"Forty seconds left to live," says the Master gleefully, triumphantly, "thirty-eight seconds before we all go up in flames and your precious Earth meets the same fate as dear old Gallifrey... I wonder, will you regenerate somehow, find some way to keep living, or will the tragic grief of it all finally kill you for good... and if it does, how will you live these last thirty seconds you've got?"
The Doctor doesn't speak - he lunges forward, hands still held behind him even though he worked out of the binds minutes ago while the Master ranted, and presses his mouth frantically, urgently, to the Master's, who seems somewhat less than surprised, gripping a fist into the Doctor's hair and chuckling madly into the kiss.
"I'm sorry," whispers the Doctor, after a moment, "I'm so sorry," and he slams his knee into the Master's solar plexus, buying himself enough time to whip his sonic screwdriver from his pocket, aim it at the reactor, and shut the whole thing down before the counter reaches zero.
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The Doctor doesn't speak - he lunges forward, hands still held behind him even though he worked out of the binds minutes ago while the Master ranted, and presses his mouth frantically, urgently, to the Master's, who seems somewhat less than surprised, gripping a fist into the Doctor's hair and chuckling madly into the kiss.
"I'm sorry," whispers the Doctor, after a moment, "I'm so sorry," and he slams his knee into the Master's solar plexus, buying himself enough time to whip his sonic screwdriver from his pocket, aim it at the reactor, and shut the whole thing down before the counter reaches zero.
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