Fic: The Scientist, Part Five (PG, AU, Rose/Ten.)
Thursday, March 20th, 2008 06:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
orange_crushedThe Scientist. Part Five of... hopefully Six. PG, AU, too long in coming, I know. I love you all so much for sticking with me this far.
Previously:
One
Two
Three
Four
He is not as she imagined him.
"There are people trampling each other to death outside." The Master leans over the staircase railing and leans his chin in his hand. He cocks his head, brightly, like a bird's. "You want to watch ?"
All the things she's seen and dreamt; great glassy palaces and fish that glow like stars, perfect empty darkness and the mobbed markets, the smell of sulphur and of cinnamon, skin in a hundred shades- soft and dry as cat's fur, slick and cool, scaled and reflective as oil slinking into pavement, all the color and light and the minds she's seen unlocked, the stories, the maps and moons; all that inside her, and she still can't imagine there could be another like him.
It sounds cruel, she'd never tell him so; but she's seen him on his own, so long, that she's never thought of him any other way. Maybe there was a time when his name carried the weight of history and the sound of sober voices, but it didn't for her. It doesn't. It was only a name, attached to a madman she learned to love. She watches him now, sneaking about in a hallway in trainers with the psychic paper between his teeth, and she can only see him, just him; not a powerful race with aspirations over the skies and eternity. It sounds silly, when she thinks it. He can't make toast without setting himself mildly on fire.
But it is there, hiding; she's seen it before, in his more unguarded moments; saw it again when he looked in Martha's mind. Him, then- the alien. The survivor with the rootless heart. One of two, the other tucked up in the top floors of this building somewhere, hiding like a coward from the crowds.
"Rose," the Doctor whispers, "are you paying attention ?"
"Uh, yeah." She crouches down beside him and he motions an all-clear to Martha and Mickey, further down the hall. "Mickey's going to the guard station and we're going to track the Master down on the closed-circuit cameras." Mickey, in a stolen security jacket and beret, crouches down beside the pair of them and the Doctor hands over the psychic paper, nodding with what Rose takes to be a masculine gesture of respect. Cross-species, she supposes.
"Rose," Mickey says, rising, "be careful. Take care of them."
"Will do." She flashes him a winning smile. For a second she's reminded of the missions they shared, in Pete's world, the teamwork and the paperwork and the danger, Torchwood logos glittering on their chests. He's such a good man, and she wonders what will happen, later, when she goes away again. To them. "You too," she adds, heart in her throat. Maybe he senses her uncertainty, because he pauses to kiss the top of her head before he jogs away, not looking back, disappearing down the emergency staircase. Martha clears her throat.
"Better get moving, yeah ?" she says, giving Rose a sympathetic look. "He'll call when he's there."
"Sure."
The hallways are nearly empty, but for the occasional patrol- apparently, the Master's personal security forces are on a different frequency than the one that set loose the mobs in the street. So far the Doctor's main tactic has been to stroll up to them and power down the earpieces with the sonic, but that's nearly gotten him shot several times. "We can just hide until they pass," Rose suggests, peering around a corner at a clump of guards. "Or ask Mickey to set off an alarm, draw them somewhere." The Doctor shakes his head.
"We'd lose time."
"Doctor," Martha cuts in, "it'd be more sensible to-"
"I don't know where Jack is," he hisses. "I don't know !" He doesn't look at Martha or at Rose, his face turned away in what might be anger, or shame. "I can't get there second."
"We'll go another way," Rose says, looking at Martha. The other woman nods. "Air ducts, how about that ?" She reaches for the Doctor's hand and finds it, without looking, certain of him as a fixed point in her universe. She'll help him. She'll get him his chance.
They hurry.
When Rose's phone vibrates, she opens it without a word, the three of them crouched in a utility closet, Martha listening at the door for patrols. "Rose ?" Mickey says through the mobile, his voice muted by static. "I've found him. You're on the top floor, right ? You're almost there. He's in the atrium at the west end. There's some kind of control room up there, so watch out."
"How about guards ?" Rose whispers. She can hear Mickey tapping on a keyboard, and he lets out a resigned sigh. "Is that bad ?"
"There's a bunch of them between you and the door. Nine of them, looks like. Too many to take out with the sonic."
"Not necessarily," the Doctor replies. "I could-"
"You're not jumping into the middle of them," Rose snaps. "Mickey, check the blueprints- see if there's a service way in, ducts or pipes or anything."
"Right." More tapping. "Rose," Mickey says, softly urgent, "can Martha hear this ?"
"No," she whispers, glancing at the other women. "What ?"
"Her parents are in there," he says, sadly. "In one of the side rooms. Should we tell her ? They're okay, alive. They're in uniforms or something. Like servants."
"Oh," Rose replies, leaving out the oh, God she feels like adding. She can't imagine what she'd do if it were Pete and Jackie in there- looking at Martha's grim expression and distant eyes, she wonders if Martha's already imagining it herself. "You- you found anything yet ?" she asks, more clearly.
"Nothing. Give me a sec-"
"He's right there," the Doctor says, strained. He takes the phone out of Rose's hands before she can collect herself. "Mickey, you see him, don't you ? He's right there, he's so close I can-" he stops, puts his face in his elbow. "I can hear him, Rose. I don't know if he can hear me, but I can. I can." He's shaking. Rose wraps her arms around him, holding him tightly, feeling the tremor in his hearts and his utter misery and frustration. She doesn't have to be psychic for that to work.
"Doctor," Martha says suddenly, standing up. "I don't- I don't agree with you, quite." She clears her throat. "I want you to know that, before I go." Rose and the Doctor stare at her, together, confused.
"Go where ?"
"Shut up, and listen," she says, affectionately. "I want Jack to kill him. Alright ? I want Jack to kill him- I'm sorry, but I do. I think he's right." She looks at Rose as she speaks. "But I want you to have your chance. You deserve that, and if I can help you, then I will."
"Martha-" Rose begins, "what do you mean ?" Instead of answering, Martha flings the door open and stalks off down the hall, heading for the west tower. "Martha !" Rose hisses. "Martha !" The other woman doesn't look back, but walks proudly to the bend in the hall and puts her hands on her hips. She yells something that Rose can't quite make out, and then turns for the opposite direction and runs, flat-out, out of sight. There's the sound of tromping boots and half a squad rushes past the hall- Rose shuts the door before they catch sight of her, and rips the phone from the Doctor's stunned hands. "Mickey," she snaps, "watch her. Where's she going ? You have to watch her."
"I've got her," he replies. "I'm seeing her on the monitors- she's going into the east tower, I'll try to remote lock it, buy her some space."
"Do it." She taps the phone nervously. "Mickey ?"
"She's clear," he says. "She's on the emergency stairs- I'll meet her there. We'll come to you-"
"Don't," she cuts in. The Doctor looks at her like he might argue, but Rose shakes her head. "Stay where you are. Stay safe, lock up- keep the exit clear. We'll come to you when it's finished." She shuts the phone. The Doctor gives her a puzzled look, but he doesn't challenge it. "Her parents are in there," she adds. "I didn't think that she-"
"Yeah."
The way is clear, thanks to Martha; it doesn't take but a couple of minutes to cross the passage and put their backs to the wall, still watching for guards. The Doctor's hand hesitates on the doorknob. Rose puts her fingers over his.
"You can," she says.
He opens the door.
"You can't knock ?" the Master asks.
He is not as she imagined him.
"There are people trampling each other to death outside." The Master leans over the staircase railing and leans his chin in his hand. He cocks his head, brightly, like a bird's. "You want to watch ?"
"We're the only ones left," the Doctor says, abruptly.
"Oh, do you think ?" the Master snaps back. He takes the stairs down, two at a time, sliding smoothly on the rail; he stops short in front of the Doctor, who doesn't flinch. "You've come to tell me why. Right ? Haven't you ?" he shouts, grabbing the taller man's lapels. "Where are they ?"
"They're gone."
"They can't be gone."
"They're dead." The Doctor's throat trembles slightly, the knot bobbing as he speaks. "Erased out of space and time. Gone." Rose hears the break in his voice like the sound of a wave beating on the shore- steady and circular. It's a pain that doesn't end, only retreats to roll on further, gathering speed. "I told you, we're all that's left." The Master snarls at his words, lets him go, backs away, as if trying to distance himself from the thought. He leans back against the railing, staring at the Doctor.
"Well," he says.
Rose takes the opportunity to examine him, this other him; he's handsome and narrow, graceful at the wrist, wearing a suit with a kind of sloppy businessman's charm. It boggles the mind that this is the cause of the chaos outside. He doesn't seem to even hear it, the clamor and voices from below, the sound of cars scraping against the metal barricades- the Master's command center, in the heart of London, is going to come crashing down sooner or later. Rose supposes sooner. She steps closer to the Doctor, not touching him, but already she feels his posture change, his attention return peripherally to her, like a flower to the sun. It sends a bloom of affection through her already adrenaline-addled brain.
"Don't have much time," she murmurs. "You can hear them coming." The Master flashes them an annoyed glare.
"Please," he drawls, "say you're not here to rescue me."
"The crowds will get in, one way or another," the Doctor says. "You're the one who made them slaves, took their families apart. What do you think happens when they get up here ?" He meets the Master's stare. "I'm offering you safety."
"You're offering me prison."
"It's better than death."
"Oh, I don't know." He grins, madly. "Last time I died, I got this wonderful new body. Young, strong, all the right parts." He turns to Rose for the first time. "You want to try anything out ? It's free the first time, but then-"
"Stop it." The Doctor's voice is steel. "I'm offering you a chance to make this choice on your own. Otherwise, I'll make it for you." Rose very carefully does not look at the Doctor's pockets, where a syringe of sedative is waiting. It was what they agreed on- the Doctor wasn't leaving without him.
"Sanctimonius as ever- I don't need your help," the Master spits, as if it were a truly filthy word.
They stand apart from one another, the Doctor's eyes nearly white with rage, and a crackling tension between them. Rose wonders if she'll have to jam the needle in herself when she tires of the male posturing and the name-calling. She feels something stand up the hairs on the back of her neck, like a spike in the energy of the room- or maybe just a breeze. It takes her a second to realize it's a draft from the door.
Rose turns.
It starts like a cloud passing over the sun- everything is still, the intake of breath and the twitch of eyelashes. She feels nothing until the second that darkness touches her, and the small hairs on the back of her neck rise. The Doctor is still standing between her and the Master, holding out his hand. He looks silly, childish somehow, with that gesture between them. The Master is looking only at him.
Out of the corner of her eye she watches the door open, smoothly, with the inevitability of a clock striking. It feels like time has stopped, or that she's stepped through the looking-glass; she is the only one who turns, and so she is the only one who sees.
Jack.
Jack steps out, two hands on his gun, surveying the room in a military gesture. In the instant that Rose sees him, he sees the Master- his posture changes, tenses, and the small muscles in his hand tighten. Rose, in a flash of understanding, follows the barrel of the gun with her eyes. Straight to the target.
And then, it happens fast.
"Rose, what-" the Doctor yelps as she shoves him, hard, tumbling him to the floor with her leap forward. She jumps with her arms out, for the Master, trying to take him down. "Rose !" The Master catches her like he'd been waiting for just that moment, twisting her momentum to lock her throat in his elbow, blocking his body with hers. Rose holds both her arms out, shielding him and herself, and Jack screams in frustration.
"Get away from-"
"Let her go," the Doctor cries out, "Rose, don't-"
But like a clock striking, like a heartbeat; rain that starts at the sky and ends in the ocean; the next second comes. The Master lurches to the side, fumbles beneath his sleeve while Rose gasps and struggles; the tremor in Jack's hands runs down the long fingers and the light pounds of pressure pull the trigger; the Master drops a hidden device out of his sleeve and flicks a button with his thumb at the same instant that the hammer drops.
Rose can almost see the bullet.
And then, at the instant that it should pass through her, maybe even through him, it doesn't. The world shimmers and shakes, hesitates, and Rose feels a sensation like her flesh pulling away from her bones- her body leaking away from her mind. She shrieks, reaches out to the Doctor but it's as if he can't hear or see her- he floats away, insubstantial as a cloud. The world rearranges like a jigsaw. It takes her a second to realize she's being teleported.
"It's gonna hurt," the Master whispers in her ear, as they vanish.
And it does.
When she comes to, she rolls onto her back and thinks, groggily, that she is part of a unique group of people- a group that spends large chunks of their lives unconscious. The floor's cold and hard, which is reason enough to stand; she climbs to her feet, swaying slightly, and finds herself before a-
-well, she hesitates to call it a ship. But a ship it must be. It more closely resembles a reinforced closet. It's a cobbled-together sort of shape, the size of a large utility vehicle, with a sealed door and riveted edges. There are no engines, no windows; but Rose knows, distantly, that she didn't make that classification without evidence. There's an otherness to it, a sense of- well, of away, she thinks. It hums and sparks against her brain, living and breathing the alien starlight, as surely a craft made for travelling as a bicycle is, though less purposeful-looking. Rose touches it, the soft skin of her hands catching against the worked metal edges.
"I made it myself," the Master says, from behind her. Rose startles and spins, wildly, cursing herself for being so preoccupied with the vessel that she didn't scan for an exit. "At great personal expense. You like it ?" She doesn't answer. He chuckles and hangs his head in mock-schoolboy-embarassment, holds up the device- so like the Doctor's sonic screwdriver, she sees now- and the sealed door swings open, smoothly enough for such an indelicately made machine. He makes an elegant gesture at the door. "After you." She shakes her head, and the playful face vanishes. "Get in," he repeats. When she stands stock-still, defiance in her glare, he aims the device at the floor and fires a solid laser beam at the concrete floor, blasting a hole the size of a toaster. The smoke curls between them, an absolute promise.
"I think I'll get in," Rose swallows. He grins winningly, his eyes still horribly dark. With his device aimed at her back she takes a nervous stride into the ship, surveying the cramped interior with something between wonder and horror. A single column, wide and glassy and pulsing with a calm blue light, dominates the small room, with enough space for a passage around the outside and a handful of control boxes. It's crude but elegant, somehow, an imperfect echo of a TARDIS.
"Say it," he prompts. "Go on, say it." He prods her with the laser screwdriver. "It's..."
"It's not bigger on the inside," she finishes. He scowls. "What did you expect me to say ?"
"That it's brilliant, obviously," he sighs, irritated, but almost too polite to be real. He leaves her side to twist dials and check fluid gauges with a casual efficiency that frightens her- it's too familiar. It's an odd game he's playing, and Rose can't pin it down- the wild tumbling between charmer and madman, the unbelievable seesaw and the potential for cruelty matched with the clever mind. It's like her Doctor, mirrored brokenly in an ugly battle of the brilliance and the brutality lurking below the surface. She still can't see why Martha mistook this thing for the better man, but she can at last see how.
"How did we get here ?"
"Instant recall button," he says cheerily, waving the screwdriver at her. "Also untraceable. And makes julienne fries." His face splits in another grin. "That last bit was a lie. I bet you caught that, though, Rose Tyler, a sharp little thing like yourself." He paces close to her, and takes a step back; he grabs her wrist and squeezes, sharply. "You're a puzzle," he tells her, drawing her closer, until he's speaking directly into her ear, his face almost touching hers. "I sent him away with the lovely Doctor Jones and he comes with two in tow. He was always lucky, lucky and stupid." She pulls back and he squeezes harder, until she cries out a little in pain. "What are you to him ?"
"I'm nothing," she says, defensively, shaking him off. She's trembling a little with fury, Jackie Tyler's daughter to the core. "I'm nothing to him."
"You're a poor liar," he says, but he lets it go. His eyes are unreadable, cycling through on some mad pattern that she can't follow, falling like a shutter of leaves. "I think I know what you are."
"You made this ship ?" Rose blurts out, and it's enough to cause a skip in that beat. He glances up, around. "Does it- does it travel in space ? Does it fly ?"
"Does it fly ?" he asks, incredulously. "I'm wounded at your lack of belief." He takes a step to the console. "Fourteen years," he continues, "fourteen years of labor and sweat and blood, but no tears. It was a manly process. I put it together with my own hands and I went looking in time and space for my people, and when I didn't find them I came here, to earth, because I knew I'd find him. And until I found him," he grins, "I'd play." Rose recoils from that word, her stomach heaving at the thought of the arms factories; but she focuses. Keep him talking, she thinks. Keep him talking, and keep yourself thinking.
"So it's a TARDIS."
"They're grown," he corrects. "I improvised. The TARDIS is a living ship, a mind wrapped in all those layers of metal and dimensional flexibility. A living ship needs a living engine. Dose a warm body with huon energy over a period of time, and you've got one. Fourteen years, that's long enough." He taps the glass with an unusually thoughtful expression. "You keep it alive, and it keeps you in the air. Good engine. Mine even had a name- Chantho. Lovely name, nice girl, blue around the edges and so self-righteous sometimes." He doesn't smile, or grin, or laugh. "Life, I suppose."
"You- that's a person ?" Rose cries out. She looks through the glass for the first time and sees an ocean of light, tumbling blue clouds in the water, and the shape of a woman suspended within, like a pulsing organ. She pales at the sight- it's a curiosity in a jar, pickled and smooth as milk. The body is almost human and the face alien, a beetle's face, but her expression is curiously gentle. Rose's heart goes out to her at once, sweet as she seems, only sleeping. She knows the Master is watching, and she doesn't care. "That's sick !"
"It's brilliant," he says, coldly. "My assistant knew her place."
"You put here in here," she says, her words stumbling over themselves in her sharp anger. "You trapped her, and you're using her body like- like fuel." She reaches out a hand to touch the glowing cocoon, to soothe her, but the Master's too fast for her- he snakes out and grabs her hand again, yanks her away, and she stumbles backwards to rub her smarting skin. He stands before the chamber, between her and it, silhouetted. A furious insult dies on her lips as he steps forward, hesitating, and stretches his own hand out. It's an oddly innocent gesture, and it frightens her more than the madness.
"Don't touch it," he says. "Don't touch her." They stand like that for a moment, his face closed-off and reverent before the humming column, Rose cradling her wrist, unable to look away. "I didn't have to trap her," he says, sounding far away. "Even after I opened the watch, she- she stayed. Helped me build. When the machine was finished I told her what it needed, and what I'd done, and she just-" he breaks off. His hand, palm up, rests against the glass. "She just stepped in. She just looked at me, and she stepped in. What would make her- what is that ?" he asks, to the air, as if he were alone in the room. "What is that ?"
Rose clears her throat.
"It's love," she says. His shoulders stiffen. "You miss her," she continues, seeing an opportunity; it's what she'd say to the Doctor in his place, and it's true- it's brutally obvious, in fact. "You're lonely," she says, "but you're not the only one any-"
-he turns so quickly that she's almost surprised to see his eyes, and shoves her, hard, against the wall. The breath is knocked from her. The Master puts a hand under her chin and shakes her, like a terrier with a rat, furiously.
"Don't- don't think that I won't kill you here, right where you stand, just because he's not here to see it," he hisses. Rose nods assent, gasping for air, and pushes him away angrily. He lets her go, facing the column again in silence. She slides against the wall, hands balled into fists. There's a long moment with only the sound of the machines and her ragged breathing; and then the Master turns on his heel, utterly changed. He's grinning from ear to ear as he puts his hands on his hips and crouches down to her level. "Rose Tyler," he says warmly. "I should thank you. You've given me an idea." He cups her face in his hands, though she flinches. "Don't you want to know what it is ?"
"Tell me."
"I won't kill you," he says, and holds her chin firmly, tilting it so that she can see the girl in the column. "I'll make you useful."
She picks that instant to fight- something white-hot and terrified bursts in her and she throws him off, rolling him on the floor as she jumps to her feet. He grabs at her ankles, but she's already at the door, pulling the handle desperately. It's stuck, or keyed to his controller, because it doesn't budge an inch. Rose screams in frustration and kicks the bottom panel. "Hey- hey now !" the Master says, and turns her around forcefully while she scratches at him. He ducks his head to avoid having his eyes removed. "You-" he grits out, "-have no manners."
There is a slight pneumatic hiss as something pops against her skin, and the world glazes over. Rose tips drunkenly to the side, one arm still resisting him and bending at a boneless angle. She feels him lower her to the floor.
"That's noffair," she slurs. "You hadda-"
"Where do you think Martha got hers ?" he asks, waving a syringe in front of her hazy eyes. "The grocer's ?"
She slips into darkness.
Rose dreams.
Jump. She's not Rose anymore, but the Doctor- maybe Ida, even- at the edge of the pit. He described it once, after, so softly it was almost speech between their minds instead of their mouths. Sitting on the jump seat, her legs crossed over his, him so very far away, looking down into the mouth of always.
"Why did you fall ?" she asked then, and she asks now. "You couldn't know what was below."
"There was nothing," he whispers. "I fell forever."
She leans at the edge, looking down. She knows, oddly, that she is the last one on earth- the last one in space, the last gasp of oxygen, the last human, the last girl, the last dust, the last eye to see the sight and the last feet to shuffle the edge, knocking dust into the vastness. He told the truth: there is nothing below.
Jump.
He stood here and these are his thoughts, his misery that rubs her ribs like a pendant. There's another sensation touching her, the warmth of some living wind, something utterly alien and familiar in the same instant. She can almost spell it, though the letters aren't a real word but a pretend word, a play. She's not the Doctor anymore. Rose stretches out her fingers and she's herself, pink and yellow, round at the edges and not the last. Not alone. Never alone.
"I don't want to die," she says. "I don't ever want him to feel this again. I'll do anything. Anything, I promise. Just don't let this happen to him."
She promises the darkness.
She is heard.
PART SIX
Previously:
One
Two
Three
Four
He is not as she imagined him.
"There are people trampling each other to death outside." The Master leans over the staircase railing and leans his chin in his hand. He cocks his head, brightly, like a bird's. "You want to watch ?"
All the things she's seen and dreamt; great glassy palaces and fish that glow like stars, perfect empty darkness and the mobbed markets, the smell of sulphur and of cinnamon, skin in a hundred shades- soft and dry as cat's fur, slick and cool, scaled and reflective as oil slinking into pavement, all the color and light and the minds she's seen unlocked, the stories, the maps and moons; all that inside her, and she still can't imagine there could be another like him.
It sounds cruel, she'd never tell him so; but she's seen him on his own, so long, that she's never thought of him any other way. Maybe there was a time when his name carried the weight of history and the sound of sober voices, but it didn't for her. It doesn't. It was only a name, attached to a madman she learned to love. She watches him now, sneaking about in a hallway in trainers with the psychic paper between his teeth, and she can only see him, just him; not a powerful race with aspirations over the skies and eternity. It sounds silly, when she thinks it. He can't make toast without setting himself mildly on fire.
But it is there, hiding; she's seen it before, in his more unguarded moments; saw it again when he looked in Martha's mind. Him, then- the alien. The survivor with the rootless heart. One of two, the other tucked up in the top floors of this building somewhere, hiding like a coward from the crowds.
"Rose," the Doctor whispers, "are you paying attention ?"
"Uh, yeah." She crouches down beside him and he motions an all-clear to Martha and Mickey, further down the hall. "Mickey's going to the guard station and we're going to track the Master down on the closed-circuit cameras." Mickey, in a stolen security jacket and beret, crouches down beside the pair of them and the Doctor hands over the psychic paper, nodding with what Rose takes to be a masculine gesture of respect. Cross-species, she supposes.
"Rose," Mickey says, rising, "be careful. Take care of them."
"Will do." She flashes him a winning smile. For a second she's reminded of the missions they shared, in Pete's world, the teamwork and the paperwork and the danger, Torchwood logos glittering on their chests. He's such a good man, and she wonders what will happen, later, when she goes away again. To them. "You too," she adds, heart in her throat. Maybe he senses her uncertainty, because he pauses to kiss the top of her head before he jogs away, not looking back, disappearing down the emergency staircase. Martha clears her throat.
"Better get moving, yeah ?" she says, giving Rose a sympathetic look. "He'll call when he's there."
"Sure."
The hallways are nearly empty, but for the occasional patrol- apparently, the Master's personal security forces are on a different frequency than the one that set loose the mobs in the street. So far the Doctor's main tactic has been to stroll up to them and power down the earpieces with the sonic, but that's nearly gotten him shot several times. "We can just hide until they pass," Rose suggests, peering around a corner at a clump of guards. "Or ask Mickey to set off an alarm, draw them somewhere." The Doctor shakes his head.
"We'd lose time."
"Doctor," Martha cuts in, "it'd be more sensible to-"
"I don't know where Jack is," he hisses. "I don't know !" He doesn't look at Martha or at Rose, his face turned away in what might be anger, or shame. "I can't get there second."
"We'll go another way," Rose says, looking at Martha. The other woman nods. "Air ducts, how about that ?" She reaches for the Doctor's hand and finds it, without looking, certain of him as a fixed point in her universe. She'll help him. She'll get him his chance.
They hurry.
When Rose's phone vibrates, she opens it without a word, the three of them crouched in a utility closet, Martha listening at the door for patrols. "Rose ?" Mickey says through the mobile, his voice muted by static. "I've found him. You're on the top floor, right ? You're almost there. He's in the atrium at the west end. There's some kind of control room up there, so watch out."
"How about guards ?" Rose whispers. She can hear Mickey tapping on a keyboard, and he lets out a resigned sigh. "Is that bad ?"
"There's a bunch of them between you and the door. Nine of them, looks like. Too many to take out with the sonic."
"Not necessarily," the Doctor replies. "I could-"
"You're not jumping into the middle of them," Rose snaps. "Mickey, check the blueprints- see if there's a service way in, ducts or pipes or anything."
"Right." More tapping. "Rose," Mickey says, softly urgent, "can Martha hear this ?"
"No," she whispers, glancing at the other women. "What ?"
"Her parents are in there," he says, sadly. "In one of the side rooms. Should we tell her ? They're okay, alive. They're in uniforms or something. Like servants."
"Oh," Rose replies, leaving out the oh, God she feels like adding. She can't imagine what she'd do if it were Pete and Jackie in there- looking at Martha's grim expression and distant eyes, she wonders if Martha's already imagining it herself. "You- you found anything yet ?" she asks, more clearly.
"Nothing. Give me a sec-"
"He's right there," the Doctor says, strained. He takes the phone out of Rose's hands before she can collect herself. "Mickey, you see him, don't you ? He's right there, he's so close I can-" he stops, puts his face in his elbow. "I can hear him, Rose. I don't know if he can hear me, but I can. I can." He's shaking. Rose wraps her arms around him, holding him tightly, feeling the tremor in his hearts and his utter misery and frustration. She doesn't have to be psychic for that to work.
"Doctor," Martha says suddenly, standing up. "I don't- I don't agree with you, quite." She clears her throat. "I want you to know that, before I go." Rose and the Doctor stare at her, together, confused.
"Go where ?"
"Shut up, and listen," she says, affectionately. "I want Jack to kill him. Alright ? I want Jack to kill him- I'm sorry, but I do. I think he's right." She looks at Rose as she speaks. "But I want you to have your chance. You deserve that, and if I can help you, then I will."
"Martha-" Rose begins, "what do you mean ?" Instead of answering, Martha flings the door open and stalks off down the hall, heading for the west tower. "Martha !" Rose hisses. "Martha !" The other woman doesn't look back, but walks proudly to the bend in the hall and puts her hands on her hips. She yells something that Rose can't quite make out, and then turns for the opposite direction and runs, flat-out, out of sight. There's the sound of tromping boots and half a squad rushes past the hall- Rose shuts the door before they catch sight of her, and rips the phone from the Doctor's stunned hands. "Mickey," she snaps, "watch her. Where's she going ? You have to watch her."
"I've got her," he replies. "I'm seeing her on the monitors- she's going into the east tower, I'll try to remote lock it, buy her some space."
"Do it." She taps the phone nervously. "Mickey ?"
"She's clear," he says. "She's on the emergency stairs- I'll meet her there. We'll come to you-"
"Don't," she cuts in. The Doctor looks at her like he might argue, but Rose shakes her head. "Stay where you are. Stay safe, lock up- keep the exit clear. We'll come to you when it's finished." She shuts the phone. The Doctor gives her a puzzled look, but he doesn't challenge it. "Her parents are in there," she adds. "I didn't think that she-"
"Yeah."
The way is clear, thanks to Martha; it doesn't take but a couple of minutes to cross the passage and put their backs to the wall, still watching for guards. The Doctor's hand hesitates on the doorknob. Rose puts her fingers over his.
"You can," she says.
He opens the door.
"You can't knock ?" the Master asks.
He is not as she imagined him.
"There are people trampling each other to death outside." The Master leans over the staircase railing and leans his chin in his hand. He cocks his head, brightly, like a bird's. "You want to watch ?"
"We're the only ones left," the Doctor says, abruptly.
"Oh, do you think ?" the Master snaps back. He takes the stairs down, two at a time, sliding smoothly on the rail; he stops short in front of the Doctor, who doesn't flinch. "You've come to tell me why. Right ? Haven't you ?" he shouts, grabbing the taller man's lapels. "Where are they ?"
"They're gone."
"They can't be gone."
"They're dead." The Doctor's throat trembles slightly, the knot bobbing as he speaks. "Erased out of space and time. Gone." Rose hears the break in his voice like the sound of a wave beating on the shore- steady and circular. It's a pain that doesn't end, only retreats to roll on further, gathering speed. "I told you, we're all that's left." The Master snarls at his words, lets him go, backs away, as if trying to distance himself from the thought. He leans back against the railing, staring at the Doctor.
"Well," he says.
Rose takes the opportunity to examine him, this other him; he's handsome and narrow, graceful at the wrist, wearing a suit with a kind of sloppy businessman's charm. It boggles the mind that this is the cause of the chaos outside. He doesn't seem to even hear it, the clamor and voices from below, the sound of cars scraping against the metal barricades- the Master's command center, in the heart of London, is going to come crashing down sooner or later. Rose supposes sooner. She steps closer to the Doctor, not touching him, but already she feels his posture change, his attention return peripherally to her, like a flower to the sun. It sends a bloom of affection through her already adrenaline-addled brain.
"Don't have much time," she murmurs. "You can hear them coming." The Master flashes them an annoyed glare.
"Please," he drawls, "say you're not here to rescue me."
"The crowds will get in, one way or another," the Doctor says. "You're the one who made them slaves, took their families apart. What do you think happens when they get up here ?" He meets the Master's stare. "I'm offering you safety."
"You're offering me prison."
"It's better than death."
"Oh, I don't know." He grins, madly. "Last time I died, I got this wonderful new body. Young, strong, all the right parts." He turns to Rose for the first time. "You want to try anything out ? It's free the first time, but then-"
"Stop it." The Doctor's voice is steel. "I'm offering you a chance to make this choice on your own. Otherwise, I'll make it for you." Rose very carefully does not look at the Doctor's pockets, where a syringe of sedative is waiting. It was what they agreed on- the Doctor wasn't leaving without him.
"Sanctimonius as ever- I don't need your help," the Master spits, as if it were a truly filthy word.
They stand apart from one another, the Doctor's eyes nearly white with rage, and a crackling tension between them. Rose wonders if she'll have to jam the needle in herself when she tires of the male posturing and the name-calling. She feels something stand up the hairs on the back of her neck, like a spike in the energy of the room- or maybe just a breeze. It takes her a second to realize it's a draft from the door.
Rose turns.
It starts like a cloud passing over the sun- everything is still, the intake of breath and the twitch of eyelashes. She feels nothing until the second that darkness touches her, and the small hairs on the back of her neck rise. The Doctor is still standing between her and the Master, holding out his hand. He looks silly, childish somehow, with that gesture between them. The Master is looking only at him.
Out of the corner of her eye she watches the door open, smoothly, with the inevitability of a clock striking. It feels like time has stopped, or that she's stepped through the looking-glass; she is the only one who turns, and so she is the only one who sees.
Jack.
Jack steps out, two hands on his gun, surveying the room in a military gesture. In the instant that Rose sees him, he sees the Master- his posture changes, tenses, and the small muscles in his hand tighten. Rose, in a flash of understanding, follows the barrel of the gun with her eyes. Straight to the target.
And then, it happens fast.
"Rose, what-" the Doctor yelps as she shoves him, hard, tumbling him to the floor with her leap forward. She jumps with her arms out, for the Master, trying to take him down. "Rose !" The Master catches her like he'd been waiting for just that moment, twisting her momentum to lock her throat in his elbow, blocking his body with hers. Rose holds both her arms out, shielding him and herself, and Jack screams in frustration.
"Get away from-"
"Let her go," the Doctor cries out, "Rose, don't-"
But like a clock striking, like a heartbeat; rain that starts at the sky and ends in the ocean; the next second comes. The Master lurches to the side, fumbles beneath his sleeve while Rose gasps and struggles; the tremor in Jack's hands runs down the long fingers and the light pounds of pressure pull the trigger; the Master drops a hidden device out of his sleeve and flicks a button with his thumb at the same instant that the hammer drops.
Rose can almost see the bullet.
And then, at the instant that it should pass through her, maybe even through him, it doesn't. The world shimmers and shakes, hesitates, and Rose feels a sensation like her flesh pulling away from her bones- her body leaking away from her mind. She shrieks, reaches out to the Doctor but it's as if he can't hear or see her- he floats away, insubstantial as a cloud. The world rearranges like a jigsaw. It takes her a second to realize she's being teleported.
"It's gonna hurt," the Master whispers in her ear, as they vanish.
And it does.
When she comes to, she rolls onto her back and thinks, groggily, that she is part of a unique group of people- a group that spends large chunks of their lives unconscious. The floor's cold and hard, which is reason enough to stand; she climbs to her feet, swaying slightly, and finds herself before a-
-well, she hesitates to call it a ship. But a ship it must be. It more closely resembles a reinforced closet. It's a cobbled-together sort of shape, the size of a large utility vehicle, with a sealed door and riveted edges. There are no engines, no windows; but Rose knows, distantly, that she didn't make that classification without evidence. There's an otherness to it, a sense of- well, of away, she thinks. It hums and sparks against her brain, living and breathing the alien starlight, as surely a craft made for travelling as a bicycle is, though less purposeful-looking. Rose touches it, the soft skin of her hands catching against the worked metal edges.
"I made it myself," the Master says, from behind her. Rose startles and spins, wildly, cursing herself for being so preoccupied with the vessel that she didn't scan for an exit. "At great personal expense. You like it ?" She doesn't answer. He chuckles and hangs his head in mock-schoolboy-embarassment, holds up the device- so like the Doctor's sonic screwdriver, she sees now- and the sealed door swings open, smoothly enough for such an indelicately made machine. He makes an elegant gesture at the door. "After you." She shakes her head, and the playful face vanishes. "Get in," he repeats. When she stands stock-still, defiance in her glare, he aims the device at the floor and fires a solid laser beam at the concrete floor, blasting a hole the size of a toaster. The smoke curls between them, an absolute promise.
"I think I'll get in," Rose swallows. He grins winningly, his eyes still horribly dark. With his device aimed at her back she takes a nervous stride into the ship, surveying the cramped interior with something between wonder and horror. A single column, wide and glassy and pulsing with a calm blue light, dominates the small room, with enough space for a passage around the outside and a handful of control boxes. It's crude but elegant, somehow, an imperfect echo of a TARDIS.
"Say it," he prompts. "Go on, say it." He prods her with the laser screwdriver. "It's..."
"It's not bigger on the inside," she finishes. He scowls. "What did you expect me to say ?"
"That it's brilliant, obviously," he sighs, irritated, but almost too polite to be real. He leaves her side to twist dials and check fluid gauges with a casual efficiency that frightens her- it's too familiar. It's an odd game he's playing, and Rose can't pin it down- the wild tumbling between charmer and madman, the unbelievable seesaw and the potential for cruelty matched with the clever mind. It's like her Doctor, mirrored brokenly in an ugly battle of the brilliance and the brutality lurking below the surface. She still can't see why Martha mistook this thing for the better man, but she can at last see how.
"How did we get here ?"
"Instant recall button," he says cheerily, waving the screwdriver at her. "Also untraceable. And makes julienne fries." His face splits in another grin. "That last bit was a lie. I bet you caught that, though, Rose Tyler, a sharp little thing like yourself." He paces close to her, and takes a step back; he grabs her wrist and squeezes, sharply. "You're a puzzle," he tells her, drawing her closer, until he's speaking directly into her ear, his face almost touching hers. "I sent him away with the lovely Doctor Jones and he comes with two in tow. He was always lucky, lucky and stupid." She pulls back and he squeezes harder, until she cries out a little in pain. "What are you to him ?"
"I'm nothing," she says, defensively, shaking him off. She's trembling a little with fury, Jackie Tyler's daughter to the core. "I'm nothing to him."
"You're a poor liar," he says, but he lets it go. His eyes are unreadable, cycling through on some mad pattern that she can't follow, falling like a shutter of leaves. "I think I know what you are."
"You made this ship ?" Rose blurts out, and it's enough to cause a skip in that beat. He glances up, around. "Does it- does it travel in space ? Does it fly ?"
"Does it fly ?" he asks, incredulously. "I'm wounded at your lack of belief." He takes a step to the console. "Fourteen years," he continues, "fourteen years of labor and sweat and blood, but no tears. It was a manly process. I put it together with my own hands and I went looking in time and space for my people, and when I didn't find them I came here, to earth, because I knew I'd find him. And until I found him," he grins, "I'd play." Rose recoils from that word, her stomach heaving at the thought of the arms factories; but she focuses. Keep him talking, she thinks. Keep him talking, and keep yourself thinking.
"So it's a TARDIS."
"They're grown," he corrects. "I improvised. The TARDIS is a living ship, a mind wrapped in all those layers of metal and dimensional flexibility. A living ship needs a living engine. Dose a warm body with huon energy over a period of time, and you've got one. Fourteen years, that's long enough." He taps the glass with an unusually thoughtful expression. "You keep it alive, and it keeps you in the air. Good engine. Mine even had a name- Chantho. Lovely name, nice girl, blue around the edges and so self-righteous sometimes." He doesn't smile, or grin, or laugh. "Life, I suppose."
"You- that's a person ?" Rose cries out. She looks through the glass for the first time and sees an ocean of light, tumbling blue clouds in the water, and the shape of a woman suspended within, like a pulsing organ. She pales at the sight- it's a curiosity in a jar, pickled and smooth as milk. The body is almost human and the face alien, a beetle's face, but her expression is curiously gentle. Rose's heart goes out to her at once, sweet as she seems, only sleeping. She knows the Master is watching, and she doesn't care. "That's sick !"
"It's brilliant," he says, coldly. "My assistant knew her place."
"You put here in here," she says, her words stumbling over themselves in her sharp anger. "You trapped her, and you're using her body like- like fuel." She reaches out a hand to touch the glowing cocoon, to soothe her, but the Master's too fast for her- he snakes out and grabs her hand again, yanks her away, and she stumbles backwards to rub her smarting skin. He stands before the chamber, between her and it, silhouetted. A furious insult dies on her lips as he steps forward, hesitating, and stretches his own hand out. It's an oddly innocent gesture, and it frightens her more than the madness.
"Don't touch it," he says. "Don't touch her." They stand like that for a moment, his face closed-off and reverent before the humming column, Rose cradling her wrist, unable to look away. "I didn't have to trap her," he says, sounding far away. "Even after I opened the watch, she- she stayed. Helped me build. When the machine was finished I told her what it needed, and what I'd done, and she just-" he breaks off. His hand, palm up, rests against the glass. "She just stepped in. She just looked at me, and she stepped in. What would make her- what is that ?" he asks, to the air, as if he were alone in the room. "What is that ?"
Rose clears her throat.
"It's love," she says. His shoulders stiffen. "You miss her," she continues, seeing an opportunity; it's what she'd say to the Doctor in his place, and it's true- it's brutally obvious, in fact. "You're lonely," she says, "but you're not the only one any-"
-he turns so quickly that she's almost surprised to see his eyes, and shoves her, hard, against the wall. The breath is knocked from her. The Master puts a hand under her chin and shakes her, like a terrier with a rat, furiously.
"Don't- don't think that I won't kill you here, right where you stand, just because he's not here to see it," he hisses. Rose nods assent, gasping for air, and pushes him away angrily. He lets her go, facing the column again in silence. She slides against the wall, hands balled into fists. There's a long moment with only the sound of the machines and her ragged breathing; and then the Master turns on his heel, utterly changed. He's grinning from ear to ear as he puts his hands on his hips and crouches down to her level. "Rose Tyler," he says warmly. "I should thank you. You've given me an idea." He cups her face in his hands, though she flinches. "Don't you want to know what it is ?"
"Tell me."
"I won't kill you," he says, and holds her chin firmly, tilting it so that she can see the girl in the column. "I'll make you useful."
She picks that instant to fight- something white-hot and terrified bursts in her and she throws him off, rolling him on the floor as she jumps to her feet. He grabs at her ankles, but she's already at the door, pulling the handle desperately. It's stuck, or keyed to his controller, because it doesn't budge an inch. Rose screams in frustration and kicks the bottom panel. "Hey- hey now !" the Master says, and turns her around forcefully while she scratches at him. He ducks his head to avoid having his eyes removed. "You-" he grits out, "-have no manners."
There is a slight pneumatic hiss as something pops against her skin, and the world glazes over. Rose tips drunkenly to the side, one arm still resisting him and bending at a boneless angle. She feels him lower her to the floor.
"That's noffair," she slurs. "You hadda-"
"Where do you think Martha got hers ?" he asks, waving a syringe in front of her hazy eyes. "The grocer's ?"
She slips into darkness.
Rose dreams.
Jump. She's not Rose anymore, but the Doctor- maybe Ida, even- at the edge of the pit. He described it once, after, so softly it was almost speech between their minds instead of their mouths. Sitting on the jump seat, her legs crossed over his, him so very far away, looking down into the mouth of always.
"Why did you fall ?" she asked then, and she asks now. "You couldn't know what was below."
"There was nothing," he whispers. "I fell forever."
She leans at the edge, looking down. She knows, oddly, that she is the last one on earth- the last one in space, the last gasp of oxygen, the last human, the last girl, the last dust, the last eye to see the sight and the last feet to shuffle the edge, knocking dust into the vastness. He told the truth: there is nothing below.
Jump.
He stood here and these are his thoughts, his misery that rubs her ribs like a pendant. There's another sensation touching her, the warmth of some living wind, something utterly alien and familiar in the same instant. She can almost spell it, though the letters aren't a real word but a pretend word, a play. She's not the Doctor anymore. Rose stretches out her fingers and she's herself, pink and yellow, round at the edges and not the last. Not alone. Never alone.
"I don't want to die," she says. "I don't ever want him to feel this again. I'll do anything. Anything, I promise. Just don't let this happen to him."
She promises the darkness.
She is heard.
PART SIX
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: Thursday, March 20th, 2008 10:31 pm (UTC)Of course the Doctor's still determined to save the Master, and Martha and Rose both think he's wrong but they love him more, and that's so very true to character for them. Mickey's a hero too, which I love. And Jack... I love that Jack fired the shot.
And then you threw me for a complete loop with what you did with Chantho. So credible, too. And now what's the Master done to Rose?
I hope the next couple of chapters come soon!
no subject
Date: Thursday, March 20th, 2008 10:38 pm (UTC)She is heard.
Oh, god. This is utterly brilliant. It has so many wonderful layers, and it seems like all the characters just unfold for you, to do with as you please.
I really really loved this line, in particular: She steps closer to the Doctor, not touching him, but already she feels his posture change, his attention return peripherally to her, like a flower to the sun. It sends a bloom of affection through her already adrenaline-addled brain.
Amazing imagery. I love the subtle motif of Rose being the sun, being that bright star of hope at the Doctor's side. It's done beautifully. (:
no subject
Date: Thursday, March 20th, 2008 10:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Thursday, March 20th, 2008 11:05 pm (UTC)(Also makes Julienne fries - thank you for that. The Master would of course be into 'Aladdin'. ;-) And thank you for revealing after *16 years* that it wasn't "chilli and fries". I always thought that was such a weird food combination.)
no subject
Date: Thursday, March 20th, 2008 11:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Friday, March 21st, 2008 02:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Wednesday, March 26th, 2008 10:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Thursday, March 20th, 2008 11:18 pm (UTC)I love it. Beautifully done.
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Date: Thursday, March 20th, 2008 11:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Thursday, March 20th, 2008 11:35 pm (UTC)I loved how your wrote the Master: chilling and very Doctor-ish. His twisted almost affection for Chantho is believable and very freaky.
Rose's reactions to the whole thing are good too, as is the initial confrontation between the Doctor and the Master.
Seconding the love for: "She steps closer to the Doctor, not touching him, but already she feels his posture change, his attention return peripherally to her, like a flower to the sun. It sends a bloom of affection through her already adrenaline-addled brain."
Looking forward to more! :-)
no subject
Date: Thursday, March 20th, 2008 11:39 pm (UTC)I'm so pumped for the final chapter. Although, you know, you could make it longer...
P.S.
When she comes to, she rolls onto her back and thinks, groggily, that she is part of a unique group of people- a group that spends large chunks of their lives unconscious.
GILES! They'll have their own club. With secret handshakes!
no subject
Date: Friday, March 21st, 2008 01:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Friday, March 21st, 2008 01:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Friday, March 21st, 2008 01:39 am (UTC)I just stumbled upon this fic, and I am so glad I did. This just grabs you from the first words and holds on tight. It is absolutely believable, and 10 times better than what we were given (and I like what we were given)!!
Just - wow!
I cannot wait for the conclusion!
no subject
Date: Friday, March 21st, 2008 01:58 am (UTC)Now I have to go move series 3 up in my netflix queue so I'll have a better point of reference. I missed this show, and I bet I'll be disappointed when this isn't canon. *g* I've put off watching series 3, because I honestly can't picture the show without Rose in it. But John Simm, and this fic, is enough to draw me back in.
I don't know whether I should curse you or thank you. ;)
no subject
Date: Friday, March 21st, 2008 02:36 am (UTC)Rose...! And Chantho...! My heart aches for Chantho. But you do such a beautiful job of portraying the Master's madness...and broken-ness - the odd mixture of his perversity, lucidity, and ingenuousness.
I'm really interested in seeing the how dynamics between the Doctor, Rose, and Jack pan out...love, trust, lies, miscommunication...it's an explosive mix, there...
I really, really love this, btw. :)
no subject
Date: Friday, March 21st, 2008 02:49 am (UTC)I can't wait for the next installment, especially in regards to seeing what happens next with Rose, the Doctor, the Master, and Jack (and everyone else)
wonderful as always
Date: Friday, March 21st, 2008 03:12 am (UTC)And of course he doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t even know what to call it. How
inappropriateappropriate. (Course, if he tries it with Rose, he’s in for a bit of a surprise.)no subject
Date: Friday, March 21st, 2008 04:03 am (UTC)First off, and this might be a long-winded review of sorts, but I must say how much I adore the way you write the Master in both crack fic and serious fics like this one. He is just so funny and cruel and perfect. Example: "Where do you think Martha got hers ?" he asks, waving a syringe in front of her hazy eyes. "The grocer's ?" I did this strange gasp/giggle-snort when I read that, and I could easily see that being a line from the show.
The interaction between Rose and the Master was perfect.
Chantho? I almost died.
And the first two paragraphs are the best description of the Doctor I think I've read anywhere. Especially this part: Maybe there was a time when his name carried the weight of history and the sound of sober voices, but it didn't for her. It doesn't. It was only a name, attached to a madman she learned to love.
Again, wonderful chapter and I can't wait for more. I wish this one would go on forever. :D
no subject
Date: Friday, March 21st, 2008 05:15 am (UTC)Looking forward for more.
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Date: Friday, March 21st, 2008 05:27 am (UTC)Love your characterization of the Master ... it'd be fun to have him interested in Rose, and for her to kick the daylights out of him (love strong Rose!)
*Big Hug* More, please?
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Date: Friday, March 21st, 2008 06:31 am (UTC)Poor Chantho! I loved the Master's confusion about what could motivate her.
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Date: Friday, March 21st, 2008 07:11 am (UTC)You just brightened a very gloomy day. I actually squeaked when I saw this. Thank you!
no subject
Date: Friday, March 21st, 2008 09:11 am (UTC)Oh, wow. This is amazing, it's just... wow.
Um, so... Yes, sorry. Just, um... next part, soon? Please???
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Date: Friday, March 21st, 2008 11:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Friday, March 21st, 2008 01:36 pm (UTC)"Don't touch it," he says. "Don't touch her."
Yes. Simply, yes. I adore this story and this chapter was, as usual, brilliant, but that's the bit that completely stood out for me. It says so much about both of them, the Master and Chantho and even a bit about Yana; it says so very much and it's so small a part. Your description of Rose being unable to see the Doctor as a member of an actual species (and setting himself on fire for toast!) was great too, as was your ending, but that's definitely my favorite bit right there.
no subject
Date: Friday, March 21st, 2008 04:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Friday, March 28th, 2008 02:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Saturday, April 12th, 2008 09:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Saturday, July 5th, 2008 06:34 pm (UTC)your Master is made of evil!WIN. i love it!
no subject
Date: Thursday, December 24th, 2009 09:00 pm (UTC)