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M. de Sansmort cordially invites you and companion(s) to the 36th "Bal de l’Hiver" on December 26th, 1846. Appropriate formal attire and masks are obligatory.
The yellow-coloured invitation materialised on the TARDIS console with a soft thud.
"Doctor, what's this?" Yaz asked, reaching for the invite.
"Ah! Monsieur de Sansmort." The Doctor's eyes lit up. "Brilliant man. Very presumptuous, however. Throws all-over-the-top winter masquerades. I’m talking champagne fountains and incredible orchestras."
Sounds almost skeptical, you decided.
"What’s so special about this masquerade? All it sounds like is a socialite party I don't want to be at."
"Pure spectacle, really. It’s the place to be if you're climbing the social ladder in 1840s Paris." She stopped. "Though... The last three balls did have a rather troubling pattern." She seemed to be scanning her memory, "A total of 34 guests have disappeared, all last seen on the dance floor."
The Doctor continued rambling to herself. "Oh! We should go! That's two birds killed in one stone, no? Isn't that what they say?"
"Are you sure we should go?" You chimed in, clearly not diving head straight into a new adventure.
"You did promise to drop us off after that adventure with The Ood... It’s been two adventures, since..." Ryan added. You shot him a grateful glance. At least there was one sane person aboard, you’d thought.
Graham glanced between them. "I don't see any harm, in taking a vote. Personally, I'd enjoy a masquerade ball."
You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Fine. Let's vote then. Though I still think this is a terrible idea."
"Who’s in?"
The Doctor's hand shot up immediately, followed by Graham's and Yaz’.
"Who votes out?"
Both you and Ryan raised your hands.
Damn it. Three against two.
The TARDIS hummed, as if almost cheering The Doctor on, the smug thing. "Right then! The TARDIS can sort out our costumes." The Doctor was already heading toward the wardrobe room.
"Oh, hell no." You looked at the gown the TARDIS had provided. The TARDIS whipped up beautiful (period-accurate) attire for the entire fam. The TARDIS provided you a beautiful, red, sleeveless velvet dress with a gold pattern. It surely looked stunning, possibly devastating. But this was something you would never wear.
"I can't wear this," you muttered to yourself. It was way too much for your own liking.
"It's perfect!" The Doctor appeared behind you, already buttoned into a midnight blue suit. "The TARDIS has excellent taste."
You frowned, "... But-" You weren’t going to wear this, as beautiful as it was. Not tonight, not ever.
The Doctor’s expression softened slightly. "You'll look brilliant. Promise. And if it's truly awful, we can always nick you a coat from some pompous aristocrat."
"Fine," you gave in. "But if I happen to die of hypothermia, I'm forever haunting this TARDIS and all of you. Understood?"
The Doctor had really undersold the castle. Any description wouldn’t do it justice, it was breathtaking. You had to pause for a moment to take everything in.
"Alright, so let’s cover a few rules for tonight: don’t get lost, don’t cause a paradox or accidentally rewrite someone’s future. With that out of the way, enjoy yourselves! I truly don’t see what could go wrong tonight."
You rolled your eyes, "I don’t think we should be 100% sure of that, yet. You told us there were over 30 people missing and all last seen here."
"Fair."
Graham had gone all the way for his so-claimed-mission: find the best snacks possible at this masquerade. Or whatever would pass as snacks in 1846 France. Ryan had asked a few people to dance with him, all declining him. Ouch. Until a woman invited him for a dance. It was funny to see him stumble occasionally.
Two can play at this game, you thought and leaned in conspiratorially.
"Y'know, Doc, you're allowed to have some fun too." You briefly looked at the dance floor, where Yaz stood near the back, pretending to study the orchestra. "Why don’t you ask her for a dance?"
The Doctor's fingers were fidgeting on a champagne glass she'd acquired moments ago. "Erm… Well, Should I?" Her voice had that uncertain hint to it. "I mean, there's a lot at stake tonight. As long as everyone else has fun, it's fine."
You shook your head. "Look, Doctor, Yaz is stunning in that dress. Honestly? It'd be a waste for her to spend the whole night making awkward small talk with French elite people. Besides..." You gestured to the crowd, full of expensive masks and gowns. "I can keep watch. If I see anything even remotely suspicious, I'll come find you. It can't be that difficult. I promise."
"Are you sure?"
You reassured The Doctor. "100% sure. Go on."
You watched as the Doctor reached Yaz. Whatever the Doctor said made Yaz light up. You felt incredibly smug. After all, you were allowed to some matchmaking. Their orbiting around each other had bored you to death, lately. That, and The Doctor looked like a lovesick puppy.
You took the time to observe the crowd, nothing seemed off thus far. You were content with just keeping watch for the night. You’ve never been a lover of the spotlight, anyway.
And then you felt a presence, lurking behind your back. However, when you turned around, there was no one to be found. You’re being hyperaware of everything, you’d reassured yourself. Numerous adventures had gone sour recently. It only made sense you were trying to be more careful.
In an attempt to get fresh air, you went to one of the many balconies. The cold December air hit your exposed shoulders. You didn’t mind though, it felt more like a relief after the suffocating warmth in the ballroom.
Stupid dress, you muttered to yourself, all because of course I had to concede and give in to The Doctor’s demands.You didn't know why you didn't stand up more for yourself.
Then that uneasy feeling crept over you again. The one you’d had all evening, like eyes tracking you through the crowd.
You turned.
A masked man stood in the doorway. He took a step forward. "Bon soir. Tout va bien, mademoiselle? Est-ce que vous avez besoin d'aide?" The masked stranger had asked, taking a few steps closer, seemingly concerned.
The words were just words. No meaning appeared in your mind, no automatic understanding. Which could mean only one thing: the TARDIS translation circuit had stopped working. Fuck. You faltered. Your French had never been quite fantastic in secondary school.
In your less-than-ideal French you stammered a few things, "Erm, Ça va, merci... Désolée, je ne suis pas fluente en français... vous devriez trouver quelqu’un qui parle français mieux."
Please let that have been somewhat passable, you beat yourself up. Please go away. Please just go away.
He quickly realised his mistake. In near perfect English, yet with an accent, he told you, "Forgive me, miss. I had no idea that you were foreign." He kissed your hand, "Your French is charming, at least. Better than most English-speaking people I’ve seen around."
As you were about to ask his name, he introduced himself, "I’m Monsieur de Sansmort."
If your memory served you right, this was the very same surname on the invite. Which had to mean he was the host of the masquerade.
He released your hand, but he didn't step back. Instead, he leaned against the railing beside you.
What does he want from me? You wondered. It wasn’t every day a handsome stranger took interest in someone like you.
"It is a surprise to me," he said, his gaze going over you, "that I see a beautiful woman in a devastating dress, standing alone on a balcony..." He looked back at the ballroom. "Away from all the attention inside."
"Maybe I don’t like the attention." You clapped back.
"Are you certain?" His head tilted, thinking. "Your choice of attire suggests otherwise."
Well, if only you knew a sentient time machine picked this out and didn't exactly offer any alternatives. He'd think you were mad. If he did, you couldn’t exactly blame him. Maybe you were, after all this time.
Before you could formulate a response, he extended his hand. "Dance with me, s'il te plaît."
You hesitated. "Just one dance," you heard yourself say, placing your hand in his.
He nodded, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
One dance had turned into two, two became five... You hated to admit it, but you were completely head over heels for this stranger. Who knew you could actually have fun tonight.
"Am I correct in assuming you're the one organising these masquerades?" you pried, "I remember seeing your surname on the invitation."
"Well, yes, chérie." Monsieur de Sansmort’s hand tightened slightly at your waist as he spun you. "Who else? I'm probably one of the few people who's able to afford all this."
He added, "I can't help but wonder... For the past three songs you’ve been awfully distracted. It almost makes me think you’re not here for the party."
You looked at him without flinching. "You know... I could say the same about you. You've spent the last three songs dancing with me instead of mingling with your other two hundred guests." You put your arms around his neck, "Shouldn't a good host be working the room?"
A surprised laugh escaped him.
"Besides," you added, "I am at the party. Currently dancing with the very host himself, in fact. Can't get much more 'party' than that, no?"
Though you were in the middle of this lavish ballroom, it might as well have been just the two of you. His thumb brushed your cheek, then he tilted your face. You should’ve known to pull away but didn’t. You didn’t stop him either when he started leaning in.
Then. A bang. Another bang followed immediately with screaming people. Glass shattered. Some guests had started running. Not you, though. Bullets didn't exactly scare you anymore. Or much anything else, for that matter.
"No!" The Doctor's voice was clear through the chaos. "Get out of-"
One of the creatures grabbed her. The Doctor struggled.
Shit. No, no, no. This is not happening.
"Doctor!" You lunged forward.
A hand covered your mouth. An arm locked around your waist, taking you back with surprising strength. You attempted fighting whoever dared stopping you from saving your friend.
"Non. Don't. You can't help her if you're dead," Monsieur de Sansmort hissed. He guided you to a door hidden behind a curtain. "Follow me. Quickly."
This isn’t a game anymore. "What were those things?" You demanded.
"I don't-" Monsieur de Sansmort stopped, ran a hand through his hair. "I don’t know,” he muttered, "I've never seen anything like that before"
“Well, pardon my manners, but if aliens attack your party, I’m not exactly inclined to believe you."
"Aliens?" He stared at you. "You think those were-" He laughed in disbelief, "Mon Dieu, you're serious."
Yaz, Graham and Ryan were nowhere to be found. The Doctor was captured. And now you were alone with a man you weren’t sure whether to trust or not.
"Listen to me carefully. If you want your Doctor friend back, in fact, if you want both of us to stay alive, we must work together. Whatever those creatures want, I suspect that we're both on their list."
"So, what's it going to be, chérie?" Monsieur de Sansmort extended his hand. "Do we work together, or do we perish alone?"
It doesn’t seem like I have much choice, after all, the realisation came to you. Against your better judgement you took his hand. "If I discover any treachery on your part-"
He interrupted you, "Then I will pay for it. I believe you." A hint of his earlier smile returned. "Now follow me. I happen to know a way out of here."
The two of you had come up with a plan. A plan so stupid yet clever that it might actually work. Or it would kill you both. There was no in between.
"You want to use yourself as bait?" You hissed. "Are you out of your mind?"
"I'm the host of this very masquerade. I’m probably the most valuable target, out of everyone, in this castle." Monsieur de Sansmort said this as if it were a fact. "They'll want me. And while they're distracted..."
You finished his sentence for him, "I free the hostages."
"Exactly."
"What if they just take you and leave Paris, leave this planet?" This plan wasn’t exactly foolproof, after all.
"Then I suppose we'll find out how strong my survival skills are." His smile was sharp. "I don't exactly intend to make it easy for them."
You went to the front of the ballroom, unnoticed. Monsieur de Sansmort went to the centre of the ballroom and naturally became the centre of the attention.
"Gentlemen," he greeted them, “I believe you’re looking for someone who can give you what you want. The host."
Monsieur de Sansmort stepped closer to the alien creatures, "Take me. Release all these people. It’s my party, my responsibility. I know things, valuable things."
That seemed to convince them. The Doctor’s eyes widened as she saw you next to her. You gave her a look that told the time lord to be quiet. Understanding dawned upon her, she nodded her head at her pocket. You grabbed The Doctor’s sonic screwdriver and turned it on all the way. Out of it came dissonant frequencies. The alien creatures began to screech and ran away. Apparently, it was that easy.
Silence fell. Then came the murmuring of freed hostages, the sounds of people checking on each other. Monsieur de Sansmort started talking to The Doctor, "You saved my life. And those of my guests... Merci."
You found yourself in the gardens behind the castle, snow falling quite steady. You’d been extremely foolish. How on earth did you manage to trust a stranger? And how did you almost kiss him?
You knew you should go back inside and help, check on Ryan, Graham and Yaz. And after that you should ask The Doctor whether she’s okay, give aid to guests who got hurt. But it seemed The Doctor had it all covered, she always did.
You closed your eyes briefly. What am I doing?
You were angry at that disappointed feeling in your chest. Of course that stranger was more interested in The Doctor than you.
You felt like a fool. Probably looked like one, too.
"There you are."
You were startled at the voice. You turned to see Monsieur de Sansmort’s face. It seemed he’d followed you, maybe he’d even searched for you. Snow was falling on his hair.
"Is everyone okay? Does The Doctor need me?" Because that was your reality: to always be there for someone, instead of thinking of yourself for once.
"I came because… you looked like you need some company. So here I am."
You let out a shiver, maybe because of the cold or the adrenaline. He immediately draped his coat over you.
"You're trembling," he said softly.
"I’m fine"
"You're a terrible liar." He smiled.
Before either of you knew, your lips met. This time there were no interruptions. It had been inevitable, you would come to realise one day. The attraction had been there from the start.
When you finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against yours.
"I know you wanted honesty," he broke the silence. "So, this is the closest thing I can give you right now."
What?
"What do you mean?"
But he didn’t give you any answers. Instead, he started removing his mask. When he put his mask in his coat, you felt your heart stop.
No.
"Hello, love," The Master said with that familiar, infuriating smirk. "Surprise."
"No." You stepped back, nearly tripping over your own feet. "No, you-" Your fingers touched your lips.
"It’s me! Who knew I could play the romantic lead so convincingly?"
You choked out, "You saved me."
"I did," he said so casually, as if it were the simplest thing ever.
"Why?" You demanded.
Why save me? Why save The Doctor? Why save the day? Why was I so foolish to fall for your scheme? Why did I believe someone could fall for me?
"If anyone's going to kill the Doctor, it's going to be me. On my terms. Not some bottom-feeding dimension hoppers." He reached for the coat that dropped on the ground and put it over your shoulders again. "You shouldn't judge a book by its cover, chérie."
You let out a bitter laugh. It felt like a horrible joke. "You're lecturing me about judging books? You, one of the most morally corrupt people in the universe?"
"It takes one to know one, love."
"Don't call me that-"
"What? The truth?"
You wanted to deny it, so badly.
"Consider it a one-night anomaly," The Master said, his voice light again, that mocking edge returning.
He reached out, fingers ghosting over your cheek. "Lightning rarely strikes twice in the same place, after all."
Before you knew it, he pulled away. "Do try not to mention this to your precious Doctor. She tends to get so tedious when she thinks I'm corrupting her pets."
Unbelievable, you were seething. "I'm not her pet."
"No." His voice drifted back, almost fond. "You're certainly not." You’d proven him that much, tonight.
He stepped back, hands sliding into his pockets. "Keep the jacket. It suits you better than it ever did me."
"But-" You didn’t want his jacket. You wished you hadn't kissed him, hadn't fallen for his made-up persona, hadn’t been so gullible.
He was gone before you could say any more.
You stood frozen, alone in the falling snow.
You sighed. You could still feel the kiss, the way he'd held you like you were something precious.
It was all a lie. Wasn't it?
You wanted to forget this. But you weren’t sure if you ever could. He'd taken something from you: naivety.
You pulled his coat tighter and hated yourself for it.
What have I done?