Chapter Text
She was falling. Crashing down from the sky like a meteorite, or perhaps like a fallen angel. The wind cut across her face, and a silent scream escaped her parted lips. Something struck her, and then the scene shifted to a feeling of despair mixed with curiosity and a flash of anger. There was a destructive cloud that seemed to be watching her, chasing her wherever she went. She felt everything. Every rock that crumbled, every cry for help, and every sigh of contentment. The end of the universe. And she felt all of it in the depths of her soul.
The end of the universe.
“Miss Smith!” A high-pitched voice, followed by the sharp sound of the curtains parting, woke her, along with that same persistent feeling that her dream was real. “The carriage is waiting for you outside! I can’t believe you went back to bed!”
It took her a few seconds to realize where she was, that all that morbid anguish was nothing more than something her mind had conjured up to torment her in her sleep and prevent her from resting properly. Moments before, the bed had seemed comfortable and inviting; now, following the startle and the blinding light of that morning sky, it felt more like a trap.
“Miss Smith!” The owner of the shrill voice caught her attention —or rather, her confusion— “Mr. Jones has already said that you shouldn’t be left near books at this hour of the morning.”
“Oh, please, Nelly, it’s literally my job,” she muttered, sitting up in bed. Her eyes fell on the small diary beside her pillow, then quickly grabbed the charcoal pencil that was always with it and began jotting things down, trying to put that strange and… frightening dream into words.
“Which you are already late for.” Nelly interrupted gently, taking the journal from Johanna's hands before she could protest. The maid waited until Johanna looked up at her before continuing. “The professor always allows you to arrive a little after the lecture begins, Miss Smith, but he does expect you to arrive.”
Johanna rolled her eyes as she took the journal back and slipped it beneath her pillow. “Drop the formalities, Nelly. It's just Johanna.”
A quiet sigh escaped the maid's lips. “Johanna…”
Johanna smiled. “See? That wasn't so difficult, was it?”
Nelly's expression softened, though only slightly. “Even so, I'm afraid the carriage won't wait much longer.”
“I’m leaving!” Johanna raised her hands, feeling as if she were being kicked out of her own room. “Hawthorne isn’t going to die if I’m a little late,” she said as she walked around the room, gathering what she needed and finishing getting ready.
“He won’t die, but the coachman will be annoyed.”
“I can handle Williams, don’t worry,” Johanna stopped in front of the mirror, smoothing out the dark blue dress she’d chosen earlier before deciding that the bed was a more interesting place to be that day, and redoing the bun that had come loose.
“Let me help you,” Nelly offered; she couldn’t just stand by and watch the walking mess that was her mistress, even though she didn’t look much older than her own age.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Nelly,” Johanna said with a gentle smile, turning to the maid instead of remaining in front of the mirror.
“Save the sentimentality for when you have time, Johanna,” the maid grumbled, making her smile widen even more as she found her grumpy manner amusing. “All done. Now go!”
“All right!”
Once again, as if she were being kicked out of her own rooms, Johanna hurried, shoving her feet into her shoes before bothering to tie them, grabbing her purse from the coat rack, and heading down the stairs of the mansion, making more noise than usual.
The house was empty at that hour. Everyone had already left, and only the servants remained, going about their routine tasks while their employers spent the entire day at work. Johanna thought it was a shame that a place as beautiful and grand as that spent so much time empty. She wished she had some friends to spend time there with her. Well, that is, if Professor Hawthorne would allow it, since the house belonged to him and not to her.
She got into the carriage, and she was almost certain that Williams, the coachman, was about to leave without her. Johanna wouldn’t have time to protest to him, since her shoes were still untied, and the ride to the university wasn’t that long by carriage. Even if the autumn rains were turning much of the route into mud and causing a slight delay, she couldn’t be any later than she already was.
It was actually quite common for that to happen. That was why Professor Hawthorne had been so kind to Johanna and allowed her to arrive a little after lessons had begun. She was never able to arrive on time, or pay much attention to her assignments, due to her headaches and brief episodes of narcolepsy. Her condition was a curse for a woman in the era in which she lived, but her intellect—even if briefly impaired—served as a sort of compensation for those failures, and Hawthorne’s kindness in finding her a job helped keep her busy and active.
“We’re here, Miss Smith,” Williams said, opening the carriage door for her as they arrived, his face as grumpy as ever. Johanna had always tried to get him to smile, but that man was as stubborn as a rock—or as her no-longer-so-close colleague “Mr.” Jones.
“Thank you, Williams”—although he had offered to help her step down, Johanna did so on her own—“and I’m sorry for being late. I promise it won’t happen again.”
“You said the same thing two weeks ago.”
“And I’m saying it again,” she smiled without showing her teeth, clutching her purse between her arms.
Williams turned around, ready to climb into the carriage as she made her way into the university, lifting her head to look up at the gray sky above the entrance arch. It was hard to tell the time like that; perhaps she needed a pocket watch like the one Jones always carried. Johanna hated being at the mercy of circumstances like that, especially knowing she was late. Before entering, her eyes drifted down slightly to the stone pillars, where two gargoyle figures rested just below the second-floor windows.
She frowned, feeling a strange chill at the gaze of the statues, which suddenly seemed out of place there. Johanna shrugged and finally stepped inside when the sound of the first recess bell reached her ears, regretting it almost instantly. She would have to face that crowd of students—all of them men half her age, but with four times the ego and arrogance.
Her shoes clattered as she crossed the lobby, and she could almost hear Nelly’s voice in her head telling that lady like her shouldn’t run like that —but what other way was there to get to her destination except by running? Especially when she was running away from something.
Johanna soon began to get a headache as she climbed the stairs, bumping into smug medical students who didn’t even bother to apologize. Or maybe she should apologize? That didn’t make much sense most of the time, but they were men, and it was their duty to be gentlemen. She clutched her purse to her arms, trying to appear neutral and invisible, and continued climbing.
The second floor was always a little emptier, much to her relief. Classrooms with few or no students were the kind of environment she was used to. As Professor Hawthorne’s teaching assistant, she spent most of her day organizing his materials, but she took pleasure in being able to stay in the library. Books were definitely better company than the university students, and Johanna was already used to spending most of her time alone.
One of the classroom doors opened, and there he was. Wearing a moss-green overcoat and with his hair slicked back. He raised his eyebrows at her unusual presence there, until—as the softness faded, or rather, as his usual blank expression toward her returned—he understood.
“Late again?” His voice echoed down the empty hallway, amplified even more by the considerable distance he’d started keeping between them.
“I ended up falling asleep again. I’m sorry.” the response sounded almost rehearsed, given how often she said it, and it was starting to make her feel ashamed and angry at herself.
Johanna hoped he’d just ignore her, as he always did, walking past her and leaving the cold emptiness of the hallway as his only response. When they passed each other —by chance, since they were both headed to the same place— that was the closest he ever got to her.
“Nightmares again?” He raised an eyebrow, and she had to control her own expressions at the surprise that he was actually talking to her, even if it was just the same few questions as always.
“Yeah,” she nodded. “I think I fell asleep without meaning to. Gosh, now I sound ridiculous saying that out loud…” Johanna made an embarrassed face.
“It’s not ridiculous, Johanna. You know your condition” he kept his hands in his overcoat pockets “Any memories amid those nightmares?”
She shook her head.
“Just the same old fantasies.”
He nodded, and then everything returned to the usual routine, with the closest they ever got being those measly three seconds when their shoulders almost brushed as he walked past her to take whatever path would keep him away from her.
But this time, Johanna wanted it to be different.
“O!” She turned and called out to him, and even though he turned around, she still felt the need to correct herself, as if that nickname should remain forgotten or, worse, ignored “Oscar.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. He clearly hadn’t expected to be called that in public.
“Yes?”
“Do you think they’ll ever come back? My memories?”
Oscar lowered his gaze, and Johanna feared she wouldn’t get an answer. At what exact moment had their friendship turned into that distance and indifference?
“I don’t know,” he shrugged, trying to convey more of that apathy but only revealing an unwelcome tension.
“It’s been quite a while…”
“Eleven months, to be precise.”
“I know, but… Don’t you think we should try another doctor or…”
“Johanna,” he interrupted her, his voice taking on an authoritative tone that echoed down the hallway and vibrated through her bones. “You’re alright, aren’t you?”
“Aside from the headaches and the times I can’t sleep, and the times I sleep too much…”
“You’re alright, aren’t you?” Oscar asked through clenched teeth, and Johanna almost felt threatened by the explosive glint that flashed in his eyes.
She fell reluctantly silent. She clutched her purse even tighter against her body, needing to hold on to something as his gaze sparked at her, threatening to turn into a dangerous flame. Johanna swallowed hard and took a step back.
“I am.”
It wasn’t the answer she wanted to give, but it was the one he wanted, and she wasn’t going to cause a scene in the middle of the university. It could ruin things for both of them, considering that, aside from Professor Hawthorne’s mansion, that was the only other place they had. She didn’t want to be the one responsible for making them lose that, especially since Oscar seemed to be growing inside there.
He turned his back on her and walked down the stairs, looking less like the ghost of her dreams and more like that distant, cold figure he’d become since the accident in which she’d lost her memory.
Johanna knew they were friends; he himself had assured her of it when she woke up disoriented and lost, her body shivering from the cold due to the rain they’d faced after a carriage accident last winter. She remembered him, Oscar Jones —and the nickname she called him by, O— as clearly as she remembered her own name and believed in who she was: an extraordinary woman for her time, with a sharp intellect and little opportunity to apply it until the previous year. But his distance—which began gradually until it became obvious enough to initially unsettle her and then make her feel his absence —until Johanna simply… resigned herself to the ostracism he seemed to have imposed on her.
It was unfair, but she already had enough unfairness to point out, and the distance from her only connection to her lost memories seemed so trivial compared to the rest of what she was going through.
Johanna decided to tuck the thought into the little box she kept at the back of her mind. Perhaps that was why her memories never returned—because she always chose to look away from the things she went through.
She entered Professor Hawthorne’s office after climbing another flight of stairs and passing history and linguistics students —who were a little kinder than the medical students— finding the old man seated at his desk next to his books on natural philosophy.
“Good morning, Miss Smith,” the professor greeted her, taking off his tiny glasses. “You’re late.”
“I’m sorry,” a bitter feeling welled up on the tip of Johanna’s tongue. Did she really need to apologize so much?
“It’s okay,” the man stood up. “You won’t have much work today, anyway.”
“No experiments today?” she tilted her head. “I should have stayed in bed, then.”
Hawthorne laughed, and Johanna gave a small smile. The professor was one of the few who laughed at her bad jokes or her veiled sarcasm, and that made her like him just a little bit more, on top of all the gratitude she felt for the man who had taken her and Oscar in when they needed it most.
“Maybe tomorrow, Miss Smith,” Hawthorne nodded, slipping his glasses back onto his face.
He was an elderly man. Johanna had never dared to ask, and Nelly had never dared to say, but his thinning white hair contrasted with the liveliness in his light eyes, which held a thirst for knowledge that, according to him, also lay deep within Johanna’s hazel irises.
“Today, I have classes almost all day, and on top of that, I have to supervise Oscar while he teaches.”
“Oh, is he finally going to be able to teach a class like he’s always wanted to?” She tried to sound excited, but the brief encounter in the hallway and Oscar’s coldness had left her… upset, to put it mildly.
Johanna focused on gathering her things from the professor’s desk. Nelly used to say that they got along well because they were the only people who, when they made a mess, were able to find each other in the chaos. She didn’t want to just stand around either, and maybe she could spend the whole day in the university library since she wouldn’t have that much work to do.
“I don’t know if he’s ready, but I want to give him this chance,” said Hawthorne.
“He’s good,” she said, without looking at the professor, her voice low and a little hurt. “But be careful he doesn’t steal your spot. Oscar tends to be a little ambitious at times.”
As usual, Hawthorne laughed. And Johanna forced herself to laugh with him this time. She arranged the books in a stack next to the desk and put the envelopes and letters away in the drawer while the professor lit a cigar by the window.
“Some native Amazonian species are arriving tomorrow. Maybe you could catalog them for me.”
“Plants aren’t my specialty, ” she grimaced, crossing her arms over her dress.
“I know,” the professor turned around. “I offered the same thing to Oscar, and he gave me the same answer.”
“Do we really have to be talking about him, sir?” Johanna hated that she had nothing to do at that moment to distract herself—perhaps to hide just how upset she still was.
Hawthorne gave a gentle smile.
“I see you two are still keeping the same distance as always,” the man hunched his shoulders and turned his attention back to the window. The recess was already coming to an end; many students were probably already heading back to their classrooms. “You know, when I took you both under my mentorship, Oscar promised me a big project, and that you’d help him.”
“Yeah, he promised me that too,” Johanna murmured.
“But he’s still reluctant to show me his progress…”
“That makes two of us, sir,” she said, leaning against the office bookshelf.
There was a moment of silence. Johanna was used to these moments; she even enjoyed them, sometimes.
"How curious..." the professor murmured. "It would take quite an effort to move them."
She frowned, stepping away from the bookshelf and walking over to Hawthorne. “What do you mean, Professor?”
The second bell rang, and the professor stepped away from the window.
“Nothing, Miss Smith,” he said, putting out his cigar and removing his glasses, wiping the lenses with his handkerchief. “Just the delusions of a man who’s getting on in years, don’t worry.”
Well, she definitely knew about delusions. Johanna tilted her head toward the window, trying to see whatever the professor had seen, but all she could make out were the green fields and the city of Bristol in the distance.
“There are some documents I need organized, and also a few articles that need to be translated,” Hawthorne instructed, walking through the office and picking up the books that Johanna had carefully arranged. “When you’re done, you can take that Latin book. I heard you trying to practice yesterday.”
She gave a small smile, nodding as she felt her face flush. “Thank you, Professor. Have a good class.”
“See you later, Johanna,” he said, then closed the door, and her world was reduced to the same monotonous silence as always.
However, before getting to the tasks assigned to her, she went to the window once more. There was nothing there —she’d seen it before— but she felt a strange urge to look again, as if an outside force were guiding her movements. Johanna opened the window, letting the cool breeze in. The gray sky hinted at rain in the coming hours, and there shouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary outside.
Except that the gargoyles had shifted their positions and now seemed to be staring at Johanna for the second time that day.
The Master never thought he’d be back in a classroom again. It had been so long since he’d taught on Gallifrey that it felt as if he’d forgotten how. That wasn’t his vocation, but he still needed a good disguise for the period he was in. Fortunately, he could take advantage of his advanced intelligence.
“And… that’s all,” he said, closing his calculus book, pulling out his pocket watch, and opening it to check the time. Finishing five minutes early? Well, he could afford to play the nice teacher. “Any questions?”
Silence fell over the classroom, and he turned to the blackboard, wondering if the problem lay in the calculations or in the limited minds of those who were supposed to be the best students in the region. The Master’s eyes then turned to his supervisor, the old Mr. Hawthorne, who was watching him from the corner of the room.
Maybe he should be the strict teacher, then. Or maybe not so much. Damn it, he just wanted to get rid of those students once and for all.
“Well, I’ll assume not,” he said, setting the book on the desk. “I’ll let you out a few minutes early. It looks like…” As he looked out the window, the afternoon sky was already filled with the dark grey promise of another storm on the way “...the roads will be treacherous today.”
He would have hated the silence that followed, but fortunately, the bell rang, and in a movement that seemed bizarrely calculated to the Master, the students stood up and gathered their things to leave the room.
He hated the academic environment. He’d spent his entire time at the Academy skipping classes because he detested that system, and now the situation he found himself in, once again, was the very one he’d always rejected.
The Doctor was going to pay for making him go through this.
“You weren’t that bad.” Hawthorne’s voice said as he approached, bringing him back to the scent of chalk and old wood of the classroom.
“They hate me,” he said. And the feeling is mutual, he wanted to add.
“They don’t hate you, Oscar.” Hawthorne assured him. “You’re just young. I suppose they don’t have much faith in the abilities of a professor who’s so close in age to the students.”
The Master laughed, shaking his head as he leaned against the desk. “You overestimate me.”
“I have faith in your potential,” the professor said, folding his arms behind his back and tilting his head, as he always did when inspecting something or someone.
The Master didn’t like that kind of look. It reminded him a lot of the Doctor’s look, and no matter what he did to Hawthorne, certain human traits were still capable of persisting through any manipulation.
“How’s your research coming along?” Hawthorne asked, and the Master immediately felt his shoulders tense.
He hated feeling that way. It felt as if he were losing control, and there was no worse feeling than that. Although the “research” wasn’t exactly something under his control.
“Unproductive,” he muttered reluctantly. “Just like the last few months.”
He shifted to relieve the tension. The Master picked up his coat from under the chair and slipped into it, perhaps it was his excuse to leave and also to avoid the coming storm.
“You should try a new perspective,” Hawthorne suggested. Damn old man who didn’t know when to end a conversation.
“It’s not something I can just change my perspective on.”
“The universe can’t be tamed, in fact.”
“And it’s definitely grown tired of revealing itself to me,” the Master sighed, flexed the fingers of his right hand. A habit he’d picked up in recent months — or maybe just another nervous tic that surfaced whenever he began to lose control. “I think I’ll put this away.”
He hoped that this statement would silence Hawthorne. But knowing the man as he did, it caused the old professor to raise his eyebrows as if he were offended.
“What an outrageous thing to say! You can’t do that, Oscar!”
Of course I won’t do that. I just need you to shut up for a moment.
“Your research on the luminosity variations of celestial bodies is the reason I brought you here.”
“And instead of making any progress, I’m teaching math to a class that seems to be made up of…” The Master took a deep breath. What had he been thinking when he decided to accept Hawthorne’s offer to teach? The academic environment was a maddening place.
“Calm yourself, Oscar,” the professor said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “The weather isn't on our side, but it'll clear soon enough.”
It wouldn't. Neither would time.
The Master felt the familiar tingling spread through his fingers, prompting him to crack his knuckles—another nervous habit that had taken root over the past few months. It was as though his own body refused to let him forget that his time was running out.
“One year and one day.” Her voice echoed through his mind. One more damn reminder that he was running out of time.
“I’m going to a Society meeting today,” Hawthorne said as he stepped away, and the Master exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding until that moment. It was his turn to take some steps away from that man. “You could come. “Maybe my colleagues can help you continue this wonderful project?”
“I’ll have to refuse, Hawthorne,” he ran his hands over his coat lapels and turned his back. “You know I work alone.”
“That’s not how it looked to me when you showed up with Miss Smith,” the professor’s remark made him stop. That man was pushing his luck. . Or perhaps the pressure and indifference of the class had made him that way… In any case, the Master would soon find someone to blame for his frustration.
“Johanna is your assistant now.”
“But she’s still your responsibility, as your…” Hawthorne narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. “Your relationship has always seemed a bit confusing to me, Oscar.”
“We’re…” that word came out bitterly. It was just a cover, though it was no more truthful than what would happen in the universe a few decades from then. “Old friends. She’s getting better, perhaps I should…”
He couldn’t get rid of her. He was afraid to even think about it, given the consequences it would have for his body. That tingling turned into a tremor deep in his bones, so that the Master feel his own teeth chatter against one another. It was so strange how something that burned him from the inside could be so cold at times.
“Take her home for me today, please,” the professor asked, pulling out his pocket watch. He strode out of the classroom. “I have to finish correcting some tests, and then I’m off to the meeting with the Scientific Society. Miss Smith is…”
“In the library, I suppose,” the Master added as he followed him, and the professor smiled.
“If only all students had a hunger for knowledge like hers instead of just seeking out status…” the man sighed. “I have to go, Oscar. You did really well today. Keep it up, and you might even land a position here at the university.”
How could he say that this was one of the things that repelled him most at that period? Well, he didn’t even need to answer. Whether his plan succeeded or failed, it would ultimately lead him down the same path: away from the nineteenth century and the tedious, submissive disguise of Oscar Jones.
“It would be an honor,” the Master forced himself to smile, but not to show his teeth —that would be too much.
Hawthorne tapped him on the shoulder and walked through the door, turning left toward his own office, while the Master turned right, walking lazily to the stairs leading up to the library. The last thing he wanted was to cross paths with Johanna Smith again, much less talk to her.
It was a victory when he could get through a day without encountering her, whether at the mansion or at the university. He should have felt terrible, since he had a duty of care with her, but the Promise, as much as it compelled him to fulfill that duty, did not change his feelings toward her.
Time Lords and their punishments.
It had been difficult at first, when she was still extremely dependent on him. He’d felt a certain pleasure back then at the idea that she was in the palm of his hand. Although she still retained a bit of that same skittish and distrustful personality, she’d always run up to him, full of questions and… feelings. Until he began to get tired of it, and she got used to that life. With every passing day, both of them were pushed closer and closer to their limits, and the separation had been the best decision to restore balance to the situation they’d put themselves in.
He shouldn’t have agreed to make the Promise. And she shouldn’t have forced him into that position, because he had no choice but to watch over her, when the very reason it had all begun was to destroy her even more.
The Master definitely hated the Doctor more than anything in the universe. But Oscar Jones was on a mission to protect Johanna Smith. And, as a spy master, he always gave himself completely to his disguises.
The thunder wasn’t quite as loud outside anymore. The clock read just before seven in the evening when Professor Hawthorne finished correcting the last geometry test, placing it alongside the others, all perfectly organised. Johanna would have another day without much work, but she was far too talented to spend her time merely organising his things.
Hawthorne wished she could do what she really enjoyed. He was the only one who had seen Johanna Smith’s scientific side, after she and Oscar Jones had crossed his path as a rather unconventional pair of researchers in need of funds. He couldn’t quite remember how his relationship with them had begun, only that he trusted them blindly, and that he was quite fond of Johanna. A young woman ahead of her time. But one who would barely cross the boundaries of the university library or his office.
He rose from his chair at the sound of yet another brief clap of thunder, and decided to take the opportunity to hurry on while the rain had let up and make his way to the waiting carriage. Poor Williams, he thought sadly. Left out in the weather like that… Although the rainy autumn weather was typical, it still seemed rather unfair to one of his most loyal servants.
He blew out the candles and closed the office door, to find the corridors deserted and lit by brief flashes of lightning and the dim light of the candles fixed to the wall sconces. Hawthorne huddled in his coat against the night’s chill and quickened his pace.
The university was practically empty at that time of night, and the meeting of the Scientific Society usually took place at that hour. It was normally a gathering at one of the members’ homes for dinner and tea, followed by scientific discussions and good conversation.
Even so, walking through the university at that hour was still quite uncomfortable. Even more so considering that Hawthorne didn’t feel he was entirely alone. As he walked down the stairs, part of him swore he’d heard the sound of something creeping, and when a flash of lightning cut through the sky, lighting up the corridor briefly, he thought he saw a figure move amongst the shadows.
He wasn’t a superstitious man – quite the opposite, in fact. He believed in science, and kept it separate from the religion he’d been brought up with since childhood. However… a cold shiver ran down his spine, and it wasn’t because of the cold. His steps quickened towards the exit, until the screech of the iron gate echoed as it slammed shut in the wind.
Or… something else.
Hawthorne stopped, listening to that dragged sound. A harsh scraping sound reached his ears, but not the kind that was annoying; rather, the kind that suggested something far too heavy to be moving. There were no other professors there, nor even servants doing heavy work, as the sound seemed to suggest.
That was when he felt something grab his left arm, and another flash of lightning split the sky. The thunder followed a heartbeat later. Hawthorne turned his head to the side, feeling his wrist gripped by something as rigid as stone.
He didn’t even have time to look up at his captor before the world around him began to spin and, in some incomprehensible way, time dissolved, taking him with it.