Chapter Text
One two three four. One two three four.
It had been four days since the fall of his glorious reign. Four days since everything that made the Master himself had been forcefully ripped away from him. Four days since he first got hauled into this broken, filthy machine by none other than his oldest friend himself. He huffed spitefully. He could always count on the Doctor to ruin everything. The drums that had grown louder than ever certainly did not help too, running through his conscience like an infestation, latching onto his thoughts, feeding on his mind.
In the few days since his imprisonment in the filthy, outdated excuse of a machine, the Master had dyed his hair blond. Why? Because he decided he didn't want to taint the image of himself when he had the whole world under control, with his current situation. Terrible for in case he wanted to look back and savour this regeneration in some other future regenerations. Blond, because he took notice of the Doctor’s fondness of blond hair, and on a whim, just to spite him, he chose that colour.
One two three four… one two three four…
The Master was sprawled across the TARDIS console in a highly uncomfortable position, bored out of his mind and slightly irritated by his current predicament. The Doctor had biolocked the Master out of the controls to make sure the Master never gets hold of it — of course, the Master had tried to take over the TARDIS more than once in the past few days he had been in this place, but he never did succeed. He hadn’t been sleeping well at all, with him being a prisoner -- the Master groaned at that thought -- on the Doctor’s ship, powerless. The TARDIS doesn’t seem to like him a lot. The Master didn’t expect her to; he did turn her into a paradox machine for a while, after all. The image of the Doctor’s TARDIS flashing crimson, stained with the colour of spilt blood, whining like someone committed a heinous act — which, by her standard, he probably did, he thought dully — brought a slight grin to his worn out face. She was beautiful, then, perfectly bloody and complying to his orders. Not so much now. The Master resented the bright glow she emitted, the grating noise she’s not supposed to make, and most of all, his captor, who treasured her as if a Type 40 TARDIS is something to be proud of.
Lost in thought, the Master did not notice the man in question walking up to him until he leaned on the console. The skinny regeneration flashed a weary grin at the Master, much to his annoyance.
“So, how are you finding it here so far?” the Doctor asked absentmindedly. “You’re still not ready for an adventure, so we won’t do that today. However, there is something I’ve been experimenting with that I would very much like to do today.” He continued, not waiting for a reply.
“What does this have to do with me?” the blonde grumbled, straightening up. “Look, you’ve already trapped me in this box of yours, why can’t you just leave me alone?”
The Doctor pouted slightly, his eyes full of understanding. The Master hated it. The Doctor will never, ever, truly understand him and all his problems. Perhaps he did, once upon a time, when they were both kids running through endless meadows of crimson, flowing grass without a care in the world, the wind carrying their crisp laughter through the fields. Perhaps he had, when he gazed at the Master so long ago, his eyes filled with adoration and admiration reserved only for the Master. The Master shook away the memory. Now isn’t the place for reminiscing. That time had long since become irrelevant.
“Come on, I haven’t even told you what it was!” the Doctor pleaded.
“No.”
“It’s about-“
“Did you not hear what I said?” the Master cuts the Doctor off.
“-the drums.”
Silence ensued. The Master turned to look the Doctor in the eye properly, just to see that he isn’t making a sick joke. The Doctor stared back, unusually serious for this regeneration. The Master started laughing. Unbelievable, breathy laughter, fueled by incredulity and a tinge of madness. The Doctor waited silently, his expression stoic and solemn.
The blonde finally settled down, breathless, wheezing slightly. “You're joking. There’s no way for you to take away the drums, or do anything to it that will benefit me. There’s literally no way. I’ve tried for so long, so long, Doctor. From the beginning of time to the end of the universe, the drums followed me everywhere. Everywhere, anywhere, anytime. All the time. Believe me, I’ve tried everything, and now I’m tired of trying. It’s impossible.” He paused to take in a shuddering breath. “Are you impugning my intelligence, Doctor? Do you think you can help me? Because you can’t. Never had and never will!”
The Doctor looked at him with sympathy, making his skin prick. A fresh wave of fury rolled over him, ferocious and unforgiving, and he struggled to contain it.
They were both silent for a while, save the Master’s uneven breathing. The Doctor’s voice cut through the stifling silence when it continued to drag on and was beginning to turn rather awkward for both of them. “Please, Master. Let me try. I can help you.” The man fiddled with the corner of his slightly rumpled pinstripe suit, his eyes full of anticipation and desperation.
Although the Doctor meant well, the Master was not having any of it. The tiny sliver of pride that he desperately clings onto was being manhandled by his worst enemy, leaving him incredibly vulnerable. This was the final straw that sent the Master tumbling over the edge of a precipice. The slight push that screamed ‘oh no you don’t’. The Doctor was dancing on the edge of the knifeblade, pushing his boundaries, and apparently he just didn’t know when to stop. The Master clicked his tongue disapprovingly. Someone needed a reminder.
Without warning, the Master took a step closer to the Doctor, grabbed hold of his shoulders harshly and spun him around, pushing his back against the TARDIS console. Caught off guard by the Master, the Doctor’s brown eyes grew wide. The Master could sense alarm practically radiating off the other Time Lord, his uneven breath grazing the bridge of the Master’s nose. The Master could feel the taller man’s thoughts racing through his head in a blurry tangle of panic and slight anticipation. The corner of the Master’s mouth quirked up in the ghost of a smile, one that acted as a warning spray painted in bold letters on a bright red sign that screamed ‘STAY AWAY!!!’ He leaned closer to the other man, who was still donning the same alarmed expression on his face. His chapped lips grazed the Doctor’s right earlobe, feather soft. More often than not, quiet wrath, the perfect concoction of sickly sweet, volcanic-like honey that churns just below the surface, sends a clearer message than lashing out blindly. The Doctor visibly shivered, his breath hitching in his throat, and the Master thought he rather enjoyed the Doctor’s laboured breathing.
“You? Help me?? Who are you kidding, Doctor. Never in a million years. Never. You haven’t even heard the drums. You think it's my madness causing it. You think that I’m mad. Maybe I am, maybe it’s the drums that’s driving me mad, but in the end, does it really matter?” He paused for a moment, the drum beat thrumming through his head. One two three four. “Oh, Doctor, do you hear it, never-ending drums? No, of course you don’t. Of course not. The drums, calling me, teetering at the edge of my living consciousness, holding my existence together. The drums, in repetitions of four, just like the heart beat of a Time Lord. What am I without the drums?” The Master hissed into the Doctor’s ears, his voice dangerously quiet. Each word was laced with the pain from all the lives he’s lived, all the times when the drums became too much and he couldn’t take it anymore.
“The drums, Doctor…. There’s nothing to do, not even for you. Sorry.” The Master choked back a hysterical laugh, a grimace flitting across his tense face.
The Master pulled away slightly just to see the Doctor’s reaction. The look of alarm was gone from the Doctor’s brown eyes, replaced by that terrible, terrible sympathetic gaze. The simple action made the Master’s blood pressure spike once again. He snatched the Doctor’s tie and yanked it hard in a blind fit of rage. His nose collided with the other man’s nose unceremoniously. The Doctor made a strangled noise from the back of his throat.
“I’ll never go that low as to seek help from you, Doctor.” The blonde spat with contempt. His dignity would never allow it, and he would rather suffer another million years of this torture than to receive help from his greatest enemy.
The Doctor opened his mouth slightly, as if to speak. The Master shot him a venomous look, a warning for him to choose his next words very carefully, as what he spoke next could very well be the reason a planet gets destroyed in the hands of the Master. “Alright, fine! As you wish, Master.” The Doctor grumbled, and the Master just knew the man was silently cursing at his stubbornness.
Pleased, the Master smirked, turned away from the Doctor and walked down one of the corridors without looking back, leaving a rather confused and slightly pissed Doctor wondering about his outburst.