Title: The Color of Blood
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: past Jack/Doctor
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Table: VRD challenge - Red, in 5_prompts
Prompt: Red phone boxes
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Tenth Doctor, unfortunately. Please do not sue.

***

The Tardis. He had to get back to the Tardis.

He'd left her just a few blocks away; even with the way that his surroundings had changed, morphing into places that he was unfamiliar with, he should still be able to find his way back to her. He hadn't wandered too far before he'd realized that something was wrong.

How had the Master managed to do this? What sort of infernal machine could warp reality, change the places on Earth that he'd known and loved and felt comfortable with into strange, menacing settings that completely bewildered him?

Had he been able to change places like the Hub? The Doctor didn't think so; even though the Master obviously knew of it, he'd never been inside, and he was fairly sure that Torchwood would have some sort of safeguards in place to protect it from invasion.

But was this an invasion? Technically, as far as he knew, there was only one man causing this. Could the Master on his own be considered an invasion? As dangerous as such a madman could be, the Doctor had to answer that question with an emphatic "yes."

He had no idea if the Master was working alone, or if he had amassed loyal followers once again. He had an uncanny ability to to that; whether those followers were humans, or species from another planet, too many seemed too willing to fall in with him.

Almost there .... the Tardis should be just around the corner.

The Doctor turned that corner -- and stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw falling open and his eyes widening in horror.

When he had left the Tardis, there had been one blue phone box sitting there innocuously on the street, looking as though she belonged exactly where she was. It was one of the reasons he liked how his ship looked, even if she was considered outdated by Time Lord standards.

Now, there was a row of Tardises. All of them looked exactly alike; there was no differentiation in them at all. The row looked never-ending, stretching down the block and continuing on into the next one, and the next, as far as he could see.

And they weren't blue. They were red.

How had the Master done this? The Doctor's mind scrambled frantically for some grasp on reality, but his senses were reeling, the world whirling around him and threatening to swamp him in a wave of panic. What had happened to his beloved ship?

More to the point, how was he going to find his ship? He didn't have time to peer into each and every one of these phones boxes. Obviously, only one of them was the Tardis -- but there was no way of telling which one.

And even more obviously, this could be some sort of trap that would ensnare him the moment he opened the first door. He had no way of knowing what might lie in wait for him behind any of those doors; he could make a fatal mistake before the search had even begun.

Red. That was the Master's color; glowing red, the color that the Tardis would become if he managed to turn her into a Paradox Machine again. He couldn't let that happen; he was sure that his ship had suffered agonies when she had been changed.

But what could he do? How could he be sure of finding her? He had no idea if the Master had done something to the Tardis, beyond being able to change her outer color. She could be the instrument of the Doctor's destruction, if he wasn't careful.

No. He shook his head, taking a deep breath and clenching his fists at his sides. The Tardis wouldn't obey the Master. She would fight him until the end, just as the Doctor would.

He couldn't count on that .... the Doctor swallowed hard at the remembrance of times past, times that had been so horrifying that he'd locked them into the back of his mind and refused to think of them. He wanted to forget that they'd ever happened, wipe them completely from his memory.

The horror of what had been done to his ship then swept over him again -- along with the memory of what the Master had used the Tardis to do to him. He didn't want those images in his mind, but they were coming back with startling clarity.

Red. The Master's color. The color of strife -- the color of blood. His blood. The Doctor shuddered, struggling to keep down the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. Panic wouldn't help him now. He had to stay calm.

What was the best option to take? The Doctor bit his lip, considering. He had to establish his contact with the Tardis. He would know where she was once he did that; there was an unerring bond between them, one that he knew could be relied upon.

Of course, it was always possible that the Master had turned her against him ....

There hadn't been time for that. He'd only been out of the Tardis for twenty minutes at the most; it might not even have been that long. He would have to take the chance that the Master hadn't been able to do anything more to his ship than change her color during that time.

If he couldn't reach her with his mind, then he would know that something was wrong, and that his ship was lost to him for the moment. If that happened, he had no idea what he would do -- but he would find a way out of the situation. He always did.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on his ship, on reaching her. He could feel her aura resonating in his mind; with a sigh of relief, he felt that connection, growing stronger with each passing moment. Yes, she was still with him. The Master had changed nothing but her outward appearance.

And she didn't seem very happy about that. The Doctor almost smiled as he made his way slowly along the line of red phone boxes, stopping in front of one that was nearly as the end of the block. Yes. This was his Tardis. He could feel her reaching out to him.

For just one fleeting moment, he didn't want to go into the ship, afraid of what he might find. It could be a trap; the Tardis could be under the Master's control. He could be walking right into the Master's hands, and there might not be a way of escape.

But he had to take the chance. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door, taking a hesitant step into the interior of his ship.

She was intact. She was the same Tardis that she had always been; there were none of those swirling colors of the Paradox Machine that she had become at one time. She was still his safety, his refuge, the one being in the entire universe that he could count on.

Sighing in relief, the Doctor bounded up the steps to the console, turning his mind to the unexpected problem that he was facing.

***