III.

A couple of weeks had passed and the Master was deep in his plans of finding a way out of this mess. He had papers strewn across the bed, that were soon blown off by the breeze that entered through the opening door.

"Hey, you alright? The Doctor sent me to check on you…he isn't feeling too well. I don't blame him. Can't imagine him without a voice."

There it is again. Louder, stronger, more prevalent than ever before. He clutched his head in an attempt to soothe his mind.

"Here, I have a…chemical…that the Doctor made, said it would help." Her voice ebbed in and out of his mind, and he noticed a bottle in her hand. Was that…poison? He violently jerked the bottle from her hands and it crashed on the floor. He then felt a sharp, stinging pain in his neck, and felt an unusual calmness blanket over him.

"Also said you might lash out. There's a mild sedative in there as well. Hope you feel better." Donna turned to walk out.

"Tell him…" Donna turned back toward him. "Tell the Doctor…"

"Oh, looks like you have something in the works." She picked up his plans on the floor.

"Better show these to the Doctor…don't want you to be escaping anytime soon." She walked out and closed the door.

The nerve of that woman! She just barges in, drugs him, and then walks off with all of that work that he slaved over for what seems like an eternity. When he gets out of here, she's going first.

But he couldn't plan. He barely had enough strength to think. The drums were back, and they were draining the very essence of him. He hated to admit it, but he needed the Doctor right now.

He shouted for him, once, twice…three, four times and was relieved to hear the door finally open after what seemed like a lifetime of waiting.

He then felt shattered when he saw that familiar flash of red.

"What now? I told you, the Doctor isn't feeling alright, so-"

"He isn't feeling alright? What the hell do you think I'm feeling right now? And who was the one who decided to keep me prisoner in here, promising that he would help me, telling me to call any time that I needed him, but rather sends his…useless…companion who, I've noticed, makes the sound even worse when she approaches?" He shouted at her and felt the drums ease a bit. The shouting always did help.

Donna moved to comfort him. "I'm…sorry, it's just…we've both had really lousy experiences these past few weeks, the Doctor and I, and-"

"Shut up." He spat. "You cannot possibly know how or understand how difficult having a Time Lord mind is, coupled with this…this never-ending noise. You're just a stupid human, worthless, ignorant, insignificant speck in this whole wide universe, you…" The sedative was beginning to take full effect. "You…"

But that wasn't the sedative he felt in his mind. He averted his gaze to the door where the Doctor was now standing. Donna's eyes followed suit.

"Donna," The Doctor held out his hand for her to take. There was something in his eyes, an expression the Master couldn't quite figure out. Donna took his hand and walked out the door, the Doctor's gaze shifting slightly until a new emotion came out in them. He couldn't decipher it. It wasn't kind in the slightest. But there seemed to be no malice in it either. Was it a blank expression? Indifference? It wasn't like the Doctor to not care. They both walked out and shut the door.

Which is why he jumped back at the sudden intrusion he felt in his mind.

"I've seen too many deaths in this lifetime, Master. You aren't going to add to the list."

He felt the warm, enveloping sense of the Doctor disappear and was left with the cold, clattering, almost maddeningly dampened drums.

He looked at the glass shards on the floor, in a puddle of purple liquid, bubbling at the edges. He picked up one of the glass pieces and pricked himself on the sharp point. A pool of blood began to form on the tip of his thumb, and he smeared it on the wall. He took the glass and began to carve new plans on the floor, and in the wall, which was met by harsh resistance from the TARDIS. She deadlocked the door, sealed all the cracks and crevices that may have been lurking about and set the surfaces of everything in the room to give a shock anytime the Master touched it. He continued to carve, and prick, and smear…shock after shock after shock…blood and sweat and tears, He was determined. And the next time either the Doctor or his good-for-nothing companion wanted to come near him, he would be ready.