Send “I’ve got you” to help my muse wash off blood from their body.
The Doctor doesn’t remember coming home. She doesn’t remember Koschei slowly peeling her layers off, grimacing at the stickiness of dried blood coagulating on her skin. She doesn’t remember his expression of remorse, of all consuming guilt.
All she remembers are the screams.
Even now, she’s not entirely sure what happened. Was it her mistake, or his? Which one of them missed it? A hidden trigger on a timer they’d already disarmed. One moment, the captives were there, breathing a sigh of relief and thanking their rescuers, then the next…
She remembers the smell of smoke, of singed flesh and hair. She remembers the sharp pain of debris cutting at her skin.
What she doesn’t remember is her husband helping her into the bath, or the water trickling down her back. She is hardly cognizant even now of him gently sponging her down and whispering soft reassurances.
It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known. You did your best.
But your best wasn’t good enough. They’re all dead because of you. You might as well have set it off yourself.
You should have been in their place.
Hell, you should have died eons ago.
Sometime in the middle of the gentle scrubbing, he relinquishes the iron-reeking sponge to the water and climbs into the bathtub with her. He sinks down in the stained water and claims the filth as his own, because what difference does it make? She is his and he is hers.
He takes her face in his hands and brings together their foreheads. He shuts his eyes, and shuts doors inside his head, expertly occluding telepathic entry, without fear of detection that he is hiding a thing.
The red, the blue, the green, he saw her cut the wires, but a minuscule fraction of a millimeter remained fastened to the green wire. A slight glint in the sun was all that hinted at her error, and then, as he flung himself against her, knocking them both to safety, an instant later, detonation.
But the Master, who took the fall for his best friend, and was branded Death’s Champion, Murderer, Cannibal, Killer, Beast, whose life was carved out of Theta Sigma’s lie before he was ten years old, now lies to the Doctor.
“It was me.”
He takes her face in his hands. He pauses, searching her eyes, fierce in battling her foes, even if she is her own foe. He waits for her to absorb his words.
“I was so excited about making you proud that I got reckless and I missed the last wire I was meant to cut. I made the mistake. Not you. Me.”
He holds her fast, thumbs running across wet cheeks.
“But there’s no shame in it, is there? I did my best. And if it had been your mistake, it’d have been just that: you did your best, and it would have been an accident.”
His eyes are moist; come back to me, come back.
Hearts, come back.
“So we’ve got to forgive ourselves now, yeah? That’s what we’ll do.”
Koschei looks up from his favorite lounging spot, naked, on Jack’s chest, leeching his warmth like a cat does a spot of sun, and the dictionary definition of smug.
“Flattery may get you everywhere but don’t expect me to want to move anywhere anytime soon, regardless.”
Jack laughs, hard enough to shuffle his husband. “Actually, I’m more concerned about the Time Lord-shaped tan line, but hey, as long as you’re comfortable, right?”
“Well alright, you bounder, turn over onto your stomach and I’ll make sure both sides match.”
The Doctor made an odd noise out of sheer surprise as he was pulled back onto the bed. He couldn’t help the laugh that emitted from his throat, a gleeful sound. Sliding his arms around his beloved he grinned broadly. “Hmm..well I suppose I can stay. For you Kos.” Ducking his head he pressed a kiss to the Master’s lips. (hi ♥ ♥ missed you too 🙂 )
“I wanna taste you. I wanna … . hey. Hey. I like it when you make that noise. It’s adorable. Big scary Doctor, squealing. Mmm, this feels good.”
All the drowsy ruminating is accentuated tenfold when the master nuzzles the Doctor, even more intently after the most welcome kiss, taking care to tickle him with his stubble.
“You’re not allowed to leave ever again. I have decided. We’re to fuse at the molecular level henceforth.”
Send me TRY + a muse you’d like to see me write in the future!
((LOL oh my gosh. Well Steven Universe is easily my favorite animated series in years, so you’re astute about my personal tastes XD You just listed most of my favorite characters on the show tbh. If I had to pick just a couple, I’m convinced I’d be Rose, Pearl, Garnet, or Peridot. This suggests I ought to write an SU fanfic, but god, I’m mid-thirties with full-time work, past the age where I have time for fanfiction good enough that I’d allow myself to post. LET’S SEE. I’ll give you Peri for the meme :D))
Alright, she’s aware she may over-use the term “clod.”
Like when she’s trying to learn how to make vegetable stir-fry, and the scalding canola oil speckles her face: that wok is a CLOD!
Or when the mail carrier leaves an important parcel out in the rain and ruins it: that mail carrier is a CLOD!
Or when someone walking their dog along the beach doesn’t use a poop scooper, and Peridot steps in it: a CLOD!
Anyone or anything hampering her efforts to learn how to be more like the humans who have softened her edges: CLODS!
But honestly, Peridot stood out among her fellow vertically challenged green gems centuries and centuries ago, from the moment she constructed her visor, from the moment she chose to belie her small stature with mechanical enhancements of her own invention. Hasn’t she earned the right to a single abrasive behavior?
Steven would say otherwise: that kind conduct is its own merit, and shouldn’t be thought of as a bank from which to withdraw, for personal gain. AH, that terrifyingly frail flesh sack! She loves him.
SHE’S a clod.
Peridot peers into the bathroom mirror and sighs. She’s dropped her toothbrush into the odd waste fountain again, and Steven has said that it’s unsanitary to fish it out and use it again. But Peridot’s cheeks sting with hot shame. How many times, even since moving into the barn with Antisocial Kataara, must she prove her incompetence?
Behind her visor, the lime hued plastic fogs. She removes it quickly, clandestinely, to rob evidence of tears.
lkjshdfg lol @theresastargirl you sent a thing to my Doctor like you said you would today and I dumbly answered it to my Master kkdflgksdfg. Here is the post which I deleted (but FEEL FREE TO SEND THE PROMPT TO THE DOCTOR AGAIN lol and I’ll answer it there).
“I’ll tell you a secret: the Doctor isn’t interested in you unless you need them. And I don’t mean need them to carry your parcels or give you driving directions. I mean need them in a deep, aching, existential way. I mean you’re looking for a savior. They can’t resist. Not one. Single. Time.”
“You know, sometimes, I think that’s why they left me behind on that game station. Figured I’d be fine in the end, I’d figure a way out of there one way or another. I mean, sure, he was regenerating, I get that. But then nothing after that? Yeah, I was never gonna need them. Not like I need you.”
He’d be marinating in bitterness, save for the way Jack chose to conclude. As is, Koschei can’t help but exude warm affection. He reaches out to caress Jack’s ever-soft cheek, familiar and gentle.
“Yeah,” is all he says: happy to confirm to whom he belongs.
Thus speaks the Master-no, frankly, Koschei, he has never been more Koschei than right now, studiously running through the TARDIS manual, the driest reading conceivable, with an orange highlighter and glasses, while draped across the library couch, turning a flustered pink at his fool’s affections.
“Shut up, sit upright and help me find the section on time anomaly relocation distributor maintenance. Or the next time we run into a paradox, we’re toast.”
“Oh dear. Oh golly. Never has such a beautiful, handsome being, charismatic and refined, fierce and brilliant, approached me. I shall positively melt through the floor.”
Icarus 