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The Doctor was stood solemnly next to the TARDIS centre, his face stern and his eyes empty. He hadn’t been doing much talking since the angels of manhattan had taken Amy and Rory away from him.
He found the silence comforting, for once. Usually, he worked better in a boisterous environment, but instead he kept to himself and rarely spoke to anybody.
Blatantly ignoring distress signals and spending weeks on earth was beginning to become a habit of his. Thankfully, The Doctor was growing tired of this repeated schedule.
“Back to it.” He told himself, shouldered tensed. He had quite a lot to catch up on, but the clearest option was to focus on recent distress signals.
He began to scan the surface of the TARDIS’ screen, running his hand along her console. Things seemed to be the same as always. The Tivolians being conquered again, or a “UFO” sighting on earth which really just turned out to be an enormous bird.
That was, until The Doctor noticed a certain notification. He zoomed in on the words and allowed his face to screw up in confusion. Clearly, it was yet another call for help, but it was anonymous, and the origins of the communication could only be tracked to one place.
A unidentified dwarf planet that had been lurking silently within the galaxy for the last 7,654 years. The species living there were conquered a long time ago, and The Doctor was unable to save them. There were no survivors.
So, the undying question swirling in his head seemed to grow louder.
Who had sent that message?
He swallowed hard and began to type in the coordinates, gaze unmoving from the marked location. The Doctor felt numb. He had felt that way since the incident. Perhaps some action would jolt him back into his original self. He couldn’t afford to grieve. Not with his job. He couldn’t be so selfish.
“Right, off we go..” He mumbled, turning away and adjusting his overcoat. The TARDIS thralled in response, thrusting itself off of the solid ground.
It was not often that the Doctor was faced with complete silence. Make no mistake, he had travelled alone before. In fact, spent he’d spent years doing so, before being introduced to the idea of a companion. But he made use of his time by talking to himself. Sudden quips, or comments as the TARDIS made her trip across the universe.
Not this time.
His face drew blank and his posture began to tense as the TARDIS quietened down. She always seemed to do as she was required whenever the Doctor wasn’t travelling with a guest. Perhaps there was some sort of underlying jealousy, hidden inside her circuit board?
While that may be deemed ridiculous when suggested to a human, it wasn’t a bizarre concept to the Doctor. He had formed a bond with the TARDIS, especially since she humanised herself all that time ago.
“Geronimo,” He called, in a tone that was hinting at enthusiasm but not quite grasping it.
The console halted and the Doctor pranced around his empty ship, gathering all thoughts before making his way towards the double doors awaiting his departure.
As he stepped outside, the Doctor felt his face flush pink. His finger tips waggled to shake off the hazardous cold, and his nose twitched. The wind was biting. His skin started to nip.
To any human, the temperatures on this planet could be fatal. Any attempts at seeking out sanctuary would be futile. The Doctor could tell, no matter how many miles you walked, this planet was dead.
”Not a single sign of civilisation.” He remarked, leaving a mental note for himself.
”But that distress call,” He scratched his head in frustration, hair flopping messily in front of his eyes, ”It makes no sense!”
He was desperate for some sort of explanation. The Doctor couldn’t cope with not knowing. It often made him break out in hives.
His expression was almost endearing, like a lost puppy, eyes wide and lips parted in distain.
The Doctor sighed, “A communication sent from a dwarf planet with a population of zero.” He reminded himself, “I mean, really, is this some kind of test? A trick? If the entire species is dead and all of the buildings are completely destroyed, then why—“
He halted, and his eyes beamed with that familiar look of realisation. He shot his head up, scanning the area in detail. “The call was sent for here, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that it was sent from here!”
A prideful chortle escaped his lips, and he shook his head in disbelief. How could he not realise before? But, still, the latter question still remained.
What was it called for?
With a newer confidence pulsating through the Doctor’s veins, he started off further into the abyss.
The ground was coated with a thick layer of snow, and while that usually provoked a spirited sensation of joy, it brought nothing more to the Doctor than eeriness.
Lives were lost, and buildings fell to the ground, leaving nothing but rubble. Despite all this, the snow still fell, and below its elegant surface most likely lay a graveyards worth of bodies.
His soles crunched forcefully into the texture with each step, making his presence evident. Not that anybody was there to listen, right?
“Come on now, think.” The Doctor ordered himself, rubbing the back of his neck in contemplation. His pace sped up, determination evident in his gaze.
The Doctor found himself relating to the likes of the silent dwarf planet. So minuscule, and rather irrelevant to the rest of the universe. At least, that was how he saw himself.
And now, he was just as silent as the abandoned ruins. The ache of losing Amelia Pond and Rory Williams was still fresh in his hearts, or more accurately, Amy Williams. That was the name she preferred.
He struggled to remember that. This was likely because the Doctor had never stopped seeing Amelia as the young, impressionable little girl he had met on that day. The day in which he gained a new face, and left his past behind. She was the first person to truly see him. He missed having that connection.
But he couldn’t bring himself to try and recreate it with somebody else. That was immoral, and cruel, especially so soon after the tragic end to their story.
Burying himself in his own solemn thoughts, the Doctor trotted on, paying no attention to his surroundings. The silence was beginning to twist from calming into uncomfortable. It felt as though there was an observer, choosing not to speak, but to judge instead.
Crackle
The snow spoke.
“No..” The Doctor smiled to himself, that was a silly thought. That was a truly stupid assumption. But, if not that, then what caused the noise?
His amusement vanished and his jaw tightened. Everybody on this planet died, and their blood stained the ground beneath the ice. It was impossible to survive the genocide.
He neared the sound cautiously, “Hello,” he began softly, “i’m the Doctor.”
He felt like an imbecile, talking to the air. But there was a tense feeling in his stomach that suggested there was something else lingering in the shadows.
”Oh?” A grovelling voice replied. The Doctor halted, shoes scuffing the snow, darkening the imperfect white.
“And you are?” Furthered the Doctor, still now.
The stranger snorted, “Why would i bother telling you?”
The voice was all too familiar. A snarky bite with an underlying insecurity.
“Master?” The Doctor managed, stumbling over his own feet, legs weakening with nausea.
”Doctor.”
At the sound of his own name, he approached. The Master was visible now. Prior to this moment, he was hidden by the fog in the air. The Doctor had a clear feeling of distress. It was being expressed through each and every part of him. The Master thrived off of that.
His old nemesis appeared weaker now. The deterioration in his physical form was clear. It had been over four hundred years since their last meeting. Since the Doctor had regenerated. His chest pounded harshly.
The Master wore the same dark hoodie that he had worn all that time ago. It was baggier now, and torn at the side. His red undershirt was exposed. His ribs were visible.
“What’s the matter?” He demanded, “Cat got your tongue?” The Master’s face was slimmer now, most likely the aftermath of some sort of deficiency. As he spoke, his smile grew torn.
The Doctor crept forward, “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Oh?” The Master tutted. His head tilted to the side, attempting to gauge a reaction. “Last time i checked, you weren’t this bossy.”
“Last time i checked, you were locked away in the time war.” A long lasting silence cut its way into their conversation. The Master was kneeling on the ground, but his chest was puffed in a feeble attempt to appear more dominant.
The Doctor was now only two or three feet away. His eyes fixated on the Master’s figure and he slowly leaned to mirror his level, “What happened?
”Oh, not much, really..” Purred the Master, extending one skeletal, pale hand and reaching out to touch the Doctor, who moved back in response.
The Doctor scowled, “I’m not the same man you saw a long time ago.”
No sympathy was expressed within those words. Just a cold, seething anger.
“I don’t have the patience to be kind, Master.”
The wind continued to roar, ruffling through The Master’s outgrown hair that now rested just below his eyes. He wriggled forward, craving twisted intimacy.
His next words were timid, “I was imprisoned.” Confessed the Master, “By the high council.”
“They started the healing process, but stopped half way through.”
“Why?”
”How the hell should i know?!”
The Doctor blinked, silencing once more.
“I was left in a cell to rot. Until a good few years ago. two-fifty? Maybe three hundred? I lost count, but i was dumped in this wasteland.” The Master grimaced, and then lightened up again.
”Reminds you of the old times, doesn’t it Doctor?”
His attempt to hide his sorrow was weak. The fear in his eyes was too obvious to ignore.
Nodding his head, The Doctor reached out, replicating the same outstretched grasp as the Master had done before.
”Come with me. You must be lonely.”
The Master scoffed, as if disgusted by the suggestion, “Eager, are we? Was your last regeneration this dull?”
”I lost someone.” The Doctor put forward.
“So, what, i’m your rebound?”
”No. I don’t want to lose you, too. That’s all.”
He grinned, blood soaked teeth poking against his lips. The Master snorted, “Pathetic.”
”You really are, Doctor. All you do is lose people. At this point, i should really be killing your little pets for you.”
“That way you’d feel less guilty.”
The Doctor twitched, “I don’t feel guilty.”
“You should!” Dramatised the Master, “You’re the one who picks them up off of the street. Promises them the stars.”
“It’s not my fault that the universe is cruel.”
”Your own selfishness is what leads to them dying, Doctor. Admit it.”
”You’re a killer.”
At this point, the Doctor’s eyes were welling. Not with sadness, or fear. It was something the Master couldn’t recognise. He hadn’t seen it before. Or at least, not for a long time.
The first tear fell, and the Master soaked it up with glee.
“You see, Doctor? The truth sets you free.”
The Doctor glared, “Amelia Pond chose to travel with me. I have never forced anybody into coming with me.”
“Indirect consequence.” Shrugged the Master.
Growing tired of the Master’s repeated mockery, The Doctor turned away, blinking away the tears and gritting his teeth. He swallowed, choosing to stay civil. In response, the Master intensified his remarks.
”Doctor, the famed time lord..” He clicked his tongue, “Crying like a baby. What would Amelia think?”
“Amelia. Odd name, isn’t it? Parents must’ve wanted her dead just as much as you did.”
In that moment, the Doctor snapped. It felt like something indescribable had possessed him. He lunged forward, catching the Master by the collar and slamming him down into the snow. The solid ice crunched beneath his back, leaving an indent for him to sprawl into.
“That’s it, Doctor!” Cackled the Master, gleaming up at his enemy, “Let out all that anger. All that guilt you won’t face. Let it all out on me because you’re too prideful to blame yourself.”
The first hit stung like hell, and because of that, the Master had gathered some twisted hope that the next strikes wouldn't hurt as badly. He could hardly see the Doctor through the wet puffiness of his eyes, but there was one thing he couldn't hide from.
The pure hatred in his prior friend’s eyes was enough to make him shrink back. Glowering forward, the Doctor struck again, the lack of attention in his expression almost demeaning. His fists clenched tighter as he pulled back.
Rouge spilled, spraying against the snow and staining it. The stench of iron clung to the Master’s body, and his hair formed into tangled clumps of dried blood. His obnoxious, untainted smile was still visible behind the stream coming from his noise. His mouth opened to taste the pain, allowing the liquid to seep into the cracks between his teeth.
The Doctor drew back once more, wiping his knuckle. As he did so, the Master forced himself upwards and rammed the Doctor to the ground. Their positions switched. He pulverised the Doctor’s skull into the ground, one hand gripping at the hair on his head and moving it to the side.
“I missed this,” He gasped between heaved breaths, “That detached look in your eyes.”
”We’re not so different are we, Doctor?”
His words were strained, vocal cords throbbing from the impact to his throat. The Doctor clawed his way out from beneath the Master, sniffling and burying his bruised face into the ground. The snow washed the remaining splashes of blood away. The Master didn’t bother with that. He grinned maliciously, edging closer.
And so, the Master dug his nails into the back of the Doctor’s neck. Enticed, he leaned closer, a hungry glint in his gaze. He was staring at the Doctor’s mouth, desperately.
“Doctor,” He mused.
“If you miss her so much.. this Amelia Pond,
say her name and mine in the same breath, and tell yourself they taste the same.”
Blood trickled from the Doctor’s nose, spreading out onto his upper lip and leaving a metallic taste on his tongue. The Master craved that taste. They both needed this, and they knew it. There was no point in resisting the urge, but it still felt wrong.
It felt so very wrong.
The Doctor heaved, his own head lifting now to meet the Master’s eye. Their faces were inches apart, so close that he could almost hear the drums again. The Master’s breath was hot and heavy, every breath hitched, like he was waiting for the Doctor’s next move, and he was growing impatient.
Their lips met, smushing against one another, and the Master’s cravings were fulfilled. The Doctor shut his eyes tight, but he wasn’t imagining Amy, nor was he pretending that he was embracing somebody else. He was savouring the moment.
The Master gnawed rabidly at the Doctor’s bottom lip, drawing blood in the process. He found his hand sliding up the Doctor’s fabricated thigh, feeling the soft flesh beneath with each intricate finger. His nails clawed at the cloth, causing it to tear away and expose the porcelain-toned skin of the Doctor.
Expectantly, the kiss wasn’t perfect, nor was it pretty. In any aspect, it was grotesque. Their mauve-stained teeth clashed against one another and the Doctor’s tongue swirled messily around the Master’s mouth. He seemed to be searching for something he’d never find.
The Master raised his other hand and clasped the Doctor’s jaw in his palm, holding him in place. He drew blood, fingers curling into a sickeningly purposeful motion. For a moment, the Master lost contact and licked the tip of his index. They were both on the floor now, body’s pressed together, as if ready to merge.
He craned his face upward and forced the base of his skull to meet the Doctor’s forehead.
one, two, three, four.
A slight groan escaped the Doctor’s throat, one that had been lodged for a while. The Master’s expression darkened, though he still continued to massacre the lips in front of him, tearing at the layers of skin and soaking up the blood like it was a succulent flesh fruit.
He envisioned himself as the predator, and the Doctor resembled his prey. The Master crawled forward and straddled the Doctor, fixing his slim legs in place with his own knees. He was practically frothing now, an animalistic undertone evident in his movements.
The Doctor tensed for a moment, and then softened under the Master’s touch.
He pulled away and grovelled, “Don’t look at me like that, Theta.” His voice was demanding, and the Doctor recognised the expression. Distaste.
“Like what?” Asked the Doctor hoarsely, collecting the last of the residue by licking his lips ravenously. His open flesh burned, especially in the cold air of the unfamiliar planet. Despite shameful to admit, he basked in the sting.
The Master retracted both hands, wiping his face with his torn sleeve, only dirtying it more. He was expressionless, but his eyes were disturbingly wide. Empty, also.
“Like this means something to you.”
They kissed again, slower than before, and a new tear fell from the Doctor’s eye. Not that the Master noticed. He was too busy savouring the Doctor’s taste. Though, it was not that he had purposely ignored the Doctor’s displeasure.
It was that he hadn’t realised. The smell of spilt blood was masking the rest of his senses, and the tear seemed to mix so easily with the red stain decorating the Doctor’s cheek.
They tasted each other’s spillage, and felt each other’s agony uniting. The Doctor tried to pull away but the Master steadied his hold. He didn’t need time to breathe.
He didn’t want to breathe if it wasn’t air exiting the Doctor’s lungs and entering his own.