fic (doctor who)
Title: see how deep the bullet lies
Fandom: doctor who
Rating: PG13 for swearing
Pairing: sort of Master/Martha-ish
Spoilers: No Season Four spoilers. AU
Summary: Five moments that never happened. The echos of five possibilities lost in time. Five lives the Master and Martha never lived.

five little disjointed ficlets. self-indulging liek woah.

title from Kate Bush.





see how deep the bullet lies
(five times the Master and Martha Jones never met)

1. politics 101


`Come on, let's be fair, Miss Jones, junior doctors are much better off than years ago.´

Martha is tired, too tired from a night on call and an annoying consultant that didn't answer her beeper and a stupid first year that would have given A-type blood to an O-type patient if it weren't for Martha. She is too tired to wear this ridiculous dress she is wearing and too tired to be drinking this ridiculously expensive champagne she is sipping. Too tired for a mock high society party and, above all things, too tired to be hearing patronizing bullshit from an stuck-up politician.

Martha doesn't even know what she is saying until the words are actually out of her mouth.

`Oh, yes, I heard from my registrar all the stories about doing one-in-three nights and how we young people have it so good. Well, Mister Saxon, I've just come from thirty hours on call and I can assure you, the system might be better than it used to but it still doesn't work.´

Francine lets out a disbelieving laughter.

`Martha, I'm sure that's not Mister Saxon's fault.´

`No, but I bet if he does get to be Prime Minister, he won't do anything about it, either.´

She knocks down her glass of champagne the way they do in the movies. It feels good. It feels good to be angry and able to show it for once.

Harold Saxon smiles politely but a bit too thinly at that. Uncomfortable tight smile.

`If you excuse me,´ he says. `My wife is waiting.´

He turns to leave.

`Of course, of course,´ Francine calls after him. `Thank you for inviting us.´

When he is gone Tish lets her hands fall at her sides and looks long at Martha.

`Thank you, Martha,´ she says sarcastically. `That was my new boss.´

Martha shrugs but unenthusiastically, knowing Tish is right and she's been a dickhead and she is going to feel so guilty afterwards.

`I didn't say anything that wasn't true.´

`He,´ her mother scowls, `is probably our next Prime Minister.´

`Then maybe when he is Prime Minister he will remember a rude girl he met at a party one night and then he'll decide to fix the NHS.´

`Fat chance,´ Leo comments, giving Martha a knowing smile.

`What if he fires me?´ Tish asks.

`We ask you to come to one little thing so we can support Tish in her new job as a whole family,´ her mother recriminates her, `just one lousy party and you had to behave like-´

Martha starts walking away.

`Where do you think you are going?´

She gestures towards the tables.

`Nibbles,´ she says and leaves her family behind.

There's a reason she doesn't do parties (and when she has to she normally retreats quietly to a corner with her drink - and stand Tish's rambling on about gosh, you are so autistic).

She is through with her third smoked salmon bite and pondering if she should refill her drink -or if she has shamed herself enough for one evening- when she sees Harold Saxon approaching the table. Shit, she thinks, trying not to turn seven kinds of red in the face and knowing she is failing horribly.

`I'm so sorry,´ Martha starts as soon as he is by her side. `I didn't mean to- I mean, it was not my place. I know it wasn't your fault- not your are... and- really, really sorry. Please, feel free to stop my babbling any moment now.´

He chuckles. He puts his hands in the pockets of his tux, cool, stylish.

`Don't sweat it, it was an interesting discussion.´

Martha mouths a thank you and pretends to go back to examining the food. She can feel him still staring at her.

She turns around to face him, study him for a moment. His expression is eerily unreadable, like a mask. Martha guesses it goes with his job.

`You are not going to fire Tish for what I've just said. Are you?´ She asks.

His grin widens.

`What kind of politician would I be if I did that?´

`A normal one,´ Martha shrugs.

He nods, conceding. But once more his smile is all diplomacy.

`You look taller in television,´ Martha blurts out.

That seems to get to him. He raises an eyebrow and his amusement looks genuine. Martha has the uncomfortable feeling he just might be making fun of her.

`I like girls who speak their minds,´ but his tone is no joke, no politician's taunt.

There's something patronizing in the way he says girls, like Martha is just a child and he is a million years old. It sends a shiver down her spine.

He holds his gaze and he is not smiling anymore. He is not even Harold Saxon, Westminster sensation and poll king as Martha has read about him; she can't explain it and it's quite absurd but the way he looks at her, it's like he is not even human, like he is something else.

`I don't like the way you look at me,´ she mutters and he has been getting close enough to hear her.

He buries his hands into his pockets deeper, leaning into her to whisper.

`I like that you don't like the way I look at you.´

She shakes him off, two steps back at a time.

`Mister Saxon...´

`Harry, please...´

Martha frowns and she purses her lips together.

`No. Mister Saxon. I'd better go back to my family now.´

She walks away.

But she can feel his gaze on her as she leaves, she can feel it like ice cubes sliding and melting down her back.




2. stockholm


`Who are you?´ Martha sits up on the floor of the TARDIS, holding her head, it hurts. `Where's professor Yana?´

The man looks at her first in confusion then in amusement.

`Oh, god, he didn't tell you about regeneration. What are you, new?´

Martha hears the Doctor banging on the door, shouting desperately. She stands up -a little nausea from the hitting her head, and goes to open the door.

`Open up!´ The Doctor screams.

Martha tries.

`Doctor, it won't open.´

`Yeah,´ the man says from the console. `That would be because I locked it.´

She is about to ask why but the Doctor calls her back, screaming her name.

`Martha, listen to me,´ he says, an urgency in his tone that scares him.

`I'm listening.´

`Martha, whatever he says, don't believe him. It's very important. Don't trust him. The Master... He is a Time Lord but he is not like me.´

`What do you mean?´

A click of tongue behind her.

`It means I'm evil, dear,´ the Master says, walking up to her. He grabs her arms and pulls her out of the way.

`Leave her out of this!´ Martha hears the Doctor say through the door. The fear in his voice is unlike anything she's ever heard from him - raw, primitive. `This is between you and me.´

`No, it's not,´ the Master says. `And damn if I'm going to stay here and have a nice little chat where I tell you all about my plan so you can work out a way to stop me. I don't think so.´

He lets Martha go, pushing her further into the room without care or manners.

Martha doesn't really understand what is happening, she knows she doesn't like it. This Master, this Time Lord - all his exhilarated energy, the tone of his voice, between a joke and a threat... Martha feels something is very wrong with him and she doesn't need the Doctor's warning to realize that.

`So Martha Jones,´ he says, pressing some buttons on the TARDIS´ controls. `Why don't we say bye bye to the end of the universe?´

Martha sends a helpless glance to the door.

The Master catches her and pulls a mocking pouting face.

`Don't cry, he'll be alright. The Doctor always manages to, the stubborn git. Bad weeds and all that. Both of us.´

The whooshing sound of the ship awaking and Martha feels the floor tremble underneath her, both metaphorically and literally.

`What are you going to do?´ she asks, cursing how tiny and frightened it sounds.

`I'm going to conquer the universe,´ he says casually. Then he looks at her over his shoulder, from the controls. A strange, hungry gleam in his eyes. Not quite human. Nothing like the Doctor's either.

He lets a moment pass before he speaks again, pressing his lips together:

`And you are coming with me.´




3. traktorozavodskiy


It had been a key place during the battle of Stalingrad, the death toll almost 75000.

`The bodies melted the snow on the streets and mixed with the snow was their blood. Rivers of red down these, streets, Martha. Like an ancient plague. It was beautiful.´

`You've been here?´ she asks.

`I've been everywhere.´

She can see the Doctor in him, all the edges that are completely the same and maybe they don't know it. There's a thrill that comes from him being a Time Lord, the part of Martha that secretly revels in his presence because she misses the Doctor so much that even a shadow would do.

`How did you find me?´

`Easily.´

Martha counts the steps to the UNIT safe house from here. She won't make it. She's got the training and the resolve but he has the screwdriver. It snows a bit but the streets are muddy and the snowflakes turn brown, dirty, as soon as they touch the ground.

`Are you going to kill me?´

`Yes.´ There's no hesitation there. And pity, well, Martha never expected that from him to start with. `But first I have to take you home with me. I'll kill you but not without making sure the Doctor is watching.´

`He'll stop you.´

`How? You were his last chance. His last ace up the sleeve.´ He roars with laughter, Martha can see the cloud of hot breath in the dark winter air. `You, an ace? What a joke? You have failed him.´

And Martha thinks yes, you are right, I was never meant to save the world. The cold of Russian winters gets to her in a way that she doesn't care about it anymore.

He takes the Vortex manipulator from inside his coat. He gestures to Martha.

`Give me your hand.´

Martha doesn't move.

`Oh, don't be difficult,´ he clenches his fist, fingers holding the laser screwdriver like a warning. `I could kill you here, but what would be the fun in that?´

She does as he tells him. And she feels the electricity bursting painfully when she touches his fingers, the universes imploding. She feels what she felt meeting the Doctor. The vertigo of eternity on impossibly soft and delicate skin. It a Time Lord's touch.

`You feel it, right?´ he says in a dripping, low voice, wrapping his hand over hers. `The world spinning under our feet. We make you feel like that, poor little animals. Is that why you've stayed so long with him? The rush of Time, like a drug?´

Martha doesn't answer. He brings their hands over the teleport device. His thumb brushes along her knuckle and she feels the whole of history flowing through her veins.

He sets the coordinates.

In a moment they are gone.

Russia won't survive the winter.




4. vladimir and estragon


Her room is not without windows and she guesses that's worse, in a way; outside an empire is being built and it's arid, like a desert, but cold. He meant for her to see all this. That's why her prison is without bars, just the perfect clean glass and the silence.

She counts the days to avoid going crazy. Numbers, numbers, but behind it - almost four hundred days since they left Earth; almost four hundred days since the last time she saw her family; almost four hundred days since she last saw the Doctor.

Over two hundred days since the last attack against the Master and the Toclafane.

Thirty-two days since New Gallifrey was named.

No one is allowed to visit her bright cell with windows. Except him. She has seen Lucy peek behind the door sometimes - Martha felt the thrill of another human presence but Lucy's eyes filled with a disdain Martha didn't quite understand.

She is alone. She is the youngest human being alive - the Master keeps on rewriting history and Martha sees the weight of that pulling him down each day. Each day he feels more like a ghost, Martha thinks soon she will see past him. He grows thinner, sharper, starving.

Sometimes he talks to her. Sometimes he just comes into the cell and sits and watches her, like he is waiting for something to happen, and when it doesn't he leaves without a word. It's part of her routine now, her non-life. Part of her punishment.

`This is your fault, all your fault,´ he teases her, every day, looking outside her window.

`Yes, I failed,´ she says, but her voice is full of challenge.

`You really thought your Peter Pan scheme was going to work on me? Doctor, Doctor. Pathetic, the whole lot of you.´

`I lost,´ she says. `But that doesn't mean you won.´

`What do you mean?´

She looks outside. His face reflected in the glass, staring straight at her mouth as she speaks.

`It doesn't look to me, as if you've won anything, after all.´

`Look outside,´ he steps towards her, gesturing at the window. `I won. I have everything.´

It's the second time she laughs in his face and this time it's hollow, like something she has learned from him.

`I was never the weak one. You were. Even now, with your empire and your ships and your power. You are weak. And lonely. You are so lonely.´

She puts two fingertips against his cheek. Lonely, she repeats. It's easy being kind to him. It's cheap. All the things she loved are already gone. Her planet, her hope, her freedom. Even her hatred for him as disappeared.

`I don't need your pity. I don't want it.´

She lets her fingers fall from his cheek, brushing the line of his jaw before withdrawing completely.

`Can I see my family?´ she asks.

`No. You will never see them again.´

She says nothing, feels nothing, her expression betrays nothing. She stands his gaze without hesitating. It's him who hesitates. It's him the one defeated.

`What would it take to break you, Martha Jones?´ He whispers in her ear. `When are you going to give up?´

`Never,´ she says without flinching.

She says it without pride. It's what she is. It's what the Doctor taught her. She might never step out of this cell for the rest of her life, but the Master will always be the weaker one.

The Master puts his arms around her shoulders.

She doesn't react even at that. She doesn't stop him, she doesn't hold him back.

He buries his face in the hollow of her neck and mutter in a strange, alien language. Soon Martha understands the dampness of his cheeks, his lips. The Master cries without a sound and Martha stares at the nothingness behind her window. She knows why he cries.

His sterile empire grows and grows before her eyes.

Martha is too tired to move, too tired to blink.

`Lonely,´ she repeats.

She doesn't hold him back.




5. playing house


For once the Doctor is on time and manages to park the TARDIS in her house the very day she has off the hospital, and not any other.

The Doctor steps out of the TARDIS and as much as she is happy to see him Martha is not quite ready to see the Master following behind, even she has prepared for this moment, thinking about it, rehearsing for it.

She tries to shake it off, the skin-deep hatred and mistrust.

The Doctor hugs her for a long time, long and warm and I missed you enough that Martha can almost pretend she doesn't notice the Master going through her stuff, prying around.

`Underwear,´ the Master says, Martha's lilac panties in his hand. `The start is promising.´

`Sorry, I-´ the Doctor pulls the cloth from his hands and gives it back to Martha, blushing furiously.

She is far too happy about seeing the Doctor to be embarrassed. It's been three months since Martha last saw him and she is willing to put up with the Master ruining the moment if that means she gets to spend some time with the Doctor. It's not ideal, but it's better than the alternative.

`It's fine,´ she says, grinning. `So, how's things?´

`Bliss,´ the Master comments. `We complete each other like in a pop song.´

`I wasn't talking to you.´

The Doctor scratches the back of his neck nervously.

`Oh, well, you know,´ he throws her a sideways glance towards the Master.

`Give it time,´ she says, touching his shoulder. It was his decision to keep the Master with him and there's no wrong or right about it, just something the Doctor needed to do. Martha backs him 100%, which actually helps to ease the pain of missing him so much.

`All the time in the universe,´ he jokes.

`Should I make the tea?´ Martha offers.

She sees that the Master is re-arranging the books in her shelves, ruining her perfect alphabetical order. Oh, well, she lets him be.

`I guess you should. It's not like we can go out, with him.´

`Please, don't mind me,´ the Master comments while flipping through one of her second year anatomy manuals.

`We can watch a movie,´ Martha says. `There's Educating Rita later on.´

`Great,´ the Doctor agrees, genuinely delighted to... just be with her. A cuppa and a movie. That's enough for him.

`Am I supposed to join this film club of yours?´ the Master protests, closing the book with a dramatic slam!.

The Doctor crosses his arms.

`You'll have to endure it.´

`Can't I stay in the TARDIS?´

`Nooooooo. Do you remember what happened the last time I left you alone in the ship?´

The Master lets out a high-pitched, offended squeal.

`Is it my fault your bathrooms are so... inflammable?´

Martha makes tea for three. There's an awkward, fumbling moment when she has to ask the Master how he likes his tea and he looks at her in shock, as if that is the single most surprising thing he has ever heard.

She guesses she shouldn't bother and he is not up for it, it was a silly idea. She waves it off.

`Forget it,´ she tells him, and turns to walk into the kitchen.

`Milk and three sugars,´ he says, with her back turned to him. His voice makes her pause a bit - it's weird, almost relaxed.

It's strange. Stranger than anything else before, and that's saying something, preparing tea and sitting on the couch with the man who tried to kill her, who kidnapped her family and tried to destroy her planet.

The Doctor sits in the middle and the Master retreats to the furthest corner of the couch, snorting and complaining of boredom.

Martha can't stop sneaking glances at the Doctor.

It's weird, she thinks, how the Doctor looks, not happy exactly, but better. Softer at the edges. Less lonely. Less than when he was with her. Who would have thought, that the Master could do him some good?

They have a lot of catching up to do -Martha is about to start residence in a hospital in South London, scary but exciting- and they chat over Michael Caine explaining the different kinds of rhyming.

The Master makes snide remarks about 70s fashion and how Julie Walters ended up doing Harry Potter movies.

It's a good afternoon.