Fandom: Dr Who.
Character(s): Lucy Cole, Harry Saxon, The Master, Lucy/Harry/Master hotness…eventually.
Timeline: Season 3, sort of… No spoilers really, this is just my version of these two fascinating characters, that and the fact that the beeb’s Dr Who has stolen my brain.
Warning: completely unbeta’d so read at own risk, I swore to myself that I wouldn’t start another story until I had finished my first long ‘Jekyll’ fic but unfortunately my muse Hyde has run off at the moment, that b*$%#!
All parts of Dr Who belong to Russell T Davies and the BBC…to bad, so sad.
Little Lucy Cole, daughter of Lord Cole, always enjoyed the park in winter, in her small cherry red coat and black mittens her dainty too solemn face, usually pale now tinged red with the biting cold, she dragged her reluctant nanny towards the small lake in the middle of the inner city park local.
Attraction for the rich children and what they sneeringly labeled their guard dogs, the hired help who chaperoned the future diplomats and genteel wife’s of nation leaders.
Lucy went there for the ducks, she always felt sorry for them in the cold, even though her severe and austere minder, Mrs. Luckmire who from what seven year old Lucy had witnessed did not seem very lucky at all, kept explaining to her in a put upon whine that the ducks did not feel the cold like humans and therefore the whole endeavor was a ridiculous waste of time.
Lucy, through means of quite calculation and endless observation of the myriad expressions that passed over the faces of adults around her, had realized adults on the whole were very fond of complaining and considered almost everything a waste of time.
Painfully shy and withdrawn little Lucy Cole was almost unstoppable if she felt strongly enough about something, as her pale and refined mother was always sighing to anyone who would listen. Lucy had learnt at the age of two that she was to address her mother as Lilith rather than mummy, whenever Lucy forgot she would be reminded by the pained expression that would cramp her mothers perfectly made mouth.
Lucy didn’t love many things in her young life as emotion was considered a dirty word in her sterile home, but she loved the ducks that she religiously fed every Saturday morning at ten.
As she arrived at the gunmetal grey waters edge at the other side of the huge park, Lucy rummaged around in her supply of bread bits ferreted away that morning from Enrique the head chef in the Cole family residence in upper Mayfair.
The welcoming cackle of the nine or ten ducks that were always welcoming of free food surrounded her as Lucy revealed her precious stash from her coat pockets and started to dole out portions to the little army milling around her polished black mary janes.
Mrs. Luckmire sighed repeatedly in ill concealed irritation as Lucy scolded a jet black duck she had named Harold for stealing more than his fair share of the bread crusts. Then Mrs. Luckmire spotted a group of children and nannies off to the left and visibly brightened as she was beckoned over for a gossip session by one of the nannies she had been gossiping with the week before.
“I’m just going over here Lucy, mind you don’t get that coat dirty or your mother will not be amused.”
With that parting shot Mrs. Luckmire walked over to the group of women and their charges, Lucy with her acute hearing honed from eavesdropping on conversations not considered fit for young ears, could distinctly hear the sound of gossip being bandied about by the nannies.
The tension present between her shoulders when around other people briefly left the young girls shoulders and she felt a lightening in her chest as she scolded her little army.
Harold the little black duck without warning yanked at the end of Lucy’s new cherry red coat leaving a dirty mark clearly visible against the vibrant red, Lucy made an annoyed noise and rubbed at the stain, which promptly spread the dirt further.
“Keep doing that and you’ll only make it worse, you know”.
At the light almost mocking tone Lucy raised startled pale ice blue intelligent eyes to find black perfectly creased pants standing on her right, her surprised gaze continued looking up and up, until her quite gaze clashed with twinkling dark eyes inviting her to share an eternal joke at the world.
Lucy looked at the man who she thought must surely be younger than her father as he had no grey in his closely cropped pale hair, two shades darker than her own pale ash brown hair. Her head tilted ever so slightly in silent enquiry Lucy made no reply.
Quietly decided whether she should scream after all Mrs. Luckmire had informed her maliciously on more than one occasion what happened to naughty little girls that spoke to strange men and Lucy had no wish to be put in the boot of a car.
“Now I know you’re not supposed to talk to strangers, so let me introduce myself, the name’s Harold but you, well now you can call me Harry.”
Little Lucy Cole continued her measured silent survey of the trim pert almost cocky stance vibrating through the man before her.
Watched as one of the man’s thin narrow clever hands neatly beat out a rapid repetitive rhythm against his thigh and thrust the other into his black slacks pocket pushing back the black suit jacket that he wore. Lucy noticed with eyes too old for her years that the man almost bounced faintly on his feet and was not even shivering in his light weight business suit.
He did not even appear to notice that it was freezing out and only idiots would be without warm things on, as her nanny had said to her when she balked at wearing the coat given to her by her mother for her ninth birthday. Her young mind unconsciously sensing the trap set by her mother as she looked at the pristinely clean coat.
Mild irritation crossed the strangers face with rapid fire speed followed by the mildest tinge of warm humor in the back of dark eyes that Lucy felt could see all the thoughts swimming around in her head.
“This is the bit where you introduce yourself, young lady, or at least that’s usually the custom as far as I know these days’, could be wrong of course. Some planets I’ll have you know have customs that would make little girls like you run screaming at introduction time.”
The stranger was almost jovial as he spoke to her words tumbling over each other in their haste to be heard, making Lucy think that his brain must be at least ten steps ahead of his mouth. Considering Lucy tilted her head even further to one side as she looked into the man’s clever face and thought he reminded her of a fox.
“My name’s Lucy and I don’t scream.”
“Lovely name that, and of course not. I already knew that, you’re far too clever.”
The strange man almost jumped up and down in excitement with the delivery of this statement. Manically beaming down at her, as if he was imparting the secrets of the universe to her young childish ears, Lucy felt a tug at her coat again and looked down to find Harold the black duck had left another dirt stain on the end of her red coat in an attempt to remind her of her neglicents at withholding a small portion of his dinner from him.
“Watch out for that one, he looks like a handful!”
Lucy looked up at the man with the cunning fox face, as she fed the last of the bread crusts to the greedy little black duck, to find that he had suddenly gone serious and wore an almost blank expression. To Lucy’s gaze his face reminded her of the time she visited her great aunt Maud in the country and was confronted by the feisty old woman’s huge black dog Anubis; the giant black dog had stood taller than five year old Lucy and wore an intimidating enigmatic expression that had intrigued Lucy greatly.
“His name is Harold, he’s my favorite but he’s very naughty”.
Lucy spoke in calm considered even tones as was her manner, to the other Harold and watched as a strange expression crossed the man’s face fleetingly while he looked down on her from his great adult height, Lucy was almost frightened then at the look that entered the strangers old dark eyes.
He watched her for an endless almost timeless minute and the park, to Lucy’s mind, strangely receded and silence hung around them isolating the two from the world, then the expression abruptly vanished and he beamed at her blindingly manic and chirpy once more.
“Well of course he is, but I’m sure you’ll keep him in line little Lucy.”
The man lowered his tone softly in a confiding manner leaning down to pat the little black duck, which to Lucy’s quite shock kept still long enough to receive the pat. Suddenly Lucy heard the clarion call of her guard dog as Mrs. Luckmire hurried to investigate the sudden anomaly in her neat little universe.
“Lucy! Lucy! What is going on here?”
The last was said on a long drawn out rush of breath as the slightly over weight woman came to an abrupt halt and stood hovering over Lucy, one hand resting protectively on the little girls suddenly stiffened shoulder.
Mrs. Luckmire looked at the man in his anonymous black business suit and white shirt with distrust, her insides gave a quiver as the man’s dark eyes rose slowly from their intent study of her charge to meet her pale blue mistrusting gaze.
“Oh you know, just discussing screaming and ducks, Ma’am!”
The strange man nodded his head politely at a bewildered Mrs. Luckmire in unconscious response she bristled as his eyes mocked her with a twinkle while the rest of his face was all polite enquiry and puzzlement. She tugged an unwilling Lucy closer to her side, the girl stubbornly quite and self-contained as was the child’s usual manner.
Mrs. Luckmire’s instincts continued yelling predator as she fought down a strange flash of sexual awareness that tingled across her skin as her acid green eyes tangled briefly with the man’s odd almost hypnotic weird gaze she abruptly lowered her gaze ostensibly to fiddle with the sleeve of her top. Feeling stupid and unsteady Mrs. Luckmire took her small charges hand and said in a forced cheerful rush,
“I’m sorry if she was bothering you sir, but she will insist on feeding the ducks, we’ll get out of your way now, come along Lucy, time we left!”
With that abrupt and clear statement of dismissal Mrs. Luckmire dragged Lucy away with one hard hand wrapped around her thin young arm. Lucy was frog marched through the park towards and past the group of inquisitive beady eyes of the female nannies and overfed children, none of whom Lucy ever deigned to play with much to the continued annoyance of Mrs. Luckmire.
The adults and plump offspring of the wealthy and powerful craned their heads like hyenas as the two figures hurried by, watching their retreat with the intensity of the pack eyeing prey.
Mrs. Luckmire strode through the park towing a silent Lucy, embarrassment over the brief loss of composure and lack of attention over her charge stained her cold cheeks an ugly faint burgundy.
Lucy continued craning her head back towards the still figure as she was dragged through the park by an angry woman muttering about stupid children coupled with what would happen if her mother found out. Lucy continued gazing at the fascinating thin whippet like man, who had not moved from his casual relaxed stance, she continued watching as he lifted one hand in the air and wiggled his fingers ever so faintly at her and then with a lithe move crouched down and patted the little black duck once more.
Lucy was sent to bed without any birthday cake that evening; her mother had been extremely disappointed in her deportment in the young girl allowing her new red coat to be stained. Lucy’s mother had spent several minutes explaining to Lucy her disappointment and disapproval at the young girls lack of care about gifts given to her.
Lucy tried not to be too obvious about ignoring her mother who was well on her way to being drunk, the smell of gin wafting over Lucy’s pale bent head with every disapproving sentence thrown her way.
There was no mention of the stranger in the park.
Lucy lay in her bed later that night listening to the quite she so enjoyed, the soft hum of the city a faint background noise as she observed the night sky through her French windows. As she drifted off as was her usual habit Lucy tried to count all the stars framed in her windows, and as she did every night little Lucy drifted off before she could count them all.
In the dark under a new moon Lucy dreamed of giant grandfather clocks, Victorian time pieces ancient with dust of many dead stars and the twinkle in a strange man’s dark eyes while she fed an army of little jet black ducks at the edge of a dark blood red seemingly endless sea.
*sigh* Dr Who owns my brain...