syncopath | but none of 'em were home inside the catacomb (for twood

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but none of 'em were home inside the catacomb (for twood_rose)

He had no way of knowing how long he had been in the dark; it was a funny thing, perhaps, but even a Time Lord must concede (as much as it might personally gall him) that death is timeless by its very nature. Still, he remembered everything.

When he awoke, groggily, the first thing he did was clap a hand to his neck, expecting a mark or a hole where the persistent memory of pain told him it should be. There was nothing. A ghost feeling. He blinked twice and sat up.

The room was dim, dusty and unused, and the small sink in the corner rattled ominously before spitting out water of some unsavory color, but there was comfort, egregiously tiny as it may be, in washing up as best he could. He surveyed his surroundings again. Besides the mattress he'd woken up on (and who had placed him there?) the room boasted nothing else.

He knew when he was, but not where. Or why. Not for the first time, he wondered if it might not be a prison.

The Master took panicked strides toward the door, fully expecting it not to open when he yanked on the handle roughly, and almost falling backwards when he was proven wrong.

A maze of hallways spread itself before him, each equally dim and dusty as the room behind. As the Master began to walk, it became obvious what he'd somehow known from the moment he opened the door. It wasn't a prison.

It was a ruin.

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Rose cringed as with one final unearthly squeal the creature shuddered, then went still. She lifted her eyes to the Master, her heart beating fast, panting slightly with fear.

"You... you saved my life," she managed.

The Master turned his head from the ruined creature and met her gaze coldly. His calm expression was bordering on sinister. "I did," he confirmed.

The gears switched again and he straightened, returning the screwdriver to his pocket and brushing invisible dust off his lapels. "Of course, there is little point in stating the obvious."

"Just..." Rose stood up carefully, and brushed the dirt off her jeans. Then she straightened, and pushed her hair out of her eyes.

"Thank you."

The Master stood there, watching Rose pick herself up without thinking to offer his assistance. He was not particularly used to being thanked, unless it was forced, and he found he had no immediate reply handy. Rassilon, he wasn't about to say "You're welcome."

"There are more of them," he finally said. "The 'Yllax tend to breed rather quickly. Not ones for foreplay."

It was probably as close to an invitation for her to accompany him as she would ever get.

She nodded, and approached him.

"Where do you think we can go to be safe from them?"

She asked it hesitantly, not sure that she had correctly read the information as an invitation.

The Master smirked slightly, thinking of the little suite he'd left, complete with dusty mattress. Just like the old days.

"I was given the impression at our last encounter that you were quite done with 'safe'. How disappointing that you've changed your mind." And he raised an eyebrow at her before turning abruptly on his heels.

"Come on, then."

Rose huffed.

"Well. If that's the way you're going to be about it. I was only going with you because I thought you were offering to fend off these things. But if I'm to be done with 'safe...'"

She turned and started heading off on her own.

The Master whirled around, mildly and inexplicably panicked, and watched her begin to storm off.

"Rose. Come back now. There's a good girl," he blurted out the commands pathetically.

She stopped, and turned. For a moment she regarded him silently, then with a small sigh she walked to him, and held out a hand.

By the time Rose had returned to his side, the Master had managed to get himself at least a little back under control. He took her hand easily, giving her a paternal sort of look. Still, his hand trembled slightly over hers as he spoke.

"One bite," and he gestured to what was left of the 'Yllax, "Carries enough toxin to end your life. That's not what you want, is it?"

She shook her head slowly. "No."

She glanced down at their hands, and squeezed gently. "How about you?" Her voice was soft, and when she looked back up and into his eyes, the concern in them was clear and genuine.

He peered at her with a frown, taken aback by her question, her gaze, the feel of her hand in his.

"What do you mean?"

"What happens to you if you get bitten?"

She unconsciously eased a touch closer, still looking into his eyes with concern.

"Total paralysis within the hour," the Master informed her distractedly. "Give or take. Why? Planning my demise?" Her expression made it plain that wasn't the case, but he couldn't resist thinking the worst of humans.

After all, he'd been one.

She blinked.

"Of course not," she answered. "I've never wanted to hurt you. You must know that..."

Again she gently squeezed his hand.

The Master hissed in a breath, extracted his hand suddenly. "You're--"

You're surprisingly adept at it.

Couldn't say that.

"We should keep moving."

She didn't know quite what to make of that, but decided the best thing to do was to just let it go. So she followed him, staying close but carefully not touching him, as much as she wanted to.

The Master led her through the ruined city, silent mostly. Occasionally he would order her to stop, keep as still as possible, until he fired off a few arcs of light into the darkness and something fell screaming to the ground.

He rarely turned to look at her, but he could feel her ploddingly human presence always just a step behind him, and though he would never admit it to himself, it was strangely comforting.

They made it to what might have once been a bridge, over what might have been a river, but was now little more than a pile of rubble in a dry, scraping hollow, and the Master stopped abruptly, knelt and scooped a handful of sandy dirt. He passed the screwdriver over it, let it run through his fingers thoughtfully, and finally stood up.

"It may be safe enough here."

She stopped and surveyed the ruined landscape. The wind swept over the ragged surfaces, creating eddies of dirt and dust. Rose pushed back her hair again, and looked up at the sky, unable to tell whether it was night or day.

"No stars," she murmured.

For a moment she was Lucy, they were in Utopia, and the Master was breathing in that special, intoxicating aura-- a blend of terror and exhilaration-- that he'd never been able to recreate on Earth. No matter how hard he'd tried.

This time, he knew the stars were still out there.

"There was a war," he said softly. "Overnight, the planet, as you say, 'went nuclear.' Primitive weaponry, really. Still, it was highly effective. Three solar days of screaming and chaos. It was really something to see, Rose. The few survivors succumbed to radiation poisoning in a matter of weeks. Over time, debris has accumulated in the atmosphere, creating the illusion of eternal twilight."

He spoke blandly, with little interest-- as if he were lecturing from a textbook.

She listened to him, still staring at the sky, her mind putting terrible images to his words. When he was done, she edged closer, pressing slightly against his side, as if looking for warmth, comfort.

"You know where we are, then?"

"Oh, yes," the Master's eyes glittered a little in the dim light. "I've been here before." He smiled tightly. It couldn't be a coincidence that he'd been transported to a planet he'd had a heavy hand in destroying. Someone had arranged this.

"The planet Terrata. On the outskirts of the Waning Wind, in the Mon Galaxy. Former population, 3.5 billion Monng. Current population," and he finally looked squarely at Rose with a peculiar scowl on his face, "Us."

She shifted her glance to him, and drew back a little.

"Can't be a coincidence, can it? The two of us, out of a whole universe of people, and here, out of a whole universe of planets..."

She swallowed and looked away.

The Master snorted a little. "Of course it isn't a coincidence," he muttered. "It is clearly someone's infuriatingly sentimental idea of punishment."

He paced a short way off, and then back again, like a cat in a cage, as he began to tap his screwdriver unconsciously against his thigh.

"You don't have to stay with me," she said lowly. "If that's part of your punishment, you can leave, I won't hold it against you."

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