She learned it the hard way. Some people were never meant to exist. Not even the Doctor wants her as a companion. But then the Master saves her from certain death and discovers that this human girl might be of more use to him than he expected.
Ranki...
Since we're already dealing with odd perspectives... let's dive a little bit deeper into it, shall we? *giggle*
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As exhausted as I was from everything, it didn't take long for me to wake up again. We still lay in the same position, the Master in my back, holding me securely, but in no way so firm that I couldn't just slip away.
Was it a conscious move to manipulate me, or did the Master really care that I felt safe with him? Well, otherwise he might lose his chance to soothe the drums. I didn't dare to hope for anything more than that. We would never be friends, despite the strange... relationship we had developed. It was giving and taking. On both ends.
Lying like this should have made me feel uncomfortable, it should have awoken painful memories and disgust. Especially since those memories had been dug out so forcefully. But somehow it had almost the opposite effect. A resolve of the past, an acceptance that it wouldn't be repeated.
Lying here like this, it made me feel warm, made me sigh content and snuggle back against him some more before I closed my eyes again to slip into the weirdest... dream?
There were images in my mind, faint, then stronger, then almost as clear as if I were there myself. The Master's hand on my belly winced a little, telling me he saw the same. Not a dream, but a memory, conjured up by his weakened body and mind.
Maybe... I should slip away and not do the same with him that he had done with me. It wasn't for me to see, was it? For now the images didn't make sense. I could still get away, could still resist my falling lids. Too knackered, too comfortable. And a part of me was curious to see what he would probably never tell me about himself otherwise.
So I stayed and gave in to the heaviness of sleep, gave in to the desire to...
...see.
He glares at the small, silver band around his wrist. It looks like silk, is soft to the touch, but impossible to rip apart. He had tried, over and over again, with his hands and his teeth and every tool he could find within the endless rooms of the TARDIS. But she refused to open any door that might contain something useful to him. No weapons. Nothing he can use to leave the ship. He couldn't anyway because of the band.
A handcuff. One's enough. It's not to restrain his hands, but himself. From leaving the TARDIS without the Doctor, from hurting the other man or the ship. If he even tries there will be a telepathic nudge. One that does not much more than startle him for a moment. It's enough to keep him from doing what the Doctor calls inappropriate. It's better as the collar that gave him electric shocks. Is what the Doctor says.
It's worse. For the Master, that is. The telepathic zap feels like a roar of thunder inside his mind. A thunder consisting of four beats, louder than usual, so much louder. He has tested how far he could bend and stretch what the cuff is supposed to prevent him from doing. The result was devastating.
