Warning: Reference to mental illness
Disclaimer: Don't own Doctor Who
The Doctor was tinkering with the Dematerialisation Circuit when it happened. He had been trying to fix the thing for months, so that he could get the TARDIS flying again; it wasn't that he didn't like Earth – in fact, he loved Earth with all of his hearts, as well as its humans – but the last time he had spent so long in a single place was before he had stolen the old girl in the first place, and all those years of idleness on Gallifrey were not an experience that he wished to repeat; on Earth, or anywhere else.
Yet the Dematerialisation Circuit was being particularly stubborn – though he had expected to have some problems with it. After all, it was not the original one from his own TARDIS, but rather, the Master's, since he had had to switch them round during that business with the Nestenes. The only consolation was that the Master was stuck on Earth with him; the Doctor could, eventually, reconfigure the Dematerialisation Circuit to fit in his own TARDIS, for this one was more advanced than the original, but it would be near impossible for the Master to upgrade the Circuit from the Doctor's TARDIS to fit his own, especially with the limited technology that Earth had at this point in its history.
So it appeared that they were at a stalemate: two Time Lords, deemed renegades by the rest of their species, exiled to this green and blue planet that was only really just beginning. When the Doctor heard the door behind him open, he was sure that this visitor in the middle of the night was the Master, and that he had come to seek out some revenge for trapping him here with him. Yet it turned out that he was only half right.
The Doctor often worked late into the night, for the peace and quiet suited him better than the usual noise that filled his laboratory during the day; his company usually had things other than work in mind when they came down here – often, the Doctor suspected, they only came down here to 'visit' him in order to get away from it all. What other possible reason could there have been for Yates doing nothing other than playing solitaire on the other side of his work desk unless there was something threatening the safety of reality as he knew it? Or Jo's constant fiddling with the radio, switching it between two stations when they were both playing songs that she wanted to listen to at the same time?
He had considered on more than one occasion sending them off on fool's errands – such as to collect him a tin of tartan paint – but each time he had decided against it. He loved his work, yes, but companionship was always more important than tinkering, especially when humans slept so much, and so the only time that the Doctor had to spend with them was during the daylight hours; the night time hours, when he was still awake and his companions were sleeping, saw him working alone at his desk in his laboratory, trying to get the TARDIS to work again.
That was the situation when he heard the door open that night. The visitor was trying not to be heard, but the intense silence of the laboratory at night – such a contrast to how it was during the day – did nothing to cover up the slight creak of the door, or the squeaking of leather shoes, or the dull thudding of soles on the wooden floor boards. The Doctor turned, laying down the still-broken Dematerialisation Circuit on his desk, just as the Master was closing the door behind him.
"Good evening," the Doctor greeted his oldest friend and his greatest enemy, as the Master looked up from the doorknob that he had just released to meet the Doctor's eyes.
As always, the Master had a serious but somehow forlorn expression on his face, his head tilted up slightly to make up for the difference in height between them. The Doctor had been surprised when he had realised just how incredibly tall this incarnation was; it was as though the Time Lords had tried to compensate for forcing him to regenerate by bestowing upon him more height than he had ever had before. Whatever the reason for his sudden growth spurt, the Master appeared rather resentful of it.
"Good evening," the Master replied, his voice smooth and giving nothing away. A moment passed between them in silence, before the Doctor decided to speak.
"I have two questions," he began, and the Master raised his eyebrow; "Firstly, how did you get in here?"
The Master did not answer in words: the corner of his mouth twitched up and a gleam of amusement shone in his eyes. For all the animosity between them, they knew each other far better than they knew anyone else in this universe, and they were both aware of it; that small twitch was all the answer the Doctor needed: somewhere upstairs, there was at least one guard under the Master's hypnotic control. The Doctor nodded, showing that he understood, before clasping his hands behind his back.
"In that case, I move on to my second question: to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you," the Master smiled, taking a step nearer to the Doctor. "I have realised the error of my ways."
The Doctor blinked in surprise. He was rather interested to see where this was going; after all, the Master never made a big deal of repentance – unless something was in it for him other than absolution and forgiveness, neither of which he had ever been very much interested in.
"I see," the Doctor responded, making it perfectly clear that he was still suspicious of the Master's intent, "and what are those errors?"
The Master chuckled slightly, a mere huff of breath as he dropped his gaze to the floor for a split second before looking up again. "My anger, my... hatred, has all been directed at this planet," he explained, once again moving forward.
The Doctor shifted slightly, putting his entire body between the Master and the Dematerialisation Circuit on the desk – it was still broken, but not so much that the Master wouldn't be able to fix it and make it compatible for his TARDIS in a matter of hours, and if he decided to begin terrorising the rest of the universe when the Doctor couldn't follow him to stop him, then the Doctor was rather sceptical as to the ability of the rest of the Time Lords to prevent the Master's wrath destroying everything in the known universe.
The Master seemed to notice what he was doing; his eyes flicked to the table behind the Doctor, and he stopped in his tracks, a second passing in silence before he burst out laughing.
"You think I am going to leave?" he asked, a teasing edge to his voice. The Doctor's brow furrowed in confusion as the Master's laughter continued. When his mirth had ceased, he carried on speaking. "Why would I leave when what I need is right here?"
The Doctor had had enough of the Master's games. His expression dissolved into a scowl, and he surged forward until he was only a few steps away from the Master, his hands curled into fists that he would never use at his sides. "What are you talking about?" he hissed, staring down at the Master's amused expression.
The Master reached up to his chin, running a finger thoughtfully across his bottom lip.
Then he struck.
With a surge of energy that the Doctor hadn't been expecting, the Master reached forward to his wrists, grabbing hold of them and twisting his entire body round so that it was facing the window perpendicular to his desk, and shoving him backwards until his back collided with the wall. The Master kept the grip on his wrists, holding them tightly against the wall on either side of the Doctor's head, as he leaned forward into his face and scowled.
"You, Doctor," the Master sneered, "I'm talking about you."
The Doctor winced painfully, trying to twist his wrists out of the Master's grip, but he was holding too tightly and the Doctor wasn't strong enough to break free. "What do you mean, 'me'?" the Doctor asked, once he had realised that he was not going to be able to free himself.
The Master smiled, and – were it not for the madness in his eyes – it would have looked sincere. "You, Doctor," he drawled, his voice slightly slurred and filled with a dreamy quality that sounded almost akin to longing, "you keep me sane."
The Doctor stopped struggling at these words, almost completely dumbstruck. He stared at the Master, seeing the same unhinged quality in his irises as had been there since the renegade had first left Gallifrey. It had been this initial excursion from their home planet that had ripped the Master's sanity from his mind, and in that time, never once had the Doctor's presence seemed to have calmed the storm that raged behind those eyes. If anything, the Master's determination to destroy the Doctor had only made it worse.
Without warning, the Master laughed again, loud and hard, and the sharp sound so close to his ears almost made the Doctor flinch from it.
"Tell me," the Master said, the corner of his mouth raised in an amused smirk, "when we were at the Academy together, did I seem... in full capability of my mental faculties?"
"Of course," the Doctor replied, "you were perfectly sane before you left Gallifrey."
This made the Master laugh again, and the Doctor's confusion only deepened.
"Tell me," he continued, his grip still tight on the Doctor's wrists, "do you remember the Untempered Schism?" he asked, his voice dropping to a lower octave that gave it a slightly more sinister edge.
The Doctor barely concealed a shudder at the thought of that swirling window into the Time Vortex, into which he had been forced to look when he had been a mere eight years old. The thing was terrifying, and it was at that moment that a voice in his head had told him to steal a TARDIS – any TARDIS, it didn't matter – and leave; it didn't matter where he went, as long as he got as far away from that thing as possible.
That had been so many years ago, and he had travelled so far and so wide since then, yet he still didn't feel that he had got quite far enough. If he had, then maybe he wouldn't have been in his laboratory in the middle of the night, trying to make an incompatible Dematerialisation Circuit work in his outdated TARDIS so that he wouldn't have to stay idle on Earth for as long as the Time Lords wanted him to. Yet the Master was still talking, and he forced himself to drag himself out of the memory of that terrible place to listen.
"Some were inspired," he said, "some ran away," he smirked at this, as both of them knew that he was talking to a man who had done just that, "and some went insane."
The penny dropped, and the Doctor's face fell as realisation dawned. All these years, he had thought one thing; all these years, he had been wrong.
"I believed you inspired," he admitted quietly, gulping nervously.
The Master tilted his head slightly, giving the Doctor a small, almost pitying smile. "How naïve you are, my dear Doctor," he breathed quietly, and they fell into silence once more.
The Doctor thought back over all the years that he had spent at the Academy with the Master – all of the lessons and essays and assignments that they had suffered through together – but never once, in all those years, had the Master shown any signs of insanity, of madness, of that which had driven him to want to destroy so much, as he had done since he had left Gallifrey behind.
What had changed? Why had he been able to keep such violent tendencies under control when they had been at school together, but when they left...
No; not when they left – when the Doctor left.
"You keep me sane."
The Doctor blinked at the Master, not quite sure what to think at this sudden revelation. He was saved the responsibility of coming up with a reply by the Master speaking first.
"You shower so much affection on this planet," he murmured, "and why? What is it about this planet that attracts you so?" he asked, his voice growing louder and filling with spite. "These apes are not deserving of your adoration!"
"Master-" the Doctor began, hoping that the use of his chosen name would go some way to calming him, but it seemed to do nothing of the sort.
"But look at it," the Master chuckled, practically giggling, "still standing when it should have fallen so many times. It is defended, indeed, by a foolhardy Doctor with his police box. This planet owes you so much, though you ask nothing from it in return for all of the times that you have saved it."
The Master smiled, a deep sadness filling his eyes as though the dam that had been keeping it back had burst. "No. I do not hate this planet, Doctor; I envy it." He leaned forward slightly, until his lips were less than an inch away from the Doctor's, and all that the Doctor could see were the Master's eyes. "Surely it must be the greatest thing in the universe," he murmured, "to be loved by the Doctor."
A second passed in stunned silence, before the Master roughly released the Doctor's wrists. While the Doctor was still rubbing them better, sore from the tight grip that the Master had held them in, the renegade had swiftly turned away and disappeared into the world beyond, closing the door of the laboratory behind him.