Title: Breakdown Dead Ahead
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: past Jack/Doctor
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: R
Table: Buffet 2, fc_smorgasbord
Prompt: 50, Breakdown
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.

***

The Doctor dragged himself up the three steps leading from the door of the Tardis, clinging to the railing as though he needed it to keep himself upright. In truth, he did; he'd never felt so much in need of the help of a companion as he did at this moment.

But he had no companion to help him. No, he had to face this alone; he had to deal with whatever poison might happen to be running through his veins, and hope that it wouldn't force a regeneration and would wear off soon.

No, if it was going to force him to regenerate, it would have already done so, he told himself, trying to calm his racing thoughts into some semblance of normality. That was one positive thing; he wouldn't become a new man against his will.

But he had no way of knowing how long these spells of weakness and disorientation would last. He wasn't in a position to run tests on himself; and he had no idea just what it was that the Master had injected him with.

He'd been lucky to be able to get himself out of that laboratory; he'd used the last of his rapidly dwindling strength to tug at the leather restraints that had held him prisoner, thanking any deity that came to mind when one of them had proved to be loose.

He had slipped one thin wrist free, and then it had only taken him a few seconds to free his other wrist, and then his ankles. He'd stumbled out of the lab, grateful that the Master hadn't left any of those minions working for him to watch his captive.

Finding his way back to the Tardis had been sheer luck -- well, that and the fact that his bond with her would always manage to lead him in her direction, no matter where they were. He'd made it into the ship; now, he had to send her out into time and space.

Making his way to the console, he looked blearily at the controls, blinking and trying to focus. Which one would do what he needed to be done? Ah, yes, there. He reached out a shaky hand to press a button, then another, before he grasped the edges of the console.

His head was reeling; whatever the Master had given him, it was affecting his sense of balance, as well as his power to focus. It was affecting his mind, not just his physical being -- which made it a very dangerous drug indeed.

Even if he managed to get some of it out of his system -- which he'd already done as he made his way to the ship, by coughing a good deal of it out -- there was still quite a bit of it still circulating through his body, and he'd have to wait until it had run its course.

The Doctor felt the slight displacement of time and space which meant that the Tardis had taken him away from that planet, and he allowed himself to slump over the console, closing his eyes. At least he was safely away from the Master.

What had the other man told him? "Enjoy your breakdown, Doctor. I hope that I'll be back in time to watch it. I want to see every moment of your struggle against it. I want to watch you break -- your body, your mind, and your will."

The Time Lord gritted his teeth, making himself move towards the couch by an effort of will. Suddenly, it seemed very hard to move, or even to focus on one particular place in the ship. Everything was spinning around him in a most peculiar fashion.

He shook his head, hoping that would clear his senses; but of course that wasn't going to work, he told himself with a frown. The Master had poisoned him with .... something. He hadn't been told what, but he could take several educated guesses.

The problem was that none of those guesses would be right. He would have to try to ride this out, and hope that there wasn't some kind of lethal dose in his system that would do him in before it wore itself out.

Pressing a shaking hand against his forehead, the Doctor tried to judge if he had a fever along with the disorientation. No, his skin seemed cool enough; that was one small blessing, at least. He might be able to keep his thoughts passably lucid.

Maybe he could make it to his bedroom and collapse there. Which corridor led to the softness of his bed, the coolness of sheets that he could sink into and not come out until he felt that he was past this crisis and ready to face the world again?

Yes, that was the one. Only a few steps .... he was in the corridor, making his way towards his bedroom; maybe it would have been better to stay in the control room, but he could trust the Tardis to take care of him.

At least, he hoped that was true. His ship had never failed him before, and he was certain that she would be there for him this time. All he had to do was make it to a room where he could lie down, and hopefully the Tardis would make him comfortable.

He could already feel the temperature changing, as though the Tardis was compensating for the fact that he obviously wasn't at his best. Her lights were dimming; that was a good thing, as his eyes were dazzled by bright lights at the moment.

The Doctor staggered into his bedroom, moving towards the bed with slow, dragging footsteps. He hardly knew it when he collapsed into the softness of the silken sheets; all he could think of was the Master's words.

Breakdown. The Master meant for him to have a breakdown -- both physical and mental. So far, he'd only been weakened -- so it was possible that the dose of whatever he'd been given hadn't been strong enough to achieve what the Master wanted.

That may have been why his nemesis and his henchmen had left the room; they might have been going to secure another dose of whatever it was they'd given the Doctor. The Master had seemed to be in search of something when they'd left.

He could almost sense that breakdown that the Master had spoken of -- a wide, gaping chasm that was beckoning to him, waiting for him to fall in. Or even to jump in of his own free will -- which he might have been forced into if he hadn't managed to get away.

But he wasn't going to do it. Not here, not now. He was in his own ship, his place of safety and refuge; he might have some sort of poison trying to insinuate itself into his body, but he'd repulsed it for this long, and he'd continue to do so.

That might not be the easiest thing to achieve, but he wasn't going to let the Master get the best of him. He'd never given in to that bastard before, and he wasn't going to do it now. He would prevail, no matter how difficult doing that might prove to be.

That breakdown that the Master had spoken of was staring him in the face, its gaping jaws open and reaching for him. He would be caught up in it, as in a maelstrom; crushed and destroyed, shaken as a cat would shake a mouse.

The Doctor rolled over onto his stomach, burying his face in the downy pillows; he had to shut out the visions that the Master's drugs were putting into his mind, had to keep himself from leaping head first into the abyss that was waiting to swallow him whole.

The Master's words kept coming back; the breakdown was dead ahead, challenging him, refusing to step aside. He would have to meet it with all the weapons at his disposal -- of which his mind was the greatest one, if he could just hold on to that knowledge.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, opening himself to whatever might be coming for him. He would fight the breakdown that the Master was trying to induce -- and he would defeat it. He'd always been able to rise to a challenge -- and this was one that he had to win.

***