Title: Beautiful Disaster
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/The Master
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Table: 1, 50ficlets
Prompt: 50, Beautiful Disaster
Warnings: non-con
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the Tenth Doctor or the Master. Please do not sue.


The Doctor looked down at the street below him, the car and people scurrying about on the pavement looking like so many ants. How far down were they? He had no idea how many stories tall this building was.

What was he doing here, standing on the top of one of the tallest buildings in London on a busy night? He hadn't thought about his reasons for coming here, if he even had reasons. It just happened to be where his instincts had led him.

It was ridiculous, really. He'd had some vague thought about ending his existence here, but the longer he'd stood here with the wind blowing through his hair and billowing his trench coat out behind him, the less he'd wanted to do that.

He hadn't really wanted to, anyway. It had just been a case of his mind focusing far too much on words that the Master had uttered.

Shouldn't he know by now not to pay any attention to anything that manic said to him? He almost snorted at the thought that the Master could have such an effect on his good sense. He should take anything that man said with a grain of salt -- no, a mountain.

The Master would never pass up an opportunity to make him feel inadequate, as though he wasn't good enough, as though he somehow wasn't in control of his desires, or of his life. He knew better. He was in control.

Or was he? The Doctor bit his lip as that insidious little voice whispered in his head, the voice that urged him to consider what the Master said, to turn those words over in his mind and discover the unvarnished truth in them.

No, there were times when he didn't have any control over what he did -- or what he wanted. The Master had proved that, time and time again, much to his chagrin.

He didn't consciously want the unspeakable things that the Master did to him. But he let himself be used -- because he knew that in the end, he had no choice. He had to submit to ensure that the world would continue to survive.

There was no doubt in his mind that if the Master didn't get what he wanted from him, that warped, twisted mind would carry out whatever bizarre plan he had in mind -- and that he would use the Doctor's guilt to pierce his enemy's hearts like the sharp point of a stiletto.

He could still hear the last few words the Master had said to him in that darkened room, the last place that he'd seen the other man.

"You're a disaster, Doctor," the Master had sneered as he'd looked down at his bound and gagged captive. "A beautiful disaster, yes, and a very desirable one. But a disaster nonetheless. You can't save the world. You can't even save yourself."

The Doctor shuddered at the memory of those words -- and the memory of what the Master had done to him after that. At least the room had been dark; he hadn't to suffer the ignominy of having the other man see his physical reactions.

He didn't remember much after that; only that the Master's laughter had sounded as sibilant as the hiss of a snake when he'd finally moved off the bed, leaving the Doctor bruised and bleeding, tears that he couldn't hold back streaking down his cheeks.

The Master hadn't even had some carefully crafted plan that he was trying to carry out. No, this time he'd been there simply because he'd wanted the Doctor.

The Time Lord had to suppress another shudder at the thought; it horrified him to think that he so attracted the other man by being in this body that he would continue to be the object of these kinds of sexual attacks as long as the Master was free to carry them out.

He bit his lip as he looked down at the teeming streets far below him, wondering if those people would think the same thing of him that the Master did. Was he a disaster? Or would they think that he had some worth -- if they had any idea that he even existed?

Raising his head to look from the ground up towards the stars, the Doctor shook his head, letting out a somewhat embarrassed laugh. Didn't he know by now that he shouldn't listen to whatever the Master told him?

That was just the other man's way of trying to break down his confidence in himself, in any way he could. There had been no truth in those words. Just because he might end up in bad situations at times didn't mean that h was a failure at how he'd chosen to live his life.

Maybe he could be a beautiful disaster at times. But he always made up for his missteps by being the ultimate winner -- at least, most of the time.

That was something that he could be proud of -- and something that the Master could never take away from him, no matter how hard he might try. He hadn't broken under the pressure the other man had put on him, and he could take pride in that fact.

He could hold on to the knowledge that even if all he did for the world wasn't appreciated, he'd still know that he'd fulfilled his destiny as a Time Lord. And in the end, despite the taunts that the Master might throw at him, nothing else really mattered.