Chapter Text
It had been three long days of suffering, but she finally awoke feeling human again. Her surroundings had changed over the last few days, while she’d been delirious with pain, which meant that her surroundings were now unrecognisable. The room was much simpler than her room in their house, with a plain white double bed backed against a wall, and the only decoration in the room was the framed fob watch with that familiar taunting inscription opposite her.
Expecting more pain, Florence sat up and was surprised to find her body entirely ache-free. Someone had dressed her in a black jumpsuit, and her hands reached up to her hair to find it pinned back neatly into a long braid. She reached her arms overhead, expecting to feel her muscles protesting the stretch, but she moved as easily as if she’d been doing yoga for six years.
Florence’s head whipped towards the only door to the room as she heard a scream and a clamour of voices. A flood of adrenaline left her hands shaking slightly, remembering the pain she’d felt upon hitting the floor of the church, the screams she’d heard from Martha and Tish Jones. A television descended from the ceiling of the room, rotating to face her regardless of where she moved in the room.
It showed a meeting room with an upper floor, and she easily made out the Master stood on the stairs, in a pile of dust. There were officials around the table and edges of the room, and Florence’s heart nearly stoped when she saw the Doctor with two guards on either side of him, kneeling on the floor in front of the stairs, and Martha Jones and Jack Harkness stood close by, terror evident on their faces.
“We meet at last, Doctor,” the Master enthused, cackling, “oho, I love saying that!”
“Stop this, stop it now!” The Doctor thrashed in the guards arms, and Florence put a hand to her mouth, absolute fear filling her.
“As if a perception filter’s gonna work on me!” The Master bragged, “and look, it’s the girlie and the freak, although I’m not sure which one’s which.” Florence could only watch as Jack dashed forward, a plan evident in his mind, but the Master was too quick. His laser screwdriver was out and activated, pointed at Jack. The impossible man screamed and fell to the floor, and Florence could only fall with him, kneeling on carpeted floor in front of the television.
She knew he’d wake up again, but she could only hope he would wake up a free man, and not imprisoned, to be played with by the Master for as long as time, like she was, because apparently, he was able to resurrect Florence now using his own energy. Her new reality sunk in like a stone; that he could resurrect her; that he could kill her, again and again, and again. There would be no escape for her, now. She couldn’t even bring Circe back, having made that choice a long time ago.
“Laser screwdriver, who’d have sonic?” The Master taunted as Martha ran to Jack’s limp body. “And the good thing is, he’s not dead for long; I get to kill him again!”
“Master, just calm down, just look at what you’re doing, just stop…” The Doctor begged, “if you could see yourself-”
The Master looked towards a few humans huddled in the corner, and Florence realised they were a TV camera crew. His plan flickered through her mind, no doubt released on purpose from his tight grip on her, and horror filled her in remembrance. He was filming this whole spectacle to put fear into every human on planet Earth before he basically doomed them all.
Florence could only watch.
“Do excuse me,” he addressed the cameras, “little bit of personal business, back in a minute.” He turned back to the Doctor, saying, “let him go.”
The humans threw him onto the floor, the Doctor falling in a heap. The Master took the few steps down to his level, mild boredom on his face.
“It’s that sound, the sound in your head, what if I can help?” The Doctor bargained, but Florence knew it wouldn’t work.
“Oh, how to shut him up?” The Master mocked, “I know! Memory lane!” He took a seat on the stairs then. “Professor Lazarus, remember him, and his Genetic Manipulation Device? Did you think little “Tish” got that job by coincidence? Or that Florence was there by happenstance?”
Florence watched as horrible realisation crossed both Martha and the Doctor’s faces, and she smiled despite herself. She was glad her decision to stay hadn’t ripped a hole in time and space.
“I’ve been laying traps for you all this time, and if I can concentrate, all that Lazarus technology into one little screwdriver…” he waved his screwdriver threateningly, but backed off for a moment, like a cat toying with its prey, “but, oh, if only I had the Doctor’s biological code…Oh! Wait a minute, I do!”
To the side of the room, he revealed the Doctor’s hand that had been inside his TARDIS, a hand that Florence had seen in the Master’s office but had never thought to question while she’d been with him. “I’ve got his hand! And if Lazarus made himself younger, what if I reverse it? Another 100 years?”
Florence cried out as she saw the Doctor flailing, moving so quickly she wasn’t sure she could see him clearly, until he landed back on the floor breathless, his face and body so, so much older. Gone was his brown hair and smooth skin, and in their place a wrinkling, sagging face with a badly balding head.
She saw Lucy, standing on the stairs where the Master had been with her pretty little face twisted into a smug smirk, and she surged to her feet.
“You bitch!” Florence yelled, and she finally ran to the door, surprised to find it unlocked. The door was unguarded too, and Florence thanked her lucky stars before she ran down the corridor. Her bare feet were soft against the wooden floors of the place, but Florence took no chances, allowing her instincts to guide her into ducking behind walls before turning corners, staying silent the entire time to listen for any oncoming Saxon soldiers. She avoided detection all the way to the main room, because, although Florence didn’t remember learning the layout of this place, something in her body knew where she was instinctively, following some kind of lead.
She ducked around a corner as she saw three guards dragging in three people, two of whom Florence recognised as Francine and Letitia Jones.
“Mum,” Florence heard Martha’s quiet word, and Francine’s whispered response of, “I’m sorry.”
Florence’s heart broke, but the moment of distraction allowed a guard to hit her over the head with the end of a baton. She collapsed to the floor, dazed, as the guard grasped her arm and heaved her into the room. The sudden onset of whispered shock and frenzy only served to confuse Florence more as she struggled to keep her feet under her.
“Sir, I found her outside!” The guard informed, throwing Florence to the Master’s feet.
His gleeful chuckle was only offset by the Doctor’s whisper of fear.
“Florence?” He asked, but she couldn’t look at him. He looked older in person than he had over the television in her room.
“Ah, my dear, dear Florence, come to join us at last!” The Master knelt in front of her, sheer distaste and anger on his expression. “I expected better from you,” his hand whipped out to strike her cheek, and she flinched away from it, only causing him more amusement.
“But she died,” Martha murmured in amazement, “we were there, we saw you die!”
Florence looked to Martha, relieved to see eyes that knew her looking back at her. The Doctor’s eyes held far too much sadness for Florence to bear to look into. “I did die,” she acknowledged with a slow nod of her head, “but then he brought me back.”
She could only watch as horrified realisation crossed the Doctor’s face, and joy filled the Master’s. “Go on, my love, tell him how I did it. Surely you remember that, at least.”
Florence swallowed hard. “He used regeneration energy to heal me,” she revealed, and she looked to Jack behind her to avoid looking at the Doctor. “It seems that I’m Time Lord enough for that.”
“No, but that-“ the Doctor’s voice was slow, and the Master was impatient.
“That would be agony, especially for a human, and, oh, I’m well aware. After all, I did have to hear her screaming for the last few days.” He laughed, although Florence could see the joy he found in her pain plainly across his expression. “But Florence can better attest to that.”
“And the Toclafane?” The Doctor asked after a long, horrified moment of silence. “What are they? Who are they?”
The Master crouched next to the Doctor as if he couldn’t hear him before he responded. “Doctor, if I told you the truth, your hearts would break more than they have already.” He touched the Doctor’s chest, and they stared at each other for a moment before the Toclafane interrupted.
“Is it time? Is it ready?” One alien spoke, its voice humanly robotic.
“Is the machine singing?” Another asked.
“Two minutes past!” The Master grinned, running up the stairs.
Florence moved slowly, to sit beside the Doctor and Martha, Jack coming beside her.
“So, earthlings,” the Master addressed the cameras once more, his face a twisted amalgamation of joy and sick humour, “basically, um…end of the world! Here come the drums!” A song that Florence vaguely recalled from decades ago started playing on the overhead speakers, and she shared a look with Jack. His face was filled with guilt only a moment later, but they didn’t have time to discuss why that might’ve been the case.
The Doctor was whispering something to Martha, his lips moving nearly silently and more quickly than Florence had known he could. When Martha stood, Florence moved in to take her place, supporting the Doctor’s upper body as best she could. Calls came in over the intercom, from places all over the world, begging for help.
Florence had to be held back when the Master came to drag the Doctor to a window, to brag about his victory. Despite her body having been in agony for days, she felt stronger than ever, but a stern look from Jack told her to save her strength. She wondered if they had a plan, or if this was now to be their immortal life; held captive above planet Earth for eternity.
They were only an hour into this new life when Florence felt the Master’s control over her mind take hold again. She had been handcuffed to a chair while his guards either shot or imprisoned the rest of the people on the deck. Jack was next to her, shot occasionally if the Master got bored enough with the slaughter on the Earth. Her back stiffened, feeling who she knew herself to be slip away, and falling into line the person that the Master had curated for her.
“And there she is,” Harold Saxon murmured, moving to stand in front of her. “Hello, my love, welcome back!”
“Darling, what’s happened?” Florence tried to stand, but found herself handcuffed to the seat. She looked around in shock, and pulled her wrist against the cuff. “Why am I handcuffed? What’s going on?”
Harold smiled indulgently at her as he beckoned someone over to uncuff her. Once she had been released, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in for a kiss, his tongue aggressively prying open her mouth until they were making out in front of the entire room. Florence, in shock, only managed to kiss back, her arms still at her sides trying to balance against his onslaught.
“I thought I should introduce you to someone, my dear! See if you recognise him, I think you met him in another life,” his voice turned dark, humoured, and Florence just gave a small laugh, pretending she understood why his words had been funny.
He turned her away from the table, from the man who sat cuffed in the seat next to hers, and turned her to an elderly man sat at the head of the long table. He wore a brown suit, and Florence sent him her political smile, racking her brain to try and recall where she might have seen him. His eyes were dark as they studied her.
“Hi, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Florence Saxon, Harold’s wife,” Florence extended her hand to the man, but he didn’t respond similarly. She awkwardly put her hand down at her side, glancing to her husband in confusion.
“What have you done to her?” The old man rasped, his voice dry and cracking.
Harold laughed, leaving Florence’s side to dance around her in excitement. “Would you believe that she did this to herself?”
The man she’d been sat next to said, “no, she wouldn’t.” He sounded so certain, but Florence wasn’t even sure what she’d done, but something in her mind told her not to speak, and she obeyed.
“But she did! That’s the best part!” He clapped his hands before grabbing Florence’s. She was pulled around to face him, and she smiled despite her confusion. “Go on, darling. Do you remember that day? I’ll allow it for now.”
His words seemed to unlock something inside her, but it had no emotion assigned to it. So Florence did as he had bid, and told them her memory. Her voice was cold and emotionless. “We met on a foreign planet. He’d created a telepathic virus to infect the local population. When one of them tried to commit suicide in front of me, I took the virus into myself to save his life. In doing so, I’ve given the Master nearly absolute control over every thought I have.” She glanced to Harold, and only continued when she saw the approval and joy in his expression. “He is able to manipulate what I remember and how I act as required.”
“But what happened with Lazarus?” The man rasped, and Florence glanced to make sure she had permission to answer. When she saw no disapproval, she answered.
“Unfortunately, I broke free from his control. That meant I was able to interact with you as the real Florence, and she wanted to help.” Florence looked back at the old man, frowning. “She…did she get hurt? Was she okay?” She looked back to Harold, worry coating her voice. “What happened to her?”
“She died, my love. And I got to stitch her back together, piece by piece.” Harold’s smirk turned cruel, but Florence couldn’t see that. “Every broken little bone, every torn scrap of skin, even the bruised heart beating in your chest right now, I fixed it all.”
“How did you find her?”
Florence glanced at the old man in confusion, but Harold seemed to know what he meant.
“Two very stupid people tried to do something clever, and brought her right to me! See, when I stole your TARDIS,” the words seemed to bring Harold a great amount of joy, “you managed to lock it to two points, but there was drift. I landed on a planet one system over, which I’d heard of from stories of the infamous Circe.” The name caused Florence’s back to stiffen, and she wondered why. Harold seemed to see her fear, and he cooed at her, “it’s okay, my Florence, you don’t have to fear her anymore. She can’t hurt you.”
“It was me, Doc.” The man handcuffed in the chair spoke up, his voice laden with guilt. “I just wanted to show her some of the universe, that’s all! We didn’t know-“
Florence’s head hurt and her heart was twisting. “Why am I afraid?” She murmured, not seeing the grim satisfaction crossing Harold’s face.
Her husband took her into his arms, enveloping her in a hug that ordinarily would have made Florence feel safe, but now just made her feel afraid. His arms were tight around her shoulders, and his lips brushed her ear as he said, “this old man is the Doctor.”
The words sent ice down Florence’s spine. Her skin quivered, and she tried not to burst into tears. She didn’t remember why she feared the Doctor, but the title caused pure fear to coil in every molecule of her body. She couldn’t stop a sob from escaping, and her husband caressed her hair softly, cooing like one might to a frightened animal.
“It’s okay, my love, he can’t hurt you now. I’m here. I’ll protect you from the big bad doctor,” his words didn’t soothe her, although Florence couldn’t figure out why.
“What have you done to her?” The cuffed man yelled, and Florence heard some commotion. When she peaked out from her husband’s chest, the man was knocked out, a guard stood behind him with the butt of his gun aimed meaningfully at the man’s head.
Harold just laughed, and Florence wanted to run and hide, both in his arms and away from him.
Florence drooped, her arms chained above her head so she hung from her wrists. She barely had the strength to lift her head to look at the impossible man opposite her, let alone support her own weight. Eventually, once the regeneration energy had had its time to heal her, she would be able to stand and wouldn’t even feel the strain from hanging like this, but she also likely wouldn’t remember why she’d been down here and who put her there.
“Florence, we have a plan. I promise, we’ll get you out!”
His voice was harsh against her ears. She remembered enjoying his accent in her youth, but that was decades ago, when Joan had still be alive, when she’d been able to see Timmy, when she’d still been human enough. Florence grit her teeth against another shiver of pain that raced through her bones.
She hadn’t even died this time. She’d had to live through the re-breaking of bones and the uncomfortable creeping of skin sliding across her exposed muscles. She didn’t remember what she’d done, or thought, but she supposed that was the point.
“You’ve still got so much to go, so much life to live. And I don’t know if you remember him, but I promised River-“
The name River sent a shock through Florence and her head shot upright. Her blue eyes, bloodshot though they were, were burning into his.
“It was you,” she murmured, and his eyebrows burrowed down in confusion.
“What was me?” He asked, an unsure sly smile on his face. “I haven’t done anything to you that you haven’t asked me to.” He winked, but Florence didn’t react.
“You’re the reason he found me.” The words tasted like dirt in her mouth. “You and River. You told me I’d be safe.”
His face dropped in remembrance, and the only thing he could think of was the memory of River standing in front of a TARDIS he couldn’t enter, yelling at him that this was their fault.
“Oh fuck,” his whispered response only sent rage further through Florence, and she thrashed against her restraints. Senseless anger coursed through her, and she wasn’t sure she could identify its true source.
Jack, meanwhile, could only watch with mounting dread as his friend’s movements slowed, the rage only dimming as her pain increased. Gradually, she started panting instead of yelling, until her panting turned to screams. Jack had to look down, cringing away from the blood curdling cries for help. His own blood boiled in shame, and he hated the relief that filled him when the pain finally overcame Florence, and she fell unconscious.
The Master came to take her back hours later when she next came to consciousness. His face was smug with truth as he told her, “it was him who has caused you all this pain. It’s all his fault.”
She could only nod limply, head falling against his shoulder as she was led out.
The next time she saw Jack, she sneered at him, hate and anger coursing through her body for reasons she couldn’t entirely identify.
During one of those rare moments when her mind was her own, Florence found herself in the control room, gazing out of the window to the devastated Earth. She wondered where Martha was, walking as she was across the planet. She hoped the woman was okay.
Florence couldn’t remember how long it had been since she’d stepped on grass, had she been on this ship for weeks, months? Had it been a year yet? The mental manipulation of her mind from the Master meant she was losing days of time, and she would awaken as herself in places she didn’t recall moving to.
Staring down at the Earth was making her want to cry, and she moved away, to the table in the centre of the room.
The Doctor was there, his old face staring blankly across the room. Florence deliberately sat opposite him, not taking her eyes off his face. Her chest ached for their last encounter, even as her body’s first reaction was to flinch when he finally looked at her. The Master’s mind control was too strong, and the fear he’d built into her of the Doctor was almost instinctual now.
His words were quiet, and Florence had to strain to hear them. “Are you okay?”
She pursed her lips, huffing in baffled amusement. “Am I okay? Are you kidding?” She glanced at the armed guards standing by the doors, always listening in. “I’m fine.”
“You have a black eye,” as if his words had caused it, Florence became aware that her face did hurt. In fact, there were a few spots that were tender across her body. She looked away, carefully pressing two fingers to her left under-eye. It was sore, like it was fresh.
“Fuck.” What else could she say?
“I could heal-“ he tried to offer, but the words only sparked the fear that lived inside her, and she leapt out of her seat thoughtlessly, backing away from him before she could regain her senses.
“No, no, I-I can’t-I don’t-“ she stumbled, before she took a deep breath and bent over, hands on her knees as she tried to quell the instinctual fear. “I’m sorry,” she said once her composure returned.
“It’s not your fault.” His words carried across the space, and Florence wanted to weep.
“I did this,” she whispered. “I couldn’t see a man take his life, so I saved him.” The memory of that day drifted forward, and she smiled, despite how tears welled in her eyes. She stood upright, looking at the Doctor. “I refused to be like Circe. I would not be a warrior, or a soldier, or a fighter. I would save the one man I could. But I’ve given myself an eternity of pain, and in doing so, I’ve destroyed any chance Circe had of being free.” As she blinked, a few tears fell, and she wiped them away quickly. “He made me destroy her.” Her voice broke, and she saw the Doctor’s eyes darken.
She wondered if he would care for her now that he knew she could never return as a Time Lord; now that she would live on forever as a human, unable to move on and unable to die and unable to live. Would he leave her if they ever escaped from the Master?
“I was ready, you know?” She murmured, revealing what she had never told a soul. “I was ready to go. I’d lived a century, and Timmy was nearly gone. Once I’d buried him, I was going to open the watch.” Her throat tightened, and she couldn’t say another word. Silently, she left the room, ignoring the sudden appearance of the man she hated; ignoring the joy that shone clearly on his face at her obvious upset; ignoring that the Doctor had obviously wanted to say something to her.
Florence walked past Lucy, and time seemed to slow as they each noticed the bruises both were sporting. Florence hung her head and rushed out of the room.
She just wanted it to end.