A/N: This will be mostly a collection of one-shots and slightly longer story arcs in loosely chronological order. Rated T for mild language and for the Master being his usual charming self; no pairings apart from the Ponds. This is my first DW fanfiction and the first fanfiction I've written in a few years, so reviews and suggestions would be loved. ^_^

Edit: The capitalization errors on the words Dalek and Time War should be fixed now. ^_^

Disclaimer: Doctor Who and all related content and characters belong to the BBC; no infringement is intended.

Far below the Time Lord Citadel, sheltered from the thundering of missiles and crashing ships that had leveled much of the city above, the Lord President Rassilon strode down a corridor toward the detention cells, his red and gold robes swirling around his feet and his golden staff of office tapping loudly against the stone floor. Guards scurried back and snapped to attention when they saw him, pressing themselves against the walls in desperate efforts to not attract his notice, slumping with relief as the President passed them by. The news had spread throughout the Capitol like fire: the President's plan had failed. Gallifrey would not rise again. The Time Lords would not return. The plan had failed and soon they were all going to burn. It was too late to do anything about the Doctor – he had the Moment and nothing would stop him from using it to destroy them all – but there was still one upon whom the full wrath of Gallifrey could fall before it was obliterated forever. The one upon whom all the hopes of Gallifrey had rested, the Time Lords' only chance for life and escape. The one who had betrayed them all and helped the Doctor destroy those hopes. The one who was now imprisoned under maximum security in the cell that Rassilon was approaching, held fast with energy bonds and force fields to ensure he would never escape justice again. The Master.

Resting his staff against the wall outside the cell, Rassilon nodded dismissively to the two guards there, both of them saluting him sharply before hastily making their retreat and leaving the President alone with the Master. The force fields surrounding the captive hummed and shimmered briefly as they switched off to allow the President to pass through, snapping back into place immediately behind him, and the chained man raised his head at the sound, blinking at the light. Even now, utterly helpless and condemned to death, he still managed a weak contemptuous smirk at Rassilon as the Time Lord stood before him. "W's wondering when you'd show up," the Master said, his words slurring with exhaustion. "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist a bit of a gloat before the big show. 's gotta be soon now – Gallifrey must not have a lot of time left before it all goes up in flames."

"You will be silent," Rassilon growled slowly at the renegade, curling his lip in disgust at the Master. He had stabilized the traitor's form, a necessity given the dangerous energy blasts he had been capable of generating before, but it was only the need for a proper execution that had stayed him from destroying the creature outright. The disruption of the Master's body from the botched resurrection had left its mark, his formerly dark hair bleached to pale ash blond by the uncontrolled discharge of artron energy, and he still had that gleam of madness in his eyes, but apart from that and the dirt he looked almost normal. The outward normality served only to underscore how much a perversion of his noble species the Master was in his diseased insanity and, regardless of his own role in causing that insanity, Rassilon could barely bring himself to accept that such a madman existed among their number. "You are unfit to speak our planet's name or bear the title of Time Lord."

The blond man rasped out a humourless laugh. "Yes, how ever did our proud old race produce a monster like me, eh? Oh, yeah, that's right! You. Good work, Frankenstein," he said mockingly. "Some all-mighty creator you turned out to be." The President snarled and raised his gloved left hand, letting a blue glow build up on its polished metal surface, and stepped forward, looming over the Master and glaring unblinkingly into his dark eyes. The prisoner returned a defiant stare, but even he couldn't quite overcome the awe of Rassilon that was bred into the bone of all Time Lords, not now when there was nothing left to fight for, and after a few seconds he broke his gaze and turned his head away with a scoff as if bored with the brief contest.

Angered by the dismissive response, Rassilon seized the Master roughly by the throat and shook him hard, throwing the smaller man off his feet. "You insolent wretch," he spat, his grip forcing the blond Time Lord to face him. "Why should I bother with a grand execution for a piece of filth like you, a repulsive animal deserving naught but a dog's death? I should dispatch you where you stand and leave your corpse to rot in the wastelands like a soulless dalek."

The Master grinned sharply, meeting Rassilon's eyes without flinching this time. "But that would deny you the chance to make a big speech, wouldn't it? Killing me here with no one around to see, no one to applaud you and cheer, no big spectacle to show everyone what true Gallifreyan justice is?" He chuckled with a sly smirk at the furious President. "No, that would never do. This is your last great act before Gallifrey burns – you'll want to make it count."

Rassilon's mouth tightened into a grim line, and he released his grip on the prisoner. "If only to give the Time Lords peace, to let them see that justice has been served and their approaching deaths due to your actions properly avenged, I shall keep you alive until the appointed time. They deserve the right to witness your destruction." His ice blue eyes narrowed slightly and he lowered his head with a hint of a vindictive smile. "It is unfortunate that none of your family is left to observe the execution – were you aware that your father is dead?" Caught off-guard, the Master stared wide-eyed at Rassilon, his expression a mix of shocked disbelief and regret, and a muscle in his jaw twitched with anger as he saw the President's smile grow at his reaction. "Yes, you had fled by that time. Abandoned your post and left the task of battling the dalek emperor to braver men, men like your father. He fell before the Cruciform, time wrapping around him in a never-ending cycle such that he has been killed and revived only to die again a million times over, each death worse than the last, dying in torment for all eternity. It is perhaps just as well that he did not live to learn of his child's cowardice, that he died proud, unaware that his line had become so debased and perverted as to have produced such a corruption as you."

The Master tried to give an indifferent grin, but it came out more as a grimace. While he didn't doubt that Rassilon would say anything at this point to hurt him, somehow he felt down in his hearts that the President was telling the truth and that his father was dead. Worse than dead, if the Cruciform had got to him. Not for much longer though, he thought, a slightly manic smile spreading across his face as the realization came to him. The Doctor ended it. Will end it. Tomorrow it all ends forever. He chuckled and glanced up at Rassilon, eyebrow raised sardonically. "Lucky for him that eternity will only last one more day, then, isn't it?" The President looked taken aback at that, and the Master grinned widely. "You're filth, too, y'know," he said conversationally. "We all are. Tomorrow we all burn and turn to dust and ash, nothing left but dead dirt, and your ashes will mix together with mine and no one would be able to tell which dust was you and which was me."

The President swelled angrily at his insolence. "I am nothing like you!" he spat, his eyes blazing with fury. "I am the Creator, the first and the last, the true conqueror of Time itself! Our very race exists because I chose to create it, to raise it out of the wretched subsistence that preceded it. We may all meet our annihilation tomorrow, but by Gallifrey I will see to it that you show me proper respect before you die." Rassilon raised his right hand to the Master's temple, and the Master shrank back from the touch with genuine fear suddenly sparking in his eyes. The bonds held him tightly in place, unable to evade contact, and he clenched his eyes shut as he frantically built up every mental barricade he could manage. Ironic, isn't it? said a little voice at the back of his mind, that strange mad little voice that always spoke up at the most inappropriate of times. You used to dream that Rassilon would magically reappear and go into your mind to fix everything, make it all better, and here you are doing all you can to keep him out.

His attempts were useless; the President's mind hurtled through his defenses as if they were nothing, searing into the Master's mind and turning through it in an offhandedly destructive way, tossing memories and thoughts to the side without concern. The Master desperately closed doors in his mind in the feeble hope that Rassilon would at least respect the most basic tenet of entering another's mind, that you did not ever force open a door, but that wish quickly proved to be in vain. Distantly he noticed that he was screaming, not in pain but in terror as Rassilon picked out choice memories of the Time War, of the Cruciform under the emperor's control, the horrific things he had seen it do, and brought it all to the front of his mind again. Please don't, please, please, please don't, stop it, please, just stop, I order you to stop, please, stop! he thought, screaming the words into his own mind where Rassilon would hear them.

The President responded with a mental slap that sent the Master physically reeling, only the bonds on his arms holding him upright, and he heard Rassilon snarl back Do you think you have any power here; that you can stop me or hinder me in any way? I will do as I wish. Everything you are, those very walls you put up to guard yourself from me, I gave to you and can take back just as easily. You are nothing if I will it to be so. I see everything that you are and everything in your mind, and there is nothing you can hide from me. I am Rassilon, creator of the Time Lords, and you will respect me!

Something black and twisted rose up in the Master's hearts at the words, and he found himself searching for memories himself, somehow ignoring the images of atrocities and carnage that Rassilon was dredging up from the depths of his mind where he had sunken them so firmly. The memory he wanted came to him, faster than he'd expected, and he clung to it like a life raft. You see everything, do you? he asked bitterly. Do you see this? He let the memory flow into his thoughts, sending it at Rassilon and forcing the President to look at it, a memory of two children playing in fields of red grass. A young black-haired boy running, chasing after his friend and dancing around him to duck thrown handfuls of silver leaves, both of them laughing and yelling with pure happiness. Another memory; the same black-haired boy in his novice's robes walking toward the Untempered Schism, looking back uncertainly at the aged proctor behind him, being given a reassuring nod in return. Turning trustingly back to the Schism.

Do you see this? The sound of drums. The boy hiding in the darkness, arms wrapped over his head, trying to block out the sound that would never stop, battering against the inside of his skull, one two three four, one two three four, never stopping, not for one heartbeat. Years of the drums, decades, centuries. Driving him mad. Killing made it better – no, made it tolerable, let him ride with the drums instead of being crushed under their constant beat. Madness to the drumbeat, one two three four. More death, more bodies, bringing war, he could rise above it, even if for just a little while before the drums overpowered him again, crushing him, killing him.

How about this, do you see this? Learn to love the noise, learn to welcome it – it's the only thing that's stayed true to him; he must love it in return. The drums love him. He loves them. This must be true, or else they'd drive him mad, one two three four, one two three four. Kill more for them, make them so happy, his pretty drums. They'll love him so much and never ever leave him.

Did you see this one yet? Waking after silence, somehow all has been silence, but the drums are there to greet him, one two three four. He's a soldier now, he's told to fight, to kill. Slaughter, murder, butcher, kill. The drums approve. They carry him through it, one two three four, he's terrified, screaming inside, but they won't let him stop, none of them will. Then the Cruciform, oh, the Cruciform, and even the drums can't stop him now, he's running, stealing his ship, running so far. The drums try to punish him, beat louder than ever before, thundering, such pain behind his eyes, splitting his skull, but they can't stop him. He becomes a human and hides at the end of all things. He wants to die. Let the universe die and take him with it, him and those accursed drums.

Now I know you've seen this bit. The Doctor. Back again, always back again, young this time, so full of life and love. He hates the Doctor. The drums hate him, too. Rising again, thundering, riding on the hate, what better than to take his precious Earth? The drums love it, one two three four, one two three four. They promise they'll stop hurting soon, so soon, if he's good. He takes a wife, his little Lucy, and makes her his, body and soul. She doesn't like the drumming, but he doesn't care. Then the Toclafane, his darling children, his precious loves – he wants them to be happy, and they do so love killing, just like their loving Father in the heavens. They fly to the sound of drumbeats. The drums keep promising they'll stop soon, so very soon, not much longer now, just a little bit longer. He's been good, why haven't they stopped? Bang. So cold, pain, the Doctor crying over him, cold victory, so very cold, hurts so much, won't it ever stop?

Do you remember how this ends? Waking again. The drums are stronger, tearing him apart. Pounding, pounding, pounding, pounding, one two three four, one two three four, he can't think, can't think, how can he think, such noise, on and on and on and on, so much pain, why won't they stop? Hungry, so hungry, hurt, eat, drums, make them stop, Doctor, please, listen, listen, listen, listen. The Doctor hears them. Validation, he isn't mad, never was mad, so hungry, hungry, but what are they, Doctor, what what what what? Salvation like a miracle from above, that glorious Gate, fix it, fix it, fix it, must fix it, hungry, something just make it stop, Doctor, anything, it's tearing him apart. All the world hears the drumming now, one two three four, and he knows it now, knows its purpose, knows what to do. For the first time in his life, he knows what to do. Gallifrey returning, his home, his everything, all his now – he'll own it all. It was worth it, worth the drums, why is the Doctor trying to stop him? Then the truth. He was a tool, broken, bent, damaged but serving its purpose. Purpose now done, no reward but death for the little diseased tool. The Doctor blocking the way. Standing before him, saving him; could Gallifrey be theirs, both ruling together? The Doctor wouldn't kill him, would never kill him, would he? Would he? "Get out of the way." Bang. Gallifrey falls, and the drums fall with it, head clearing, so clear, so empty and silent. Clarity. The Doctor standing, waiting to die, can't let him die, not him, not now. His friend, all this time his friend, why couldn't he see it? The only thing that's stayed true to him. He loves him. Get out of the way. One. Two. Three. Four!

The Master opened his eyes as if waking from a dream and fixed his glare on Rassilon. You wanted me to respect you? Well, here's what I feel for you, Creator, every bit of it. With that, he opened up his mind completely, bringing all the rage and hatred he possessed to bear on the President, blasting into his mind with the full force of a lifetime of hate and suffering, unstoppable and unrelenting. Rassilon cried out and staggered back, throwing his arms up over his face as if to block the mental assault, the contact snapping as he did so. The Master grinned and let himself collapse against the bonds, not caring about how weak he must look, not caring that he couldn't even stand. He'd defeated Rassilon once, the most powerful Time Lord in existence, brought him to his knees, and now he'd done it for a second time. There would be punishment for it, obviously, but he didn't care about that, either. He had won.

Rassilon stumbled, barely catching himself from falling, and slowly straightened up again, his expression murderous. "You…" he snarled, his voice dripping with pure loathing. He raised his gloved left hand, blue light sparking over it in a frenzy, but then he paused and glared at the Master as he remembered the slated execution. The blue light died and Rassilon lashed out, striking the Master across the face with the heavy metal gauntlet. The blond Time Lord slumped, barely conscious but still smirking slightly, and the President grabbed him by the front of his black hoodie and lifted him up again to glare furiously into his dazed eyes. After a few seconds, a slow malicious smile spread over Rassilon's face. "While we are sharing old memories, perhaps you would care to see some of mine. I am sure you will find them entertaining," he said, resting his right hand on the Master's face again and placing his fingertips delicately to avoid the blood welling up from the short gashes left by the metal glove. There was nothing the Master could do to block him, and he didn't even bother to try, knowing it was useless and lacking the energy to make the attempt anyway. Images flooded into his mind, things he only vaguely realized in his stunned state were from the Time War, as bad as and worse than what he had seen for himself during it. He was screaming again, but he didn't much care about that, either. Blackness was creeping over him, merciful blackness and silence, and he saw no reason to try to fight it, instead letting himself slip away into nothingness where even Rassilon couldn't reach him.

It was a couple of hours later – one hour and forty-eight minutes, nineteen seconds , his brain supplied automatically – when the Master slowly opened his eyes and shook his head dizzily, trying to get rid of the visions burned into his mind. It did no good, not that he'd expected it to work, and he raised his head to gaze around the cell. Rassilon was gone and the force fields all up as usual, no guards in sight, and he let his head loll down again.

There was such a bone-aching exhaustion in him, to the point that even breathing seemed like excessive exertion, and he idly wondered if he was dying. This body had never been meant to be permanent, not with the damage done to it by Lucy's anti-resurrection cocktail, and he knew he'd been far too careless in his madness, burning off his own life energy for the most trivial of things, drunk on the incredible power of it and not stopping to think of the long-term consequences. Well, no need to worry about those now anyway. He may have used up most of his remaining lifespan, but even so he almost certainly had more than one day's worth of life left in him and less than one day of time to live in. The Master wasn't entirely certain how he felt about that. Death had always been the enemy, the one thing he fought against the most, and now he had no escape from it, no means to fight it. Nothing to do but accept it. His lip curled in a snarl. Ridiculously cliché though it was, he would accept death over his dead body, and probably not even then. He was the Master, never dying, and he would always find a way.

There was a giggle from behind him, and the Master gave a violent start and tried to whip his head around far enough to see who was there, to no avail. "Yeeesssss," the voice chortled, an oddly mechanical vibration to the sound. "Fighting, fighting. He never gives in, our brave little Master man. So afraid and so strong."

"Who are you? Show yourself!" the Master demanded, twisting around and tugging against the energy bonds. The voice was unfamiliar, but that sound to it… he knew that sound, and it made his hearts batter against his ribs in fear. It couldn't be though, couldn't possibly be, because he was standing there helpless and yet was still alive. It had to be someone using a voice modulator, just a prank to torment him. He was far below the citadel, beneath force fields and temporal walls and miles of solid rock – there was no possible way they could get through all that…

A golden glow shimmered into being in front of him, the voice still giggling madly, and the Master had to close his eyes and turn away from the brightness of it, the light's intensity leaving green flares across his vision. The glow faded and he cracked open one eye to look, squinting into the relative darkness left behind. There was a shape there, short, cylindrical, and right on its crown was a single shining blue light that swung around with a mechanical whir to focus on him.

The Master threw himself back against the bonds, struggling fiercely against them but unable to make them give even an inch. "Let me out!" he screamed desperately, though the guards were gone and no one was there to hear him. "Let me out, let me out; you have to let me out!" The Dalek tittered and rolled forward until its eyestalk was almost touching the Master's face, the blue glow of its eye reflecting off of his as he stared into it with terror. There was something unusual about the Dalek though; its casing was a dark near-black shade of silver with an identification tag set under its eye stalk, and with a sick twist in his stomach the Master realized just what the Dalek had to be. "You're part of the Cult," he breathed, barely able to get the words out. "The Cult of Skaro. It actually exists?"

"Hee!" the Dalek said gleefully. "So clever, like him, so clever. Just like hiiim. Yes, he will see! The saviour and the destroyer of all, he will seeeee! He tries to hide his soul but it will always come out again; no matter how fast he runs, he will still see." A small hatch sprang open on the Dalek's side and a clawed metal arm extended slowly from it, reaching toward the Master. The Time Lord wrenched himself back, trying to avoid its grasp, but the bonds were too tight to allow much movement, and he finally stopped and stood trembling as the claws clamped firmly around his forearm. There was a brilliant flash of gold and blue light, and the empty shackles fell to the floor as both the Master and the Dalek vanished from the cell without a trace.