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Every now and then, the Doctor and Donna slipped away for little escapades quietly, discreetly, without the family knowing. Sometimes during Donna’s holidays, sometimes on lazy weekends. Once or twice, even in the middle of a workday, she’d vanish on her lunch break and if you had a time machine, well, you could always return the very moment you left.
Donna didn’t like leaving the Doctor alone for too long. And even though he’d insist, “I just want a bit of a holiday, Donna,” she knew him too well to believe it. The man couldn’t stay still if the universe itself sat on his lap. Besides, her own taste for adventure had never quite faded either.
Years later, they were still the same unstoppable duo. And so, one peaceful morning, while everyone at home was still fast asleep, Donna and the Doctor decided on a little getaway.
A quiet planet. A resort town. Strange creatures, curious customs. Just a change of scenery, that was all they wanted. And yet—inevitably—they found trouble.
It had all started rather pleasantly. Donna wandered through the marketplace, bargaining over bright fabrics and trinkets, trying on a few odd dresses that shimmered under alien sunlight. The Doctor, meanwhile, was deep in conversation with the locals, fascinated as ever by the little details of their culture.
That was when he learned that only a few years ago, this world had faced catastrophe: a full-scale Zygon invasion. According to the townsfolk, salvation had come from the heavens a god descending from the sky, bearing a weapon that turned the tide of war. With it, the people had driven the Zygons away, and their “god” had remained behind ever since, ruling as a benevolent king.
When the Doctor asked for this god’s name, the locals went pale. Speaking it, they said, was forbidden. It could only be written.
“Then write it for me,” the Doctor suggested.
But they only smiled nervously and said, “It’s written everywhere. You only have to look.”
And indeed, when the Doctor lifted his gaze, he saw it etched onto signs, carved into walls, engraved on every public surface. The same word, repeated endlessly. Yet when he tried to ask how it was pronounced, no one dared reply.
Then a murmur swept through the crowd people began hurrying in one direction, silent and purposeful. Intrigued, the Doctor followed, Donna at his side. Every time he asked where they were going, he was met with shushing gestures. Finally, they arrived before a great building, its domed roof gleaming under twin suns.
“A temple,” the Doctor murmured. “Has to be.”
The walls were inscribed with verses praising their divine king, the lettering glowing faintly like burning gold.
Driven by curiosity, as always, their most dangerous flaw they stepped inside.
The interior was vast and hushed, the air heavy with incense and reverence. Rows of worshippers knelt motionless, eyes closed, lips barely moving as they prayed in complete silence. Out of respect, the Doctor and Donna knelt as well.
Donna’s head was buzzing with questions: Who was this god? What weapon? How did a Zygon war become a religion?, But the Doctor pressed a finger to his lips, signalling her to stay quiet.
And then, of course, she sneezed.
Not once, but twice. Loudly. Violently.
“Bless you,” the Doctor said before he could stop himself.
Every head turned. Hundreds of eyes glared at them with frozen horror. Silence fell so thick it felt physical.
“Oh,” whispered Donna. “That’s not good.”
Moments later, temple guards rushed forward, seizing them both by the arms and dragging them out into the blinding daylight.
As it turned out, they had just desecrated the Sanctum of Silence, where speaking or making any sound, was considered a grave sin. Sneezing, apparently, was unforgivable.
Their trial was brief and wordless. Within the hour, they were tied to wooden stakes in the central square, surrounded by a crowd gathering kindling.
“Doctor, do something!” Donna shouted. “And don’t you dare tell me you don’t have a plan!”
“Working on it,” the Doctor replied through clenched teeth.
“Well, work faster! I’ve got a daughter, a husband, a mother waiting for me and if I don’t show up to work on Monday, I’m done for!”
“I am going to save us, Donna. You’re not helping me think.”
“They’re about to set us on fire, Doctor! You might want to speed up the process!”
“I’m a Time Lord the fastest thinker in the universe!”
“Poor universe,” Donna muttered, exasperated.
“What?” he blinked, missing the irony entirely.
Their accusers raised their hands for silence, and a hush rippled through the square. The Doctor and Donna looked up at the temple gates as the crowd bowed.
Their “god”, their king was coming.
They were to be burned alive as an offering.
And somewhere, deep in the Doctor’s mind, a dreadful suspicion began to form about whose name he’d seen written all over the city.
And just as the Doctor feared, his worst suspicion took form before his eyes.
The crowd parted like a tide, bowing low as the great doors of the temple opened. From within the gold-lit shadows, the “god-king” emerged.
And there he was.
The Master.
Clad in regal armour woven with crimson thread and black silk, crowned with something that shimmered like molten steel, he strode towards the throne with a grin that could have cut glass. The people roared their devotion. When he sat, every head in the square bowed to the ground.
But the Doctor’s hearts plummeted for another reason. This wasn’t the Master he’d last seen the one who had killed him and forced him into regeneration, laughing as he fell. This was a face he hadn’t seen in years.
Harold Saxon.
The Master who once ruled Earth as its Prime Minister. Who turned every human on the planet into his own reflection. Who had stood against Rassilon for him. Who would disappear with Missy at his side.
But clearly, that hadn’t happened yet. His hair was only just beginning to pale from blond to white; his face was unscarred, still bright with that dangerous, youthful vanity. The goatee wasn’t there yet. The Doctor knew when that would come after Mondas ship.
And then the Master saw him. Recognition dawned instantly, curling into wicked delight.
“Well, well, well. The Doctor and his pet,” he purred, spreading his arms theatrically. “What a surprise! Though I’m afraid you’ve picked a rather unfortunate moment for a reunion. You’ll be roasted before tea.”
“That’s him, isn’t it? The Master?” Donna stared, eyes wide.
“Don’t. Say. Anything,” the Doctor hissed through his teeth. “He’s… from my past.”
“Come on, Doctor,” the Master called out, leaning forward on his throne. “Cat got your tongue? Aren’t you glad to see me?”
“Master,” the Doctor said quietly, his voice carrying across the square. “Let us go.”
The Master gave a mock gasp.
“Let you go? Why? You two desecrated my temple of silence. I always told you, Doctor, your tongue would get you into trouble one day. You simply never know when to shut up.” he laughed, the sound sharp and cold.
“Have you had enough fun?” the Doctor asked, steady but low.
“Oh, not nearly.” The Master’s smile widened, shark-like. “I intend to have so much more once I hear you scream.”
Donna squirmed against the ropes, her voice trembling.
“Doctor, please, do something! Mister Master…sir…whatever you are, please, just let us go. My daughter, my husband…they’re waiting for me!”
The Master only chuckled. And then the crowd stepped forward, silent and obedient. They piled dry branches beneath the Doctor’s and Donna’s feet, struck flint, and the fire took. Smoke coiled upward, the crackle of flame filling the hush.
The Doctor’s jaw tightened. He didn’t flinch.
The Master stood, watching the blaze climb, his expression shifting, almost soft for a heartbeat.
“You know, Doctor,” he said, his voice cutting through the smoke, “I begged you once. On Sarn. Do you remember? I begged you to save me from the fire. And what did you do? You watched. You watched me burn. You don’t even know how I survived.”
The Doctor met his gaze steadily.
“I remember. You told me later…much later…how you survived.”
Something flickered in the Master’s eyes, recognition, unease, the faintest trace of curiosity. Then he flicked his wrist.
The fire died instantly, extinguished by a sudden rush of air.
Guards hurried forward, cutting the ropes and dragging the Doctor and Donna to their knees before the throne. The Master sat upon his throne, one leg crossed lazily over the other, surveying them with a look that was equal parts amusement and disdain.
“My dear Doctor,” he drawled, voice dripping with mock affection. “On your knees before me again. Tell me, is this your destiny?”
He laughed, low and delighted, the sound echoing through the chamber like the crackle of fire.
The Doctor clenched his jaw, saying nothing.
The Master tilted his head, studying him like a puzzle.
“Why that face? Every time I see you… it’s this one. Different regenerations, same face. What is it, your last one? Thirteenth, isn’t it? You could’ve chosen the Valeyard’s, and yet you keep this. How many times have you worn it, I wonder? Three? Four?”
“Maybe I keep this face,” the Doctor said quietly, “because it reminds me of you.”
For a heartbeat, the Master froze. His smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of something unspoken, but only for a moment. Then he laughed again, sharp and bright.
“When I saved you from Rassilon,” he said, “how on earth did you manage to die afterward?”
The Doctor’s eyes narrowed.
“And how did you get here? Found yourself a few souls to rule over, have you? Does the worship fill that little void in your ego?”
The Master smiled, slow and venomous.
“They see us as gods. Hardly a lie, wouldn’t you say?”
“One day you’ll realise you’re not one,” the Doctor warned softly. “And when that day comes, it’ll hurt like hell.”
The Master’s amusement dimmed as he studied him more carefully. There was something in that tone something that didn’t belong to this moment.
“You’re from my future, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Yes,” the Doctor admitted.
“How far ahead?”
“Three regenerations.”
The Master’s brows drew together.
“Impossible. The last time I saw you, you were in your twelfth body.”
“The Time Lords gave me a new regeneration cycle,” the Doctor said, and though not entirely a lie, the words tasted bitter.
“Of course they did,” the Master sneered, though the venom in his voice was tempered by something like relief. “Still, I’m glad you’re alive. The universe would be dreadfully dull without you.”
The Doctor’s lips parted before he could stop himself.
“And without you…”
The Master’s twin hearts stuttered, then raced. “Without me?” he echoed, stepping down from his throne. “Which face am i on now, Doctor?”
“No spoilers,” the Doctor murmured, shaking his head.
The Master smirked again, regaining his rhythm.
“Then perhaps I’ll eat that red-haired friend of yours as an appetizer. A little sacrifice in my honor.”
“Excuse me?” Donna gasped, face draining of color.
“You’re still eating people?” the Doctor snapped.
“Eating people?!” Donna shrieked, visibly horrified.
The Master chuckled.
“Now and then. Hard habits die hard. But don’t change the subject. Did I regenerate or not?”
The Doctor hesitated, then gave the smallest nod.
“I see,” the Master said quietly. “Then why do your eyes look like that? So full of grief. Like you’ve seen a ghost. Did you fail to save me… again?”
The Doctor’s throat tightened. The memory hit like a blow, the last look, the falling, the fire. He swallowed hard, but he couldn’t look away.
“Why, Doctor?” the Master whispered. “Why can’t you ever save me?”
“Maybe that’s my punishment,” the Doctor said, voice rough.
“So… in your world, I’m gone?” There was no anger now, only a hollow ache that crept into the Master’s words.
“You’re not gone,” the Doctor said after a long pause. “You’re just…” he couldn’t finish.
The Master watched him, expression unreadable, then gestured sharply. The guards stepped back. “Release them.”
Donna’s bindings fell away with a clatter. She exhaled shakily, while the Doctor merely stared, uncertain.
The Master descended the last few steps and stopped in front of him. The mocking tone was gone.
“I’m not letting you go for nothing, Doctor. Go and save me.”
The Doctor met his eyes for a long moment, then simply nodded. He turned to leave, but something in him broke. He turned back and pulled the Master into a sudden, desperate embrace. The scent of ozone and smoke clung to him, familiar, unbearable. The Master went still, unnerved by the tremor in the Doctor’s breath.
When the Doctor finally let go, his eyes were wet. He gave one last, grief-stricken look and walked away.
The Master stood frozen where he was, watching the blue box vanish. For the first time in a long while, he felt fear, not for his life, but for what awaited him.
Later, the Doctor brought Donna home, but he himself couldn’t bring himself to step outside the TARDIS.
“There’s one last thing I have to do,” he murmured.
“You’re going to save him, aren’t you?” Donna asked softly.
“I have to,” the Doctor said.
Donna closed the TARDIS doors behind her.
“Then what are we waiting for?”
“You don’t have to come. He nearly burned you alive,” the Doctor warned.
“All the more reason to come,” Donna replied firmly. “You’re not meant to be alone in this.”
The Doctor smiled faintly, the kind of smile that carried more sorrow than warmth, and entered the coordinates.
The TARDIS engines roared to life, carrying them through the timestream, back to the moment where he had last seen it: the golden tooth, gleaming faintly in the ruins, holding the Master prisoner.
He would find it.
He would free him.
He would never stop trying.