Deadlock

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

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He woke into semi-darkness and the sound of humming...off tune and disjointed, occasionally interrupted by a burst of high manic pitch laughter, and a throbbing head.

Frowning The Doctor hissed as a vicious lance of pain sent him reeling. He lifted a hand and cautiously probed the source, wincing as his fingers connected with swollen skin and his hand encountered the powdery stickiness of dried blood. He sat up, slowly as a swell of nausea threatened to overwhelm him, drawing slow breaths through his nose and out through his mouth until it began to subside.

The floor under his bare feet was no longer the rough rock that he vaguely recalled but cold polished metal that sucked any lingering heat out of his body. The biting cold remained though but instead of being submerged in darkness his latest prison was lit by dull red emergency light that flashed in a distracted rotation exacerbating his throbbing head. Fumbling his pocket The Doctor searched for his sonic screwdriver, his concern growing when it turned out to be missing.

No it had to be back on the Tardis...Where he was...This had to be some sort of dream. The last thing The Doctor properly recalled before waking here had been settling down in his favourite chair in the library with a well-worn copy of an Agatha Christy classic that had seemed strangely familiar.

Yet The Doctor had never experienced a dream like this. Terrifying nightmares yes but never had even his own memory fuelled dreams felt this real.

Shivering he tugged the thread bare shirt that hung off of his frame closer to his body, feeling the protest in his limbs that moved sluggishly at his command. Wrapping his arms around his torso to try and hold in some warmth The Doctor quickly came to two startling realisations. Firstly that it had clearly been some time since this body had eaten, as he could feel each and every rib under the palms of his hands, and secondly that this wasn't his body, not the one he had left snoozing away in the Tardis library, not unless he had regenerated and forgotten all about it.

Doing his best to try and ignore the disconcerting physically alien sensation of breasts pressing against his arms The Doctor squinted down at the polished metal floor. The flashing red light barely gave enough illumination but even distorted he was able to realise this was not his face, yet it was familiar and as he leaned in closer he recognised features even in the gaunt face staring back at him. Yet it was the eyes, bloodshot and wild though they may have been, but there was no mistaking that ice blue colour.

He was in The Master's body.

Reaching out he traced the gaunt lines of his/her reflection before reaching up to run his hand over her features. Her cheekbones felt like sharp protrusions against his fingers, her hair was cropped in short in uneven tufts and was ridden with grime, yet it was the cold sensation of a metal collar around her sparrow like neck chafing at the skin until it felt red raw that really caused his blood to turn cold.

He had seen these before, on animals, shock collars meant to tame and control even the most savage of creatures yet The Doctor had never seen them used on a higher being. Only slaves wore collars and for a timelord to be so treated....

Staring down into The Master's reflection The Doctor's mind whirled with questions yet there was no way discernible way of gaining the answers to the questions clamouring through his aching brain.

Was this one of the memories Missy had transferred or was this something else? What had she done during their brief telepathic contact, The Doctor could recall the flood of thoughts that had overwhelmed him at the time. The Master had always exceeded his abilities telepathically but could she really have forged some sort link between them without him even noticing?

No that was too ludicrous, besides Missy was dead and any link would have died with her so it had to be fragments of her thoughts that had been too disorganised for his conscious mind to manage and yet were now manifesting themselves in his subconscious.

Was this even real? The Master was literally a master of deception. Yet The Doctor couldn't imagine she would use such a humiliating situation, would expose herself to weakness even in order to gain his sympathy, just what did she have to gain?

Beating his battered hands against the floor in frustration The Doctor glared down at the reflection that was not his own a deep frown pulling at his brows...a frown that was not being reflected back at him and for a moment The Doctor caught sight of ice blue eyes wide with surprise...

Sitting up suddenly in his chair, knocking the dog-eared book to the floor it took far too long for The Doctor to come back to himself, his hearts pounding in fright. The shrill alarm of the Tardis had woken him; she had found something after all. Heaving his long body out of the chair The Doctor reflexively patted himself down, relieved to back in a body he recognised, reaching into his pocket to grip the reassuring presence of his sonic screwdriver.

This was real, this he could trust, could rely on when all his other senses were conspiring to blind and confuse him. It was time to get back to work and solve this mystery; perhaps if he did then these bizarre dreams would finally stop. The Doctor didn't allow himself to linger on the thought that as his last connection to The Master that he might not want them too.

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