A/N: This story semi-follows canon immediately after season six. It is AU mostly in that it uses some established headcanon from my first story, but theoretically exists in the same canon universe. The only bits that are pertinent for understanding from my first story are 1. The Master survived due to The Doctor using the Hand of Omega and 2. Donna is now Doctor Donna because I wibble-wobbled her into a time lord and I love Donna, god dammit. I just do.

Summary: First in a series. Adventure fic with some romancing on the side. Includes the Master, Female Original Character, The 11th Doctor, Doctor Donna, Jack Harkness, and a bit of the Ponds. The Master comes across a rather tedious human who just happens to be wearing a time lord consciousness around her throat, and he isn't the only interested party. Chaos ensues.

Please feel free to review, ramble, or concrit, even if you're reading this ages later. I appreciate new readers! But I appreciate them even more when they're not lurking in the shadows, let's me know you're not vashta nerada.

*I've edited this first chapter as of 01/30/2016 because it never quite sat right with me. May update further chapters in the future.

The Master frowned at the rudimentary control panel he'd constructed out of spare junk. The scanning was slow, and so far, fruitless. He wasn't entirely willing to admit it, but in the back of his mind, he knew he was searching for the Doctor. More worrying, was that for the first time in a long time, he didn't seem to be seeking him out in an attempt to destroy him.

When he had woken up in a grassy field in the middle of nowhere, things had been remarkably different. For a start, he wasn't dead. He couldn't say he'd expected that. He'd meant to end his life on Gallifrey, with the whole world burning around him. He'd meant to take Rassilon down with him.

Maybe the Doctor had seen that as a sign the Master had changed, but that wasn't really true. The Master had wanted to punish Rassilon for so many things, for taking away his whole life when he was just a child. Sparing the Doctor and his precious Earth had just been a consolation prize.

The Master had fallen in the grand council chambers, and he had been dying. He'd felt that sureity just as he'd felt it when Lucy's bullet had torn through him. The most pressing sensation, aside from the pain, had been relief. Through the fog, the Doctor had appeared, not the Doctor he'd spared from Rassilon, but a new one, with an absurd face.

The Doctor had worn the Hand of Omega like it had been a part of him, like he'd always worn it. And he'd used it on the Master, sending a sharp and pure pain through every part of him. But each new breath he took suddenly tasted of life, of renewed strength, the relief of dying had vanished. And so had the drumming.

Call it a second chance if you'd like, old friend. He'd said with a smile. It was tinged with sorrow, but also understanding. He hadn't spoken the words, but the Master had seen it in his eyes, he was being forgiven.

Somehow that had only made him angrier. He'd forgiven him, seemingly without a thought, and then he'd sent him on his way.

The whole thing seemed like a trick, some elaborate hoax of some kind. But that wasn't really the Doctor's style, that was his style. While he certainly intended to give the Doctor a piece of his mind, he also found he was lacking in any real vehemence for the man. They'd been adversaries for as long as he could remember, but suddenly, he couldn't quite remember why.

The machine blipped again, another failed search. The Master growled as he typed in coordinates directly to the south of the last search. He wouldn't have to do this at all if the Doctor had just left him with a functioning vortex manipulator.

His finger tapped on the machine, once, twice- he stopped himself, staring at his finger.

He still woke up some nights, covered in a cold sweat, terrified the drumming had returned. And some nights he woke up terrified because it was gone. The ceaseless drumming had been with him every hour, of every day, for almost a century. Now it was hauntingly absent.

He was afraid the drums had been his driving purpose, a fire that burned within him, and now that it was extinguished, there was nothing left but an old burned husk. That sound had defined him for so long that he felt adrift without it.

In all his years as a time lord, he had spent most of it alone, and it had never bothered him. But here, in this old rusted warehouse with no company save his own shadow, he found it did. With so little to distract him, he found old darker memories occupying his thoughts. The silence in his mind was deafening without the drums, and his brain seemed eager to fill the void.

Glimpses of his past trickled through, despite his eagerness to ignore them. He remembered the Darkhart Colony, his constant run-ins with UNIT, so many lives wasted fighting the Doctor.

He remembered his time as Professor Yana and wondered if the man really had been such a bumbling old fool. If he was such a fool, why had he been happy, while the Master felt hollow? That man, after all, had had purpose. He had taken it upon himself to save humanity, building a ship that would bring them to safety. How could he have been that man? Something in him almost regretted his cruel actions at the end, regretted killing his assistant Chantho and stranding the Doctor. He pushed those thoughts away, remorse was a weakness. No matter what the Doctor had done to him, he would not let it diminish him.

There. His attention was drawn back to the screen as it gave a cheerful chirp. But the reading was too small to be the Tardis, too insignificant. But it was making a remarkable blip on his crude radar, so it had to be something.

A grin stretched across his face and for the first time in weeks he felt a sense of direction urging him forward. Perhaps the Doctor could wait, there was something interesting to investigate.