In the back of his mind, a voice was telling the Doctor to slow down and wait for Rose. He didn't doubt her capacity to keep up with him (especially now that he was part-human), but she deserved to know what in the Seven Systems was happening.
Unfortunately, the rest of his mind was too busy blaring alarms at a hundred and fifty decibels to pay attention to logic. Or maybe that was the mental tug he had not felt since the Valiant. He didn't know, he couldn't think, he was here, how was he here?
His feet beat against the pavement, his arms flailing around to push away the busy London crowd. Buildings zoomed past him, his own reflection popping on and off the glass windows. His own panting breaths resonated in his skull, merging with his pounding heart which sounded suspiciously like a drumbeat. His linear perception was reeling – sometimes blurring the world into vague whizzing colours, sometimes hyper-focusing on every detail like the slow-motion scenes in the films Martha liked to watch. Rassilon, was human Time-awareness confusing.
He could still feel the aftershocks of the psychic attack from earlier. He had sprung to his feet immediately after his initial panic, grabbing his sonic and spilling out in the street in a frenzied chase towards his enemy, nemesis, friend, companion -
(There were no words in the English language for the feelings he sparked inside the Doctor's soul-)
He took a right, then a left, desperately following the mental compass which spun like a top and set fire to any rational thought. Knocked over signs, skidded at every bend, ignored cries of outrage coming from human passers-by. The wind whipped angrily through his hair. And at each footfall, the pit of dread (hope) in his bones got stronger, deeper, more devouring and consuming – and there was the last corner, he could sense it, only the Master could radiate such a powerful energy –
He skidded to a stop just in front of an old electric box.
It was…underwhelming, considering the Master's usual theatrics. Dull, functional, a little dusty. Neat, black letters encased in a yellow frame: DANGER OF DEATH. DO NOT ENTER. But he figured that was how the chameleon circuit was programmed to work. His friend had always been the better flyer.
Panting, he gripped his knees to steady himself. Damn this monovascular system. Dimly, he noted a new admiration for his companions' stamina.
Speaking of, he heard the echo of footsteps rebounding across the narrow alley. A second later, he was faced with flushed cheeks and a mane of tangled, golden hair. Rose took much less time than him to control her breathing.
"You alright?" he asked.
She nodded. "You scared me over there, Doctor. What's happening?"
"I…" He moved over to the disguised TARDIS. Brushed his fingers over the edges, sighing softly as the fake dust disintegrated on his fingers. It had been centuries since he had seen the chameleon in action. A living, functioning Type 90 TARDIS.
He gasped as the pain in his temples flared. Suddenly gripped by a new wave of panic, he turned back towards Rose.
"Rose, you shouldn't be here. You need to go back and-"
"Move out of the way, humans."
Oh stars above. He couldn't do this.
Bathed in light, on the other side of the alley, the Master was striding towards them. Same face, same swaggering finesse to his step. Not quite so similar glint in his eyes, but still enough to send a chill down his spine. By instinct, the Doctor shuffled in front of Rose, glaring at the Time Lord facing him. He felt Rose's posture set, ready to fight, run, or bluff her way through anything.
The Master carried on walking, each step beating to the Doctor's racing heart.
"Look," he continued with a half-smirk, "I've had a long, horribly boring day and I'm just itching for some entertainment, so if you don't move your grubby little hands away from my TARDIS, it'll be a pleasure for me to just –"
"Master." Don't think of your last meeting, of teasing cruelty and insane laughter and abandonment and loss-
"…Oh." The Master's eyebrows furrowed, twist of the lips turning into something more playful. "Now that's interesting. You must be from the Time Agency. I knew those idiots have been following me for a while."
He waved a noncommittal hand through the air. The Doctor fought to remain stoic, though he could feel his hand trembling underneath Rose's tight grip.
"How are you –" he started, "how are you even alive?"
(Hands soaked in his best friend's blood, shivering from exhaustion as he watched the entire world burn within a pair of closing eyelids. His own pleas for mercy echoing around the Valiant, Gallifreyan words flowing like a river through his lips. The same playful smirk haunting him, torturing him, caressing him-)
The Master lifted a blonde eyebrow. "Beg pardon?"
Another sharp breath. How in Gallifrey could humans do it? His mind was whirring, connecting possibilities, and had the circumstances been different he would have basked in the opportunity to deduce again, to solve mysteries and save the day.
"There must have been some way you survived – never mind that, how did you follow me all the way through…"
It hit him like a Gorshaz stampede. Quickly, violently, and painfully. His eyes were wide as realization flooded his still aching brain. "Oh. Oh Rassilon, you're from this world."
The Master did not move, but the Doctor could still see the slight raise of his shoulders, the clenching of his jaw, the minuscule crease on his forehead – "Rassilon?" He muttered, then after a beat, "What did you say your names were?"
Wait. Double take. "You mean you don't know?"
He rolled his eyes, and it looked so much like his Academy self that the Doctor swallowed back a lump in his throat. "So you're one of the bright ones, are you now?"
"Master, it's me. I'm the Doctor."
Wrong thing to say. The Doctor had barely registered the flash in the Master's eyes, his face contorting in fury, before he was projected against the wall. Ow, my ribs. The rough cement grated against his hands as the Time Lord before him pinned him until he was up on his toes. The Doctor almost shivered under the Master's breaths, and the fierce grip on his collar felt like tendrils of fire.
"Alright," the Master started, low and hissing. "Whatever little game you think you're playing, you don't even think of mentioning that name with that filthy mouth of yours."
What a great time to realise his respiratory bypass was gone too. The Doctor tried to speak, eyes flicking back to Rose for a moment. Her eyes were blown wide, but he could see her fists clenching, about to fly into the Master's face. He shook his head at her – he couldn't let her get his attention. He kicked uselessly.
"Now," the Master's face was like a sun – it hurt to directly stare at him. He coughed. "You're going to tell me exactly who you are or I will make sure you die a slow, extremely painful death."
And his smirk was like a supernova – dangerous, unstable, deep and destructively mesmerising.
"Oi, you get off of him!"
So much for keeping the attention on him. The Master turned towards Rose, and she took a step forward, jaw set. He tilted his head like a curious predator and began chuckling.
"Oh, that's adorable. And what will you do, little human?"
He let go of the Doctor, who promptly groaned and scrambled to his feet.
"Rose, stay away from him." Her eyes were sliding back and forth between them, confusion and anger clouding her brow.
"Who is he, Doctor?"
The Master rolled his eyes. "I really don't have time for this."
The slight decrease in tension (and by effect, the lack of direct threat to his throat) allowed his brain to race back to his previous line of thought. There was a nagging doubt at the back of his mind, and he was left wondering what he was missing. He needed to understand – knowledge was one of his only defences against the Master.
"But if you're here, on alternate Earth, in the present," he asked him, "then how did you…" He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. The Master reverted his attention to him. Good. He could work with that. "How did you escape Utopia? The fob-watch? What about the Time War, how-"
"Alright, that's it." The Master's voice had gone even lower. This wasn't the crazed, manic pitch the Doctor had been used to. This was a cold fury he had not seen in a long, long time.
There was a muffled thump, and the Doctor found himself doubling over, hands flying to his throbbing midsection. He tried to wrench himself free, but he couldn't avoid the sharp kicks that followed – he collapsed on the ground, wincing, as the Master lost all self-control. The world exploded in pain as another blow flew to his ribs. The cold, dirty floor underneath. The dusky half-light as a zeppelin glided over their heads. Above him, a string of insults, demanding to know how a human could know about the Time War… oh Rassilon, the Master still thought he was human.
The beating suddenly stopped, replaced by a clang, a beat, then frenzied shuffling. Afraid to lose the reprieve, it took a while to will his eyes to open, and he squinted, wincing as the blood came rushing back to his head. The Master's feet, no longer turned towards him, were striding towards Rose at an alarming pace. She was holding a rusty bar (where on Earth had she found that?), and he knew the expression on her face had terrified more than one alien. Through his still blurry vision, she looked positively intimidating.
"I said," she repeated, eyes brewing with deadly storms, "get off of him right now."
If the situation had been different, the Doctor would have let the swell of pride envelop him, giving his companion a thousand-watt smile.
As it turned out, the feeling withered under the terror that overtook him when the Master pointed the device ("Laser screwdriver- who'd have sonic?") towards her.
"You do not get to give me orders, human."
Rose, run! He wanted to scream, but all that came out was a feeble groan. His ribs throbbed at every move. Stars, he had dealt with much worse injuries. Why was he so weak now?
He just needed to talk to the Master. He needed to tell him, make him believe, make him understand. He could help him.
So the Doctor heaved himself on his knees. Took a gulping breath, coughed once. Then pronounced the one word he knew would make the Master stop.
"Koschei."
The Master froze, and even his chest fell silent as he turned his head back towards the Doctor. His eyes were no longer burning, heavy clouds replacing the raging tempest – the calm between two storms. His grip on the laser slackened.
"What did you say?"
"Koschei, please." His voice was still weak, but his gaze was locked onto his friend. Pleading, desperate. "Listen to me. I can prove it."
Still on his knees, he lifted his hands up towards him like an offering. The Master breathed, eyes widening in recognition of the gesture. Slowly, painfully, he bent down in a crouch. His fingers twitched, and the Doctor held his breath. It had been an eternity since he had last shared his mind – properly, that is – with another Time Lord. Much less the Master. He shivered.
"Please, listen." He whispered.
And there they were. Two gleaming, brown eyes that were so much like his own. Swirling pools of galaxies, housing life and death and destruction, concealed behind walls the size of volcanoes. Intense flickers of light that screamed power, power, power until throats were raw and worlds were burning. How many times had the Doctor dreamt of (dreaded) this moment?
Fingers brushed against his temples. The Doctor gasped, and their foreheads collided.
Burning tornadoes storms death corpses explosions duty choice Time planets – too soon too late – abandoned loss burning solitude freezing – couldn't wouldn't timelines erased too late YOU WEREN'T THERE I HATE YOU LOVE –
His eyelids snapped shut – too much, it was too much – he pushed back – power pain silence – he needed to send a grounding point – Gallifrey, the Tree, next to the Astrophysics wing, where they played as students, climbing between the hollow branches and tossing fistfuls of silver leaves at each other – laughing joy pain loss it's gone – IT'S ME –
The mind latched on. Like a rope tied onto a rock, before you leap into the chasm. And pulled.
It hurt – it hurts stop it pain – ancient memories spilling out. Not the recent – why take the front lines when Troy's doors were wide open? Hours spent in the Academy basement, cleaning up datapads as punishment for their escapades. Deep breaths in the dark – listening to heartbeats as the nightmares overtook his mind. Alien planets visited for the first time, wide eyes full of wonder and curiosity. Shattered dreams, flimsy apologies, hurled insults and tasteless tears –
And then everything was wrenched away, leaving him panting and reeling. Blinking out the stars in his vision. The Master had lurched away, eyes shining.
"Oh," he breathed.
'Oh' was one way to put it. The Doctor's head was pounding, and his lungs burned as he heaved another gasp. The ordeal had drained much more energy than expected.
"But…how?" The Master was gripping his temples, still staring at the Doctor as if he'd swallowed a hamster. The latter tried to answer, but found his throat clogged up once again. He nodded, gaze unfocused.
"Doctor." Rose. Rassilon, Rose. His head swivelled back to her in alarm. Please, let her be –
She looked unharmed, save for a few scratches from her earlier fight with the Master. Her eyes were still darting back and forth between the two men – deducing, comprehending. He knew how quick her mind was for this sort of thing.
"So he's…" She glanced warily back at the Master. "That's another Time Lord, right?"
The Doctor nodded. Again. The other Time Lord in question was being much too quiet, shooting incredulous looks towards both of them. Never before had the Doctor seen his friend so speechless; it was unnerving to say the least.
"Okay," breathed Rose. She moved closer to the Doctor, placing an arm on his shoulder. "Okay. Is that good or bad?"
A strangled sound came from his throat. That was the million-dollar question, wasn't it? He cleared his throat.
"I'm not –"
"But how in the Seven Systems," interjected the Master, the spark in his eyes steadily returning, "did you ever manage – you shouldn't be – you were dead!"
"Koschei, listen-"
He whirled on his feet. "Don't call me that!"
His chest rose and fell erratically, staring him down. For the first time, the Doctor stopped to examine him properly. There were clear-cut bags under his eyes, and his beard looked much more haggard than before. He was dressed in a scathing yet crumpled red suit, and his hair was longer, more unkempt. His hands were still trembling, curled into fists by his sides.
It was the Master alright, but not his Master.
The phrase treacherously slipped out of the Doctor's mouth.
"What happened to you, Master?"
The Master stared for a few seconds. Then burst out laughing – a hysterical thing that bordered on a scream.
"What happened to - ?" He shook his head. "Oh, that's just hilarious. What happened to me? You have the guts to ask me what happened?"
He was advancing towards the Doctor again. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the nagging sensation that he was missing something blaring at a newfound rate around his skull.
Rose spoke again, right next to him. "Wait. If he's in this world, and he escaped the Time War, then… Doctor, where does that put you?"
The apprehension in her eyes reflected his own.
"I-"
"I'll tell you."
The Master leaned in, staring right into the Doctor's wide, unblinking eyes.
"Blasted into smithereens. Scattered into ashes around the cosmos. Exploded in the Moment along with every Time Lord in existence."
And it seemed, for once, that the Doctor's heart had stopped beating.
"You should be dead, Doctor." The Master murmured, and his voice was both leaking with fury and tinged with bitter sorrow. "After all, I killed you myself."
He let out a quick, ironic breath.
"And killing's what I do best."