Zhaan studied him, as he sat by himself in his cell. He was sitting, legs crossed, eyes closed, chanting something. The noise came out as inane babble, that the translator microbes couldn't work out.

"What's he saying?" Chiana asked.

"It appears to be a religious chant," Zhaan replied softly. "I don't know what it signifies."

"It is the chant of the temporal engineer," the Doctor put in, his hazel eyes opening to encompass them. "I am a Lord of Time, and, as such, I must guide the eddies of the great river."

"Great river?" Chiana echoed.

"The Time/Space Vortex," the Doctor smiled. "Some time ago, I accepted this duty - becuase if not for my people, the multiverse would perish."

"Somewhat presumptious," Zhaan said.

"Simple fact," the Doctor said. "In reality, time and space can mostly take care of itself, but with most of my people gone... I am all that is left to hold the breaches in reality in check. Unless you're happy with the idea of getting eaten by evil multidimensional beings, but..."

"'Lord of Time'?" Chiana repeated.

"My species, the Time Lords," the Doctor said. "We are - or were - the guardians of temporal stability. All they ever really did was ponce about in robves, but we still played an important role."

"And what about you?" Zhaan asked.

"I was to my people what your friend is to hers," the Doctor said, indicating Chiana. "An outcast, a rebel, a miscreant. They tried to kill me twice, exiled me once. And here I am, exiled again..."

"It's not that bad here," Chiana smiled. "Is it?"

"When you're used to the freedom of all reality," the Doctor said grimly, "it is intolerable."

--

"What are the drums, Pilot?" Crichton asked.

He and Aeryn were in Pilots den, trying to help him.

"We don't know," Pilot responded slowly, "but I think... I think we're getting used to them now."

"What are they doing?" Aeryn asked. "Are they hurting you?"

"No," Pilot said, "they're merely... playing."

"What do they sound like?" Aeryn asked softly.

The answer came not as words, but as a soft tapping, as the regular hum of Moya's internal systems was replaced by the steady duh, duh, duh, dum... over and over again.

"Can you hear it?" Pilot asked, almost hissing the words out. "Oh, they're so loud..."

And then he screamed, and he didn't stop for a long time.

--

"Happy yesterday to all, we were born to die..."

"Typical," the Doctor muttered as he walked into the Masters' TARDIS. "Scissor Sisters. And he's knackered everyrthing. And boy, do I mean everything."

He had let himself out of his cell, and found the TARDIS after a long while of searching. A long while. He ran his hand on the smashed and burnt console. The wreck of a classic TARDIS console room, in mat black. The wreck of his last chance.

"Oh hell," he muttered. "This'll take me forever to fix."

"Doctor?" someone was calling. "Are you there?"

"I'm in here!" he called out. He'd left the door open, so whoever it was, they could get in. A moment later, Chiana and Crichton walked in. A moment after that, they ran out. Another moment after that, they walked back in again, slowly.

"I'm Fahrbot," Chiana said, slowly. "I must be."

"Not unless you ate the same magic mushroom I did," Crichton murmured. "It's..."

"Bigger on the inside," the Doctor snapped, before going off into a rant, "a Time And Relative Dimension In Space Time Travel Capsule, Type Fifty Two, Mark Four, significantly improved on my own, with enhanced scanners and food amchines and practically everything else. All in all, a well rounded machine, apart from one crucial factor."

"What?" Chana asked. The Doctor replied by smiling at her, then kicking the console and yelling.

"It doesn't spacking work!!" he screamed. "He broke almost everything! The complete and utter Lok-tar Morakai!!"

"The say what?" Crichton repeated.

"It's an insult on the planet Lootaria," the Doctor hissed. "Simultaneously questions ones body odour, ones parentage, ones intellect and ones significant other or lack thereof."

"Which part does which?" Crichton asked.

"No idea." The Doctor turned back to the console and sighed. "I guess, for the duration, I'm tuck here, with you lot."

"Hey, it's not so bad, Doctor," Chiana said. "We have crazy adventures too..."

"Hell, yeah," Crichton added. "We do all sorts of crazy stuff around here. Frelling nuts."

The Doctor turned and smiled at them.

"Tomorrows not what it used to be, we were born to die..."

"It isn't the adventures," he said, "it's the freedom. Freedom is what keeps me going. Without it... you might as well chain me up."

"Crichton," came a voice on the comms, interrupting the moment. "Its Aeryn. Get up here, Pilot needs help."

--

The Doctor could feel the Masters work in the tortured creatures mind, even as he walked up to him.

"They won't stop!!" Pilot was yelling. "Please! Make them stop!!"

The drums Doctor. Will they stop? Will the drums stop?

"Calm yourself," he said to Pilot. He walked up to him and held his face in his hands. "Be calm. Calm."

Only hatred keeps me alive.

"Why... why won't they stop?!" Pilot yelled.

The drums the drums the never ending drum beat...

"They will," the Doctor promised.

I... am... the Master!

And the drums stopped. The Doctor smiled at Pilot, who regarded him with something akin to wonder, then the Doctor collapsed for the second time that day.

--

"His body isn't used to all the stress that its being put upon," Zhaan said. "It's dying."

"Can't he just rejuvenate again?" Crichton asked.

"No," Zhaan said. "There's something wrong with the process, he can't do it. I don't know whether I can help him, but I think it best if you go now, to let me try."

Most of them left, but Chiana stayed behind.

"He'd not gonna die, is he?" she asked softly.

"I don't know," Zhaan snapped. "Now, please, give him some room."

Chiana stared at the unconscious man, and then left, slowly, sadly.

The Doctor remained unconscious.