Pendulum (4/?)
Rating: PG
Pairing: AU!Master/Doctor (10), Jack/Doctor
Summary: In which the Master is emotional and there is a lot of talking.
The Doctor was staring at the ceiling, resisting the urge to close his eyes. It was just an instinct anyway - hiding in the dark wouldn’t help him.
The room seemed to be spinning around him. No, not the room: the entire cosmos appeared unbalanced, out of pace. It was no optical illusion. Everything was firmly in place but him.
He felt like drowning.
The world was falling away from him, staying always just out of reach. It was an almost painful sensation that had no physical aspect. Like an itch he couldn’t scratch it was driving him crazy.
But all this was almost overshadowed by the all consuming impression of...
“Hey!”
A blink of his eyes and suddenly the Master’s face filled his vision. The Doctor had been barely aware the other Time Lord was present, even though he’d moved around him for a while. The Master took care of the Doctor like another person might take care of cleaning the dishes: With a distant annoyance for a task that had to be done. Now a frown was etched into his features, and the Doctor realised that he had stared unresponding at the ceiling long enough for the other to worry.
“Are you listening to me?” The annoyance still lingered in the Master’s voice, but the Doctor knew his old friend was more worried by his unfocused behaviour than he liked to admit. He knew how silly it was to feel sorry for that when he had every right to be angry.
And angry he was. Desperate and furious but too lost to focus on anything but the fact that everything wasn’t right.
The painkillers he’d been given did nothing to dull that particular kind of agony. They merely narrowed his opportunities to distract himself with anything else.
Staring at the Master’s face the idea of reacting to his words in any way never crossed the Doctor’s mind.
“Are you alright?” This time the worry was audible. It brought the Doctor back to reality and gave him something else to focus on but the endless, swirling abyss inside him.
“Yes.” He’d intended to speak strongly, with conviction. The word left his throat a weak whisper. “I’m fine,” he added, his voice hardly any stronger.
He’d spend a lot of time weak and miserable. It was something he’d never quite gotten used to.
“You didn’t seem fine just now.” The Doctor knew the Master wasn’t speaking of his physical health. There was no doubt about the state of that.
It was unsettling, this lack of movement where his right heart had been.
The Doctor wanted to repeat his words, assure that he was okay. “And whose fault is that?” he said instead, because it was true and because he would be furious, if only he could spare the energy.
The Master’s gaze turned cold. He didn’t care for the Doctor’s objections, as long as he got his will.
He’d be lost if the Doctor died. The ill Time Lord felt sadness and desperation at the thought - it was a responsibility he didn’t want.
He’d always been the only one with the power to break the Master.
“You are not losing your mind, are you?” the Master asked straightforward. The Doctor didn’t have the strength to snort.
“And if I was? Would you care?”
“Yes. Go ahead, please. It would make realising my plans so much easier.”
There had never been any doubt for the Doctor that the Master wouldn’t stay this peaceful forever. The events on Cobscar, his injuries and the other’s desperate search for a way to prolong his life had postponed whatever he’d had in mind, but once he felt he could leave the Doctor alone without him dying the next moment, he’d be off, to cause chaos somewhere just so the Doctor would stop him.
His words were meant to tell the Doctor that he didn’t care about his mental state. They told him that the Master wanted him to remember just how much he was needed.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he murmured bitterly.
“Would you have preferred if I didn’t?” the Master asked dryly.
The Doctor’s gaze never left his face. “Yes,” he said softly, and tried not to notice how the other stiffened ever so slightly at his reply. He hadn’t been looking for death, but he’d been ready, and this was so much worse. His time had simply run out, and the Master knew it. He just couldn’t accept it.
“You left me no choice.”
The Doctor didn’t answer. They’d had this discussion often enough.
“How long have you left me in that thing?” he asked after a moment of silence, suppressing a shudder at the reminder that for him that particular span of time didn’t exist.
“Little more than a day. I went to Jack not long after I put you away.” The Master answered at once, before he could think about his words and realise that he was telling more than he wanted the Doctor to know.
Time hadn’t existed for him. There was no need for haste. The Master could have seized the opportunity and let the TARDIS take him anywhere in the universe, to work on some evil plan, prepare everything for their next game while the Doctor couldn’t stop him. But he hadn’t. He’d wasted no time before pulling the Doctor back to life, because he couldn’t be sure it would work, not before he saw it, and the worry didn’t leave him alone. He’d needed to know.
The thought was desolating. The Doctor thought of something else instead.
“Where’s Jack?” He hoped the answer would be Home.
“No idea. The last time I’ve seen him he was roaming through your library.”
The last time the Doctor had seen Jack, the human had been sitting beside him, looking terribly pale and exhausted. He hadn’t needed to ask what they had done to him, what had caused Jack’s state. Not when he felt it with every fibre of his being.
The two of them, without anyone to keep them off each other’s throat… it couldn’t go well, even if Jack didn’t know who the man he knew as ‘Harry’ really was.
It was about time the Doctor got out of bed. It was about time Jack got home. It was about time this story came to a conclusion.
The Master had never held any particular love for Jack, and the Doctor had seen enough since waking up to know that Jack stopping him from murdering thousands just so the Doctor would live had not improved their relationship. Knowing his old friend he was sure that the Master would do anything he could to take some kind of revenge on the human - he didn’t need a reason for cruelty on the best of days. And the Doctor could think of several things he didn’t want to happen. Things he didn’t want Jack to know.
He needed to stop the Master from hurting Jack. He needed to stop Jack from murdering the Master in his anger. Too many things could go wrong while he was stuck here, helpless to influence things in any way.
To keeps things from happening. All he could do was worry, and try to accept that he was still alive.
It wasn’t enough. If he was living it had to be for something.
His long struggle with death had cost him pounds this final body of his didn’t have to spare. Still it felt like he was weighing a ton as he tried to push himself into an upright position. Even moving his arms felt like dragging bundles of potatoes over the mattress.
The Master watched his futile attempts with a grimace.
“What’s that supposed to be?” he asked.
“Movement,” the Doctor explained, already out of breath. “I used to be quite good at it.”
“Well, now you’re not. Stop that!”
“Why would I?” Snapping sounded so much better if one had the voice for it, the Doctor decided.
“You’re wasting your strength.”
“What do you care?” Glaring was something the Doctor could still do quite effectively. “You gave me that strength, so you get to decide what I do with it?”
“Exactly. And I say you’ll keep it.”
By way of answering the Doctor summoned all his Master-given strength and got himself into an upright position. Somehow he managed to push his heavy, aching (wrong) body backwards, so he was falling against the headboard of the bed and not all the way back down.
The pillow was crushed uncomfortably in his back.
A part of him was surprised that the Master hadn’t stopped him. But the other Time Lord merely sighed - something seen rather than heard - and sat down on the edge of the bed.
“You’re an idiot,” he proclaimed. Despite the hard edge in his voice the words sounded almost fondly. “What are you going to do now, hm?”
To himself the Doctor had to admit that he had no idea. This little exercise had shown him that out of bed he wouldn’t be able to do anything but fall to the floor.
If only he could get up at least long enough to get to the console room. Then he would send Jack home and reduce the danger of murder or unpleasant events of another kind. Also, there had to be a reason for the Master to have kept the former time agent close despite their mutual dislike. And whatever it was, the Doctor couldn’t imagine he’d like it.
But he couldn’t even do that yet. Even if he overdosed on painkillers (again), the medicine would not enable his weak legs to carry him.
And his problems didn’t stop there. Once he’d steered the TARDIS to Earth he’d have to convince Jack of leaving, and knowing his friend that wouldn’t be easy. Jack was worried about him, and probably wouldn’t want him to be alone with someone he couldn’t stand.
And then there was the problem of keeping the Master from going back and picking him up again once the Doctor’s strength had run out.
Everything was beyond his control. The pain, the fever, the constant battle with insanity had drained the Doctor, and when a wave of desperation washed over him, he had to focus all his self-control to keep his face from crumbling.
While he tried to get back from the edge of an emotional breakdown, the Master surprised him once again. When the other man reached for him, the Doctor was convinced he’d push him back down, and keep him there. But the Master only took the crushed pillow, shook it, and placed it properly behind the Doctor’s back again.
“You’ll be fine,” he said. Like a promise, but the Doctor realised that really it was a plea.
“What if I’m not?” The question was almost cruel, but the Doctor had to know. He was slowly getting better, but no one could tell if it would last. The draining emptiness inside of him was gone, but it had been filled with something he couldn’t bear. Nothing was alright. The Master knew it. He had to.
“You will. Don’t be stupid.”
He had to know, but was unable to let go of his denial. The Doctor had feared it would be so.
“I mean it.” He was painfully aware that for the Master the thought of losing him was unbearable, as he had been the centre of his enemy’s existence for far too long. He wouldn’t know what to do without him. “I’m getting stronger, but I’m feeling worse than ever.” It had to be said. “You know I should be dead. You have to take into consideration that soon I might be anyway.”
The slap was unexpected, yet it didn’t surprise him either. It wasn’t even a very hard one, but in his current state it was enough to make his head spin.
Suddenly he was feeling just tired. Tired enough for the expectation of nightmares to stop frightening him.
“I won’t let you go,” the Master hissed.
But it was the Doctor who couldn’t let the Master go, who had too firm a hold on him, even though he didn’t mean to. With the tearing exhaustion came the realisation that he couldn’t put his finger on the exact moment when things had started to go wrong for them.
The exact moment when he’d lost a friend.
“This isn’t a game,” he said quietly. “And I’m not playing to win.”
“Good, because you won’t.”
“This is only about winning for you, isn’t it?” The Doctor knew perfectly well it wasn’t true - he merely wanted to offer the Master a way to explain his strong reaction without having to admit how much he depended on him. He’d never admit it, not even to himself, and so facing a situation in which he had to would only lead to more anger. “You don’t care whether I live or die. You just want to have the last word.”
“Exactly.” The Master readily jumped on the opportunity he’d been offered, and the cold, hard smile returned to his face.
It was a smile that echoed in the place where the Doctor’s second heart had been, and it made him add, “The TARDIS won’t accept you as her pilot. I tried. If you lose your game you’ll be stuck.”
“You…!” Suddenly anger flashed in the Master’s face once again. In his unsteady moods he was predictable to those who knew him, and the Doctor was aware he should have stayed silent. “How could you even think of doing something like that? Did you count on dying that much?”
“No,” the Doctor snapped back. “It was meant as a birthday present! I thought you’d like it.”
Somehow the Master managed not to strangle him. He surprised the Doctor by getting up and walking away without another word. One second later he surprised him even more by turning again and coming back.
Still without speaking he sat down on the bed once more and there was still fury in his eyes, but something else as well. Something the Doctor caught a glimpse of just before the other reached for him and pulled him into an embrace, tight and possessive. Something that told him that he’d been wrong; that the Master did know how much he depended on the Doctor, and at some point during the Doctor’s slow fading away had come to accept it.
And he was terrified of losing him, even now. More terrified than he had ever been for his own life. The realisation stunned the Doctor. Maybe it should have made him feel joy, or relief. But it only made him feel guilty, scared, and somehow it made him want to cry.
It also made him wrap his arms around the other man and hold him close until the Master broke down and wept.
-
It were the voices that drew Jack to the infirmary. Well, one voice, really, echoing weakly through the corridors, too far away make out the actual words. But there had been pauses in between long enough to make it sound like the speaker was having a conversation with someone unheard, not just giving a monologue.
The conversation took place too far away for Jack to make out the words, but to him it sounded disconcertingly like they were talking in another language.
It didn’t have to mean anything. Harry, despite his human name, was from another world, and maybe the conversation was private and the TARDIS didn’t translate his language into English because it was none of Jack’s business.
Unfortunately that perfectly logical explanation didn’t stop Jack’s stomach from reducing in size at hearing them speak in a language known only to them. But his stomach regained some of its size at the realisation that the Doctor speaking, even if it was too quiet for his voice to carry, meant that the Doctor was awake. A good opportunity to ask a few questions, or at least see if he was feeling better. So it were the voices that drew Jack to the infirmary. Them, and the fact that he’d intended to go there anyway.
The door was only half closed, and the sight that greeted the human when he pushed it open made him stop dead in his tracks and quickly pull it shut until only a small gap remained for him to gaze through.
There was nothing wrong with what he saw, technically. It was just so unexpected that he didn’t know how else to react. Also, he was quite sure Harry would have killed him for witnessing this moment.
The Doctor was sitting upright on his bed, holding Harry in his arms - Harry, who was clinging to him like a drowning man as his body shook with soundless sobs.
Jack’s heart was racing. He felt like he had just stumbled over some incredible secret but had no idea what exactly it meant. He didn’t know what this scene told him, expect that Harry, bastard that he was, clearly cared for the Doctor in a way Jack had put beyond him before this moment, and that somehow they were a lot closer than Jack had expected.
Sitting on that bed, entwined, they looked like they’d known each other for ages.
Jack didn’t like it.
It made him feel uncomfortable, left out. Reminded him that there were so many people in the universe who knew the Doctor better than he ever would.
Faced with the decision to either go away and leave them to themselves, break it by entering the room and facing bloody murder at the hand of Harry or staying to watch a little longer as they shared an intimate moment he had no place in, to see what they did next, Jack chose option number four. Number four was called ‘Walk back down the corridor and return here with a lot of noise so they’ll be warned and can stop whatever they don’t want you to see’. If they didn’t stop, Jack could assume they didn’t mind him seeing, or that Harry was planning to murder him anyway, the latter being slightly more likely.
It would have given him an excuse to ask a few questions. He didn’t get it in the end, because Harry walked out of the infirmary just after Jack decided he’d walked back far enough and turned around again, trying to figure out which song to whistle. (He considered I Lost My Heart to a Starship Trooper, but on second thought it seemed more than a little inappropriate.) The Cobscaran didn’t give the impression that anything special had happened. Without granting the human more than half a glance he walked down the corridor in the opposite direction.
Well. That made things a lot less awkward.
When Jack entered the infirmary the Doctor was still leaning against the headboard. His head had fallen back and his eyes were closed, and for one moment Jack feared he’d fallen asleep again, or passed out. Disappointment mingled with worry until the Time Lord opened his eyes and greeted him with a weak smile.
Even after a few days the sight of him still came as a shock to Jack. His friend was white as paper, thinner even than he had been before. There were two IV needles stuck in his arm, and his laboured breathing told Jack that it was time to get the oxygen-mask again.
“How are you feeling?” he asked as he carefully slid his arms beneath the Doctor’s body and moved him until he was lying flat on his back again. “Are you in pain?”
“No.” The Doctor shook his head. “Just tired. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” Jack couldn’t believe him any more than he’d been able to believe Harry, not matter how much he wanted to. The Time Lord looked simply too ill, too broken.
Maybe Harry had been right, though, and Jack really had forgotten how recovery worked.
“What about you?” the Doctor asked. “How are you? You’re looking much better than before.”
“I am,” Jack assured him. “I was just terribly exhausted for a few days.”
The Doctor nodded. “You felt drained.” It wasn’t a question. “Hardly a surprise, after Harry took your life-force away to put it into me.”
There was nothing in his voice that told Jack to feel ashamed - the guilt came without reason. “He told you?”
“He didn’t need to.”
“It’s all right, though, isn’t it?” Jack asked, suddenly anxious. “We helped you.”
The Doctor tried another smile, as weak as the former.
“Without you I’d be dead.” The addition of “Thank you” came after a second’s hesitation.
He looked incredibly tired. It seemed unfair, somehow, that he’d wasted all his energy on cuddling Harry when there were so many things Jack needed to ask him.
“Doctor…” The human didn’t quite know how to word his question. He didn’t want to sound like he cared too much, because he wasn’t sure if he did. “Since we used my life-force to save you, am I still immortal now? Or has it been reduced to normal again, so I’m going to age and stay dead like any other person?” He gave the other as much as a grin as he could muster and added, “I’d know a way to test it, but if it’s really been taken from me I won’t be able to clean the mess I’m going to make on my own.”
Using his last remaining strength, the Doctor rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”
Jack, who’d expected an unmistakeable Yes or No, frowned in surprise. “How can you not? You have to sense it! Just tell me if I still feel wrong to you.”
The Time Lord curled up, drawing his knees to his chest, his arms close to his body. “I can’t feel you anymore, Jack,” he explained, his voice an exhausted whisper. “I’m sorry. It’s all inside me now, and it’s drowning out everything else.”
For a second, Jack didn’t know what to say. Another second later he still didn’t, because he wasn’t sure what this meant. He only knew that he didn’t like it. His hand took hold of the Doctor’s without him deciding to move it, and the Time Lord didn’t flinch.
If it had been hard for him to bear Jack’s presence, overstuffed with life-force, how did it feel now that energy had been transferred to him? Jack didn’t want to ask. He did so anyway, and got no answer. After a minute he took the oxygen mask and put it back over his friend’s face, before taking his hand again.
The Doctor had spoken without bitterness. He’d not appeared to be bothered too much, just tired. Obviously he didn’t want Jack to worry, which led Jack to the conclusion that no matter how hopeless his Time Lord’s state had been before, they’d probably made it worse.
The only positive effect he could see in this very moment was, that now he could touch the Doctor without having to fear that his presence would disturb his dreams.
With a sad sigh Jack tenderly ran his fingers though the other’s hair, before trailing them down his forehead, his cheek, along the line of his yaw.
He’d meant to ask the Doctor if Harry had spoken the truth, if it really had been his fault that he was so badly off now. The opportunity had been missed, but judging from the way the Doctor treated him he didn’t blame Jack for anything.
He wouldn’t ask all the questions he needed answers for before the Time Lord was strong enough for a lengthy discussion. Even if it was killing him.
What he wanted to know most right now only Harry could answer him, anyway: Had he known what saving the Doctor this way would do to the man they both cared for so much?
And if that was the case, did he care?
It was about time the two of them had a lengthy discussion as well.
After pressing a soft kiss to the Doctor’s knuckles, Jack let go of his hand and walked away, to look for Harry.
- tbc
October 1, 2008
Pairing: AU!Master/Doctor (10), Jack/Doctor
Summary: In which the Master is emotional and there is a lot of talking.
The Doctor was staring at the ceiling, resisting the urge to close his eyes. It was just an instinct anyway - hiding in the dark wouldn’t help him.
The room seemed to be spinning around him. No, not the room: the entire cosmos appeared unbalanced, out of pace. It was no optical illusion. Everything was firmly in place but him.
He felt like drowning.
The world was falling away from him, staying always just out of reach. It was an almost painful sensation that had no physical aspect. Like an itch he couldn’t scratch it was driving him crazy.
But all this was almost overshadowed by the all consuming impression of...
“Hey!”
A blink of his eyes and suddenly the Master’s face filled his vision. The Doctor had been barely aware the other Time Lord was present, even though he’d moved around him for a while. The Master took care of the Doctor like another person might take care of cleaning the dishes: With a distant annoyance for a task that had to be done. Now a frown was etched into his features, and the Doctor realised that he had stared unresponding at the ceiling long enough for the other to worry.
“Are you listening to me?” The annoyance still lingered in the Master’s voice, but the Doctor knew his old friend was more worried by his unfocused behaviour than he liked to admit. He knew how silly it was to feel sorry for that when he had every right to be angry.
And angry he was. Desperate and furious but too lost to focus on anything but the fact that everything wasn’t right.
The painkillers he’d been given did nothing to dull that particular kind of agony. They merely narrowed his opportunities to distract himself with anything else.
Staring at the Master’s face the idea of reacting to his words in any way never crossed the Doctor’s mind.
“Are you alright?” This time the worry was audible. It brought the Doctor back to reality and gave him something else to focus on but the endless, swirling abyss inside him.
“Yes.” He’d intended to speak strongly, with conviction. The word left his throat a weak whisper. “I’m fine,” he added, his voice hardly any stronger.
He’d spend a lot of time weak and miserable. It was something he’d never quite gotten used to.
“You didn’t seem fine just now.” The Doctor knew the Master wasn’t speaking of his physical health. There was no doubt about the state of that.
It was unsettling, this lack of movement where his right heart had been.
The Doctor wanted to repeat his words, assure that he was okay. “And whose fault is that?” he said instead, because it was true and because he would be furious, if only he could spare the energy.
The Master’s gaze turned cold. He didn’t care for the Doctor’s objections, as long as he got his will.
He’d be lost if the Doctor died. The ill Time Lord felt sadness and desperation at the thought - it was a responsibility he didn’t want.
He’d always been the only one with the power to break the Master.
“You are not losing your mind, are you?” the Master asked straightforward. The Doctor didn’t have the strength to snort.
“And if I was? Would you care?”
“Yes. Go ahead, please. It would make realising my plans so much easier.”
There had never been any doubt for the Doctor that the Master wouldn’t stay this peaceful forever. The events on Cobscar, his injuries and the other’s desperate search for a way to prolong his life had postponed whatever he’d had in mind, but once he felt he could leave the Doctor alone without him dying the next moment, he’d be off, to cause chaos somewhere just so the Doctor would stop him.
His words were meant to tell the Doctor that he didn’t care about his mental state. They told him that the Master wanted him to remember just how much he was needed.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he murmured bitterly.
“Would you have preferred if I didn’t?” the Master asked dryly.
The Doctor’s gaze never left his face. “Yes,” he said softly, and tried not to notice how the other stiffened ever so slightly at his reply. He hadn’t been looking for death, but he’d been ready, and this was so much worse. His time had simply run out, and the Master knew it. He just couldn’t accept it.
“You left me no choice.”
The Doctor didn’t answer. They’d had this discussion often enough.
“How long have you left me in that thing?” he asked after a moment of silence, suppressing a shudder at the reminder that for him that particular span of time didn’t exist.
“Little more than a day. I went to Jack not long after I put you away.” The Master answered at once, before he could think about his words and realise that he was telling more than he wanted the Doctor to know.
Time hadn’t existed for him. There was no need for haste. The Master could have seized the opportunity and let the TARDIS take him anywhere in the universe, to work on some evil plan, prepare everything for their next game while the Doctor couldn’t stop him. But he hadn’t. He’d wasted no time before pulling the Doctor back to life, because he couldn’t be sure it would work, not before he saw it, and the worry didn’t leave him alone. He’d needed to know.
The thought was desolating. The Doctor thought of something else instead.
“Where’s Jack?” He hoped the answer would be Home.
“No idea. The last time I’ve seen him he was roaming through your library.”
The last time the Doctor had seen Jack, the human had been sitting beside him, looking terribly pale and exhausted. He hadn’t needed to ask what they had done to him, what had caused Jack’s state. Not when he felt it with every fibre of his being.
The two of them, without anyone to keep them off each other’s throat… it couldn’t go well, even if Jack didn’t know who the man he knew as ‘Harry’ really was.
It was about time the Doctor got out of bed. It was about time Jack got home. It was about time this story came to a conclusion.
The Master had never held any particular love for Jack, and the Doctor had seen enough since waking up to know that Jack stopping him from murdering thousands just so the Doctor would live had not improved their relationship. Knowing his old friend he was sure that the Master would do anything he could to take some kind of revenge on the human - he didn’t need a reason for cruelty on the best of days. And the Doctor could think of several things he didn’t want to happen. Things he didn’t want Jack to know.
He needed to stop the Master from hurting Jack. He needed to stop Jack from murdering the Master in his anger. Too many things could go wrong while he was stuck here, helpless to influence things in any way.
To keeps things from happening. All he could do was worry, and try to accept that he was still alive.
It wasn’t enough. If he was living it had to be for something.
His long struggle with death had cost him pounds this final body of his didn’t have to spare. Still it felt like he was weighing a ton as he tried to push himself into an upright position. Even moving his arms felt like dragging bundles of potatoes over the mattress.
The Master watched his futile attempts with a grimace.
“What’s that supposed to be?” he asked.
“Movement,” the Doctor explained, already out of breath. “I used to be quite good at it.”
“Well, now you’re not. Stop that!”
“Why would I?” Snapping sounded so much better if one had the voice for it, the Doctor decided.
“You’re wasting your strength.”
“What do you care?” Glaring was something the Doctor could still do quite effectively. “You gave me that strength, so you get to decide what I do with it?”
“Exactly. And I say you’ll keep it.”
By way of answering the Doctor summoned all his Master-given strength and got himself into an upright position. Somehow he managed to push his heavy, aching (wrong) body backwards, so he was falling against the headboard of the bed and not all the way back down.
The pillow was crushed uncomfortably in his back.
A part of him was surprised that the Master hadn’t stopped him. But the other Time Lord merely sighed - something seen rather than heard - and sat down on the edge of the bed.
“You’re an idiot,” he proclaimed. Despite the hard edge in his voice the words sounded almost fondly. “What are you going to do now, hm?”
To himself the Doctor had to admit that he had no idea. This little exercise had shown him that out of bed he wouldn’t be able to do anything but fall to the floor.
If only he could get up at least long enough to get to the console room. Then he would send Jack home and reduce the danger of murder or unpleasant events of another kind. Also, there had to be a reason for the Master to have kept the former time agent close despite their mutual dislike. And whatever it was, the Doctor couldn’t imagine he’d like it.
But he couldn’t even do that yet. Even if he overdosed on painkillers (again), the medicine would not enable his weak legs to carry him.
And his problems didn’t stop there. Once he’d steered the TARDIS to Earth he’d have to convince Jack of leaving, and knowing his friend that wouldn’t be easy. Jack was worried about him, and probably wouldn’t want him to be alone with someone he couldn’t stand.
And then there was the problem of keeping the Master from going back and picking him up again once the Doctor’s strength had run out.
Everything was beyond his control. The pain, the fever, the constant battle with insanity had drained the Doctor, and when a wave of desperation washed over him, he had to focus all his self-control to keep his face from crumbling.
While he tried to get back from the edge of an emotional breakdown, the Master surprised him once again. When the other man reached for him, the Doctor was convinced he’d push him back down, and keep him there. But the Master only took the crushed pillow, shook it, and placed it properly behind the Doctor’s back again.
“You’ll be fine,” he said. Like a promise, but the Doctor realised that really it was a plea.
“What if I’m not?” The question was almost cruel, but the Doctor had to know. He was slowly getting better, but no one could tell if it would last. The draining emptiness inside of him was gone, but it had been filled with something he couldn’t bear. Nothing was alright. The Master knew it. He had to.
“You will. Don’t be stupid.”
He had to know, but was unable to let go of his denial. The Doctor had feared it would be so.
“I mean it.” He was painfully aware that for the Master the thought of losing him was unbearable, as he had been the centre of his enemy’s existence for far too long. He wouldn’t know what to do without him. “I’m getting stronger, but I’m feeling worse than ever.” It had to be said. “You know I should be dead. You have to take into consideration that soon I might be anyway.”
The slap was unexpected, yet it didn’t surprise him either. It wasn’t even a very hard one, but in his current state it was enough to make his head spin.
Suddenly he was feeling just tired. Tired enough for the expectation of nightmares to stop frightening him.
“I won’t let you go,” the Master hissed.
But it was the Doctor who couldn’t let the Master go, who had too firm a hold on him, even though he didn’t mean to. With the tearing exhaustion came the realisation that he couldn’t put his finger on the exact moment when things had started to go wrong for them.
The exact moment when he’d lost a friend.
“This isn’t a game,” he said quietly. “And I’m not playing to win.”
“Good, because you won’t.”
“This is only about winning for you, isn’t it?” The Doctor knew perfectly well it wasn’t true - he merely wanted to offer the Master a way to explain his strong reaction without having to admit how much he depended on him. He’d never admit it, not even to himself, and so facing a situation in which he had to would only lead to more anger. “You don’t care whether I live or die. You just want to have the last word.”
“Exactly.” The Master readily jumped on the opportunity he’d been offered, and the cold, hard smile returned to his face.
It was a smile that echoed in the place where the Doctor’s second heart had been, and it made him add, “The TARDIS won’t accept you as her pilot. I tried. If you lose your game you’ll be stuck.”
“You…!” Suddenly anger flashed in the Master’s face once again. In his unsteady moods he was predictable to those who knew him, and the Doctor was aware he should have stayed silent. “How could you even think of doing something like that? Did you count on dying that much?”
“No,” the Doctor snapped back. “It was meant as a birthday present! I thought you’d like it.”
Somehow the Master managed not to strangle him. He surprised the Doctor by getting up and walking away without another word. One second later he surprised him even more by turning again and coming back.
Still without speaking he sat down on the bed once more and there was still fury in his eyes, but something else as well. Something the Doctor caught a glimpse of just before the other reached for him and pulled him into an embrace, tight and possessive. Something that told him that he’d been wrong; that the Master did know how much he depended on the Doctor, and at some point during the Doctor’s slow fading away had come to accept it.
And he was terrified of losing him, even now. More terrified than he had ever been for his own life. The realisation stunned the Doctor. Maybe it should have made him feel joy, or relief. But it only made him feel guilty, scared, and somehow it made him want to cry.
It also made him wrap his arms around the other man and hold him close until the Master broke down and wept.
-
It were the voices that drew Jack to the infirmary. Well, one voice, really, echoing weakly through the corridors, too far away make out the actual words. But there had been pauses in between long enough to make it sound like the speaker was having a conversation with someone unheard, not just giving a monologue.
The conversation took place too far away for Jack to make out the words, but to him it sounded disconcertingly like they were talking in another language.
It didn’t have to mean anything. Harry, despite his human name, was from another world, and maybe the conversation was private and the TARDIS didn’t translate his language into English because it was none of Jack’s business.
Unfortunately that perfectly logical explanation didn’t stop Jack’s stomach from reducing in size at hearing them speak in a language known only to them. But his stomach regained some of its size at the realisation that the Doctor speaking, even if it was too quiet for his voice to carry, meant that the Doctor was awake. A good opportunity to ask a few questions, or at least see if he was feeling better. So it were the voices that drew Jack to the infirmary. Them, and the fact that he’d intended to go there anyway.
The door was only half closed, and the sight that greeted the human when he pushed it open made him stop dead in his tracks and quickly pull it shut until only a small gap remained for him to gaze through.
There was nothing wrong with what he saw, technically. It was just so unexpected that he didn’t know how else to react. Also, he was quite sure Harry would have killed him for witnessing this moment.
The Doctor was sitting upright on his bed, holding Harry in his arms - Harry, who was clinging to him like a drowning man as his body shook with soundless sobs.
Jack’s heart was racing. He felt like he had just stumbled over some incredible secret but had no idea what exactly it meant. He didn’t know what this scene told him, expect that Harry, bastard that he was, clearly cared for the Doctor in a way Jack had put beyond him before this moment, and that somehow they were a lot closer than Jack had expected.
Sitting on that bed, entwined, they looked like they’d known each other for ages.
Jack didn’t like it.
It made him feel uncomfortable, left out. Reminded him that there were so many people in the universe who knew the Doctor better than he ever would.
Faced with the decision to either go away and leave them to themselves, break it by entering the room and facing bloody murder at the hand of Harry or staying to watch a little longer as they shared an intimate moment he had no place in, to see what they did next, Jack chose option number four. Number four was called ‘Walk back down the corridor and return here with a lot of noise so they’ll be warned and can stop whatever they don’t want you to see’. If they didn’t stop, Jack could assume they didn’t mind him seeing, or that Harry was planning to murder him anyway, the latter being slightly more likely.
It would have given him an excuse to ask a few questions. He didn’t get it in the end, because Harry walked out of the infirmary just after Jack decided he’d walked back far enough and turned around again, trying to figure out which song to whistle. (He considered I Lost My Heart to a Starship Trooper, but on second thought it seemed more than a little inappropriate.) The Cobscaran didn’t give the impression that anything special had happened. Without granting the human more than half a glance he walked down the corridor in the opposite direction.
Well. That made things a lot less awkward.
When Jack entered the infirmary the Doctor was still leaning against the headboard. His head had fallen back and his eyes were closed, and for one moment Jack feared he’d fallen asleep again, or passed out. Disappointment mingled with worry until the Time Lord opened his eyes and greeted him with a weak smile.
Even after a few days the sight of him still came as a shock to Jack. His friend was white as paper, thinner even than he had been before. There were two IV needles stuck in his arm, and his laboured breathing told Jack that it was time to get the oxygen-mask again.
“How are you feeling?” he asked as he carefully slid his arms beneath the Doctor’s body and moved him until he was lying flat on his back again. “Are you in pain?”
“No.” The Doctor shook his head. “Just tired. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” Jack couldn’t believe him any more than he’d been able to believe Harry, not matter how much he wanted to. The Time Lord looked simply too ill, too broken.
Maybe Harry had been right, though, and Jack really had forgotten how recovery worked.
“What about you?” the Doctor asked. “How are you? You’re looking much better than before.”
“I am,” Jack assured him. “I was just terribly exhausted for a few days.”
The Doctor nodded. “You felt drained.” It wasn’t a question. “Hardly a surprise, after Harry took your life-force away to put it into me.”
There was nothing in his voice that told Jack to feel ashamed - the guilt came without reason. “He told you?”
“He didn’t need to.”
“It’s all right, though, isn’t it?” Jack asked, suddenly anxious. “We helped you.”
The Doctor tried another smile, as weak as the former.
“Without you I’d be dead.” The addition of “Thank you” came after a second’s hesitation.
He looked incredibly tired. It seemed unfair, somehow, that he’d wasted all his energy on cuddling Harry when there were so many things Jack needed to ask him.
“Doctor…” The human didn’t quite know how to word his question. He didn’t want to sound like he cared too much, because he wasn’t sure if he did. “Since we used my life-force to save you, am I still immortal now? Or has it been reduced to normal again, so I’m going to age and stay dead like any other person?” He gave the other as much as a grin as he could muster and added, “I’d know a way to test it, but if it’s really been taken from me I won’t be able to clean the mess I’m going to make on my own.”
Using his last remaining strength, the Doctor rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”
Jack, who’d expected an unmistakeable Yes or No, frowned in surprise. “How can you not? You have to sense it! Just tell me if I still feel wrong to you.”
The Time Lord curled up, drawing his knees to his chest, his arms close to his body. “I can’t feel you anymore, Jack,” he explained, his voice an exhausted whisper. “I’m sorry. It’s all inside me now, and it’s drowning out everything else.”
For a second, Jack didn’t know what to say. Another second later he still didn’t, because he wasn’t sure what this meant. He only knew that he didn’t like it. His hand took hold of the Doctor’s without him deciding to move it, and the Time Lord didn’t flinch.
If it had been hard for him to bear Jack’s presence, overstuffed with life-force, how did it feel now that energy had been transferred to him? Jack didn’t want to ask. He did so anyway, and got no answer. After a minute he took the oxygen mask and put it back over his friend’s face, before taking his hand again.
The Doctor had spoken without bitterness. He’d not appeared to be bothered too much, just tired. Obviously he didn’t want Jack to worry, which led Jack to the conclusion that no matter how hopeless his Time Lord’s state had been before, they’d probably made it worse.
The only positive effect he could see in this very moment was, that now he could touch the Doctor without having to fear that his presence would disturb his dreams.
With a sad sigh Jack tenderly ran his fingers though the other’s hair, before trailing them down his forehead, his cheek, along the line of his yaw.
He’d meant to ask the Doctor if Harry had spoken the truth, if it really had been his fault that he was so badly off now. The opportunity had been missed, but judging from the way the Doctor treated him he didn’t blame Jack for anything.
He wouldn’t ask all the questions he needed answers for before the Time Lord was strong enough for a lengthy discussion. Even if it was killing him.
What he wanted to know most right now only Harry could answer him, anyway: Had he known what saving the Doctor this way would do to the man they both cared for so much?
And if that was the case, did he care?
It was about time the two of them had a lengthy discussion as well.
After pressing a soft kiss to the Doctor’s knuckles, Jack let go of his hand and walked away, to look for Harry.
- tbc
October 1, 2008