Sorry for the delay. I was Busy. With a capital b. But I hath returned-th!
If he was a better man, the Master is sure he would have felt a little empathy for the heart-rending expression on the Doctor's face. But he isn't. So he doesn't.
Really, though, it's all written there, in plain Gallifreyan circles, sweeps, and the dark red slashes of the fresh glass cuts. The irony of the book name, the memory of the Naismith mansion, and the stone-in-the stomach drop in relation to anything that might mean they were back. For his own part, the Master knows his face is just as telling, though far less complicated.
Burning, all-consuming, blood-thirsty anger, after all, is not an emotion reserved exclusively for the highest echelon of being in the universe. That did not, of course, mean the sharpest member of that echelon couldn't take best marks for joyfully exploiting it.
As expected, the Doctor sees all this, and tucks his chin down slightly, jaw tight as he looks down at the Master.
"It might not." The Doctor says, in a cracked tone. The Master doesn't say anything. He drops the book without a second glance, gets up, advancing with the half-halting jerkiness of keyed-up exhaustion. The Doctor doesn't budge or flinch when the Master stops a few inches away. Carefully, the Master slips an ashy hand inside the Doctor's suit and into his breast pocket. The gun slides out smoothly, and the Master takes a step back.
When he looks, the expression on the Doctor's face has not changed. The alley and the apartment with the broken window are silent, even as the sounds from the street continue blissfully unaware. The Master eyes the fire escape, sets his jaw at an angle, and then looks back at the Doctor again.
"Coming?"
This provokes a reaction. Something breaks loose in all the carefully-contained front rubbish, and the Master feels a bit of glee in witnessing the first reactions of rage. The Doctor is still tight-lipped and silent, but he strides ahead of the Master and starts scaling the fire escape towards the right apartment. The Master attacks the stairs directly after, despite the energy loss leeching at his muscles.
He hopes with dark fervor that there will be someone to face. He hopes that book was a challenge, another opportunity to win back his lost score, another chance to win. He is so hungry.
Time begins to speed up exponentially from its former sluggish swirl to a torrential blur. For the briefest of moments the Master freezes in his ascent:
ONEtwoTHREEfour
ONEtwoTHREEfour
ONEtwoTHREEfour
As he stares up at the Doctor climbing though, he focuses on the window, and grips the gun tighter. It's only the increased thundering of his own hearts, driven on by adrenaline and his steadily approaching death. He's felt that feeling before once, but never so soon after the stuttering use of a singular heart. It's hardly a full day since he's been resurrected, sickened almost to death, and then received a full blast of radiation, and the result is a case of the most persistent jitters.
The Doctor reaches the correct apartment, flashes the sonic screwdriver at the door, and slips inside, leaving the door ajar. The Master follows with less grace and more force, mourning the lost ability to tear off the door. He's forced to stop suddenly though, faced with the stiff wall of the Doctor's back. Roughly, he pushes by, and his nostrils flare in irritation.
The apartment is distinctly uninteresting. Not only is it empty, but it oozes human. There's the faint scent of woman's perfume, recycled air-conditioned breezes, and the unique scent of the alien humans who resided there. Not a whiff of Time Lord, and completely deserted. The Master grits his teeth and then whips the gun into the opposite wall. It hits the wall with a thunk, leaves behind a large depression, and sinks to the carpet.
"Something's not right," The Doctor murmurs. The Master snorts. Of course it isn't right. The pieces don't add up: the psychic scream, the book through the window, and now the deserted apartment. Fragmented pieces. "Why that book?" The Doctor continues, and the brief rage is buried under the curiosity almost immediately.
"Perhaps it was terrible." The Master bites back, eyes flitting around the room for signs of life. Nothing. The Doctor moves past him into a short hallway, and the Master moves into the kitchen area. Except for the growl of a cheap air-conditioner, and the sound of his boots on the out-dated tile, it is quiet. He performs another quick sweep with his eyes, and then stops on the ajar door, affording a view to the apartment across the hall, number 403.
The grin starts on its own, baring his teeth at the elusive enemy, and crinkling the skin around his eyes in a less than friendly expression. So it will be a hunt, will it? Much the better.
Abruptly, the power shuts off. It's still the middle of the day, so none of the lights are on anyway, but the air conditioner wheezes to a halt, and the lights on the microwave disappear. The Doctor's head pops around the corner.
"Coincidence?" He asks, with only a slightly jovial streak in his voice.
"Someone was in a hurry," The Master replies, and shoots him a more amused version of his wicked grin. The Doctor's eyebrows shoot up.
"Well, then we'd better follow, hadn't we?" He says, eyes already looking past the doorway.
"Thought you'd never ask," The Master agrees, and in a sudden spurt of energy, he laughs, drums a quick four-beat rhythm on the counter with the flat of his hands, twirls, and then sprints through the door, the tip of his tongue touching his upper lip in sudden concentration. The lighter slap of the Doctor's shoes behind him only drives him on, though by the time he reaches a stairwell, using the steps has devolved to a controlled slide, and only a healthy stroke of luck prevents both him and the Doctor from unintentionally slide-tackling a heavy-set woman on the last set of stairs.
Eventually, the Master reaches a door that says 'BASEMENT'. The Doctor fumbles in his pocket for his screwdriver, but the Master turns the doorknob and walks down. The temperature noticeably drops, and without light from any windows, it's pitch black. There's a low hum.
"Hello?" The Doctor projects, and the Master whirls on him with a half-snarl before he can stop himself.
"Everywhere." A voice hisses from a near corner, and the two Time Lords automatically turn and face it. It's also the heart of the humming noise, and when the Master reflexively inhales, there's a faint smell of burning flesh.
"Who are you?" The Doctor asks, and even in the dim light from the stairwell, the Master sees the stiff-backed weariness to his form. In response, the humming increases sharply, and the power drain causes the electricity system to groan. The Master moves forward through the darkness, until the crackle of power raises the hair on his hands.
"What are you?" He asks, eyes automatically searching, even in the absence of light.
"Hungry," The voice replies, inches from his right shoulder. It sounds human. The burnt skin even smells human, and the Master represses a joyous shudder. "Very hungry."
"We won't hurt you," The Doctor reassures it, and in a few steps, he reaches the Master's side. "Tell us what you are, that's all we want."
"You can't make me stay." The voice replies immediately, and feathering at the sides of its tone is what the Master recognizes easily as fear.
"We won't make you stay," The Doctor soothes, though the Master bristles at the use of the word 'we'.
"Never trust a Time Lord!" It replies, and the tone is unmistakably hostile. "Especially one that makes promises."
"Well, it's smarter than most," The Master quips, letting sarcasm drip down the edge of his words. The Doctor doesn't respond to it, but reaches inside a coat pocket and after a moment of rummaging, withdraws a flashlight. He holds it out and flicks on the light. The Master withdraws from his uncomfortably close position and eyes the alien.
It's humanoid, probably a parasitic alien attached in a human body, as their is no evidence of any other disguise. This does not explain, however, the catch of the Doctor's regular breathing, or the sharp drop in his mental presence. The Master looks at him sideways, and evaluates the shock. It is not, he decides, on the level it was when he heard the drums, but it is not quite mild.
"Do you two know each other?" He asks. The alien, which holds a few smoking wires in a slightly burnt hand, backs away slightly. It is obviously bent on draining power, though not with any style, the Master thinks disapprovingly.
"Yes." They answer in tandem, and then look at each other with confusion.
"You can't possibly know me," The alien hisses first.
"And I haven't met you," The Doctor agrees, brow furrowing, "At least, not yet."
"This sounds terribly complicated," The Master says idly. The Doctor's grip on the light wavers slightly, and something catches the Master's eye. The Doctor ostensibly doesn't catch it, and the light returns to focus on its original target, but when the Master looks at the alien, he makes eye contact and it certainly knows.
"How do you know me?" The alien asks, keeping its gaze locked on the Master. There is a long stretching pause. The Master lets his eyebrows shoot up quickly, and then lets his face fall into a grin when there is no facial response.
"A friend of mine-" The Doctor begins, and the Master rolls his eyes theatrically in anticipation of another sob story. The alien's face remains passive. "-she...your wife..." His voice trails off, and a spasm of emotion finally crosses the alien's face. The Master's spasms too, but more in the area of disgust.
"Really, Doctor, I thought you were too noble for that sort of thing." He says, looking back at the taller Time Lord, who is still unnaturally still and grave. Despicable. This human fascination was entirely out of hand.
"Noble." The alien says faintly, and automatically looks down and to the right, towards the area the light had illuminated briefly. The Master resists the grin on his face, but it settles in his eyes. It flits away, though, when the Doctor speaks.
"Donna Noble."
"Fucking 'ell." The alien breathes, and then curses a few times more. The Master instantly dislikes the change in its posture, and lifts his chin.
"Donna?" He demands, gaze switching to the Doctor. "Your little freak?"
"You did that to her?" The alien instantly turns on the Doctor, and drops the wires, which spark briefly on the floor. The Master looks between the two of them, eyes switching rapidly, waiting for more information to puzzle out.
"No!" The Doctor responds immediately, and then he pauses. "It was an accident."
"Did what?" The Master presses, and he is momentarily made the focus.
"She's-" The alien starts, and the stops with obvious effort, roughly running his fingers down the palm of the burnt hand in anxiety, and the Master notes the burns slowly dissolve away.
"Where is she?" The Doctor asks, and the stiffness has devolved into sharp angles and uncertainty.
"She woke me," The alien replies.
"Did what?" The Master asks again.
"Woke you?"
"Well, it wasn't that easy."
"Woke you how?"
The alien shut its mouth abruptly, and shook its head.
"Just tell me!" The Doctor burst out, before grabbing at his hair with his free hand. "I promise, I really do, I'm not going to hurt you." The alien shifts on his feet a little, and looks at the Master, who smiles slowly.
"But I might," He says, and holds his hands out in the human gesture of peace.
"Stop it, " The Doctor commands, and it is a quiet rebuke, but the Master will not have it.
"Oh, lighten up," The Master says, "he quite clearly doesn't want to hear lies. In fact-" His narrative is cut short when the pit inside of him bleeds out again, and his bones gleam through his skin. He manages to stay standing throughout the burst, and warns off the Doctor with a glare.
"Ha!" The alien laughs, and there is a bitter smile on its face. It inhales, makes a face, and steps back a half step. "Something certainly went wrong with you."
"That's something everyone likes to tell me," The Master replies, and approaches a few steps. His prey watches him.
"Master," The Doctor warns, and when he doesn't stop moving, the Doctor takes his arm. His body provides its own rejection though, and when it starts to latch onto the Doctor, he instinctively lets go. The Master grins, though it is superfluous with his bones showing through his face, and feels his time thinning and slipping away to the crackling tune of hunger. They all wait until feeling and its attack fade.
"You're dying," The alien says, and there is a look on its human face. Not sympathy, but understanding. Then it mirrors his smile.
"Not very becoming, is it?" The Master snarls, and the alien's smile disappears.
"I won't let you die," The Doctor says quietly, but the Master punctuates his sentence with a sharp singular laugh.
"No? How very touching, if very un-reassuring," The Master challenges, annoyed by the tragic touch in his rival's eyes. And for a man who called himself doctor, the irony simply spiraled forth.
"I could fix him."
As one, the Master and the Doctor turn to look at the alien, the intruder filled with fear. It turns to the Doctor.
"Both of them."
The Master narrows his eyes, and the Doctor's widen.
"Donna?" He asks.
"She didn't look very fixed." The Master says, raising an eyebrow at the alien. The Doctor immediately whirls on the Master.
"What do you mean didn-"
"After all this time, you're still bone-dead stupid," The Master mocks. "A ginger, isn't she? And lying on the floor next to him."
"What?"
"Shaun Temple," The alien says absently, and then tenses again. The Doctor shines the light to the side again, and his face dissolves into what is his latest regeneration's rendition of 'Everything's gone to hell' expression. The Master watches with interest as the prone form of Donna Noble stirs, and she lifts a hand over her eyes.
"Oi, turn that bloody thing off!"
And to the Master's great confusion, the Doctor turns off the light, drops it on the floor with an audible clang, and bolts up the stairs without so much as a goodbye.
"What the hell?" Donna says. The Master stands in the dark for a moment while the alien- Temple, whatever- reassures her in soft tones, and then turns and runs after the other Time Lord, bellowing his name.
"Doctor!"
Oh the problems I had with this chapter. I hate it and I want to spend lots of time cutting it up and taping it back together but I can't figure out what I don't like about it, and I think I need to get it off my chest. Some crit would be absolutely fantasmic, if you would. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to fight the Plot Monster, just as soon as I pack up with potions, phoenix downs, and rest at the nearest inn.