(Untitled)

[themistermaster]

The drumming. The endless, ear-splitting, brain-numbing drumming, which was currently doing a wonderful job of giving the Master a rather agonising headache. In search of a little peace, he’d found a quiet spot a short way in to the newly-appeared jungle - more tiresome little games by the Island - and was sitting with his back against a tree,

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[not_the_chav]

"I don't think that was poisonous," Martha pointed out from her place in the shadows, as if that might have made any sort of difference to whether the Master would have killed it. The way he looked was worrisome, and while she wasn't as inclined to stalking so much these days, she'd been quietly watching him for some time.

After hesitating a brief, indecisive moment, she asked, "What is it?" Almost immediately, she realised he couldn't hear a thing she was saying and probably was still unaware that she was there at all.

Mindful that he had the laser screwdriver in hand, she crept forward, kneeled beside him and pressed the pause button on his iPod. "What is it?" she repeated, obviously concerned.

[themistermaster]

He was startled for a brief second when the music cut off; he'd been too busy concentrating on the snake and his iPod and the drumming to notice her. Careless of him, really.

It took him a few moments longer than usual to manage a smile. 'Just a headache,' he assured her, slipping the screwdriver away.

[not_the_chav]

Unconvinced, Martha pressed the back of one hand to his forehead, although the climate had become so hot and humid recently it was difficult to tell whether he had a fever or not.

"Have you been drinking water?" she asked, fully in doctor mode now as she peered intently back at the Master. "It's easy to get dehydrated out here."

[themistermaster]

It was rather amusing, in a way, to see her all worried over him. 'Yes, I've been drinking water; no, I'm not dehydrated,' he said, with a theatrical roll of his eyes and a somewhat more good-natured grin. 'And no, I'm not about to die of jungle fever,' he added, pulling her hand gently away from his forehead.

He hesitated for a moment, not entirely sure whether to tell her the real cause - he never liked admitting to weakness - but it might be of some use, he decided. 'It's the drumming,' he explained, quite casually. 'The never-ending drumming.'

[not_the_chav]

There is nothing quite so concerning to any doctor as a malady they're unable to pinpoint a cure for, and Martha, despite being not quite an official doctor yet, was no different.

"What usually helps?" she quietly asked, and lifted both hands to rub gently at his temples with her fingertips.

[themistermaster]

Well, that did absolutely nothing to help, for starters. But he let her carry on with it, in a vaguely indulgent way; let her feel useful.

'Music helps,' he said lightly, tapping the iPod - a motion which quickly fell into the drum rhythm, although he hadn't intended to do so. Of course, what really helped was a a lovely, satisfying bit of violence, or power, or similar. He didn't mention that, though; not particularly tactful. 'Sex is a good preventative,' he added, with a slightly cheeky smile, 'although not much good as a cure. Pity.'

[not_the_chav]

That elicited an unimpressed look from Martha, as well as a drop of her hands from his temples. "Well, then, I'd best leave you to your music, hmm?" she quipped in return, and then reached to press play on the iPod once more.

[themistermaster]

He pulled out one of the earbuds sharply as the music resumed, with a sense of slight irritation which was enough to send the drums pounding just a fraction harder - enough to make him pause for a moment, eyes closed, gritting his teeth against the pain. If his skull had given up and shattered into fragments he really wouldn't have been surprised.

But it passed after a moment, and the drums died back to the more bearable level of agony. He opened his eyes again, well aware that Martha had almost certainly noticed. He had never liked showing weakness, but wasn't above putting it to his own use.

He was still holding the earbud; with a soft smile, he lifted it up, smoothed her hair back, and slipped it into her ear. 'I could use some company,' he said.

[not_the_chav]

The volume was loud enough to startle Martha, and she felt a twinge of guilt at having assaulted him with it without warning. The gesture was unexpected and she wasn't certain why; he was quite a lot nicer to her these days, to the point of kindness, but it only sat well on him when he relaxed enough to be mistaken for Sam.

Gently, Martha reached to lower the volume on the player and then settled in beside the Master, watching him with a quiet curiosity, as if he were a puzzle she were trying to piece together.

"You worry me," she admitted.

[themistermaster]

He was aware of the way she was looking at him, and found himself more amused than irritated. Normally he disliked people trying to figure him out, but from Martha it was almost endearing. In a particularly specialised sense of the word, of course.

And he wasn't particularly surprised that he worried her; there were plenty of worrying things for her to choose from. 'In what way?' he asked, giving her a look of mild concern.

[not_the_chav]

There were many ways to answer that question. After due consideration, Martha chose the most currently-relevant.

"This thing, the drums," she said, which was one very terse phrase to describe a whole lot of troublesome issues. "I don't understand it, so I can't help it." Unsaid but easily enough inferred was that people generally didn't waste their time being so concerned about the well-being of others unless they cared about them, and that by itself was a whopper of a problem.

[themistermaster]

The Master didn't miss the implications of her wanting to help him, and smiled, genuinely pleased. She should be running away from him screaming, if she were in her right mind - which she wasn't, of course, with a little help from him. That was one of the things in the human race he could admit he was rather fond of; they were so... pliable.

He thought quite carefully about what he was going to say before he spoke. 'I don't talk about them often,' he began, meeting her gaze for a moment before glancing around as though to make sure no one was listening. 'Though I don't really understand then either. I don't know what they are. But they've been there since I was a child - constantly, continuously, always there, for centuries. Some things make them better, some things make them worse.'

He looked back to her again, deliberately hesitating, and then added, 'You do help, though.'

[not_the_chav]

Everything he'd told her Martha had already known, of course, with the exception of the last, which took her so off guard that she couldn't immediately react beyond staring back at him, searching for a trace of insincerity. Finding none, she impulsively leaned in, pressing a brief kiss to his mouth, although she couldn't have said what made her do it. Maybe living in a lie was okay if it didn't feel like one.

[themistermaster]

He felt decidedly pleased with himself as she leaned in and kissed him, and really, he quite deserved it. And the little rush of satisfaction - the pleasure of carefully-crafted plans, that deliciously subtle feeling of power - took the painful drumming down a fraction. He had been telling the truth, when he said that she helped - just not quite in the way that Martha would have taken it.

He kissed her back, lengthening it just a little beyond what she'd intended. 'I feel better already,' he told her, with a slightly cheeky smile.