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The Perfect Storm

The Perfect Storm
By: Memory Dragon
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, nor do I make any claim to.
Characters: Tenth Doctor/Simm Master
Warnings:  Not sure I like this one either.  It didn't turn out quite like I hoped.  Ah, well.  I suppose I can't always be brilliant. 
Notes: Written for the best_enemies drabble prompt, "Blue and/or Storm" for the latter prompt.


The Master liked storms.  He never could pinpoint why, considering they were far more trouble than they were worth.  He liked his weather like he liked the rest of his life: neat, orderly, and all going according to plan.  Storms were unpredictable, not coming when they were supposed to, or even at all, sometimes brewing up without warning and ending before he could properly appreciate them.  Storms interrupted his plans sometimes, were a general nuisance at others, and over all had no purpose than to bother him.

When he was much, much  younger, his best friend had dragged him away from his usual two hours of studying to stand on a balcony as a storm raged overhead.  Reaching across the sky with a deadly and random aim, the lighting had captivated him with its ethereal beauty.  He'd watched in awe of the destruction, as the lighting struck a tree at random.  It burned until the storm's own rain put it out, a brilliant beacon of light against the dark sky.  They'd watched the storm all night, curled up together on that balcony in awe of nature and neither of them managed to stay awake through their classes the next day. 

He spent a lot of time studying storms after that.  When the Master attempted to use the storm as part of his plans, everything fell apart.  When he tried to destroy the storm, it only came back stronger.  Which meant trying to tame the storm to his will, and that, that was tricky.  Storms wouldn't just come to him either, though he'd tried to coax one to him many times. 

It wasn't until he embraced the chaos and the drums that he was finally able to capture what he wanted.  And it was the best storm, the Master made sure of it, and it was all his for the taking.  It was just as beautiful as it had been that night on the balcony, lighting reaching out to destroy and heal at the same time.  Absolutely breath taking, and all his.  Caged.  The storm did his bidding and the Master had never been so alive.  He had the whole Earth under his control and armies to take over the rest of the universe, but what mattered was that the storm was his, after all these centuries.  The storm belonged to him.

His reign lasted a year, before the storm became too much.  The Master realized he hadn't caged it, not really, just pent it up until it destroyed his bonds.  It terrified him, this storm, this beautiful creature with eyes that held the death and rebirth of the tree that burned centuries ago, who wanted to save the Master from himself.  The Oncoming Storm was what people called the storm now, but the Master knew the truth.  The Doctor was the Perfect Storm. 

As his body died in the arms of his oldest enemy and friend, the Master promised to someday tame that storm.  No matter what it took, someday his plans would work and he'd be able to harness the storm's true potential.  Those eyes that held lighting and rain wouldn't accuse him, but praise him. 

And then the Doctor would be his.