Chapter 8:
'Your TARDIS'
As much as The Doctor had expected this demand, he couldn't help fear what The Master would do. Memories of his beloved TARDIS soared into his mind. The last time The Master 'refurbished' his TARDIS, he tore the heart out her, cannibalising his most constant and beloved companion. He could hear the cries, the pleas begging for her Doctor to return, seeping into his mind. Vivid flashes of red as the TARDIS cloister bell rang out like the sirens of The Blitz, only far far worse. Even the memories deafened his ears, his distressed machine cut open against consent.
A final batterment to his skull left The Master content enough to leave.
The Doctor stayed conscious long enough for him to hear the deadlock bolt of the door click into place with the whirring of his own sonic to follow. He could feel a ringing in his head pounding at the sides as he battled to stay conscious. Concussion didn't have the same effects on Timelords but his shattered body craved a long peaceful healing sleep. For now he lay on his back as not put pressure on his smouldered chest. He could feel the deep wounds burn within him; every shaft of cold shivering air sparked a stifled gasp from his throat. He thought of getting up and exploring the confines of his new found prison but his body refused and he soon caved into the inevitable darkness that closed in on him.
By the clock on the mantel piece, The Doctor had slept for a few hours, or more accurately 3 hours 47 minutes and 18 milliseconds according to his body clock. He raised his body to sit up, falling instantly before grudgingly finding the strength to sit up against the nearby chair Wilfred once
sat on. He heaved slowly, bringing in short drafts of air with the steady rise of his throbbing chest. He found the movement in his arm return quickly, his fitful sleep restoring his energy although his legs were yet to awaken. With each twitch of his legs, streams of fire seemed to surge up his muscles and he hissed in pain. Slowly he had them turning and drunkenly shifting from side to side.
Half dazed he retired to forming a plan in his current position. Breathing deeply he closed his eyes, and tried to work through the haze and concentrate. Even creating a basic list seemed hard to manage, the ever-lingering pain still throbbing around his body, his broken leg thrashed at an awkward angle; even his chest still felt hot in the after burn of the arton energy he had blazing through his vessels a few hours back. Eventually, he managed a basic 5 point plan:
1. Escape from the room
2. Save Wilf
C) No... 3. Save Earth
4. Or d or IV even; Stop The Master.
And 5. Finally 5 would be to save himself.
He decided to start with one, leave this room. Even in his state, The Doctor knew the sooner he acted the better, he couldn't afford to wait and see The Master's plan through.
Masked in the pain of his beatings he hadn't noticed the regenerative healing his body had manage to recover over the time he spent asleep his once broken leg was just a half the compound fracture it once was and that to The Doctor may as well have meant an incompetent leg with a limp for all he acted to care.
He began pushing himself up on the chair, seated for anything under a minute, before he thrust his own dead weighted self into the air.
The Doctor swayed precariously, finding his weight steadied between his feet. He fought to keep his eyes open, making himself wary of his surroundings, before launching his body at the door that kept him caged. The Doctor's body crashed onto the wooden panels, his hands catching the handle before he could slump onto the group. He struggled to open it, turning it in every direction possible even yanking it out, but a scratch barely fell upon it. Helplessness fell upon The Doctor and he began battering his side against the door to no avail. He could feel old wounds opening, his chest ripe with rivers of blood, his suit greedily staunching the crimson streams.
His breath came in short heavy rasps, as though he was drowning in air pulling in every breath. He threw himself at the handle once more, a loud groan torn from his throat as his fingers slipped around the golden latch. His hearts beat out of his chest, a fast and ragged pace.
The Doctor sat still for a minute, catching his breath as he lay slumped against the door looking for another exit. There wasn't a window in sight and he was hardly in any shape to fit through an air vent if there was one.
But to his surprise there was one new addition to the room. Crudely hidden above the bookcases of the room, hid a camera. The Master was watching him, and every move he made. The Doctor gritted his teeth, trying not to take notice of the little intrusive box. He couldn't help imagining The Master's demeaning laugh as he enjoyed watching The Doctor's feeble attempts of escape.
An anger rose inside The Doctor, just the idea of The Master treating this like a game when he knew he was going die. Watching him like his he was a prize, a pet to his forsaken 'Master'.
He smiled jeeringly, he was about to let The Master take any satisfaction in watching him seem defeated and caged. He glanced round at the room noting everything inside; then turned to face the camera staring directly into it and raised his brows with a his infamous grin.
He held back a wince as he stood up again, rose to his feet and steadily limped towards Wilf's old chair. Pushing it nearer to the where the camera stood, he clambered up and smashed the camera against the wall.
'Time of a little privacy, I'd say.' The Doctor's voice rang out with growing confidence knowing that The Master would be listening.
Shards of glass spattered from the camera as he threw his fist into the screen, blood seeping out from his fresh cuts but he kept going. When he finally battered the camera apart The Doctor threw it down and stumbled off the chair sagging back down against the wall in content. He checked over his wounds clearing the glass away and wiping off the remnants of blood. The pain numbed by his temporary feeling of smug content.
If there was one he thing he knew, this wasn't the last of his wounds, The Master was sure to enact his revenge and he'd have to open that door to do it. Step 2: save Wilf in progress.
For now though, he entered a light slumber welcoming the darkness of sleep, before The Master's inevitable return.
A/N: Couldn't find the time or notion to write recently, got exams coming up so this story is pretty much at a standstill, but I will finish it. Thank you for all the recent reviews, alerts and favourites :) Reviews are welcomed – bad/good – I don't mind. If there are any ideas you'd like to add, I'm also open to them. Should the Master survive? Will The Doctor regenerate? I'm trying to pull the plot in a bit more, next chapter hopes to be up soon.
