. “Nothing can make me sick, these days.”
“I warned you.”
I pulled the white sliding door across my body, to reveal the horror beyond. On the floor, in a small nest of blankets and surrounded by candles, lay a skeleton. The joints were held together by an invisibly force, the two hearts beat ominously inside it’s chest, and breath flowed from unseen lungs. I saw beauty, not horror. The Doctor, though. A different story.
He was suddenly all business. “Is he…a Time Lord, Maria?”
“I’m not sure what a Time Lord is, Doctor,” I whispered. “But…he doesn’t talk, he can’t.”
“Of course not, right,” he said, reaching into his trench coat and removing his screwdriver. “And how long has he been here?”
“A few weeks, but I’m under the impression he’s been this way for a long time,” I lied smoothly.
“Oh, yes,” said the Doctor. “He’s quite old. Almost as old as me…But, that’s besides the point.”
I fought back my smile. He was just as I pictured him, scruffy and awkward and bedraggled, but confident and very, very handsome. Also, very deceptive, and a terrible liar.
“What are you going to do?” I pleaded.
“He has two hearts,” he said, looking at the Master, yet not really seeing him. “Time Lord or not, I might be able to regenerate him, or recreate his cells and-”
“Yes, I know, Doctor, you’re quite famous.”
“Right, perfect,” he said, almost to himself. “Now, how did you get him here?”
“His limbs stick together, somehow, so I can move him without jumbling him up,” I said. “I just wrapped him in a blanket and carried him here.”
“Could you do the same thing now?” said the Doctor, running the screwdriver up and down the Master, then inspecting it. “I’m more than positive the Tardis will work on him.”
“Of course,” I said. I bent down to pick up my Master, when the bony hand grabbed my wrist, gently. He stroked a fleshless finger across my hand, quickly, but tenderly. Letting me know that the suffering was almost over.
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