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The Doctor didn't know what he'd expected when he and Rose had ended up in 2006, but never in a million years could he have predicted what ended up happening.
For one thing, he’d completely forgotten the Master was already active at that point, playing as Harold Saxon, but even if he had remembered, it surely couldn't have been expected to anticipate his actions.
“Would you shut up,” the Master snapped, whipping round to point his laser screwdriver at Rose, who’d been crying loudly and begging him to stop.
There were few sounds more terrifying than one’s niece pleading for mercy, but she was unharmed, which was as safe as she was going to get. The same could not be said about the Doctor, who'd borne the brunt of the Master’s anger.
“Rose,” the Doctor managed, voice hoarse and weak. “Do as he says.”
He'd done a very good job of disguising himself, so much so that the Doctor hadn't recognised him until a hand grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him back. No humans were going to be recognising Harold Saxon; his campaign attempts would be unharmed.
Reminded of the humans around him, the Doctor curled in on himself, trying to hide his face from prying eyes. Several people had made a big deal about calling the police at the start, but either they'd stopped or the ringing in his ears had gotten too loud to hear them.
The Doctor was curled up on wet grass, muddying the dirt below with his blood. He had bruises all over his face and several long gouges in his arms, courtesy of the Master’s pocket knife. The Master had planted the knife in his side, thankfully not removing it after he stabbed it in. With the pains coming from every part of his body and the fuzzy, pounding pain of his head, the Doctor suspected there were other injuries he hadn't accounted for, but he’d deal with those later.
“Doctor,” the Master said, crouching down in front of him. The Doctor hated to admit that he'd missed that face. He'd miss the Master in any incarnation, as fervently as he might deny that to himself and others. “Look up at me, will you?”
The Doctor complied, slowly pushing himself up on his elbows so he could meet the Master’s eyes. He chose to focus on the Master instead of letting his attention flit to the crowd gathered around on all sides, staring at him with eyes wide with horror. Why aren't they helping me? the Doctor wondered, though he found he didn't really care. All that really mattered was that they weren't hurt.
“My, my,” the Master said softly, running gentle fingers across the Doctor’s face. “You've aged well, Doctor. Though I'm honestly surprised you made it past a decade, given this regeneration’s habits.” He laughed a little, and the Doctor stayed deathly quiet. His situation was incredibly precarious; he couldn't risk giving away facts about the future to the Master, but if he realised he was hiding something then things would only get worse for him.
“Why…?” the Doctor rasped. He vaguely remembered the feeling of an unwavering grip around his throat, cutting his breathing until the world started to flare and go dark before his eyes. How many times had the Master done that? He found he couldn't remember.
“Because you're not supposed to live this long,” the Master spat. “You being here at this age with your pet means I failed. And I can't just let you get away with taunting me like that.”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t test me, Doctor.” The Master’s previously gentle touch became sharp and painful, digging into cuts and bruises with cruel efficiency. “I've got all these humans here, I could hurt any of them at any point.”
Why haven't you? the Doctor considered asking, but he knew the answer, just as the Master did. He hated being vulnerable, being seen at his lowest points and knowing there was nothing he could do about it. The Master had all the control in the situation and until he decided he was through with the Doctor, the ever-growing crowd’s eyes would stay fixed on him, weak and injured and trembling. He felt like he was being flayed open and knew Rose would never see him the same way again; how could she ever trust him to protect her if he couldn't even stand up to the Master?
He had tried fighting back, but then the Master had threatened Rose and the Doctor gave in. He gave in and in and in until he feared he’d snap, ringing ears drowning out everything except the Master’s voice, spinning vision somehow always centering on the Master’s face. The only things in his world were the Master, the searing pain, and all those eyes fixed on him. He didn't know how he’d ever recover.
“Are those tears?” the Master asked almost gleefully, gripping the Doctor’s face by the sides and pressing his thumbs on his lower eyelids. “I've never seen you cry before, it's a great look on you.”
The Doctor blinked back his tears as best he could, hating how comforting the Master’s touch felt. After everything, feeling another the only Time Lord’s touch was intoxicating and he found himself unconsciously reaching out for contact, which the Master viciously denied.
The Doctor was thrown back, biting back a wail as the violent motion made all his injuries light up with intense agony. It was only partially successful.
“Who do you think you are?” the Master sneered. “You want contact? You think you deserve it after everything? I didn't realise you were so stupid.”
“Master, please…” he didn't know what he was asking for, really. It gave him some semblance of control, at least, instead of just being a ragdoll for the Master to vent his anger against.
“Don't you dare.” The Master was pacing around the Doctor, seething with sudden fury. The Doctor could practically hear the drumbeat pounding in his head and wanted nothing more than to reach out and remove it for him. Maybe then he could have a little peace, go back to being the person the Doctor had once known. “You don't get to ask me for anything, you should be glad you're even alive.”
The Doctor shut his eyes, fighting against blood loss to stay conscious, and suddenly felt a strong weight on his chest. Opening his eyes, he found it was the Master’s knee, pressing down on his ribcage.
“Listen now, Doctor,” the Master said, leaning down so he was mere inches from the Doctor. “You've got a nice little audience here who will all remember everything in excruciating detail. You've probably ruined all of these people’s lives, making them watch this.” The Doctor whimpered, fingers digging pointlessly against the ground, not strong enough to get purchase. “I don't care, though. You know what I want? I want to see you cry. I will kill you if you don't.” He laughed, and it hurt to listen to. “I might kill you even if you do. We’ll see.”
It shouldn't be hard to cry, the Doctor’s whole body was burning with agony, but millennia of pushing back tears in the presence of others were hard to undo, and the Doctor couldn't let go.
“Is it too hard for you?” the Master asked faux-kindly. “I’m sure I can help out.”
Suddenly, the pocketknife in the Doctor’s side was twisting roughly, cutting open as much of his insides as the Master could manage, and this time the Doctor couldn't hold back a scream. The Master withdrew the knife and raised it to his eye level, ravenously watching the Doctor’s blood travel down the length of the blade. Then, quick as a viper, the Master slammed it down in the Doctor’s chest, right under his collarbone, and twisted it so wildly he might as well have been stirring batter.
The Doctor blacked out, only momentarily aware he’d started to scream before the world went simultaneously black and white around him, sparking with blindingly bright darkness.
When he came back to, the Master was no longer pressing down on him. He was standing over the Doctor, grinning down at him.
“I was right,” the Master said, almost to himself. “You do look pretty when you cry.”
Then he turned and dismissed the crowd, who could've sprinted or meandered away, the Doctor didn't know. He was panting, eyes stinging with tears and nerves screaming from the pain.
He must've gotten back to the TARDIS somehow because he patched himself up in her medbay eventually, hands shaking. All of a sudden, all his body wanted to do was cry, but the Doctor couldn't let it, not when Rose was waiting for him. She was pale and shaky, and the Doctor wished he could tell her it was alright and have her believe him.