WORD COUNT: 856
STYLE/WARNINGS: LoM/Doctor Who crossover. Heavy spoilers through S2E8 of LoM and through the end of S3 of New Who. Darkness. Woe.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: It was bound to happen. You know it was. I just don't know why it didn't happen sooner. For darthfi and m31andy (who also contributed the awesome beta), especially, with whom I apparently share a brain. >3
This was what it was to lose all hope.
She hadn't known, couldn't possibly have done prior to this. For one thing, she'd never before failed in any task set before her.
He'd thought she was there to taunt him, but in truth, she was actually meant as a spirit guide. Despite her appearance, it wasn't as though she hadn't got experience in this arena. She'd actually been doing it for well over a century. Over time, her appearance had changed, but one thing had always remained the same throughout: her penchant for red dresses.
Red did, after all, go with every hair colour, every shape, and every emotion. It was attention-getting, and it served to make sure all eyes were focused on her whenever she wanted them to be. When she didn't, she simply dialled down the colour concentration. It wasn't hard, and she'd mastered the skill quite some time ago. Add into this the fact that red was seen as representative of a myriad number of things in various cultures and she felt that overall, she couldn't have made a better colour choice. Every successful entrepreneur did, after all, need a calling card. This was hers.
After he'd jumped, though, she'd been at a loss. She'd never before lost a client in such a way. Never before lost, period. She grew despondent, to the point where even the silly games Bubbles would play to pull her back out of herself whenever she'd been down before couldn't touch her at all.
It was then that she finally began to age. As she withdrew inside herself, something of her childlike appearance began to melt away. No longer did she appear a little girl of about ten years of age, and soon she tucked Bubbles into the solitary confinement of her closet, along with her little red dress, which she'd outgrown.
The first time she laid eyes on him, she couldn't believe what she was seeing. It was as though the universe was giving her a second chance. She sighed, smiled, and made her way across the room. She'd always been fabulous at networking; that was, after all, what the majority of her previous job had been about. Well, after a fashion.
It was the first time in years she'd worn a red dress. As usual, all eyes were on her---and most especially his.
As her silky red dress slid to her ankles and she parted her moistened lips with excitement as he threw her down onto his messy, tangled sheets later that night, she had but one thought: End of the universe. So long. Bye-bye. It kept repeating in her head, only she didn't know why.
It never, ever occurred to her that she was on the path to losing once more. She didn't even realise she was completely complicit in what would happen this time round.
Some suspected the depths of their depravity, especially Harry Saxon's aides. Still, most were willing to look the other way, especially after they'd married. After all, wasn't it lovely to see public figures so obviously still in very great lust with the people to whom they were actually married? It made quite a change, and even the tabloids weren't sure what to do with it. At first, they uneasily embraced it (and, by extension, them), but soon the unease gave way to wholehearted endorsement of the Harry Saxon cause.
In fact, no-one could remember a time when they hadn't wanted desperately to Vote Saxon. Especially with that lovely wife of his, what was her name? Oh, yes. Right. Lovely Lucy.
And for a time, all went according to plan. His popularity rose, as did his love and ardour for her. She was sure this time she'd make things right. This time, she wouldn't lose.
And then he came along, and put an end to all her fun.
"Fine," she said aloud into her mirror as she dressed all in red once more, her nails just having dried to a perfectly shiny shade of matching crimson. "But this time, it's on my terms."
She kissed the bullet as she loaded it into the gun. She'd only need one, she was certain of it. The lip-print seemed to burn into the casing as she carefully slid it into the chamber, and all was gone in a flash as she carefully hid it away in her tiny matching handbag, and tottered away down the stairs.
"And there is my drop-dead sexy girl!" Harry said fondly, with just a touch of the growl she herself found nigh upon irresistable.
He had no idea how right he was.