Sweet as Sugar
folder
1 through F › Doctor Who
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
43
Views:
11,327
Reviews:
19
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
1 through F › Doctor Who
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
43
Views:
11,327
Reviews:
19
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Dr. Who, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
33
Sweet as Sugar Chapter Thirty Three
Disclaimers Apply
A/N Holy cats I cannot believe I went this long without updating again! I could have SWORN I wrote and posted… *hangs head in shame* Mea maxima culpa. Goddess Foxfeather is a truly wondermous beta all the while being the BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE ™. Thanks to all for reading and reviewing!
Rose heaved an inward sigh and rolled her eyes heavenward. This again, she thought, settling back against the heavy, wooden throne. At least now she was properly clothed; the Rani had thrown a handful of fabric at her and, upon shaking it out, Rose had discovered that it was a loose gown of some sort, almost a robe. It lacked any sort of definition for a feminine form but it was certainly a lot more narrow and fitted than those black robes she had seen academics wear. Her tattered clothing from before was stuffed away somewhere, she did not know or care, all save for the Doctor’s coat. She clutched it firmly in her hands, holding onto it like a life preserver. Dark shapes moved around the edges of the room but did not resolve into distinct forms; her vision still swam with small dots and dull spots from the bright glare earlier, the horrible and pulsing heart of pure light that seemed to strike so much fear into the Doctor. His scream rang in her ears, more pained and scared than the incident on Earth, the one that took Jackie away from her forever. She had come back, and she knew, somehow she knew, that the Doctor had expected it. She had puzzled it out, worked on it until it made sense, until she and Jack had done it, opened the rift. She did not know how long had passed for the Doctor but it had been eighteen months for her, eighteen months since the beach and eighteen months since she felt as if her soul had turned to ice. Drawing in a deep breath, Rose forced herself to look out into the wide open room and take in all before her. Jack had taught her that. Be aware, be vigilant. Don’t look scared, he always cautioned her. Be yourself but don’t forget to *see*. The shapes had stopped their moving and shuffling and seemed to be waiting, listening.
“Rose Tyler,” the Rani’s cultured tones rang out, seemingly from nowhere. “You are chosen for your superior genetics. Though you are human and not as advanced as the Time Lords nor even common Gallifreyans, you have a clean scan and have proven yourself to be strong and intelligent. You are fertile and will not suffer for your contribution to our race.”
Her smile was obviously false but it curved rose pink and white in the golden tones of her face. “I feel like a brood mare,” she remarked idly, crossing her ankles in her best regal fasion. “We are not amused.” She was not sure but she thought that she heard a familiar, heart achingly familiar, snort of laughter from somewhere in the shadows.
Lights swept on through the room, illumination moving like a wave. The Rani was directly opposite her, far down the length of the gallery, and Rose could see that the shapes were indeed others dressed as she was, in robes of dark hue, mostly black and red and blue, all looking dour and unamused themselves. The Rani stood on one side of the Doctor, the Master on the other. “Rose,” the Doctor’s voice was urgent and soft but nonetheless carried to her ears. “Rose, don’t…” He never finished what he was about to say; the Master’s hand clamped heavily over his mouth and, after a curt nod to the Rani, the trio moved forward. The Doctor’s eyes were fixed on her, not exactly scared but definitely not calm. Rose leaned forward unconsciously in her seat and almost reached for him—almost—before a sharp glare from the Rani stilled her.
“I will not bore you with the entire history of our illustrious world,” the Master said warmly, as if he were welcoming her into his home for Christmas dinner rather than holding her captive on some resurrected world. “Suffice it to say that the Rani, with her intellect and drive, has done what your precious Doctor could not, what the entire Council could not!” He winced visibly and jerked his hand back as the Doctor bit and twisted his face away from the grasp. “You…”
“Rose, don’t do this. No matter what they tell you will come of me… please.” It was not vanity on his part, though he knew it seemed that way. He knew, like he knew his own hearts, that Rose would die for him as easily as he would for her. The Rani’s hand at his back forced him to his knees, his eyes locked with Rose’s as he knelt before her. She stared down at him, lips parted and breath coming raggedly and he knew that she saw something in his eyes that he had not meant for her to see.
“The Doctor has long been a renegade of sorts,” the Master declared to a general murmur of agreement from the stoic watchers and the Rani herself. “He flaunted our laws and ways long before the last great Time War, long before and even after the Rani assembled us from our remains, brought us back through her grace and…kindness…”
“The Eye was not meant to be reopened,” the Doctor growled, finally breaking away from Rose’s intent gaze. “Everyone was dead…”
“No, Doctor,” his ancient adversary all but cooed. “Just the bodies were useless. The bodies, Doctor. You should know the imprimatur cannot be so easily destroyed by mere explosions and vaccum.” She shifted her attention to Rose, her lips curved in a dark smile. “You looked into the heart of the TARDIS, I heard. You are as bound to it as he is now, did you know? Did you feel it pulling you when you were quiet? The pulse of it? The spin of the universe around you? At night, when it’s so quiet that you wonder if the world has died around you, do you feel half mad with it, with the knowing the pulls and pushes of time and space?”
Rose nearly nodded, nearly agreed, but stopped herself before actually moving. Instead, she straightened in the seat and fixed the Rani and the Master with a cold glare she usually reserved for too-forward men. “I’m tired of this overblown crap. I know the Doctor has been accused of genocide before… if that’s the case now, we will have a trial.” She was pushing it, she knew, testing boundaries that might best be left alone for the time being.
“We will not have a trial.” The Master stepped forward and came close enough to Rose for her to feel the heat radiating from his body and smell the honey-spice scent of his skin, so similar to the Doctor’s that she wanted to sob. “We will have inquiries. You will be the one who decides… my lady. You are the one to save us all, finally. The looms are waiting for the infusion of new data and you will be the one to decide who is more worthy of the honor… him,” he glanced aside at the Doctor, “or you.” With a polite smile, he sketched her a half bow and stepped back. “Bring forth the first witness to the crimes of this Time Lord,” he called sternly, not turning as a figure moved forward, darkly clad and moving quickly. “Doctor,” the Master intoned lightly, “I believe you remember Ace.”
Disclaimers Apply
A/N Holy cats I cannot believe I went this long without updating again! I could have SWORN I wrote and posted… *hangs head in shame* Mea maxima culpa. Goddess Foxfeather is a truly wondermous beta all the while being the BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE ™. Thanks to all for reading and reviewing!
Rose heaved an inward sigh and rolled her eyes heavenward. This again, she thought, settling back against the heavy, wooden throne. At least now she was properly clothed; the Rani had thrown a handful of fabric at her and, upon shaking it out, Rose had discovered that it was a loose gown of some sort, almost a robe. It lacked any sort of definition for a feminine form but it was certainly a lot more narrow and fitted than those black robes she had seen academics wear. Her tattered clothing from before was stuffed away somewhere, she did not know or care, all save for the Doctor’s coat. She clutched it firmly in her hands, holding onto it like a life preserver. Dark shapes moved around the edges of the room but did not resolve into distinct forms; her vision still swam with small dots and dull spots from the bright glare earlier, the horrible and pulsing heart of pure light that seemed to strike so much fear into the Doctor. His scream rang in her ears, more pained and scared than the incident on Earth, the one that took Jackie away from her forever. She had come back, and she knew, somehow she knew, that the Doctor had expected it. She had puzzled it out, worked on it until it made sense, until she and Jack had done it, opened the rift. She did not know how long had passed for the Doctor but it had been eighteen months for her, eighteen months since the beach and eighteen months since she felt as if her soul had turned to ice. Drawing in a deep breath, Rose forced herself to look out into the wide open room and take in all before her. Jack had taught her that. Be aware, be vigilant. Don’t look scared, he always cautioned her. Be yourself but don’t forget to *see*. The shapes had stopped their moving and shuffling and seemed to be waiting, listening.
“Rose Tyler,” the Rani’s cultured tones rang out, seemingly from nowhere. “You are chosen for your superior genetics. Though you are human and not as advanced as the Time Lords nor even common Gallifreyans, you have a clean scan and have proven yourself to be strong and intelligent. You are fertile and will not suffer for your contribution to our race.”
Her smile was obviously false but it curved rose pink and white in the golden tones of her face. “I feel like a brood mare,” she remarked idly, crossing her ankles in her best regal fasion. “We are not amused.” She was not sure but she thought that she heard a familiar, heart achingly familiar, snort of laughter from somewhere in the shadows.
Lights swept on through the room, illumination moving like a wave. The Rani was directly opposite her, far down the length of the gallery, and Rose could see that the shapes were indeed others dressed as she was, in robes of dark hue, mostly black and red and blue, all looking dour and unamused themselves. The Rani stood on one side of the Doctor, the Master on the other. “Rose,” the Doctor’s voice was urgent and soft but nonetheless carried to her ears. “Rose, don’t…” He never finished what he was about to say; the Master’s hand clamped heavily over his mouth and, after a curt nod to the Rani, the trio moved forward. The Doctor’s eyes were fixed on her, not exactly scared but definitely not calm. Rose leaned forward unconsciously in her seat and almost reached for him—almost—before a sharp glare from the Rani stilled her.
“I will not bore you with the entire history of our illustrious world,” the Master said warmly, as if he were welcoming her into his home for Christmas dinner rather than holding her captive on some resurrected world. “Suffice it to say that the Rani, with her intellect and drive, has done what your precious Doctor could not, what the entire Council could not!” He winced visibly and jerked his hand back as the Doctor bit and twisted his face away from the grasp. “You…”
“Rose, don’t do this. No matter what they tell you will come of me… please.” It was not vanity on his part, though he knew it seemed that way. He knew, like he knew his own hearts, that Rose would die for him as easily as he would for her. The Rani’s hand at his back forced him to his knees, his eyes locked with Rose’s as he knelt before her. She stared down at him, lips parted and breath coming raggedly and he knew that she saw something in his eyes that he had not meant for her to see.
“The Doctor has long been a renegade of sorts,” the Master declared to a general murmur of agreement from the stoic watchers and the Rani herself. “He flaunted our laws and ways long before the last great Time War, long before and even after the Rani assembled us from our remains, brought us back through her grace and…kindness…”
“The Eye was not meant to be reopened,” the Doctor growled, finally breaking away from Rose’s intent gaze. “Everyone was dead…”
“No, Doctor,” his ancient adversary all but cooed. “Just the bodies were useless. The bodies, Doctor. You should know the imprimatur cannot be so easily destroyed by mere explosions and vaccum.” She shifted her attention to Rose, her lips curved in a dark smile. “You looked into the heart of the TARDIS, I heard. You are as bound to it as he is now, did you know? Did you feel it pulling you when you were quiet? The pulse of it? The spin of the universe around you? At night, when it’s so quiet that you wonder if the world has died around you, do you feel half mad with it, with the knowing the pulls and pushes of time and space?”
Rose nearly nodded, nearly agreed, but stopped herself before actually moving. Instead, she straightened in the seat and fixed the Rani and the Master with a cold glare she usually reserved for too-forward men. “I’m tired of this overblown crap. I know the Doctor has been accused of genocide before… if that’s the case now, we will have a trial.” She was pushing it, she knew, testing boundaries that might best be left alone for the time being.
“We will not have a trial.” The Master stepped forward and came close enough to Rose for her to feel the heat radiating from his body and smell the honey-spice scent of his skin, so similar to the Doctor’s that she wanted to sob. “We will have inquiries. You will be the one who decides… my lady. You are the one to save us all, finally. The looms are waiting for the infusion of new data and you will be the one to decide who is more worthy of the honor… him,” he glanced aside at the Doctor, “or you.” With a polite smile, he sketched her a half bow and stepped back. “Bring forth the first witness to the crimes of this Time Lord,” he called sternly, not turning as a figure moved forward, darkly clad and moving quickly. “Doctor,” the Master intoned lightly, “I believe you remember Ace.”