Author's Note: Hello everyone! I hope you had a wonderful Christmas and New Year! I'm really, very sorry that this chapter has taken so long. I need to learn better time management :p I've tried to keep it a decent length to make up for the absence. And not to worry, I know I say this a lot, but this really is the penultimate chapter. Only the epilogue left!
43. Mad and Madder.
The Doctor led the Master back into the control room, trying to ignore his constant chatter, the TARDIS' very clear complaints (she was lurching from side to side, and the Doctor and Master were forced to stagger drunkenly down the corridors), and the creeping, seeping exhaustion. When they reached the control room, the Doctor surreptitiously (he hoped) leaned against the console and tried to look normal and casual.
He knew, of course, that the Master could see straight through his act to the wreck of a man beneath, but it was still better than giving him the clear picture.
The TARDIS' machinery squealed in protest.
The Master looked around him curiously, noting the discarded tools and partially disassembled machinery. The Doctor watched him warily, on the look-out for any of the Master's tricks, his sonic screwdriver close-by.
"Well, I see you've been busy."
"It's a difficult problem," the Doctor countered, as if that explained everything. Which, for another Time Lord, it did. He ignored how nice it was that he didn't have to explain himself for once.
A wave of guilt suddenly crashed over him. Amy and Rory. They had only been trying to help, and he had abandoned them…
He brushed the thought from his mind with difficulty and wrenched himself back to the present to find the Master staring at him expectantly, eyebrow raised, sardonic grin twisting his lips, making his deceptively normal features look cruel.
The Doctor cleared his throat awkwardly.
The Master rolled his eyes. "Are you back now, then?"
The Doctor gaped at him. "Back?"
The Master didn't have to say anything; his expression spoke volumes.
Realisation dawned, rather belatedly. "Oh!" The Doctor exclaimed with slightly too much enthusiasm, waving an arm and almost de-perching himself from the console. "Were you talking?"
"Obviously."
The Doctor waited. Nothing happened.
The TARDIS creaked.
"Well?"
The Master smirked. "The suspense is killing you, isn't it?"
He could feel his temper fraying. "I haven't got all day."
The Master's smirk widened. "I said: 'why don't you just do this?'"
The Doctor watched, astonished and a bit jealous, as the Master whizzed around the console, flipping switches, pulling levers and pressing buttons, looking completely in his element. The TARDIS juddered and shook in protest – a fire broke out somewhere in the Doctor's peripheral vision – but seemed to yield to the Master's will. Before he could realise what had happened, the Master had landed the TARDIS.
The Doctor was vaguely aware that his mouth was hanging open. "How did you do that?"
The Master shrugged. "I read the manual."
"When did you start reading manuals?"
The Master shot him a thoroughly exasperated look. "Hello? Evil plans of mass destruction? You'd think you didn't know me at all."
"Ah."
The Master walked over to the doors and tried to open them. They were locked. He turned around, looking at the Doctor expectantly.
"I'm not opening the doors."
"Then what was the point?" The Master asked. "I thought that was what you did – take off, fly somewhere new, have an adventure, get someone killed, rinse and repeat. Why leave if you're not going anywhere?"
"You're not leaving the TARDIS."
The Master snorted. "So I'm just the live-in mechanic?"
"No," the Doctor protested automatically, then stopped, not knowing what to say.
He looked at the man standing before him, seeing the young boy instead of the fully-grown, insane monster that he had become. His hearts ached and his head began to swim. He tightened his hold on the console.
"You're running away."
The Doctor swallowed. "No I'm not. I'm standing at the console."
"Stop being so obtuse."
The Doctor lowered his head and stared at the buttons by his fingers, wishing that the other Time Lord didn't know him so well and yet strangely thankful for it.
"Did you finally get sick of the humans?"
"Don't call them that," the Doctor snapped, before he could stop himself.
"What? Humans? News flash – they are. Surely you'd noticed."
"They're not 'the humans'," he managed in a more measured tone of voice, "any more than we're 'the Time Lords'."
"We're also Time Lords."
The Doctor sighed. "They're my friends."
"Awww."
He looked up again, glaring at the Master. Why did he have to make it so easy to hate him, so easy to be on the opposite side?
"Don't you want to see what's out there?" The Master suddenly asked, gesturing at the door with his head.
"No."
But the Master had seen the look on his face. "Yes you do. I won't escape, I promise."
The Doctor laughed, clutching the console, the strength seeping out of his legs as wave after wave of laughter swept over him. Dimly, he was aware of the Master staring at him, perturbed, unprepared for this new, unexpected reaction.
The Doctor laughed until he coughed, his eyes watered and his head swam, memories playing out in front of his eyes; Voldemort, Bellatrix, both laughing at him as he lay helpless on the ground, twitching. The laughter as he jerked forwards under the Imperius curse, the laughter as he collapsed, retching afterwards. The laughter as they came to collect him. The laughter, it reverberated in his head, never-ending, inescapable.
"Doctor?"
The Doctor pulled himself together with a gasp, eyes roaming over to meet the Master's, his face an unfocussed blur.
There was a beat of silence.
"Guess I'm no longer the madder of the two of us," the Master said seriously.
"I'm not mad."
"No," the Master said sarcastically, "that's why you ran away from your friends and forced your TARDIS to fly who-knows-where in the company of a famously insane, lifetime mortal enemy and, instead of panicking that all of this was even happening, just stood cackling at the console like some sort of witch from the Middle Ages. Because that's completely sane."
"For a Time Lord it is. Eccentric bunch."
"So what next?" The Master asked, brushing that comment off. "Am I going to be treated to a remake of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest or something?"
"I could, but I don't know the story well enough."
Now it was the Master's turn to look frustrated, the Doctor noticed dimly, but he just couldn't bring himself to care.
He shook his head. "Now," he said simply, "we wait."
oOo
Amy sat slumped on the kitchen floor, gazing vaguely out the window into the garden, eyes roaming over the slightly yellowed patch of grass where the TARDIS had once stood. He had disappeared, again, and she had no way of knowing where he had gone or when he'd be back.
Rory hovered behind her, sluggishly making tea, yawning into the kettle. She had woken him up as soon as it had happened, of course, but it had been too late. Rory, for all his Roman brilliance, couldn't re-materialise a time machine from a future, highly advanced alien planet. All he could do was make tea and be a comforting shoulder to cry on. Sometimes a crying shoulder to cry on.
She moved her gaze to her feet, wiggling her toes listlessly, counting them in her head. Ten. She thunked her head back against the cupboard that she was leaning against. She felt as though her neck was made of rubber, wobbling and shaking and forced to lean against the cupboard for support. Her head felt light and her eyelids heavy, blinking slowly, gratingly, annoying her with every movement. Her hair blanketed her face, hiding her from the harsh realities of the world around her, but not enough – it was only a superficial shield. Between the strands she could still see the empty garden, faithful Rory making tea. Her jaw felt tight, clenched, her teeth suddenly very conspicuous in her mouth, not in the right place. She shifted her mouth a bit, sighed, and clenched her jaw again. She couldn't not clench it.
The kettle came to a boil with a loud click. Water was poured into two mugs, steaming on top of the tea bag as Rory stirred in milk.
Amy tried to count her toes again, but they suddenly felt immovable, like rocks. She tried to look up at Rory, but her face was frozen, her neck wouldn't lift, her head didn't want to move from the relative comfort of its cocoon.
Fat, hot tears ran unnoticed down her face.
oOo
It was Rory who first had the idea to call River. She was furious, of course, that the Doctor had managed to escape. Surprised that the TARDIS had let him do it. Worried that he had apparently escaped without remembering that the Master was still on board. Or perhaps that had been his intention. Given the Doctor's current state of mind, it was quite hard to reach any conclusions on the last point.
She was at their house in an instant, "timelines be damned". Apparently, she hadn't prepared for the Doctor's prison-break. Or maybe it hadn't happened in her timeline and this had created a new one. Or maybe this was a different version of River who was now able to interfere. Amy hadn't really been listening, and she didn't care. River was here, and that was what mattered.
Despite her best efforts, however, she had been unable to trace the Doctor. Either he had hidden in a very good place, or he had managed to get the TARDIS to move through time as well as space. According to River, the second possibility was Bad, and Amy had to agree with her.
She paced her kitchen, feeling caged in, wanting to smash something with sheer frustration. Rory had taken one look at her and had moved all the breakables several hours ago, so that wasn't really an option.
She growled.
Rory poked his head round the door cautiously. "Everything ok?"
"Ok?" Amy repeated in disbelief.
Rory inched further into the room. "Well, not 'ok' ok, but as ok as it can be."
Amy snorted.
Rory sighed. "I thought not."
"How could he do this?"
"I don't know," Rory replied. "He didn't even look like he could stand." He frowned. "Do you think he can pilot the TARDIS sitting down?"
Amy glared at him.
Rory raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "It's that or he let the Master out."
Amy stopped pacing. "He wouldn't."
"He's not himself."
"Even not himself, he wouldn't!"
Rory very wisely didn't say anything. Amy gritted her teeth, wishing the Doctor was still here so that she could tell him how idiotic he was being. Instead, River walked through the door, looking grim.
"Still no sign."
Amy let out a wordless noise of frustration and dropped into a chair, wanting to spring back up again as soon as she was in it. Sitting irritated her.
River gave a wry smile. "I should put a tracker on him."
"Like with dogs?" Rory asked, looking confused.
River nodded and helped herself to a cup of orange juice from the fridge. "Except better. Dogs can't travel through time and space."
There was a strained silence.
"Does he come back?" Amy asked.
River sighed. "Don't make me say it."
"What," she asked sardonically, "'spoilers'?"
River's jaw tensed and she looked at Amy, unblinking. "I like not telling you even less than you like not hearing it."
"Er," Rory contributed.
"How can you not even tell us if he's ok in the future?"
"It's complicated."
"How?" Amy demanded. "He's our friend – your husband! I want to know what happens!"
"And if I tell you something good, and he changes it?" River asked. "If you think everything turns out alright and then found out it was a catastrophe, because he changes the timelines? What if I told you it was bad, you were haunted by it, and found out he changed it for the better? This moment," she emphasised, "is in flux."
"What do you mean, 'in flux'?" Rory asked. "I thought time was always like that."
"Some points are more fixed than others. With the Doctor, it's hard to tell, with him being a Time Lord and a time traveller. But events are playing out differently to how he told me. I can feel my memories changing."
"What does that mean?" Rory asked, sounding concerned. "Is it…" he seemed reluctant to say it.
River nodded. "I can retain both versions without danger. But it means I don't know what happens anymore."
"But if you have two memories, you can just use the new one as a reference," Amy said, feeling a brief flaring of hope.
River shook her head. "I said I can feel my memories changing, not that they have changed. Events haven't finished playing themselves out yet."
"Playing themselves out?" Amy repeated. "You mean you won't do anything?"
River pursed her lips, looking frustrated. "The universe is massive, Amy, and he can move through it in time. Unless he decides to come back, we might not see him again."
oOo
"Wait for what?" The Master asked, looking nonplussed.
The Doctor frowned. "What?"
"You said we wait," the Master repeated.
"Oh."
There was a pause as the Master digested this. "You don't remember?"
The Doctor shrugged and moved off to putter round the other side of the control panel. "Sometimes my mouth just says things."
He frowned, but the Master was already talking again, and he plastered a neutral expression on his face just in time for the other Time Lord to join him on the other side of the console.
"I would never have guessed," the Master sneered, but it seemed half-hearted.
The Doctor grasped desperately around in his brain for a more plausible excuse but found himself grappling with fog.
"Open the doors," the Master said, suddenly.
The Doctor looked up, confused, squinting, trying to see through the fog that was now leaking into his vision. "What?"
The Master shrugged. "I want to see what's out there," he said, repeating his earlier argument. "Come on, you know you do too. You and me, outside, new planet. Just like we always planned."
All the air left the Doctor's lungs.
The Master looked at him, aiming for an expression of patience but not quite achieving it. The Doctor squinted some more. He could barely see the other Time Lord's face now, which made it rather problematic to read the expression on it. He tried to draw air into his starving lungs. He managed a small squeak.
As the darkness claimed him and he fell to the floor, unconscious, still gripping the key that he had unknowingly drawn out of his pocket, the Master took a step closer.
And pocketed the key when it fell from the Doctor's insensate fingers.
