A/N: hello! I published this on a whim; I'll probably regret it later. Anyway, so here's my second attempt at writing a Dr. Who fic. I'm hoping that this will get a better turnout than "Oil and Water" did - though around 70-something people did read that story. (None of them reviewed, though... I'm thinking that they decided to spare me the horrible details. lol. I'm glad; I don't want to read 70-something reviews about how horrid my drabble is.)
Anyway, please be gentle on this; the fandom is extremely new to me, and I'm just getting my feet wet, so to speak. Dr. Who isn't new to me, but writing fics for it is. I really hope I have at least a minimal number of people who somewhat like this. Hahaha... ^.^;;
Negativity aside, this takes place post-TLotTL. We're going to say that after Jack handcuffed the Master, he chloroformed him and drove him to the psychiatric hospital mentioned. Italics indicate either events in the past, or telepathic speech. Oh, right - this is mostly dialogue. *FAILS* DDDX I apologize profusely.
Red Carnation - symbolizes the giver's heart aching for the receiver
The chloroform-drenched cloth. Jack. The immortal guy.
Chloroform.
The room... everyone in the room... and his wife – his wife dropping the nine millimeter to the floor.
And the Doctor.
The Doctor crying...
Rassilon, the chloroform...
*****
The Lord Master, under the pseudonym "Harold Saxon," was checked into the Bethlem Royal Hospital by Captain Jack Harkness and another member of his team the same night that his – that is, "Saxon's" – wife shot him. Jack and the previously mentioned other team member had knocked "Saxon" out with a cloth soaked in chloroform then proceeded to drag him into a car and drive him to Bethlem. Granted, they could have gotten to their location faster by public transit, but Jack did not want to answer any questions regarding why he and his teammate had a drugged former Prime Minister with them.
They paid for the hospital stay by forging Harold Saxon's signature on his checks.
*****
At the current point, it had been two weeks since Lord "Harold Saxon" had been checked in. A nurse walked the Doctor down several corridors until they finally reached the target room. The door was very heavy, and the doorknob was cold as ice. The nurse opened it, and the Doctor stood just outside the door, listening to their conversation.
"Visitor, Mr. Saxon."
"Oh?"
Lord "John Smith" was beginning to think that this visiting idea of his was not too grand a plan, and he looked behind him. He could run down the corridor; he could run to freedom – freedom from a, possibly, highly uncomfortable conversation.
But then, he remembered; he never ran. He was the Doctor. I suppose the Master and I both have our fair share of pride.
"Indeed, sir," the nurse said, breaking the young Time Lord's thoughts and bringing him back to Reality; "says his name's John Smith."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"Oh, does he now?"
"Yes, sir. Claims he's a quantum physics professor at uni and an old friend o' yours."
Lord Saxon snorted at this, then smirked slightly. "Never heard of him." The Doctor, still waiting outside, rolled his eyes. "It would be nice to have a visitor, though; it would break the horrible monotony of this place."
"Right, then – in you go," the nurse said, ushering the Doctor inside.
"I'll leave you be, but if things get out of hand, the nurses'll be in here to kick you out," she warned staring straight at Lord "Smith" with a highly serious look.
"Oh, yes, ma'am. Of course, ma'am."
She left.
The Doctor walked over to the Master's bedside. "Scoot over a bit; I wanna sit down."
"Pushy little regeneration, aren't we?"
"Shut it, Harold," The Doctor threatened before laughing. "You know, that name really makes you sound your age."
"Yeah, you can just shut your sodding mouth right now before I –"
"Oh? B'fore you what, huh?"
The elder of the two rolled his eyes and scooted over in the hospital bed, making room for the Doctor to sit down. The two of them then fell into what could properly be described as a very awkward silence in which the Master looked up at the ceiling and the Doctor looked down at his lap, folding and re-folding his hands together. Neither knew what to say. Actually, the Master knew damn well what he wanted to say, and he was surprised that he wasn't just coming out and saying it.
"Nice place," the Doctor said softly, breaking the silence.
"... Huh?" Incredulity.
"Well, y'know, I mean..." he breathed deeply, trying to make conversation; "... for a hospital. They have... er... y'know. Nice floor tiles. I rather like their floor tiles – nice blue color. I like the color blue; it reminds me of that one suit I had... remember it? Though I rather fancy the brown one more; it went better with my trench coat. Not that these tiles are the same color as the suit; I mean, these are light blue – a nice light blue, that is; not that I..."
"... Doctor."
"What?"
"Just... stop. Please," the Master said. "Nothing you say will do anything to make this situation better, and besides – you're sounding like an idiot, to be quite frank."
"Right. Uh... sorry." Did he just call me an idiot...?
No, I said you are sounding like one. There is a difference.
The awkward silence that followed lasted for approximately ten minutes, not that there was a clock anywhere in the room; it just felt like ten minutes. It could've only been three. Hell, it could've just been thirty seconds.
"Well, congratu-bloody-lations, Dr. John Smith," the Master spat; "You have me where you want me, don't you? And of course, we can credit Jack the Immortal Freak for that." His wrist restraints resisted against him.
The Doctor knew he should've run down that corridor when he had the chance.
"I had no part in this."
"Really?" Disbelief.
"Jack checked you in here because of your erratic behavior combined with the auditory hallucinations, and –"
"Oh, is that what they're calling it these days? Well, let me just tell you something. Nobody here can do anything about my – what did you say? – 'auditory hallucinations' because it's not an earth issue. The High Counsel –"
"Stop it. Now."
"Yeah? Afraid?"
"The people in this hospital, they're recording our conversation. They might even be video-taping us; I'm not sure. If you keep talking the way you are, they're going to think you're even madder."
"Well, you sure have some conspiracy theories. You know, when one takes this whole thing into consideration, it's funny; you're able to save countless human lives on a near daily basis, yet when it comes to rescuing a member of your own race from mental destruction, you somehow cannot do it."
"Stop it... stop it now, Harold."
"Right, John – you and your government conspiracy theories. You should be in here. The High Counsel put the drumming in my head for a reason. War's coming."
"No, it's not. It's there because going mad was your reaction to looking into the Schism. Look, I admit you shouldn't be here; it was a mistake. I can devise a plan, yeah? I can come up with something, and if you'll just work with me for once, you can get out of here. You could be with me on the TARDIS, and... and we could travel across the stars together. Remember? Remember, Koschei promised that to Theta." The last bit was whispered as a tear made its way down the young Time Lord's cheek.
"Koschei's dead, and so is Theta. And, by the way, so's their planet; it burned courtesy of you, or hadn't you remembered?"
"Master, please," the Doctor pleaded in a very soft whisper, tears clouding his vision.
"Oh, I'm not even through yet. You know, we're much alike – you and me. I only just realized this several days ago when I happened to be thinking about you. No matter how much of a patron saint you might strive to be, you still have hate in you. And you're a destroyer. You had everything to lose, Doctor, including me, and you threw all of us away. Tell me... when you watched Gallifrey burn, what was it like? What was it like watching our people burn to ash? What was it like watching their ashes burn? Now, I'll give you a break on the Castellan, but I'm holding you accountable for everyone else."
At this point, the Master turned his face away from Lord John Smith and looked up at the ceiling. He inhaled deeply, and tears gathered at the corners of his eyes before spilling over and running down his cheeks.
"Even me," the Master continued. "I'm holding you accountable for me. Whatever remained of Koschei and his love for you died along with the rest of those poor bastards you destroyed."
The Doctor, at this point, fell upon the Master's chest, sobbing. This is not real,he thought; It's just a nightmare. He clutched at the elder Time Lord's sweater.
The Master didn't say anything; he just left the Doctor to his sobbing.
The Master sighed. He always thought that the Time Lord race was the so-called "Master Race" and therefore should be fruitful and multiply, along with taking over everyone else. He had a sort of watered-down Dalek mentality. He didn't think everyone else should die; he just thought they should be subservient. Then the Doctor destroyed his beloved planet, and now he and the Doctor are the only ones left – the only two Time Lords, and every other race has millions. Well, besides the Daleks, but they don't count; they should've died out ages ago, in everyone's opinion.
The Master knew, deep down, that the Doctor didn't want to destroy Gallifrey; he loved it as much as the next Time Lord. He knew what the reasons were for the planet's destruction. He just could not get over the fact that his precious people would never become an empire.
"I had to. It was the only –"
"I know."
"Then why can't you forgive me?" the Doctor sobbed.
"Because you destroyed something that could've been the most brilliant thing in the universe."
"We could never have been an empire. That would have gone against one of the most fundamental rules of the government – to observe the universe but not to interfere. If we made everyone subservient to us, well... it would be a paradox to what we believed."
"Government charters can always be rewritten. And besides, look at you and I – did we follow the rules?"
"We aren't members of government."
"Oh, so that excludes us, then? Only government has to abide by rules? That hardly seems right."
"Just... just drop the subject."
The Master knew this technique well – mainly because it was one that he used, as well. Whenever they argued, when one would make a point against which the other could not make a retort, the other would just heatedly say, "Just drop the subject" as a way of saying "I give up." It was extremely childish, and the two of them had developed the habit centuries ago. For some reason, they had never grown out of it – perhaps an example of "old habits die hard."
"I win, then," the Master said smugly.
"I hate you; you know that."
"No, you don't."
No, I really don't.
I know.
The Doctor sighed, irritated.
There was a small period of silence.
"I'm sorry... about all of this – this whole situation. I –"
"Stop. I all ready told you that nothing you say will make anything better. I'm just going to be stuck here in this loony bin for days on end until I really do go insane. Thank Jack for me, will you?" Sarcasm.
"I... I love–"
"I know," the Master interrupted. "I... I know."
The Doctor nodded his head before looking down at his lap. "Right, well... s'cleared up, then. I suppose." He clasped his hands together before sighing heavily, as though his shoulders were very heavily burdened. He knitted his eyebrows together.
There was a long pause in conversation again until the two started conversing telepathically.
I'm sorry, the Master conveyed.
No, you're not.
Yeah, you're actually right. Only half-right, though. I really am partially sorry.
It's fine. And I'll be fine; I'm always fine.
"Stop saying that," the Master said aloud. "You and I both know it's not true."
"I've had plenty of people break my heart before; I got used to it a long time ago."
This actually struck a chord for the Master; it struck a chord deep, deep within him, where Koschei lay sleeping – not dead, but dormant. And the Doctor noticed.
"Don't you dare start caring now, Ma-Harold!" the Doctor shouted out, sounding as angry as he could while tears were coming down his face. "Don't you dare. You loved me once, and you stopped. This happens all the time."
The Master suddenly felt a surge of anger, and even he wasn't sure where it came from. Though he suspected it was because the Doctor had emotionally reached him, therefore making him the least bit vulnerable. No, the Master would not stand for this. He would attack back. Ruthlessly.
"Tell me, Doctor," the Master started in a dark voice; "did you ever stop loving Gallifrey?"
The Doctor gripped his unruly hair and yanked. "Aaaarrggh! Stop talking to me about Gallifrey!"
"Struck a chord?"
"You bastard..."
What happened next seemed as though it were in slow motion, like trying to run through a pond of molasses.
The door swung open and two doctors wearing bright white coats came dashing through the doors.
"All right, what seems to be the problem? We heard yelling."
"This visitor has gone insane," the Master claimed.
The Doctor was abruptly grabbed and dragged off the bed. "Let go!" he shouted.
"Giving patients stress is not something we condone, sir."
"I said, let me go!" The Doctor struggled against his captors, trying to break free from their hold on him.
"Let's go."
They began dragging him across the floor.
"Damnit, no!"
Finally, he wrenched himself from their arms. He walked across the room to the Master's bedside table, and he reached into his suit jacket, pulling out a single red carnation.
"...?" the Master gave the Doctor a questioning look.
"Just take it." The Master arched an eyebrow and accepted the flower, turning it over in his hands.
"A red carnation..."
He began remembering.
*****
After physics class let out, Koschei grabbed Theta's thin wrist and dragged him into a broom closet.
"Kosch, what are –"
"Sshh..."
Koschei presented Theta with a red carnation.
"Rassilon, Kosch! Where did you get this? These are only found on earth..."
"Stole it from the biology lab," Koschei explained, smirking. He proceeded to wrap his arms about Theta and pull him close. "You know what those things mean?"
"What?"
"Apparently, the giver of the flower is supposed to love the receiver so much that his or her heart aches."
"Oh, wow... I mean... really? You... I mean..." Theta was grinning so big, his face lit up.
"I love you, Theta."
*****
The memory didn't last more than five seconds. He looked back up at the Doctor. Theta.
"I love you," the Doctor murmured.
The Master said nothing in reply.
The medical personnel grabbed the young Time Lord once more and started leading him out the door. Just as the door was about to close, the Doctor looked in one more time at the Master, and before the Doctor's eyes, he crushed the carnation.
"You're killing me!" the Doctor yelled, his voice pained, right as the heavy oaken door slammed shut.
The problem with this was, the Master still loved the younger Time Lord. He stared at the ceiling, thinking, as he allowed the crumpled petals to softly fall to the floor.