Walk The Earth: Doctor Who/Studio C [Book 2]

Lay Your Head Down

Lay Your Head Down

Don't say I'm out of touch / With this rampant chaos, your reality / I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge / The nightmare I've build my own world to escape. -Evanescence, 'Imaginary'

T-minus 18 days

Mallory had forgotten once more what it was like to sleep alone. She had forgotten the unwelcome chill of the empty space next to her, had forgotten the mind-devouring worry of not knowing whether the love of her life was dead or alive.

It was worse, this time. In addition to having lost her partner, her second set of eyes, she knew that neither dead nor alive was a good alternative. At least in the beginning of the year there had been the chance that Matt was carving out a safe place for himself in this mixed-up world—which, indeed, he had. Now, if he was alive he was in the Master's grasp, and she could think of no worse fate.

She hadn't imagined just how agonizing it would be to do what they had promised each other—to go on alone. She did not want to finish what she knew she had to. More than anything she wanted to go home and escape this hell.

Not yet. Three more weeks to endure, and if she was still alive by then, she'd figure out where she was going from there.

Hungary turned into Austria faster than she would have thought, and she realized she was setting herself a pace that would kill her sooner or later. She didn't dare slow, though, because now more than ever, it was crunch time. The new year turned over, and with it the bright light at the end of the tunnel. 2018. The year they took back their planet.

On toward London she went once more.

~~~

T-minus 15 days

When he heard the door slide open, the Doctor had braced himself for the typical onslaught of the bragging Master. It had become an everyday event since Matt arrived on the Valiant a week ago—between that and the Master's almost-completed rocket fleet, the insane Time Lord had plenty to boast about.

As each moment ticked by, though, he became less and less convinced that the Master had come to pay him a visit. There was no overbearing music or maniacal laughter, just steady silence.

After a few minutes, he forced his aching joints to cooperate and peeked out of his tent. In the dead of night, there was little in the way of light, and none of the crew members were aboard, but his eyes still locked on a single form. One of the last he would have expected.

Lucy Saxon noticed him immediately, shrinking away. "What do you want?"

The Doctor shrugged, dragging himself out. As much as the Master liked keeping him confined to a wheelchair, he was still mobile, if slow. "Why are you here?"

"You're not supposed to answer a question with a question," she said, but there was no venom in her words.

The Time Lord look around warily, wondering if the Master was using Lucy as bait in some sort of sick trap, ready to swoop in and make his life even more miserable.

"He's not here," Lucy said flatly, as if reading his mind.

She tilted her head, the dim light catching a bruise on her face. The Doctor fought the urge to curl his lip. The entire world to vent his aggression on, and the Master chose to take it out on his wife. Lucy was no saint—she had danced while her planet was slaughtered, after all—but the Doctor couldn't help but think there was more to her than there appeared to be.