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Lost Boys	By : Turkaholic Category: 1 through F > Doctor Who Views: 3820 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, any of its characters or trademarks. I make no money from the writing of this fanfiction

Chapter List
- 12
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Chapter 11
                The Doctor backed away from the pane of hardened glass, newly forged panic rising in his chest. The way the Master had said his name…
                When the Master had left, leaving him in the fading moonlight last night, he’d felt numb; disgusted with his own weakness. He’d stayed staring out of the window, watching the stars. He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten into bed, and at all times he’d felt the Master’s presence, like a whisper, a painful temptation in his ear.
                The Doctor pulled on his clothes, feeling the bruises and marks on his neck, the ache in his hips: physical proof that last night had happened. The Master was coming. Or had it just been a threat? A message to Martha, still wandering somewhere on the Earth below? The now familiar pang of guilt stabbed through him like a dagger.
                “It’s weird…” Said Jack, “I’ve fought Daleks at your side. We’ve seen the whole universe go to hell – more than once. I’ve seen you scared.” He spoke quietly, watching as the memory showed the Doctor pulling on his shirt. “I’ve never seen you as frightened as this.”
Jack’s Doctor took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. “Well… fear’s subjective, Jack. You get stung by a wasp a few times when you’re young, and that fear grows. You grow up, you become an adult… and then you hear that buzzing in your ear, and it all comes flooding back.”
                Jack thought silently for a moment, and then shook his head doubtfully. “I still don’t get it. Daleks, Doctor: when I was a kid, even though I’d never seen one – didn’t even know if they existed – just the name filled me with dread. And-“ he raised a hand towards the Doctor in the memory “you were scared of what? Your ex?”
                The Doctor stared at his previous self, darkly. “Oh the Master was way more than that.” He muttered, almost to himself, then blew out a breath. “Besides, it wasn’t him I was afraid of.”
                Jack stepped closer to the Doctor curiously, almost too afraid to ask. The Timelord kept his eyes on the scene. Jack got the impression that he was ashamed. “There was a time I would have ripped a hole in the universe for that man.” Said the Doctor heavily. A look bordering on contempt entered into his eyes as he watched himself. “And on some level – in some tiny, insignificant part of my brain – I still wanted to.”
                He sat down on the edge of the bed, and rested his hands on his knees, clenching his fists. The transmission gave him clarity: He’d been stuck in this cage for too long, cut off from the reality down on the surface. He frowned, staring vacantly at the shards of splintered wood that lay across the floor.
                He felt rather than saw the door open. The taste of fresh air hung tantalisingly in the air, and then faded away. The Doctor didn’t raise his eyes; he already knew what was there.
                “Ooh look at that,” came the Master’s voice, soft and arrogant. “Awake and dressed… you needn’t have bothered with the second one, really.” The Doctor continued to frown into space.         “I hope I didn’t wake you with my little bit of theatre. It’s just…” the Master tilted his head back and laughed, closing his eyes in enjoyment, “how could I resist? All those little Earthlings, so stupid and so obedient. No wonder you love this planet.”
                There was silence. The Master turned to look at the Doctor’s face with a pout.
                “…I’ve not broken you already, have I?” He sat down on the bed beside the other Timelord, leaning in to look at his face. “That wasn’t meant to happen yet. I wrote out a schedule and everything.”
Still more silence. The Master raised an eyebrow impatiently, poking the Doctor in the shoulder to check for a reaction. He rolled his eyes, then leaned into the other man’s ear and whispered. “Is there anybody in there?”
                The Doctor felt the Master’s breath on his ear and supressed a shudder. He stood up suddenly, leaving The Master to prop himself up as the other Timelord finally turned and made eye contact.
                “There we go,” the Master patronised, a dominant smirk spreading across his face at the anger in the other man’s eyes. “Feeling a little rough this morning, are we Doctor?”
                The Doctor’s brow furrowed deeper as the Master sat on the edge of the bed below him, his eyes filled with a sinister light.
                “Get out.”
                “Oh, how rude.”
                “I mean it, Master.” Growled the Doctor, his anger fuelled by the Master’s smugness, and the memories of last night. “I saw that transmission. Three days? You’ve given those people down there three days to submit or die.”
                The Master threw his head back blissfully. “I love it when you say it like that.”
                “People are going to die just because you said so. Just on a whim. Nothing you can do or say will ever make that ok with me!”
                The Master’s blissful grin faded. “You didn’t seem too worried about them last night.”
                The Doctor looked away and shook his head. There was just the briefest of pauses. “This has nothing to do with that.” He heard the Master grunt in amusement.
                “Of course not.” He whispered. The Doctor turned away with a forceful sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to put words to the sheer frustration inside. “You’re sulking. Good. You always did look better that way.”
                “Stop it.”
                The Master raised his head, his eyes wide. “Make me.”
                “I said stop!”
                The Doctor bared his teeth in anger, spinning around to look the Master in the eye. The Timelord on the bed stared back. Something seemed to flicker in him as the shout echoed around the almost empty room. He looked away, irritated.
                The Doctor panted, forcing the breath through between his teeth as the room darkened: the Valiant was slowly becoming engulfed in the dark clouds the Master had used as a backdrop for his own vanity. The rumble of thunder passed through the air.
                “You can’t do this to these people. You’ve travelled, you know how far they can go-“
                The Master made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat. The Doctor ignored it.
                “- How much they could achieve. Let this go.”
                The Master shot to his feet, laughing bitterly. “What is with this obsession?” He shouted, raising his arms. “You and these worthless lumps of flesh! It’s becoming boring.”
                “Then just listen to me and I’ll stop.”
                The two Timelords stood face-to-face. The Doctor felt the closeness like an almost physical touch, but pushed the whispering voice to the back of his mind. There were more important things at stake. There always had been, but seeing the Master speak to the Earth had made it real.
                “Oh, and here it comes.” Breathed the Master. He gave a taut-lipped sneer. “The sanctimonious Doctor: so angry, so desperate so save because he killed so many.”
The Doctor lost his fire in an instant. The burning anger that had filled him before seemed to die in his throat, blanketed by a sudden tidal wave of guilt. The Master watched the pain he had caused like a curious child.
                “You know…” he whispered. He was barely an inch away from the other man’s face, “you never did answer my question that day. How did it feel to hold so many millions of lives in your hands… and crush them?”
                The Doctor felt a lump rise in his throat. His eyes glazed over, fully aware that the Master would see the tears rising in his eyes. He expected the Master to gloat; to laugh in his face. Instead, the other Timelord’s face fell into a frown of concentration. He seemed to hold his breath.
                “…It hurt.”
                There didn’t seem to be a point in avoiding the question this time. “It still hurts.”
                The Master let out a slow breath and closed his eyes. A soft, knowing smile emerged. “Of course it does.”
                The storm grew louder outside. The rumble shook the thick walls of the Valiant and the ground beneath their feet.
                “That’s why this has to stop. This doesn’t have to be Gallifrey, it doesn’t have to burn.”
                Slowly the Master opened his eyes. He frowned in confusion and turned away. Walking to the window, he placed his arm on the windowsill and stared out. The Doctor pressed his advantage. “Please. Just think about what it is that you’re doing.”
                The Master’s eyes narrowed as he looked out into the swirling black that now surrounded the Valiant. Raindrops began to fleck the glass. He arched his fingers and began to tap; slowly, rhythmically.
                “I remember… I was there at the first the approach of the Dalek fleet outside the Citadel. So many ships, they blocked out the sky…”
                The Doctor frowned. “I know.”
                “…and even when the air around me was filled with screaming,” he continued quietly, as if the Doctor had never spoken, “all I could hear… was the sound of drums. Over, and over, and over…” the Master’s voice diminished to a whisper and he tilted back his head as he listened to the noiseless rhythm inside his mind. His fingers ceased. “Oh, just listen Doctor…” he whispered reverently, “can’t you even sense it?”
                The Doctor gulped back the pain; the memories that had burned inescapably into his head so long ago, and knotted his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, it’s just a figment of your imagination.”
                The Doctor closed his eyes in regret as he heard his own voice say those fateful words. How could he have been so wrong?
                The Master snorted and looked over his shoulder, a sarcastic look in his eyes. “Is that your medical opinion, Doctor?”
                “Just a fact.” He muttered. The Master looked away, disappointed and frustrated, and then moved away from the window. The Doctor watched the other man carefully as he began to pace slowly, back and forth across the whole of the room. He seemed to be thinking, his face heavy with a frown.
                “Master please. I could help you.”
                The other Timelord stopped. He turned back towards the Doctor and came face-to-face once more. “If this is just – what did you call it – a figment of my imagination?” He hissed, just a hint of irritation in his voice. “Then explain this:” He leaned up to the other Timelord’s ear and rested his forehead against the Doctor’s temple. Both of them closed their eyes out of instinct. The Master brushed his head animalistically against the other Timelord. The Doctor followed the instinct to lean in towards it.
               A smile formed on the open lips of the Master as he breathed into the Doctor's ear: “…why do they fade so much when I’m inside you?”
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Lost Boys