Episode: The Lives and Times of the Raggedy Doctor and Amelia Pond
Chapter: The Doctor Who Died [4/5]
Summary: Amelia wanted someone to fix the crack in her wall. Rory wanted someone to look at the pictures. The Atraxi wanted to recapture Prisoner Zero. Eventually, everyone got what they wanted, though not in the way they wanted it. They got the Raggedy Doctor instead. Or the one where the Master wanted to fix the TARDIS but ended up saving the Earth.
Rating: T
It's only when the TARDIS is drifting safely in the Time Vortex that the Master allows everything to catch up to him. He ends up crouching down, hands clutching the console like a lifeline while he drops his head between his knees, breathing too shallowly and irregularly to be able to do more than just wait for the rush of thoughts and the drone of his too fast heartsbeat in his ears to stop.
All the while, the TARDIS sings to him, softly, reassuringly, and he hangs onto her song to finally drag himself out of the maelstrom in his mind. So strong was the dark undercurrent of his thoughts, of what has just transpired, that he lost all sense of time. He can't help but think back to when it was the drums pulling him under, and how even then it was almost impossible to confuse his time sense as much as it has been this once.
There are no drums now, there will never be again. Instead, there's the TARDIS' song and her soothing caress, not bonding with his mind nor asking for it, but there nonetheless. The Master isn't sure she will ever accept a bond with him, not after he stole her at the end of the universe and turned her into a paradox machine. He's lucky she has even accepted his presence here, after—
He has to force himself to take in another deep breath, and, finally, slowly, he stands up again, never releasing the console, and looks around to try and distract himself.
The TARDIS hasn't just rebuilt herself, but also redecorated. TARDISes, much like Time Lords, can change their appearance, undergoing a process not so dissimilar to regeneration by using energy from the Vortex. Unlike Time Lords, they can do it at any time, but for convenience, they tend not to change drastically without some kind of prompting, like extensive damage. This one has the bad habit of shuffling rooms around every now and then, as he realized when he hijacked her, but he didn't notice many changes between her appearance then and after his resurrection, other than the damage from – from his death.
Then again, it wasn't like the Master was focused enough, or concerned enough to care, about any possible changes.
Now, though, she has undergone a complete makeover. She has ditched the organic look, for starters, and isn't that a relief.
Not many species know much about Time Lords, but they know even less about TARDISes, some thinking them just miracle ships. To be honest, Time Lords themselves didn't know that much, and the Master wasn't one of the students who wanted to peruse the subject, so he isn't aware of much more than the basics. Still, even he knows that TARDISes are alive, creatures of the Time Vortex that established a symbiotic relationship with Time Lords practically at the beginning of time, and took to inhabiting the Time Traveling Capsules, the bigger-on-the-inside ships with rudimentary time travel capabilities that Time Lords used in the Dark Times. With the Time Vortex entities taking to inhabiting them, adding their link with the Vortex to power and refine proper time travel, the Time Travel Capsules have come to be known as TARDISes ever since. Once a TARDIS is decommissioned, the entity living in it is moved to a different model or set free in the Vortex, so they can choose a different Time Capsule or go their own way.
There are rumors that the Time Reapers are what wild TARDISes are like in the Time Vortex, but the Master's not too sure about those.
Anyway, one way or another, the fact that the TARDIS chose an organic look after the Time War wasn't a coincidence. She was hurt too, damaged by the fighting in more ways than just the chassis. Sticking to that configuration, so close to what one would assume to be her natural shape, was more than enough to know just how bad it had been.
In her own way, the TARDIS had mourned and suffered too. All the mechanical components open to the air, the cables hanging from the ceiling, the grate as the floor… All those were wounds, scars, which have finally healed.
There are still some cables hanging from the ceiling, indicative that there are some wounds she's still dealing with, but her overall conformation is a lot 'healthier' for a TARDIS. The hexagonal shape of the console instead of rounded is merely aesthetic, but there are no more missing panels and faulty controls and messes of cabling, everything organized and properly covered. Its sleek shapes and integrated controls arranged in smooth elevations or depressions are still too organic not to notice, but they are clearly out of choice rather than due to injury. The time rotor extends to the ceiling, but has switched the cylinders for twisting strands of blown glass like stalactites made of bubbles, which the Master thinks are more for laughs than any particular reason, as he can't see why that exact shape would make any difference.
The color theme is homely, mixing bronzes, creams and some warm whites, though she has kept the aqua lights. The rest of the room is far better illuminated and has gained an actual elevated level instead of the rickety catwalk that was so narrow it was only possible to sit on it, and even then, one had to be careful. The grate has been replaced by glass, and all the machinery underneath has been organized properly under panels and shafts, while the junk and souvenirs that had accumulated have been moved somewhere else. There are less roundels on the walls, but two large round windows have appeared next to the entrance doors in their stead. There are three corridors leading inside now, one from the lower level to storage areas, another from the console level to living areas, and the third from the elevated level to the wardrobe and the bedrooms. He will have to investigate more in-depth, though he's sure trying to memorize the floor plan will be useless, as she'll probably start shuffling rooms around in no time.
It wouldn't be that surprising, truth be told. The TARDIS shares the same magpie instinct and scatterbrained personality as her last Time Lord, messing with people just because she's clever enough to do so. The Master can appreciate that last thing, actually, seeing how he does so himself as well.
She looks and sounds warm and inviting, hurt but healing, and, despite the lack of bond, the Master can still feel almost at home. The TARDIS wants him to stay, wants him to feel welcomed, and he has to take in another deep breath as that realization dawns, another drop added to the maelstrom.
He runs a hand through his still wet hair and doesn't bother holding back a sob.
The Master showered and changed, of course he did, how could he not? He smelled like red dust and dried blood and ash—
His breath hitches again, sight blurry, and he finally drops to the floor, pressing his back against the reassuring thrum of the console column, under the control panels.
He's gone. He's really, truly gone now, body cremated on one of the moons in Kasterborous that was razed but not obliterated during the Time War, the one most similar to Gallifrey the Master could find.
That void in the sky, surrounded by glittering debris, had hurt almost as much as the dead weight in his arms. But he'd forced himself to ignore it, to not think about what else was missing, and had managed to get through the whole cremation without shedding a tear or breaking down.
Only when the ashes had finally gone cold, scattering into dust in the wind of a dead world, had the Master turned his back to them and entered the TARDIS. He hadn't parked her that far from the crater he'd chosen, in part because it would be easier to carry the ridiculous supply of wood she kept in storage for who knows what reason, but also because she deserved to be here even more than the Master did.
Good thing he did, he's not sure how much longer he could have gone without crashing.
But now it's alright to do so. It's just the Master and the TARDIS, floating in the Time Vortex, after saving the Earth and saying their last goodbye to their oldest friend.
Another sob escapes through his lips, and the Master curls into himself and presses the heels of his hands against his closed eyes, feeling the tears slip down his cheeks.
The Doctor is dead.
As soon as the thought finally breaks past his mental walls, the floodgates open.
He spends a long time screaming his grief out, sobbing messily and rocking under the console, but it doesn't feel nearly long enough for such a long-lived relationship, so he stays there, curled into himself, long after his body ceases its display of grief, exhausted. It's only when he feels something digging painfully into his hip that he comes back to himself.
He digs into the pocket of his gray jeans, wondering why in Skaro he put anything in there when they aren't bigger on the inside, unlike his blue jacket's, and feels his breath freeze in his throat when he pulls the item out.
A signet ring, silver and with a large green jewel inlaid with an ornate silver insignia consisting of a bunch of interconnected and concentric circles and lines that make no sense to anyone in the universe except for him.
An Arcalian Memory Ring. Worn by Time Lords on duty, it would preserve a copy of the wearer's memories in the event of their death, to be uploaded to the Matrix of Time upon their return to Gallifrey.
The Master had found it when he was assembling the materials to turn the TARDIS into a paradox machine, after stealing it at the end of the universe, and had worn it all through his life as Harold Saxon until Lucy shot him.
He had elaborated his resurrection plan all around it, writing the 'Secret Books of Saxon' that detailed the process and how to elaborate the 'potions of life', the dissolutions with all the essential elements and composts that made a Time Lord's body, and how important it was to obtain a 'biometric signature' from Lucy, actually being the time energy, the artron energy, she had absorbed when they travelled to Utopia, to trigger and direct and stabilize the whole process. It had been the lack of that last one which had deteriorated his new body thus, no matter how much meat and protein and latent temporal energy he put in it after.
Until the Doctor's regeneration energy, that is, the perfect mixture for a regeneration and to stabilize a resurrection process. If only it hadn't come at such a high price… Why in Skaro was the Doctor out of regenerations anyway? Last they'd met, aboard the Valiant, he'd still had one left, what had happened to it? He hadn't regenerated since then; he still looked the same!
The Master's hand clenches tightly around the ring, fighting the urge to throw it against a wall or out of the doors.
A Memory Ring isn't a Chameleon Arch, it doesn't store a Time Lord's self and biological traits to put them back in place later. The ring is a data storage, merely holding the memories until the Matrix's machinery can extract them. TARDISes can erase a ring's 'saved data', but they don't have the means to translate them, because they aren't meant to.
So, when the Master found this one, when he realized the potential of having a Memory Ring at his disposition, he erased it without a second thought and took to wearing it everywhere. Only once they boarded the Valiant did the Master pull it off, hanging it on a chain around his neck so it could keep skin contact while being out of the Doctor's sight. It wasn't Gallifreyan tradition to deal with bodies, since the bodies themselves took care of that when they burnt with the last burst of regeneration energy, so the Doctor would have no need to rummage in his pockets or take off his clothes or anything.
And he hadn't. The ring had gone undetected by the only other being who would recognize it, and the Master had returned.
Only now, after searching around and consulting the TARDIS' inventory and actually checking the Doctor's body, does the Master realize just how important this one ring was.
It was the only Memory Ring aboard the TARDIS. A TARDIS is supposed to have as many rings as Time Lords, but a decommissioned TARDIS should have none. Which means that this one ring, the only ring onboard, had to be brought inside by someone.
And the only Time Lord who could have done so was—
No more Gallifrey. No more Matrix of Time. No reason to carry around an Arcalian Memory Ring.
The Master clenches the ring in his hands, curling around it with his eyes tightly closed, and feels tears he thought he no longer had spill once more. Just a couple, just enough to let out some of the all-consuming pain and guilt wrenching his hearts apart, accompanied by a whimper that barely reaches his ears.
One ring. One Time Lord.
… The Master would rather be dead.
"I don't know what I'd be without the noise in my head."
"I don't know what I'd be without you."
He still doesn't know what he can be without the drums, but one thing he never imagined he could be is alone.
Whatever happened, in those scenarios he'd dared to explore in that brief second before the old human had interrupted, the Doctor was always there.
Always.
Like it had always been, like it would always be.
Only, it isn't. And it'll never be again.
"Activating Protocol 12, Last Message and Reading of the Will—" a voice speaks from the other side of the console, and the Master startles so badly that he bonks his head on the panel overhead.
Cursing in as many languages as he knows, he quickly scrambles from under the controls and rushes around the time rotor, because the TARDIS is floating in the Time Vortex, the words are in Gallifreyan, and he knows that voice.
As soon as he sees the speaker, the Master stops as if he'd just slammed into an invisible wall, all the air knocked out of him and his eyes blown wide.
It's a hologram in shades of blue, as any that would be pre-recorded and activated by a TARDIS' protocols, but the Master doesn't need to see the actual colors to know what they are.
A woman with dark brown hair hanging a bit below her shoulders in a soft wave, pale skin and with eyes the color of polished copper. She's dressed in slightly baggy clothes covered by light armor in shades of green but with the crest of Rassilon over her clavicles, holding the open black robes hanging at her back like a cape. She's serious as she speaks, professional and with her gaze focused on the lenses that recorded the hologram, but the Master knows that this expression was quite rare to see on this face.
There's only one person she could be, with her Arcalian robes but bearing the crest of Rassilon, of the Prydonian Chapter, yet his brain seems full of static, unable to find her name or even process the fact that he's seeing this, repeating hallucination over and over.
"—will be delivered to their intended recipients in the event of my demise while on duty," she's saying, faithfully following the script in a way that she would have never done if not because she wouldn't have been on a TARDIS otherwise. "This message is for—" she continues, cut by a short buzz of static in that second when the hologram jumps from the general message to the personalized one.
And her image flickers and changes.
She's no longer wearing the formal robes and armor of her Time Lord uniform, dressed instead in a light orange-embroidered red tunic, red pants and black boots. There's a smile on her face that lightens her eyes, delighted and sheepish at the same time, and she tilts her head to the side as she pushes a lock of her dark hair behind her ear when she says his name.
"Koschei. Hello," she salutes with a wave of a hand before she folds them at her back, rocking on the balls of her feet as she looks down, almost embarrassed. "I know what you're going to say, this is not the message you were supposed to record. Well, when have you known me to do things as I was told?" she asks with a mischievous glint as her eyes lock onto his, pulling her tongue out at him as soon as the words are out. "Oh, quit laughing! Or, well, I hope I managed to make you laugh. I doubt it though. After all, if you are watching this, it means I'm dead," she adds, more solemn but still with a smile on her face, no matter how sad it is, and the Master flinches. "Missing or killed in action, I know, but I know you, Koschei. And I know you wouldn't let me be 'missing', I know you would rip apart the whole of creation if necessary to find me, and that you would refuse to listen to this until you knew for a fact that I was dead. I'm sorry, Koschei. I hope you know I would never leave you voluntarily, and that I tried everything I could before it came to this. I'll miss you."
"I miss you too…" the Master whimpers, stretching a hand towards the hologram, and her smile fills with affection as her eyes brighten, her own hand reaching towards his.
"Please, don't be sad. Don't let this bring you down, because I'm not really gone. Remember? There's no getting rid of me, I'll pester you until the end of the universe and time itself," she proclaims proudly, tilting her chin up, and the Master lets out a chocked laugh, moving his extended hand under the hologram's without touching so as to not dispel the illusion.
He could swear he can feel the coolness of her skin so close to his, but he doesn't look away from her laughing eyes.
"As long as you remember me, Koschei, I'll be there for you. No matter how far we are, or how much we drift apart. Even if—if you never see this because I did something stupid and you hate me now, I want you to know I never would," she adds, her smile wavering for a moment, and, when the Master takes his hand back with a pained flinch, she pulls hers back to rest in a fist against her chest with a sad smile. "I would never hate you, my Koschei."
"You should. You should, you idiot!" he roars, quickly blinking away his tears so they don't distort his sight, unwilling to miss even a millisecond of her presence despite how much he feels he deserves it.
And, as expected, she huffs with an eyeroll and an exasperated smile, before leaning forward with her hands on her hips and mischief in her eyes when they meet his once more.
"Quit your dramatics, Koschei! I would never hate you, but you can still get on my nerves! And I know all your ticklish spots – and I'm sure I can find all the new ones regardless of how many regenerations you go through – so, don't tempt me!" she threatens with laughter in her voice, and the Master yelps and takes a step back with his hands up in surrender, time feelers pulling back and curling in tight knots to get them out of what would have been her reach.
Throwing her head back, she laughs, and the Master laughs with her.
When they finally calm down, some moments later, Koschei doesn't notice the shades of blue of the hologram or the warm tones of the control room around them, instead meeting her bright copper eyes with his deep violet ones, standing over her like he'd always done after his twenty-eighth birthday, and barely holding himself back from pushing that rebellious lock of dark hair behind her ear when it slips in front of her face.
She does it for him with a huff, turning away for a moment before she looks back into his eyes with laughter in hers.
"I think the TARDIS likes you. She let me replace the boring old message with this one when I told her it was for you, so you better be good to the old girl, you hear me?"
"I will, Time Lord's honor," he answers, crooked grin on his face, and she rolls her eyes once more with a chuckle.
"Riiight. I hope I've managed to teach you better manners by now," she drawls, and it is the tense in that sentence what wipes the mirth off Koschei's face and makes her next look be full of sadness and pride instead. "I know you can do it, Koschei. I have faith in you. Not just about being nice to the old girl, but… At the time I'm recording this message, you've already taken control of some operations, and you are great, Koschei. You are fantastic, magnificent, and you know it. So, don't forget it, please? You're beautiful, Koschei. And no matter what happened to me, how we left things. I forgive you. I thank you. And I want you to know you can still be beautiful, even if I'm not there anymore," she tells him with her eyes shining with tears, so she stops herself with a tremulous breath and looks at her feet with a sad and depreciating smile that wraps around his throat almost tightly enough to trigger his respiratory bypass. "I don't know what I'd be without you," she whispers, and that finally snaps Koschei out of his paralysis.
He brings his hands up to her shoulders – and jerks away when they go right through her form, the white environment vanishing to reveal the TARDIS' new control room, and her colors turning to shades of translucent blue.
The Master takes in ragged breaths as she looks up at him sadly, but she composes herself faster than he and gives him a wet but blinding smile.
"But I know what you'll be, Koschei. You'll be magnificent, and I'll be proud, oh, so proud. Because that's what I am already, proud and amazed and so glad to be your friend. We promised to see all the stars in the universe together, all that were, are, and will be. I don't know how far we've gone by the time you see this, but… I want to hear all about them when we meet again. Will you see them? For me?" she asks, hands folded pleadingly with her eyes wide, and her lower lip is pulled out in that pouty look that he could never say no to, no matter how much he teased her before giving in.
This time he just chuckles, rubbing away the lonely tear that slips down his cheek.
"Of course I will, you idiot," he tells her, voice raspy, and her smile is brighter than any sun.
"Oh, thank you! Thank you, Koschei, you're the best! And don't call me an idiot, idiot," she scolds, making him laugh like he hasn't in years. "I need to find better insults… Don't you say anything! I will find them, you just wait!"
"Right, right!" he concedes, hands up again as he laughs, looking at her with fondness, which she returns with a smile.
"Take care of yourself," she whispers, once more extending a hand while her time feelers reach out, and he lets his own hand hover under hers as his own feelers unfurl to meet hers, so close that he can almost feel the static between them, and loses himself in her bright copper eyes and the whisper of his true name echoing under his Academy nickname. "Goodbye, Koschei."
"Goodbye, Theta," he whispers back, her true name warming him from his core to the very tips of all his dimensions, feelers shivering with it.
She smiles and vanishes.
The control room is far colder than any other time before, but when he pulls his hand back against his chest and curls his feelers around himself, he feels almost like there's another presence hugging him gently, lending him the warmth the hologram took with it.
"You'll be alright."
Koschei whirls around with a start, spreading himself threateningly as he tries to mask his surprise even as he berates himself for the reaction.
How many holograms does this TARDIS—their TARDIS, the original one they first served in, as fresh graduates from the Academy, and what are the odds—have?
Only, this one isn't a hologram.
He's not blinding himself this time, intentionally or unintentionally, in an attempt to forget about the bad times, about all those years of anger and fighting, but the new apparition is in full color.
Slightly freckled skin, mop of spiked brown hair, immaculate pinstriped brown suit with those ridiculous sandshoes and squiggly-patterned purple and white tie. His smile is small but sincere, and its warmth and fondness are in his brown eyes as well, focused on him as if he was really there – or like he was a Time Lord, who could use his inherent knowledge of time to know exactly where to stare at when recording such a realistic hologram.
This is not a protocol recording, like the last one. This one is a proper holovid, color and all, that he recorded sometime in his last regeneration, judging by his appearance, and probably even before their last encounter. Koschei will never forget the last time he saw him, will never forget about the suit and the cream sandshoes and the pale white-blue shirt and the stupid tie, and so he recognizes them now. It doesn't mean anything, it can just be a coincidence, but something tells him it isn't, and he won't start doubting his instincts now.
"Do we have to do this now?" he asks the ceiling with a groan, dropping his head back and shoving his hands in his jacket pockets to try to stop their shaking.
"Oi! Here I am, trying to make sure you're alright, and that's what I get?" the hologram protests, and Koschei rolls his head to give him a deadpanned look, ignoring his indignation and the hint of a pout. "See if I worry again."
"Fine, whatever. Just play it so we can be done with this and I can go find something to eat," he huffs, shifting his weight to one leg as he faces the hologram fully with a glare.
The hologram rolls his eyes—and leans against the TARDIS' control.
Koschei tenses, but relaxes after a moment. This is not a protocol hologram, so why should it follow their rules? For all he knows, this one can even dance all around the control room instead of standing on the same spot all the time.
"I just told you to be nice to the old girl, and what do you do? Really, I thought I was the rude one," the hologram huffs, looking down at the controls, and Koschei rolls his eyes even as he tries to hide a smile.
He really knew him well, didn't he? Checking time can allow them to stare where they should, to speak with a timing so precise that it almost sounds like an actual conversation, and even to have an idea of what could happen, but it isn't foolproof. Time can be rewritten, can change, and predicting one's personal timeline further than some seconds in the future with any degree of precision is impossible. Then again, this hologram was clearly recorded much closer in his timeline than the last one – nine-hundred years closer, give or take a couple decades.
"I'm not sure if I like this new design. Definitely an improvement over the last one, but glass floors? Nah, don't like them," the hologram whines petulantly, lifting a foot to stare at the ground.
When Koschei tenses this time, he doesn't relax again.
Scratch the whole 'more precise hologram because it's newer' thing. That comment is simply not possible.
"Bananas are the greatest veggies in the universe," Koschei blurts out before he can think himself into a nervous wreck, and the hologram turns to him sharply with a startled look.
"Really? I thought you preferred—Wait a moment, bananas aren't veggies!" he scowls, looking almost personally offended, and Koschei takes a step back, pale as a sheet. "Oh, you did that on purpose! I knew I wouldn't be able to sway you so easily from tree melons. Anyway, yes, it's me and I'm here. Hello!"
Koschei drops like a stone, cross-legged on the glass floor, and the ghost startles and takes a couple of tentative steps closer, frowning in worry.
"Are you alright? I didn't think I would startle you so—Whoa!"
Before the ghost can move, Koschei jumps to his feet and engulfs him in a hug – and slips right through his middle, colliding instead with the banister, which bruises his stomach and knocks the wind right out of him.
He coughs a couple times, holding the railing so tightly that his knuckles go white, and turns around to see the ghost frozen as it reaches for him, face twisted into a pained and remorseful look.
"Sorry. Not really as 'here' as you thought. I should've made that clearer."
"What are you?" Koschei asks in a rasp as he straightens, one hand still clutching the railing while the other is trembling in a fist by his side.
The apparition rubs his neck as he shifts away.
"Well, you know… I'm not really sure myself. I think I'm a projection made by your own mind. Like what Rose said, remember? The whole guardian angel speech she gave you on New Year. I'm glad you met her, by the way, isn't she fantastic?"
"Doctor," Koschei hisses before he can think better about it, and the ghost startles before turning to him with a bright smile.
"You called me Doctor!" he chirps, elated, before leaning back, hands in his pockets, to frown at the ceiling. "Only, I'm not sure I should go by that anymore. I'm just an 'imaginary friend', after all," he adds with a chuckle, meeting Koschei's eyes with a mischievous grin.
"You know about—"
"Amelia Pond! Quite a brilliant young woman, isn't she? I think you should go back, offer her a ride on the TARDIS."
"No way! Who do you think I am, you? I don't want to keep human pets!" Koschei scoffs, rushing to fiddle with the controls if only so he no longer has to look at the apparition.
"Who said anything about taking her in as a companion? I said 'offer her a ride'. That means one, just one. Well, maybe two, one to the past and one to the future. Well—"
"Is that how you do it? Seduce young human women with 'just one trip'?" he mocks, giving the Doctor a lecherous grin over his shoulder.
"Oi! That is not—I would never—" he sputters, beet red and gesturing madly with his hands, and Koschei turns to lean against the console with a chuckle, earning himself a pout. "They're humans. And you have no room to talk, you actually married one!"
"Political move. A Prime Minister without a Prime Lady? Unheard of," he explains with a shrug before turning serious. "Why are you here? Really, now."
"… I really don't know," the ghost answers, calm once more as he meets his gaze. "Maybe you are still coping, and your subconscious thinks you need me to deal with it," he suggests, but Koschei shots that suggestion down with a snort.
"How about you being an echo from that half-assed mental link when you ripped the drums out?" he comments almost casually, and the ghost flinches, pulling on an ear. "I told you, you weren't strong enough for that. Look what happened! Neither of us was in the right frame of mind for something like that."
"Well, it wasn't like we would have any other chances! I was dying, Master. I wasn't going to leave you with the pain of that and those bloody drums!" the ghost answers with an almost fearsome scowl, defensive in a way that is far more familiar than the hologram's playful annoyance, and far worse for the same reasons.
However, Koschei doesn't flinch at the anger, but at the words.
This is more than enough confirmation of his theory of this apparition being an echo of the Doctor, this amount of detail that he could have known about had he only been in the right frame of mind at the time. For all he knew back then, kneeling on the floor of the Naismith Mansion with the Doctor's dying form in his arms, that mind link hadn't been more than an attempt at saying goodbye, and the drum-ripping was an afterthought.
"Master?"
"Don't call me that," he protests weakly, looking away, and that's when it dawns.
The Master, the name he chose all those centuries ago… It doesn't fit anymore, twisted after all this time. Or maybe it is him who has been changed beyond recognition, instead of the name.
One way or another, the ghost nods solemnly, agreeing.
"What would you like to be called then?"
"… I don't know."
"Well, that's something we'll have to figure out together, then. Right, Koschei?"
"Whatever you say, Theta," he huffs with a smile, and reaches for the controls with a destination in mind.