Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or any of the official characters, but should they ever be abandoned, I'd be more than happy to adopt them!

When the Master appeared in the infirmary, Marcan had already laid Aryna on the stark white table, and was using a handheld med scanner to diagnose her injuries.

He looked up from the scanner and spoke, "She has some bruising and chafing on her wrists, probably from some sort of restraints. Very mild bruising on her face, some on her neck, but there is nothing else physically wrong with her."

"What about mentally?" the Master prompted.

Marcan hesitated before answering honestly, "I don't know. I thought it better to wait for you."

The Master nodded with understanding, "Of course."

It would be much easier for him to assess the damage objectively. It would still be a struggle to keep his own feelings in check, depending what he found, but he had a better chance of doing so than Marcan did.

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he barely rested his fingers on the bruises discoloring her face. What he found did not surprise him, but it deeply disturbed him nonetheless. He saw the walls surrounding her mind, reduced to dust. Cautiously, he approached the perimeter where the walls once stood. Instead of the relative order that was typically found in the minds of his race, he discovered a swirl of half-memories, fragments of thoughts, all out of order. At first, he believed it to be irreversible, but then something caught his attention. Her mind was still a disorganized pile of rubble, but it was piecing things back together.

Aryna?

He didn't receive a clear reply from her, but he notice that things appeared to be falling into place more rapidly than before. He concluded with some astonishment that the Doctor had not done any permanent damage, and that given a little more time, Aryna's mind would take care of itself. Breaking the contact he stepped back and took a deep breath.

"What is it?" Marcan asked, taking in the slightly paled face of his friend.

"He must have thought that she knew something…" he began, "But she couldn't tell him what he wanted to know, because she really didn't know. That's my best guess anyway. So he looked through every corner of her mind trying to find it."

Marc pressed a fist to his mouth, willing himself to remain calm and rational, "So, she won't ever wake up then."

"I think she will, quite soon," Marcan looked at him with surprise, and the Master elaborated, "I barely brushed the surface, but I could see everything weaving itself back together again, rapidly. For some reason, he didn't destroy her mind. I can't imagine why, but I won't question it. I'm just glad that she'll be alright in time."

"She'll wake up soon?"

"I think so," he nodded, "I'm heading back to the console room to sort out where he's gone. Regardless of her condition, we must get her TARDIS back and return the Doctor to Gallifrey. Then, we can close down the dimensional breach. We haven't much time to do it, so I can't wait until she's conscious again."

"I'll stay with her; just do what you have to."

"She might want you here when she wakes," the Master agreed, "I'll let you know when we've arrived."

Marcan merely nodded and turned his attention back to the woman fighting for her very sanity.

The Master looked back at him once more and noted how old his friend looked. This was his last regeneration, and if this continued, Marc might not live much longer. The thought of losing the friend who had been closer to him than his own brother was a depressing one, so the Master pushed it aside and turned his attention to the task at hand, finding out where the Doctor was going, and figuring out why.

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It only took a few minutes for Aryna's eyes to slowly open once she regained consciousness. She was in a room, and it was white. Relief flooded her when she realized that she was no longer in that awful grey room with the Doctor. The thought of the Doctor triggered something in her memory and the sheer panic pushed her into hysteria. Rebuilding her mind had taken significant amounts of energy, and left her body severely depleted. But even in her weakened state, the sudden shot of adrenaline in her bloodstream allowed her to jump off the table and run for the door.

She stumbled one stride short of it, and would have fallen if Marcan had not been there to catch her. Far from being comforting, the arms supporting her felt confining, threatening. She struggled weakly against him, swinging her fists blindly and sobbing the entire time.

"No… No, just let me go. Please, I don't know anything! Just let me go…"

Marcan had to keep his arms wrapped around her because without his support she would collapse. He tried to speak to her in quiet, soothing tones, masking the alarm that he felt.

"It's only me Aryna. Marcan, remember? You're safe now. Let me help you. We can go to the library, it's the next room, so we don't have to go far. Would that be better?"

Still trying to quiet her sobs, she could only manage to nod.

"Alright, good, we'll go to the library. Do you think that you can walk? It's not far."

"I… I don't…know, don't know," she stuttered with a shaky voice.

"That's alright. I can carry you there. I'm going to pick you up now, but I won't hurt you. I promise I won't."

He waited for a reply and when she nodded again, he carefully lifted her into his arms and took her out into the corridor and through the next door into the library. He gingerly set her down in one of the plush chairs and moved to sit in the identical one across from her.

She said nothing for a very long time. Most humans would have sought to fill the silence by asking if she was OK, but Marc knew better. One who had been through what she had, was far from OK. This sort of mental assault was extremely rare, almost unheard of on Gallifrey during his lifetime. There were stories though, from ancient times. Stories of violence in every form. The mighty Time Lords had quite the checkered past to be honest, but that was long ago, and little remained from that time. If he recalled his history correctly, most victims of such brutal mental assault never survived the attack. He speculated that it was likely because anyone that intent on shredding someone's mind was not particularly concerned with sparing their life. Why had the Doctor taken such great care to leave her free of any permanent injury? It just didn't make sense.

"Where is he?" Aryna finally broke the silence.

Marc didn't need to ask who she was referring to, "He stole your TARDIS. I don't know how, it was locked when I left it. But the homing beacon is still active. The Master is tracking him now. We'll find him."

Aryna's hand when to her neck, and she felt vainly for the key that she always wore, "He took mine. He knew where to find my key because of…" she swallowed hard and continued, "Because he was in my head."

Reaching out tentatively, he took one of Aryna's hands in his and suggested, "I think you need to rest. The Master and I can take care of the Doctor. Why don't I find a room for you? Sleep might do you some good."

She appeared to be considering it for a moment, "No," she answered decisively, "This ends now."

She stood to her feet and continued, "I'm putting an end to it. Someone has to stop him. I will stop him."

"Aryna," he sighed, "When will you learn that you can't handle him on your own? You have the same blind arrogance as she did when it comes to him."

"Don't lecture me. I've dealt with far worse than one insane Time Lord. You have no idea who I am."

"Really?" he raised an eyebrow and continued on, "You're behaving like a naïve little girl who thinks that she can take on the entire universe singlehandedly."

"I am over 800 years old! Do not compare me to an inexperienced child."

Rising from the comfortable chair he towered over her and replied calmly, "Then don't act like one."

The Master arrived on the scene with a mug of hot tea just as Marcan turned his back on the angry Time Lady and walked out.

Turning to Aryna he asked, "I didn't interrupt anything, did I?"

Ignoring the question she spoke briskly, "Marcan said that you're tracking my TARDIS. Where is he?"

He passed the steaming mug to her and settled into a chair, "I thought that you might like a cup of tea."

Irritated by his avoidance of her question, she took a sip of the hot tea before setting it down on a small end table nearby.

Crossing her arms she tried again, "I don't take kindly to my TARDIS being stolen. I intend to get it back, immediately. Where is he?"

The Master leaned back slightly, "Are you sure it's really your ship that you're after?"

"What does that mean?"

"You keep asking where he is. If it's your TARDIS that concerns you, why do you insist on knowing where the Doctor is?"

"Because the Doctor has my TARDIS!"

"Why don't you sit down and finish your tea?" he suggested calmly.

"I don't have time for this," she strode impatiently towards the door, but was surprised by the Master's quick movements.

Blocking her path he spoke sharply, "Make time."

Dropping to a chair in a huff, she sat silently seething. The Master once again settled into his chair. Neither said anything for several minutes, but she finally broke the silence.

"I don't know what the two of you want from me. Do you want me to say that I'm angry? Fine! I'm angry! That doesn't change the fact that I need to get my TARDIS back so that we can close the breech between dimensions. We're running out of time here. And the two of you want me to put my feet up and… and nap!" she nearly managed to keep the frustration out of her voice, nearly.

"When you catch up with the Doctor, what then?" he asked quietly.

Her expression darkened, "Someone has to stop him."

"I see," he nodded, "You want him to pay for what he's done."

"You're the one who told me that he was tried and sentenced to death by the Time Lords."

"Are you to be his executioner?"

"Why not?" a note of defensiveness crept into the question, "Why shouldn't justice occasionally be poetic?"

"This isn't your universe," the Master reminded her, "You have no authority in the situation. It's none of your concern, Aryna."

"He made it my concern!"

"You're not in the proper frame of mind to face him. You're out for revenge. You're no good to anyone like this."

"Stop it!" she snapped.

He laughed, "What's wrong Lady Aryna? Don't like what you see in the mirror?"

Her eyes narrowed, and she bit her tongue to keep from losing her temper.

"You're as sanctimonious as the rest of the Time Lords aren't you? But Lady Aryna has a bit of a secret. She's not quite as unaffectedly in control as she would like everyone to believe," leaning forward he whispered, "She has a dark side."

"Don't push me," she warned.

"Why not?" at this point he stood and began pacing slowly about the room, "What will you do to stop me? Kill me? Are you planning to kill me, Aryna? You're going to kill the Doctor, what's one more Time Lord murdered in the scheme of things?" pausing behind her chair, his voice dropped a notch, "Who would have guessed the lust for blood that Lady Aryna has been hiding all of these years?"

Rising from the chair she yelled, "Enough!"

"Enough? On no, my dear, I'm just getting started. You can't stop me," he taunted.

Temper flaring out of control she threw a punch and landed her fist solidly on the Master's jaw. He took a slight step back, but appeared indifferent. Determined to wipe the smirk off his face, she swung again. But, the Master had quick reflexes, and he caught the small fist in one hand before it made contact.

Maintaining a firm grip on her hand he spoke coolly, "That will be quite enough of that, my dear. I'm willing to take one punch for your benefit, but I draw the line at two."

Stumbling backwards, she sat down hard on the closest piece of furniture. Reason prevailed, and she took a hard look at herself. The Master was right, she didn't like what she saw. She felt her face flush crimson, truly ashamed of her behavior, of her motives. After all, what was the difference between the Doctor in her world, and the one she had met here? Each of them had the capacity for evil; the difference was in what actions they chose to take.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, not daring to look him in the eye, "I should never have… I don't… You're right… about me. And I'm sorry."

"Oh Aryna," he took the place next to her on the settee, "I just wanted you to realized that… well, that this isn't you. I understand that the Aryna we knew was a different person, but I think that you're very much like her. Of course you're angry; you have every right to be! It's what actions you take because of that anger that makes the difference. There have been plenty of times when I've wanted to kill him myself, believe me! But I can't, and neither can you."

"I know," she moaned, covering her face with her hands, "What's come over me? I'm a Time Lady! I'm supposed to be in control of myself, not flying off the handle and acting irrationally!"

"Now you sound like one of them," he laughed, "I haven't heard you spouting any of that nonsense for centuries!"

"Maybe they were right," she replied grimly.

"Rubbish," he said decisively, "What you've just been through is more terrible than any of us can imagine. By some miracle, your mind was able to piece itself back together very quickly! But, it still will take time for everything to even back out. You're angry, and having this sort of reaction to that anger is understandable. Give yourself some time. Besides," he slipped an arm around her shoulders, "We all need someone to stop us from going too far sometimes."

"Yeah."

"I have to get back to the console room. Are you coming along for the ride?"

"Give me a few minutes. I think I have another apology to make," she said thoughtfully.

The Master hesitated, and then began, "I'm not saying this as an excuse for him; he should have been a bit more objective. The thing is, Marc, since seeing you, doesn't quite know what to do with himself. Losing you, and then the Time War soon after… it was difficult for him. You are remarkable, and that serves as a reminder of what he's lost."

"Remarkable?" she laughed bitterly, "More likely temperamental! This regeneration is… unpredictable. For the first time, I'm not quite comfortable in my own skin…" she shook her head, "I digress, what I wanted to say, is that it's hard for me too. I see him, and it's like he's back. I know that my Marc is gone, but seeing him… makes it harder to remember that."

"You'll be home soon, I promise. I'll be in the console room whenever you're ready. We could use your help."

He left her alone in the library, and Aryna didn't know whether to smile or to cry. He had meant it to comfort her, promising to get her home. But she wasn't sure that she wanted to go home…

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