The Last of the Timelords {Doctor}

[The Master]

Man Is Least Himself When He Talks In His Own Person…
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He could feel himself being pulled from the ether, they eternal nothingness where he had resided for months… years? Hard to tell, even for a timelord, when there are no reference points.

He wanted to resist. He actually, really did. He didn’t want to go back. It was quiet here. Quiet for the first time in years, centuries even. Going back meant constant noise in his head, and the noise meant madness. But it was too late. Koschei the Undying, the Master, was returning… and as soon as the drums started beating again, he welcomed his return to the living.

Ba-da-dum-dum… Ba-da-dum-dum… Ba-da-dum-dum… Ba-da-dum-dum…

Oh, to live again! To cheat death once more. She should have never made him her apprentice. That’s how he figured out the formula his followers were using, after all. He could feel every fiber of his being stitching itself back together. His body reforming out of nothingness. He could see again! Oh, to see! And hear! And the smells… he was coming back strong and he was loving every moment of it! Those pathetic yet loyal humans… offering up their life force to him so he could live. The fools! He laughed, the drums roaring in his head. And then there was poor Lucy Saxon, looking so lost and afraid. Oh, he had plans for her…

Only…

What was this? Something was definitely wrong here. There was another energy, not a human’s life force but something else entirely. It was far too powerful to be human. It wasn’t timelord either. He had no idea what it was. But it was powerful, and consuming, it was tangling into his own life force, latching on like a predator. He could practically feel teeth and claws sinking into him. He screamed, this wasn’t right! What was this? It hurt and it was too strong! He was having to battle for dominance and he was losing… the MASTER was LOSING!

~~

He awoke sometime later, confused and cold. He went on about his business first, though. Clothes. One of his “followers” was about his size. Black hoodie lined in red. Color wasn’t bad. He would have preferred a suit but desperate times… he dug around and also found his Laser Screwdriver among the rubble of the… whatever this building had been. Clothes, shoes, his screwdriver. Now to get away from here. Before the authorities or… anyone else arrived…

But he was a little late on that… there was an unnatural chill in the air…

~~

Hungry… cold and hungry, so cold and SO hungry! Was that all there would be to this new life? He felt stronger now than he did after first returning, but the Blonde Timelord still felt so cold and hungry. You could nearly use one hand to lift him around his middle, he was so sunken in. He ate and ate and ate and even though Timelords had a fast metabolism, this was far worse. Every bite of food he took was immediately digested and dispersed, his stomach never felt full. It constantly ached for food. He had just discovered a new food source though… he attacked the burger stand moments ago, feasting on the life force of the people within. But he wasn’t just absorbing their life force, as he had with his followers. No… teeth met bone and it was so good. So damn good. He started to walk away, grabbing another burger that was on the grill. No reason to let it go to waste, even now he was still hungry. He moved on, the hood covering his head. After all, he looked like the old Prime Minister… and he ate the burger in about three bites and moved quickly to find shelter. He was walking about as fast as he could when he smelled it…

No, not him. Not now! He has a damn Tardis, he could go anywhere in the universe! Why is he always HERE?!

He could smell him. He could! He knew he would… he ducked into a construction site, one seemingly abandoned, not caring why, and started rubbing the greasy paper from the burger on his face, smearing it and then dirt on his skin to cover his smell. He couldn’t let him find him, not yet, not already! He only just got back, couldn’t he even get a day to settle back in?

It was bad enough he had to hide from all of Europe, since he was still wearing his Harold Saxon face. Might not be so bad in another country. Most of the world forgot that Year where he ruled. The Year That Neverwas. But he still ran for election, some people might recognize his face. Some already had. He ate them. That made him happy. But now he had to hide from The Doctor.

Ba-da-dum-dum… Ba-da-dum-dum… Ba-da-dum-dum… Ba-da-dum-dum…




…Give Him A Mask And He’ll Tell You The Truth.
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Notes: wheeee~!
Location: England, Outside London
Words: 805 without codes
Tagged: the Doctor

[The Doctor]

Anywhere in the universe in his wonderful blue box, anywhere at all, and he always chose to be right here. This green and blue little planet in the middle of a section of space with so little in it: All of 9 planets, less than 20 moons, and just one sun. That’s all that was here in this little spot in existence, and yet here also was the most complex, amazing, if admittedly little young race he’d ever met. Oh he did love humans: Amazing, feeling, compassionate, resourceful humans. Humans that he felt deserved their chance to become so much greater, maybe even like time lords one day. Maybe. That was why he was always there, on this little planet, because they just HAD to make it, didn’t they?

Today though? No, not why he was here. Not here for pleasure (Well, debatable, he did enjoy his escapades). He’d been the other side of this galaxy when he’d felt it, felt something he couldn’t pinpoint…A disturbance in the force, some might say. If they’re nerds. And its origin was…Oh look, Earth. WHY was it always earth? Can’t it stay out of trouble for just two seconds? He’d jumped in his special blue box and shouted tallyho, and hurtled towards his favourite of all destinations.

Mid Flight, the TARDIS took a knock. Not unusual, happened fairly often, but it was never a good thing. He jolted forwards on the Control panel as ship jerked sideways as they entered the atmosphere, almost winding himself. He held onto one of the many pulls hanging from his girls overheads and looked around little stunned, curious, his brunette manga like hair flicking forwards in his face. Doe eyes scanned the interface controls and screens, reading the Gallifreyan language that littered the screen on the rare occasion she actually wanted to tell him what was going on, shortly before they finally landed in South London, just outside of a construction site.

He fussed with the parking controls a moment before bolting down the ramp, long brown coat flying out behind him as he threw the door open and hung out of it, taking a good look around. Well, it didn’t look like a crisis here. Everything normal, and that feeling he’d felt across light years of space was gone, no trace of the same tingling, whatever it had been. He frowned a little, upper lip curled and squinting in the sunlight. He was terribly confused. Still, this was the spot the TARDIS had chosen to land, surely it had some significance. She never took him somewhere that wasn’t relevant.

He stepped out of his box and let the door close behind him, curious. Something had to be here. He stepped along the gravel that ground under his light converses, passing one of the large sand mountains that littered the man-made terrain between tall forests of yellow, grey and blue construction equipment, brow set in a confused frown. What on earth had the power to reach him across the universe, yet when he showed up showed no sign of ever being anywhere?

Then he caught it, on the air. A scent he’d never forget, a scent he could never mistake.

No, It couldn’t be.

He took a deep breathe inhaling the smell again, turning his body towards the direction it was coming from. It was tainted, tainted by the smell of dead animal, and…grease…Oil, and now dirt, but it was no less, most defiantly him. His eyes, wide with curiousness and shock, locked on the direction he was sure it was coming with, and he picked up his pace into a run. He bounded, long legs carrying him with some speed towards the smell, it getting stronger and stronger the closer he got. It was him, most defiantly him, and he smelt the exact same way as he always had, only now he had an odd…edge, a hint of something else.

But there was no way this was a regeneration, that was impossible. He’d chosen to die, he’d died in his arms, the doctor had heard his heart beats slow and stop, held him there on the floor of the valiant and wept into his neck. That had been one of the most painful moments of his whole life, and he’d accepted it. He’d finally said goodbye to him, his Koschei, his long corrupted, fallen friend. Yet here they were again, and it couldn’t be anyone else. How had this occurred? How? And why? If he’s chosen to die why was he back?

He followed the scent at alarming speed, hauling himself up the long hill towards his destination, the scent so strong now he could taste it. His eyes met the black hoody as the other finally came into view at the peak of the hill, wide. True his hood was up, he couldn’t SEE him, but there was no mistaking it. HE was back…

“….Master.”

And what a shock he’d have when he saw his face. The same face…Harold Saxon.

Notes: :3 Hey Kossie
Words: 835
Tagged: The Master
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[The Master]

Man Is Least Himself When He Talks In His Own Person…
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He found him! The Doctor found him. No, nonono NO NO NO!! He was already here, so soon, he wasn’t ready! He wasn’t. He couldn’t be here already!

He stared up the hill at the brunette Timelord, pushing the hood back on his jacket, revealing blonde hair as he stared at him with dark chocolate eyes that burned. He let out a scream, animalistic and echoing in the construction site.

“You always manage to ruin my fun, don’t you Doctor!?”

Oh yes, he did. He always did. Even when he hid out as a human named Prof. Yana, the Doctor managed to find him. Albeit on accident, he still found him at the end of the universe.

“You couldn’t even give me one bloody day, could you?!” he grinned, “Oh, but I do love it when you say my name. Say it again won’t you?”

He was almost giddy now, beaming at him as he was stared at in confusion. Well, the Master hadn’t been ready for him yet, but he was going to have a little fun with him anyway.

“Do you remember how we used to run, Doctor? In the red grass...?”

The red grass neither of them would ever see again… Shut up!

He visibly shook the thoughts away. This wasn’t the time or place for them. The drums buzzed in his skull and he grinned once more at the Doctor before taking off, running deeper into the construction site. He ran, the shoes on his feet that were just half a size too big actually worked in his favor there. It made for easier running. He went deeper and deeper until he couldn’t hear the other timelord anymore.

Well, that was no good. He stopped and looked around, finding an old oil drum and a long metal pipe. Well, that might do. The drums would call them to war.

One! Two! Three! Four!

He slammed the pipe against the barrel, again and again and again. Always in beats of four, just like the drums. He kept beating until he could hear the other one get close. Then he tossed the pipe and stood out in the open again, in a clear, flat area, arms crossed as he waited. He’d be in for a surprise when he got closer. Already he had energy creeping into his hands.

As soon as the Doctor was in sight… as soon as he made eye contact…. He screamed at his counterpart again and sent off a warning shot, it went right past him barely a foot away from him.

“This is a brand new beginning for us, Doctor…”



…Give Him A Mask And He’ll Tell You The Truth.
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Notes: wheeee~!
Location: England, Outside London
Words: 437 without codes
Tagged: the Doctor

[The Doctor]

As the hood went back, his eyes widened even more than they already were, staring at him. They rested on the face of Harold Saxon! How could that even be? EVEN if this was a regeneration, he'd burned that body in a funeral pyre. He'd watched him Vanish into the embers, and he'd thought that was it. Last Timelord now, no one else. But he was there, and he was real, he Could smell him, Nothing about the situation was an illusion. Only...Blonde? Confusing but acceptable. He was there, and he had no idea how that was even possible. As the other screamed at him, the doctor 'flinched' a little bit, brow furrowing still more in a deeper set, confused frown. His entire face was set into an expression of non-understanding.

" “You always manage to ruin my fun, don’t you Doctor!?” "

Well yes, yes he did, because his 'fun' often consisted of killing people, planets, things, races, or good situations. Of Course he ruined his fun, and in this situation he was about to do it all over again. He couldn't exactly let him waltz Away from here. Aside from the carnage the master was no doubt able and willing to cause, he...he was back. A Time Lord, A Gallifreyan. Not the last. Not the last any more. And no, the doctor wasn't even willing to give him one day. The Master could do FAR too much damage in 24 hours.

"“Oh, but I do love it when you say my name. Say it again won’t you?”"

He'd not had much of a chance to visibly react yet apart from stare in shock, but it really kicked him back to reality when He said that. It ran a very visible shudder down his spine, and not a good one. He'd heard him say it too many times before and every single time the other seemed able to...sexualize it. Like hearing his name on the doctors lips 'did something' for him. It probably did, thinking about it, chances were being called 'Master' by the doctor was one of the many ways the Master got his jollies. It disgusted him, it had done on the Valiant, every time the Master forced him to beg for his food like the dog he'd been reduced too, old and aching, and eventually hungry enough to comply and say his name over and over.

He was pulled out of those sensation by the mention of the red grass, and better, older days...and before he could reply, the Master was off, like a rat out of a drain pipe. He took a slightly surprised in take of breathe and took off after him across the gravel. No matter how Fast he was, how light footed, somehow the Master was faster. Significantly faster. He didn't stop running though, tearing across the construction site. He lost him?! How'd he lose him!? Oh no wait, no matter: Bang. Bang bang bang. There's his cue. Oh he was being played with, and he knew it. None the less he turned and bolted in the direction of the beat of four, skidding to a dusty halt just far from him as the turned and screamed at him again.
Why'd he keep doing that?

"Master, Stop, Listen to me..."

[/i]

It was all he got out before the other....HOLY FUCK. He literally jumped back as the ground was scorched next to his foot. What the holy mother of jebus was that? Wide Bambi eyes looked from the mark on the floor back to the other time lord as he announced the new begining? Didn't feel so new to him, it still seemed to be conflict! Despite the warning shot, he still
started to step closer, converse trainers falling cautiously on the ground every step he took, cautious but adamant, and determined to get to him, through to him. He could feel what was wrong and that blast was as good as an exclamation point.

He was buring his own life force, which as vast as it was as a time lord, would still eventually kill him, and maybe without any chance of ever coming back. by any means. No no, he couldn't have that. not again. He's right here, RIGHT here! Someone he needed to save above all others. Someone he'd never managed to save. Someone he really wished he had.

"...You're burning your own life force. I can see it. let me help you..." [/i]

God, did he want to help him. He was practically begging too this time. Nothing in the way yet, no grand master plans of destruction that needed stopping, no hostage situations. It was just him and the master, in this vast, and currently unoccupied construction site at god knows what time in the evening. Here was his chance...he could save him this time, couldn't he? Fix him and have someone. Have SOMEONE...that final, all consuming companion to travel the stars with. A mate. [/center]

Tagged: Koschei
Location: England, London.
Notes: Let me help you, i'll do anything .
Word Count: 833

[The Master]

Man Is Least Himself When He Talks In His Own Person…
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Oh here it came. The begging and pleading for help. It was bittersweet. He loved hearing –him- beg but he hated it. Hated how the Doctor thought he could save him. Wanted to save him now… after all these years, now? Really?

“You’re over Eight hundred years too late, Doctor!”

Eight hundred and eighty years, give or take. The Master refused to think too hard on it. He didn’t like thinking about his own pain. Luckily the drums kept him from thinking too hard on anything. Oh those drums… pounding away right now, drawing him to something, building up to something grand, he just knew it. A crescendo in the works. If –only- he could figure out what they were building too.

Well he knew someone who might be able to tell him that. A recent ally…

The Doctor was getting too close and so the Master did the only thing he could think of. He blasted again, behind him again. The Doctor didn’t stop walking though and the Master actually took a step back.

Why was he doing this?! Didn’t the Doctor get it? The Master just wanted him gone! If he was gone maybe it would stop. Maybe those painful scars on his hearts could finally heal! WHY didn’t the Doctor understand?

The drums grew louder, the drug in his system was buzzing. He rather enjoyed it and it –did- stabilize him. He felt electricity flicker over his skin, itching to be released. His whole body flickered for a moment, a long painful moment as every cell burned. He reacted and blasted him again.

This time, he hit him.

YES! He hit him!

….

Oh….no, he hit him!

The Master froze on the spot and stared at the Doctor. Oh, he was so confused. What had he done? And the Doctor…

An imagine hit the Master, as real as the construction site. The tall red grass. Him, in a red tunic, couldn’t have been more than 7 years old, running in the grass with a slightly taller blonde boy in a green tunic. They were smiling and laughing and chasing one around under an orange sky.

The Master bolted over to the Doctor as he started to fall forward. He grabbed him before he fell, and carefully brought him down to his knees, holding him for a moment. Holding him close, almost protectively.

Oh lord, what was he doing?! As soon as he realized what he was doing, he let him go, let him fall against the gravel and he sat back, arms propped on his knees.

He wanted to just stop fighting. He really did. He’d never admit that, but he did. He was so tired, so old. So many lives lived in 900 years. What was he on now? Number 17 he thought. He wanted to die on the Valiant and stay dead. What a confession that would be, if he ever managed it. But he was back now and the drums would never let him rest. They beat on in constant beats of four as he stared down at the Doctor.




…Give Him A Mask And He’ll Tell You The Truth.
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Notes: Stop making me -feel- things!
Location: Constructions site
Tagged: Doctor
Words: 516

[The Doctor]

Eight hundred years too late? He refused to believe that. Out right refused and the Master knew it, and no doubt it infuriated him. Didn’t matter though, not one bit, The Doctor was so hell bent on saving him. He could, he knew he could, so long as he could convince the master to allow it. That’s all he needed. Permission, compliance, and he could fix this! His brow furrowed drastically over worried eyes, watching the master reject the idea he could help him. He knew this wouldn’t be easy, but how could get abandon the hope of another? It had been robbed of him last time, hadn’t it? He’d been so close to no longer being alone, and it had been shot out of the picture. Literally…and Koschei had let that happened. He’d chosen death, over him, and that hurt like nothing else.

He kept moving closer, slowly, calmly. Until the other blasted again, putting a hesitation in his step: Only for a second, no longer. He still kept walking, pushing his cause insistently. Just once, Koschei, just for ONCE let me help you. Surely those days in the academy were not for nothing, and were not forgotten. They had a past, forgetting the recent one, and that past was something at least one of them still held onto.

“Let me…”

He didn’t get any further than that when the Master raised his hand, and sent a sharp blast directly into his chest. His slim frame caught it, shoulders jerking forwards whilst his chest pushed back, caved as his back reverse arched. Oh god that hurt! What the hell was that? He could feel it coursing through him, burning, sharply forcing his body to convulse as he tried to absorb it, handle it, but couldn’t. He dropped, half in shock the Master had hit him, half having expected him to lash out this way.

As he dropped, he felt arms: familiar arms. They caught him, embraced him, stopped his face hitting the dirt. He felt so dizzy, so sick and so pained, muscles in spasms and head reeling. Everything hurt and nothing made sense, and all he could feel, smell, and just about see was the other Gallifreyan. He’d caught him?...Since when did he care? No sooner than these thoughts had run past his mind did the Master drop him, his chest hitting the ground hard, face in the dirt, and just lying there for a concussed moment. The Ache was nearly unbearable for a few moments before it started to slowly subside, giving him back his focused vision.

By this time, the Master was sitting just across from him, staring at him. He took a few moments to himself, to gather himself, before he looked up at him, dirt sticking to his damp lower lip, and dusted across his face. His suit lined dry mud now, and not a single bit of it mattered.

“Master…”

No accusations. No ‘YOU HIT ME’s. None of that mattered, and he still only had one thing on his mind. He winced, pushing himself up just enough to crawl closer to him, and reached his hand out, fingers touching his sneaker shoe gently, perhaps weakly in his current state.

“…I can save you. All you need to do is let me.”

His voice was a little burdened with the burning pain, but it was no less pleading, begging.

“Please…I need you.”

Admitting a touch of selfishness motive, perhaps that revelation will sway the Master’s reaction, perhaps it’ll pad his pride a little.

Notes: -MORE FEELS-
Tagged: Master
Words: 589

[The Master]

Man Is Least Himself When He Talks In His Own Person…
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Koschei the Master just sat there, staring at a piece of the gravel-covered ground, thinking. His mind was reeling… that drink he accepted from his new associate really did a number on him. It was like he was sitting at the eye of a hurricane. It was calm but any second things would be a chaotic mess.

“Master…”

The Doctor moved, only a little, closer to him rather than away. He reached out, his hand resting on that stolen, slightly too big sneaker. He looked at his old friend, eyes searching him for any sign of anger, of anything negative, but there wasn’t any negativity there.

“…I can save you. All you need to do is let me.” The Master tilted his head. Theta’s voice held so much pain, “Please…I need you.”

He stared at him for a long time, not even blinking, before replying, “You need me?”

What a thought. What an idea. Theta, the Doctor, needed him?

“Why would you need me? You’re the one that left me.”

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back, thinking… remembering. He could almost smell that red grass. The image from before came to mind again, the fields of red grass, the twin suns…

“Do you remember the fields behind my father’s estate? How we’d run all day. We did that for years. Before the drums took their hold on my mind.” He almost smiled, almost, “We had fun back then, didn’t we? When we were… well, when you were innocent. I’m not sure I was ever innocent. Not with a man like Arkham Oakdown for a father.”

He sighed, looking down at the Doctor. The weirdest urge came over him just then. He reached out and ran his fingers through the other’s brown hair. He hadn’t been expecting to feel the hair products in his hair. It made him chuckle, knowing he had actually taken the time and effort to get his hair all stuck up like that.

“I won’t let you help me. And there’s a simple reason. I know you can’t. You can’t help me, Doctor. There’s nothing you can do. I’ve tried.”

He had tried. For the longest time after graduation from the Academy, he went to every healer, doctor, and psychologist on the planet. None of them could stop the drumming in his head. He tried every drug there was—every legal drug. Some made the drums stop, but only to make him into a zombie. Some actually made the drumming worse. Most had no effect at all on the drumming.

Then he went back home… he wanted Theta. Koschei had already regenerated once but all he wanted was to get back to his Theta. He was going to explain everything, beg forgiveness for disappearing if he had to, even confess what he did to his own father, and then he knew Theta would understand him and they’d go on like before. Theta always understood. Only when he got back, he discovered that…

It hurt to think about it. Knowing he had worked so hard trying to become “normal” for the Doctor, only to find him married. The Doctor had a family now. That family didn’t include him. Koschei ran then, smack dab into a Dalek fleet, regenerating again. He truly felt that on that day, Koschei died, and the Master was all that was left.

“How can you help me when you don’t even believe the drums are real, Doctor? The drums drove me mad, I did not create this madness! If you would just listen, if you only understood…”

If the Doctor understood, maybe… just maybe he’d give in to him. But he couldn’t say that. If he said it, then the Doctor would tell him anything he wanted to hear. He moved forward, onto his hands and knees, grabbing the Doctor by his shoulders and pulling him up so they could look at one another eye-to-eye.

“Just listen!”

Please. Just listen…



…Give Him A Mask And He’ll Tell You The Truth.
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Notes: PLEASE just LISTEN!
Words: 658
Tagged: Doctor

[The Doctor]

He winced a little as he was grabbed and yanked up to his eye level. His body was still aching, sore from attempting to absorb what was technically, well, another time lords life force, and it was like a hard case of indigestion: Hard to swallow, worse to process. He felt dizzy and sick and yet he was still trying so hard to focus on the time lord in front of him, the man who needed him no matter how much he rejected the idea. The Doctor KNEW he did. Needed, but didn’t want. That never stopped Theta Sigma.

He supported his weight as best he could on shaking hands, arms feeling like they wouldn’t take his barely there weight. Big brown eyes rose to the hazel ones of the Master, nothing but hope for him in them, no judgement, no hatred, and that probably infuriated the maser more.

““How can you help me when you don’t even believe the drums are real, Doctor? The drums drove me mad, I did not create this madness! If you would just listen, if you only understood…””

How could he believe the drums? How did he contemplate that? No record of such a thing had ever shown up in time lord medical history. It was just in his head, just in the Masters imagination to give him an excuse for his madness. That’s how the doctor had always seen it: a fabrication of reality to ease the guilt. He’d TRIED to listen, once. It had never happened. He shook his head all he could to the Master’s pleas, whimpering a little apologetically.

“I can’t. I can’t hear them.”

He swallowed again, trying to paw at his foot again, trying to connect to him any which way he could be that emotionally or just psychically. Just to make him come closer, to make him LET him be closer. The closer he got the more he could help, the more influence he could get on him. He pushed closer in one sudden jolt and pressed his forehead to the masters desperately, trying to slip through those barriers, trying to connect to him, eyes still focused on the other a moment before they closed. And he tried to connect…

dum dum dum dum

His eyes flew open wide and he yanked himself back, shuddering. It had been faint, so faint, but it had been THERE! He’d finally heard it after so long of trying. Why now? Perhaps because of that faint hint of the masters life force still coursing in the doctors body, perhaps that was the plank that bridged the gap, making him finally hear what he’d never believed in. Oh god.

“…I…”

Oh God.

“…I heard it.”

He trembled more than he had done before now, there on the ground, in the dirt with the Master, where the master always ended up, with his drums. And now the Doctor knew how it felt to be down there too. He reached up, or tried too…tried to grip onto him…

[The Master]

Man Is Least Himself When He Talks In His Own Person…
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When the Doctor yanked himself away, the Master felt his hearts drop in his stomach. He dropped his head, trying to control his breathing, his rage, a spark of electricity flickered over his shoulders. So hurt. So upset. Theta would have tried! This? ….This wasn’t Theta!! How could he not listen? He didn’t even try, did he? He wouldn’t try! He wou—

“”I… I heard it.””

All the air seemed to be pulled from the Master’s lungs. Sucked out as if in a vacuum. He sucked in a gasp before his seconding respiratory system could kick in. Those hazel eyes stared down at the Doctor for the longest moments. Staring and unsure of who he was seeing, Theta, or the Doctor. In his might they were just as different as Koschei and the Master. The Doctor wouldn’t listen, but Theta heard him. Theta heard the drums.

“You heard it…?”

It was taking a while to sink in. The Doctor heard his drums. The drums weren’t just in his imagination. He was right after all. They were real and they made him mad, not the other way around.

“You heard the drums.” He repeated it, speaking quietly, “You heard the drums.”

The Master clenched his eyes shut tightly, hanging his head, trying to keep his breathing calm. Tears started their way down his dirty cheeks, leaving trails that were very defined. When did he last cry? Really? Saxon didn’t exactly cry, more like whimpered… was it really when he was a kid? He had been far too angry to remember if he cried or not when he saw the Doctor with his wife. So this really was probably the first time in nearly 800 years he had cried.

He didn’t know how long he sat like that. But he was honestly, truly crying. But then the crying turned to something darker. He started laughing. He slowly at first started to chuckle, but it just built up and kept getting louder and louder, until he was hysterical. He was barely aware of anything as he moved, up and standing, laughing and jumping wildly like a kid just told he was going to Disney.

“You heard them! You heard the drums! They’re REAL! THEY’RE REAL! HA! I didn’t imagine them! You heard them too and they’re real!”

He threw his head back and laughed, but oddly he still had tears running down his face as he laughed. It was a bittersweet victory for him. It was real, but that didn’t make him any less insane now, did it?



…Give Him A Mask And He’ll Tell You The Truth.
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Notes: they're real!
Words: 425
Tagged: Doctor