Rose felt a wave of nausea rising. She threw up on the floor. A few seconds later, she heard an odd creaking noise. She glanced towards it. A featureless white sphere, about the size of a cantaloupe, seemed to be growing from the wall of her prison. It dropped to the floor, and rolled towards her. With a slight cracking noise, it opened. Another white sphere, about the same size as the first, rolled out of it. Then another, and another.
"Bigger on the inside," Rose thought wryly.
Soon she was surrounded by white spheres. They wobbled, then stood up on silver legs. They had arms, too--multiple arms ending in bizarre, shining protuberances. Bulbous eyes flicked open. They stared at her for a moment or two, then began advancing towards her slowly, their silver legs clicking on the marble floor.
"What are you doing?" asked Rose, becoming increasingly unnerved. "Wait! Stay right there! No! Don't touch me! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Meanwhile, the Doctor watched helplessly as a Romana-shaped stretcher was loaded into the ambulance and whisked off. He considered hoisting himself onto the back of it and following her to the hospital. But he couldn't just abandon Rose to her fate. There must be another way.
There was. The confessed author of this disaster was sitting comfortably in the Citadel Gaol. He had put off having a chat with the Master; perhaps now was the time.
As he entered the maximum security holding area, the Doctor suddenly felt very cold. He thought it might be a trick of his imagination--until he realised he could see his breath. Presently, he heard a familiar voice growl, "I heard you were here. Knew you'd come down eventually. Here to gloat?"
"Here to marvel, actually," The Doctor replied, stepping into the solitary confinement area. "After being thrown into a black hole, most people have the decency to die. But you--" The doctor broke off abruptly, shocked by the Master's appearance. He sat alone in a featureless, brilliantly-lit white cell. The deep hollows of his eyes receded in sharp relief to the gaunt angles of his face. He was clad only in a short, thin shift, and shivered constantly against the cold. The Doctor studied him for a moment, not quite believing that his erstwhile friend and great archenemy could be so abjectly reduced. "What has happened to you?"
"Torture," hissed the Master. Seeing the Doctor's expression of disbelief, he continued, "Yes, they've been torturing me. Do not look so surprised. Cold, starvation, sleep deprivation..."
The Doctor slowly shook his head. "I...I pity you. I know I shouldn't. If anyone deserves this treatment, you do--but still..." The Doctor moved closer to the cell. "End this," he whispered urgently. "End your suffering--end your victims' suffering. Please, give me the antidote."
"Are the Time Lords dying?" asked the Master, his black eyes glittering. "Friends of yours, perhaps? I can only hope."
"Yes, friends of mine!" cried the Doctor, angrily. He glanced away for a moment, regaining his composure. "How will their...deaths help you? How can you possibly hope to gain? What do you want?"
"I want to be free of this place," snarled the Master. "And, since you are asking, I want the shield of Rassilon."
"Why--why the shield, particularly?" The Doctor regarded the Master with curiosity and suspicion. "It has no special powers, as far as I'm aware."
"You are aware of very little. The shield is rumoured to be the ultimate weapon," murmured the Master. He leaned forward, his face separated from the Doctor's by only mere inches and a force field. "By the way," he murmured, "what's happened to you? You don't look well at all."
The Doctor was startled. He'd been feeling tired since dinnertime, and was now positively exhausted. He had attributed it to the lateness of the hour, but...
"Pallor and fatigue, Doctor. Those are the very first symptoms of the contagion, or didn't you know?" The Master smiled unpleasantly. "I've dreamt of so many ways of killing you, but this is almost tragic. The celebrated Doctor, brought low by a microbe--oh, the irony. However, now that I think of it, I am not yet ready to lose my most worthy adversary--not like this, at any rate. Help me escape, and you'll have your antidote."
The Doctor laughed incredulously. "What kind of fool do you think I am?"
"A desperate one. If not for yourself, then for your friends."
Some time later, the Doctor and the Master were pushing their way down a narrow shaft. The escape had been disturbingly easy to manage: A repeating loop set up on the monitoring cameras, the force field breached without setting off the alarms, and then a detour into the ventilation system. Possibly it helped that both men had had quite a lot of experience at breaking and entering. Things had got a bit tricky when the Master insisted on retrieving his personal effects. He had, at the Doctor's insistence, merely incapacitated the guard who surprised him, rather than killing him. Afterwards, the Master handed the Doctor a long, metallic tube, sealed at both ends.
"Here it is, the antidote," said the Master. "Proof of my intentions. But don't betray me just yet; you'll need my instructions to open it."
On they pressed forward for what seemed an eternity. Finally, the last grate popped free, and they dropped down onto the floor.
"Now, the antidote," said the Master. "Put your hand on either side of the tube and twist."
The Doctor eyed the Master grimly. "This is a trick...some sort of trap. I know you..."
"No, you don't know me, not now, not anymore. In that prison, Doctor, I was tortured. I've never been tortured before. The experience has given me..." He frowned and looked away. In a quieter voice, he continued, "It has given me a new perspective. There has been too much suffering here already. Let me be of some good, finally, in my life. Use the antidote."
With a deep sigh of resignation, the Doctor twisted the tube. Immediately, it glowed hot in his hands, emitting a scintillating energy beam that engulfed the Master. Then tube and Master disappeared, leaving behind only his evil, echoing laughter.
The Doctor stumbled back against the wall. He had known the Master was treacherous, but still he had trusted him. No--he hadn't trusted the Master; but he had allowed himself to hope...what? That some small part of the Master wasn't entirely unredeemable? No matter. There had to be another solution; there almost always was. He would find it. But perhaps he would sit down for a little while and rest...yes, sleep would do him good. The back of his mind protested wildly--every moment he wasted meant less hope for the girl under his protection. But his unnatural fatigue was irresistible...
The Doctor awoke to a metallic clicking noise. He opened his eyes. He was surrounded by little robots with white spherical heads, spindly silver bodies, and enormous, bulbous eyes, which all turned and looked at him when he stirred. They moved towards him slowly.
One of them rolled back his sleeve, rubbed his arm with an alcohol swab, and injected something. Immediately he began to feel a little better. "Nursebots," he murmured.
"Is that what they're called?" said a voice. He glanced up.
"Good morning Rose," he murmured, absently. He paused for a moment; and then it dawned on him.
"ROSE! You're alive!" He jumped to his feet, threw his arms about her, and spun her about.
"Yeah sort of," she said, when she had caught her breath. "No thanks to you. Where were you last night? You ditched me--"
"No, I didn't!" he exclaimed excitedly. "I was trying to find...yes, well all right, I suppose I did, but the important thing is, YOU'RE ALIVE!" He cupped her face in his hands, and gazed at her in wonder. "So--how did you manage it?"
Rose had been extremely angry at the Doctor for abandoning her, but this open demonstration of joy was disarming. "I...I don't know," she stammered. "I was sick, really sick all night, and...then I was better."
"Marvelous!" he pronounced, then staggered.
"Are you all right?" Rose asked.
"I'm fine, wonderful, couldn't be better," he insisted. Then he glanced down and saw that the nursebots were assembling a sort of stretcher. "No, really, I don't need that, I feel..."
He collapsed. The nursebots caught him neatly, and then clicked off down the corridor.