(wastedlands) KIDNAPPED
Mar. 30th, 2008 01:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ans99Characters: Master, Tenth Doctor [closed]
Rating: PG-13. Time Lords don't swear, and they certainly never shag. Nope. Not ever.
Date: After this.
Location: Some crazy sort of satanic grotto.
The sensation of being carried, limbs dangling over the edge. Canoeing on Loch Lomond with Lucy, his first time in a long time on a boat of any kind. Fingers trailing in the water, eyes closed.
Fog rolling in.
Darkness and cold seeping through, penetrating, spiraling on the edge of nothing. The pain of being ripped apart seemed to take forever.
And he's there, watching it all happen. Making it happen.
Being laid out, arranged, prepared, by those hands, the long slender fingers. Paralyzed. Cold. Deep within, forcing a pressure differential, trying to scream. Hovering around the edge, the smell of smoke.
And through it all, the drumming.
The Master woke suddenly, with almost instant clarity. The cold was damp stone against his cheek. The pain... He reached to the back of his head, gingerly prodding, and hissed as the tips of his fingers made contact with the knot slowly forming there. And what felt like dried blood.
He remembered skirting the edge of the debris, waiting with growing impatience as the Doctor chatted on with Sam about the very urgent issue of the fire. As soon as everyone was looking the other way, somehow, in a magical confluence he'd thought would never come-- he'd made his move, hurriedly slipping around the side of the building and making his way purposefully back to the knapsack.
Then the Doctor pinning him against the cobblestones in the 'Alley, shouting something but he was almost free, almost—until he felt himself jerked up by the collar. Then a jarring sensation, interrupting every other sensory input. Then nothing.
The Doctor had knocked him out and must have brought him... here. The Master blinked, surprised, as he gave the place a proper look and realized exactly where he was.
Rose's grotto. Except now, he was betting the gates were locked.
The Master slowly got to his feet, wincing, and made his way slowly over to one end to confirm. He noted with a certain amount of disgust that he was nearly soaked through with condensation from lying on the stone floor. And, even more disturbingly, he was missing his tie.
The first gate was, indeed, locked. The Master stumbled his way towards the other end of the grotto, and the second gate.
The sun downed quietly. No lowly farewell of that final ray of light reaching out from behind a clouded sky. Nor any triumphant goodbye cast off by a brilliant explosion of color; only a slow slipping away. The Doctor sat back watching -- so unfamiliar with the new night's sky, that which provided a consistent comfort had turned into feeling an in-balancement of something so horribly unnatural.
He felt the edges of grass stick between his fingers and he thought of the Master beneath him in the grotto. About how sorry he was it had come to this. Sorry the building burned, sorry he ran from him, so sorry he hit him so hard. Is that what he would say to him? So sorry I hit you so hard.
But you were trying to escape, and -- I can't let you hurt anyone.
So now you live in a cave. Sorry about that, best I could do here.
He'd seen the grotto exploring and thought not much of it. It made him sick now thinking about how he'd end up making use of it. He remembered hugging Sam, grabbing him, not wanting to let go. In his mind then, everything was different -- why? It was because he was alive, and that was it. It was his second chance always, never the Master's. Given the first opportunity, he went right back to causing pointless destruction. How many could have lost their lives in that explosion? It wasn't something he wanted to dwell on. Now he was locked away and not for punishment. He could forgive him again; he could forgive him easy. No one died, no one was even hurt, and he cared very little for damaged property. Punishing him gave little comfort.
He was locked away because he'd do it again.
That assurance -- knowing something absolutely ... terrified him. He searched before for a doubt in his mind, one single tiny little doubt telling him that maybe just maybe he was better now. That he wouldn't have to do this.
Go back to pretending everything is fine. This is his last disaster.
I can control him and he's better now.
If only any of that were true... he wouldn't be here now, standing over his grave. Soundlessly walking the steps to the second gate knowing he's newly awoken from a violent sleep.
The Master stopped cold as he approached the second gate, seeing the Doctor's obdurate stare just behind it. They stared at each other for a few seconds, before the Master broke into a sudden run for the gate, teeth bared, thrusting his arm through the bars viciously and grabbing at anything he could.
The Doctor remained still, unflinching, with only the barest of movement to raise his head back in challenge. He stood back, intentionally stopping just out of reach and waited.
The Master grabbed at the air once before relaxing his arm, leaving it draped through the bars. He leaned into the gate, exhausted, and silently stared up at the Doctor with a look of clear hatred.
The chains around the bars were holding tight, locked soundly, and the Doctor sickened to think how he noticed them now. He stood there, breathless, moving to mouth the words as they slipped out, "I'm sorry." He forced his fear down and turned his eyes from the lock to the Master.
But you deserve it.
The Master just stood there, still panting slightly. He eyed the lock when the Doctor did, speculatively, but with the throbbing in the back of his head, and in his head, he found it difficult to concentrate. Once the Doctor left he'd have plenty of time to examine it, though, and devise a way to escape. He always did.
Once the Doctor left...
He's going to. He's leaving me here to die. He always leaves--
It was surely a combination of the injury, the cold, the damp, his own angry exhaustion-- but the Master had to swallow hard, ducking his head in an attempt to fight off a nauseating wave of panic.
The Doctor stepped nearer to the bars, lowering his voice in concern, "Are you alright?" He wanted more than anything to take his pain away, and here he was causing it. It hurt to see him like this, and in some ways -- it was gratifying.
The Master's eyes snapped open in irritation. "What. Me? Never better. By the by, have you noticed I'm trapped in a cave?" Although his throat was incredibly dry, he managed to raise his voice to a bellow near the end. He smacked the flat of his hand against the gate, rattling it a little.
He smiled faintly, "Yeah. I had noticed that," and stepped closer, "I put you there." The Doctor nodded, to himself mostly. Though that much was obvious he felt like proclaiming it aloud to the both of them. He paused then for a split second, and added superciliously, "I think you know why."
The Master just looked at him, a defiant gleam in his eye. If it had been as simple a thing as the explosion, the fire, the Doctor would have turned him over to what laughably passed as "the authorities" in this place. No, sticking him in this dank, miserable hole was highly personal. He shivered, involuntarily.
"Don't pretend you care about their pathetic little lives," he snapped. "They're nothing. This is nothing."
"Why do you think I don't care?" half question, half a statement. He took the last step up against the bars and tightened his fingers around them, peering past him briefly to look into the dark void.
That was a mistake. "Oh, I don't know." The Master's hand shot out and grabbed the Doctor's throat, squeezing, pulling him forward into the bars. Their faces were inches apart, and the Master could see the dim reflection of his own desperate, grimacing expression, doubled, in the Doctor's eyes. "Fire go out on its own yet?"
"Yes," the Doctor managed to choke out a reply, fingers stiffening around the bars as he drew back in reflex. Not bothering to plea, he stifled out a defense, "I couldn't stop it. There was nothing I could do."
The Master squeezed harder, burying the tips of his fingers into the Doctor's skin. For the moment he didn't care if he ever got out; right now taking the Doctor with him seemed just as satisfying. "Now that sounds familiar. I'm starting to think you just enjoy letting things burn."
"You..." he tried to swallow, choking back tears. Slowly he released his hands from around the bars, moving them shakily to barely grasp the edges of the Master's shirt. The Doctor gripped the material tightly, "You know that's not true."
"Now, how would I know a thing like that, hmmm?" the Master murmured, not relaxing his grip despite the Doctor's pathetic attempts at contact. "You never told me what it was like, you know. Destroying everything. Being the agent of fate is such a convenient excuse for you to hide behind. 'Wasn't my fault.' 'Nothing I could do,'" he simpered in a melodramatic parody. "No, you enjoyed it. Just as you're enjoying keeping me holed up in here like one of your dark little secrets."
"Think... what you'd like," he spoke quietly, his voice growing rougher, the feel of color draining from his face and he closed his eyes trying to shut it all out.
"I don't enjoy... you forced this on to me," he clutched his shirt tighter, overcompensating for the slack that slipped between his fingers.
"Oh, there you go again," the Master muttered irritably, disgusted that the Doctor was not even trying to fight back. "My fault, is it, that you came looking for me? The only way you'd ever stop is if I were under your control. Or dead!"
Or you. You could be dead. Was regeneration even possible here? That was something to test out. Maybe.
The Doctor gave something of a yell, inadvertently expending the last of his energy, "Your fault! It's your fault! You wouldn't... be here right now if you hadn't! -- " he cut himself short, feeling his legs collapse from under him. Darkness dotted his vision, and he felt his hands release from the Master and return back to the bars for support as he collapsed slowly to his knees.
Maybe I could die down here. I could die down here. We could both down here and no one'd ever find us.
"If I hadn't what?" the Master hissed. "Survived? Run away?" He watched the Doctor sink down slowly, felt his hands release his shirt. If he kept on he really might kill him. He felt sick again, and weakened his grasp by the tiniest amount.
Fight back, you idiot.
The Doctor said nothing, concentrating on staying focused, conscious. He could feel himself slipping away, ending up blacked out just on the other side of the bars. What would he do to him then? His hands fell from the gate and onto the Master's. He met his eyes intently and dug his fingers into him; trying to pry him away.
"Well?" The Master snapped, glowering, although he felt a small, undeniable wave of relief. The energy he'd somehow tapped in his absolute fury was weakening; he felt on the verge of exhaustion again.
"I can't... let me go, let me go," his voice was quiet and weak, but he wrapped his hands tightly around the Master's, pulling them back.
The Master made a disgusted sound somewhere deep in his throat and pushed his hands forward, opening them, shoving the Doctor backwards by the neck. He leaned his forehead into the bars again wearily.
The Doctor fell back, gasping sharply. His hands ran to his throat, trying to sooth the pain. The air in the grotto felt heavy, moist with condensation and it stifled him enough to heave his breath.
He rolled over onto his back, panting through clenched teeth, turning his head toward the barred gate.
He was nauseated.
As he held him there, he was afraid. Too afraid to upset him... too afraid to struggle from him, yet so frightened of what he might do to him.
Looking at him now, exhausted, worn out from... he felt his anger pouring in... and his breath quickened.
href='http://lordmaster.livejournal.com/'>lordmaster
The Master clung to the bars and watched him struggle on his back like a dying insect. Seeing the Doctor in pain had always been so satisfying. Perhaps one day it might be enough.
Enough for what? To equal his own? That seemed unlikely.
Still, the lesson might at least sink in, eventually. He might have to settle for that.
The Doctor turned onto his side, pushing himself up to a stand, wiping some of the gritty floor from his back.
He took his time to speak, but when he did, he narrowed his eyes, barely able to even scream back, "You want me to leave, then!? Because I will! And you can just stay down here! I don't even care any more! You can just stay down here forever! Alone."
The Master's fingers tightened spasmodically around the bars, and he bowed his head as the Doctor spoke. He appeared to be shaking slightly.
The Doctor stepped forward defiantly, his voice low, "And I'll stay up there," he nodded to himself once and gestured up towards the ceiling, "in this place, forever, just to make sure you never get out."
The Master kept his head down, but the shaking seemed to increase, now punctuated by faint guttural sounds.
Opening his mouth half way to speak, the Doctor found he had nothing more to say, nothing more he could say to hurt him any more. He froze there for a moment casting his eyes between the ground and him, and then turned deliberately to the grotto stairs; knowing what would come next should he indulged in his hesitation. His pace was natural, no rushing or awkward tentativeness... a cold chill creeping down the back of his neck --
And he didn't look back.
The sounds slowly increased, slowly resolved themselves into laughter emanating from the Master's hunched frame. It was nothing new to hear him laugh, but this was not quite his signature chuckle. It sounded like something dark bubbling up from cracks in the ground; or the rusted, last gasps of a dying machine, slowly running down.
The Doctor stood silent on the stairs, pressed in his steps and distracted from his intended focus. Get out. Get out. Just keep walking.
And whatever you do
Don't look back.
He turned his head first peering over his shoulder, then shifted around to face him. From here he could barely make out his slender form in the darkened cell. He refused to back down, to say anything more would be to void the integrity of his threats. Standing there though, obviously conflicted, wasn't helping.
The Master cleared his throat, swallowed. "Sorry. But. That's it? This is your grand solution? To everything?" He looked up at the Doctor, standing on the stairs. "No, no, go on then. Sorry to interrupt. Do your little victory march. Go be the hero." He gave him a dismissive little hand wave, grinning to himself.
The Doctor leaned in a bit, though not enough to come down off the step, "I think..." he paused a moment, folding his arms in front of his chest, "I think locking you up might just be the solution to a lot of my problems, yeah."
"And you know, I don't think I'm the only one," he mocked his little dismissive wave, and cleared the stairs to the top of the grotto. No goodbyes, take care, see you later. He knew he'd come back, but right now the fresh air felt good, and he was free of him.
He's bluffing. He can't just leave.
The Master stood there, leaning fully into the gate now, listening to the Doctor's footsteps echo. And eventually, just the echoes themselves. And soon enough, nothing but the sound of intermittent dripping throughout the cave.
He'll come back.
The Master didn't know exactly how long he stood there, in the growing dark, before he realized how wrong he was. Still, no use fretting over it. He had been in worse. He'd get out.
He felt for the padlock, turning it back and forth in his hands. It was old, and that was both good and bad. An older lock could be picked with infinitely greater ease... given he had something to pick it with. He rifled through his pockets hurriedly, not wholly surprised to find them all empty but growling indignantly anyway.
It was pitch black now, and the Master reluctantly slid down the bars of the gate to a seated position. Nothing for it but waiting for the light to return. Or the Doctor, that little hopeful voice insisted, unwilling to leave him alone.
He didn't sleep, didn't think of anything really, as far as he could help it. Just sat there and let the cold damp seep in, listened to the endless drumming, dripping, drumming. When the first few bars of light streamed across his face, the Master staggered to his feet, feeling less tired but significantly wetter, and began exploring the grotto in earnest.
He'd just passed the long column of stones on the far side of the gate where the Doctor and he had had their confrontation, when he jerked his head upward slightly. He hadn't heard something, exactly, but--
Something in the wall. That was certain. The Master stepped closer to it, ran his hand lightly over it.
...Can anyone give me a status update on this place?
... doesn't lack in disturbances...
...Do you know how much damage I'LL have to...
Useless babbling. The Master grinned and concentrated for a moment, eyes closed, then opened them.
The wall now read:
From: Sam Tyler
To: The Master
(Secure)
What happened to you and the Doctor in the alley?
You both took off and I couldn't find you.
What the hell happened?
The Master's grin grew wider. A telepathic... wall, interfacing with the Network. The Doctor had been a fool to overlook this, but he'd obviously been too mired in his own ridiculous sentimentality.
He thought intently for a moment, saw the resultant text appear on the wall and then slowly fade, as if absorbed:
Private message to Sam Tyler:
He took me. I'm injured.
Don't let on to him about this. He'll kill me.
http://community.livejournal.com/nonevidence/81141.html
Rating: PG-13. Time Lords don't swear, and they certainly never shag. Nope. Not ever.
Date: After this.
Location: Some crazy sort of satanic grotto.
The sensation of being carried, limbs dangling over the edge. Canoeing on Loch Lomond with Lucy, his first time in a long time on a boat of any kind. Fingers trailing in the water, eyes closed.
Fog rolling in.
Darkness and cold seeping through, penetrating, spiraling on the edge of nothing. The pain of being ripped apart seemed to take forever.
And he's there, watching it all happen. Making it happen.
Being laid out, arranged, prepared, by those hands, the long slender fingers. Paralyzed. Cold. Deep within, forcing a pressure differential, trying to scream. Hovering around the edge, the smell of smoke.
And through it all, the drumming.
The Master woke suddenly, with almost instant clarity. The cold was damp stone against his cheek. The pain... He reached to the back of his head, gingerly prodding, and hissed as the tips of his fingers made contact with the knot slowly forming there. And what felt like dried blood.
He remembered skirting the edge of the debris, waiting with growing impatience as the Doctor chatted on with Sam about the very urgent issue of the fire. As soon as everyone was looking the other way, somehow, in a magical confluence he'd thought would never come-- he'd made his move, hurriedly slipping around the side of the building and making his way purposefully back to the knapsack.
Then the Doctor pinning him against the cobblestones in the 'Alley, shouting something but he was almost free, almost—until he felt himself jerked up by the collar. Then a jarring sensation, interrupting every other sensory input. Then nothing.
The Doctor had knocked him out and must have brought him... here. The Master blinked, surprised, as he gave the place a proper look and realized exactly where he was.
Rose's grotto. Except now, he was betting the gates were locked.
The Master slowly got to his feet, wincing, and made his way slowly over to one end to confirm. He noted with a certain amount of disgust that he was nearly soaked through with condensation from lying on the stone floor. And, even more disturbingly, he was missing his tie.
The first gate was, indeed, locked. The Master stumbled his way towards the other end of the grotto, and the second gate.
The sun downed quietly. No lowly farewell of that final ray of light reaching out from behind a clouded sky. Nor any triumphant goodbye cast off by a brilliant explosion of color; only a slow slipping away. The Doctor sat back watching -- so unfamiliar with the new night's sky, that which provided a consistent comfort had turned into feeling an in-balancement of something so horribly unnatural.
He felt the edges of grass stick between his fingers and he thought of the Master beneath him in the grotto. About how sorry he was it had come to this. Sorry the building burned, sorry he ran from him, so sorry he hit him so hard. Is that what he would say to him? So sorry I hit you so hard.
But you were trying to escape, and -- I can't let you hurt anyone.
So now you live in a cave. Sorry about that, best I could do here.
He'd seen the grotto exploring and thought not much of it. It made him sick now thinking about how he'd end up making use of it. He remembered hugging Sam, grabbing him, not wanting to let go. In his mind then, everything was different -- why? It was because he was alive, and that was it. It was his second chance always, never the Master's. Given the first opportunity, he went right back to causing pointless destruction. How many could have lost their lives in that explosion? It wasn't something he wanted to dwell on. Now he was locked away and not for punishment. He could forgive him again; he could forgive him easy. No one died, no one was even hurt, and he cared very little for damaged property. Punishing him gave little comfort.
He was locked away because he'd do it again.
That assurance -- knowing something absolutely ... terrified him. He searched before for a doubt in his mind, one single tiny little doubt telling him that maybe just maybe he was better now. That he wouldn't have to do this.
Go back to pretending everything is fine. This is his last disaster.
I can control him and he's better now.
If only any of that were true... he wouldn't be here now, standing over his grave. Soundlessly walking the steps to the second gate knowing he's newly awoken from a violent sleep.
The Master stopped cold as he approached the second gate, seeing the Doctor's obdurate stare just behind it. They stared at each other for a few seconds, before the Master broke into a sudden run for the gate, teeth bared, thrusting his arm through the bars viciously and grabbing at anything he could.
The Doctor remained still, unflinching, with only the barest of movement to raise his head back in challenge. He stood back, intentionally stopping just out of reach and waited.
The Master grabbed at the air once before relaxing his arm, leaving it draped through the bars. He leaned into the gate, exhausted, and silently stared up at the Doctor with a look of clear hatred.
The chains around the bars were holding tight, locked soundly, and the Doctor sickened to think how he noticed them now. He stood there, breathless, moving to mouth the words as they slipped out, "I'm sorry." He forced his fear down and turned his eyes from the lock to the Master.
But you deserve it.
The Master just stood there, still panting slightly. He eyed the lock when the Doctor did, speculatively, but with the throbbing in the back of his head, and in his head, he found it difficult to concentrate. Once the Doctor left he'd have plenty of time to examine it, though, and devise a way to escape. He always did.
Once the Doctor left...
He's going to. He's leaving me here to die. He always leaves--
It was surely a combination of the injury, the cold, the damp, his own angry exhaustion-- but the Master had to swallow hard, ducking his head in an attempt to fight off a nauseating wave of panic.
The Doctor stepped nearer to the bars, lowering his voice in concern, "Are you alright?" He wanted more than anything to take his pain away, and here he was causing it. It hurt to see him like this, and in some ways -- it was gratifying.
The Master's eyes snapped open in irritation. "What. Me? Never better. By the by, have you noticed I'm trapped in a cave?" Although his throat was incredibly dry, he managed to raise his voice to a bellow near the end. He smacked the flat of his hand against the gate, rattling it a little.
He smiled faintly, "Yeah. I had noticed that," and stepped closer, "I put you there." The Doctor nodded, to himself mostly. Though that much was obvious he felt like proclaiming it aloud to the both of them. He paused then for a split second, and added superciliously, "I think you know why."
The Master just looked at him, a defiant gleam in his eye. If it had been as simple a thing as the explosion, the fire, the Doctor would have turned him over to what laughably passed as "the authorities" in this place. No, sticking him in this dank, miserable hole was highly personal. He shivered, involuntarily.
"Don't pretend you care about their pathetic little lives," he snapped. "They're nothing. This is nothing."
"Why do you think I don't care?" half question, half a statement. He took the last step up against the bars and tightened his fingers around them, peering past him briefly to look into the dark void.
That was a mistake. "Oh, I don't know." The Master's hand shot out and grabbed the Doctor's throat, squeezing, pulling him forward into the bars. Their faces were inches apart, and the Master could see the dim reflection of his own desperate, grimacing expression, doubled, in the Doctor's eyes. "Fire go out on its own yet?"
"Yes," the Doctor managed to choke out a reply, fingers stiffening around the bars as he drew back in reflex. Not bothering to plea, he stifled out a defense, "I couldn't stop it. There was nothing I could do."
The Master squeezed harder, burying the tips of his fingers into the Doctor's skin. For the moment he didn't care if he ever got out; right now taking the Doctor with him seemed just as satisfying. "Now that sounds familiar. I'm starting to think you just enjoy letting things burn."
"You..." he tried to swallow, choking back tears. Slowly he released his hands from around the bars, moving them shakily to barely grasp the edges of the Master's shirt. The Doctor gripped the material tightly, "You know that's not true."
"Now, how would I know a thing like that, hmmm?" the Master murmured, not relaxing his grip despite the Doctor's pathetic attempts at contact. "You never told me what it was like, you know. Destroying everything. Being the agent of fate is such a convenient excuse for you to hide behind. 'Wasn't my fault.' 'Nothing I could do,'" he simpered in a melodramatic parody. "No, you enjoyed it. Just as you're enjoying keeping me holed up in here like one of your dark little secrets."
"Think... what you'd like," he spoke quietly, his voice growing rougher, the feel of color draining from his face and he closed his eyes trying to shut it all out.
"I don't enjoy... you forced this on to me," he clutched his shirt tighter, overcompensating for the slack that slipped between his fingers.
"Oh, there you go again," the Master muttered irritably, disgusted that the Doctor was not even trying to fight back. "My fault, is it, that you came looking for me? The only way you'd ever stop is if I were under your control. Or dead!"
Or you. You could be dead. Was regeneration even possible here? That was something to test out. Maybe.
The Doctor gave something of a yell, inadvertently expending the last of his energy, "Your fault! It's your fault! You wouldn't... be here right now if you hadn't! -- " he cut himself short, feeling his legs collapse from under him. Darkness dotted his vision, and he felt his hands release from the Master and return back to the bars for support as he collapsed slowly to his knees.
Maybe I could die down here. I could die down here. We could both down here and no one'd ever find us.
"If I hadn't what?" the Master hissed. "Survived? Run away?" He watched the Doctor sink down slowly, felt his hands release his shirt. If he kept on he really might kill him. He felt sick again, and weakened his grasp by the tiniest amount.
Fight back, you idiot.
The Doctor said nothing, concentrating on staying focused, conscious. He could feel himself slipping away, ending up blacked out just on the other side of the bars. What would he do to him then? His hands fell from the gate and onto the Master's. He met his eyes intently and dug his fingers into him; trying to pry him away.
"Well?" The Master snapped, glowering, although he felt a small, undeniable wave of relief. The energy he'd somehow tapped in his absolute fury was weakening; he felt on the verge of exhaustion again.
"I can't... let me go, let me go," his voice was quiet and weak, but he wrapped his hands tightly around the Master's, pulling them back.
The Master made a disgusted sound somewhere deep in his throat and pushed his hands forward, opening them, shoving the Doctor backwards by the neck. He leaned his forehead into the bars again wearily.
The Doctor fell back, gasping sharply. His hands ran to his throat, trying to sooth the pain. The air in the grotto felt heavy, moist with condensation and it stifled him enough to heave his breath.
He rolled over onto his back, panting through clenched teeth, turning his head toward the barred gate.
He was nauseated.
As he held him there, he was afraid. Too afraid to upset him... too afraid to struggle from him, yet so frightened of what he might do to him.
Looking at him now, exhausted, worn out from... he felt his anger pouring in... and his breath quickened.
href='http://lordmaster.livejournal.com/'>lordmaster
The Master clung to the bars and watched him struggle on his back like a dying insect. Seeing the Doctor in pain had always been so satisfying. Perhaps one day it might be enough.
Enough for what? To equal his own? That seemed unlikely.
Still, the lesson might at least sink in, eventually. He might have to settle for that.
The Doctor turned onto his side, pushing himself up to a stand, wiping some of the gritty floor from his back.
He took his time to speak, but when he did, he narrowed his eyes, barely able to even scream back, "You want me to leave, then!? Because I will! And you can just stay down here! I don't even care any more! You can just stay down here forever! Alone."
The Master's fingers tightened spasmodically around the bars, and he bowed his head as the Doctor spoke. He appeared to be shaking slightly.
The Doctor stepped forward defiantly, his voice low, "And I'll stay up there," he nodded to himself once and gestured up towards the ceiling, "in this place, forever, just to make sure you never get out."
The Master kept his head down, but the shaking seemed to increase, now punctuated by faint guttural sounds.
Opening his mouth half way to speak, the Doctor found he had nothing more to say, nothing more he could say to hurt him any more. He froze there for a moment casting his eyes between the ground and him, and then turned deliberately to the grotto stairs; knowing what would come next should he indulged in his hesitation. His pace was natural, no rushing or awkward tentativeness... a cold chill creeping down the back of his neck --
And he didn't look back.
The sounds slowly increased, slowly resolved themselves into laughter emanating from the Master's hunched frame. It was nothing new to hear him laugh, but this was not quite his signature chuckle. It sounded like something dark bubbling up from cracks in the ground; or the rusted, last gasps of a dying machine, slowly running down.
The Doctor stood silent on the stairs, pressed in his steps and distracted from his intended focus. Get out. Get out. Just keep walking.
And whatever you do
Don't look back.
He turned his head first peering over his shoulder, then shifted around to face him. From here he could barely make out his slender form in the darkened cell. He refused to back down, to say anything more would be to void the integrity of his threats. Standing there though, obviously conflicted, wasn't helping.
The Master cleared his throat, swallowed. "Sorry. But. That's it? This is your grand solution? To everything?" He looked up at the Doctor, standing on the stairs. "No, no, go on then. Sorry to interrupt. Do your little victory march. Go be the hero." He gave him a dismissive little hand wave, grinning to himself.
The Doctor leaned in a bit, though not enough to come down off the step, "I think..." he paused a moment, folding his arms in front of his chest, "I think locking you up might just be the solution to a lot of my problems, yeah."
"And you know, I don't think I'm the only one," he mocked his little dismissive wave, and cleared the stairs to the top of the grotto. No goodbyes, take care, see you later. He knew he'd come back, but right now the fresh air felt good, and he was free of him.
He's bluffing. He can't just leave.
The Master stood there, leaning fully into the gate now, listening to the Doctor's footsteps echo. And eventually, just the echoes themselves. And soon enough, nothing but the sound of intermittent dripping throughout the cave.
He'll come back.
The Master didn't know exactly how long he stood there, in the growing dark, before he realized how wrong he was. Still, no use fretting over it. He had been in worse. He'd get out.
He felt for the padlock, turning it back and forth in his hands. It was old, and that was both good and bad. An older lock could be picked with infinitely greater ease... given he had something to pick it with. He rifled through his pockets hurriedly, not wholly surprised to find them all empty but growling indignantly anyway.
It was pitch black now, and the Master reluctantly slid down the bars of the gate to a seated position. Nothing for it but waiting for the light to return. Or the Doctor, that little hopeful voice insisted, unwilling to leave him alone.
He didn't sleep, didn't think of anything really, as far as he could help it. Just sat there and let the cold damp seep in, listened to the endless drumming, dripping, drumming. When the first few bars of light streamed across his face, the Master staggered to his feet, feeling less tired but significantly wetter, and began exploring the grotto in earnest.
He'd just passed the long column of stones on the far side of the gate where the Doctor and he had had their confrontation, when he jerked his head upward slightly. He hadn't heard something, exactly, but--
Something in the wall. That was certain. The Master stepped closer to it, ran his hand lightly over it.
...Can anyone give me a status update on this place?
... doesn't lack in disturbances...
...Do you know how much damage I'LL have to...
Useless babbling. The Master grinned and concentrated for a moment, eyes closed, then opened them.
The wall now read:
From: Sam Tyler
To: The Master
(Secure)
What happened to you and the Doctor in the alley?
You both took off and I couldn't find you.
What the hell happened?
The Master's grin grew wider. A telepathic... wall, interfacing with the Network. The Doctor had been a fool to overlook this, but he'd obviously been too mired in his own ridiculous sentimentality.
He thought intently for a moment, saw the resultant text appear on the wall and then slowly fade, as if absorbed:
Private message to Sam Tyler:
He took me. I'm injured.
Don't let on to him about this. He'll kill me.
http://community.livejournal.com/nonevidence/81141.html
