Honestly, this is one of the most upsetting chapters to me. My poor boys.
Chapter 14
"Let's leave," the Master said.
He and the Doctor sat together on an empty battlefield, exhausted.
There was nothing else living...
Not anywhere.
Not anymore.
Just them.
"In a minute," the Doctor sighed wearily. "I just need a moment."
"No," the Master said, shaking his head. "I mean... Let's not go back. Let's just... Leave."
The Doctor turned to him, surprised. He was tempted, the Master could see... And for a moment he hoped the Doctor might agree.
But then his friend just shook his head. "We can't... They'd find us."
The Master crawled closer and took the Doctor's hand, pleading. "We could figure something out though, right? You and me?" Everything went watery and he realized his eyes were full of tears.
The Doctor reached a hand up to his friend's cheek and screwed his face up in genuine regret. "We can't. I can't. I have to stay and finish this."
The Master broke away and sat back, rubbing grimy hands over his tear-stained face. The Doctor pulled him into a tight hug and the Master sobbed into his friend's coat.
It wasn't just the War, the fear and the carnage that somehow hurt more than it had ever used to.
It was the pointlessness of it all. The futility.
The eternity of fighting, stretching away into forever, inescapable.
"I can't do this anymore," the Master whimpered, buried in the safety of his friend's arms. "I can't. I just want it to end."
"I'll talk to the High Council," the Doctor promised. "We don't need you out here every day."
The Master shook his head despairingly, knowing the Doctor couldn't understand and that he was powerless to explain. "He'll never let me go..."
"Who, Rassilon?" the Doctor asked.
The Master nodded. He dreaded those summons.
Those were always bad days...
And it was getting worse.
He'd walk out into a waking nightmare and come back scarcely knowing where he'd been.
It was as if he was living two different lives, neither fully understanding nor remembering the other. Never seeing the whole picture. Always struggling to understand with less than half the information.
And the chasm grew every time Rassilon called on him.
The President devised ever more complex and horrifying assignments for the Master to accomplish in the name of the War.
The Master knew because he'd return shivering, trying to shake off the self-hatred.
The voice of conscience in his head which had seemed helpful at first now just made everything so much worse...
He lived in constant fear of what the President might ask him to do next.
And of the Doctor discovering what he already had done.
The Doctor would never forgive him for those things.
He couldn't even forgive himself.
He wasn't sure when he had started worrying about self-forgiveness. That was never something which had even crossed his mind before the War.
He was what he was. What was there to forgive?
But now he often found himself preoccupied with a nameless self-blame. Try as he might, he couldn't shake it off.
And every time he went to see Rassilon, it grew.
"He can be overruled," the Doctor pointed out, oblivious to the complexity of the situation. "He wouldn't want to lose both of us. So we do have a certain level of bargaining power." He looked down at his friend and gave him a fond and very gentle punch on his tear-stained cheek. "Come on, you're the one who taught me this."
The Master smiled momentarily, remembering.
Things were always better when the Doctor was here. He felt like himself when the Doctor was here.
But then he recalled something Rassilon had said.
Traitors... Desertion...
If the Doctor started threatening to leave the War... What might Rassilon do?
He couldn't lose the Doctor.
And Rassilon would need someone else to do the things the Master was sent out to do...
Would he make the Doctor do those things?
The Master's brain recoiled from the thought.
On top of everything else, he couldn't be responsible for that.
The Master broke free from the Doctor's arms and backed away in horror.
"No," he said. "I was wrong, I shouldn't have said anything."
The Doctor was frowning, deeply worried now. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing. Everything's fine." He knew he looked petrified, knew that the Doctor could probably feel his fear.
The Doctor's frown grew darker. "What are you afraid of?" A flash of recognition. "What did he say to you?"
The Doctor couldn't know... And he was seconds from asking the right questions.
And then he'd be in danger.
Danger even worse than out in the War.
The Master ran. He was fast, faster than the Doctor. He got to the TARDIS far ahead of his friend and went straight through the Console room and into the corridors beyond.
"Don't let him find me," he begged.
'As you wish, Little One.'
He knew she would protect him.
He lost himself deep in the TARDIS interior, the corridors reforming mazelike behind him as he ran.
It was quiet. Safe.
He liked being alone.
He found an empty cupboard in a seldom-used room and crawled inside.
He sat there in the dark, stewing in his own thoughts and fears.
He couldn't see a way out, no matter how many times he went over the situation.
He wasn't even sure why he was so desperate to leave.
He just knew that it was urgent.
He could feel that time was running out for him, somehow...
Something approaching. A turning point.
After a few hours, he heard a familiar motor winding its way down the TARDIS corridors.
He rolled his eyes with an annoyed grimace.
"Tracking complete," came K-9's voice. "Juvenile Time Lord located in small storage container. Request you exit immediately."
The Master opened the cupboard doors and crawled out. "You're really much too good at finding me," the Master observed.
K-9 whirred his ears back and forth. "Affirmative."
"You should be careful," the Master told him, taking a moment to dust off his suit as best he could. "Being too good at something can be dangerous these days."
"Threat noted," K-9 said cheerily. "Disregarded."
"It wasn't a threat," the Master informed him wearily, using the dog's blocky body to help himself to his feet. "It was advice."
From one weapon to another.