Sanctuary

The Broken Bubble

The Doctor didn't even think. He whirled round and back-handed the Master across the face, sending him stumbling backwards. But it wasn't enough. The Doctor flew at the other Time Lord, wrapping his hands around the Master's throat and squeezed with grim determination, ready to throttle the life out of him.

But the Master was an experienced fighter. His initial surprise at such violence from the Doctor quickly turned to anger as he realised that his life could very well be in jeopardy. He sent a swift series of kicks and punches at the Doctor's body, his features twisted in rage, and managed to break the grip on his throat. With a final kick he knocked the Doctor to the floor and turned away. He felt his temper burning at the surface, and knew that he had to keep control. The Doctor had to stay alive. With an effort he stepped away, and again, he was in control, always in control. He took a deep breath as he regained his composure and calm.

"How I detest personal violence," he said, brushing some imaginary piece of dust from his suit.

The Doctor looked up at him. "You knew!" he spat. "You knew!"

"Of course I did," said the Master dismissively. "And if you ever strike me again I shall have Miss Tyler torn limb from limb whilst you watch. You understand?"

"You haven't changed."

"Which is more than I can say for you, my dear Doctor," said the Master, running a hand over his bruised throat, checking the extent of the damage.

You don't understand, thought the Doctor. But of course the Master did understand , better than anyone, and he had played with the Doctor's feelings perfectly. Assuming it wasn't for his own twisted amusement, the Doctor was desperate to know why.

"But there's nothing…they're silent," said the Doctor, clinging to the idea that this was a trick, that the Master was lying. It would be so easy to believe that. So very easy.

"Of course they are!" said the Master. "You tried to kill them, Doctor. They might forgive you many of your little foibles, but attempted genocide is not one of them." He took a careful step towards the Doctor, making sure to stay out of arm's reach. "They are terrified. They believe that you would hunt them down and destroy them, and after that little display, I can see why."

The Doctor shook his head and pulled himself up into a sitting position. "I would never…they left me…they left me." He cradled his head on his hands. "It was so quiet, so dark; death sitting inside my head. I was alone…"

"Naturally when I discovered it was you behind their extermination," continued the Master, placing a curious emphasis on the last word, "I cut you off too." He smiled. "Much as it pained me to do so." The Doctor looked up at him. "Oh, don't look so hurt: you were never one to suggest that the ends justified the means, and yet here we are. You've changed, Doctor. Caution is only to be expected."

"So they're trying to kill me?" His voice was almost pleading; he didn't want the truth, but the Master was not a liar.

"That's right."

"Because I killed them," he said, barely audible.

"Not exactly," admitted the Master. "They're rather more concerned that you're still dashing through time as though they're still there to clean up all your messes. When you're struggling against erasure from the cosmos, you don't really have time for that sort of thing."

"And how d'you know?"

"I have a spy," said the Master, matter-of-factly.

A bitter smile of realisation appeared on the Doctor's face, and he nodded. "So that's why you really need my help: you're racing against them, against what's left of the Time Lords, to re-establish control of the Vortex."

The Master gave a short laugh. "It's no race, I assure you. They have no concept of how to survive in a hostile universe without the protection of their vaunted powers." A finger stabbed at the holographic display. "They're struggling to keep their bio dome stable, to keep relative time out, until they can adjust. My experience, on the other hand, makes me something of an expert at survival."

"Oh really? Cause I'd have thought that the Celestial Intervention Agency might have had something to say about that." The Master scowled at the mention of one of Gallifrey's least ineffective organisations. "In fact, I'd have thought that their agents would be exactly the sort who might just have enough initiative and imagination to get out of the time-line, and then get back in. Am I right?"

"Feel free to go and ask them, Doctor. After that stunt in 1987, I believe that they have a particularly elaborate homecoming planned for you."

"The answer's still no."

"I'm afraid it's not as simple as that. Doctor, there is something that you need to know."


Rose reached out to touch the glass, cold and smooth and giving her no insight at all into the man trapped inside.

"This some sort of cryogenesis?" she asked.

"Nothing so simple. But think of it like that, if you like; the principle involved is the same. The subject is being preserved for a time when we will be able to cure him, to let him live."

Rose moved closer to the glass, misting it with her breath. She frowned as she examined the stranger's features, looking for something, anything, that might be familiar to her, but even his clothes were different, like some sort of Sherlock Holmes costume.

"It can't be him," she whispered to herself.

"It's not," said a voice in her ear. Rose jumped. Alison was standing right behind her, and was looking at the stranger's face. "This is what happens when they, when Time Lords, die, Rose. Their bodies change, renew themselves, regenerate into a new body. Then they get to keep on living, though they're never quite the same again. So I'm told."

He never mentioned that, thought Rose with a flash of anger. "So was this him?" asked Rose, and then remembered the sort of problems that time-travel tended to throw up. "Or will this be him?"

"Used to be him," Alison told her. "Him, like, now. Present. Today. Now he's just a possibility that the universe forgot about. A defunct time-line that's being artificially sustained."

"So what's he doing here? I mean, there's already a Doctor, isn't there? Can you have two of them?" She paused, trying to remember something about the rules of time-travel that the Doctor had tried to explain to her and what had happened in 1987. "Shouldn't he just have vanished?"

Alison gave her a weak smile, and Rose realised that she was on the edge of tears. She tried to imagine what she would feel like if it was her Doctor trapped in there, existing but not alive, and having no idea if she'd ever hear him again, ever feel his hand in hers, ever run in and out of danger and the adrenaline and exhilaration and the knowing that when she was with him she really was alive. She swallowed down the strange sensation of sickness and panic and glanced at Alison, and she knew that she was way past all of that. It was something else that was pushing her to go on now.

"The Master did this," Alison told her suddenly, as though admitting a lie.

Rose frowned, trying to understand. "To hurt you? To hurt the Doctor?"

"No, no, you…we…" She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. "Everyone that survived, everyone that made it to Sanctuary is a refugee. Our time-lines were destroyed. When the Master realised what was happening…you see, the Doctor…" She broke off again, and began pacing. "The Doctor was drunk. He had just enough sense to stay out of the way while the Master did…whatever it was that he did…the science is beyond me." She gave a ruthful smile. "Naturally, he made sure that he was safe first. Then the Doctor…even then, even in that state, he was still the Doctor, and I still had to be saved first. The Master was always…practical. The Doctor would have been of more use to him than me, but he still followed the Doctor's instructions. There wasn't time to adjust the Doctor properly. We were out of the universe , but time caught up with us, and all the Master could do was this." She waved a hand at the Doctor's capsule. "Freeze him in time, if you like, until he could figure out if there was a way to save him. Time, it seems, had something of a vendetta against the Time Lords, and the Doctor in particular." Alison reached out to touch the glass with the tips of her fingers. "And I think he wanted to die."

"Why?" asked Rose, barely audible.

Alison turned and looked her straight in the eyes. "Because he lost someone very close to him. I never knew her, but it broke him, I think."

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be, Rose."

Rose half-made to step forward, but the door slid open and the Doctor burst in, shattering the peaceful and solemn mood of the room. His face was white, his eyes wide, but his face lit up with a smile as soon as he saw her.

"Rose, you alright?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. What's wrong?" But he wasn't looking at her anymore, wasn't even paying her the slightest bit of attention. He was staring over her shoulder, right at the other Doctor, Alison's Doctor. He whirled round to face the Master, who had quietly slipped into the room behind the Doctor. "What have you done?" he asked.

"How was I supposed to know you'd survive?" asked the Master defensively.

"Well, he obviously isn't surviving. What were you going to do then? Leave him, leave me, sitting in there for eternity? Pop down on a sleepless night to have a little midnight gloat, eh?" He frowned at the man in the capsule. "Not me at all," he muttered to himself.

"Doctor, is that really you?" asked Rose.

"Yeah, sort of." He stepped over to the console, and his fingers flew across the controls. Alison's eyes widened as she realised what he was doing.

"No!" she cried, rushing at him, but he pushed her aside easily. Rose caught her as she stumbled and shot a glare at the Doctor.

"You okay?" she asked. Alison looked up at her, her eyes frighteningly wide. She raised a finger, her hand shaking as she pointed.

"Look," she whispered, pointing at the Doctor's capsule.

It was empty. The Doctor was gone.

"You killed him," she sobbed. "You killed him."

The Doctor turned on her, and Rose expected him to be angry, but his face was weary and his eyes suddenly very, very old. "He was never alive," he said.

"Another death on you conscience, Doctor," said the Master, his voice expressionless. He seemed wholly unmoved by the fate of the other Doctor, much more interested in the Doctor that was now in front of him.

"That was an abomination."

"He was my friend," said Alison quietly, her eyes glistening. Rose wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a hug.

"It's all right," she whispered. "It's alright." Alison's soft sobs were barely audible, and Rose took the opportunity to shoot daggers at the Doctor over her shoulder, but said nothing. The Doctor returned her stare, expressionless, and Rose had the horrible feeling the she was being studied, like a sample in a Petri dish.

The Master clapped his hands slowly. "You see, Doctor? Just as I told you. The slightest threat; the slightest whim."

Alison stiffened slightly and let go of Rose. "You wanted this to happen?" she asked the Master.

He paused before answering and said, almost regretfully, "It was necessary."

"He was your…" She swallowed, her eyes flicking to the Doctor. "He was your friend too."

The Doctor clearly expected an outright denial from the Master, a scoffing remark, a mocking laugh, but none was forthcoming.

"Come, Alison. The Doctor and Miss Tyler have some things to discuss, including my offer of sanctuary, and you and I both have work to do."

And with that, he left the room. A moment later, Alison followed, her head bowed.