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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
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Chapter 26
Burning light streamed through the Valliant's windows; plumes of smoke miles wide shimmered and snaked their way into the atmosphere, casting black shadows on the once blue seas below. The very islands twisted and contorted in the heat, the shoreline boiling in a venomous mist.
Japan was burning. It was gone.
Francine and Tish stood at the windows, every muscle shaking at the horrors they bore witness to, and yet unable to look away. The red, flickering light cast all their faces in bloody hues; the flames burning into their eyes, as if the image wanted to scorch itself into their memories.
The Doctor watched the scene as if from a distance, forcing the reality of it away from himself. It was the only way he knew how to survive: to force the horrors he had seen into his subconscious, like a half-remembered dream. He could feel a thin trickle of blood run down his lip, seeping into the make-shift gag until his mouth seemed full of metal. His shoulders ached, forced back unnaturally against the rail. The handcuffs dug into his wrists like sharp teeth, and he could feel the dull ache of powerlessness pounding against the insides of his chest. These were the things he clung to – physical sensations – the discomfort; the pain. Thinking about what lay outside those windows would be too much to bear.
"What do you think?"
The voice made the Doctor tense. His eyes flashed towards the Master, standing with his head bowed, a half-smile on his lips.
Lucy gasped, pressing her fingers to her own chest. "It's beautiful." She whispered, awe-struck. Even so, the Doctor saw the glint of tears as they ran down her pale cheeks. The Master didn't notice: his hands were clasped behind his back, his fingers drumming violently against the flesh.
The Doctor arched his neck against the tie in his mouth. It tasted of the Master's skin; it smelled of him. The Timelord's eyes rolled as he tried to nudge it away against thin air, looking everywhere but out of the windows. The Master wanted him to watch; wanted to wear him down. In the Master's twisted head this was still a competition, the Doctor knew: everything was a game, as though part of the Master still thought they were children. He stared at the back of the other Timelord's head, trying furiously to shake off the gag. He needed to speak to him; make him realise what he was doing.
As though sensing the Doctor's eyes on him, the Master turned; half of his face lit up in brilliant red light as he surveyed the Doctor's face. He watched him struggle against the handcuffs, trying to speak, but this time there was no enjoyment, no amusement in his face. His eyes flickered as their eyes met and he swallowed, as if about to speak; but all too soon the moment passed and he turned away, his frown deepening as his eyes narrowed on the black and red sky.
Jack was holding tightly to the Doctor's fingers, his knuckles white as the scene unfolded.
"That's a bit weird." said the Doctor, in the same tone of voice of someone commenting on the weather. "I don't remember crying."
Jack followed the Timelord's line of sight – he was looking into his own face, examining the streaks of wet running down his cheeks as he stared at the Master.
A strange thought passed through Jack's mind. At first he shrugged it off, but the more he looked into the desperate face of the Doctor, the more the thought prodded at him, until he couldn't stay silent. He bit his lip before he spoke.
"You weren't crying for yourself, were you?"
The Doctor frowned guiltily. His chest heaved out a silent breath. "I dunno. Maybe it was just the light burning my eyes."
"Doctor."
The Timelord's eyes narrowed at himself. "Millions of people were dying. I was crying for them."
Something in the Doctor's tone told Jack that there was more to be said. He moved his head closer. "…and?"
"And… a little of it was for him." He sniffed. "Maybe."
Jack snorted. "Am I meant to feel sorry for him now?"
"Oh no," muttered the Doctor darkly, giving Jack a sideways glance, "but I've had that taste of madness in my mouth; all those urges, all that anger… all those screaming voices inside your head. I understood him better then than he ever wanted me to."
There was a pause. Jack felt even more confused than when he'd first opened his mouth. "You never told me. I mean – I had no idea you were ever…" He trailed off. Calling the Doctor insane seemed surreal, somehow unbelievable. Jack watched in confusion as the Doctor's face rose into a half-smile.
"I was forced to destroy my own people." He said softly. "…wouldn't that send you insane?"
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Lost Boys