Fix You
Pairing: Doctor/Master later.
Rating: M
Summary: AU. Post–End Of Time. The Master didn't die during that fateful battle, the tenth Doctor didn't regenerate; the Master agrees to travel the universe with the Doctor in order to find a cure for the drumming that's plagued him for so very long. Eventual Doctor/Master.
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who. I would like to own Doctor and Master plushies, though. :3
Note: Um, hi. :D First Doctor Who fanfic. This story is AU, or Alternate Universe. Therefore, things are differing slightly from the canon for the events of End Of Time, though I seriously loved those two episodes to death. Also, this IS Doctor/Master slash, though I probably won't do nothing explicit till a bit later. Right now, I'm focusing on the reconciliation rather than any romance, so friendship first. ;D
_________
Fix You
Prologue
"Lights will guide you home... and ignite your bones.
And I will try to fix you."
– Fix You, Coldplay
****
"Then you'll die with me, Doctor!"
A sigh. "I know."
Complete resignation.
The gauntlet was raised, ready to strike down the bloody and battered frame of the Doctor, who stood stoically, unafraid, making no attempt to back away or to run. This was his death. It was time. He would die bravely, even if everything inside him was screaming for him to flee, to once again run away from the Time Lords like he had always done, run and run and just run forever, never stopping, never pausing for breath, never once looking back.
But no more. He would not run this time. This time he would face his demons straight in the eye, those he ran from all of these years, centuries, lifetimes... those who always hunted him, never stopping. Even in their absence, the Doctor felt as if they still chased him. One might call this a case of paranoia, but when you were the Doctor, the renegade escapee of the planet he had once called home, the memories of those corrupted, powerful beings followed him everywhere, the truth that he had been the one to destroy them – and that beautiful planet – always be-stilled within him...
No matter where he went, they were there. And they always would be. You could never run forever. So now he stood here, frozen in place and ready to face his demise. This one last thing would be enough....
"Get out of the way."
Spinning around in shock, the Doctor's gaze fell upon the Master, who had stumbled back to his feet and was wringing his hands together, preparing to strike. Instinctively, the Doctor obeyed, flinging himself to the right and very nearly collapsing to the floor, his legs unbalanced, and just managed to right himself when he saw the Master sending beams of energy at the Lord President, at Rassilon, the man who ruined his life.
"You did this to me!" The Master roared, his face screwed up against the pressure. "All of my life!"
Another beam hit Rassilon, making him drop his gloved hand and fall to his knees, unable to stop the Master's onslaught. The Time Lords who ranked behind him did not try to aid their President, and simply stood there. The woman from before had covered her eyes again.
"One! Two! Three!"
Everything was going so fast, his vision was blurring, the Doctor wanted to scream, to cry out, to stop the Master before he used up the last of his life force, but as the white void began to open up, began to suck in the last remaining Time Lords as the Master continued the assault, the Doctor realized just what the Master was doing, and what would happen if he didn't break the energy beam right now.
"Four!"
The white void was enclosing them rapidly, nearing its completion. Without knowing why, the Doctor launched forward, through the power, barely able to see through the blaze and his own dizziness, and swiftly, he seized the Master, pulling him down, and the last thing he heard before he faded into unconsciousness was Rassilon's roar of anger, and the Master's lingering scream.
****
For a moment, a split-second, his eyes opened. Or at least, he thought they did.
He had no idea whether he was dead or alive; He was much too weak, much too tired, too overwhelmed, to assess that. His mind seemed completely blank, un–functioning. It was like he was unreal. The only thought, the only thing that stirred his consciousness, was the overwhelming fear and panic, terrified of the fate of the one who had sacrificed himself for him.
His eyes closed.
Master... Master...
Darkness enveloped him again.
****
When he opened his eyes again, it took him several moments – or perhaps it was longer – to realize that he was, indeed, alive. He was on his side, lying in a sea of broken glass, in the main room of the Naismith mansion. Gasping, he slowly crawled up to his knees, overjoyed.
He was alive! He was so alive! The pain from his crash through the top window confirmed that more than anything, the cuts dried with blood, but still tingling uncomfortably with pain. Wincing, the Doctor sat upon the balls of his feet, suddenly remembering, remembering the Time Lords, the white–point star being broken, and Master....
With an air of panic, he looked around, and suppressed a sob when he saw the Master, lying unconscious a couple feet from him. He slowly reached over, checking for a pulse. He gave a sigh of relief when he found one. Slightly weak, but he was alive.
He remembered Wilfred suddenly, and looked over to the booth, grinning. "Wilf! I'm alive, look – "
His grin faded.
At first, it appeared as if the booth was empty; but as the Doctor raised himself to his feet, horror washed over him as his eyes fell upon Wilfred's crumpled form, lying completely still at the bottom. He stumbled slightly, tears threatening to spill.
He'd sworn to himself – and a silent vow to Sylvia, as well – that he'd protect Wilf. He'd get him home safely, back to his family that was awaiting his return, and now...
A choked sob escaped his throat as he walked forward, and stopped just a foot away from the whizzing booth, the radiation flooding.
Wilf was dead.
He knew, without having to check; the radiation booth had flooded over a good thirty minutes ago, from the constant whizzing sound it was making. Loud and constant, like a bolt of electricity. Giving a wail of fury, of grief, the Doctor kicked the glass door, causing a new pain in his foot, but he didn't care; the joy he'd felt a moment ago at having been alive, at having found the Master alive, vanished completely, and for the first time, he wished it'd been him in Wilfred's place.
A groan from behind him alerted him that the Master was awake, but he ignored him. Right now all he could focus on was Wilf's unmoving form, and the tear tracks that were now cascading down his face. Giving another unsuppressed wail, the Doctor tossed a fist at the glass, pounding furiously.
He heard footsteps, and knew the Master was approaching him, but again, he ignored him. He could not bare to turn around and look at that man. Not right now. Not while he was so vulnerable. And he could not be sure, he could not trust, that the Master would not kill him after all.
Though then again, what did it matter? Even through his grief and his haze, what did it matter? Pain had never before stopped him from turning around and facing his enemy, even if the Master would be the one to kill him. Closing his eyes and breathing through his nostrils deeply and exhaling slowly, he turned, his expression dead-panned, and looked directly into the Master's face.
The Doctor almost raised his eyebrows in surprise at the Master's slightly scared expression, the blonde meeting his eyes and giving a small swallow before inclining his head at Wilf and whispered hesitantly, "Is... is he..?"
"Yeah," The Doctor answered softly, forcibly making his voice indifferent.
The Master swallowed again, nodding slowly. There was a silent apology being directed from his eyes to the Doctor, and the Doctor stared at him, understanding. The Master never was one to completely speak out his feelings, something the Doctor knew only too well himself.
After a couple moments of silence, in which the Master stared at the floor and did not move even a centimeter, the Doctor relaxed, realizing that the Master was not going to kill him and as the Master met his eyes again, he asked, in a stronger voice, "Why?"
Master just looked at him in confusion before giving the hint of a smile, his eyes showing it more than his lips did. "For once in my life, Doctor, I found a greater enemy than you. Rassilon," He spit the name in obvious hatred, "ruined my life. Everything I could have been, he took away from me. Everything I was, everything I am, has been manipulated from the beginning. I was going to kill him," Now he glared, and the anger was directed at the Doctor, "until you stopped me. So now let me ask the question... why?"
"I promised you help," The Doctor answered immediately, no change, no falter in his expressionless face, "I will abide by that promise, if you're willing. The choice is up to you now, Master, but keep in mind that no matter what you choose, I will follow you. If to stop you, or to be by your side, I will follow you. To the end of the universe itself."
Master snorted. "Knew that one was coming." With a furrow of the eyebrows, he crossed his arms, seeming to be contemplating. "If I go running from you, I'm sure to use up the last of my life force trying to keep running. Of course, I'd like nothing better than to just..." He paused. "But I know the reason for the drumming now. I could take back control over my own life, and not let them continue to pull me around like a puppet on a string. A marionette... but if I travel with you, Doctor, then you can't break your promise to me."
"I won't," The Doctor promised.
The Master growled, and seized the Doctor by his collar, lifting him off his feet slightly and pressing him hard against the cubicle glass door. "I mean it," He hissed threateningly, "If you forget, or just become used to my company to entertain yourself, and don't help me.... I really will kill you. You're no use if you don't make due on your so-called 'promise'."
"Master," The Doctor replied slowly, unfazed by the Master's threat, "I promise. I promise you, until the last of my regenerations, I will raise hell and high water to find the cure, to free you of those drums. I promise."
The Master held him in place for a few more seconds before he released him, seemingly satisfied. "Good. Now.... what are we going to do about him..?" He jerked his head at Wilfred, his tone rough, but this was the Master, and even if he was aiming to be rude and uncaring, the Doctor knew him well enough to know that a rude tone wasn't always a rude tone, and this particular one was used for when he was trying to be consoling and simply failed.
The Doctor would have chuckled had he still felt as if someone had winded him, the grieving hole in his chest reopening. "I don't know..."
"Well, we can't just leave him here," Master replied matter-of-factly, affronted by the idea. "But he's got family back home, yeah? That Donna woman, she's his grand-daughter or whatever..."
"Of course we can't leave him," The Doctor replied. "But I'm not sure how we're going to be able to get him out of there with the radiation having flooded over..."
Master flashed him a slight grin, and quickly ran over to a side panel near the computers. "Not if I shut off the system. Any excess radiation will die in there, so we can get the old man out without having to expose ourselves to it."
"His name is Wilfred," The Doctor snarled, in no mood for the Master's jeers.
"Sorry, sorry," The Master said nonchalantly, focusing with fiddling around with the controls. After pressing a few and nothing happened, Master eyed one of the massive switches near the end of the panel. "Hm... it was easier getting this thing going than to get it to turn off, but it isn't like any more harm can't be done.."
He seemed a little uncertain of that himself, though, and hesitantly, he pressed the button. A loud buzz made both Time Lords jump, and the Doctor looked back over his shoulder at the now dark, and dead booth.
Wasting no time, the Doctor raced over and pulled the handle open, getting onto his knees, and reached slowly inside to touch Wilf's still frame. A shiver ran up his spine, and with a swallow, he grabbed a hold of Wilf's middle and gently began to pull him out. A hand on his shoulder made him stop, and he turned his head to see Master leveled with him, and before he could open his mouth, the Master had begun helping the Doctor pull out Wilfred's body.
Silently, they continued to pull, out the door, down the hallway, farther and farther from the main room, the Doctor making the lead, carrying Wilf by the arms whilst Master held his legs, and never once did the Master make a sarcastic remark, or ask which way the Tardis was, he was completely silent. When they finally reached it, hurriedly getting Wilf's body inside should they arouse suspicion, the Doctor sighed and set the co-ordinates.
He'd decided he'd deliver Wilf's body to a morgue, a special UNIT morgue close to Sylvia residence so then he could spare having to drop Wilf's body unceremoniously at the house and not have to do a great deal of explaining at a normal morgue. Telling Donna's family would be hard enough, and he didn't think even he could bare having to see them retrieve the body, too.
****
The drop off had gone as nicely as it could have, he supposed. Not that dropping off a dead body, one he considered something like a father-figure was nice anyway. There was no bad news, but the only good news was there had been no fuss, no fishy questions, he'd simply explained. They trusted him, as he had a long history with them and they knew it was probably for the better not to ask too many questions where he was concerned. As he made his departure, one of the sergeants gave him a comforting pat on the back in consolation, one he appreciated fully considering what he had to do now. The Master, on the other hand, seemed to be practically disliked by everyone there and was steadily ignored. He didn't seem to really care. That, or he just didn't notice.
The Doctor silently appraised him for the hair change, keeping him for the most part unrecognizable considering that if anyone had realized him as 'Harold Saxon', a.k.a The Master, the Doctor would have a hard, long struggle on his hands to keep his fellow Time Lord from being arrested... and probably executed, as well. Luckily for both, no one had really looked at the Master except for a passing glance.
The pair now stood inside the Tardis, the Master lounging on one of the seats near the controls whilst the Doctor's trembling fingers fumbled with the co–ordinate settings.
"What do I tell her... Donna's mother.... his daughter..." It was mostly a question to himself, but the Master wasted no time in answering.
"I don't know, but I'm staying inside here for that," He huffed, looking slightly nauseous at the thought. "I couldn't deal with humans breaking down in front of me, it'd drive me mad."
The Doctor bit back a remark, and instead gave another sigh and fixed the settings for Chiswick, London, preparing himself. This would not be easy.
As soon as the Tardis landed – setting the system to isomorphic controls, in case the Master tried to steal the Tardis (it wouldn't be the first time, and he couldn't risk it) – he cast a glance with the Master who gave him a look that silently said 'Good luck' and stepped out into the frosty, wintry air.
Not even as soon as he stepped out, the Noble house's door had swung open, and his stomach twisted as Sylvia came running out, towards him, smiling widely. "Doctor! Dad!" She stopped suddenly, her grin slipping. "Doctor...? Where... where's my father?"
Feeling as if he had just swallowed several lemons whole, the Doctor looked at the ground, unable to look her in the eye. "There... there was an accident."
When no reply came, he continued, closing his eyes. "Wilfred went inside a radiation booth, against my commands. I tried to stop him, I –" It was best he tell her the truth, even if it only sounded like he was trying to pass the blame off of himself.
"What happened?" He chanced a glance at her. Her lips were formed into a thin line, so severely thin. Her expression could have killed stone.
"The Time Lords had returned. They were going to end Earth, end Time, end everything. In trying to stop them, there was no way I could get to Wilfred. It was a... two-fold kind of thing, that booth. One had to go inside to free another. With the threat, I couldn't.... I would've, I swear, I would've...."
It was an excuse, all of it, he knew. He could have saved Wilf at any time. He simply chose not to. He'd done the one thing Wilfred had told him not to do – put the Master before them, before the humans. Before him. And it had cost Wilf his life.
"The radiation had flooded," He continued, looking at the concrete again. "I had been knocked unconscious, and when I came to, the radiation had overflowed half an hour before I had awoken. He was already..." He stopped. There was no more to say.
He looked back into Sylvia's face, which had tear-tracks spreading rapidly down her cheeks. "I'm sorry... I am so, so, sorry, Sylvia. If I could have taken his place, I would have."
She shook her head firmly. "No. Don't you dare, Doctor. Don't you dare try and justify yourself. Your mistakes, and your mistakes alone... did this. Killed my father. You're more responsible than the energy that killed him."
Feeling as if he'd been struck, the Doctor forced a nod and a breathy, "I know."
"Oh, you know?" Sylvia shrieked, "You know? You know nothing, Doctor. You know nothing of the pain you've caused my family, me, twice over now! And yet you come here, and try to justify yourself! The point is if neither my father nor Donna had ever gone with you, none of it would've happened! You just ruin the lives of everyone you meet!"
A sudden slap across the face jerked the Doctor's head back against the Tardis and he opened his eyes, looking at Sylvia's hateful face with nothing but absolute sorrow in his eyes.
"I'm sorry," He offered. "I'm so, so sorry."
She didn't respond, only gave a suppressed sob, and the Doctor felt it safe to hand her the card with Wilfred's information on it. "I dropped him off at a morgue, one with UNIT, near here, so they won't ask you any questions or give you any problems.... and I won't come back here, Sylvia. I promise you that. It's the least I can do, without having to ruin your family's life anymore...."
She sniffled, using the back of her hand to wipe her nose and glared at the Doctor. "I think that would do us all a favor. And for everyone else's sake, far more than yours, go far away, far away and stay away from the human race. I feel sorry for anyone else whose lives are going to be ripped apart by your hands."
And then she turned, before he could speak, and ran back inside the house, slamming the door shut behind her.
The Doctor swallowed the lump in his throat and breathed in deeply, trying to calm himself. She was right, of course. Perhaps with the Master with him now... he wouldn't have to go looking for a companion, wouldn't have to destroy any one else's lives... the knot in his stomach formed deeper as he recalled Davros's words, that he was the destroyer...
At that moment the Tardis doors opened and the Master stepped out, his jaw clenched in fury. "That was a just a little bit more cold than I would've been."
"You were listening?" The Doctor didn't even turn his head to look at him.
Master snorted, "Heard her shouting. Once she slapped you – which you deserved, by the way but not for that reason – I figured I'd better wait by the door in case I needed to drag your arse in here should she have tried to kill you. Overall, I'd say, better than you expected it'd be, right?"
"Yeah..." The Doctor replied, half-heartedly, still feeling as if he'd been stung.
"Heh. The sky is mocking us."
The Doctor turned his head to look at him, and saw he was leaning against the Tardis, gazing up at the sky solemnly.
"It's not as beautiful as Gallifrey's sky was, but the sun's shining proudly, happily, just like all of these humans are today... celebrating Christmas. But we have nothing to celebrate. We continue to lose everything, while they gain everything."
There was a hint of anger in his voice, of envy. And the Doctor finally understood why the Master hated humans – it wasn't a hatred, though really, as much as it was jealousy, envy. While the Master regarded humans as inferior beings, they were superior in the aspect that they could be happier than a Time lord could be in his infinite amount of lives. But the Master simply didn't understand that this fact was precisely why the Doctor loved humans; they were happy, content, living a free life and able to travel easily while he ran from his race, ran to have his freedom. Humans mesmerized the Doctor, had things he could never have. He was happy just to see them with things he yearned for.
But somewhere inside him, he felt he could understand the Master's reasoning, even if he could never agree with it himself. It wasn't fair that humans – or any species like them really – had things they'd only dreamt of, it wasn't, but he'd done everything he could to achieve that life. To achieve freedom. And right now, he was free. And soon the Master would be too.
"Not every human is happy today, Master," The Doctor reminded him sadly, nodding at Sylvia's house as he began to open the Tardis doors, "They've lost someone dear to them."
The Master 'Tch'ed, but didn't seem to have an argument for this and nodded his head quickly, scowling, "Yeah, yeah, I know. I just wish –"
"Come on, or I'm leaving you here," The Doctor replied curtly, already having walked inside to hide the smile that had curved upon his lips. At the Master's furious "Hey!", his grin widened, and he wondered if the hole that had been caused from everything that had happened, all he had lost, could be mended by the person he never thought possible, that the Master could fix him in ways no one else could.
Just as he would try and fix the Master.
****
Author's Note: LOL, sorry for the length. For a prologue, it was longer than I expected and came out more like a first chapter, but yeah... hope you liked anyway. :) And I'm so so sorry I killed Wilf. T__T Trust me, it was not easy to write. I love Wilf, and I almost started crying writing it, and... yeah.. but it was the only explanation for Ten to NOT regenerate. If I felt there had been any other plausible way, I wouldn't have killed him.