Title: Mind Over Matter
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/The Master
Fandom: Doctor Who
Prompt: 41, Mind
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 clenched his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to distance himself from the feeling of disorientation that was coming over him. Whatever was in that injection that the Master had given him, he was going to fight it, to the bitter end if need be.
He had no idea what he'd been given; for all he knew, it could be some deadly drug that would signal the end of him. It could be something that would force a regeneration, something that the Master had managed to concoct.
Or it could be nothing at all that would be deadly or even dangerous to him in any way, other than only making him more vulnerable to whatever the Master planned to do to him.
His fists clenched, his muscles straining as he struggled against the straps that held him down in the chair he was in. It was useless; he couldn't loosen them, but at least he could still move. Whatever the Master had given him, it didn't hamper his ability to move.
There had to be more to what the Master was planning than merely to drug him, he thought, his brow creasing into a frown. That madman wouldn't have gone to the trouble to capture him and have him brought here if there wasn't some reason for it.
Maybe he just wanted to gloat over the fact that the Doctor was rendered helpless against him, the Time Lord thought, his hands again clenching into fists. But if that was the case, then he wouldn't have been drugged. No, there was something more insidious to this ....
He was starting to feel disoriented, woozy, as though the edges of his vision were beginning to cloud. The Doctor blinked, his breath catching in his throat.
Whatever he'd been drugged with, it was apparently supposed to render him unconscious. He had to fight that; if he lost consciousness, then the Master would be able to do whatever he wanted with him, and he knew the outcome of that definitely wouldn't be good.
His head was spinning, his senses reeling. The Doctor took a deep breath, trying to keep himself oriented, looking around the room and attempting to take inventory of everything he saw to keep his mind grounded and working coherently.
This wasn't going to work, he thought, blinking rapidly as his vision became more blurry. His mind felt as though it was being slowly coaxed to sleep; he couldn't think properly, his thoughts becoming disjointed and uncertain.
Where was he? Oh yes, the Master had brought him here. Two men had held him down and strapped him into this chair .... and he'd been injected with .... with something.
His mind. The Master was trying to take his mind -- or at least incapacitate his considerable intellect. That was the best way for the other man to make sure that he was rendered incapable of doing anything -- and the Master knew it.
His mind had always been his most formidable weapon, the one thing that had never failed him and never would. Physical weapons weren't infallible, and truth be told, neither was his own mind. But he had centuries of experience to call upon, and that experience had never failed him yet.
He had to fight what the Master was trying to do; he had to stay awake and alert. But whatever he'd been injected with was racing through his veins, relaxing his muscles, making his mind feel fuzzy and wrapped in cotton-wool, making his eyes close of their own volition.
No! The Doctor forced his eyes wide open, taking another deep breath and trying to focus on the situation at hand. If he couldn't do that, then he was lost.
This wasn't going to happen. The Master wasn't going to win; he'd always been beaten in the past, and this time wasn't going to be the exception. This was a case of mind over matter; he had to be stronger and smarter than his enemy.
What if he couldn't win? What if this time, the Master had found some way to render him completely helpless and destroy his effectiveness at being what he was? What if this was finally the time when he'd lost, when he would have to concede defeat?
The Doctor shook his head, swallowing hard and trying to marshal his whirling thoughts. He'd never lost a battle with the Master before. There had been stalemates, but he'd never let the other man defeat him completely. He'd always been the ultimate victor in the end.
But this might be the one time he wouldn't be. He'd had a long streak of luck, but this could be the final battle, when his luck came to an abrupt end.
He didn't want to give in. But he could feel the darkness of oblivion taking him over, like a blanket being pulled up over his inert body to cover him. He had no knowledge of slipping into that darkness, his eyes closing and his mind going blank even while he thought he was still fighting.