![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Fic: Mrs Saxon's Diary. Part 4/?
Finally uploaded a Lucy icon. It was hard to choose, but this one just fits this fic (and the character) perfectly. :) Also I'm kinda in love with this chapter - I swear The Master is the most delightful villain there has ever been. If you love him, you should love this part! (So pretty please give it a try? *begs*)
Setting: Around 15 months pre-'Sound of Drums'
Spoilers: End of S3.
Pairing: Lucy/Harry.
Rating: PG-13.
Previous parts here.
Mrs Saxon's Diary. Part 4
Harry killed a man tonight.
We were taking a shortcut through the back streets after a lovely evening at the theater (Harry does his best to distract me, he’s wonderful like that), and suddenly a hooded youth jumped in front of us, brandishing a knife.
“A’right - give us your wallet, yeah? An’ no funny business, mate!”
I was paralysed, but Harry just smiled as he slowly reached into his pocket.
“’No funny business’? But don’t you find death hilarious? Well it’ll be your own, so maybe not...”
Then in one swift movement he brought out the strange tool he calls a screwdriver and aimed it squarely at the young man’s chest. It fired a quick, golden beam and then the youth fell to the ground, lifeless.
I think I might have choked. I know that I was shaking at least. Harry turned round, sudden deep concern on his face.
“Lucy - are you OK? Did he frighten you?”
“I... I don’t know.” I searched his face for... something. I wasn’t sure what. “Is he dead?”
"Well yes darling, of course he's dead. I killed him." He was speaking as patiently as when he’d tried to explain that he was 900 years old. Then seeing that my distress wasn’t waning he pulled me into his arms, softly stroking my hair. I could feel the slow beat of his hearts, calm and comforting as always, and tried to take deep breaths.
Tilting my face towards him, he shook his head resignedly, but with a hint of amusement underneath. “Well this won’t do. Can’t have a nasty man like that upsetting my sweet girl.” Then he grinned. “So let’s get him to apologise!”
Letting go of me he jumped to the dead man’s side, lifting him up so he was in a sitting position, his head lolling forward like a rag-doll’s. Then he took hold of his hands, pressing the palms together as though begging. “Dear Miss Lucy, please accept my humble apologies for my rude misconduct. I shall endeavour to do nothing horrid from here-on, on account of being all dead!”
Harry’s face was a picture of mischief, and the whole situation was so utterly ridiculous that I could not help but burst out laughing.
Then he got up, letting the dead body fall down again with a sickening thud. I flinched at the sound, then looked at Harry apologetically. Mother always said how important it is to keep one’s composure in any situation. “Sorry, but... I’ve never seen anyone killed before. It... it was so quick.”
Taking my face in his hands, he studied me carefully, seriously. “Let me take you to Utopia,” he said, and the look in his eyes was hard to fathom.
“I thought it was a story... A... a legend,” I answered, slightly nervously, but he shook his head sadly.
“It is the end of everything.”
I should have been in bed half an hour ago, but I fear the sadness I saw in his eyes. I know I should feel guilt about the man I saw killed, terror at what Harry did so casually - how can this be the same man who helped father so selflessly?
Nothing makes sense.
But more than anything I can’t stop thinking about what this ‘Utopia’ is. What will my Master show me?
Part 5.
Setting: Around 15 months pre-'Sound of Drums'
Spoilers: End of S3.
Pairing: Lucy/Harry.
Rating: PG-13.
Previous parts here.
Mrs Saxon's Diary. Part 4
Harry killed a man tonight.
We were taking a shortcut through the back streets after a lovely evening at the theater (Harry does his best to distract me, he’s wonderful like that), and suddenly a hooded youth jumped in front of us, brandishing a knife.
“A’right - give us your wallet, yeah? An’ no funny business, mate!”
I was paralysed, but Harry just smiled as he slowly reached into his pocket.
“’No funny business’? But don’t you find death hilarious? Well it’ll be your own, so maybe not...”
Then in one swift movement he brought out the strange tool he calls a screwdriver and aimed it squarely at the young man’s chest. It fired a quick, golden beam and then the youth fell to the ground, lifeless.
I think I might have choked. I know that I was shaking at least. Harry turned round, sudden deep concern on his face.
“Lucy - are you OK? Did he frighten you?”
“I... I don’t know.” I searched his face for... something. I wasn’t sure what. “Is he dead?”
"Well yes darling, of course he's dead. I killed him." He was speaking as patiently as when he’d tried to explain that he was 900 years old. Then seeing that my distress wasn’t waning he pulled me into his arms, softly stroking my hair. I could feel the slow beat of his hearts, calm and comforting as always, and tried to take deep breaths.
Tilting my face towards him, he shook his head resignedly, but with a hint of amusement underneath. “Well this won’t do. Can’t have a nasty man like that upsetting my sweet girl.” Then he grinned. “So let’s get him to apologise!”
Letting go of me he jumped to the dead man’s side, lifting him up so he was in a sitting position, his head lolling forward like a rag-doll’s. Then he took hold of his hands, pressing the palms together as though begging. “Dear Miss Lucy, please accept my humble apologies for my rude misconduct. I shall endeavour to do nothing horrid from here-on, on account of being all dead!”
Harry’s face was a picture of mischief, and the whole situation was so utterly ridiculous that I could not help but burst out laughing.
Then he got up, letting the dead body fall down again with a sickening thud. I flinched at the sound, then looked at Harry apologetically. Mother always said how important it is to keep one’s composure in any situation. “Sorry, but... I’ve never seen anyone killed before. It... it was so quick.”
Taking my face in his hands, he studied me carefully, seriously. “Let me take you to Utopia,” he said, and the look in his eyes was hard to fathom.
“I thought it was a story... A... a legend,” I answered, slightly nervously, but he shook his head sadly.
“It is the end of everything.”
I should have been in bed half an hour ago, but I fear the sadness I saw in his eyes. I know I should feel guilt about the man I saw killed, terror at what Harry did so casually - how can this be the same man who helped father so selflessly?
Nothing makes sense.
But more than anything I can’t stop thinking about what this ‘Utopia’ is. What will my Master show me?
Part 5.