Modern Crusaders Chapter 7: Topsy Turvy, a doctor who fanfic

Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who.

Modern Crusaders

Chapter 7

"Slowly out of line
And drifting closer in your sights
So play it out I'm wide awake
It's a scene about me
There's something in your way
And now someone is gonna pay
And if you can't get what you want
Well it's all because of me"

You're Gonna Go Far, Kid- The Offspring

Ding.

"We're gonna crash!" The Doctor clung to the console, his legs having caved in beneath him long before. Further off he could see his wheelchair being smashed repeatedly against the wall, several parts disengaging themselves in the process.

"No shit, Omega!" The Master growled, slamming his fingers on any button or switch that might stop them from plummeting to their deaths.

This received a stern glance from the other man; or what he hoped appeared stern, as he was sure he was going to lose his lunch. "It's not Omega's fault that he-"

"Oh hush." The Master waved a hand at him, a bad mistake as he had been using it to keep himself steady. Crashing to the floor, he cursed, slamming his fist down on the dematerialization switch as many times as gravity would allow him.

Ding.

"Let me try." The Doctor slurred, fighting ever so valiantly not to regurgitate.

This wasn't good. He'd come this far, his plan couldn't be foiled now. Not by a damn time distortion! Regardless of whether the universe was ending or not, this had to end now.

The Master pointed an accusing finger at him, just barely keeping himself steady. "Oh no! I've seen your piloting skills, Doctor, and you're not getting anywhere near these controls!"

With the natural instinct to defend his self-image kicking in, The Doctor glared. "I've piloted myself through far more time storms than you, and lived to tell the tale!"

A smirk. "Yeah. Tell that to your sixth incarnation, Doctor. I'm sure he'd love to hear the tale!"

"Who told you about that?!" His jaw had practically reached the floor.

"The Rani." The Master muttered, going back to work on his futile attempts to set right their vessel.

The Doctor's face fell. "Oh, sweet Rani, how I miss her…"

The Master could not contain his laughter at such a statement. With every second of knowing this post-time-war-Doctor, it had become more and more evident that some screws had become loose in his head. Friends had become enemies, enemies had become friends, and somewhere at the core of his hearts, there lay a spore. Within it there was darkness, and a cruelty not unmatched to The Master himself. He could sense it, slowly, quietly, eating away at The Doctor's subconscious and trying to make its way to the surface. There was no warning him, and he wondered if The Doctor could sense it, too, that something was wrong. Something had changed.

But then who was he to comment about missing ones enemies after they have left you? Did he, The Master, not frequently call upon those he had killed, hoping for a challenge? For someone, anyone, as worthy a foe as this human standing beside him? Who was always standing beside him, even when against him?

It didn't matter, because hypocrisy was not something The Master had ever been known to acknowledge, and he continued to pick at The Doctor's emotions as best he could.

"Doctor, you miss everything with two hearts and a-"

Suddenly the TARDIS let out a final jerk, thrusting her passengers to their respective places on the floor, before stopping completely.

Everything was still.

Brown eyes met the ceiling, and The Doctor lay frozen on his back, afraid to move. "We've stopped…" He whispered, not daring to even breathe should it somehow set them off again.

The Master, while more comfortably strewn about on his stomach, wasted no time in hopping to his feet; several remarks about stating-the-obvious reaching his companion's ears.

Slowly, The Doctor managed to pull himself into a sitting position; but not without much pain. It seemed the adrenaline rush was dying down, and he was beginning to feel his lethargy creep back into his veins.

Oh well.

At least he was alive.

"What does it say…?" He looked up at The Master, whose head was buried into the scanner.

Seemingly ignoring him, The Master continued his tinkering. Admittedly, The Doctor felt jealous, but he knew when he was at someone's mercy, and now was not the time to have captain envy.

Finally, The Master seemed to acknowledge his question; but "Why are you whispering?" Was not a very satisfactory reply.

"Wellll…" The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck, eyes locked on the scanner. "It's a bit quiet in here, really…"

A pause.

"Too quiet."

The Master snorted. "I've got no time for your dramatics right now." He had finally managed to get the lights back on, and gave the console a little pat before turning his attention back to the Gallifreyan writing on the scanner screen.

After a good thirty more seconds of silence, The Doctor's patience gave way, and he finally sneered up at The Master, all the while trying to pull himself to his feet by the console.

"Are you just going to ignore me…?" There was an evident pout in his voice, which The Doctor really hoped would not be misinterpreted as something like…

But it earned the other man's attention, and he looked mildly amused at the way The Doctor's body visibly trembled; threatening to cave in under its own weight, his bones brittle and muscles weak.

"Well if it upsets you that much…" And he made his way to go retrieve The Doctor's battered wheelchair.

"No, no no no! Not that!" If The Doctor had had a free palm, it would have reached his face. Ignoring The Master's confused stare, he struggled to make his way to the scanner. Finally The Master seemed to catch on, and before The Doctor had even managed half way, he was leaning against the screen, a smug grin nestled familiarly on his features.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" The Doctor glowered at him, panting at his exertion. This was, to say the least, beyond embarrassing. He knew The Master liked him weak. It was the most amusing thing in the whole damn universe to him.

He'd like to see The Master crawling on the floor for once.

Perhaps he could poison his food.

"I'll tell you what." The Master rocked on his heels, grin never faltering. "You make it to this side of the console, and I'll let you have a go at the controls." He patted the creature again, eyes wandering to The Doctor's trembling legs. "On one condition…"

"Master, this is no time for-"

"You have to do it on your own two feet. No help from me, no help from the TARDIS. Should you fail to keep your footing and collapse, you automatically lose. You have one minute to complete this task."

"Master-"

"Starting now, Doctor." His smile was wider than ever.

Very much seething with rage, The Doctor slowly, carefully, let his hands leave the console; transferring them to his knees for support.

"Stand straight, Doctor. 40 seconds."

This was humiliating. Already he had thought of four ways he could get back at him, three being relatively harmless and one that was sure to induce a regeneration. Had he had a time lord brain it probably would have been more akin to four hundred. But he'd have time for revenge later, if he could just…

"30 seconds."

Straightening his back, he wobbled heavily as his first step forward nearly sent him crashing to the floor. But he maintained his balance, and soon he had taken three steps; the scanner (and The Master, who was looking sickeningly appealing to lean on, damn it all) almost within arms reach.

"10 seconds, Doctor." He was practically giddy with amusement.

Breathing heavily through his nose, teeth clenched at the man in frustration, The Doctor finally reached the scanner, resting an arm on it but making a point not to loose his own two legs.

The Master beamed, and once again made his way over to the wheelchair. "There now, see? That wasn't so bad, now was it?"

He received no reply, and the Doctor glared at his reflection in the scanner screen. It had been weeks since he'd seen what he looked like, and the event was far from welcome.

"All right, Doc?" The Master smiled, having crept, quite spider-like, behind The Doctor, wheelchair ready to relieve the man of his shaking body.

"I don't need it." The Doctor growled at the scanner, eyes unblinking.

"Yes you do. Down you go." The Master grabbed his shoulders, forcing him into the chair without, he noted, much effort on his part.

Although still stubborn and very much defiant, The Doctor welcomed the supporting structure. His head fell back against the dirty fabric, and his eyes closed in relaxation, soaking up the comfort it provided like a sponge.

He did not have long to rest, though, as The Master's elbow found resting place upon The Doctor's head, supporting what felt like his entire body weight.

"Ow, stop that!" The Doctor's hand flew to the top of his head, where he knew there would be a bruise beneath the greasy brown tresses.

"You've come this far, Doctor, aren't you going to claim your prize?" He motioned to the scanner, now leaning against the wheelchair rather than his adversaries cranium.

Still rubbing his scalp, The Doctor glared at him, and then turned his attention to the scanner. After a few seconds of staring at the Gallifreyan text, he was almost horrified to discover that he could not, Rassilon be shamed, read it anymore. But his panic was eased when, upon concentrating very, very hard, he was able to pull the recognition out of his mind, somewhere in one of those dark places that it was so hard to maneuver around in these days.

It took even longer to form the information in his mind, having to pick at each circle and arch individually, reforming it in his brain like a delicate puzzle (made of something like glass or rice paper, or maybe glass paper from the planet Knasafrass.)

Finally, though, he managed it. The Master was obviously growing impatient, and seemed to be relieved when The Doctor revealed his (rather obvious) findings.

"We're in no place…" He stared at the screen.

"Yep." The Master nodded.

"In no time…"

"You betchya. Isn't it amazing?" His voice was positively dripping with sarcasm.

Unperturbed by his derision, The Doctor started typing away at the keys.

"Alternate universe?" The Master offered, seemingly growing very bored and very impatient.

"No void stuff."

The Master arched an eyebrow down at the other man. "Don't you mean voidesov?"

"No I mean void stuff." Click click click click. He wished his mind would work faster.

The Master stared over his shoulder. "I really don't think jiggery pokery is going to get us out of this one, Doctor."

"Oh shut up and let me work."

"I can't believe you named a cat after your wife." The Doctor was sprawled out on the sofa, Lucy having finally shown herself to them in the three hours that their TARDIS had been left immobile.

The feline was currently perched on his chest, enjoying the absent minded strokes around her ears and chin.

"I mean, what if she finds out?" He half heartedly glanced over at The Master, who was pouring over the controls in frustration, The Doctor having promptly worked himself into fainting on his first (and last) attempt.

"That won't be happening, Doctor." He failed to mention that it was because she was, in fact, dead. He pulled at one of the knobs with a bit too much force, causing the TARDIS to zap him as a punishment.

Cursing, he brought his hand to his mouth, sucking on his forefinger in annoyance. This was getting him no where.

A long silence.

"You killed her, didn't you…?"

The Master continued his work, not bothering to answer for quite some time; hell, he didn't even bother to freeze at having been found out. When he did speak his voice was quiet and numb, devoid of any remorse, but also devoid of any pleasure at the topic at hand.

"She killed me first."

The Doctor continued to stare at his back, his eyes tired and contemplative. He knew The Master did not like to talk about such things. He knew, because he himself was cold and hard; harder than a stone rose.

But they were trapped, and it was too quiet, and he got some kind of sick pleasure out of trying to make The Master actually feel something. The Master might enjoy physically humiliating his enemies, but for The Doctor it was all about the psychological aspect of things. The Master's mind was a fascinating one; each regeneration different from the last and yet they all held the same desire to conquer; some more insane then others, yes, but still the same painting, copied over by many different artists in many different styles. The painting was black, in The Doctor's vision. Pure black, with a tiny white spec somewhere on the canvas; but each time the spec was in a different corner. It was that little white spec that The Doctor clung to, all these long, long years, his eyes automatically drawn to the one part of the canvas that was different from the rest.

"She loved you, you know." His voice was quiet, barely audible to the human ear, but The Master could hear just fine.

"I highly doubt that." Another jab at the controls.

"She did."

"And I suppose you'd know?" This time the pushing of twelve buttons simultaneously.

"Yes, I would, actually." The Doctor had entered la la land, and you could see on his dazed features that he was remembering a very specific event. "She told me so herself…"

"Good for you."

"Said she'd made a made a mistake when she pulled that trigger."

"She certainly did- wait, what?" He spun around to face The Doctor, who was still staring off into space.

"Doctor…?" His tone was quiet, but demanding, all the same sounding unsure of himself. "When did she say this?"

The Doctor didn't reply for a long time, then he finally tilted his head to face The Master.

The Master in turn stared back, trying to work things out in his head. "Don't tell me…no, you didn't? You were the one who-"

"I wanted an apology." His voice was louder now, firm in its reasoning.

The Master raised his eyebrows, not sure at what he could say. "I see."

A long pause, and he turned back to the console, trying to immerse himself in his work, but all the more curious.

"Did you receive one…?"

"Hm?" The Doctor was tired now, drifting in and out of sleep, his attempts to stroke the cat becoming more and more weak.

"An apology. Did she give you one?" He stopped his fumbling for a moment, eager for the reply.

The Doctor seemed to be considering what exactly that reply would be, and in the end settled on a simple "No."

This made The Master turn back to face him. "But you just said she regretted it!" His arms had outstretched themselves, blue coat flowing around him in the fast motion, expression annoyed and ever fanatical.

"I said she said she'd made a mistake. I didn't say she felt remorse, nor did I receive an apology from her."

"You said she loved me." His arms had dropped to his sides now, and his face was scrounged up in a cynical mope.

"I did." The Doctor voiced his acknowledgement. "I said she loved you. I didn't say love."

This obviously wasn't the answer The Master wanted to hear, and he glared at The Doctor a long while, fists clenched. The Doctor stared back; unafraid, almost accusing eyes locking onto The Master's own. It made The Master furious. Just whose side was he on?

Finally their staring contest met its demise, when The Doctor's eyes slid shut and he buried his face into the arm rest, Lucy meowing in annoyance at having lost her back scratcher.

Fuming, The Master once again averted his attention to the console. "You and your human grammaticism…"

He received no reply, and after several minutes of staring at the console, having exhausted all possible remedies to the problem that he could think of, he slammed his fists down on the controls in frustration, then proceeded to bury his head into his elbows.

Twelve Hours passed. Not remotely enough time for a Time Lord to be concerned, but The Doctor had long since lost his patience (and a bit of his nerve) with the notion of them being stranded in no-when.

Weak as he was, the need to do something instead of just sitting there was getting the best of him, and likewise getting the best of The Master's tolerance. He had endured forty-five minutes of The Doctor practically begging him (how unexpected and absolutely exquisite it was) to be allowed the use of his laser screwdriver. After finally giving in, taking care as to set the dangerous bits of the device for his use only, The Master had given it to him, only to be thrown into a techno-babble duel with The Doctor over what use disassembling his wheelchair could possibly provide to them.

After doing just that (having won that round) The Doctor had assembled something strikingly close to a perfect time-space-vortex-manipulator, but was disappointed to find that it did nothing to help cure The TARDIS of her immobility.

Ignoring the pouting human, The Master had then snatched back his Laser screwdriver, The Doctor's requests to be allowed to put his wheelchair back together falling on deaf ears. On top of this Lucy had gotten into the container of (now sour) clam chowder, the last of their food. Inevitably she got her head stuck in the thermos, and The Master had to chase her down fourteen corridors in order to free her, The Doctor clearly too incapacitated to do so himself. Even if it his was his fault. Somehow.

Then came round two of their squabble, when The TARDIS, though she did not move, turned completely upside down, both passengers landing on the ceiling. This should have been physically impossible, but nevertheless it happened, their argument consisting mainly on the fact that there shouldn't have been a ceiling to land on, but not without pointing the finger at each other for being on the ceiling in the first place.

After flipping herself back right again, they had arrived at round Three, on the twelfth hour. The Doctor was sick of being sick. He wanted to push every damn button on that console until they started moving again, and The Master was now pointing the Laser Screwdriver at him, very seriously threatening to age him into his early hundreds.

His last attempt to shut The Doctor up and it worked. The Doctor scooted himself backwards to the sofa, never taking his eyes off the screwdriver, and seemed to slide into temporary, if begrudged, submission.

Only when he was sure of this submission did The Master lower his weapon, he himself sitting on the floor, leaning against the console.

They stared at each other for a long time, each one not really seeing the other; lost in their own thoughts. They were both mentally exhausted; the human physically, even, and were no closer to finding an answer than they were twelve hours ago. Something had to give, and it had to give soon, or The Master was sure they were both going to lose what little sanity they still clung to.

"I've been in situations before, but nothing like this." The Doctor shook his head, his voice quiet, his gaze distant. "Always fixed it, or I was lucky. Not anymore though."

There was no reply for him this time, not even a late one. No snide remark to confirm or dismiss his claims. Just silence. A very long, agonizing time in which even the TARDIS seemed to have stopped breathing.

And then they heard it.

Vwooorp.

They were on course.

The Master leapt to his feet, rushing over to the scanner. "We're accelerating!" He shouted, clapping his hands together, grin widespread across his face. The Doctor had no smile to accompany him, only a perplexed bewilderment as he clung to the sofa, welcoming the familiar turbulence of their vessel.

"Oh ho ho, yes!" The Master beamed. "Hold on tight, Doctor! We're off!"

The Doctor continued to stare, not as easily convinced of their good fortune. It was almost as if…

But he shook the thought away, and voiced a small reply. "Aye aye, captain."

Author's Notes: I know, I know! It's such a late chapter! Please forgive me, I'll try to be better about them. I wish writer's block didn't crush me so hard, but I'm glad I got this one finished. As always I'm worried about keeping them in character, so I apologize for any OOCness. Look forward to getting out of the TARDIS next time!