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It was wholly typical of UNIT to get him into this kind of scrape.
The lot of them always charging gung-ho into any situation and forcing him to circumvent their shoot-first philosophy with half-made plans and not nearly enough reconnaissance.
At least Jo hadn’t followed him this time; he didn’t need to be distracted worrying about her safety while he worked to get himself out of this mess.
The creature at his back jabbed him harder with the spear, barely pulling it away before he heard the snap-crackle of electricity between the lower prongs. Ahead of him, his forward guard kept their spears alight; if it was meant as a warning to him, then it was an unnecessary one; he had no intention of testing their patience.
To that end, he allowed himself to be guided to the creatures’ ship, hidden in plain sight amongst the hills. Well, to the Doctor’s sight at least; from Captain Yates’s report humans were unable to see the ship at all despite it being right on UNIT’s metaphorical doorstep. Then again, he wasn’t convinced that wasn’t simply another oversight by the toy soldiers it was his misfortune to work with.
The ship was made of some sort of crystalline metal, clean lines and cold surfaces that echoed his footsteps back to him. The little hope he’d held that the ship would yield answers to the creatures’ identity vanished; he had never seen anything like it, even in his extensive travels.
Forced into the centre of what must surely be the control room given the multitude of screens, buttons and the large windows displaying a view across the area he had just travelled, he waited impatiently for whomever was in charge to step forward so that he could attempt to put an end to this entire charade.
He didn’t pretend to side with UNIT very often, but given his own treatment, he was beginning to believe the validity of the reports that these creatures were attacking civilians and UNIT guards without provocation.
He had only been surveying the area around the ship after all, no weapons other than his impressive intellect on his person, when they had surrounded him and attacked.
Keeping an eye on the creature closest, or more accurately on his spear, the Doctor rubbed at his neck, still smarting from the first shock off one of those weapons.
Typical, another race inclined to shoot first; he seemed to draw them to him like an electromagnet.
A previously smooth wall on the far side of the room split to reveal a doorway through which walked what could only be the leader. Unlike his compatriots, he wore an alarmingly bright headdress which, when he stepped close enough, the Doctor could see was made of the same material as the ship’s interior and reflected the artificial light blindingly. Silk-like fabrics draped across his elongated body and his fingers were adorned with a number of heavy rings.
The leader stopped only a few feet from the Doctor and waved one long arm lazily, which had the effect of making the other creatures lower their spears at last and had the Doctor fighting the instinct to step back as the sharply cut jewels in the rings came too close to his cheek.
“Really, now.” He muttered.
The leader’s attention turned to him, the headdress glaring the light right into his eyes.
The Doctor blinked and waited, but no words were forthcoming, the creature’s mouth opened slowly and seemed to be making some attempt at speech but he could hear nothing.
With a frown, he cautiously lowered his mental shields, in case this was another telepathic race, but he couldn’t feel any attempts to enter or read his mind and so he closed his mind off again. A precaution he had taken to adopting now that the Master turned up so regularly. One never knew what new tricks he had learnt between visits.
The leader was still ‘talking’, mouth flapping about without a sound leaving it. Around the Doctor, the other creatures had begun to shuffle as if given instructions. The one at his back moved nearer, the spear nudging him again a little too close to his right kidney.
He had evidently been asked a question, as the leader closed his mouth, tilted his head and drew his brows together when no answer was received.
“I’m afraid I haven’t heard a word you’ve said.” The Doctor said. The leader grimaced and waved his hand about again, almost clipping the Doctor this time. “Steady on, perhaps there’s some other way we can communicate.”
He ignored the further grimaces and proceeded to attempt sign language, both the two Earth dialects he knew and three others quite popular in the nearby galaxies. Nothing. It was extraordinarily frustrating.
He was halfway through trying to say ‘I’ve done you no harm, let me go and you should get off this planet before the natives find you’ with his eyebrows, when the spear was jammed painfully into him and he was forced into a stumbling step forward to avoid impalement.
The leader turned his back, walking away through the open door, which closed silently behind him.
The Doctor was jabbed again and when he turned to look at his abuser, he found only the same angry snarl he’d seen when he was captured. “Certainly not the friendly sort are you?”
The creature seemed almost to flinch but covered it quickly with another stab of his spear. His friend next to him set his spear to sparking and the Doctor conceded that it would be best to let them take him to whatever prison they had on the ship and see about getting back out when he wasn’t in quite so imminent danger of being shocked again.
He was herded through another silently opening door, through winding corridors that gleamed. He noticed his were the only footsteps that could be heard and they sounded disproportionately loud against the silence of his captors.
The lighting dimmed as they proceeded further, until there was barely enough to see ahead of him and then finally, no light at all. The creatures surely had less trouble as they continued on without hesitation, gripping the Doctor’s arm when he knocked into a wall one too many times. Occasionally the darkness was broken by a spark from one of the spears, it was less than comforting.
Eventually, they seemed to reach the ship’s equivalent of a dungeon, all that was missing was the damp smell.
With a final spark from the spear of the creature holding him, the Doctor caught a glimpse of the open doorway of the cell, before he was pushed unceremoniously through.
Falling to his knees, he spun around quickly, feeling for the opening, but the door had slid closed with the same lack of sound as every other door on the ship, leaving him trapped in the pitch black room.
Using a hand against the door for balance, he stood, orienting himself so that he looked blindly into the room. Taking a step forward, he straightened his jacket, pulling at the hem sharply, before flicking out his cloak. Hopefully the cell floor was as clean as the rest of the ship appeared to be; his dry cleaning costs were becoming unfeasible on a UNIT wage.
Without light and only the abnormally loud echoes of his shoes on the floor, it was hard to tell how big the cell was, and so he stepped carefully, in as straight a line as he could manage until his outstretched fingertips touched against a cold wall.
Finding nothing obstructing his feet he stepped close to the wall and then felt along it to the right, keeping his arm out to the side as he shuffled sideways. His right knee hit something hard and he stopped. Dropping his hand down he felt around at his waist but it was only when he dropped to a crouch and spread his fingers out that he felt the cold edge of a strip of metal, above which was something soft and silken. He squeezed it, feeling it give. A mattress of some sort, atop a metal bed.
Turning towards it he started to slide both hands out across the mattress when he heard the distinctive sound of someone breathing in quickly. He froze.
“I’m afraid this bed is already taken, my dear Doctor.”
Of course. “I might have known you’d have something to do with this.”
The mattress beneath his hands shifted as though the Master were moving and then there was another of those sharp intakes of breath. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m as much in the dark as you are this time, Doctor.”
“Pun intended, I suppose.”
“Always.”
He wished he could see the Master, it was never a good idea to be at such a disadvantage when it was clear the Master could see him. Or at the very least had adapted better to the dark cell. He wondered how long the other Time Lord had been there.
Straightening up, he cautiously perched on the edge of the bed; if the Master intended to attack him, he’d hardly gain much more advantage with their proximity than he already had.
“Well I must say, your current accommodations leave a lot to be desired.” He leaned back a little, until he encountered the cold wall and then shuffled more fully onto the bed. Beside him, he could now feel the Master pressed along his left side; the other Time Lord held himself stiffly, almost curling away from the touch.
“What are you doing?” The Master asked sharply, somehow pulling even further away despite it being unlikely that the bed was that spacious. He must have been pressed right up against the wall.
“Getting comfortable.” The Doctor reached across his body, feeling for the Master only to be stopped by a too-cold hold, long gloveless fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist.
“Use the other bed.”
“Nonsense.” He said, tugging his arm back and frowning as the Master’s breath hitched before he released him. “Plenty of room here.”
“Then I’ll use the other bed.” Said in the usual superior tone, but the Master didn’t move.
The Doctor waited, his hearts beating harder against his chest the longer the silence held. “Are you chained to the wall?” He asked eventually, hiding the flash of concern from his voice.
“Of course not. Why would they chain me and not you?” He sounded the same, unless you listened closely, unless you knew him. The Doctor was perhaps the only one who did.
“Possibly because you reverted to type and threatened them with that tissue compression eliminator you wave about everywhere.” Tipping sideways slowly, the Doctor pressed his shoulder back against the Master’s, feeling the tremor running through him before he pulled away again. This time the Master’s breath drew in with an audible stutter as he moved.
If there had been a light available, this would have been the moment the Doctor switched it on with a huff. “Just what is going on here?” He demanded, straining his eyes but still unable to see the Master. Although he thought he was beginning to see a darker mass in the space beside him.
“Did they hit you on the head with one of their spears, Doctor? Or is this what happens when you rely so long on a human companion to point the obvious out to you?”
But the Doctor was hardly listening, noting only the strained quality to the Master’s voice. He turned a little more to the side to try to see the dark shape more clearly and the Master gasped.
“If you insist on remaining here, will you at least sit still and stop bouncing around.”
The Doctor stilled. “You’re hurt.”
The Master did not answer at first, which was all the Doctor needed to set his hearts pounding. His seeking fingers found the Master’s hand first, the back as cold as the fingers had been around his wrist, it trembled where it lay against the Master’s thigh.
“Merely a minor inconvenience.” But the Doctor was already sliding his hand up the Master’s arm, knowing better than to believe him.
The Master still held himself so stiffly that the tremor might have been from muscle tension, except that as the Doctor’s fingers found the Master’s waist, they encountered something warm and tacky. As though only now working, his nose picked out the coppery tang of-
“Blood.” He stated, feeling around the saturated shirt until he touched against the Master’s own hand, holding tight to his abdomen.
The Master hummed, the Doctor’s touch obviously adding a small amount of extra pressure against his wound. “Very good, Doctor. You’re almost living up to that name of yours.”
“Now is not the time for levity. Damnation, why are there no lights in here?” Despite his frustration, his touch was careful as he felt around the Master’s hand. His shirt had been pulled back on that side and his skin felt too cold for infection but the Doctor was more concerned about blood loss; it took a lot for a Time Lord to develop an infection of the blood, but they could bleed out twice as fast as any single circulatory organism.
“Really Doctor, you almost sound concerned.”
He ignored him, too busy hunting through his jacket pockets for anything that might help. He almost cried out when his fingers wrapped around a box of matches. Pulling it out, he struck one as soon as it was free, the sudden flare of light making them both flinch. The Master gasped again, and in the light of the match, the Doctor could see the way he bit his lip to keep more sound from escaping, his eyes clenched shut.
He paused only a moment to take in the drawn lines of the Master’s face, the sweat glistening on his brow despite the cool temperature of his skin, before he brought the light lower to see where the Master clutched at his stomach.
Where his shirt still covered him, it was red with blood, darker the closer it was to the wound. On his left side, the Master’s usually tanned skin was pale except where blood was smeared across his chest and abdomen. His left hand was equally as red and the Doctor could see where blood was still oozing in the gaps between his fingers.
The match flame burned low enough to catch his fingertips and the Doctor shook it out, quickly lighting another. Across the Master’s leg his jacket was crumpled, the material too dark to show if it had already been used to absorb the blood, or if the stubborn Master had really thought to hold off the wound with just his hands, to save his sartorial fancies.
Reaching out, he covered the Master’s hand with his own, careful not to press down. “Let me take a look, my dear.”
Perhaps it was the accidental endearment, or the Master realising how few choices he had, but he allowed the Doctor to pull his hand away with relatively little resistance.
The wound wasn’t too large but it was deep; penetrating to the left of his lower abdomen. If it had missed the Master’s intestines it would be a miracle, although a quick check told him the weapon had at least failed to go all the way through the Master. Blood seeped steadily from it and the Doctor allowed himself only long enough to memorise the jagged edges where the weapon had torn its way back out, before he flattened his own hand in place of the Master’s and pressed down heavily.
The Master bucked, gasping in pain and scrabbled at the Doctor’s arm. “We need to stop this bleeding.” The Master’s fingers curled around his forearm, gripping his jacket sleeve.
The match bit his fingers again and he blew it out, unable to strike another while he held his hand against the Master’s stomach.
Feeling around in his pocket again, he tugged out a large handkerchief, relatively clean and folded it loosely before slipping it beneath his hand against the wound. The Master moaned at the additional jostling.
Gripping the Master’s left hand, he pulled it away from his arm and placed it over the handkerchief, his own hand pulling back. “Hold that, tightly.” He ordered.
Now able to, the Doctor lit another match and held it out for the Master to take. The flame flickered as the hand holding it shook, but didn’t go out. He frowned, ever more concerned at the way the Master’s body was betraying his condition.
Shrugging first out of his cloak, and then his jacket, the Doctor hesitated only a moment before unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it off.
“Whatever are you doing now?” The Master asked, eyebrows raised in the light of the match.
“That should be perfectly obvious. You need something more substantial to staunch that wound.” Thus said, he waited for the Master to lift the handkerchief away, before replacing it with the shirt.
He held the Master’s hand for a moment, both applying pressure as the Master’s breath stuttered with the pain. The match flickered and went out, plunging them into darkness again.
“We need to get out of here.”
“I won’t argue with you, Doctor.”
Rising from the bed, he followed his memory back to the door, banging his fists against it when a touch around the ‘frame’ yielded nothing but more of the smooth metal.
“Help! Someone, whoever you are. Surely you don’t want us to die in here?”
He stopped banging to listen for any movement outside, but could hear nothing.
“I do wish I had your optimism, Doctor. But I’m afraid their treatment of prisoners is not quite up to your standards.”
Banging his fist once more, he turned towards the Master, once again hidden in the darkness. “Just how long have you been here?”
“Oh time is hard to keep track of in continual darkness, even for a Time Lord, but it was Wednesday when they overwhelmed me and it has been several days since.”
Wednesday. “My dear man, it’s Thursday! You mean to tell me you’ve been here for more than a week?”
If that were true, the Master could not have been injured in his initial capture, he wouldn’t have survived this long.
“If you say so, Doctor. As I said, it’s been hard to keep track of the days.”
Moving back towards the bed, he felt along the mattress until he found the box of matches, lit another and looked about their cell.
The walls were all of the same metal as the rest of the ship, reflecting the light back. As the Master had mentioned, there was another bed along the opposite wall and a table near to the door that had a curved metal jug on it. At the end of the Master’s bed, an archway led to a small room with some kind of toilet.
“I can’t say that I’ve missed the view.”
He turned quickly to the Master. “You weren’t always kept in the dark, then?”
From the archway he couldn’t see the Master’s face clearly, but there was something in the tension of his voice that told of his discomfort with the question. “No. That was a recent development.”
He stepped closer to the bed, letting the match go out before it could burn him. “As recent as that wound no doubt.”
He couldn’t see the Master, but he could hear the shift of fabric as he shrugged. “A miscalculation I’m not likely to make a second time.”
Back at the bed, he lowered down onto the mattress, hearing the Master react to the movement despite the care he took. “You tried to hypnotise them. Of course you did.”
“If what you say is true, I’d been an unwelcome guest here for several days by then. You might have noticed they don’t respond to vocalisation at this wavelength? If I could just have found the right pitch…”
So that was why he had been unable to hear them, of course. They spoke on an entirely different vocal range. Given their sensitivity to loud noises, even the Doctor’s own voice, they must be at a much higher register, something like the whistles created for dogs.
“They stabbed you for that?”
Beside him, the Master shifted, slipping down further on the bed. His usually impeccable posture fell victim to the weakness of blood loss. The Doctor frowned, inching closer.
“Negotiation was proving unsuccessful and their heads are near impenetrable without contact, so I attacked one of the guards and attempted an escape.”
He didn’t have to say that the attempt was a failure, almost fatally so.
“When they returned me to this cell, it was without light.”
The Master shivered with a groan bitten off too late to go unheard.
Pulling his jacket back on, the Doctor shook out his cloak and laid it over the Master.
“Really, Doctor, one could almost think you cared.”
Still he shivered, more violently as the minutes ticked by until the Doctor could take it no more.
“Oh you really are most infuriating.”
Before the Master could put forward a defense, the Doctor reached for his shoulders and gently eased him forward. Even with the care taken, the Master couldn’t prevent a moan escaping, higher pitched than either of them was probably comfortable with.
Biting back an apology, the Doctor slid into the space created behind the Master and eased him back against his chest, tucking the cloak in tight around him.
The Master was still shivering, tremors that seemed to pain him if the hitches in his breath were anything to go by. If he tried to hold himself stiffly away from the Doctor, it wasn’t for more than a minute or two before the effort proved too great.
Wrapping one arm around the Master’s shoulder, the other went beneath the cloak to press his donated shirt tighter to the Master’s stomach. The Master bucked into him with an inelegant grunt, the back of his head damp with sweat where it slammed against the Doctor’s collarbone.
“It’s for your own good.” He said, in lieu of an apology.
The shivering stopped as the Master warmed to their shared body heat, but still he could feel the fine tremble beneath the Master’s skin.
“I don’t suppose that army of yours are laying siege as we speak?”
“They’re not my army.” He argued, resisting an old urge to rest his cheek against the Master’s head. “And no, they’re quite ignorant of my present location.”
“Gave them the slip, did you? Bucking your leash at last.”
“Oh do be quiet.” He snapped, perhaps a tad sharply. “Conserve your strength.” He added and frowned at himself for the concern.
“-if I could touch their minds, I’m certain I could control them. Start with their leader, of course-”
The Master had not stayed quiet for long.
“-they seem like a hierarchical race, with the leader under my control the rest will soon follow-”
“And how are you to achieve this? Supposing you were able to hypnotise them, despite your previous failure, how are you intending to gain an audience with their leader?”
“We’ll have to overwhelm a guard or two of course, child’s play if we keep out of reach of those spears of theirs.”
If the situation weren’t so dire, the Doctor would laugh.
“My dear fellow, you’re in no state to overwhelm anyone.”
This was unfortunately too true. The Master’s weight had been steadily increasing against the Doctor’s chest as the other man leant more heavily into him. His skin felt clammy where his forehead now rested against the Doctor’s neck and even without lighting a match to look, the Doctor knew the crumpled shirt beneath his hand was far more red than white.
“Besides which, we’ve not seen a guard in hours, not since I was flung in here.” Food had appeared on the table by the door some time ago, along with a fresh jug of water; a single light blinking on above it for a few seconds to announce its arrival. Neither of them had heard a thing preceding its appearance.
He had gathered the biscuit-like food and water and returned to the Master with it, concern growing when he received no complaint about the provisions. The Master had only made pained sounds as he settled back behind him, gathering him close again to stave off the lingering chill.
“Do you have a better idea?”
“Of course, I do.” He lied, “and it doesn’t involve risking another jab from their weapons.”
The Master chuckled darkly, cutting himself off with a flinch as it obviously jarred his wound. “You never were a good liar, my dear Doctor.”
“Hardly a flaw, is it?”
The Master hummed, “you shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss the benefits of a good fabrication.”
“Call it what you will, lies are always found out in the end. Look at yourself; how many times have your ‘fabrications’ been unmasked?”
Against his throat he felt the Master grimace. “Perhaps leave the puns to me as well, Doctor. I’ll admit,” he added, through what sounded like gritted teeth, “that you have an irritating ability to appear at the wrong time to complicate my plans, but the universe does not revolve around you, and there have been many occasions where you have not been present that I have succeeded well enough with my ‘fabrications’.”
That was a worrying thought.
“How many worlds have you ruled?” He asked, reluctant to be drawn in by the Master’s words but too curious not to know.
“Come now, Doctor, that would be telling.”
Truly, the most irritating individual he had ever known.
The Master’s breath hitched again, rattling somewhat in his chest. The Doctor adjusted his hold to feel the pulse at his throat. It was far too erratic. His skin felt even colder to the touch, the tremble beneath it having increased steadily as time passed and the Master continued to lose blood. Nevermind what other effects the wound to that area must be causing.
“Not long now, I shouldn’t wonder.” Came the Master’s voice, fear threaded through the words.
“Come now, my dear. We might still make it out of this, and UNIT has a fine medical team. And if not…we’re both old hats at regeneration by now.”
The Master was quiet too long, something niggled at the back of the Doctor’s mind.
“Oh yes,” the Master said somewhat ominously; “I’m no stranger to regeneration.”
The niggle became an insistent prodding. “How many faces has it been, since the Academy?”
Again the Master hesitated before answering, the Doctor felt a surge of dread. “Eleven.”
Eleven. “Eleven? But that would mean-”
“That this is my last face? Yes, rather saved the best to last, I think.” The attempt at levity fell flat, the Doctor hardly noticing the words. Twelve regenerations. Even a Time Lord was not immortal.
His arms tightened around the Master without thought. How many times now, had they left each other at peril, always knowing that the worst outcome would be a new face. To learn that each time, the Master risked the ultimate end…it somewhat recoloured the Doctor’s memories of their recent encounters.
“Because I could not stop for Death, he kindly stopped for me.”
“Oh do shut up, no one is dying.”
“From your lips, Doctor.”
But the Master’s breath was shallow now, his body limp and as he raised a hand to pat the Doctor’s arm, it fell heavily.
“I will get us out of here.” The Doctor promised.
“Of course.” The Master’s rich voice sounded thin. “I should tell you where my TARDIS is, I suppose. If you promise to take my body far away from this primitive planet.”
“No.”
“Oh don’t worry, Doctor, I haven’t had a change of hearts, but it amuses me to think I could thwart the council one last time, in helping you break your exile.”
The Doctor said nothing.
“No? Well, if you’re sure.”
The Master gasped again, fingers clutching at the Doctor’s hand. So cold, he couldn’t help but flinch.
“Master-”
“I have enjoyed our games, my old friend. Perhaps we might call this one a draw?”
The Master’s chest heaved once more and then his fingers went lax around the Doctor’s.
“Master? Master!”
“Doctor? Is that you?”
He had never been so glad to hear Jo’s voice.
“In here, Jo. Hurry!”
It was Captain Yates who stumbled across the ship, the Brigadier told him later. A small seismic charge set off near the area they had found Bessie abandoned had sent the ship into a sort of flux. The Doctor would be removing the tracker from his car later, but grudgingly he felt some gratitude for the Brigadier’s imposition. There had only been a few of the creatures, in the end, a forward party. They were easily overwhelmed by UNIT’s superior numbers.
“Will the Master survive, do you think, Doctor?” The Brigadier asked across his desk.
“With the finest medical minds UNIT have to offer seeing to his care, I’m sure he will. Why? Are you worried for him, Brigadier?”
The soldier frowned. “Not at all, but we can’t have him escaping justice now can we?”
“And it would be strange without the Master appearing all over the place.” Piped up a voice from behind the Doctor’s shoulder.
The Brigadier glared. “Yes, thank you Benton. Haven’t you somewhere to patrol?”
“Sir!” Boots shuffled off, the office door opening and closing again.
“I blame you for that, you know. They come here trained and with their heads on straight and a few days with you sends them all barmy.”
What an outrageous accusation. Before he could offer a rebuttal, the sound of heels moving quickly down the corridor and his name called in a high voice caught both their attentions.
“Doctor!” Jo cried again as she burst into the Brigadier’s office.
Before the Doctor turned to her, he caught the resigned expression that settled on the Brigadier’s face. “Oh don’t tell me, Miss Grant. The Master’s got away.”
Jo frowned sheepishly. “I’m afraid so, Sir. Mike, that is, Captain Yates went to check on him just now, Sir and he was gone.”
“Of course he was.” The Doctor bit back a smile at the Brigadier’s tone. “And his doctors?”
“Oh, they’re alright, Sir. They were all asleep in the other beds.”
Jo caught his eye and he could see a peculiar twinkle of humour in hers. He had a moment to wonder if she hadn’t delayed Yates’s discovery intentionally, before shaking the thought off as preposterous.
“Right, I suppose I’d best have the men check the perimeter, in case he hasn’t made it out of the grounds yet.” The Brigadier rose and left the office, muttering beneath his breath but not looking quite as angry as he should.
“Doctor? This was on the Master’s pillow.”
Jo held out a folded piece of white paper, a symbol on it the Doctor recognised intimately. It was nice to know the Council hadn’t removed his entire understanding of Gallifreyan. He could at least still read his own name.
“Thank you, Jo. Perhaps you could see if my cloak has returned from the cleaners yet?” He turned the paper over between his fingers.
“Of course, Doctor.” Jo smiled again, before winking and leaving the office with a bounce in her step, quite at odds with their having lost their enemy again.
Unfolding the note, the Doctor smiled. The partial equation written beneath two words in the Master’s handwriting was the most obvious of thank yous.
“Indeed, my old friend. The games continue.” He said, refolding the note and tapping it against his chin once. Tucking it away in his jacket pocket, he sprung from the chair and headed out to his laboratory and the TARDIS, the Master’s words taken to heart.
‘Your move.’