stalemated | And spend the rest of my life, imprisoned, with you.

"I don't see how you being an annoying know-it-all has anything to do with anything." It was a gentle reprimand, possibly teasing, and, no, the Doctor really wasn't all there yet. "She's in orbit though." He glanced back and tilted his head to the side. "I thiiink."

Looking back, he ended up resting his forehead against the Master's, one bloody hand reaching up to comb through his hair. "It's alright now. I promise. We're going to be alright."

That said, calm and annoyingly serene, he suddenly switched mode and pushed away from him, hand back against his stomach as he approached the control board and started flipping some switches.

The Master winced in horror as a blood slicked hand wiped through his hair, the Doctor's mocking words making him nothing but angry. He didn't get scared very easy but he was easy to provoke. Always had been. Closing his eyes, he counted backwards from ten till the Doctor was away from him. Oh, he'd get him back for that.

"Uncuff me," the Master tried again, wanting a bit of freedom. He wasn't the Doctor's pet, the very idea unsettled him in awful ways and he didn't even want to consider such an ugly thought. "You're bleeding out. You need my help. So just let me go and I can handle things while you patch up."

Or, more likely, he'd just run away.

The Doctor went back to ignoring the master, focusing on the TARDIS instead and promising her to clean the blood off later. Then he walked off, well, stumbled, really, given the hole in his stomach, but he returned soon enough, to stop in front of the Master with a med kit in one hand that he presented to him.

"I do need your help."

He was already unbuttoning his shirt, not that he bothered shrugging out of the suit jacket for this, getting the shirt out of the way was well enough for now. He exposed the wound and looked at the Master, tried to catch his eyes.

"Help me, Master."

The Master very pointedly jangled his cuffs. Seriously, what was he supposed to do when he was stuck here and had absolutely no medical knowledge to help? It was all a very futile act, to try and help. He needed a hospital. Or some sort of healing formula? New New York was usually the best place to grab that stuff.

"Firs off, uncuff me. I can do absolutely nothing here."

All he needed was freedom. then he could stop the bleeding, set a course for a hospital and jump ship. He wouldn't let the Doctor die so easily but he refused to stick around.

"And I'm afraid you picked the wrong man to play doctors and nurses with."

"Well, I didn't have time to pick out your uniform." The Doctor frowned, then pulled out his screwdriver and opened one of the cuffs, definitely leaving the other one where it was.

Then the screwdriver fell from his trembling hand and rolled halfway across the TARDIS. He would have minded more had he not been busy with holding on to the Master, again, to keep from falling over.

"Come on, come on. You can do it. I trust you."

"I need both hands," the Master insisted, not capable of running away if he was stuck like this. And then what? The Doctor was bleeding everywhere, it was all down his suit and all he could do was feebly put his hand over the wound and try to stop the bleeding. Hello, engineer and scientist here, with a little knowledge of politics and sociology. Not a medical doctor.

How was he supposed to fix this kind of injury?

"Which one of us is called Doctor here? I can't fix this!" the Master protested in annoyance, tempted to let the man bleed out and regenerate. So much easier than fixing it. "You had a doctor in training and you sent her home, genius. If you die, you die. I can't help you."

And, to make that point, he pulled his hand off the wound and displayed all the blood that now covered it. "You're going to get worse, you need a hospital."

"No! I'm not going to risk losing you." That sentence came out with every bit of intensity the Doctor had and he had a lot of it.

"Now you just shut up and do as I say. I'm the Doctor, right? I can fix myself."

He grabbed the Master's wrist and pulled his hand back to the wound. "You have to get the bullet out. I can't do it myself without fainting. It's just like Operation, only you're allowed to touch the edges."

Okay, that was a new and terrifying angle. The Master stared for a while, unsure what to do, all he knew was that his hand was back to the slippery bloody mess that was the Doctor's wound. With a look of disgust, he knew he had to do something. Maybe if he did, the Doctor would pass out and he could break himself free. Dislocate his thumb and yank his hand out?

"A please and thank you goes a long way."

Awkwardly, he slipped his fingers into the hole and wriggled about, doing it as sloppily as he could to cause the bastard extra damage. Make him weaker so escape was easier. Then, finally, he pulled free the bullet and dropped it with a revolted look. "This is so not how I envisioned my plan ending. Impromptu surgery."

"That's the danger of not keeping your wife satisfied." But even as he had the energy for that bit of snark, the Doctor's legs finally gave in and he fell to the ground, kneeling and clutching his abdomen as he tried to keep his breathing in check.

"No," he whispered when he felt the first hint of regeneration, then reiterated the same word over and over, getting louder as he did so. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no!"

"I did, I just don't think she liked the rest," the Master explained with vague disinterest, jerking back and trying to move his nice expensive Italian shoes away from the ever growing puddle of blood and the somewhat erratic Doctor. "Would you mind awfully if you could stand back. I'd rather not get hit with regeneration energy. Or have my clothes ruined any further."

He knew it was going to happen, the Doctor was going to die sooner or later. It all depended on how long he lasted. And hey, maybe the next Doctor would be nice enough to let him go? Or dumb enough. "You can't fight it, it's going to happen."

"I don't know why people always tell me what to do." Having stopped repeating 'no' all over, the Doctor actually seemed to be perking up. Or completely losing it, either was possible. Hard to tell, really.

What was obvious was that he didn't think much of the Master's words, other than seeing them as an opportunity to show off.

So he kept rambling, while odd and hard to explain things were happening to his body. "Because I never, really, never listen!"

Then some weird fake-regeneration stuff went down, for the Master to enjoy.

The Master wanted to brag, he really did. Of all the things to do, the idiot when and lost a life for him. How romantic. He closed his eyes as the dazzling regeneration took place, trying to avoid blinding himself from the process. When he opened his eyes, eager to tease the idiot for thinking he could deft Time Lord convention--

Well, lets just say the words died in his mouth.

"What?!"

How did he have the same damn face? That was cheating. Turning his head, he caught sight of the hand and he had to groan. "Oh you vain bastard, you pissed away another regeneration."

Remember that beautiful grin, Master? The one you just can't get enough of seeing? Because, newsflash, it's not going to go away any time soon.

"Aw, don't be that way. You know you like it."

Shaking out his new, old limbs, the Doctor proceeded to button his shirt back up and then stroll over to the control desk so he could wipe the blood off it and apologize profusely.

"Sorry about that, sexy. I'll clean that right up, don't you worry."

Apparently attending to the Master could wait.

With an annoyed sigh, the Master made a point of aggressively yanking on his cuffs, not caring if they sliced into his skin. "Okay, point made, very funny. Now let me go. This is getting a little ridiculous and while I do love a good bondage sessions, you rather spoiled it by getting blood in my hair."

And all over his hands, his shirt, his jacket and face. He just wanted a shower at this point and maybe an excuse to leave.

"Doctor, I'm warning you, let me go."

Which, of course, he was stupid thing for him to say as he could warn him all day, he had absolutely nothing to use against him. The flaws of being a prisoner was the lack of leverage he had.

"I feel sufficiently warned," the Doctor assured him, finally turning around and approaching him, eyeing the cuff that still held him suspiciously, less with an intent of opening it and more to check whether it was still secure.

"But I suppose this is rather unpractical, on the whole. Not very comfortable, either."

He stepped forward, grinning too wide suddenly. Still not quite there, this one.

"Just trust me. I'll take care of you."

The way the Doctor looked at him wasn't right, he'd given that look before. And he didn't really like. There was something very wrong with that smile. But it didn't scare him enough that he was willing to just back down.

"You're not keeping me like some pet, Doctor."

And, with that, he swung out and purposefully caught the Doctor's face with his spare hand, trying to get a good slap in. It was hard to physically attack someone like this but maybe he could stun him or knock him unconscious if he tried hard enough. But hell, if death didn't stop him, what would.

"Let me go!"

"Oh wow." The Doctor rubbed his face, almost giddy for whatever reason. "I don't think I've been slapped like this since I last visited the Queen." He didn't mention which queen and chances were there were a lot of queens out there who'd ever so readily slap him around given the chance.

"Now calm down, this temper tantrum isn't going to do anyone any good." He ever so calmly started to look through the med kit he'd brought in before. "I'm going to sedate you a little, alright? Before you hurt yourself."

"I would of done much better with two arms, trust me," the Master threatened as he watched the Doctor carefully, eyes on the medkit. Sedation? Oh no chance, he was not being pumped full of drugs and left incapable of fighting his fate. He wasn't going to get locked away in this rust bucket of a ship while his enemy had a mental breakdown.

"No! No, no, no. Keep that thing away from me," the Master threatened, ready to give all the fight he had. Hence why he was now shifting to the side to kick out if he had to, one spare hand lifted in front of him for defence. "You're not drugging me!"

"I'd never doubt that you'd make a wonderful queen," the Doctor assured him. Then he pulled out something that certainly looked like a syringe and aimed. It hit, a little chip landing right on the Master's neck and attaching itself before he could pull it off.

And then the drugs were injected and it only took seconds before the Master quite literally swooned into the Doctor's arms.

When he woke up, a considerable amount of time later, he wore different clothes, his hair was clean and, oh, he was tied to a bed. Yes, tied, not cuffed or chained, because apparently the Doctor had a lot of silk ties laying about.

"Are you finally awake? Really, if I had known you are Sleeping Beauty, I'd have lowered the dosage."

Hazily, the Master blinked a few times and looked around the room, feeling a little like someone had filled his head with cotton. Eventually the blur started to fade and his brain tuned into whatever it was the Doctor was saying to him, none of it feeling ressuring. Looking up, he gave the Doctor a glare of annoyance and made a move to attack.

Only he find his arms straining awkwardly, unable to move away from the bedposts or even get closer to the bastard.

"What?" Looking down, he stared at his new set of clothes with a baffled expression. Wait, this was a little -- he was going to go with strange. Definitely strange. What was happening? "Did you change my clothes?"

Yes, being tied to the bed was clearly second place to having his clothes changed.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow at him, then shrugged his shoulders. "You were going to keep fussing about them otherwise. I know you."

He pushed away from the desk and jumped on the bed, bouncing lightly before sitting down between and on the Master's legs, smiling at him friendly enough.

"How are you feeling?" It was faint, but it was there, underneath the crazy. Pity. Worry. The promise to fix him. He reached out and tugged one of the knots keeping him to the bedpost just a little bit tighter, letting his free hand rest on the Master's chest.

"Well you covered them in blood. And these aren't much better," Seriously, your taste in clothes are dire, Doctor. The shirt he had screamed 'cheap and untailored. Couldn't he be well dressed if he had to be a hostage? Or tied to a bed by a lunatic? Or whatever this was.

"I'm feeling pissed off," the Master admitted, purposefully lifting and kicking his legs a little to try and throw the idiot off balance. "You can't keep me like this. Eventually I'll need the bathroom or to get some exercise. The longer I stay on this bed, the worse my revenge will be. Understood?"

Sure, he could threaten all day but he seriously had no plan for this one. How could he get free when he was tied to a bed?

"I understand. I'm quivering in fear." As he assured the Master of that, lying very transparently, he stretched out on top of him, ending up with his ear pressed against his chest, his palms doing the same. Maybe he shouldn't have dressed him.

The only hearts in the whole universe that still beat like his. He'd fix him. He had to.

He gave the Doctor a few seconds to get off him and do something normal and rational... but when he remained just lying on the Master, he couldn't help but try to knee the Doctor in the balls. It was an awkward angle and hard to get his knee between the Doctor's legs but by Rassilon, he was going to try.

"Get off me, Doctor. This isn't funny!"

"We're having a moment," the Doctor reprimanded, avoiding the knee being painful simply by shifting a bit and trapping the Master's legs more effectively. Not much leverage to be gotten like this. "Don't be so rude."

He did get a hand under the shirt he'd put on the Master now, running over his chest until he could feel his hearts beat.

"The worst thing was thinking I'd lose you."

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