pawnofrassilon | For Eileen <3<3

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For Eileen <3<3

On a cold spring evening in Wiltshire, in the year 2011, a man falls to Earth.

Some children look up and think they see a shooting star that night. Adults, knowing that whatever it is is far too large, think it might be a comet or meteor. Or else they assume it's a trick of the eyes, an afterimage of a headlamp on the road. Some, oddly enough, think of angels. News reports are non-definitive.

Much like the film, the man isn't quite a 'man' at all-- not by the twenty-first century Earth definition, anyhow. He's alien, though it's only by the doubling of his pulses and the nature of his abrupt appearance in the first place that any human could tell.

Unlike the film, he isn't particularly concerned with saving his home world. Not anymore.

The Master lies very still for a long time, heedless of the fact he's crumpled up in the middle of an open field. He's fallen quite a distance, even for a Time Lord. And many of his injuries are much, much older than that. His clothes are little more than rags, torn to shreds and singed to the point of near purposelessness. If it's even possible, he's dirtier than ever. Exhausted. Parched. Hungry. So hungry.

Eventually it's the hunger that gets him up and keeps him moving. Feeling the click and slide of bones that are likely dislocated if not broken, the Master struggles to his feet, heaving and wincing in pain, his skin becoming momentarily translucent with the effort. He's in trouble, his energy stores dangerously low and his body in real danger of being ripped apart. But it's nothing a little snack won't fix. Taking a great whiff of the night air, he cracks a grin just short of sanity... and lets his nose lead him staggering through the darkness.

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His eyes narrow, his expression closing off to a wary one. He isn't about to let anyone just experiment on him. Besides...

"I'm dying," he snaps. "The Doctor couldn't even do anything."

Just stood there with that idiotic look on his face. That look of pity. Ever so helpful as usual.

Rose swallows.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I'm so sorry."

He wants to strangle her for that alone. Instead the Master settles back and laughs sardonically, staring at her with displaced resentment.

"He's even got you spouting the party line."

She sighs.

"What do you want, then? You want me to let you die in peace?"

The Master considers. He's thought about what he wants, difficult as that question is, and even more difficult as it is to think these days.

But no, he doesn't particularly want to die. And part of him, the old him... it still viciously resists the inevitability of it.

"What are you suggesting? That you put me down? Like an old dog?"

"No. I'd rather try something... anything... to make you better."

"I'm not your experimental charity case, either," the Master scowls, defensive. She's still appropriating the Doctor's lines, which rankles enough. But on top of that, the thought of letting one of the Doctor's pets meddle with his body... well, it's unthinkable, really.

Still, he's curious.

"There may be something you apes have squirreled away that could be of use."

Apes. The term, though meant to be derogatory, nevertheless made Rose's heart ache in memory of the Doctor.

"Do you want to see what we have? I can let you into our stores... in shackles and under guard of course."

He sneers. "Of course. And then what? You aren't going to actually let me play with your toys, are you?"

Rose rolled her eyes. "You tell us how to use them. Else I just leave you here to die. Which will it be?"

The Master stares at her evenly for a moment, considering. Finally, he says, "Let's have a look, then."

Rose touches the comm in her ear. "I need a set of shackles and a few more hands down here please."

It's a moment before the remaining three Torchwood agents arrive and hand Rose what she's asked for. They all enter the cell, and Rose approaches the Master while the rest draw their weapons.

"I'm going to cuff your ankles first, then your wrists. Then I'll release you from the wall. All right?"

His eyes dart to the others as they appear, but very quickly return to Rose. She's the one calling the shots, after all. A girl, in charge of Torchwood. Little changes.

The Master shoots her a lazy grin while his eyes continue to burn with resentment.

"Fantastic," is all he says, enunciating each syllable with bitter relish.

Rose dropped her eyes, unwilling to meet that bitter stare. She dropped to her knees and carefully cuffed his ankles, one by one. The other agent watched uneasily, ready to shoot if the Master tried anything funny.

The Master's gaze slides to his guards again as Rose fiddles with his ankle cuffs.

"How's Anderson?" he asks casually. It's not really much of a question; he knows how Anderson must be, knows that he nearly destroyed the agent's mind when he first arrived in this universe. No-- it's a calculated insult.

"You son of a bitch..." one of the agents growls, and Rose lifts her head when she hears the weapon cock.

"Oi! None of that. He's trying to get under our skin. Don't let him."

The Master tenses expectantly and leans forward as the agent cocks the weapon, his smile widening as if this is all going according to plan. In fact, he does look a bit disappointed when the agent reluctantly stands down.

"That's right," he murmurs. "None of that. Now, why don't you run along and fetch me a sandwich?"

"None of that, either," she says, giving the Master a firm glare as she stands. One by one, she shackles his wrists, then unlocks the cuffs that attach him to the wall. She steps back.

"This way."

He struggles to his feet with a tolerant smile.

"Yes, mum."

The Master steps forward, arching an eyebrow at the guard as he passes by.

The guard nearly snarls, but he and the others follow as Rose leads the Master to the vault where the alien tech is stored. She enters a code, allows her retina to be scanned, and the door opens.

While Rose is unlocking the vault, the Master watches her movements carefully out of the corner of his eye. The code is easy enough-- and as for her eyeball... let's just say it shouldn't be a problem. He's still smiling assuredly as they step into the room.

The Master looks around, scanning the shelves and shelves of equipment with detached interest.

"Well. Haven't you been the busy bees."

Then something catches his eye and he starts toward one of the shelves, the ankle cuffs making his strides much shorter and much less dignified than he'd like.

Rose goes with him, while the other agents uneasily follow.

"What is it?" she asks softly.

He ignores the question.

"How did you get this?" the Master hisses, staring up at a grapefruit-sized silver orb, utterly smooth and frustratingly out of reach. He struggles with the cuffs for several seconds before turning to stare at Rose resignedly. He isn't going to have to ask for help, is he?

Rose takes down the orb and holds it out to the Master.

"We found it after a time-space slip incident out at the Rift. What is it?"

A time-space slip. The Rift. It must have come in the same way he did. From the same place.

The Master shudders and, despite knowing what an insanely stupid move it's likely to be, reaches his hand out to brush gently against the surface. Faint, scrawling lines appear, eventually thickening and merging to form Gallifreyan writing.

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