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Bruce was sleeping; not soundly, but at least he wasn't awake anymore. The Doctor watched the other man's chest rise and fall beneath the material of his rumpled shirt, steadily, carefully controlled by the sedative that was being dripped directly into his bloodstream. His forehead clenched and unclenched, and his eyes darted about behind their lids, but whatever nightmare that Bruce was living couldn't be as terrible as the one he had been forced to watch the Master inflicting hours earlier.

It couldn't be worse than the raw guilt and terror, the horror at what was happening and the half-formed pleas that they think, just think about what could happen if the blood they were extracting by the litre so much as touched another human's DNA.

The Doctor had remained painfully awake throughout the procedure. And then throughout the tests, the tests that could only have been performed in the very same room as some twisted attempt to scar him, to make him suffer as well.

The Master knew him too well.

But the Doctor didn't want him to go again. He didn't want to be the only one.

And if that didn't give the self-loathing a great helping hand, then the churning in his stomach and the nails down his spine must have been left over from the screams. He was so glad that Bruce had passed out before the screams.

They hadn't tested the Hulk gene in this laboratory; apparently they already had results. Someone had tried it before, with horrific results (the Master had taken great pleasure in making the Doctor watch the footage of a mutated man tearing apart a city in the middle of the night, surrounded by the armed forces, almost indestructible). The Master then explained how he had altered the formula, made it better, made it more effective; less autonomy, more agency, rational enough to follow orders, not enough self-awareness left to know what they want.

The worst thing about that experience, was that the Master was a genius. His theories were entirely correct. There would be no unfortunate flaw to stop him in his tracks.

The Doctor could only hope that those left outside were working on an antidote; it was too late for a preventative strike, although he was sure that some of them would try. He had absolute faith in their abilities, had talked to them in such a way that they should do as he thought they would. Then again, humans were so astoundingly good at ignoring what they should do.

He had been made to watch the other trials.

First had come the Timelord DNA splice; he knew from the moment that the formula was injected into the young man (should have been in school, earning a degree, learning how to bake) that he was dead.

Memories of what happened to Donna sprung to mind; she had gotten lucky.

But the Master didn't know what had happened to Donna, and so didn't believe the Doctor when he begged, (and oh, was he willing to beg, he would bring himself down as low as he could sink to stop these children being tortured), didn't stop after the first human that passed away curled in on himself, screaming and scratching at his flesh to try and stop the pain.

He hadn't stopped after the second, not even when the woman with tattoos down her arms had cried and collapsed, or fitted until her skin was pale and all movement stopped altogether.

The third (deaf by the sound of his voice, the way his words slurred slightly as he cried and begged to know what he'd done wrong) had stumbled and crashed into an empty trolley, sending it whizzing across the room as he rasped for breath, and repeated the same two words over and over about how it burned.

It was only after the fourth, who had wept and wept and called for her mother as she collapsed in on herself, that the Master nudged the fallen body with the toe of his boot and looked down at her with disappointed and disconnected eyes and declared, half-bored half-accepting, that Timelord's and humans just weren't supposed to mix.

He had left then, having ordered the guards to remove the corpse, and the Doctor had only the sound of Bruce's breathing and his own thoughts screaming through his mind to keep him company.

He was glad Bruce had slept through it; he'd have to live through centuries more before he could even hope to cling onto a shred of sanity after hearing that. If the Doctor hadn't already, he thought he might have felt something more than pain and misery.

Then the Master had returned. This time Moriarty had joined him.

The Irishman was a new level of cold. He sauntered about the lab as the Master explained that Jack was locked elsewhere in the building; the Doctor watched Moriarty swagger about, his hands in his pockets, as he first watched Bruce with dead eyes and an amused smile, then flicked the medical equipment with his little finger.

The Master may have thought that Moriarty was a useful tool, but it didn't take a genius to see that Moriarty was there only because he wanted to be. There was no obedient stance in his movements, not even a camaraderie as the Master ushered him over to have him explain the more administrative areas of the plan.

The Master was showing off; he'd always done so. It was as if he wanted the Doctor to react. He wouldn't play though; tell him to think, just to actually think about the consequences of his actions in a rational light.

Moriarty wouldn't play either. 'He doesn't need to know that' he had droned, inspecting his fingers even as he spoke. He'd then prompted the Master to action; he was bored, he had mused, it was time to see if the soldiers could be immortal.

The Doctor had shouted, he had yelled. Then he had given up; it was no use. It wouldn't work anyway, but it was worth trying to prevent a needless death. There was no point trying once the poor old man, with arthritis in his knees, was thrown into the room, and sprawled on the floor.

Moriarty hadn't wanted to get his hands dirty, but he watched distantly from the side as Moriarty gleefully manipulated a sample that must have come from Jack, and purged the poor man's cells with it.

It was as if he has faded; one moment he was blearily blinking against the harsh lights of the laboratory, the next he began to shiver, and then he fell, and then he was gone.

Moriarty had made a noise, and tilted his head to examine the results from a distance. The Master had looked to the Doctor, who could no longer hold back the bitterness.

What had been the point in that? He had told them that wouldn't work! Jack's immortality wasn't genetic; he'd had a daughter and she was completely normal.

The Master merely shrugged and ordered the guards to take away the latest body, and then followed them out, whistling under his breath and promising not to stay away too long.

Moriarty had stayed exactly where he had been leaning, his eyes never leaving the Doctor's. A sadistic grin distorted the lower half of his face, and his eyes glistened darkly.

"What would it take?" he had almost sung, almost murmured, "What would it take to tip you over the edge?" his voice purred icily and his eyes burned, "How hard would I have to push to have you shatter?"

And then he had left as well, and the Doctor could only stare at the empty space.

Now Bruce was still sleeping, and the Doctor wished that he could see inside whatever plagued his nightmares; he could fight those kind of monsters.

The stillness of the moment was shattered as the door slammed open (no concern for the sleeping patient) and footsteps thumped on the hard cold floor. The Doctor's head snapped sharply towards the sound, cricking as he turned. He was too old for being strapped in one place for so long.

The Master sauntered in, weaving between the medical equipment with an anticipatory expression on his face as he came to a stop in front of the Doctor.

"You're going to behave and come with me." He instructed, already leaning down to loosen the straps around the Doctor's wrists; not that he could feel the difference, only a slight tingling near his extremities, "You will see this."

"Why?" the Doctor rasped, slumping forwards involuntarily as he was released; he kept his eyes fixed on the Master's, "Why are you making me watch this? What are you gaining from showing me what you know will torture me?"

The Master chuckled as one would at a lively nephew and shook his head as he helped the Doctor to his feet, slinging an arm around his waist to keep him upright as he swayed.

"But Doctor. You were right before, we are past all of that in the past." He emphasised; the Doctor had no choice but to let himself be led from the laboratory and into the corridor; there were no guards, so this was a personal visit, "I don't begrudge you anything…after our last encounter, we're even, like old times! But that's why I'm showing you this, you'll see eventually that you can't stop this, and shouldn't try."

"What you're doing is monstrous!" the Doctor growled; he tried to heave himself away from the Master, but had no luck. The Master just shook his head again and paused outside an inconspicuous door, taking a moment to unlock it with an everyday key before pushing the two of them through it.

It was a simple surveillance suite; screens covered the back wall, and the Doctor was stunned into silence at what he saw on each one. He had expected it, but hadn't been prepared for the rows of beds that he saw, with about thirty people in total, lying prostrate upon them, hooked up to IV lines.

He didn't need telling to know what was in them.

"Isn't it marvellous?" The Master prompted, waving his hand through the air above the screens. He was smirking, looking so pleased with himself; the malice shone through his eyes. He knew this was wrong, and he was doing it anyway. That didn't mean the Doctor was going to stop trying.

"You could stop this." He whispered, never taking his eyes from the unconscious humans, "You could stop this right now, and nobody would lose anything."

The Master guffawed cheerfully, hysterically, the sound vibrating off of the low walls and then cutting off abruptly. He shook his head and clapped the Doctor on the back.

"No." he remarked, the grin never leaving his face, "I'm having far too much fun to stop now."

This is just a small interlude (6th form is hectic atm), but it's creepy and chilling, so I hope it satiates your patience with me.

Reviews are always welcome and appreciated, so I can improve where needed.

Enjoy.x