The Road to ... Understanding (Chapter 2, part 1)
The Master has locked himself in the storage room, but for the first time, he isn’t seething with anger. He’s chuckling to himself. I’ve found a way to survive in here. That was fun. He’s wanted to do that for such a long time, but couldn’t imagine losing the upper hand to the Doctor. Now, he’s found a way to indulge himself without giving up any ground at all. He had taken control … here, on the Doctor’s ship, and the Doctor hadn’t even tried to stop him.
So, at least he has one advantage.
He makes sure the Doctor has made no effort no follow him, to talk to him, before he leaves the storage room and goes looking for a room with a bed. He feels so good he might even be able to sleep.
* * *
The console room is humming with activity, which, the Doctor thinks, must be difficult to manage with only one person. Not impossible, though.
He has so many things to do. After days - weeks - of sitting around, twiddling his thumbs, he has a million and one things to do. He’s got an incredibly difficult task ahead.
He’s going to take the Master out of the TARDIS.
It’s just about the riskiest thing he can think of, but he knows now, it needs to be done. So he needs to make sure the Master can’t escape, can’t run away and lose himself in whatever time and place he finds himself in, only to wreak havoc on its people. He has to bind the Master to him, somehow, so that they cannot be separated.
The problem is, he’s planning on taking the Master to the most chaotic and unpredictable times in human history. Times when it would be all too easy to take advantage of a distraction and disappear into the crowd. The only thing that will work in his favour is what they’re planning on doing when they get there. For once, both of them are going to take the advice they have never listened to, the instructions they received as children. For once, they are simply going to watch.
* * *
He spends all night working, finding the perfect place to go. Fashioning a device that will give him control once they get there. He sets the co-ordinates in a great hurry, and then rushes off to find his passenger. In his eagerness he even stumbles on a stairway as the TARDIS lands.
He finds the Master, fast asleep, still fully dressed, wrapped up in the bedclothes. The sight stops the Doctor in his tracks, the giddiness evaporating into near-perfect calm. He stands for many moments, relishing an opportunity so simple he never thought it would bring him such pleasure. The chance to observe another Time Lord, undetected, to stare long and hard and wonder what exactly is going through his mind. To simply enjoy being in his presence. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply.
Then he shakes himself. If he is careful there may be more moments like this. If the Master catches him, he will be forever on his guard. He summons up the enthusiasm he felt as he walked into the room, and clapped his hands loudly.
“Come on then! Time to wake up!” He stands over the Master, arms folded, smiling broadly.
The blankets twitch a little before words emerge from under them. The voice is grumpy and groggy and - it sounds - quite angry. “Go … and … drown … yourself!”
“Oh, come on! No need to be like that! Whole of time and space to explore and you’re curled up under the bedcovers. Never thought of you as dull …” He lets his voice trail off, hoping the Master will take the bait.
He does. He flings the covers off and rolls onto his back. After rubbing his face, hard, he sits up o his elbows.
“Since when do we have the whole of time and space to explore? We’re stuck in here. We have the whole of your clapped-out old machine to explore and that, whilst time-consuming, is not exactly thrilling. There’s no-one else here.” He drops his head back onto the pillow. “Just you and I, slowly driving each other crazy.” Then, for a brief moment, he flashes a broad grin, letting the Doctor know, in no uncertain terms, that he has not forgotten about their … fight.
“Well … I might have a little surprise for you.” No response. “Oh, come on, I spent all night working on this. While you slept! Don’t you at least want to know what it is?”
The Master doesn’t speak, but he rolls onto his side and props his head and his hand, and fixes the Doctor with a look: bored, but questioning.
Grinning widely, the Doctor produces a pair of thin bronze handcuffs from his inside pocket.
At this, the Master finally sits upright, his bored expression turning rapidly to disbelief, before smirking rudely.
“Well, we’re a little bit presumptuous, aren’t we? One kiss and you’re already bringing out the kink? I’ll have you know I’m a decent fellow.”
At this, even the Doctor snorts. The Master laughs once, loudly. “Yes, well, my innocence notwithstanding, what an Earth made you imagine that I’d let you handcuff me?”
The Doctor’s eyes widen, then he shakes his head. “Oh, no. Sorry. Only one of them’s for you. The other’s for me.” With this motion, he clips one cuff around the Master’ right wrist, letting the other dangle loosely.
The Master laughs again, then stands up and begins to walk around the room, beating his clothes with his hands, trying to straighten them out. “Well, that’s not any fun for either of us. So I’ll ask again: what makes you think I’d let you do this?”
The Doctor grins and raises his eyebrows, about to play his trump card. “Well, I thought … maybe a trip outside the TARDIS?”
For once, this has exactly the desired effect. The Master faces him, eyes wide. So wide the Doctor feels he can see the thoughts already forming, the questions, the plans he’s already making. The Doctor knows he’s always understood the Master very well, but he wonders if their intense contact the previous night has deepened this connection. It’s an interesting idea, but he daren’t consider the next logical thought: what if the Master can see the same in his eyes?
Fortunately, the connection mustn’t be as strong as he thought, because he is totally unprepared for the Master’s answer. “No.”
He tilts his head, thoroughly surprised. “No? Why not? I’d have thought you’d be tying to get out of here. Stretch your legs a bit.”
The Master laughs darkly, almost cackling. When he speaks, his voice is very low. “Oh, Doctor … you know I’d want to do so much more than just … stretch my legs.” He looks up at the Doctor, his head tilted downwards.
The Doctor swallows, but tries to speak lightly. “So why won’t you go?”
The Master sighs and rolls his eyes, then raises his wrist suddenly, pointing to the cuff. “I am not going out handcuffed to you. It’s bad enough you’re keeping me prisoner here, without anyone else around. I’m not letting anyone else see you lord it over me.”
If it would make any difference, the Doctor would tell him he has no such intention. Instead, he steps forward and takes hold of the other cuff.
“Please, give me a bit of credit. I said I was up all night working on these. Did you honestly think simple handcuffs would take me that long? They’re biological locks, coded to our DNA.” To demonstrate, he locks the other end around his own wrist and watches the chain linking them glow slightly, then disappear. “See? The hardest part was setting the range. It’s about four feet, I think. Not close enough to make anyone suspicious, if we’re careful.”
The Master examines the cuff as though it were a foreign part taken from a machine. He narrows his eyes at the Doctor, and begins to stride away. He’s about to take his third step when he is jerked backwards, landing in a heap at the Doctor’s feet. He rubs his right shoulder, hard.
The Doctor grins more broadly than ever. “Works like a charm.”
The Master glares up and him, and asks angrily, “And where did you get my DNA? You couldn’t have touched me while I was asleep. I’d have known.”
Feeling, for once, like he’s in control of the situation, the Doctor raises his eyebrows innocently at the Master, and then slowly, deliberately, brings the tips of his fingers to his lips, touching them gently.
The Master understands and throws back his head in frustration. Confident now, almost cocky, the Doctor turns to leave the room, and asks in a light but deadpan voice, “You coming or not?”
Stupid question. It is all the Master can do to scramble after him, trying to stop his arm being dragged from its socket, cursing and swearing all the way.
* * *