Chapter Text
TWO
'I bet this is killing you, isn't it?'
No matter how hard she struggles against the grip the Master has on her mind, the Doctor can't tune out his taunts. She can feel Yaz's arms around her, cradling her gently even though she believes she is holding the Master, and she can't even react.
'It's so interesting in here,' he continues. 'So many thoughts... and so many of them about little Yasmin Khan.'
'If you lay a finger on her,' the Doctor thinks, 'I will kill you.'
The Master's laugh echoes around her mind, lacking an ounce of emotion. 'Don't worry. I won't kill your pet. Torture is so boring. No, you've given me plenty of ideas of how to break you and your human, and I'm going to enjoy every second.'
Yaz lays her down on the bed in the TARDIS' replica of a cell that was designed to hold Missy a century ago. Both of them had been aware that she could escape at any moment, but she had been so determined to change her ways that she allowed herself to be locked away.
The Doctor had had so much hope for her. They had a chance — a real chance — to go back to being friends for the first time in millennia. But the Master has always been incapable of change, and here she is again, hoping for a scrap of decency that she knows exists within him, while acknowledging she may never see it again.
'I make a great Doctor,' he says, hovering over her as Yaz exits the room. 'I didn't kill any of your friends, and I saved the day... mostly.'
Stealing her identity may have meant he had to save the day, but that didn't mean he had to do it as well as she did. Hundreds of people would die thanks to that volcano, but at least Earth isn't on fire.
She can sense his glee through their psychic link. No matter how much she hates it, she can hear and see everything he can, and he can hear her thoughts.
"I'm only just getting started," he says out loud, and they both know he means it. "I'm going to make you watch while I show the universe who the Doctor really is."
He rocks back on his heels, cracking his knuckles before standing up. "Maybe I'll come and visit if your pet gets annoying." He's halfway to the door when he turns around, watching her unconscious form for a minute before speaking again. "I hope you enjoy the show, Master."
He lets the psychic link dim as the door locks behind him. If she concentrates, she can still watch through his eyes as he walks down the hallway towards the console room, but he has pulled away far enough for her to think without him eavesdropping.
The first thing she needs to assess is how effective the forced regeneration was. Her body is still unstable, and she reckons a good push would allow her to switch bodies again. If she feels unsteady after being forced into a coma for several hours, then the Master must be feeling the toll of the regeneration acutely.
Yaz will figure out something is wrong soon enough. Ace came close, when the Master didn't think twice about letting her kill a fleet of Daleks, but she was quick to dismiss the behaviour as the new regeneration. Yaz has always stood up for herself, so the moment the Master slips up and directs his malice towards her, she'll realise something is wrong.
The Doctor can picture the realisation dawning on her face, the way her back would straighten like a tightrope walker about to step out onto the wire. She would appease the Master until she could slip past him, and then she'd rush into the bunker, and they'd reverse the regeneration and be home in time for a cuppa.
Okay, maybe it's a bit of a long shot. That's fine. She's great at long odds. She's probably the best at hopeless situations.
If only she could move, she could do something about her predicament. The Master wants her to be trapped as a spectator, forced to lie on an uncomfortable bed and watch as he torments her. Even if she couldn't escape the room, a bit of pacing around would do wonders to soothe her.
"Oh, hello," the Master says, and the psychic link strengthens again. Yaz is sitting on the steps of the console room, one mug of tea clutched in her hands and the other resting beside her on the floor.
"I made you a cuppa," Yaz says, gesturing towards the cup. "Seven sugars, loads of milk. Just how you like it."
The Doctor feels a surge of warmth run through her cold, stiff body. Even though she continues to shut Yaz out — even though they have both had a terrible day — she still went out of her way to make them both a cup of tea.
It's a shame she won't be the one drinking it.
"Thank you," the Master replies, resting his weight on the console.
Yaz shrugs. "Was the least I could do after you saved the world again."
The Master laughs, a tired, joyless noise. "I suppose I did."
"Do you want to... talk about it?" she asks, looking up at him with a cautious smile.
The Master holds her gaze. Yaz has proved over and over that she deserves the Doctor's trust, and yet she has never let her in. The fear of losing her the same way she lost Bill, or Clara, or Rose, or any of her other friends... Well, she couldn't bear it.
"You don't have to," she backtracks when she realises the Master isn't going to respond. "It doesn't matter."
The Master nods. "I was planning on getting some sleep," he says, and the Doctor can feel how he abhors the notion. Time Lords rarely need to sleep, but to do so in the Doctor's domain? The sense of vulnerability must be choking him.
"Good plan," Yaz says, eager to take the excuse. "I could do with a good ten hours too."
The Master turns away from her without another word, running out of patience for this charade.
"Night!" she calls after him, before he can disappear into the heart of the TARDIS.
He pauses, glancing at her over his shoulder. "Goodnight, Yaz."
The tea forgotten, he stumbles into the first bedroom he finds, locking the door behind him. He traces his hand over the soft duvet as he walks over to a floor-length mirror in the corner of the room.
"Oh, Doctor," he says, and she can't tell which of them he is talking to. "She's head over heels for you, isn't she."
It isn't a question.
"This will be easier than I thought," he says, a smile spreading across his tired expression, and the fire of hope in the Doctor's dwindles.
"Welcome to Fodina-72!" the Master announces, stepping out of the TARDIS with his arms spread wide.
Yaz follows him out into the tender heat, shielding her eyes against the two suns. "It's beautiful."
"I know," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I promised you the best rollerskating in the universe, and this is where you'll find it."
The Doctor had always wanted to bring Yaz here, but with everything that kept happening... Well, she's missed her chance. The sunsets here are enough to bring a tear to her eye, and Yaz has been interested in antigravity sports ever since that time she rode the Doctor's motorbike.
The Master saunters toward the nearby city, Yaz close on his heels. "The Rhodua are mostly miners, so this isn't a popular tourist destination. But they've evolved to have twelve fingers and toes, so they have better balance than anyone this side of the galaxy."
The two of them stroll up to the edge of a cliff, the Master holding out a hand so Yaz doesn't accidentally topple over the edge. He turns to Yaz, more interested in her reaction to the view than the city itself. The Doctor used to do the same; the wonders of the universe will always be there for her to see, but human lives are so fleeting, so precious, that they must always take priority.
'Don't lie to yourself,' the Master scoffs through the psychic link, his eyes fixed firmly on Yaz's smile. 'You like to impress them. To be their god for a while — to make them feel special — until you decide you are bored and you throw your toys out of the pram.'
'That's not true,' she insists.
'No,' the Master agrees. 'Sometimes you break them, too.'
"Doctor," Yaz interrupts, pointing down towards the city beneath them. "Is that supposed to be on fire?"
The Master turns his attention in the direction she is pointing. The capital city of Fodina-72 has an unfortunate design; most of the planet is desert, so the ancient Rhodua settled wherever there was a water supply. Their capital rests at the bottom of a miles-wide crater — close to water, yes, but also a terrible strategic place to be when you're under siege.
And that is exactly what is happening. The Master squints against the rising smoke, trying to find its source. The sand makes it difficult for the fire to spread, but the straw roofs of their buildings mean the entire city is at risk of burning down.
"There," Yaz says, pointing to the far side of the crater. A hundred-or-so small figures are climbing down the opposite cliff, all wearing purple armour and carrying weapons that could decimate the planet in a matter of hours.
"Sontarans," the Master sighs. "We may have to postpone that rollerskating, I'm afraid."
The Doctor longs to glance over to Yaz, to see if there is disappointment etched into her features, but she can't deny she is also relieved. Maybe she still has a chance to take Yaz on that date.
"What do they want?" Yaz asks.
The Master folds his arms across his chest, his mind whirring with plans. "Minerals, probably. The Rhodua are peaceful traders. They wouldn't start a war if they had a choice."
Yaz steps closer to the edge, peering down into the smoke. "How do we get down?"
The Master rolls his eyes, dramatic as always. 'Are all humans this annoying, or do you train them this way?'
The Doctor bristles. She'd almost prefer the rollerskating, because she doesn't trust the Master to guide Yaz safely through what is about to become an active war zone. He can, she doesn't doubt that, but whether he will is a different question altogether.
"Doctor?" Yaz prompts.
If she had control — if this was a normal adventure — she'd take the steep slope a few paces to their left down to the city. Parking the TARDIS anywhere near danger tended to make her huffy, and she couldn't risk someone else stealing her.
"We'll take the TARDIS," the Master says without a second of hesitation. "It'll be faster."
'She won't like it,' the Doctor warns.
'Obviously,' the Master thinks as he follows Yaz back to the TARDIS. 'That's why I'm doing it. Try to keep up, dear.'
Yaz throws the doors open and the Master strides towards the console. The TARDIS sparks as he types in the coordinates, making her displeasure clear, but the Master isn't fazed. He wags his finger at her, as if she's a naughty child and not a machine which holds more power than most of the universe can imagine.
"So, Sontarans," Yaz says, cautiously hopeful. "You just whack them on the back of the neck, right?"
"Should work," the Master says as they take off. The flight is short but bumpy, the TARDIS unhappy about being thrown into the middle of a dangerous situation. If — when — she returns to her body, the Doctor is going to have to take her to Cardiff as a treat to apologise.
"It will be dangerous," the Master continues, before Yaz reaches the doors. "We could always leave."
Yaz smiles, a soft movement that lights up her face. "You know that neither of us could leave an unarmed city defenceless."
"Are you sure?" he asks. Is he trying to protect her, or does he just want to avoid saving a planet? "The Sontarans are bred for war. They won't hesitate to lay down their lives for their cause — in fact, they see it as an honour."
Yaz shrugs off her leather jacket, tying it around her waist. "We've dealt with the Sontarans before, remember? And you've never thought twice about flying us into danger. Why worry now?"
"You're right," he says, following her towards the door. "This should be a piece of cake."
Yaz opens the TARDIS doors, the glow of the fire painting her face in shades of apocalyptic reds and oranges. She pauses at the threshold, recoiling at the heat, before stepping out into the chaos.
'What happened to your duty of care?' the Master wonders as he follows her. 'Did you stop caring about your little pets? I suppose they are so easy to kill.'
'Of course I care,' the Doctor says. Her friends dying over and over and over again has had a profound impact on her, of course, but every time she tries harder to save them — when she broke her own rules to bring Clara back from the dead — she makes the situation worse. Staying at arm's length is the only to protect her hearts from being broken again, and it increases their chance of survival.
'You really believe that,' the Master mutters, and there's no doubt in his mind. 'You can't bring yourself to give up these dazed little humans who follow you around and praise you, but you believe that locking them out will help them?'
It isn't an easy thing to do, but it works.
'You're even more stupid than I thought,' he thinks, shutting the TARDIS doors behind him and making sure they lock. 'You've spent centuries saving humanity and training regular people to be martyrs, and yet you still don't understand how they work.'
Before he can continue his rant, he's cut off by a nearby explosion.
"Doctor!" Yaz shouts, her voice cutting through the thick smoke. "Over here."
The Master looks around at the chaos, and he smiles. "Now the fun really begins."
The smoke from the explosion makes it impossible to see over five feet in front of his face, but as the Master strolls toward Yaz's shout, it thins so he can see Yaz crouched over a writhing body.
"It's alright," she shushes, holding out a flat palm to show she isn't a threat. "You're alright."
The Master looks down at the Rhoduan. At first glace, it looks like he has just been knocked to the floor and is wary of a group of strangers, but on closer inspection, it's clear he is injured. Silver blood trickles out of his chest, staining his clothes where the shrapnel from the grenade struck him. His nostrils flare, struggling to suck in air, suggesting his lungs are collapsing.
With some quick thinking and basic medical supplies, it would be easy to save them. He'd have years of therapy ahead, sure, but at least he would be alive.
The Master will not help him.
"Yaz," the Master says, his voice arrogantly apologetic. "There's nothing we can do."
"No," she insists, her hands hovering over the Rhoduan's chest, too scared to touch him in case she hurts him more. "We have to do something. There must be a hospital nearby, or a—"
The Master places a hand on Yaz's shoulder. "I'm sorry. Even if we moved them to a hospital, it would be an incredibly painful journey, and the technology required to save him at this stage..."
A tear drips down Yaz's cheek. She refuses to budge, her eyes fixed on the Rhoduan's terrified expression. Too injured to move, and too close to death to call out for help.
The Doctor could scream. The universe is full of pointless deaths, but that is why she helps people. Maybe she can't save everyone, but she can always save one person — and most of the time, that makes the pain of her loss worth it.
The Master won't stop until he has ripped even this small comfort away from her.
"Let's go," he says softly, guiding Yaz away from the dying Rhoduan. Yaz sniffs, bringing up a bloodstained hand to wipe away her tears. She is in an active battlefield — her own life is on the line — and yet she wants to stay and hold the hand of an alien she has never met, just so he might feel some comfort in his final moments.
The Master leads her away, denying the Rhoduan company on his deathbed. If this is what he meant when he said he would break her hearts, it's working already.
"We can't help him," he repeats, squeezing Yaz's shoulder. She is pliant under his touch, moving wherever he guides her. "But we can help others. We need to stop the fighting by talking to the Sontaran leader."
Yaz nods once, a firm movement more fitting for a warrior than a traveller, before wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve. If she could move, the Doctor would offer her a hug to ease her pain. Although, perhaps she would be too distracted by fixing the problem, rather than consoling Yaz over something so meaningless.
The gunshots grow louder as the Sontarans approach. The thick, acrid smoke means that neither Yaz nor the Master can see them or any civilians nearby, but the Sontarans likely have infrared abilities that will make their aim deadly.
"Yaz," the Master says, his voice growing in urgency. "We need to—"
He's interrupted by an unmistakable metal clink, and then the two of them are being tossed backwards. The Master hits his head on a small pile of rocks as he lands on the hot sand and doesn't move, staring up at the two suns in the sky.
'You need to wake up,' the Doctor begs. She may not have control over her own body, but she can do everything in her power to keep Yaz safe. 'Get up, and go find Yaz.'
He blinks a few times, sluggishly reaching a hand up to his head and pulling it away, red with blood. He coughs, a glowing gold cloud escaping his mouth, and he struggles to sit up.
Hope swells up inside the Doctor, but she tries to squash it down so he won't notice. That familiar cloud is a sign that the regeneration isn't complete yet; if she could find a way to communicate with Yaz, then she still has a chance to reverse this.
"Don't get any ideas," the Master grunts, easing himself onto his feet. The wound is already healing, but the knock to the head will take a few minutes to fix itself properly.
'I can't help it, can I?' she thinks. 'You know, you should treat your stolen goods with more respect. It would be disappointing for everyone if you broke this body right after you nabbed it.'
He waves a hand, either to clear some of the disturbed sand and smoke that hangs thick in the air or to dismiss her. He only regains his balance after a few wobbly steps forwards, and he spins in a slow circle to assess the situation.
Yaz was standing right next to him when the grenade went off, and she didn't have the benefit of lingering regeneration energy to heal her wounds. Human bodies are so fragile, and although the Rhodua are usually friendly, there's no one else on this planet guaranteed to help her.
'Please make sure she's okay,' the Doctor asks, hating how weak she sounds. This is why she keeps people at arm's length. If she could overcome her eternal loneliness, she'd travel on her own, and then no one could be used against her.
"Don't worry," the Master says. He coughs up some sand, pausing to clear his throat. "She hasn't exceeded her usefulness yet."
The way he refers to her — as if she's a tool, rather than a living person — does nothing to soothe the Doctor's nerves. At the very least, she knows it isn't a lie. The Master will sacrifice anything for his cruel schemes; saving one human to torture the Doctor for longer is no trouble.
"That being said," he continues, brushing some sand off her coat. "I'm sure she'll be fine on her own for a while."
The Doctor's hearts drop.
He turns left, the opposite direction to where he last saw Yaz, and strolls away. It doesn't take long before he comes across a Rhoduan sprinting into a nearby building, and he follows her to the doorway, hovering outside so he can eavesdrop. There are around fifteen of them crowded into one room, standing in a horseshoe, all with serious expressions.
"We must defend the city," one of them insists, anger burning behind his eyes. If the outfit isn't a giveaway, the medals pinned to his chest are enough to indicate he must be their General. The Rhoduans may not have an army, but they do still require law enforcement. "They are slaughtering us — we cannot let them kill us all!"
Another steps forward, holding out their hand to silence the first. "We are a peaceful species. We do not have the resources to start a war with the Sontarans."
"This is not a war," the General hisses. "It is a massacre!"
"Perhaps you could do with an outside opinion," the Master interjects, striding into the room. The Rhoduans turn to him in shock, some scared, others ready for a fight. "Settle down. I'm not here to hurt you."
None of them relax.
"I think you're both right," he says, gesturing to the two speakers he overheard. "Sitting idle would allow innocent civilians — children, even — to die at the hands of your invaders. But this is not a fight you can win."
A new voice, older than the rest, speaks up from the back of the room. "What do you propose, stranger?"
All eyes turn to the chair on the far side of the room, and the Rhoduans step backwards into their neat formation to reveal their Elder.
The Master smiles. "Well, if you can't fight, and you can't defend, there's only one option: run."
The clamour of voices that follows his proclamation is deafening. Every Rhoduan shouts their opinion, whether they are horrified or vindicated, but the Elder stays silent, watching him with a knowing gaze.
"What is your name, traveler?" she asks, when the volume of the room dips enough to be heard.
The Master spreads out his arms, his grin widening. "I'm the Doctor. And I'm the one who caused this."
The room falls silent. A handful of the Rhoduans look ready to kill the Master, while the rest are preparing to bolt.
The Elder narrows her eyes. "The Doctor is a myth — a tale told to children across the galaxy. Why do you seek to ruin a source of hope in a time of need?"
"The Doctor is no myth," he spits. "How dare you call those tales fiction? To you, I may be an example of hope, but for every planet saved, another species loses. No one wins all the time."
She doesn't look impressed. "And why should we trust you are telling us the truth, Doctor?"
He shrugs. "I don't care whether you believe me. I came here to offer you a deal, not to quiz you on bedtime stories."
"What deal?" the General asks, leaning forward.
"Salvation," the Master answers. "I may have told the Sontarans about your planet and the riches it holds, but that doesn't mean I want your species massacred. I'm offering you an opportunity to run."
Liar. He stumbled upon this conflict by accident, and now he is distorting the truth into one of his twisted narratives.
The Elder steeples her twelve fingers under her chin. "And the terms?"
"I just told you."
She scoffs. "So you gain nothing in return? I struggle to believe that a woman who would allow innocent people to be murdered in the name of her own avarice is doing this out of the good of her heart."
"Alright," he admits, shrugging. "Obviously, I get something out of this. I want you to survive, so you will spread the word of the invasion. I want the entire universe to know that I'm the one who caused this."
The Elder frowns, but there is a spark of amusement in her eyes, despite the circumstances. "You would destroy a planet for your ego?"
"Technically, I'm not the one doing the destroying." He smirks. "And yes. I'm tried of being known as the nice guy — sorry, nice woman — when that has never been the case."
The room stays silent for a few minutes as the Elder contemplates her planet's fate. Even though she hates he was the one to suggest it, the Master is right; they only have one option. Besides, the Rhoduans are not the type of species to insist on bloody deaths to satisfy their pride.
Now is not the time to be arrogant. They need to get their people to safety. The only choice is to run.
The Elder folds her hands in her lap. "How would we safely evacuate our people?"
The General scoffs. "You would let this — this imposter take away our home?"
"This woman has already succeeded in that," the Elder reasons, her hands tightening into fists. "Our choices are to run, or to die."
"Let us die," he demands. "Let us have some dignity when we meet our Creator."
The Elder bangs her fist on the arm of her chair. The noise reverberates around the room, and the General steps back into line.
"There is no dignity in being slaughtered!" she says, not raising her voice into a shout. "If you wish to stay here on a fool's noble quest, then I cannot stop you. But do not sentence all of our people — including those unable to fight, whether sick or old, our children — to death to soothe your ego."
The Doctor couldn't have said it better herself.
The General dips his head in shame.
"Ego brought the Doctor to our doorstep," she continues, spitting out her name. "We do not have the resources to fight a full-scale Sontaran invasion. We must leave while we still have the chance."
The Master claps his hands together. "Excellent choice. If you can corral your people onto a ship, I'll make sure the Sontarans don't blow you out of the sky."
All of the remaining Rhoduans on one ship is a terrible idea. If it appeared on the Sontaran's radar, they can wipe all the surviving Rhoduans out with one missile.
'Brutal efficiency,' the Master thinks. That's exactly his plan; yet another genocide.
He is using her name to destroy these people. He is breaking every rule she has ever set for herself. He is disrespecting the promise that gives her the right to the title of Doctor. Stealing her identity and risking her friend's life isn't enough; he wants to ensure that even if she switches their bodies back, her reputation is ruined.
The Elder rises from her chair, doling out orders to her council. They rush back into the carnage outside as soon as they receive their instructions, until she is the only one who remains.
She strides up to the Master, her back straight and her chin held high. Although she is several inches shorter, her glare is no less intimidating.
"I met the Doctor, once," she says, staring at him. "I'm aware that Time Lords are capable of changing your appearance, but you are not the same person who saved me all those suns ago."
It's a shame the Doctor doesn't remember her, but she isn't surprised. Her last trip to Rhodua was rather chaotic and involved her enrolling in the anti-gravity olympics, and besides, she meets a lot of people.
He leans down so their faces are inches apart. "What makes you so sure?"
"Have you ever heard the phrase, 'eyes are the window to the soul?'" she murmurs, confident in her deduction. "There is a malice shining in yours that was not there last time we crossed paths."
The Master rocks back on his heels. "I see why they put you in charge," he says, impressed. "You're right. I'm not the Doctor. But she's not around anymore, so all the universe gets is me."
"Unlike you," she spits, "I have faith in the universe. One day, you will answer for your crimes."
"Maybe you're right," he says. "But today is not that day."
He yanks his Tissue Compression Eliminator out of his coat pocket and points it in her direction, shrinking her down to nothing before she even has the chance to cry out for help.
Bending down to inspect his handiwork, he shoves the device back into his pocket. "Don't worry. I'll make sure a few of your people live. Someone needs to tell my story."
There's the sound of two sets of footsteps outside, one strong and steady, and the other being dragged across the sand. He stands up straight, tilting his head to one side as he tries to assess what is going on.
"Doctor!" Yaz shouts, out of breath. "Don't come outside."
"Sounds like our friend is in trouble," he mutters under his breath.
'Don't let her die,' the Doctor begs. He doesn't bother reassuring her.
He strolls outside to find himself trapped in a stalemate. The General has one arm wrapped around Yaz's neck and the other holding a stone blade against her neck. A quick glance down to the tracks in the sand show he dragged her here against her will, and the thin line of blood dripping from her neck is evidence of how hard she struggled.
The Master raises his arms in the air, raising his eyebrows. "Let her go," he says, his voice even.
"I can't let our people die," the General says. His fingers flex on the handle of the knife, steadying his grip as his hands sweat with desperation. "I need a guarantee that you can get us off this planet safely."
"I can," he says, inching forwards. "I promised you, didn't I can help you, but only if you let her go."
Blood trickles down Yaz's collarbone, staining her t-shirt. The Doctor tries to catalogue her injuries, eager to convince herself that Yaz will survive this encounter. Her temple is stained dark purple with a bruise, suggesting she has a concussion from the earlier explosion, but she seems alert enough now to indicate it is only a mild one.
'You're distracting me,' the Master interrupts, his mind racing with ways out of the situation. The Doctor doesn't care how loud her thoughts are. Yaz's survival isn't important to him, so she's more likely to be distracting him from pre-meditated murder than a rescue plan.
Yaz is trembling. The Doctor has seen her terror hundreds of times during their travels, but her companion has never seemed this close to death. Her wide eyes are glazed over because of the concussion, and it unsettles her. This is not the resilient Yaz she knows so well.
'Shut up,' the Master insists. 'If I promise to get her out of this alive, will you stop waxing poetic about Yasmin's eyes?'
'Yes,' the Doctor agrees without stopping to wonder whether he's being sarcastic. 'I can be quiet. Just — make sure she's alright.'
"Let her go, and I'll help you," the Master repeats. "But I need you to know that if you kill her, I will burn this planet to the ground myself."
The General's eyes narrow. His hands are shaking, but it is as likely to be adrenaline as fear. The chance of him killing Yaz by accident increases with every tense moment she is still in his grasp.
He opens his mouth to answer the Master's offer, but no words leave his mouth. Instead, his grip goes lax and he slumps to the ground, nearly taking Yaz with him.
The Master rushes over, catching her before she falls. He looks down at the General to find a hole in his chest — a hole that can only be made with a specific type of blaster.
"Oh, great," the Master groans. For once, she's inclined to agree with him.
Two Judoon stand behind the corpse, one of their blasters still smoking. They survey the battlefield before looking down at the Master, who still has his arms wrapped protectively around Yaz.
"This planet is under attack by the Sontarans," one of them announces in Rhoduan. "Article 57 of the Shadow Proclamation states it is illegal to destroy a Level Five planet is no laws are broken. Please evacuate while we deal with the invasion."
They walk off towards the thick of the battle without glancing back, leaving Yaz and the Master alone with a still-warm corpse. He hesitates for a minute, but the Doctor is done with his schemes.
'You promised you would help her,' she reminds him. 'And I escaped from a Judoon prison in the last year. I wouldn't push your luck.'
"Fine," he sighs. Yaz stirs in his arms, gazing up at him with trusting, glassy eyes.
He carries her over to the nearest wall so she can prop herself up while he shucks off his coat and wraps it around her shoulders. "Stay awake for me," he says, guiding her towards the TARDIS. "And let me know if you feel like you're going to be sick. This coat is one of a kind, you know."
Yaz chuckles, the movement making her wheeze. Potential broken ribs as well, then. The Doctor is suddenly glad he parked the TARDIS closer to the action, so they can move Yaz to safety as soon as possible.
"Nearly there," the Master says as soon as he spots the blue box in the distance. As they approach the doors, he snaps his fingers, but the TARDIS doors refuse to move. It takes a few minutes to rummage through the coat pockets to find the keys and open the doors, and Yaz is so limp he has to carry her over the threshold.
He places her down on the steps and punches in the coordinates for Sheffield, 2022, and they take off at the same time Yaz loses consciousness.
"Why did you leave me?" Yaz asks, once the Master has double checked she hasn't broken any bones. The question reverberates around the sterile walls of the med bay.
Yaz's eyes remain fixed on the jar of lollipops which rests on a shelf across from her. She directs the question at the Master, but it could also apply to the Doctor. Why has she left her alone with a stranger? Why did she leave her in the 1900s for four years? Why did she let Yaz believe she was dead for ten months?
"I'm sorry," the Master lies. "The Rhoduans thought I had something to do with the invasion, so they brought be before their council."
She nods, wincing as the movement aggravates her bruised skull. The Master smoothes a bandage over the shallow wound on her neck, shifting her hand so she holds it as he tapes the fabric down.
"I was so scared," she admits. Her hand is trembling. "I thought... I woke up by myself, with my head banged up, and you were gone—"
"You thought I was dead," the Master concludes.
She nods again, a milder movement than before, and a tear slips down her cheek.
The Master finishes applying the bandage and she lets her hand fall back into her lap. He strolls over to the shelf and rummages around in a box of random odds and ends before walking back over to her and holding up a necklace.
The Doctor's hearts plummet.
"Here," he says, sonicing it with his free hand before offering it to Yaz. "It's a warp star. I've configured it to my biometrics, so it will continue to glow as long as I'm alive. That way, you don't have to worry if something ever separates us again."
He brushes her hair out of the way before leaning in, carefully clasping the necklace without letting it get caught in her hair.
"I never want you to worry, Yasmin Khan," he murmurs in her ear, and she shivers as his fingers brush the skin on the back of her neck.
Destroying her reputation is a problem the Doctor can tackle. Playing with Yaz's feelings for her, on the other hand, is unacceptable. She needs to return to her body, and she needs to do it fast, before he ruins her relationship with Yaz forever.
More importantly, she needs to stop the Master before he can detonate the bomb he just buckled around Yaz's neck.