Title: Martyr To Fate
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: gen
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Table: 50_darkfics
Prompt: 16, Evil
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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Sometimes the Doctor couldn't help but wonder just why the Master had turned to the evil side of his nature. It was hard to fathom.

So many young people on Gallifrey wanted to be Time Lords; but few were actually chosen to go through the series of tests that would make them into what they wanted to be. And there was always a risk that some of them could be irreparably damaged.

It was a risk they all knew of, and that they were willing to take. But if they wanted to achieve their goal badly enough, they held back their fears and walked into the tests with a determination and drive to succeed.

There had only been a few instances of someone running mad. The Master had been the most notable one of those; everyone on Gallifrey had known what had happened to him, but no one had any idea just why it had occurred.

Why did that madness strike someone who had been one of the most promising candidates? The Doctor knew that many Gallifreyans had puzzled over that for centuries, and there had never been a satisfactory answer to the quesiton.

And now .... it didn't really matter. Maybe it never had. What was done was done; it was over and in the past, and even with his control over time, he couldn't go back and change things, even if he would want to do so.

Still, it would be better for all involved if that were possible. Certainly better for him, and for the world at large. And even better for the Master.

After all, it had to be terrible to be trapped in that sort of madness, didn't it? Though the Master apparently didn't seem to think so. He seemed to actually enjoy the havoc he caused; he embraced the evil side of his nature.

He certainly took a great delight in causing trouble, the Doctor thought sourly, flexing his wrists and leaning back against the stone wall that he was chained to. And the longer the two of them carried on their centuries-long battle, the more trouble the Master caused.

He had no idea what was brewing in that maniac's twisted mind this time, but he knew that he had to find out -- and that he had very little time to do so. The Master had hinted that his plans were close to fruition before the Doctor had been dragged away.

He'd been brought to this dungeon -- basement, wherever it was -- and though he'd been expecting to be left here, he hadn't thought that he would literally be chained to the wall, to await whatever the Master intended to do with him.

Could this even be called a dungeon, considering that he was in the 21st century? the Doctor wondered, squinting as he looked around it. It was odd to be in a place like this in the time period he was in, but then, he was being held captive in a castle.

Whatever it was, he had to get himself out of here. He had to find out what the Master's plan was -- and foil it if he could.

There had to be a way out. But first, he had to concentrate on getting these chains off his wrists. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be a possibility, as they were cuffed so tightly that they were almost pinching his skin.

Having his arms spread out to the side like this wasn't exactly the best position to be in, either. He felt helpless, exposed, and completely unable to defend himself should the need arise. But that was how the Master wanted to feel.

He had the upper hand this time -- but didn't that usually seem to be the case? There had been other times when he'd thought that the Master held all the cards, and yet the Doctor had still been the one to triumph in the end.

The Master couldn't win. Not this time, and not any other time. The Doctor's small fists clenched in the chains; he ground his teeth, scowling, feeling more frustrated than he'd been in a very long time. There had to be a way out of this situation.

But he couldn't see one. No one knew where he was. He'd been foolish enough to think that he could face down the Master without knowing what the other man's plans were, and without having any plan -- or any backup -- of his own.

Hadn't he learned any better than that, in all the centuries that he'd been pitted against the Master in their seemingly never-ending battle of good against evil? Didn't he know better than to rush into situations without at least a working knowledge of what was going on?

Apparently, he didn't. And it was going to cost him dearly, he was sure of that. He had no doubt that the Master would demand some sacrifice of him.

Probably himself, the Time Lord thought, trying not to cringe. Oh, he wouldn't want to force the Doctor into regenerating, not unless there was some desperate situation facing them. He enjoyed this body too much; he'd made that clear.

That evil, warped mind would have thought of something he wanted, even if it was merely sexual. The Doctor almost snorted aloud at that thought. "Merely" sexual. The Master's excesses were well-known to him; nothing he took it into his mind to do would be a small occurrence.

The Doctor had been on the receiving end of those excesses far too many times for comfort, and especially since he'd been in this body. It was apparently irresistible to the Master; he seemed to take a perverse delight in seeing how far he could push before the Doctor broke.

So far, he hadn't broken. He'd come close; he'd teetered on the edge, convinced that he was going to fall into a black abyss that he'd never be able to pull himself out of. He'd even thought that he would run mad, just as the Master had all those centuries ago.

He hadn't turned himself over to that evil that possessed the Master. He never would, the Doctor vowed, clenching his fists again. He'd die before he would let himself go that route; he'd promised himself that he would never become what the Master was.

That was one trap that he wouldn't fall into .The Master might be able to capture him, torment him, taunt him, but he would never force the Doctor into becoming what he was. That was his greatest desire, and the one that the Doctor was most determined not to give him.

No matter what happened to him, he wouldn't give in, the Doctor told himself, taking a deep breath as he heard voices and saw a shaft of light pierce the darkness.

The Master was coming for him. The Doctor turned his face towards the light, hoping that he'd have the strength to resist the lure of the evil that emanated from the other man, no matter how strong the siren call might become, and how easy it would be to give up.

He couldn't give up. He hadn't done it yet, not in all these centuries. He never would. He was stronger than that, even though the Master had spent years trying to convince him that they were just alike, and that he had some control over what the Doctor felt.

The Doctor stood there, waiting for the man who, for the moment, held the future in his hands. He felt like a martyr being delivered up to fate, and he only hoped that he would find some way to defeat this enemy without making a sacrifice that might be his last.

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