Silencing the Drums: Chapter 4

They heard the music well before they reached the doors to the TARDIS. Jack chuckled uneasily and remarked that someone must have left their ship's radio on, tuned to mid-2000's Earth pop hits, but the Doctor knew better. A year that never was trapped in the Master's own personal jukebox had given him intimate insight into his nemesis's choice in music, and this was pretty much it. No one else at this bar would even know who Pink was, much less leave it playing loudly in their empty starship.</p>

The Doctor threw open the door and raced for the stairs, calling for Jack to stay where he was. How could the Master have escaped? Perhaps he'd made a quick recovery and was even now hijacking the TARDIS's controls. He hadn't been in the main control room, but there was a secondary piloting array in the basement. It was hidden behind camouflaged, coded doors, but since when had such security stopped the Master?

The Doctor skidded into the library wing and thrust an arm out towards the door, screwdriver in hand – and found that nothing had changed. The door was still blocked, with nothing to indicate that the cabinet had ever been moved. He crept along the hall, glancing over his shoulder every few steps, carrying his screwdriver like a gun and feeling very silly. The TARDIS's sound system pumped Pink at a near-painful volume, the perfect soundtrack to his pursuit of shadows.

When he'd at last decided that it was safe to do so, he shoved the cabinet aside with his shoulder and opened the door. The Master was inside, alright, sprawled backwards on the bed with his feet on the wall, bits of a dismantled wall panel littering the floor beside him. He hardly blinked when the Doctor entered, and at first the Doctor wondered if he'd heard him at all.

"You never use the sound system. It makes her feel so unwanted," he said suddenly, tilting his head back and opening his eyes.

The Doctor was growing tired of feeling so unbalanced. It was hard not to gape and stare and stammer, and he wished the Master would attempt to assault him so that his caution and anxiety were finally warranted. "You took her apart?" he managed at last, gesturing at the pile of parts on the floor, shouting over the music. Now he noticed the hole in the far wall with wires and tubes hanging from it and piled on the floor, and was strongly and nauseatingly reminded of the Paradox Machine. "You can't do that!"

"I think I just did. Anyway, I was so bored. It's dull as bricks in here, Doctor." He rolled over onto his stomach and fixed the Doctor with a withering gaze. "And you took my blanket."

"You're not here on holiday, and- wait, your what?"

The Master sighed and snatched up two of the cables leading to the hole in the wall and touched the ends, shutting the music off. "My prison blanket, the only object I came in here with. What did you do with it?"

"It's… still in the library, I assume, but- look, don't try and change the subject!"

"I want it back."

This time there was nothing to do but gape at him. The Master was serious. Petulant and obtuse though he was, he did want that dirty, ratty blanket back, and the Doctor didn't know what to make of it. He would have preferred his crazy ravings to this quiet, serious madness.

Jack saved him the trouble of coming up with a response. He'd followed the Doctor down, certain that he'd meet with trouble, and he didn't bother to announce himself before bursting into the room past the Doctor.

"Freeze, you sorry bastard!" he barked, whipping a gun out of his coat pocket. "Trust me, unlike the good Doctor, I have no reservations about filling you with holes."

The Doctor snatched Jack's gun and shook it in his face, grasping for the appropriate words to express his outrage. The Master laughed and sat up, and both men turned to scowl at him.

"Handsome Jack, never a dull moment with you," he said with a charming smile. "Yes, I'm sure you would enjoy filling me with holes, but let's be honest – that's the Doctor's job."

"Jack, go back upstairs," The Doctor said, thrusting the gun against Jack's chest. "You're really not making this any easier."

"I'm not sure that's a great idea-"

"Just go," he snapped and pointed at the door. Reluctant and suspicious, Jack took his leave, but not without shooting the Master another poisoned glare.

The Master gave the Doctor a sly grin. "I think I like this new regeneration of yours. Seems you've got a spine again. Now, about that blanket."

The Doctor sighed and leaned against the wall, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Alright, I'll fetch it for you. But it needs a wash first. And you have to promise to stop taking the TARDIS apart. It's doing a number on my nerves."

"I'll see your prison blanket and raise you three square meals and some entertainment," the Master replied. "You haven't thought to feed me, have you? I'm starving."

"We'll stop by a butcher when I drop Jack off."

"Ah, Doctor," he smiled, "So accommodating. How did you know I was craving a nice, juicy, red, raw, dripping steak?"

The Doctor grimaced. "You might let me cook it first."

"Meat, Doctor," the Master growled, his expression taking a sudden feral turn. "Haven't lost the craving. Better watch your back. Better watch your Companions. Nothing I love more than fresh meat."

The Doctor backed out of the room without a further word and locked the Master in again.