Title: Suffer Well
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: gen
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: R
Table: Epsilon, challenge_the
Prompt: 26, Pain
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the Tenth Doctor. Please do not sue.

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The Doctor stumbled into the Tardis, clutching at the railing and dragging himself up the three steps to the console. He leaned against it, trying to catch his breath, seeing blackness around the dancing stars that were obscuring his vision.

He wasn't sure that he would actually have the strength to do as much as press the few buttons that would send the Tardis out into time and space again even as he reached out a trembling hand, but somehow he managed it before his hand dropped back to his side.

The familiar displacement of time and space as the Tardis shimmered into the timestream brought a sigh of relief to his lips; he slumped over the console, wishing that he could sink into unconsciousness but knowing that the physical pain of his body wouldn't allow him to do so.

Chalk that one up to the Master, he told himself bitterly as he moved towards the couch against the wall, sinking down onto the comforting softness. His legs wouldn't have held him up much longer; it was a good thing he'd had the foresight to keep a couch here.

This was the first time in a while that his nemesis had come so close to taking him prisoner -- and the first time in longer than he could remember that the Master had used physical force to do so. He must have been desperate to capture his foe, the Doctor thought wryly.

Those men the Master had sent after him had certainly spared no thought to using brute force. His body ached from the blows he'd taken; he'd almost thought that they would beat him into a bloody pulp and leave him there to die.

Of course, they probably didn't know that he wouldn't die. If he'd been forced to regenerate into a new body, that might have actually been to his advantage if he hadn't been able to make his way back to the Tardis, as he wouldn't have been recognized.

But the Master would know him, no matter what guise he was in. There was always that sensory perception in a Time Lord that drew him to another of his own kind; and the Master had some special sense when it came to him.

Not only that, but the Master loved to see him in pain -- especially in this body. He had always been somewhat sadistic, even when they were children, but the passing centuries seemed to be bringing out that side of him even more.

And there was no doubting who his favorite target was, the Doctor thought ruefully, staring up at the ceiling of the Tardis. It had been that way even before they'd become Time Lords; it was as though the Master had somehow fixated on him from their first meeting.

He'd been doling out pain, both of the emotional and physical variety, ever since their childhood days. At first, the Doctor had accepted it, reasoning that all friends had times when they didn't get along quite so well and deflecting that pain as best he could.

When they'd gotten a bit older, it had been harder for him to do that. And then there had come that fateful meeting in the Master's room at the Academy .... The Doctor wrenched his thoughts away from that memory; it was one that he didn't want to dwell on.

That had been the first time he'd been with another man -- and it hadn't been by his choice. At the time, he hadn't called it rape, but that was undoubtedly what it had been -- though the Master had managed to convince him that he'd wanted what had taken place.

The pain that he'd felt then had probably been more excruciating than what he felt now; the physical pain had been more invasive, and it had taken him a very long time to reconcile himself to the fact that someone he had considered a friend would have forced themselves on him.

But the emotional pain had been even worse; the betrayal that he'd felt had cut into him, and he had spent far too much time trying to come up with excuses for the Master's behavior, trying to convince himself that his "friend" hadn't meant to hurt him.

It had taken him a very long time to accept the fact that the Master was slowly advancing into a state of amorality that made him a dangerous person to be around; and even when he'd accepted it, that knowledge had still cut him to the bone.

They'd been friends when they were children; what had happened to the Master to lure him into that dark side of his nature? He'd never fully understood why their friendship hadn't been strong enough to bring the other man back from that darkness, not in all the centuries of his long life.

He understood how seductive that darkness could be; he'd looked into it many, many times himself, but he'd never let it take control of him. It would have been easy to do so, but he couldn't understand how anyone could give in to that gaping emptiness.

There was nothing he could do about the Master's choice now; that choice had been made long ago, and it hadn't been his decision to make. But that didn't stop him from still grieving for that friendship that had been left behind so long ago, or the pain that it had caused.

Now there was nothing between the two of them but enmity -- a divide that had only grown wider over the centuries. And that strange compulsion on the Master's side, the twisted desire that made him want to cause the Doctor pain in any way he could.

The Doctor sighed again, wincing as he sat up and rested his head in his hand. He had a pounding headache, one that probably wouldn't go away for a while. He needed his bed more than anything else at the moment; he needed to let sleep heal him.

The pain of his body would heal in time; it might take a few days, but soon it would seem as though he'd never suffered through that horrendous beating. There would only be the residual memories of that pain to haunt his dreams on a particularly bad night.

He'd go back to that planet, of course. He would have to. He had no choice but to find out just what the Master was planning, and to stop those plans, if he could. Even if meant taking more pain than he already had, he would go back. He would suffer well.

And the Master knew it. That was one advantage he had over the Doctor. He knew that the Doctor would always try to foil any plans of his, no matter what the personal cost might be. And he would always be ready and waiting for their next meeting.

The Doctor had no such advantage. The Master could turn up in any place, at any time. There were times when he felt that he would always be running after the other man, trying to stop what was already set in motion rather than preventing events from starting.

He sighed again, raising his head and looking around the control room with bleary eyes. He needed to get to his bedroom and sink into the softness of his bed for a while. He would let himself rest, and hope that sleep would heal his body within the next few days.

Once he was healed, he would go back. Even though he was alone at the moment, he was still a match for the Master -- he always had been. He'd always prevailed in the past, and there was no reason to believe that this time would be any different.

The Time Lord got to his feet, holding out a hand to steady himself against the wall as he headed for the corridor leading to his bedroom. With any luck, he would wake feeling refreshed and ready to tackle the problem he was faced with head on.

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