A/N: general consensus: RASSILON YOU BASTARD.
My sentiments exactly...
BeatnikFreak - om nom nom Dorian xD I gives you MOAR!
XxxWeepingAngelsxxX - *hugs* you're a sweetie :)
i-is-monstarr-RAWR - yup, I concur...
padmay97 - yay!
kie1993 - ta dah! More! :D
Snowy702 - Cheers my dear :)
Jo Brookes - Yup, definite awkwardness there... :L
Mrs 11th - haha yeah it might :P Well, now you can find out :D
Onwards!
Deorsa watched as she ran, his hearts twisting.
He felt sick at what she had borne.
He knew if he went after Ondine, it would only terrify her more.
Doubtless what my father did.
My father.
My father.
He violated Ondine.
He… he…
He could hardly bear to think the words, and his skin crawled.
A surge of hatred flared.
"You bastard," he whispered. "You sick bastard."
In his mind, he could see Rassilon laughing, and angrily he pushed the image away.
Did Mother know? Did you do the same to her?
With horrific clarity, he suddenly saw it.
He stood on the balcony, gazing out at the amber skies, when a voice, hurried, anxious, called to him.
"My lord!"
He turned, and two guards were in the doorway, looking panicked.
"What is it?" he asked, his hearts jumping a little at their expressions.
"It's your mother. She…" one tailed off, uncomfortable.
Deorsa's hearts began to race.
"Where is she?"
"The West Chamber, my lord."
Without a breath, he sprinted past them and ran straight for the chamber.
He skidded inside – and his face drained of blood.
"No," he rasped. "No."
She lay sprawled on the floor, her clothes torn, her eyes wide.
His father knelt by her, distraught.
"Father, please," Deorsa whispered desperately. "She's not dead, she can't be, she –"
Rassilon looked at him, eyes full of grief.
"Somebody attacked her," he said, his voice a mere shadow of its usual resonance. "They meant to kill her. It was poison."
Deorsa fell to his knees. His hand touched his mother's cheek, and he bit back a cry of anguish.
She was ice cold.
He blinked back tears as he stared at her lifeless body.
"What poison?" he asked shakily.
"Judas tree," Rassilon murmured.
The held-back emotion broke free then.
"Mama," he wept. "Mama, please, please, please, wake up."
Rassilon placed a hand on Deorsa's shoulder, and his son looked at him brokenly.
"I know," Rassilon said softly.
They sat there, gazing at the beloved figure.
I'm so sorry, Mama. Deorsa closed his eyes. I'm so sorry.
He sank to the floor.
"Her clothes were torn," he whispered. "He did it. He meant to."
Then his grief was a lie.
A wave of despair overcame him, and he trembled.
They never found the killer. But he was right there all along.
Why, Father? You loved her!
He could find no reason.
His hearts tightened as a memory of his mother surfaced – smiling, laughing – and he pressed his forehead to the cool tiles of the floor.
He wanted her to suffer, he realised. If he took such pleasure in torturing Ondine…
His fingers clenched.
How badly he wanted to confront his father then, to scream his discovery to the whole of Gallifreyan society.
But he could not.
He risked Ondine's safety by doing so.
"No," he murmured. "If there's a chance he'll abuse her again… I can't."
At least, not yet.
With a grim twist of his lips, Deorsa got to his feet.
His thoughts turned to the frightened woman hiding deep within his ship, and instantly his dark resolve was replaced by worry.
Where are you?
He glanced at the console.
Where is she?
The TARDIS soothed him, but gently rebuked him. He glanced away.
"I know. She'll emerge when she's ready."
Merriment that did not belong to him rolled through his consciousness. He raised an eyebrow.
"Why so amused?"
If she had had a mouth, she would have teased him mercilessly.
It hit him, and he shook his head, rolling his eyes.
"No, I am not getting attached. I don't need her. I'm alright without her."
Scepticism.
He groaned, his hands covering his face.
"Will you stop matchmaking? For five minutes? Please?"
The TARDIS hummed her version of laughter, and grudgingly he let his mouth curve up.
"I know you worry, sweetheart. I know you don't like how I live my life. But it's my choice. I won't let one girl change it, no matter what the circumstances are."
Shock pulsed.
His eyes widened at her insinuation.
"No! No! Of course I want to help her! I wouldn't leave her like this! How could I? I'm no monster; I'm nothing like him."
Satisfaction.
He sighed.
"I don't know why I put up with you sometimes. You're worse than most of my relatives."
The TARDIS hummed once more, entertained by that plainly ridiculous notion.
He laughed quietly, and stroked the central core casing tenderly.
"You're only looking out for me, I know. I appreciate it, sweetheart."
Warmth enveloped him, and he smiled.
A pad and a pen materialised on the seat beside him, and he patted the rim of the console.
"Thanks."
He settled himself on the chair, and – after spinning round in it once to collect his thoughts – began to compose his message.
It was thirty-three minutes before he finished, and he tore the sheet of paper out, flipping the pad shut and clicking the pen.
He rose, and went to seek out the girl who so mystified him.
The TARDIS, though wanting to keep Ondine feeling protected, let Deorsa sense the Time Lord's presence – only a brief yet tangible thread of consciousness. She kept the door locked however, knowing Ondine desired privacy.
He did not mind. He simply slipped the note under the door and walked away, content to let Ondine emerge whenever she wished.
Ondine knew Deorsa was there. She could feel him, just as he could feel her.
She watched the folded message appear through the gap, and a rush of curiosity pervaded her mind.
What could he possibly have to say…?
She listened to the fading of his footsteps, and then she leapt over to the door, snatching up the note.
It was then she stalled.
Her fingers trembled as she eyed the soft cream colour of the paper.
Do I?
Do I trust him?
Hesitantly, she unfolded it, the spidery writing facing the floor.
She inhaled, and flipped it over.
If you would prefer to leave, I would not hold it against you. What my father did is inexcusable, and I understand how my ties to him make you uncomfortable.
The console is yours to use. Go wherever you will.
A
The paper was scrunched up and thrown across the room before she was even aware of it.
Because deep down she did not want to leave. No. He radiated calm, honesty, something she craved.
Slowly, she got to her feet, and her fingers closed on the doorknob. Cold metal, but it felt hot to her.
She sighed, and pulled the door open.
She walked silently down the corridor, her bare feet making no sound upon the cool floor.
She came to the archway of the console room, and she paused.
He was standing there, his back to her. His long auburn hair hung like a russet curtain down his back, and a urge came to her, an urge to run her fingers through it.
As if she was being lured by an unseen force, she took a step forwards.
He turned, and his eyes were soft.
"I… I want to stay," she whispered.
His eyes widened ever so slightly.
"Are you… certain?"
She nodded. "Yes. But… I want to know if I can trust you."
He quickly masked his hurt at her bluntness; he knew she was only saying what she needed to.
"All right. Thank you."
Her expression remained cautious, and, in a tentative tone that felt alien to his usual arrogant self, he spoke.
"Dinner?"
She relaxed a little.
"I'd like that."
He smiled slightly. "Good. Any preferences?"
"Whatever you like."
He inclined his head. "Very well. Might I suggest, while I cook, that you change into something more comfortable?"
She appraised him, searching for any cruel intent. Finding none, she relented.
"I... can do that."
Once more, he gestured. "Wardrobe is down the corridor and to your left. Feel free to choose whatever steals your fancy."
She gazed at him for another second, and then walked away, retracing her steps down the passageway.
He leant back against the console, and exhaled.
"What am I doing?"
Shaking his head, he rolled up his sleeves and headed for the kitchens.
A/N: And there you have it. Baby steps. I bet you were all expecting to be thrown headlong into passion, huh? :P
Lightning xoxo