standsonhigh | There's nothing here but what here's mine.

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psl: barty

There's nothing here but what here's mine.

This wasn't, exactly, how he had planned his return. He had expected to be on home turf, a place he understood and wanted to be. Surrounded by worshippers and already plotting. Not here with some strange man using the power he gave specifically to his followers to bring him back. The books of Saxon weren't meant to be public knowledge, they were his private notes, and yet this man decided to drag him into a world he didn't want to be in.

The Master always had a funny feeling that magic wasn't something he should of ever tried to toy with because as it stood, he didn't like where this was going. It defied the logic he knew.

Voldemort was a strange creature, a very unpleasant one at that. He looked sickly and his eyes were red like an albino. Still, he didn't say much on it, he'd looked worse himself and damages were just a sign of ambition and desire. It always took everything out of you, especially with humans.

The drums were raging in his head as he followed Voldemort into this meeting he'd decided to attend. He'd only been back a few days and already he seemed to of captured the imagination of this tiny little creature who was all but eager to introduce him.

An ancient ruler from another reality must of been interesting.

He didn't walk behind Voldemort, he kept in step, not willing to seem a lesser. Hey, the dark lord brought him here. If he was going to play with this merry band of psychopaths, he wanted to seem equal.

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On hindsight, perhaps reasoning with a psychopathic genocidal Time Lord with serious ego issues just wasn't something that should be done. And asking to 'fix him' was clearly the wrong road to go down. The Doctor wanted to help, he'd always wanted to help, he just didn't get how. How did one cure an imaginary noise in someone's head? -- Or, better yet, convince someone it wasn't real when they were that obsessed with it? He already tried today and it had ended with a fist in the face.

At least he thought it was today, time was not really easy to track here. The rules were wrong and everything was off.

He was in the middle of trying to work out the best way to free himself (he was pretty sure the Master had taken his screwdriver) when he heard the door open, expecting someone entirely different. And honestly, there was something so jarring about looking at his face. Well, kind of. Not his face but definitely his face. Somehow. His own face on someone else. Someone who looked so much more tired, so much more unsettled and human. Broken. It was like Lucy all over again.

What did the Master call this one? Barty? His Barty. About right, such an egotist, he just had to own everyone and everything. Even these humans.

"You're Barty, aren't you?" the Doctor asked, wasting no time and he forced himself to lean forward so he could be at a better angle, despite the pain it shot through his arm. "I bet you are, face like that. It's a good face, very good, I like it anyway. Got some good mileage out of it to. I'm the Doctor, by the way! I'm betting you've heard of me. I'd shake your hand but -- well, you know."

"You may have been mentioned." Barty stopped in front of him, looking down because he could and really mostly making comparisons. It was silly, he knew, because obviously this was the same face, perhaps older, and it wasn't as if his Master was obsessed with the Doctor because of his face. No, that he currently had this face was just the reason he noticed Barty in the first place. It still wasn't all that good for the ego.

At least the Doctor's face was bruised, that was strangely satisfying to see. "And you've heard of me." That was slightly more surprising. Barty rubbed his lower arm where the Mark had once been and then reached for his wand, letting go of a deep breath to release the tension he felt. He wasn't used to being nervous, outside of perhaps dealing with the Master on drum days.

He tapped his wand against his thigh, not aware of the rhythm he fell into. "Very honoured to meet you. I don't know how I came by the face, but yes. It's served me well."

He didn't miss the tapping, or the way that Barty reacted in surprise to his recognition. He was brainwashed? Or just indoctrinated? Either way, there was something wrong with Barty. It was up for debate what but it didn't make him feel good, not at all. With a deep breath, he looked at Barty and took him in. And the empathy practically sparkled in his eyes. The Doctor knew that he and the Master had been doing this dance for decades, centuries even. But he hated when the Master dragged innocent people into the crossfire.

"I'm sorry," he offered, not breaking eye contact. "I'm so sorry."

The Doctor had to say it because no matter how he looked at this, he knew it was entirely his fault. He should of been here, he should of known the Master would try something this stupid. And sure, he couldn't of banked on Barty having this face but it was his fault the face had this association. "Whatever he did to you, whatever he's put in your head, I can help you. I promise. He gets into your head, doesn't he? He's always been like that. Give me a chance, I can fix this."

Ah. He wasn't surprised anymore, this the Master had prepared him for. Not intentionally, of course, but by ranting to himself, by talking about the Doctor fixing him, wanting to fix him, by heading upstairs yesterday and being completely enraged over exactly this thing. This Barty could deal with. And so he frowned, making sure he looked nothing but confused.

"It's not your fault."

A very visible moment's hesitation and a suspicious glance around himself later he'd knelt down in front of the man with his face, down on his level now as he tried to catch his eyes. "That must be why you're called the Doctor, hm?" Putting two and two together wasn't exactly difficult. And it was about as subtle as the Master's chosen name. "But how could you fix this? He's everything."

Oh no one threw a temper tantrum like the Master did. After being told the drums weren't real, the Doctor's face wasn't the only thing he tried to break. With a temper that explosive, the Doctor had seen it in action. He knew what happened to people like Barty when they got caught up in this mess. And so he wasn't sure what to make of what was happening, if it was a trick or not, but sometimes he wondered that if he'd listened to Lucy, he could of helped her.

He dismissed her as a trick and look what happened. He couldn't make the same mistake.

"I suppose it is. I like to help people, not everyone needs fixing. Just a little boost. It's usually the situation that needs fixing," the Doctor said with the clear intention that Barty didn't need fixing, the Master and his empire did. That man always did the worst things to the most vulnerable people. "The Master might be clever but he's not exactly the best in the universe. He never looks at the little things, only the bigger picture. If I have to, I can stop him."

He feebly tugged at his cuffs, just to make a point. "But I can't do much down here, can I?"

Barty shrugged, reaching out slowly to touch the side of the Doctor's face. His face, he supposed. It was still odd. He'd never actually spent that much time looking at himself. There was a certain fascination to it. Besides, honestly, he really didn't look half-bad.

"No, you can't," he replied quite honestly, looking around again and allowing his eyes to be as haunted by the place as they could be, "I've been here for a long while. Didn't get much done." Though the statement ended with a smile, he was sure the implication was clear. He pulled his hand back again and raised his wand instead, gesturing in the direction of the camera.

"He's watching. And he likes it when you scream."

The touching was different but it reminded him of the Master, funnily enough. That desperation he got when he reached out, trying to force attention. This one had spent too much time with the Master. He'd probably been tortured and brainwashed to be a good little loyal pet. It made him sick.

As much as he wanted the Master to be with him and to fix him, make him better, it always hurt that he did this to innocent people.

"I'm sorry," he said again, unable to help himself. He didn't know why he did that, it didn't help. But he could try, couldn't he? Though the next thing he said sent an unpleasant tingle up his spine. "You don't always have to give him what he wants, you know? I find it'd better not to, it encourages him."

"Oh, yes. But you have a choice, don't you? Because you're you." Barty propped his chin up in his hand and smiled as he looked at the Doctor. It didn't even come close to reaching his eyes and he knew it didn't. "But I'm replaceable. Not much of a choice there."

His eyes flickered to the camera again and he licked his lips, leaning forward. Closer to the Doctor. Close enough to kiss, really, if he had wanted to.

"What do you want me to do, Doctor?"

That smile, it was off. He'd seen in on the Master before when he was acting. The biggest tell was the eyes, peoples eyes always lit up when they smiled. But not Barty, they stayed dull and focused. Like his. And his eyes kept flickering to something. A security camera? Some sort of spying device? The Master was watching, he was always watching. And he wouldn't of sent Barty down here if he couldn't trust him.

Which meant reasoning with this one was probably as flawed as reasoning with the Master. So he really only had one move in this situation, to not back down and not give the Master a show.

"I'd rather you took a step back," the Doctor insisted as he pulled his head back himself, head gently bumping against the wall. "And stop playing games with me. I doubt you're doing it intentionally, I doubt much of what you do these days could be considered done in freewill. But lets be honest here? Just me and you."

"But it's not just you and me," Barty told him, since he hadn't had any intention of fooling him about that. That was why he hadn't bothered lying better. Why he had looked at the camera. He wanted him to catch on. "So what choice do I have?"

Victim, wasn't he? Completely under the Master's control.

"You always have a choice," the Doctor insisted, he felt a level of sympathy but everyone had a choice. And if he knew the Master, he knew what he feared. And he feared the Doctor for a very good reason. Because he wouldn't give in, he really wouldn't. And he always won. "Bit cowardly, isn't it? Watching from a camera. Don't want to come down and watch? He must be sulking."

He was baiting now, not Barty but the Master. Maybe if he insulted him enough, he'd come down, they'd talk for a while and completely forget about whatever it was that the Master had ordered Barty to do. Sadly, the Doctor didn't know that the Master had very bluntly informed Barty he was coming in. Not until the Doctor was writhing in pain for denying his drums.

"A choice between hurting you and being hurt. Which would you rather I do?" Barty got up again, fingers tightening around his wand and his free hand tapping with the rhythm of the drums. He'd really heard them for the first time in here. Once before, sure, but that had been a mere shadow. In here they had almost broken him. Here it still seemed as if he could hear them.

"Don't brace yourself, Doctor. He likes to see you suffer."

The wand was an odd thing to have pointed at him and at first he was sure it was a laser screwdriver or some sort of weapon the Master had made. But no, it was a wand. A wand. And, perhaps it was the wrong thing to do, but the sight of it just made him burst into laugher. Not over the top or rather loud, just a brief moment of childish amusement. Because magic wasn't real, both he and the Master knew that.

This was all an illusion by him... right? So this was just a game. There was no threat outside the usual.

"Is the wand really needed?" the Doctor asked, a bemused expression on his face. Magic in his universe was nearly always disproved. "It's a little silly, isn't it?"

Barty had enough ridicule of magic to deal with from the Master on a daily basis that he just kind of lost his patience this once, because he could afford to. No argument, no explanation, just his wand slashing the air and angry red slashes appearing across the Doctor's face. There were more under his clothes, but they couldn't be seen, only guessed at by how his shirt was starting to turn just a little red.

"Not needed, but it helps." And then, after a short pause. "Crucio."

It was a strange experience. It all happened at once in a blur of pain and he didn't feel the slashes right away, maybe he was in shock from the pain? Or unprepared? Either way, it didn't hit him till they started to bleed. And before he could even properly react, something was said and suddenly it felt like every nerve in his body was on fire and every muscle was being pulled. A strange never ending pain that he didn't even think was possible.

He wasn't overly sure if he screamed or not.

But judging by the noise he could hear, he was pretty sure it wasn't Barty crying out in pain like that. With a desperate pained gasp, he tried to force himself to regain his control, to not give the Master what he wanted. The cries of pain soon turned into desperately held back choked noises, not unlike a wounded animal.

Young he might be, but Barty had seen and used the Forbidden Curses more often than most ever got to. He watched calmly, glancing at the camera once more as if he could actually look at the Master like this. He knew how to time it right for what effect he wanted, for the effect he'd been asked for. And with the Doctor making sounds like that, Barty was sure that the Master would be satisfied.

He ended the curse, finally, lowering his wand although he didn't put it away again. "In this world, Doctor, magic is real."

The Doctor slowly regathered his senses, pushing through the pain and trying his best to remind himself that he couldn't blame Barty. The poor sod was a victim, perhaps he was willing but he was still a victim. And it was admittedly hard to want to help him when being tortured... but he wouldn't be the Doctor if he didn't try. Taking a shaky inhale, he let his head fall back.

And refused to respond to the taunt. Because that had been made painfully aware to him already. So, instead of playing into whatever reaction he was looking for, the Doctor simply closed his eyes and didn't say another word.

Silence was golden. It was the one thing that annoyed the Master the most. And really, what could he say?

Edited 2014-01-07 00:36 (UTC)

Barty watched him quietly for a while, looked at the man in front of him and thought. Then he fell down on his knees, taking a ragged breath and shaking his head while he echoed the Doctor's words back at him. "I'm sorry."

He bit down on his lower lip and crawled to cover what little distance there was between them, reaching out for the Doctor again but not touching him this time, instead letting his hand sink down again. "I'm so sorry."

He'd known despair. Knew it too well, really. It wasn't difficult to mimic, especially down here. "He won't let me stop. They won't."

The Doctor didn't trust it, he couldn't trust it. Not after what he'd just experience. Everything hurt, his body tingled in pain and he could feel every cut vividely. He'd seen the way Barty had attacked and it wasn't out of force or fear, it was out of anger. And yeah, maybe the Master had brought him to this point and made him this. But he couldn't fix it if he was stuck down here, on the floor, arms cuffed awkwardly behind him. So he had to wait for the Master, he had to defeat him before he could save anyone.

That's why he still said nothing and did nothing. He just sat there, looking at Barty with pity in his eyes. Pity and sadness.

But he couldn't get pulled into this again,

Barty turned, just a little. Just enough to that his back was to the camera when he spoke as quietly as he could and still be audible. "I don't want to hear the drums again."

He rubbed his face and stared at the Doctor for a moment or though, actually subconsciously mimicking his same expression. Not a lot of trust in those eyes, but then, he'd never really experienced trust in the first place.

He knew he should of kept his silence, he knew he should of resisted. But he couldn't help himself, he had to correct this madness and keep firmly with what he believed. Because while he knew it was an act, he supposed Barty wasn't about to give up and give him a break. "They're not real."

The drums had never been real. He didn't know what this man had heard or what he thought they were but at least he knew saying that would piss off the probably gloating Master. Good. He had to get back at him somehow. "The drums are just his madness, you can't hear them. No one can but him."

"Then I have the same madness," Barty concluded quite logically and then he got up again, hiding the triumph he felt over having gotten him to talk again once he shut down. Good enough. For now. He would have to think of a strategy.

"It might be better I go. Is there anything you need, Doctor?" Suddenly quite the good and helpful servant.

"Let me go," the Doctor tried, knowing it was a silly idea to even ask but hey, what was life without trying. "Someone has to stop him and I will, I always do. We're just playing a waiting game till I can get free. Please, undo these cuffs and we could stop him together. I can help you, but you have to help me."

He knew Barty wouldn't go for it. He was broken, he was the Master's little 'pet' or whatever. But he was allowed to try. One last chance before he shut down completely and waited for the Master.

Barty stared at him, nothing much changing, except for his stance. There was a hesitation there that hadn't been there before. Fear and excitement. But then his shoulders fell and he turned around.

"I'm not you, Doctor." It wasn't another apology, but the tone definitely made it sound like one. "Even if I look like this." With that he headed for the stairs, which was a good way to hide his smile.

With a sigh, the Doctor slumped back sadly and rested against the wall, pushing the pain to the back of his mind and escaping into his head. He could focus, keep himself centred and resist any torture thrown at him. As long as he could defy the Master in some way, he was winning.

There's nothing here but what here's mine.

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