Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who
Modern Crusaders
Chapter 6
"If I had to
I would put myself right beside you
So let me ask
Would you like that?Would you like that?
And I don't mind
If you say this love is the last time
So now I'll ask
Do you like that?Do you like that?
Try to find out what makes you tick.
As I lie down
Sore and sick.
Do you like that?Do you like that?
There's a fine line between love and hate.
And I don't mind.
Just let me say that
I like that
I like that…"
Diary of Jane- Breaking Benjamin
A newborn TARDIS was rarely a convenient thing.
Like all newborns, they needed an enormous amount of love and care; to be fed and cleaned, and allowed a proper amount of time in which they could rest.
The Master knew this, so he should not have been surprised to find that his TARDIS, in much need of sleep, refused to dematerialize; if only to transport them to Cardiff.
Fine then, let her go hungry. See if he cared.
He growled, slamming his fist on the console in frustration. This only caused a searing pain to resonate throughout his knuckles, and he shook his hand in an unspoken scream.
Why could nothing go right for a change?
Still rubbing his hand as he griped, he walked over to the door that would lead him out of the console room, stepping over The Doctor's unconscious body in the process.
Being a newborn TARDIS, it was expected that there would be no furniture to lay the ill-struck human on; but he couldn't really say he cared either way. The floor suited him.
Still, he'd have to wake up soon.
After treating the wound to his leg as best as he could, The Master had dragged The Doctor into the console room, where he was able to get a better look at him.
His appearance was even worse up close, a horrid mess of fabric mixed with a vile stench. But what The Master was even more alarmed to discover, was that beneath his tattered clothes, his body was even more shredded, skin and bones stretching over each other in a fine dance.
It had to have been days since The Doctor had eaten. Maybe even weeks. To be honest, The Master was surprised that he wasn't dead.
Which was why The Doctor had to wake up.
So that he could fix his TARDIS, before he ran out of energy.
Then The Master would let him die.
"Water…"
The Master froze, halfway through the door. Slowly, he turned around to face his friend.
The Doctor was still on his back, but his head was turned to face The Master, his eyes glossy and heavy, sweat dripping off his brow.
"Water…" He repeated.
"Great." The Master scoffed. "You're delusional. I don't have any."
But his feet were already carrying him instinctively towards the main door, and soon he was back in the junkyard, running (quite literally, despite his wound) towards any source that might provide him with some good old fashioned H2O.
He could not say he cared that The Doctor was dying, or that he was even ill, for that matter. But he was, dare he admit is, sort of…gah, helpless without him. He needed him well.
Finally, at the back of an old brick building, he found a water faucet. Scooping up an old beer bottle someone had thrown, he poured the water into it.
This was going to be a long night.
Fetch water. Fetch water. Fetch water.
That had been a perfect description of The Master's purpose in life these past few hours. Fetch water.
Because The Doctor was sweating it out by the gallons.
He was shivering violently under The Master's new coat, soiling it with his murk. The Master glared down at him as he sat close, resting on one arm. The Doctor's eyes were almost white, shallow gasps escaping his lips as he fought for control over his body. The Master did not even need to feel his forehead to know that he was stricken with a deathly fever. How did you heal a sick human? He had no idea.
But he knew that The Doctor needed more than water. He needed nourishment, so at the first sign of daylight he headed out again.
Still equipped with the money he had stolen earlier, he was able to purchase a thermos of clam chowder from a local diner. The thought crossed his mind that he should have stolen the entire pot, but why go to unnecessary effort? The Doctor would probably throw it all up anyway.
Which he did.
All over The Master.
Who took the opportunity to slam his head onto the console, knocking him unconscious.
This was going to be a long day; he knew. And as he reluctantly nursed the man back to health, he found himself wishing that The Doctor were here.
What a funny thing to wish for something that you already had.
"Master…"
"I'm here you rancid, nasty little-"
"Thank you…"
The Master snorted, a small smile forming in spite of it. "Don't thank me, Doctor. I'm most likely to kill you as soon as this is all over."
"I won't regenerate."
The Master raised his eyebrows at him. "Well that's the point, isn't it? I expected you to remind me that I can't kill you because I-" he motioned quotation marks with his fingers "need you."
At that he drew his knees up to his elbows, trying to find a comfortable sitting position on the floor; an effort that had proved impossible in the 3 days they had been in each other's company. It took a while for The Doctor to reply.
"I figured it didn't need saying."
A smirk. "Yes. Well. Can you move yet?"
The Doctor stared at him, eyes still somewhat glassed over. "I don't know."
"Well do me a favor and try, yeah?" The Master jumped to his own feet, rocking on his heels as he hovered over The Doctor, one foot on each side of him. "Try getting up without my help. I wouldn't want to hinder your stubborn ass."
"You're so gracious." The Doctor coughed the words, his voice raspy, as he struggled to roll over, arms pushing him up off the ground in strangled heaves. Managing to crawl onto his knees, he tried to hoist himself up by the TARDIS console, but found he did not have the strength; at which The Master let a loose hand slide around his waist, helping to support him into a standing position.
The Doctor seemed to welcome the aid, finally leaning against the console as he managed to find his ground.
"Better?" The Master complained.
"Much."
"Can I remove my hand now?"
"Yeah, I think so…" The Doctor clutched at the console, his knees shaking as he fought to stay upright, heaving with each shallow breath. It seemed the smallest movement caused him great exertion, as the sweat was raining down his face in heavy streams.
The Master seemed disappointed at this, and clutching at his hair in frustration, he made his way out into the junkyard, soon coming back with a rusted wheelchair.
"Here ya go, Dorothy, in you go."
"I don't need a-"
"Sit." The Master grabbed The Doctor's shoulders, forcing him into the chair. "Now fix these damn controls so we can get off this bloody rock."
The Doctor coughed. "Press that button."
The Master blinked, staring at where The Doctor was pointing. "This button?"
The Doctor nodded, to which The Master pushed it in.
Nothing Happened.
"Now what?" He was growing impatient.
"Take your-" another cough. "Screwdriver and-"
Suddenly The Master lunged at the chair, wheeling The Doctor into the nearest wall. He did not look frightened at The Master, merely surprised.
The Master growled, spit flying in The Doctor's face as he raved. "YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THAT THE ONLY REASON I'VE BEEN STUCK ON EARTH THIS WHOLE TIME IS BECAUSE OF A BLOODY LOOSE SCREW?!"
The Doctor sniffed. "Well it worked, didn't it?"
The Master pointed at him warningly. "You're clever. You're bloody infuriating, but you're clever..."
This seemed to brighten The Doctor's spirit.
"Don't let me ever catch you being clever again!" And with that The Master ran back to the console, smiling widely as he applied his screwdriver to the knob. In a matter of minutes he had set the coordinates, and they were off on their first journey.
"Cardiff, here we come!" The Master exclaimed.
The Doctor frowned. He could not say he was looking forward to seeing Jack again, and he was positive that Jack would not exactly welcome The Master with open arms. With any luck, they would be able to keep their heads low, and go unnoticed.
If only he knew how lucky he was.
"It's empty…" The Doctor stared at the scanner, The Master enjoying his Chinese as he lounged on the sofa he had dragged in the night before.
"Give it up, Doctor." He spoke with a mouthful of rice. "Your little groupies have obviously hit the can. Dead. Caput. All those little earth sayings."
The Doctor shook his head. "Where was I during all of this?" There was an anger in his voice that The Master mistook for one of guilt, added with the frustration of not having his memories.
"Maybe you were the one who caused it?" He offered, sticking a piece of pork into his mouth. It didn't really taste like pork to him, but what did he know? Where he came from pigs flew over the mountains in flocks for migration, and on top of that he grew up living off pills. Who should he be to judge human cuisine?
Still…
"Stop it!" The Doctor spat obviously annoyed.
"Oh ho ho!" The Master grinned, munching on his food. "Have I hit a nerve?"
"You're about to hit one! C'mon Jack, where are you?" He gave the scanner a good punch.
The Master frowned. "Oi! TARDIS abuse; not allowed!"
"You hypocrite." The Doctor wheeled himself over to a different part of the console. "I don't understand…he wouldn't just leave…"
"Your little boyfriend get sick of you, did he?"
"Sod off."
"I'll tell you one thing, Doctor." The Master put down his carton of rice. "This new human body of yours, it's kinda feisty."
"Wait till I'm walking."
"Hmm." The Master stood up, walking over to join him at the console. "If you live that long."
"We'll see." The Doctor leaned back in his chair, leaving The Master to the controls as he propped his feet up on the console.
This was good.
With Torchwood gone, he was in the clear of any alien intervention. The fewer people who knew about his true circumstances, the better.
But Jack was just one person checked off the list. He still had others he needed to look out for. Martha, and Mickey; sweet Sarah and her little Luke, where the hell did he come from? Not to mention Donna, of all people.
But then again, now that he thought about it…
Well, if he were him, what would he have done?
Probably erased her memories. Or killed her.
Nah, he'd have erased her memories.
So that was two off the list.
But there were still people who he needed to avoid…
…Or dispose of. A little voice in his head rang.
No.
Avoid.
Definitely avoid.
"So." The Master rubbed his hands together, breaking The Doctor out of his trance. "We're all fueled up, where do you want to go first?"
The Doctor smirked a little. "You're the captain."
"And you'll do well to remember it."
And with that, The Master pulled down the dematerilization lever. "Off we go."
But before they knew it, The TARDIS had started to spin out of control. Faster and faster through the vortex they flew, spiraling in any and every direction. They could not even move the pressure was so great, and as their world seemed to cave in around them, their screams falling on deaf ears, a sound resonated from somewhere deep within the TARDIS.
Ding.
Ding.
Ding.
Ding.
It was the Cloister bell.
Author's Notes: Sorry for the super late update, guys! I've had serious writers block; I almost didn't find the will to write this chapter, so I apologize if it sucks. It should be easier now that I have them off on their travels together; the story will be more episodic now I think.
The mention of The Master living off pills comes from the classic episode "The Invasion of Time" when it was revealed that a time lord (presumably all time lords) had never tasted flesh, and got most of their nutrition from little colored capsules. This is supports in one of the first doctor's stories, when he and his granddaughter, Susan, seem to eat out of a machine that produces little square mush that tastes like anything you want it to.
For those of you who don't know about Torchwood, where have you been? Go watch it!
As for the cloister bell…oh where have you been?
Also, I'm sorry that this chapter was so short. It was a difficult chapter to write, with a difficult subject. Like I said though, it should be easier from this point on; and I'll try to update more frequently.