'You mean you're just gonna...keep me?' The Master's tone is one of disgust and disbelief.
The Doctor stares at him and sees yet another message in the other Time Lord's body language He's afraid...
'Hmm. If that's what I have to do.' He turns to Jack, whose expression also speaks volumes. 'It's time to change. Maybe I've been wandering for too long. Now I'll have someone to care for.' He turns back to the Master – and the sound of a gunshot rings out, impossibly loud. There's a split second when no one moves, everyone trying to work out what this means.
The Doctor sees the Master's eyes widen in shock as the air leaves his lungs with a grunt of surprise and he doubles over – then his face is twisting in pain and he's staggering backwards and the Doctor is frozen in shock. Then finally he's moving, but not fast enough, not fast enough... dimly he hears Jack's voice.
'Put it down.' Lucy.
And then the Master is in his arms and he's lowering him gently to the floor, supporting him, holding him as the other Time Lord shudders and swallows, his body tensing in pain as the bullet tears through his internal organs, ripping and shredding as it goes.
'There you go. I've got you. I've got you.'
The Doctor glances down – blood is spreading too fast, too bright, the Masters' life blood- his precious Gallifreyan blood- soaking through the white shirt and running down, pooling on the polished floor. The Doctor can smell it, sharp and sweet and redolent of home. He gulps.
The Master shudders again – his face is white and pinched with pain. He tries to speak and the Doctor wants to tell him to save his strength, concentrate... but he can't speak past the constriction in his throat. The Master's eyes are wide with shock – he's unprepared.
'Always the women.' The Master writhes, sweat on his face as his body goes into shock.
Finally the Doctor finds his voice. 'I didn't see her.' Guns, damn guns - why didn't I see her?
The Master smiles, a crooked smile. 'Dying in your arms... Happy now?'
What's he talking about? 'You're not dying, don't be stupid. It's only a bullet. Just regenerate.'
'No.' He shudders again.
The Doctor doesn't understand. 'One little bullet. Come on.'
The Master's face twists. 'I guess you don't know me so well. I refuse.'
The Doctor's blood runs cold. He can't do this! Why would he do this? He feels the Master's hearts falter, feels one stop. He's running out of time!
'Regenerate. Just regenerate. Please! Please! Just regenerate! Come on!' I should stand back, if he -
'And spend the rest of my life... imprisoned with you?' The Master is trembling now, his body shutting down, starved of lifeblood. He blinks, his gaze turning inwards, dismissing the Doctor.
He's serious...! You can't do this! I won't be alone again, I can't be alone... Not now...!
'You've got to. Come on. It can't end like this. You and me, all the things we've done... Axons. Remember the Axons? And the Daleks? We're the only two left, there's no one else. Regenerate!' He shakes him, as if that will make a difference. It's too late, now. It's always been too late, really. He can feel the tears running down his face. The life he'd save above all others, the one life he thought he'd already lost... and he can't. He feels the Master shiver in his arms, then his muscles start to go slack... his eyes search out the Doctor's, confusion and fear and longing fighting for supremacy as he focuses on the Doctor's face. His mouth works as he clings onto life but its fading, the light in his eyes growing dimmer. The Doctor chokes back a sob as the Master finds his voice.
'How about that? I win.' He gasps. 'Will it stop, Doctor? The drumming... will it stop?' And he's gone, eyelids closing over the tortured mind, lashes brushing pale cheeks as his features soften into the endless sleep that is death.
'No... NO...!' Pain and loss burst out of him in a tortured howl, but the Doctor doesn't hear it, doesn't see his friends exchange worried glances as he clutches the Master's lifeless body, rocking backwards and forwards as he buries his face in the Master's hair, inhaling his scent as if to preserve the memory before it's gone forever.
/Koschei...I should have used your name, would you have stayed then..? The Academy, Kos, remember the Academy? I'm sorry I told them we were just friends... we were so much more than that and I was wrong to deny it, then and now. It's all my fault; all of it and I'm so, so sorry... please... don't leave me.../
He knows that what happened on the Valiant during that year was a twisted thing, corrupted by the Master's insanity. At times the Master had barely seemed aware of what he was doing; he'd been driven by 'the drums'. The Doctor hadn't been able to stop him because... no, that's a lie. He could have stopped it, could have fought him off, but he'd hoped he might be able to get the Master to open up so that he could help him, find out what the drums were doing to his mind, maybe even get rid of them. And by the time he realised it was never going to happen, he was too weak. The other Time Lord had been like a thing possessed and all he'd been able to do was suffer through the de-aging process - usually carried out in the Master's suite out of the way of prying eyes - and what followed, before being aged again and returned to his quarters on the flight deck; the tent, to begin with. Once he'd been caged, though, it had all stopped. The Master had grown tired of him, had resumed his attentions to the increasingly bewildered Lucy and whichever pretty girl he'd had brought on board for the purpose. The Doctor had despaired of ever getting past the Master, to his former self; to Koschei. And now of course it's all too late, much too late...
The Doctor doesn't notice when, an endless time later, Jack gently prises his fingers lose and lowers the Master's body gently to the floor. He doesn't feel Martha holding one arm, Jack the other, as they ease him to his feet, his muscles stiff from holding the same position for what must have been nigh on an hour, his trainers slipping in the congealed blood. He hadn't noticed as the UNIT soldiers led Lucy Saxon away, her face vacant as what's left of her mind flees to a kinder place. He didn't see Martha's family, wanting only to escape this hellish place, wanting only to take Martha with them back to some semblance of normality, to try to forget the horror of the past year, didn't see their pain and confusion as Martha shook her head; she can't come now, she's needed here, but she'll be with them soon. He doesn't know that he's still weeping; doesn't see the sudden understanding in Martha's eyes as she realises why she's waited in vain for a response that would never come, as she thinks she's worked it out; doesn't see Jack reach a similar conclusion. He doesn't feel anything as he's drawn into Jacks' arms as he tries to comfort where no comfort can be had. He doesn't hear Martha and Jack's quiet conversation as they worry about what to do for him, what to do with the Master's body.
'What do we do, Jack?'
'Well, we can't leave them here... UNIT want to reclaim the Valiant and they'll want to take the place apart, in case he's left any little surprises for us.'
'You think he might've done that?'
'Wouldn't put it past him, Martha.'
'And what do we do with him?' Martha indicates the Master's body. Someone should cover him, clean him up, prepare him for whatever ceremony is appropriate, she supposes.
'Will the Doctor want to deal with the funeral?'
'I don't know, Martha. I mean, it's not as if he can go home for burial, is it...?' Jack has no idea of the rituals of Gallifreyan burial, or if being a Time Lord means anything different. The Doctor is the only one here who can know that, and he's in no fit state to deal with anything at the moment.
'Should I sedate him, Jack? If he were human...' Martha steps closer and sadly strokes the Doctor's hair. He's oblivious to it all, enfolded in Jack's arms like a child, his sobs wrenching at her heart. She'd had no idea, no idea at all, that the two Time Lords had been so close; the Doctor had been typically close-mouthed about their precise relationship, hadn't he? She recalls his horrified reaction back on Malcassario when she'd finally managed to get his attention to tell him about the Professor's watch; 'That's a good thing, isn't it?' 'It depends which one...' and his 'that's all you need to know' response to her questions about why he was called 'the Master'... and his guarded response to her joke about their being secret brothers... it would seem that they were far more than that, wouldn't it? Why did the Doctor want only to forgive the Master for what would be considered unforgivable in most societies? She didn't get it then, but now she does.
'Well, if you do that, who's gonna pilot the TARDIS out of here? Call me suspicious, but if UNIT get their hands on it...' Jack is mistrustful of UNIT. He knows that they and the Doctor go way back, and that Torchwood and UNIT were historically at loggerheads for much of their history. Now that Jack's Torchwood is technically going against its original charter, there's an uneasy admission that the two organisations perhaps ought to work together more often. Jack isn't sure what he thinks about that, but he does know the idea makes him nervous.
'We need to snap him out of it, then. Because if UNIT take the TARDIS, and ... oh my God, the Americans... the President... they won't just sit back, Jack. They'll want heads to roll... and since Saxon...' Her hand moves to the Doctor's arm.
'Guilt by association, huh?' Jack sees what Martha is getting at. 'Yeah, I can see that happening. We gotta get him – them – out of here.'
As if on cue, the comms unit on the Valiant Bridge whistles urgently.
'UNIT Central to the Valiant – are we clear now, Captain? You've had long enough.'
'Valiant to UNIT Central – a few more moments, Captain. We're almost done.'
'You have ten minutes, Captain, then we're boarding.'
'Shit. Okay Martha, here's what we do. You take the Doctorto the TARDIS...' he releases the Doctor and steers him gently towards Martha, who takes the Doctor's arms and gives him a little shake. 'I'll bring him...' and he kneels by the Master's body, gently scoops him up into his arms, heedless of the blood now soaking his own clothes.
'Doctor... you have to come with me.' Martha speaks carefully; a hand cupping the Doctor's flushed cheek as she tries to draw him away from his anguish. He lifts his head as if the weight of the universe is on his shoulders –as perhaps it is- and looks at her in confusion. Martha manages to suppress a gasp of shock as his eyes find hers; he looks lost, desolate beyond belief.
'What...?' He sniffs and blinks, lifting a hand to wipe his eyes. Blood smears his face and as he lowers his hand, he catches sight of his own bloody fingers. Martha tenses, but he simply stares at them silently for a moment before sniffing again, and drawing himself up. 'Right.' He looks around him, sees Jack disappearing through the door, the Master's body limp in his grasp.
'Jack's taking him to the TARDIS. We thought you... we don't know what ceremonies...'
'Yes. Right... I'll... take care of him now.' He pulls out of Martha's grip, staggering slightly as he moves away, following Jack.
'Steady...' Martha hurries to his side and takes his arm.
The Doctor stops, turns to look at her.
'Lucy...?' Something crosses his face as he speaks, but it's long gone before Martha can understand it.
'She's being taken care of, Doctor.' Poor Lucy... Martha had been as shocked as any of them to see the battered woman chanting for the Doctor. But she supposes she shouldn't have been – Lucy is as much a victim as the rest of humanity, she realises, no matter how the relationship had started out. By the end she'd been just another plaything, someone else for the Master to torture and abuse. And in the end she'd simply snapped.
'Oh. Good. Good.' He resumes his stumbling way to the door, and Martha follows by his side, silent as they proceed down the now silent corridors to the lower decks where the TARDIS awaits.
To Martha's surprise, when she follows the Doctor through the doors, the red glow of the Paradox Machine has been replaced by an inky darkness. In the light from the open door she can see that the steel cage around the central column is still in place but the tolling of the cloister bell is muted now. Is the TARDIS dying?
'Doctor...'
'I see it, Martha. First things first – where is ... he?'
'Here, Doctor.' Jack's voice comes out of the darkness. 'I didn't know where else...'
The Doctor moves swiftly to the console and stabs a few controls and suddenly the room is flooded with light. Jack has placed the Master on the rickety pilot seat – the Time Lord's hands hang down on either side, his legs awkwardly hanging from the end. It's an incongruous sight and Martha feels an inexplicable sadness.
'That's okay, Jack. Thank you. If you'll excuse me for a moment...' he gathers the Master into his arms, struggling a little. Although the Master is not as tall as the Doctor, he's probably a similar weight and the Doctor's lanky height seems frail in comparison to the Master's compact frame.
Jack steps forward to offer help, but the Doctor stops him with a look.
'No, Jack. I can manage. Thanks. I just need to put him...' he tails off as he shifts the Master's deadweight in his arms, and staggers slightly as he climbs the metal stairs.
Jack and Martha watch wordlessly as the Doctor's heavy footsteps move slowly up the staircase, until he's out of sight.
'It's like he's punishing himself...' Martha whispers, her voice choked with tears as she turns to Jack. 'Oh Jack... I had no idea...'
'Me neither.' Jack takes Martha into his arms and hugs her tightly to him as she cries quietly, not wanting to disturb the unhappy silence of the ailing TARDIS. '...Explains quite a lot, though.'
'Yeah...' Martha can think of nothing more to say; she doesn't want to talk about this now, with the Doctor possibly within earshot. She feels stupid and blind and angry... all he had to do was say... but it's never that simple, is it? Maybe he thought she'd leave ... he's so very lonely, she sees that now. And all his talk that says nothing, really, not since that day on New, New Earth when she'd refused to move until he started being honest with her. And she'd been so sad for him, hadn't she, but reassured that he'd opened up to her... except there'd been so much that he hadn't said, either... and okay, maybe its private but ... And she stops. It makes no difference, really, does it, because she's already made her decision; she'd made it when she saw her parents being thrown into police vans, really... but it had taken her until their reunion on the Valiant to see it.
'Are you okay, Martha?' Jack holds her at arm's length, his thumb wiping away a tear.
'Yeah. Yeah, I am, Jack. You?' She steps back, wrinkling her nose a little, suddenly embarrassed for him. 'Ew.'
Jack smiles and shrugs. 'A little high – and I don't mean that in a good way, obviously! – But otherwise... yeah, I'll live... Of course.' And he chuckles ruefully. 'Can't do much else.'
'You could always shower... there's a bathroom up there...I'm sure he won't mind...'
Jack nods. 'I might just do that, depends on how long we're gonna be here. UNIT will be here soon. We really ought to go...' He glances up at the darkened stairway.
'I'll get you both home, Jack... almost before you left, if you want.' The Doctor strides down the stairs. He's exchanged the blood-stained suit for another in the same colour and style. Neither Jack nor Martha feels like commenting on it, simply exchanging a glance of relief.
'It'll take me a while to fix this – shower room is first on the left, Jack. Chuck your clothes in the unit by the door; they'll be ready by the time you're done.' Not looking at them, the Doctor removes his jacket, draping it over the railing, and rolls up his shirtsleeves before going to the console, where he opens a draw and removes a sonic screwdriver. Flipping it in the air, he approaches the wire cage as Jack climbs the stairs.
'Right then old girl, let's get you out of this...' and he aims the sonic at one section then another. The sections fall away as whatever was holding them in place disintegrates under the sonic squeal, and the Doctor flings the pieces of metal to one side in an ever-growing heap as he works his way around the console.
Martha watches, fascinated, as the skeleton of the Paradox Machine disappears, slowly revealing the Time Rotor arrangement she knows.
'Anything I can do to help?'
The Doctor looks up, startled, as if he's forgotten she's there, and Martha feels a pang of what... regret? She smiles, suddenly feeling awkward. 'Not that I'd have a clue, of course, but you know... I could, I dunno, hold the toolbox or something...?'
The Doctor stares at her for what seems a long moment that is probably only a second or two, and eventually he smiles; a quiet, sad smile, as if he knows what she's thinking.
'You know what I'd really like, Martha Jones?' And he grins. Not the 100-watt grin she's used to seeing, but maybe a 40-watt effort. But what the heck, it's a grin, nonetheless. She smiles back.
'Let me guess...'
'A cup of tea...white, three sugars!' they speak simultaneously and then stop before bursting into laughter. Slightly hysterical laughter, it's true, but they embrace in a hug of relief and regret and just glad-to-be-aliveness.
'Oh, I've missed you, Mister!' Martha finds herself saying, not caring anymore how it's interpreted, because it's true. She hasn't seen him like this for a year and even if the clock says only a day or two has passed, her mind knows the truth.
'I've missed me, too...' the Doctor says, before his grin fades and he takes Martha's hands in his own, and stares at her, as if he can't quite believe she's still here. 'Thank you.' He says.