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From the exact moment the Doctor had regenerated, he could tell something was... off.
It wasn't like he'd been opposed to regenerating into a woman, and despite the initial discomforts of getting used to a new body, he had hope that the feeling would pass.
It didn't.
He hated this regeneration. Hated himself, believing that he was making things more complicated than it needed to be. The Doctor had met plenty of people who were transgender, sure, but he never fully comprehended what pushed them to make action and transition themselves to accommodate how they felt. He certainly did now.
There had been many incidents that pushed him further and further before he finally resolved to do something about his needs. Every time someone had made a remark on how a “gorgeous young lady” he was, he wanted to throw up. Every "she" and "her" that inevitably slipped its way into converse made him want to scream. And though in the past the Doctor had seldom felt body insecurity, it was an entire new level of self-loathing.
Countless nights and days, he found himself gazing at his reflection in the mirror. A young woman staring back at him, full of feminine curves and delicate features. She looked beautiful, elegant, and kissable.
He wanted to break that horrid mirror. Smash his fist into the glass and let the shards get stuck in his knuckles, maybe then he'd start feeling something other than the relentless pang of discontent. Whoever was staring back, it wasn't him. It felt like there was something inside that was desperately trying to claw itself out, rip away, and tear at the flesh of his chest, mangle the hips that were far too wide. Sometimes he'd find himself absentmindedly scratching to the point of injury. Like a part of him knew, feverishly straining to make himself see.
The weight of it all was agonizing. He was drowning, constantly attempting to break to the surface only to miserably be shoved further down.
His head briefly came up when he crossed paths with Jack Harkness again.
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Jack ran to the TARDIS, damped with sweat and exhaustion. Though that failed to keep his stunning smile from beaming. The Doctor hadn't even made it a step out before being engulfed in a tight hug. He tensed at first, but quickly melted into it.
“Doctor! God, I thought I'd never see you again,” he roughly breathed into the Doctor’s shoulder. Jack held him firmly, as if he would simply vanish into thin air.
The Doctor gave a breathy laugh. “Oh man, Jack!” He pulled away but kept his hands resting on his biceps. “Up to no good as usual are we? Tell me, how many hearts have you broken since?”
Jack shook his head, but he was smirking. “Oh you know, a healthy amount.”
“How’d you find me anyways? The chances of us meeting again are…” the Doctor paused to calculate, then gave up knowing very well Jack didn't care, “well… small.”
“Ah, well I knew you'd have to refuel the TARDIS using the Cardiff Rift.” Jack gleefully held up a jar of the Doctor’s severed hand he'd been carrying, “And I used this to help me know when you were nearby!” Way too cheery for holding one of the Doctor’s body parts.
The Doctor gave the jar, then Jack a questioning look, but didn't choose to comment. He led him further into the TARDIS and closed the door, then opted to lean on the console while Jack paced excitedly.
“I’m so glad to have you back man, it’s been way too long.” Jack stopped pacing and shamelessly looked the Doctor up and down, “Seems like you got a few works done. Looking good dude, or it should be girl now right?”
The Doctor’s smile flickered, but he pushed himself to seem happier. Jack was excited, he didn't need to sour the mood with a problem seemingly unfixable.
“Yeah, I, uh, guess it is.” He didn't mean to make that statement sound so miserable.
Realizing his error he tried to regain his prior mood and forced another smile.
Jack could see through it. Of course he could.
“Everything alright Doctor?” Jack’s face morphed to a worried expression, and the Doctor mentally kicked himself. He wanted to disappear.
“Yeah, yeah, Jack everything’s okay, sorry, just a little out of it today.” An embarrassingly weak deflection.
Jack looked him over, now with much more scrutiny and crossed his arms. “It doesn't seem like that. C’mon Doctor, you know I'm here for you. You've saved this sweet ass enough times for me to owe you at least this.”
The Doctor stayed quiet, averting Jack’s piercing eyes and, oh, suddenly the floor was much more interesting. Is that a loose panel? Maybe he should fix that right now and then melt into it. Jack would be fine with that as an answer, right?
The sound of Jack’s fingers snapping unwillingly grounded him into the present. The Doctor looked back up, giving him a tense smile, before dropping it again. He took a shaky breath in.
“I, uh, no I haven't been doing good lately.”
He wanted to stop there but Jack was still looking at him expectantly. There was a softness in his eyes that the Doctor found comfort in. He continued hesitantly.
“I don't feel… right.”
“Right how?” Jack asked as he slowly walked over to the console, careful to not unnerve him with sudden movement, and stood next to the Doctor.
The Doctor swallowed, mouth suddenly feeling very dry. "I don't know exactly how to explain it. This regeneration, it's wrong. I'm wrong, and I don't know how to fix it." He took another unsteady inhale, resolving to just bite the bullet and get it over with. Jack, the saint, waited patiently.
"Jack... I don't feel like i'm supposed to be a woman."
He shut his eyes, bracing for impact. Jack would be weirded out, annoyed, telling him he was being delusional, he’d leave, he'd…
Oh.
Oh.
He was hugging him.
The Doctor froze. There was a moment of shock before he broke. Red hot tears that he didn't notice streamed down his face, trembling hands came to rest onto Jack’s back, then tightly clutched his jacket. He hadn't expected the amount of relief be felt from saying those words out loud, especially not being met with disgust. He liquefied in the hug, and Jack was more than happy to keep him upright. The Doctor didn't think he had it in him to stand anyways.
“Oh Doctor, I'm so proud of you for telling me,” Jack said in a soft voice. “I know this can be hard to deal with, but we can figure it out together.”
The Doctor sighed, content to just rest in Jack’s secure arms. When he spoke his voice was still raw with emotion, “I don't know the first thing about what to do or where to go… it’s… a lot. I've, um, never told anyone I was trans until you.” He gave a bitter laugh that sounded more strangled than he would've liked.
“Well, I'm honored to be the first person you've told. And hey,” Jack pulled away, still keeping up the Doctor, to see his face, “Don’t worry about the big steps, let's focus on the smaller ones.”
The Doctor’s face was a mess, red, puffy, and utterly wrecked by emotion. He furrowed his brows, “Like what?”
Jack moved to stroke a strand of long dark brown hair, “This, for instance. Unless you prefer having long hair.”
That was something he hadn't really considered, or maybe he was too scared to do anything about it. But Jack was here, and enthusiastically willing to help. He didn't have to do this alone. With watery eyes and an inability to respond with words at the moment, he nodded.
Jack grinned and proceeded to pull the Doctor along with him to a bathroom. The Doctor, feeling like he was just starting to learn how to use his legs, stumbled behind. Jack, being quite familiar with the layout, quickly found the closest one. He sat the Doctor down on the toilet seat, already opening drawers to find clippers and scissors.
The Doctor eyed Jack and the equipment he was holding with uncertainty. “You, uh, sure you know what you're doing?”
“Trust me, when you date a hairstylist for a couple months you pick up a few things. And hobbies.”
“Oh yeah? What happened with that one?”
“Nothing that was my fault,” responded Jack predictably.
A couple snips later, Jack had finished. He admired his work for a minute, then once satisfied, he tugged the Doctor to the mirror.
The Doctor ran his hand through it, messing it up before styling it more carefully. It looked… nice. No, it looked perfect. For the first time in a while, he didn't loathe his reflection. If he squinted, he could start to see himself. It didn't seem like it should make such a huge difference, but it did. He looked back at Jack, a genuine smile playing at his lips. The amount of gratitude he had for him was something he couldn't express with words. The Doctor held him tightly, feeling tears build up once more.
They hugged till they got tired of standing.
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The Doctor would go on to remember that day fondly. It was the start of something big, of finally feeling comfortable in his own body. In the first bit of his transition, he was a little overwhelmed. There were so many things that needed to be researched, like what method would work for him? How would him being a Time Lord affect the process? Where would he go? What should he do next? Luckily, Jack was there to keep him afloat. Instead of leaving, he chose to stay with the Doctor and guide him through it all. It surprised the Doctor how much he knew about things revolving being transgender, and when he asked Jack simply said, “I get around.”
He started testosterone a few months later. God, he was nervous. The Doctor’s hands were trembling so hard with the needle. Jack had to do it for him. After it was over he felt incredibly relieved. Once he started getting into the groove of it, the shots no longer made his hands shake. And just a few months after he could start to see and hear the changes. It seemed him being a Time Lord sped up the process quite a bit.
When it came to surgeries, that's where he started to have doubts. It scared him, horribly so. But Jack was there, and he would still be there after it was over.
The Doctor had top surgery roughly a year later. The healing process was shitty, but not as long as it was for other races. Draining the fluids was always the worst part, every time Jack offered to help the Doctor refused. He needed to do this on his own. The Doctor felt like this was as far as he wanted to go regarding surgeries, and Jack thankfully didn't press him on it. When the constricting bandages finally came off, he cried. Embarrassingly too much for his liking. Jack just held him through it.
The Doctor could comfortablely walk into a public space and be perceived as who he was on the inside. No more hiding away on the TARDIS. He was ready.
Then, there was Donna.
Their meeting was certainly less than ideal. From the moment they'd got thrown together, they just clicked. She was radiant, and full of energy that the Doctor could easily bounce off of. Her comments, however crude, were incredibly affirming. She had absolutely no idea, and the Doctor was perfectly content with her not knowing.
Donna found out anyways.
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.
"What’s this?" Donna held up what looked like to be just a black cloth with a skeptical brow raised.
The two had been cleaning out some of the compartments of the TARDIS to make room for even more junk they had bought at various markets and stores. The Doctor pulled his head up out of a bin, squinting before taking out his glasses.
And, oh, it was his old binder. Face flushed, he quickly stood up to stride over to her. The Doctor stood over her anxiously while she examined it unknowingly.
“Ooooo, looks like a croptop,” she teased. Donna raised it up, then to her chest, attempting to stretch but being met with much resistance. “Geeze, that's quite compressive, who the hell wore this?”
“That’s uhhh, not mine. I don't know how it got there.” The Doctor furrowed his brows and did his best to put on a puzzled expression.
She looked up at him, “Well, it got here some how. How come you're sweating so much?” Donna crossed her arms, binder still in hand.
“I’m not sweating!” The Doctor’s voice cracked terribly, putting his hands up defensively.
Oh, he was sweating.
“Come on spaceman, spit it out. I know you know something.”
She glared at him.
He sweated harder.
Donna rolled her eyes at the Doctor’s lack of response, choosing to toy with the clothing longer. She then came across the tag. In big bold letters it read, “TRANSWEAR”, with the colors of the flag being the tag itself. The Doctor fiercely grabbed the binder from her grasp, hiding it in his arms. His face burned with the force of a thousand suns. It was too late, she saw. Maybe she didn't know?
“Is that binder yours?”
There was no hint of disgust, no malice, just genuine confusion. But the question hit the Doctor like a train. No way could he cover this up, not with how he'd just reacted so strongly.
Things were going so well. She hadn't misgendered him once or thought twice about his identity. It was all going to change now. He'd screwed things up.
The Doctor averted his eyes, then slowly sat down in front of Donna.
“It was. I had top surgery a while ago.” The confession felt like a death sentence, and he dreadfully awaited the verdict.
For the first time in a while, Donna was speechless. There was a beat of silence, then,
“Huh, I thought Time Lords could change their bodies anyway.”
The Doctor dared a look up. Donna didn't look upset. Definitely shocked, but not upset.
“Yes, we can, however… that only happens in death. And uh, as you can see…” He gestured to his body unnecessarily.
“Cool.” Then she was back to sorting through the bins.
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Just like that, things went back to normal. Not once did Donna fumble awkwardly when referring to him, or question him. She still made those “skinny man” remarks and joked freely. It was like a giant weight the Doctor hadn't even noticed got lifted. When the Doctor had confessed his prior fears to her, she just called him an idiot for not thinking she’d understand. The Doctor’s affection and gratitude for her grew to an immeasurable amount that day.
One unforgettable day, Donna found a way to express her deep appreciation for the Doctor.
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Donna led the Doctor to the console room with her hands covering his eyes, awkwardly on her tippy toes. On the way there she’d purposefully directed him into a wall or two, or three.
“Donna, I swear-”
“Oh, Shut it!”
She stopped him, “Keep your eyes closed.”
The Doctor only huffed in response. There was the sound of her messing with something. Once she was satisfied with whatever she had been doing, she told him to open his eyes.
When he opened his eyes, he was greeted by a vibrant display of flags gracefully strung across the space. The vivid colors of the trans flag stood proudly at the forefront, surrounded by alternating banners of the pansexual and bisexual flags, each shimmering under the soft glow of the lights. While some might consider the arrangement a bit overly festive, to him, it felt like a breathtaking tapestry woven with heartfelt significance. Donna, caught up in the spirit of the moment, twirled with joy, her face alight with a beaming smile that radiated pure happiness.
“Oh, wow.”
Donna rolled her eyes. “That’s all you have to say? ‘Oh wow’, C’mon! This took me all day, I even got Jack to help.”
The Doctor’s eyes widened, “Jack?”
Powerful, comforting arms encircled him from behind, lifting him effortlessly off the ground for a brief moment before gently placing him back down. The Doctor turned around, a warm smile dancing across his lips as he savored the familiar sensation of the embrace. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around the figure, holding him close in a heartfelt hug.
“Jack! Didn't think you had the time but I'm very glad to see you.” He pulled away from the hug to see his face.
Jack smirked, “I make exceptions. You're looking well, Doctor.”
“Seems like you've had a few works done since I last saw you,” The Doctor teased.
The immortal arched an eyebrow and rolled his eyes with a playful smirk, then strolled over to envelop Donna in a warm hug. As they embraced, Donna's eyes sparkled with mischief as she jokingly mouthed scandalous remarks directed at the Doctor. He struggled to stifle his laughter, the corners of his mouth twitching as he fought to maintain his composure.
After they got comfortable, the Doctor inquired about the reasons behind their actions.
Donna smiled softly. “Today marks an important anniversary—the day you shared, or uh I found out, about your identity. It's a meaningful day, and I'm grateful to have been part of your journey.”
Jack placed a hand on the Doctor’s shoulder, “We know it hasn't been an easy process, but we're so incredibly proud of you.”
The Doctor blinked away his tears, then placed his hand over Jack’s.
“Thank you, both of you.” He smiled at them before continuing, “And I get the pan flags for me and Jack, but what about the bi ones?”
Donna smirked, “You’re not the only one who has options.” The Doctor beamed back with a smile.
“So, what do you think? Is it to your taste, or does it come off as too tacky?” Jack asked, tilting his head slightly as he studied his expression.
The Doctor paused for a moment, allowing his gaze to sweep across the room once more. A wave of warmth washed over at the sight of the once-embarrassing part of him now confidently showcased. The atmosphere had shifted dramatically, enveloping the space in a sense of comfort and warmth that was previously absent. He found himself reveling in the transformation, feeling an overwhelming sense of belonging and happiness as the room radiated a welcoming embrace that he absolutely adored.
“No, I think I’ll keep it up for a while.”
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Then, the Master came along. It wasn't anyone's fault but the TARDIS’s.
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The TARDIS rattled violently, its interior quaking like a storm-tossed ship, sending the Doctor and Donna crashing to the floor. The familiar whooshing sound enveloped them, a comforting yet frenetic symphony. The Doctor could feel the ship's pulse beneath him, a lively heartbeat, as the TARDIS initiated its depart, seemingly with a mind of its own.
“Doctor! What the hell is happening?!” Donna yelled over the noise.
“I- I don't know! I think she's taking us somewhere!”
“Well get the damn thing to stop and listen to you!”
As if sensing the sentiment behind the remark, the TARDIS shuddered violently, its whirring engines resonating with a sudden intensity. The jolt caught Donna off guard, and she was abruptly hurled backward, landing hard on the floor. A sharp thud echoed in the confined space as her head made contact, leaving her momentarily dazed and disoriented.
“Okay, okay, sorry about that,” she mumbled as she rubbed her head.
The shaking ceased as soon as it arrived, and they were left catching their breath on the hard surface.
The Doctor waited a moment before attempting to get up, and Donna followed his action. He was breathing heavily as he shakily walked up to the TARDIS’s console and read the markings.
“For some reason we've ended up at the Borealis Terminal…”
Donna let out a dramatic sigh, her eyes narrowing in exasperation. “Oh, of course I know where that is,” she replied, the edge of urgency creeping into her voice. “But are we in actual danger here? What could possibly have compelled the TARDIS,” she hesitated, choosing her words with caution, acutely aware of the time-traveling ship’s potential to listen, “to bring us to this place?”
“It’s light-years away from our previous location. Beyond that, my knowledge is limited. The Borealis Terminal doesn’t exude any hostility,” he said, narrowing his eyes as he studied the fluctuating readings on his screen. “However, there is a distress signal pulsing very faintly in the background.”
Donna pushed a strand of hair from her face, “So it brought us here to help?”
The Doctor’s face was tight, “That’s a possibility.”
As they stepped outside, a haunting stillness enveloped them, revealing a landscape that appeared utterly desolate. What had once thrived as a bustling hub of transport—filled with the echoes of laughter, shouts of workers, and the rumble of ships hauling goods—now lay in ruins. The remnants of crumbling building and rusting machinery stood like ghosts of a vibrant past. The air was heavy with the scent of neglect.
“Geeze, I can understand why you said this place wasn't hostile. There’s hardly anyone around to make it feel otherwise,” she said as she glanced at the Doctor while they headed towards the signal. “What could possibly bring someone out here?”
The Doctor speculated, “They likely stumbled upon this place by chance during a crash landing.”
The words lingered in the air like a dense fog, weighing on Donna’s mind as she quickened her pace. They walked for nearly thirty minutes, the rhythmic sound of their footsteps echoing against the beaten pavement, and throughout it all, Donna remained silent, refraining from uttering a single complaint.
The Doctor stopped. "It's close by, I can smell the fumes."
Donna attempted to catch a hint of the atmosphere, but all that greeted her was a biting chill that nipped at her nose. The Time Lord moved quickly, while Donna hurried to keep up.
They rounded a corner, and before them lay the remnants of a shattered ship, its frame now a disarray of jagged metal and smoldering debris. Thick tendrils of smoke curled into the gray sky, mingling with the cold air, as fragments of the vessel were strewn haphazardly across the landscape.
The two moved with caution, carefully navigating the chaotic landscape covered with twisted metal and shattered remains of the ship.
Amid the debris, the Doctor's eyes caught sight of a gaping entrance to the mangled vessel. Pushing aside a jagged piece of wreckage, he stepped toward the dark opening.
Donna grabbed his arm.
“Are you sure? I mean, god knows what’s in there.”
The Doctor halted mid-step, his gaze fixing intently on Donna as he gently placed his hand over hers, “The TARDIS brought us here for a reason.”
“I know, I know,” she mumbled with a sigh. “But it can't guarantee our safety, can it?”
“I know this isn't ideal circumstances, Donna. I do trust the TARDIS, and if you would feel more comfortable I’m not against you waiting outside.”
Donna huffed, placing a hand on her hips. “Like hell I'd let you go in there alone.” She swallowed before continuing and holding up a flashlight, “Alright spaceman, let's go.”
They barely made it two steps in before Donna turned around, “And I swear if something happens to us I am going to haunt that mad blue box for all eternity.”
Inside the ship looked way less damaged compared to the exterior. That gave the Doctor some hope that whatever was inside could still be alive.
They meticulously combed through the dimly lit corridors and myriad rooms of the ship. As they peered into the shadowy corners and examined the remnants of what once was, a growing sense of unease settled over them—there was no trace of life, no whispers of movement, only an oppressive silence that enveloped the vessel.
The pilot’s chamber caught Donna’s eye, and while the Doctor was searching another room, she decided to go in and check it out herself.
She had to get a tight grip on the messed-up door and shove it forcefully to the side. Wiping the sweat off her brow, she scanned the dark room. The sound of a faint beeping could be heard echoing through the space.
“That’s the ship’s automatic stress signal.”
Donna jumped at the voice behind her.
“Jesus! Worn a girl before you sneak up on her, creep.”
“Shine the light over there, I think I see something.”
The beam of light illuminated the scene, casting its glow on an unexpected figure. Lying on the ground beside the pilot seat was a man, his body sprawled awkwardly. His clothes were rumpled and stained, hinting at a struggle, while the shadows danced around him, making the eerie silence of the cockpit even more pronounced. The light flickered, revealing the contours of his face, drawn and pale.
"Oh my..." Donna started.
The Doctor's head throbbed with a sense of eerie familiarity. Though he had never encountered this man before, an inexplicable sensation washed over him, as if the man was a long-lost memory trying to resurface.
Shaking off the strange feeling and focusing on the immediate task at hand, he knelt beside the man's motionless form. Carefully, he propped him up, supporting his slumped shoulders to ensure he remained upright. It was then that the Doctor felt it—the steady thrum of the man's heartbeat beneath his fingertips.
Ba-dum-ba-dum… ba-dum-ba-dum
The heartbeat of a Time Lord.
—
As soon as they stepped back into the familiar interior of the TARDIS, and after hauling a good amount of weight for over half an hour, the Doctor and Donna took a moment to catch their breath. It was in that moment, surrounded by the softly glowing controls and the scent of old machinery, that he decided it was finally time to let the panic bubble to the surface.
“So he's a Time Lord? I thought they all,” Donna paused to find more eloquent words but quickly gave up. “Y’know, exploded.”
“They did.” The Doctor combed through his hair with a shaky sigh. “I don’t… I don't know.”
“So you have no idea who this is?”
“That’s the thing, Donna, I think I do?”
They sat in silence for a while, allowing the humming of the TARDIS to fill the absence.
“He’s a Time Lord, yes. But I think I know him as more than that.” He rubbed his eyes, “There were many people on Gallifrey I talked to, so narrowing it down is frustratingly hard. I don't have a way to explain it, but there’s something about him that's so familiar. I feel it. I feel him.”
“What, old boy-toy?” Donna sat up straighter, “Oooo, you have history with him? Tell me, how’s Time Lord di-”
“Donna, no.”
Donna continued to ask questions despite the Doctor refusing to engage. Beneath the chaos of their voices, a flicker of awareness began to stir within the unconscious Time Lord laying beside them. Gradually, his eyelids fluttered open, and his senses started to come back.
Unfortunately, to a particularly absurd point in the conversation.
“Doctor, you’re telling me that you did not let that fine piece of ass hit it?”
The Doctor groaned, pushing his face into his hands. “He wouldn't even have looked the same back on Gallifrey. Donna please, enough.”
Doctor? Gallifrey?
The man shot up abruptly.
Startled by the abrupt motion, Donna instinctively dove behind the Doctor, choosing him as her unintended shield.
The Time Lord looked feral, backing himself up only to hit the wall. He was frantically looking around the room, then locked his eyes with the Doctor.
“Doctor.”
The words were delivered with a ferocity that practically dripped with venom, causing him to instinctively recoil as if struck. In that moment, he felt a surge of recognition wash over him. Only one word came to mind, or rather one name.
“Master?”
“You do know him!”
“What did you do?!” The Master growled. He tried to push himself off the ground, but the remnants of his recent unconsciousness weighed heavily on him, and he stumbled instead, unsteady and disoriented.
The Doctor put his hands up to seem less threatening, “I didn't do anything. You're the one who crashed!”
The Master blinked, settling back down on the floor and trying to get his mind to catch up. It seems like it did. “Oh.”
Donna slowly got out from behind the Doctor. “The TARDIS took us here against our will, if anything blame it.” She could swear she heard the TARDIS rumble softly in response.
“Master,” the Doctor started, and the Time Lord's eyes immediately shot up to him. “I don’t know why, but you're here now. Maybe we can, um, come to an arrangement?”
The Master sneered, “An ‘arrangement’?” he let out a bitter laugh, “Doctor did you also hit your head?”
“Come on, your guy's relationship before couldn't have been that bad.”
Both Time Lords looked at Donna blankly.
“Ok! Getting the feeling I’m not supposed to be here right now so I'm just gonna…” Donna hesitated for a moment then gradually stepped out of the room, ultimately deciding to just walk out and head to another spot. Before she was out of view she gave the Doctor a thumbs up accompanied by an unhelpful wink.
The Doctor looked over his enemy wearily, pausing before deciding to sit in front of him.
The Master shifted slightly, breathing hitched, but didn't move away.
“I know you're injured.”
The Time Lord averted eye contact.
“And I know this is the last place you want to be, but I want to help you.”
The Master was quiet.
“Let me help, Master.”
His jaw clenched.
“Say something, please.”
The hit connected before the Doctor registered the action. All of sudden, the Master was on top of him gripping his throat. He snarled and pinned the Doctor down. The back of his head hit the floor with a loud thump and the metal contact rang throughout the room.
The Doctor's hands came up clutch to the Master's, desperately scratching and gripping to get them off to no avail. How he was still so strong after crashing was a mystery.
"I could tear you apart, right here, right now," the Master growled. He tightened his hold on the Doctor's throat, and the Doctor let out a strangled groan in protest.
"It would be so easy. Your precious pet would find you, bloody and dead on the floor. I'd kill her too,” the Master paused to watch the Doctor’s expressions, cool and calculating.
“But then,” he loosened his grip, leaning back as the Doctor sputtered for air, “What would be the fun in that?”
The Master looked down with a deranged grin. “Alright, Doctor. Show me the stars.”
The Doctor had almost forgotten the insane Time Lord’s bipolar behavior. It was like having a bucket of freezing water dumped on him.
He couldn't even begin to find the right words to respond.
Donna stepped back into the room, completely oblivious to what transpired between them. Upon seeing their positions, she quirked a brow.
“Get a room you two.”
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And with that, the Master opted to stayed on the TARDIS.
Not without a few (or many) hiccups, of course.
The Doctor found it impossible to simply sweep away the years of conflict and tension that had built up between them. As they settled into their new arrangement, the Master adopted a notably passive-aggressive demeanor that lingered for the first few months. He became a master of subtle warfare, orchestrating a series of petty pranks that chipped away at the Doctor's patience.
It was a constant game of wits; the Master would delight in “accidentally” leaving the Doctor's favorite tools in obscure places or hiding his belongings just to watch the ensuing frustration unfold. These small acts of mischief were more than mere annoyances—they were a way for the Master to reassert control in their complicated relationship.
The Master’s tendency to solve problems with violence was also a major issue.
Donna and he seemed to be getting along well; he at least tolerated her. That relieved the Doctor’s mind of the threat the Master had made in their first meeting.
As the months unfolded like the pages of an unending book, the Master gradually began to let his guard down around the Doctor.
The mischievous antics and clever manipulations that had once been a hallmark of their encounters became a rare occurrence, replaced instead by a growing sense of connection. The Doctor, sensing this shift, found himself more inclined to include the Master in their journeys, inviting him along to various stops.
In the quiet hours of the night, nestled within the warm glow of the control room, a new rhythm emerged in their interactions. The Master, now engaged in lively conversations, his voice weaving through the air as they discussed an array of topics that seemed trivial in nature yet brimmed with a surprising depth.
Laughter, once an alien sound between them, began to slip through the cracks of their guarded facades, a revelry that echoed softly in the chambers of the TARDIS. The Doctor relished these moments, each shared a joke and spontaneous grin.
It felt nice to have his old friend back.
The Master, however horrible at showing it, felt the same.
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The hour was late, the silence of the night enveloping the TARDIS like a soft blanket. Everyone had supposedly settled into bed, yet the Doctor found himself restless, haunted by the remnants of a particularly vivid dream that pulled him back to the distant memories of Gallifrey. The vibrant landscapes, the echoes of lost voices, and the weight of unfulfilled responsibilities lingered in his mind, rendering sleep impossible.
With a resigned sigh, he slipped out of the confines of his bedroom, feeling the cool air of the console room wash over him. The familiar hum of the TARDIS vibrated through his bones, its soft glow casting gentle shadows on the intricate controls. In this space, he could lose himself in thoughts and reflections, far removed from the weight of his dreams. Here, among the whirring machinery and the comforting scent of old books and brass, he felt a sense of solace that he couldn't find in sleep.
Wiping sleep from his eyes, he registered the Master seemed to have the same idea. He was leaning on the console, looking up at something. The Doctor quietly followed his gaze and saw it the flags that were his point of interest.
A sense of anxiety spread throughout him at first, but he swallowed it, remembering the countless times Donna and Jack had told him being trans wasn't something he should be embarrassed about.
“Are you just going to stand there and watch me?”
The Doctor’s face flushed at being caught, and he hesitantly walked over to the Master.
He stood beside him, fidgeting with his hands.
The Master gave him a glance, “I thought you'd be knocked out by now.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” The Doctor answered roughly.
“What, bad dream?” He said it in a teasing way, but the Doctor had grown accustomed to him enough to hear a layer of worry embedded in the question.
“Something like that.”
The Master studied him more intently, before returning his gaze back up.
“Me too.”
“You want to… talk about it?”
He barked a laugh, “No.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the humming of the TARDIS being the only thing making it less awkward.
It was a few seconds before the Master spoke up.
“These flags, what do they mean?”
The Doctor could feel the heat creeping back to his face. He didn't know.
The Master shot him an impatient look.
“Well, uh they're not flags for places. It’s… they mean something. About yourself, I mean.”
The Time Lord hummed in acknowledgment, “Tell me.”
“You know how,” the Doctor ran a hand through his hair anxiously, “There are different sexualities, well they represent them.”
“Yes, I was unaware they needed flags.” That sentence could be taken the wrong way, but with how the Master was staring at them so intently, it didn't seem it. “Which one is yours?”
“The pink, yellow and blue ones are for me and Jack. They represent pansexuality, meaning we like… well everyone. The pink, purple and blue ones are for Donna, which mean bisexuality.”
The Master paused.
“I’m familiar with the terms,” he returned his gaze to the Doctor. “What’s the last one?”
The Doctor fidgeted with his hands, sighing before continuing, “That’s for me. It’s the transgender flag.”
“Hm,” the Master looked a bit puzzled as he studied the Doctor, “So, you're on a journey to becoming a woman?”
Oh. He thought that the Doctor was a transwoman. A hint of a smile played on his lips.
“No, I’ve already transitioned. I’m a man.”
Finally putting the pieces together, his eyes trailed down the Doctor’s body, then back to his face.
“You look good.”
The unexpected compliment caught the Doctor completely off guard, causing him to momentarily falters. He instinctively turned his face away, a rush of crimson sweeping across his cheeks. A sense of disbelief mingled with confusion swirled within him.
“Look at me,” the Master ordered. However, it was uncharacteristically gentle.
As the Doctor turned to look back, he couldn’t help but notice the subtle shift in the Master’s posture. There was a momentary pause, a flicker of uncertainty etched across his face, as if he were weighing options that hung heavy in the air. It was a fleeting expression, but it hinted at a pivotal decision.
The Master shifted closer to him, and the Doctor fought the urge to back up. He stared in awe at the Master. Here, in the gentle lighting of the TARDIS, he looked so soft. So touchable. It was a captivating sight, one he had never witnessed.
A soft hand, delicate and tender, rose to cup his face, a gentle touch that seemed virtually out of place coming from the Master. The Doctor froze.
“Can I kiss you?”
Time itself seemed insignificant. The Master’s eyes shone with something other than hate, and if the Doctor could speak, he would certainly say something stupid about how beautiful they were.
The Doctor nodded.
Soft, warm lips brushed against his, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through his veins. The Doctor’s hands, trembling slightly with a mix of uncertainty and longing, moved to rest gently on the Master's sides, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric.
Their shared breath mingled in the air, thick with an unspoken tension that crackled around them.
For a while, the Doctor felt as if he were missing something. In that moment, everything clicked into place; he finally found it.
They paused for a moment before diving back into the warmth of each other's lips, the world around them fading as they lost themselves in the intimacy of the kiss.
A few minutes went by until they grew tired, the Doctor resting his head in the warm crook of the Master’s neck. He found himself reluctant to move, his limbs heavy and weary, content to melt into the comforting embrace that surrounded him. In this intimate moment, they reveled in the silence, drawing strength from each other's presence as their bodies pressed softly together.
The Doctor's hands tightened on the Master’s shirt.
“Don’t leave me again, please.”
He could feel the Master’s breath hitch.
“I won’t.”
.
.
.
The Doctor had found a place in time where he was finally happy. In the TARDIS, surrounded by dearly loved ones and laughter, he felt alive. It took a while for him to figure out what it meant.
This regeneration wasn't a death, it was a rebirth.
He was so loved.