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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 Three
Jack watched as the Master left, swaggering away with the tails of his suit floating behind him. As the door closed the memory faded to black, leaving Jack and the Doctor standing in nothingness once more.
                The Timelord sniffed and cleared his throat, then turned to the Captain with a wary look in his eye. Jack got the impression that whatever the Doctor had brought him here to watch, the worst was yet to come.
                “I always got the impression that you two used to be connected.” He said, stepping closer, “That you were friends or something.”
                “The Master’s madness put an end to that.” Replied the Doctor, bitterly. “But when I told you that Timelords can sense each other, that was a lie. Well…” he tilted his head thoughtfully, “…not a total lie, but I left something out. The Master and I always had a connection, something intangible, but more than just a sense of each other’s presence. We-“
                The Doctor paused for a moment, his face flurrying through a range of expressions. He seemed to be trying to find the right words.
                “We… like opposite poles of a magnet, we attracted each other. That’s why the Tardis always managed to end up wherever he was; why we ended up at just the right point in time, on exactly the right planet to find him, even when he was tucked away… right at the end of the universe.”
                Jack looked at him strangely, at a loss for words. The Doctor smiled painfully.
                “And that’s why no matter what we did to each other, no matter how much we hated each other…”
                He trailed off, his face falling once more as the nothingness faded into somethingness, and Jack turned his head to watch the next memory.
                Moonlight crept through the tiny window, casting everything it touched in dazzling silver. The Doctor stood, craning his neck to look downwards at the Earth below. The first fires had burnt out days ago, but small patches of smouldering earth still flickered in the silence. Not for the first time, he found himself thinking of Martha, and whether she could still be alive.
                “You should be in bed,” he muttered suddenly, apparently speaking to himself. “Mrs. Saxon will be wondering where her husband is.”
                He turned his head just slightly, surveying the shadowed form that stood at the silently closing door. The Master sighed.
                “You always were too good at hide-and-seek. You spoiled my surprise visit.”
                The Doctor turned his eyes back towards the window, staring out towards the stars. The occasional glitter of Orbs in the distance made him sick.
                After a moment of silence, the Master came to stand beside him, staring out at the sky with a smile on his face.
                “Beautiful, isn’t it? Just imagine how much better it will look when a million rockets fill the air, shooting through the stars to declare war on a million different planets. Oh, Doctor…” his voice was quiet, almost reverent, and yet quivering with excitement. “…what an empire we will create.”
                The Doctor felt himself shiver. He stared out, a look of disgust on his face.
                “So that’s what you’re planning. That’s where this insanity is heading? War, spiralling out across the galaxies… like a wildfire spreading outwards from the Earth.”
                He heard the Master laugh under his breath. “You were always such a wonderful poet.”
                The Doctor swallowed hard. “You know I won’t let you do this.”
                The quiet broke suddenly, as the Master threw back his head and burst into mocking laughter. The Doctor backed away.
                “Oh… shut up.” Snapped the Master, his mood changing as quickly as it ever did. He snorted contemptuously. “Like you can stop me, stuck here in your little white room. It might have escaped your notice, Doctor, but um…” He placed a finger to his lips in mock-thought, taking slow steps towards the retreating Timelord. A demonic glint of moonlight caught the Master’s eye, “…you are my prisoner.”
                The Master seemed to pause at his own words. He smiled, and closed his eyes in pleasure. “Oh yes… but that sounds so good!”
                The Doctor continued to back away until he fell backwards into the chair, staring up at the gloating Master. He loomed over him with a malefic spark in his eye. The Doctor furrowed his brow.
                “Master, please just listen to me. It isn’t too late to stop this. Dismantle the Paradox Machine, and you and me can just fly away, leave all this behind.”
                The Master dropped to his knees on the white carpet, the moonlight casting his face in a skull-like shadow. He leaned in close, grinding his teeth. The Doctor could feel his breath brush against his face.
                “Wouldn’t you just love that.” He growled. “The Doctor, once again saving the pathetic little humans, by taking the nasty madman away.”
                The Doctor shook his head. “You know it’s not like that.” He whispered fervently.
                For a moment, the Master’s face faltered. The Doctor stared into his dark brown eyes and saw hesitation flash behind them. He held his breath, pleading silently that for once, the Master would see reason.
                And then the moment was gone. The Master pushed himself upwards onto his feet and turned away, the expression on his face hidden in shadow. The Doctor sighed, staring at the retreating figure with something like regret. He stood up.
                “You know, I said we both ran away,” The Master snapped, “but I was wrong. I ran away. You never stopped.”
                The Doctor froze, watching the back of the Master’s head in confusion. For the Master, it had sounded unusually close to philosophical, and more painfully than anything, he knew he was right. The Master snorted in derisive laughter. “And what’s funny is that you can’t even admit what it is you’re running from! And apparently I’m the crazy one.”
                The Master began pacing, forwards and backwards between the window and the door, his head bowed in thought. His fingertips tapped manically on his shirt. The other Timelord watched apprehensively. He had seen this kind of mood take the Master before.
                “Master…” he said carefully, “Sit down.”
                The Master continued to pace, tapping out the drumbeat with ever more violent movements. His face pinched up in frustration. “No you sit down!” He snarled. The Doctor raised his eyebrows. “You’re so good at avoiding confrontations, Doctor, so just sit there and shut up while I decide how to kill you.”
                The Master was becoming ever more worked up; more manic by the second, tapping his fingers so hard against his chest now that it was bruising. After a moment, the Doctor stepped forwards and grabbed his arm.
                “Stop it.” He muttered. The Master halted in his tracks, the physical contact seemed to act like an electric charge, making both men jolt, but the Doctor held his grip firm, watching the Master’s confusion with concern.
                In the light of the moon streaming through the window, the Master and the Doctor looked at each other, standing as if frozen in time as the bodily contact sank in. The Master let a slow hiss of breath and carefully pulled his arm away. The Doctor sighed: once again he seemed calm.
                “The drums?”
                The Master closed his eyes tightly. “Louder, and louder, and louder. Every day, until everything else is just background noise.” He seemed to swat the air around his head, as if staving off flies. He walked back over to the window, staring out into space. “What do they mean?”
                The Doctor studied the Master’s moonlit reflection. “I’m sorry.” He said, simply. “I wish I knew.”
                They fell into silence. The Doctor stood against the wall, watching the Master stare at the stars, his fingers twitching where the two had connected. He swallowed hard.
                Jack stared at the silent scene, watching the Doctor’s unguarded emotions unfold across his face, betraying what he was normally so careful to keep hidden. As he watched, Jack realised that he was beginning to feel uneasy; nauseous about what he was seeing, and uncertain about what was to come.
                “Isn’t your wife wondering where you are?” the Doctor finally said, breaking the few minutes silence. The Master shrugged.
                “Sweet little Lucy…” He smiled slyly. “She’s sleeping.”
                “You mean you made her sleep.”
                The Master’s smile widened. “She lets me. She does struggle so with insomnia, poor thing.”
                “It’s funny, I never had you down as the marrying type.”
                The Master’s eyes moved towards the Doctor’s reflection, still smiling grotesquely. “…I could say the same for you.”
                The Doctor suddenly averted his eyes, folding his arms across his chest defensively and glaring at the wall. “And there he goes again, still running.” Mocked the Master. He threw his arms up in despair as he turned to face the other Timelord. He strode across the room towards him and slammed a hand onto the wall beside his head. The Doctor still refused to make eye contact. The Master’s smile cracked into a grin.
“…running from himself…” he hissed, “…running from his past…”
The Master grabbed his unshaven jaw, forcing the Doctor to make eye contact. The Doctor seemed to draw back against the wall, his breathing unaccountably ragged. His fingers twitched, digging in unconsciously to the white panelled wall.
“…running from me.”
It happened in an instant. Like a magnetic pull, the Doctor's eyes lidded, and he lunged forward into an unavoidable kiss..
If the Master was surprised, he made no show of it. He clutched harder at the Doctor’s jaw, forcing his head backwards against the wall. The Doctor closed his eyes tightly, clutching at the Master’s shirt and pulling him instinctively closer.
He was therefore unable to see as the Master pushed himself forcefully forward and engulfed him in a bruising kiss, that a smirk of vindictive triumph was beginning to spread wide across his face.
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Lost Boys