Title: Small Sacrifices
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: gen
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Table: 100moods
Prompt: 26, Determined
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.

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The Doctor looked down at the Tardis' console, his mouth set in a grim line. He didn't particularly want to go to the place he was headed, but he had no choice. It was far past the time he should have confronted the Master again.

He knew that the other man was waiting for him on the planet that he was headed to. The Master must know that he was coming; he'd found out over and over again over the centuries that it was impossible to surprise his enemy.

Somehow, the Master always seemed to know just when he would make a move. There had been times when he couldn't help wondering if the renegade Time Lord had had some way of seeing into the Tardis, to know what he was doing at all times.

No, that wasn't possible. His ship wouldn't allow herself to be used in that way, and especially not used against him. But there was some strange advantage that the Master seemed to have, an advantage that the other man wouldn't scruple to use in any way he could.

The Doctor put a hand to his head, a sudden thought striking him. Maybe this was the way that the Master was so attuned to him.

The other man might have forged some kind of bond with him, without the Doctor even knowing about it. It would be difficult to do, but the Master's powers of intellect were just as strong as his own. It would be hard, but certainly not impossible.

The worst thing was that there would be no way for him to find out conclusively whether or not that was the case -- unless he asked the Master, of course. And he certainly couldn't expect an honest answer from the other Time Lord.

If that was the case, the information about what the Master had done was buried so deeply in his mind that he would never be able to get to it himself. And doubtless the Master had put some sort of lock on that information, so that only he would be able to draw it out.

But even if he couldn't access whatever the Master might have planeted in his mind, he was determined to vanquish the other man's plans. He'd spent his entire life -- all of his lives, actually -- doing just that, and he wasn't going to stop now.

The Master represented the greatest threat to the universe that he knew of, the Doctor told himself firmly. And he was pledged to stop that threat.

He would do it, no matter what sacrifices he might have to make. He'd come close to death before -- and he'd never turned away from it. But this time, it felt that there was more at stake than just the death of the body he was in now.

He loved this body. He didn't want to lose it. He'd been in it for such a short time; he wasn't ready to give it up yet, and he wouldn't be for a very long time to come, if ever. This was the first one he'd been able to truly enjoy.

The Doctor sighed, looking down at the console again. All he could do was try his best to stop the Master, and hope that it didn't result in a forced regeneration. That was the last thing he wanted -- besides his ultimate death, of course.

What was he heading for? He really had no idea, other than that he knew it would be a confrontation with the man who had been his greatest enemy for most of his life. That was a showdown he wasn't looking forward to.

The Master was making it plain that he wanted the Doctor to come after him. Which could only mean that he thought -- as usual -- that he would be the winner of their next battle of wills.

The Doctor was always the ultimate victor whenever they went up against each other, but he couldn't say if that was becuase of superior tactics, or luck. And if it was simple luck, then it couldn't hold out forever. He couldn't keep relying on something so fickle.

Still, he was determined to do his best. For the universe. He'd pledged long ago that he was going to protect the galaxy from whatever injustices he might happen to find, and he wasn't going to renege on that vow. He couldn't live with himself if he did.

But it was getting harder and harder for him to stick to that promise. Not that he didn't want to, but there was so much more to life than constantly throwing himself in harm's way. It seemed that he'd spent his entire life doing just that.

He would do what he could. And if it came down to making a sacrifice that he'd rather not make, then his decision would have to be made in a split second. He'd make whatever decision he had to -- though he already knew what that would be.

He would choose to sacrifice himself. He'd always done that, and he always would. Maybe some would see that as a weakness -- but he saw it as his greatest strength.

It wouldn't be pleasant. It wouldn't be what he wanted to do, and in a personal sense, he might bitterly regret it. But he would do what he had to do. He'd made that decision the day that he passed the tests to become a Time Lord.

He was a man first and foremost, with all of a man's weaknesses and failings. But along with that, he was a Time Lord -- and that made him stand out among all the other men of the universe, whether he wanted to or not.

And no matter what else he did in his life, he was determined to live up to the honor of being what he was. He had worked to become a Time Lord, and it wasn't a title he took lightly. Whatever he had to do to deserve that honor, then he would do it.

No sacrifice was too great for him to make, he told himself. If only he truly believed that, a little voice piped up in the back of his mind. But the truth was, he didn't want to sacrifice himself. He never had, no matter how much he might claim that he was ready to do so.

He wouldn't consider this body a small sacrifice; no, it would be among the greatest ones he'd ever had to make, though he sincerely hoped it wouldn't come to that.

The Doctor pressed a button on the console, closing his eyes as he did so. The Tardis would arrive at their destination shortly -- and the first steps would be taken on the road to battle. Sacrifices would be made -- and he hoped that they wouldn't all be made on his side.

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