The Master was banging on the walls again, a raucous pattern that echoed through the TARDIS,

impossible to miss. The Doctor had hoped that the solitude would help, but the Master only seemed

worse here, less lucid, as if the stress of being captive was simply deafening. In another regeneration, he

might've ignored it, kept his worries to himself, but they were the only two left. Despite what the Master

had done, the Doctor could not watch him suffer.

Timelords had been brutal despite all their dignity, and it was no wonder the Master hid his

damage, even from the Doctor in better times, rather than seek out help he would not receive. Even

before searching the TARDIS' knowledge banks, the Doctor knew he'd find no aid for this. Timelords did

not provide for such things, preferring to shed their deficiencies like so much damaged goods.

It was somewhat of what the doctor had come to love in humans. In that, there was perhaps

some hope after all. Humans also lost their minds from time to dime, didn't they? Often enough to be

worth medicating, it seemed. Often enough, the Doctor found himself researching how they went about

it, if it might perhaps be adaptable to the Doctor's purposes. The banging had long since stopped when

the Doctor's efforts produced an approximation of some human antipsychotic. It was questionable at

best, but at least worth a try.

Pills in hand, the Doctor went in search of his captive, unsettled by the lack of sound to guide his

way. The Master was usually so very obnoxious about his presence, and relative peace was more often

trouble than respite. Wondering what, precisely, he'd gotten himself into, the Doctor walked the TARDIS

halls.

The door to the Master's room was conspicuously closed, not that that was terrible surprising.

He'd run off like a petulant teenager, and the Doctor didn't really know what to do with that beyond

briefly missing past regenerations, who had at least pretended at being too sophisticated for such

nonsense. With a soft sigh, the Doctor put his hand to the door, bracing himself for whatever he might

find as he pushed it open.

The Master was… not causing trouble, nor was he holding his head at the moment. He sat,

sulking, in the middle of the bed among sheets still tangled from them. When the Doctor finally stepped

inside, the Master did not even look up, as if the Doctor might cease to be if he just didn't acknowledge

him.

"I brought you something," the Doctor murmured, edging closer to the bed. He half expected the

Master to lash out at him, he always somewhat expected that. The Master only watched him

suspiciously, eyes flicking over the Doctor from head to toe.

"It's worth a shot. They're modified off what humans use for this sort of thing," The Doctor

offered when the Master said nothing. There he'd done it though, saying the wrong thing again. The

Master's expression darkened, and he'd only just barely reached out to offer up the pills when they were

being violently swatted away.

"I'm not crazy. You heard it," The Master hissed, something heartbreaking in the way he

glared up from the bed sheets.

One. Two. Three. Four. The beats were still haunting when the Doctor stopped to think, but it

didn't mean much. It didn't mean the sound was anything beyond the product of a battered,

troubled mind. There was no keeping the regret from his voice as he replied, "I don't know what I heard,

but I am trying to help you. "

"Help me? That's a laugh," The Master muttered scathingly. The worst part was how resigned he

sounded, too weary even to properly glare at the Doctor. "The only thing you're out to save is your own

guilty conscience."

"I…" The Doctor meant to refute that. It wasn't true. It wasn't Only… he shook his head,

denying the accusation. "I'm trying to fix this."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." The Master wasn't looking at him anymore, hunching his

shoulders and turning away like an angry cat. Whatever ground they'd gained the night before was

clearly lost, and for all the space between them, the Doctor's failure was stifling. Unable to stomach

anymore of it, he stooped to pick the pills up off the floor, sparing just enough time to deposit them on

the nightstand. Giving up on making any progress for the moment, he saw himself out, not nearly quickly

enough for his own tastes. He always had been rather good at running, after all.

XXX

The way the Doctor had looked at him stuck with the Master, left him raw and furious and

desperate. They'd been something better once, hadn't they? So much potential, regrettably wasted

when the Doctor left and now… now the Doctor had the audacity to look at him like so many broken

bits, like something less than equal. He was brilliant but the Doctor looked at him like he needed

anyone's pity.

Perhaps his hands would find their way to the Doctor's throat. Perhaps he'd choke the rest of his

regenerations away until there was no one left to pity him. Only the Doctor didn't even have the

decency to be angry at him any longer, would probably just forgive him as if forgiveness was at all his to

give.

The fury didn't last, it couldn't when, for all his sanctimony, the Doctor had silenced the drums

for a little while. For all the Master loathed him, he craved and loved the Doctor too, and in this place

there was no escape from the shock of it. Furniture and walls and air, the whole TARDIS smelled of the

Doctor, this bed most of all. The sheets were honey and warm fingers, soft lips still echoing across his

skin, and the Master melted into the ghost of it despite his best efforts to the contrary.

There had been such marvelous silence in the way they wound together, relief and hope in the

Doctor's hands on him, cradling him like something loved. He'd outgrown wanting that, hadn't he? He

didn't need that, but his fingers clenched in sheets still thick with the scent of the two of them

unraveling together, and he breathed out a shudder.

The Master glared at the pills, innocently lying on the night stand. He clung to what fury he

could muster. Leave it to the Doctor to find some excuse to fool around with human toys, like they were

anything special. The Doctor didn't even know how to help, not in any useful way, and the

Master would begrudgingly admit he was clever. How dare he trust in the inventions of some

lower life form for something so important?

They wouldn't work, of course. The Master was positive of that much. Still, the Doctor would

whine about it, and being stuck with him was insufferable enough anyway. If he took them, he'd get the

pleasure of the Doctor's face as he was proven wrong at least, some very small victory. The Master

picked the pills up, swallowing them before he could change his mind.

They might be poison, he recognized. The Doctor wasn't malicious, not in that sort of way, but

he could well be momentarily stupid. The Master had dealt with worse; he could ride it out if he really

had to. More likely, nothing at all would happen.

The seconds ticked by, stretched out, the silence of the room consumed by drumming. They

didn't disappear, didn't so much as fade. The Master couldn't sort out exactly, if he was disappointed or

pleased to know he was right. Ten minutes passed, then fifteen, and the Master didn't know how long it

was supposed to take, but he would take sad little victories where he could. He dragged himself from the

bed, determined to prove to the Doctor how futile the attempt had been.

The Doctor was not in the console room, which was a shame really. The Master had stalked

indignantly the entire way, and it was such a waste to storm in on an empty room. Twenty minutes had

passed by then, and he wasn't sure where else the Doctor might've gone.

The Doctor could at least have the decency to be accessible, because what good was it to know

he was right and not be able to show that off? The Doctor had the audacity to keep him like some sort of

ill tempered pet, and well fine. Fine, he would stay for a while, but it hardly seemed fair of him to

run off when the Master had something to say to him.

The Master padded down the halls, lost his way, hated being stuck in a TARDIS who

loathed him so much because he couldn't have gotten turned around on his own. The lab was empty

too, all three times he wandered past it. Nearly half an hour had passed, and it was just getting to be

stupid. He tripped over nothing, as if his feet had missed some nonexistent stair, and he scowled at that,

that even his own body couldn't be bothered to obey.

The room the Doctor slept in was unsecure, the door wide open, his body a conspicuous lump

beneath the blankets. It was foolish pride to think himself so safe, or perhaps the insulting pity that kept

him running back to the Master's side. The Master snarled at the idea that the Doctor kept him

here, and thought himself so untouchable. The thought caught and stuck and his head was fuzzy with it

for a moment. Maybe it had just been exhaustion that he'd forgotten to shut the door, and the Master

envied that, just a bit, that the only relief he'd found from the drums long enough to get any proper rest,

had been at the Doctor's own hand.

Well, if he couldn't sleep, the Doctor wouldn't either. The Master balled his fist up, swinging it at

the open door to smack it against the wall… and missed. The Master shook his still foggy head, shouting

at the Doctor. He thought he shouted, anyway. The Doctor hadn't so much as stirred, so it was

impossible to say.

Wobbliness crept up on him, and the Master was only aware he'd grabbed the door handle

when it was the only thing keeping him from crashing to the floor. He slumped against the door, and in

some sort of cruel joke, it gave against his weight, thumping against the wall. The Doctor might've woken

then, but the Master was too busy cursing his fatigue, affronted by his inability to keep his eyes open by

willpower alone. The world went away for a while, and the Master slept, propped against the Doctor's

bedroom door.

XXX

There was a loud bang, not the infernal beat of four the Doctor was getting so used to hearing,

just a singular clang of metal on metal. It jarred him from sleep and he sat up, startled into awareness. A

cursory glance around settled his most persistent worry. After all, the Master was sleeping in the

doorway of his room. Shaking his head, the Doctor rolled over, trying to go back to sleep.

The Master was sleeping against his bedroom door… and the Doctor couldn't think of any

reason why that should be. He had a room of his own and a multitude of others he could haunt if

he wanted a change of scenery. Lying in the doorway wasn't particularly vicious unless his new game was

to try to trip the Doctor wherever he went. It left that the Master had come to him for help as the only

reasonable explanation. Sometimes, the Doctor still forgot that the Master was rarely reasonable.

Perhaps he'd taken the pills though, and just suppose they'd had some side effect the Doctor

hadn't thought of. He'd barely considered the idea that the Master might be poisoned or suffering

somehow, but he was out of bed and across the room, kneeling beside his rather unwilling companion.

The Master seemed well enough, breathing even and untroubled, and perhaps the medication had just

put him to sleep. That was good too, the Doctor supposed, and heaven knew he needed to rest,

but it didn't explain why the Doctor's doorway was the best place to do it.

The Doctor prodded a bit at the Master, allaying any residual worry that something deeper was

wrong. The Master was out like a light, only twitching a bit beneath the Doctor's fingertips. Intending to

drag the Master back to his room, the Doctor pulled him from the doorway, sighing a bit at the dead

weight in his arms.

Obnoxiously, the Master had retreated to the furthest, most inconvenient room when given a

choice, like putting as much distance between them as he could would keep the Doctor from bothering

him. It hadn't worked, but just now, the Doctor was shaking his head, not particularly thrilled at the idea

of dragging the Master all the way there. His own bed was not nearly so much effort to get to, and he

dumped the Master a bit unceremoniously on it instead, marveling at the way the Master did not so

much as crack an eye open at him.

He settled almost immediately, in fact, sprawled out across the bed like a starfish or a cat. Even asleep it

was as if he had some sort of imperative to annoy the Doctor in any way that he could, but the Doctor

couldn't quite find it in him to be irritated this time. There were still such dark smudges beneath his

eyes, and whether or not the pills quieted the drums, they seemed to let him relax… even if his choice of

location left a bit to be desired.

The Doctor frowned a bit when he found himself tugging the blankets up around the Master's shoulders.

It was alright though, he had plenty of other things to do. Satisfied the Master couldn't get up to too

much trouble in his current state, the Doctor padded out of the room, leaving him to sleep.

XXX

It was honey and soft skin, a sort of peace he sought after desperately and never quite grasped.

There was familiarity and warmth, the world fuzzy around him still. Only the drums marred his

momentary content, their insistent thudding interrupting the calm.

He couldn't hold onto it, never managed to. No matter how real or enticing it felt, the

pounding in his head would not be silenced, shoving him frustrated and ill tempered from slumber. The

Master shoved his face into the pillows, latching onto what comfort he could, and not quite recognizing

the meaning.

Consciousness returned in bits and pieces, whether he particularly wanted it to or not. Hiding in

the sheets offered little buffer, even less when it occurred to him exactly what was so familiar about said

sheets. The evening before came back in bits and pieces, and he remembered dizzy and stumbling and

the Doctor hadn't even had the courtesy to acknowledge he was there. That he had been sleeping was

beside the point.

The Master sat up, throwing the sheets aside in an attempt to shrug off the way the Doctor was

overwhelmingly around him. He managed to suffocate without even deigning to stay in the bed he'd

somehow decided he had the right to dump the Master in. The Master loathed them both just then, for

the way his body strained to be nearer, even if he'd outgrown wanting, needing the Doctor long

ago.

Fuming at the way even his own body betrayed him, the Master got up, trying to shake off the

way his head pounded. He scowled and snarled until the TARDIS finally let him into the console room

where the Doctor was, leaning over some infernal gadget. The Doctor didn't even bother to

acknowledge him, and the Master felt very much like throwing something at his stupid, pretty head.

"What gives you the right…"

"There's tea, over there, if you want some." The Doctor very mildly cut him off, waving vaguely

off to the side. He could've been talking to anyone with a tone like that, and the Master wouldn't have

it, would not be ignored or dismissed or… but the Doctor hadn't abandoned him at all, had he?

The Master shrugged off the thought, the implications, closing the distance between them.

"I'm not some pet for you to just… just keep," The Master snapped again, yanking on the

Doctor's chair until it swiveled and the Doctor had no choice but to finally look at him.

"What exactly are you so upset about? You're the one who was sleeping against my door. Would

you rather I'd just left you there?" The Doctor asked, looking the Master in the eye. His expression was so

patient, sympathetic even, that it made the Master a bit ill. Sympathy he did not need. Sympathy

had gotten him warm lips and a body that moved with him, drawing the drums away only to flee like the

Doctor always, always did.

"You could've just woken me up," the Master snarled, ignoring the fact that he'd have likely

been irritated about that too. Waking up though, alone in sheets that smelled overwhelmingly of the

Doctor, it left him feeling and starved in ways he didn't like to think about.

The Doctor shook his head, fingers settling on the Master's arm like they had any right to be

there. "That's only the second time I've seen you properly sleeping since you got here. If you didn't wake

up at being moved, you obviously needed it."

"Needed it? Who do you think you are to tell me what I need?" The Master jerked his arm away,

out of the Doctor's grip.

"I'm trying to help you." If the words had just been something different, the Doctor's pleading

tone would've been delicious. It only left a bitter taste in the Master's mouth.

"Help me? Is that what you've decided this is? You just took me prisoner for my benefit of

course." The Master laughed, a mirthless, manic sound, near enough the Doctor's face to take in the

barest change in his expression.

The Doctor sighed, eyes full of shadows. "You didn't leave me any choice."

"Liar. You go on all the time about how bloody brilliant you are, insufferable git. How you beat

the odds all the time, and don't you dare pretend this is because you couldn't come up with

another way. You don't get to play at being the good one, here." The Doctor looked away, and

good. If the Master had to stay, the Doctor would be every bit as miserable as he was.

For just the briefest moment, the Doctor flinched as if he'd been struck. It was the closest thing the

Master had felt to winning since he'd gotten there. The victory was short lived, and the Doctor collected

himself, voice steady for all his sorrow. "Fine."

"Fine? Fine, what?" The Master asked, cursing his own curiosity. The Doctor didn't answer, but

his hands curled abruptly around the Master's hips, steering him to the side Before the Master could

protest, the Doctor had released him, practically bolting out of the chair to flip switches and levers on

the TARDIS console.

"What are you doing?" The Master demanded, trying to get a good look at the coordinates.

The Doctor was rather obstinately in the way, silent and focused and offering nothing of his intentions.

It wasn't until the TARDIS had lurched uncoordinately into motion that he finally replied,

"Coming up with another way."

They'd no sooner landed with a heavy, tell tale thud, and the Doctor was bounding to the

doors, flinging them wide open. The Master fought the urge to run, narrowing his eyes at the Doctor, but

all he got for his efforts was a vague gesture towards the world beyond, and a tired dismissal, "Well get

out then."

"What is this?" the Master demanded, waiting for the inevitable trick of. The Doctor looked

overwhelmingly unhappy, but his mind gave away nothing of his intentions. A skeptical look out the

doors only revealed luch grass and grees, mountains far off in the distance. Two suns sat high in the sky,

the planet awash in light, and the Doctor simply held the door open to him.

The Master was already edging towards the exit, subtly as possible, when the Doctor finally

deigned to reply, "It's Xerxes Four eventually. Perfectly habitable, all clean air and green grass..."

Whatever else the Doctor was saying about the planet drifted to background noise, muffled by

the TARDIS wall once the Master stepped across the threshold. The air was balmy against his face, and

for the moment he closed his eyes and forgot his life had gone to hell. There was something peaceful

about it, and if he didn't count the drums, the quiet was terribly enticing, even as it gnawed at him.

"Weather's like this all the time, and there's a waterfall down that way. It's a perfect place for a

picnic. The Doctor was still babbling, like if he talked long enough, the Master would come to his senses

and return to the TARDIS. Fat chance of that now that he had his freedom. The Master had no intention

of revoking it again. He was giddy with it, almost missing the last of what the Doctor said. "I'm a bit

shocked it's another thousand years before anyone notices it."

That got the Master's attention. That... that wouldn't do at all. For all its beauty and space and

freedom, it only amounted to a shiny, empty rock. He shook his head, and as if the Master didn't already

know, he carefully bit out, "There is no one here."

"Course not. I can't very well trust you with a planet full of people. It'd be Earth all over again,

or worse." And there it was then, the cruel trick to what the Doctor offered him. He forgot sometimes,

the bitter edge to all the Doctor's compassion, until it was staring him down, abandoning him to a

pretty, empty cage.

"You can't just..." he began, but the Doctor cut him off.

"You've made it very clear you don't want to stay and you don't want my help." There was

something grieving in the Doctor's expression, but the Master was too angry to give it much thought.

"This isn't freedom. There is no one here," he snarled, starlking back towards the

TARDIS.

The Doctor's throat worked, and there was the slightest catch to his voice. "No. Just you and

the drums. Goodbye Master."

"You can't just leave me here, you idiot," The Master shouted, but the TARDIS door had

already slammed shut. He lunged for the doors, banging against them, but there was no answer, and his

screams were already drowned out in the hum of the TARDIS fading against his fists.

With nothing left to yell at, the Master slumped to the ground, pillowed against the

untouched grass. One. Two. Three. Four. One. Two. Three. Four. Already the drums crept in, and he

squeezed his eyes shut, jaw set against the urge to sob out his frustration.

One. Two. Three. Four. The Master was hunched in on himself, knees drawn up, scrubbing at

his face with his hands. The quiet did nothing to drown out the drums, and the Doctor had just

left him, like he was less even than the annoying humans always hanging about. The Master

crumpled in the grass, uselessly holding his throbbing head.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed there. The hammering in his head was deafening,

overwhelming all sense of time and place. The Doctor would come back, pushover that he was. He

would, and the Master kept looking when there was silence enough to manage it. Only

wilderness met him, a brilliant sunset and the creeping terror that he was well and truly alone.

Well, that was alright. He would manage like he always did. Swallowing against the way his

head still ached, the Master climbed to his feet. If he was to be trapped here, he might as well make the

best of it.

It wasn't the sort of planet he frequented, for obvious reasons. Earth had been so easy despite

his limited resources, little pushes in all the right places and they ate right out of his hand. An entire

population had been largely at his beck and call, catering to his needs, his desires, his slightest whims.

There was no one to listen to him here, not even the drums bothered to obey him, but he would

manage. He would do... something.

The Master picked his way towards the treeline. He wasn't hungry, but he would be eventually,

and best to know his options. His sights were always set so much bigger, tending to basic necessities felt

like a terrible inconvenience. In the failing light, none of the trees or bushes looked like anything he

recognized, so the Master pressed on, looking for something theoretically edible.

The drums picked up with the darkness, the trees overhead blotting out the gray of twilight.

The Master wasn't sure where he was anymore, not that he'd ever known. The air was uncomfortable

cool though, hissing through the trees, and he was dimly aware he ought to find some sort of shelter.

Pulling his suit jacket closed, the Master padded through the woods, only succeeding in losing

himself further. He hadn't the faintest idea where the trees ended anymore, and the cold seeped

through his clothes until he shivered. Frustration brought the drums with it, and they'd only gotten so

much worse since the paradox had been broken, unraveling everything he'd done. He couldn't

think sometimes, but he managed of course, hardly even noticing the way his balance was lost until his

knees hit the ground.

The Master cursed, scrubbing a hand over his face. The Doctor still hadn't come back for him,

and there was no light left to see by, save for the faint pinpricks of stars poking through the leaves. The

trees never quite seemed to end, crowding together into the shadows, and the Doctor hadn't even

bothered to leave him tools, a weapon, anything.

The drums cared nothing for his discomfort, thumping away in his head until his stomach

turned. He meant to get back up, but they hurt, and he managed only to press against the base of

a tree, cradling his skull. Distantly, he recalled the way the Doctor's hands had moved over his scalp,

hidden away in a closet, but his own efforts to recreate the feeling did nothing to leech away the agony.

If he could just sleep, perhaps he'd feel better. For all he hated the pills the Doctor had given

him, he'd slept and woken just a bit less shattered. There was little hope of finding shelter in the

dark, and no one to see him stoop so low, so the Master curled up where he was, willing the drums to

just shut up for a while.

They did no such thing. They cared nothing for his orders, only redoubling there efforts when

he tried to listen to something else. There was nothing here, not the comfort of bed sheets and

the press of warm hands, not the blissful silence of the Doctor wrapped around him, and no matter how

much he loathed it all, for those precious few moments he'd almost felt alright.

He lay shivering in the dark, but sleep never came. His fingers tapped against dead leaves and

dirt, but nothing helped, and bit by bit he was coming apart again. He was so much better

than that, wasn't he? Only the drums raced through him surely as his own heartsbeat, and nothing at all

felt right.

The hours passed, hopeless eons before the sun began to rise, herald to his failed attempts at

slumber. Everything ached, and he was no nearer to finding food or shelter or cobbling together

anything like an existence. Snarling at his own failure, the Master grasped at the tree, hauling himself to

his feet.

Daylight was no less bleak, and for all the sunlight warming the world around him, the Master

was still miserable, miserable and all on his own. He wandered aimlessly, succeeding in turning himself

around a few times, loathing that his greatest success was finding a trickle of a stream cutting throught

he woods. It was something to follow at least, taking him further, he guessed, from where the Doctor had

left him, but that hardly mattered since the Doctor didn't seem to be coming back.

One. Two. Three. Four. In time with his every breath. They were definitely worse without the

Doctor's constant hovering, and his thoughts kept coming back to the way the Doctor had touched him,

ashamed at how badly he craved it. It wasn't the Doctor he cared about, but he'd felt good for a

little while, and he was desperate to have it back.

He would survive, of course. Cautiously, the Master plucked at berries on a bush, eyeing them

like appearance alone might tell him if they were safe. Cursing his lack of anything useful to sort his

surroundings out with, he popped one in his mouth, grimacing at the bitter taste of it. His next few

attempts were no better, and eventually he gave up for the moment, scooping water from the stream

into his hands to try and wash the taste away.

The drums hovered insistently, clouding his thoughts of things he actually needed. They drove

him to such great heights, the plans of the Valiant etched at the back of his mind, machines and

meddling and he was meant for so much more than this. He couldn't seem to properly feed

himself though, and all his brilliance meant nothing when he had nowhere even safe to hide.

It was afternoon, probably, by the time he found his way out of the woods again. Another

meadow, more silence, and he summarily hated the planet for being so cursedly difficult. His head ached

in waves, bringing him to his knees now and again, now that he was terribly alone, now that nothing

distracted or staved off the pain.

And that was what his life amounted to. Throbbing headaches and a pretty, useless world, and

the night cold around him. He'd have given anything just then, to make it stop, but the drums kept right on

battering at him until he lost what little was left in his stomach. He crawled through the grass, swaying on his

hands and knees until even that was too much and they gave under him. Tendrils of green tickled his face,

but he could only moan and try to hide away behind his hands.

Something finally poked through the hammering in his head. A familiar whooshing, and he

peeked through the gaps in his fingers, hardly daring to hope. He hurt, but he knew that sound,

and for just a moment it was the most beautiful thing in the universe. Brought too low for much else, the

Master struggled, shaking, to his feet, barely managing to swipe at his mouth.

The whirring of the TARDIS was eventually accompanied by a familiar police box, not so far from

where he wobbled, sick and miserable. The door popped open, and there was no greeting, but the Doctor

stood in the doorway again, quietly watching him.

"Coward. I knew you didn't have the guts to just leave," the Master accused weakly, lying

through his teeth. His voice was hollow and raw, and he couldn't even pretend something in him wasn't

still rattled and afraid.

"Except maybe I really did. I could've been gone weeks and you wouldn't know the

difference," The Doctor murmured, leaning against the door frame.

"Oh come off it. You probably felt like such a heel when you left, you came right back," The

Master grumbled, but he was already stumbling back towards the TARDIS, bleeding relief more than he

knew how to hide.

The Doctor's fingers curled around the door frame like it was a concerted effort not to reach

out and help. "I take it freedom wasn't to your liking then?"

The Master's lips turned down and he glared at the Doctor. "Don't act like that means I like it

with you any better, or that I'm staying. You can't keep an eye on me all the time. "

The Doctor froze, and for one fleeting, terrifying second, the Master was certain he was going

to shut the door and leave again. He didn't leave, but his voice was edging on harsh as he spoke. "No.

You see, you get one shot at this. You can stay. I will help you, but you have to stay."

"You..." The Master wasn't sure what he meant to say. His jaw worked and every solution he

came up with only seemed worse, and he felt terrible just them. He didn't even realize he'd

reached out, but the Doctor's hand was on his arm, supporting him with a soft sigh. Leaning heavily

against the Doctor's shoulder, he allowed himself to be led inside. "Fine."