There was a ruckus outside the cell. He couldn't move.

Lying in the muddled straw and dirt that covered the stone floor, the Master kept his head down, not looking up or opening his eyes. He stayed still, his breathing low, his chest concealing his steadily increasing heart rate that was now pulsing at the rate of war drums. His graying black hair had lost its usual slick, controlled look, a few clumps loosened by time and dirt falling down into his eyes and above his ears.

Much of his body was worn out from fighting the guards off and refusing to eat or drink anything they gave him. Sometimes they'd gotten the better of him and forced it down his throat, but he'd been rather strong so far. This, however, assured him of one fact… they were working to keep him alive. Something kept the guards checking on him. But what was it?

The last good thing was his hearing, thankfully, so he could catch much of what they said outside of his cell. They didn't say much, being quiet folks, but they would often mention that they were waiting for someone. This, of course, explained the commotion over there right now. What it did not explain was who they had been waiting for.

After listening for a moment, an unfortunately quite recognizable voice met his ears.

"Well, yes, of course, I understand, dear chap, but I still would like to see him, right away, I should think. Yes, thank you, how nice of you to oblige."

The Master curled up into himself, pressing his dry, pale lips into as nasty of a frown as he could currently muster. It was the Doctor, of all people. What brought him here? There was no way this could possibly end well. Closing his eyes tighter, the Master summoned up as comforting of thoughts as he could.

Maybe he isn't here for me. Maybe he doesn't even know I'm here. There's another cell across from mine. Perhaps there's someone in there he's come to see. Why should he know I'm here, much less come for me? Besides, the chances are slim to none that he could negotiate with the filthy tyrant of this miserable place. No, he can't have managed anything. His words are bigger than he is; he could be just as much of a prisoner as I am.

Well, that was the best he could do, for now.

The rattle of the lock and the grinding squeal of the iron door disagreed with his thoughts. Protesting with nervousness that burned at the back of his throat, his stomach twisted so that it felt like it was trying to strangle itself with his intestines, his hearts pounding like they were trying to break his ribs into bone shard knives to pierce themselves with. Starvation and thirst had driven his body to do mad things, all meant for self-preservation, all succeeding in nothing besides providing suffering.

With these morbid thoughts of pain, he opened his eyes to greet the Doctor, who was now kneeling down beside him.

The tall, lanky man bent over him, and the Master could only stare up with dark eyes half-open, taking in the sight of the Doctor's ridiculous pink frock as it poked through the collar of his maroon jacket. A slender hand, protected by a black glove, reached forwards and gingerly swept some of the Master's hair away from his stinging eyes, what he recognized as cool leather sliding across his sweaty forehead. The ruffled cuff of the Doctor's shirt brushed against his shoulder, and the electrifying smoothness of velvet from the jacket just barely skimmed across behind it, making the Master shiver slightly and close his eyes.

The guard said something gruffly, making the Master open his eyes and look up as the Doctor's hand recoiled to shoo the guard off.

"No, no, it's quite alright, my boy," he assured the guard, the deep hum of his voice calming the Master slightly – though he adamantly refused to admit it to himself. The Doctor's face hidden to him, all that the Master could currently see – aside from the by-now too familiar cell walls – was the back of the Doctor's head, covered with cream-white curls that were paler and longer than the last time they'd seen each other. When was that again? He wasn't sure he could remember. "Do give us a moment, will you? Thank you, my boy." The Doctor turned back around as the guard left, his familiar face coming into view as he leaned down towards the Master. Craterous laugh lines surrounding his large, prominent nose like a moat to house the tears of pain, sadness, and joy that had spilled from his large green eyes in the five hundred years he'd been alive. It was actually a bit marvelous, how well this current form could reflect the burdens and memories of his previous bodies. "Getting a moment of peace around here is rather rare, I see."

The Master sighed, and it was all he could manage to convey. It was a true statement, true enough, but speaking was completely beyond his abilities at the moment.

He thought he could remember now when the last time he'd seen the Doctor was. It had been when the rascal had manipulated the Master's own device against him, scattering his Ogron mercenaries and driving him to panic. He seemed to recall the Doctor getting shot – and he couldn't say he was too grieved by that outcome, he'd been given quite a fright – and falling to the ground, Jo Grant by his side.

Where was the dear Miss Grant now? The Doctor appeared to be alone, but his current state was often deceiving. Perhaps she had not been allowed down to the dungeon. Perhaps she was with the king. That might have been something to appease the tyrant. That would explain the Doctor ordering the guards around like he belonged there. He would have the authority of an over-confident king who had even gotten the best of the Master himself… that was quite an authority.

"Let's see then…" The Doctor moved closer, reaching over to slide a hand around the back of the Master's neck, sending another surge of electricity that made him wince quietly. "Sorry, old chap, I'm trying to be gentle with you." The Master glared as his head rested back against the Doctor's thigh, the only immediate response being a cocky smile. He was too weak to protest being moved, so he laid there limply as the Doctor shifted uncomfortably behind his head, but he was able to muster another distasteful frown.

"Look at you, dear chap," the Doctor lamented, his voice weighed down like a hot air balloon that had mistakenly taken on too many passengers and could barely lift off of the ground. "I'm told you won't eat, you won't drink… good grief, I can hardly stand you being so complacent." His tone had risen slightly, as if chastising the Master for his carelessness. The Master only listened, his gaze softening as he stared at the cell wall. The Doctor moved around a bit, producing a small silver canteen and removing the cap carefully, reaching around the Master's head to do so, holding it up over him. "Here, my friend, this ought to give you back your spark. Just drink what you can, it'll do you wonders, no matter how much you can stomach."

The cold metal spout was pressed to his lips, but the Master made not a move to part his lips. He stared blankly forward, every possible argument bubbling up in the angry acid of his stomach even though he couldn't manage even a simply and adamant "no". His mouth was rather sealed shut by how dry and sticky it was, his throat hot and irritated, preventing any proper protest on his part. So, he simply sat there, working up the power to at least say something… eventually. In the meanwhile, he waited for the Doctor to either give up or explain himself… or perhaps both. He supposed he could spare the time for both right now.

"My god, man, will you stop being so proud? I'm trying to help you. Don't you understand that? Are you even listening?" The Doctor seemed to be growing steadily more frazzled… dismayed… He was clearly upset by the state the Master had allowed himself to fall into, and it was steadily chipping away at his patience, leaving him with his childish impertinence.

Let him get frustrated, the Master thought, feeling his frown ease a bit with his amusement. He'll either leave sooner or at least provide a bit of fun for me.

But, deep inside, he could admit that he was a bit pleased with the Doctor's closeness, and it surpassed his sadistic desire to make the other man look like a fool. It was a bit endearing, hearing the maternal sighs and complaints of someone who was striving – though for some unknown purpose – to care for him when he refused to be cared for. There was a certain comfort to being drawn close to someone else, a former friend at that. Not a word of it would grace his lips, of course, even when he could speak. But, locked in the confines of his mind, he could admit that he felt a bit safer with the Doctor's arms around him, that loud nasal voice ranting about taking his medicine, the warmth of the other man's thigh easing the muscles of his neck that were so strained from being curled up on the stone floor for… well, he wasn't even sure how long…

Yes, perhaps it was alright. Perhaps he enjoyed it. But the Doctor couldn't know that.

"You are a stubborn, foolish man," the Doctor hissed darkly, closing the canteen and setting it aside. "Later, then. I just hope I can buy us enough time for you to change your mind."

Shifting again, the Doctor held his hands over the Master as he carefully removed each of his gloves, laying them out of sight. Moving so that the Master's head rested against the crook of his right knee, so he could now see into his face clearly, he peered down at his weakened friend-turned-foe, his right hand sliding up from his knee to rest his palm – which was just a bit sweaty from the confines of the leather glove – against the Master's clammy cheek.

"You won't last long like this, you know," he sighed, speaking softly, almost hopelessly.

I know, he thought, slowly shifting his gaze to meet the Doctor's eyes. But what else can I do? You wouldn't simply give in, not even you. Perhaps you could talk your way out, but they'll have none of me even saying a word. Now… now I can't. How long have I even been here, Doctor. What would you do? I am out of options. I can't admit defeat now… There's no way out…

Given no tangible response, the Doctor sighed, brushing his thumb across the Master's cheek gently – which made his chest tense – and staring down at the man with a sorrowful frown.

"I'll get you out of here," he whispered, conspiratorially, the edge of his lips distracting the Master's gaze as it twitched up into a half-smile. "You'll see," he assured him, gently, "I'll get you well again."

Swallowing, agonizing as it was, the Master forced out the only word he could think to summarize as much of his thoughts as possible:

"Why?"

His voice was hoarse and cracked under the pressure of a single word, a scaly, shredding pain echoing up his throat. Staring hard into the Doctor's face, he saw the man's expression soften.

"Why not?" he said, quietly. The Master only narrowed his eyes suspiciously. The Doctor shrugged and tried again. "Everyone deserves justice, even you. Rotting in a dungeon isn't justice. You deserve a proper trial, a chance to redeem yourself. I only want to give you that."

The Master watched him as even as he could, with how his eyes were burning. "And?" he choked.

The Doctor sighed, slipping his thumb along the Master's cheekbone and down his jaw, leaving a trail of warmth behind his careful touch.

"Well, maybe there is more," the Doctor admitted, seeming a bit inconvenienced by sharing this bit of information. He paused, apparently deciding against voicing the truth. "But that's not for now," he muttered, leaning over to look into the Master's eyes again, sending him a mischievous wink and smile, giving his cheek a playful pat. "Now, drink this for me, and I promise I'll explain more to you next time. How's that?"

The Master looked away, pressing his lips into a tight frown. "…Next…?" He couldn't finish it.

The Doctor chuckled, leaning back. "Yes, next time. I'll be back. That much, you can count on." He paused a moment. "So, I promise to come back if you'll do as I ask. Is that a deal?" Picking up the canteen again, he opened it and held it in front of the Master's face again.

Begrudgingly, the Master nodded just slightly, which was more work than he'd thought it would be. The Doctor let out a haughty "ha!" and shoving the spout of the canteen into the Master's mouth and working him through slowly downing the thick liquid. The Master made a face to match his disgust with the medicine, but inwardly acknowledging that it was already helping soothe his throat. The Doctor hummed happily with his victory, surprising the Master a bit by rubbing his shoulders for a few short moments before scooting back and getting to his feet.

Was that a feeling of disappointment growing in his stomach? If it was, he pushed it aside.

Brushing off his pants and suit a bit, the Doctor pivoted as he reached the door and the guard approached, sending back a sly wink as the silver canteen disappeared into his pocket. He mouthed "I'll be back" dramatically and departed quickly, chatting up the guard with what seemed to be more fervor than before.

Alright, you win this round, the Master thought, smiling slowly. But you still have yet to reveal what you're up to. And I'm sure the king will be slow to part with a prisoner. Even under your influence.

Doing his best to slide into his corner again, out of sight of the doorway, the Master curled up into himself again, closing his eyes softly. The liquid was spreading a warmth through his entire body in a calming, numb sensation. It was likely something of the Doctor's own creation. It felt like the effect he had on most people.

Perhaps he had more of a chance of persuading the king than the Master had originally obliged to give him credit for… he would have to wait and see.