DW Fic: Equality (1/1)
Aug. 5th, 2007 11:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
intrikate88Author:
intrikate88Rating: PG-13 (mentions of sex and slight kinkiness)
Word count: 3,139
Pairing: Harry/Lucy, mentions of Doctor/Rose
Summary: At the end of her marriage, Lucy Saxon ponders its beginnings.
Lucy grips the gun in trembling hands, and wonders where her marriage had gone wrong. It was so difficult to know. Her eye throbs with Harry’s rhythm in the imprint of Harry’s knuckles. The Master’s rhythm. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He couldn’t hear anything but that rhythm of his, his double-time hearts.
Oh, but they had been so happy, from the very beginning. He had held doors for her, been a gentleman, told her how prettily she blushed. That was even before she was his, before anybody on staff knew the name of the girl the publisher sent over to help him put together his autobiography. But he knew her name.
She called him ‘sir’.
“Oh, Lucy Cole,” he’d said, resting a hand on her arm. “Call me Harry. It isn’t as though I’m your master.”
For some reason that struck him as funny, and she laughed too, thought she wasn’t sure what made it amusing.
Three weeks later, she entered his office, tripped on a fold in the carpet, and fell into Harry Saxon’s arms. Her knee very impolitely refused to hold her up, and she found the side of her face pressed embarrassingly against him, her ear pressed to his chest. She heard the echo of a beat.
She paused a beat.
Now, Lucy knew she was not exceptionally bright. She liked to believe she was thoughtful and perhaps a little imaginative, maybe; she knew she was quite good at netball, or at least she was in school; and she knew that it was her father’s name and influence rather than her own abilities that allowed her to do serious work. Lucy knew a brighter person would know that two hearts was impossible; but Lucy wasn’t bright, and could think of no particularly good reason why he shouldn’t. When he gently set her back on her feet, he looked into her eyes, and saw she knew. She looked up at him, wondering what he would say, wondering if she should demand an explanation.
With a speed that startled her beyond reaction, he pushed her back against the door she had so recently come through, his hand suddenly at her throat, the other covering her mouth. His body held her pinioned. They stood like that a long moment, just waiting, and breathing.
“You won’t tell anyone about that, my dear Lucy, will you?” His voice was low and calm, but she heard menacing not to far beneath the surface. She shook her head no, as he still held her muffled. He removed the hand from her mouth. “Very good choice.”
But he didn’t remove his hand from her throat, or step away and allow her freedom. He moved his thumb around until it covered her jugular, and he looked wondering, enthralled. His thumb tightened on her pulse, mixing his pulse with hers. Da-da-da-dum. Da-da-da-dum.
(Perspiration slides down Lucy’s back, itchy between her skin and the red satin. Her finger feels pinched between the trigger and the- she can’t remember what it’s called. Da-da-da-dum.)
That was the first time Lucy kissed Harry. It was also the first time she ever fell in love, but she didn’t tell anyone, because that would sound too silly and sentimental, wouldn’t it?
In public, he was the picture of propriety, wanting to wait until the biography was done to announce their relationship. But for those hours of the week, (more than was strictly necessary for the writing of a book) when she listened to his stories and took notes of what he wanted in his autobiography, he told her the other story of his life, told her of the size of the universe, and told her of the terrible things he could do to a lady such as herself, if she were to be unwise enough to tell.
She tried not to giggle like a schoolgirl, and he tried to be appropriately menacing, and not smile with delight at the treasure he’d found. (They both failed. Neither minded.)
Lucy knew that Harry was powerful; it was not merely his closeness that made her heart race with apprehension when he gripped her arms roughly and told her she must never tell about his two hearts or his time machine if she wished to live in safety. There were certain people that plotted against Harry, and they then suddenly had to leave the country, or least the land of the upright. Lucy knew how these things worked: her father was a lord, (who had been delighted that Lucy was marrying a politician, and such a smart one as Harry Saxon, at that) and there had been more than one family situation that had needed to be dealt with a in a pragmatic fashion. It was merely politics.
Lucy didn’t want to be politics. Lucy wanted to be Harry’s. But a powerful man like him could get what he wanted with ease and without fuss, and Lucy didn’t want to be that forgettable. So she struggled. She wiggled under him, and refused to promise him silence, and when she saw his eyes go from playful to very warm indeed, flutters played around her stomach like leaves in a gale. “I shall shout,” she threatened, “and bring the whole staff running, and reveal all your secrets.”
“If you attempt it, I shall be forced to gag you,” he returned.
“Oh, do,” Lucy dared, a smirk touching her lips.
Harry raised his eyebrows, an unspoken Oh, really? And then, to Lucy’s astonishment, he produced a handkerchief from his pocket, and proceeded to gag her with it. She gurgled happily, and the rest of the afternoon she spent in his lap, taking notes and asking decidedly fewer questions than usual.
(Lucy can see now why people fear and hate guns. They make murder as simple as pulling a trigger. How is this gun so heavy? She holds it, and tries not to let her hand shake. She would rather hit her target.)
“Were you in sport at university?” she had asked one session, hitting ‘enter’ twice on her keyboard to begin a new section.
Harry was sprawled on a settee, tossing grapes into the air and trying to catch them in his mouth. “I don’t know, Lucy, make something up,”
Lucy bit back her frustration, and found her fingers tapping out his rhythm on her laptop’s palm rest. “It’s supposed to be accurate, Harry.”
“Lucy, sweet, you know where I come from and it isn’t jolly old England. Whatever you said I did, that’s what it must have been.”
“Fine,” she said shortly. “You were a rugby player, one of the best of your team. And that’s true, is it?”
Harry shrugged and caught a grape in his mouth. “Google it. Find out.”
Giving him one last doubtful glance, she did. There was a pause, and then results added up- message boards discussing him and his team, pictures… “Harry, this wasn’t there before,” she said. She didn’t say it was impossible. She didn’t know if impossible was possible anymore.
He smiled, stretched, and yawned; he reminded her of a cat. “No,” he agreed, “but you made it fact.” It hit Lucy then, the excitement of being a part of the world he was constructing. It was like traveling on a train when every one else was being used for tracks. “Lucy, are you free tonight? Care to see the end of the universe with me?”
Lucy had never been asked out like that before. Clearly, she couldn’t refuse. As she watched the universe end later that evening, she found herself smiling at the beauty of it: of dry planets and large, dull stars colliding, of time and gravity and everything she didn’t know becoming visible and colorful before smashing together exuberantly. There was such fierce joy in it: the universe, with reckless abandon, throwing itself into one last dance before the oncoming night. She swayed on her feet, gazing out the TARDIS door; she too wanted to throw herself forward and into the dance, but she could only watch, enraptured.
Harry watched her, enraptured, and decided he was going to marry her. Then they went and had dinner at a favorite French restaurant of his. “You danced to the end of the universe,” he commented, not disapprovingly. “The last battle of existence. I would imagine most humans might feel a bit odd about that.”
“You’ve narrowed it down to the fight or the dance, Harry. The universe is bigger than that,” she said, and he agreed. She enjoyed the way he looked at her.
Months later, when planning the wedding, Lucy had a moment that she had heard crudely termed a ‘brain fart’, wherein she asked her fiancé, “Is anyone from your family coming?” Even as the words came from her mouth she knew they weren’t right. The room froze.
“There is only one other of my kind,” Harry said hoarsely. “He- he’s called the Doctor. He and I- we-“ Harry cut himself off, and cleared his throat. “The Doctor will not be attending, no.” Later he would tell her of the Doctor, the timelord that had run away, had stolen a TARDIS. The one who had resisted all efforts to be brought back; they had fought at every meeting. He told of the Doctor’s infatuation with Earth and his predilection for selecting human companions to share his travels through time. Harry told her what he had found out about Rose Tyler, the companion the Doctor was in love with, and had lost. Lucy thought it was all very sad.
“When I came to earth, I considered giving myself the name Tyler, just so when the Doctor showed up it would bother him,” Harry said one night after they were married, as they lay in bed one evening. “Could I be a Sam Tyler, do you think?”
She considered his face, kissing it just to make the inspection complete. “Maybe. But I like Saxon.” She was quiet a moment. “Besides, the Doctor not being able to see Rose again is tragic enough without you making it worse. I want to write a story about them finding each other again. Or perhaps make a video of some sort, to a sad song. Is there enough video footage of them in the Torchwood archives?”
Harry laughed. “Possibly, my creative wife.” He pulled her closer. “I would love to read your story. Maybe I’ll write one too.”
“They’re like us. The timelord and his faithful companion,” Lucy said dreamily.
“Except, darling, we get the happy ending,” he said, and rolled over her. She lay still, and pondered love. He pushed her down. “Not even a wiggle, my love? For someone who intends to ravish you in an entirely un-gentleman-like way?” He grinned predatorily down at her, and she struggled with what looked like all her force, but was measured to be just enough to be unable to escape.
She loved these times.
The negotiations with the Toclafane, the Archangel network, and the election all passed by in what seemed like no time at all. Every day was filled with new people, new concepts. The trips to see the last moments of the universe stopped because Harry needed to use the TARDIS to bring the Toclafane to the present. Harry had told her his plan for the earth even before they were married, of how he intended to rule it. How, based on the size of the universe, it made so little sense for the so-called leaders to squabble over their territories. It sounded sensible and also very questionable, but Lucy had had enough of weak-minded upper-class twits in her life and found the contrast refreshing. “And I want you with me. I want you to share the earth with me.” He caressed her face. “Perhaps even the galaxy, one day. And… really, dearest, that’s up to you, whether you want that life or not.”
She playfully removed his hands down to her pale throat. “A choice, Harry? Isn’t this supposed to be the part where you threaten me to stay silent, in case I shout out your plan for world domination and probably the mass murder of all kittens or some monstrosity like that?”
He returned his hand to her cheek. “No, Lucy. This is the part where I ask if you want to be at my side. Say yes or not without fear.”
Lucy bit her lip, pondering. “If I was to refuse you, then,” she said tentatively, “you wouldn’t strangle me and leave my body in a black hole somewhere, would you, Harry?”
He wrinkled his forehead, distress lightly touching his features. “No, love. Never.”
“Then I suppose I’ll have to choose to stay with you, won’t I? The alternative is rather dull.”
A grin split his face, and he crushed her to his chest. “My Lucy! I love you, you know,” he exclaimed.
“Yes, I believe I do,” she replied composedly, and snuggled closer.
And that was them: strangulation and snuggling.
Lucy thought they’d never change, even as they lived aboard the Valiant, and the challenges and secrecy of life disappeared. Surely Harry locking all of the staff out of the control room and kicking the Doctor into the hallway (who Lucy wasn’t sure if she wanted to pair with Rose, if Harry was going to insist on keeping the Doctor old like he did) so that he could have his way with her on the conference table counted for something.
They now shared a huge bed. Maybe that was why they found themselves so far apart. Lucy thought herself very deep when she pondered that.
She kept trying to challenge him. “I don’t like how you keep the Doctor,” she’d say. “Maybe I’ll find a way to release him and make him young and pretty again and help him get back to Rose.” She was hoping for some acknowledgement from Harry that he would have to use all resources necessary to keep her from her dastardly plan.
But he laughed. “My silly girl,” he said, twirling her around and making the red dress he loved to see her in spin out, and then he went to get a massage, while Lucy thought bitterly that he was probably fucking that masseuse. She’d never been much of one for crude language but now she found herself cursing in her head. It was a whimper of a rebellion and she knew it. Still, she tried not to become too bitter- after all, Harry had chosen her to rule the earth at his side, and hadn’t tossed her out an airlock yet or some such sci-fi nonsense. She was the one human he thought was as good as him.
“You should call me Master,” he told her one afternoon as she sat on deck reading. She had heard he wanted to see her but didn’t respond, wanting him to seek her out instead.
“What, Harry?” she asked, looking up from a collection of Robert Browning poetry.
“Not Harry. Master.” Impatience tinged his voice as he repeated himself.
She gazed at him steadily. “No.”
“Lucy,” he said warningly, but didn’t come closer, merely crossed his arms. The gesture was a chilly contrast to the usual intimacy of his threats.
“I will not,” she maintained. “I am not one of your servants. I’m your wife. And I’ll continue to call you Harry Saxon, because that is the name of my husband.”
“That isn’t my name.” He backhanded her, and the movement was so sharp and unexpected Lucy didn’t even throw up a hand to defend herself. She stared at him in- not shock, that felt too clichéd, almost- but bemusement; it felt like someone else’s hand, someone else’s face. It wasn’t like he’d never struck her before, when the moment was appropriate. (Though Lucy didn’t consider herself and Harry to be one of those couples, and if you had asked her to define ‘those couples’ she would have said something vague about leather, whips, and spiky accessories, without being quite sure what she was talking about.) But the point was, she had never felt anything but respect from him, whatever he did. But he’d backhanded her, and when she wasn’t anticipating it. Like she was some yapping puppy or- or-
“You hit me!”
He smiled down at her patronizingly. “Really, Lucy, protesting? I thought you liked it. One of our little games.”
But it wasn’t, and she knew it. She suspected he knew it too, but there was no one that he needed to pretend moral uprightness to, so he didn’t.
And so it went. Instead of snuggling there was twirling, a sad parody of the way Lucy used to dance around in place. I made my choice, Lucy reminded herself acridly. But she had wanted to be a choreographer, and he’d turned her into a wind-up doll in his toy stage, something to dress up and to look pretty.
(A line from a forgotten movie whispers in Lucy’s head. Dress me up like a gorram doll. Show me off like a dog. Old men covered in blood, it never touched them, but they're drowning in it. She can’t remember the movie, she can’t remember the line, or if it even is one. She can remember the bleak desperation. She can feel her mind unraveling.)
She’d hoped, so hard, when the Joneses and the Doctor made their attempt at a revolt. She didn’t want them to defeat Harry. She just wanted the field leveled a bit. When Harry defeated them, though, it only pushed him higher while crushing everyone else down.
So here she stands, a gun in her hand and no one has noticed yet. It was so strange, watching the Doctor; and not just in the ridiculous way he floated around and glowed. The strangest part was watching him bring down the Master. He could have continued to be weak and helpless, and lose, or he could defeat the Master, stand over his broken body and take the world for himself, and submit himself to be ruled by the Master’s way and thus lose again. In a choice between winning and losing he decided against both and acted upon another system, and forgave Harry instead. And in doing so, he became better than everything Harry stood for. Everything he was.
They’re noticing the gun she holds now. Lucy knows what she’s doing even as she questions herself. The trigger slips back so smoothly; she will not be demeaned by him anymore. She’d like to forgive; she admires the Doctor’s action and wishes she was that strong, to step out of the play that Harry has constructed and be better than the play’s director.
Lucy’s husband falls as the bullet strikes him. She was right all along, she realizes. She’s less than him, and she isn’t more.
She’s his equal.
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no subject
Date: 2007-08-06 04:49 am (UTC)Come bear my secret children now, please?
Oh, my GOD, that was amazing. Every little part of it. YOU WROTE LUCY/MASTER AND IT WAS GOOD.
I love the way you described the build-up to their relationship because that was exactly how it went, yeah. And I loved that you wrote Lucy as so much more aware than she actually was.
AND - OMG - YOU MANAGED TO GET IN THEM WRITING D/R FIC WITHOUT IT BEING CRACKLY AT ALL.
AND AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. FIREFLY REFERENCE. *licks*
who Lucy wasn’t sure if she wanted to pair with Rose, if Harry was going to insist on keeping the Doctor old like he did = WIN. Old!Doctor is not really shippable at all.
And the tongue-in-cheek glowing and floating reference. STOP. TOO MUCH AWESOME IN ONE FIC.
The whole thing with the gun and her shooting him - THANK YOU FOR MAKING THAT MAKE SENSE. Congratulations for doing all of RTD's heavy character lifting for him. I really appreciate it. :D
Today,
no subject
Date: 2007-08-06 05:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-06 10:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-06 10:19 pm (UTC)I am so glad this made sense to you (especially since I refused to actually watch tLotTL for anything resembling canon) and that you love it and your review basically made my afternoon and left me giggling. I'll do Russell's heavy character lifting anytime, especially when it's Lucy, who clearly needs as much explanation as possible.
Hee, I knew you'd catch the Firefly reference. I also made a Thea Gilmore reference ("you have narrowed it down to the fight or the dance" -Apparition No.12) but I'm pretty sure nobody would get that one. But you know, I had to make a River reference, since Lucy was acting so spacey in a River-like fashion.
And the tongue-in-cheek glowing and floating reference.
I HAD to poke at that. Not just because it was patently ridiculous, but because it totally overshadowed the epic interesting part, which was the Doctor forgiving the Master. That was probably a good deal of the idea RTD was trying to get across and he totally blew it. In my not so humble opinion.
Anyway. *glomps and snogs you for delightful reviews*
no subject
Date: 2007-08-06 09:57 am (UTC)(i reckon she's evil, though)
no subject
Date: 2007-08-06 10:51 pm (UTC)I guess I'm really just trying to portray both Lucy and the Master as people- not merely good or evil but just themselves, with all their wishes and desires and dreams and fears. So I hope that came across.
Thanks for reviewing!
no subject
Date: 2007-08-06 12:32 pm (UTC)Oh, that was fantastic! I loved it. You really came up with such a believable character arc for Lucy and the way she changed from TSOD to LOTTL (you did RTD's job for him, it seems!). It was like traveling on a train when every one else was being used for tracks was a ridiculously brilliant line and I'm immensely jealous of you for writing it ;) I also loved all the little sprinklings of Lucy's thoughts as she held the gun, they really added something to it.
Brilliant!
no subject
Date: 2007-08-06 10:54 pm (UTC)I'm thrilled that you thought this was brilliant, and even more so that you thought Lucy's character arc was believable. Thanks for reviewing!
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Date: 2007-08-06 07:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-06 10:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-06 08:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-06 10:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-08 02:58 am (UTC)And there was a Firefly reference, woot. Lucy is a rather different sort of crazy than River, but they actually are rather alike at the same time. And the idea of Lucy as a would be Firefly fan is amusing in its own right.
Again, great story.
no subject
Date: 2007-08-08 10:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-11 03:47 pm (UTC)I loved it!
Could we get a Lucy/Harry/Rose fic, please.... (you just put the silly idea in my head, lol)
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Date: 2007-08-12 08:28 pm (UTC)Could we get a Lucy/Harry/Rose fic, please....
I only make lattes on demand, but if you care to write a fic like that, I'd love to read it! I think
no subject
Date: 2007-08-12 08:39 pm (UTC)http://community.livejournal.com/master_rose/
no subject
Date: 2007-08-17 05:59 am (UTC)*applauds*
no subject
Date: 2007-08-17 10:08 pm (UTC)