realityshifted | 10; I am a scientist [I can live on science alone]

There are all sorts of fights.

[he's keeping his breathing under control as much as he is trying to control his breathing. He really, really wants to win]

If you want to talk about 'caring,' we're getting into semantics. Give me your definition and I'll spit out a yes-or-no answer, but don't throw out an assertion and reject my reply if you refuse to accept my meaning of the word.

Giving you my definition would give it all away. And you're better when you don't have everything you want.

[waits for the Master to get himself up]

[just lets out a little breath of air - 'you're being ridiculous!' and then steps up and in, feinting a lunge then aiming for a stab into the Doctor's sword arm]

[cries out as the other sword goes into his arm, then headbutts the Master and switches his swordhand]

[loses precious time in getting his sword back and recovering from the headbutt]

[did you know the cutlasses have amazingly large handles? These handles, particularly the cup-handle variety such as the one the Doctor has, is specifically designed for its strength, durability, and protection from dismembering one's hands during combat. In 1941, a British soldier claimed to have killed a Korean POW using only the handle of his cutlass (despite the fact that the weapons had not been issued as part of typical British weaponry since 1934). The handle itself is as much a part of the cutlass as the sword itself.

Turned inwards, the handle is a symbol of peace and quiet during a time of (or a time of peace) and turned outwards the handle is a symbol of conquest and power. More money is generally spent on the creation of a cutlass handle than the actual sword itself.]

[oh, yeah, and the Doctor is aiming punches with the aforementioned handle into the Master's face]

[Having learned many fascinating things, including that British soldiers openly admit to killing POWs in rather appallingly violent manners, this narration will now inform that a Time Lord's nose, if broken, can take up to six months. Yes, that's right, six months. Broken legs are healed in a matter of days, but for some inexplicable reason, the nose takes forever.

Some relevant symptoms of broken noses: nosebleed, tenderness, swelling, pain, and difficulty breathing through the nose.

Since the Doctor has managed to succeed in breaking the Master's nose, the Master will now be exhibiting those symptoms. And as the Doctor's reward for his successful manoeuvre, he gets the satisfaction of the Master actually shouting out in pain and surprise, as well as the Master's instincts deciding that the best way to make the Doctor stop is trying to stab him wherever is easiest, which means the Master's making an attempt for for the torso]

[according to recent interviews, the typical individual with a broken nose would determine it as "painful, mind-numbing agony" and also "like part of your soul is being pulled out of your face", while the typical individual with a stab wound (for example, Mercucio in that not-so-well-known love story) would say something simple, like "I am hurt".

[the moral of this narration? People who get broken noses are sissier than those with stomach wounds]

[which the Doctor has, now. He throws another punch, then falls backwards]

[the Master is cradling his nose, and then he notices the Doctor. His first thought is to go to the man's side and his second is, "I can't drop my sword."

Let it never be said that the Master isn't single-minded]

Tell me you're not dying, or do I have to talk you into a healing trance?

[it's as much as he'll allow himself to vocalise concern]

I'll survive.

[coughs and struggles to get back up]

It's nice to know you care.

[now it's the Doctor who has moved into the realm of the single-minded, holding up his sword even as his knees buckle]

[in an instant, he's there to try to push the Doctor back down]

Stop that. You need rest, not a fencing match.

[and he falls back with an 'oof'.]

You started the match, now you don't want to finish it?

I can finish it at my leisure, just pluck that cutlass out of your hand. I'm simply making certain you don't go into shock from the wound before you tell me what I want to know.

[mildly]

You look good on your back, defeated and out of breath. Should try it more often.

[rueful laugh]

I'm flattered, but I thought you realized by now that I prefer blondes in this incarnation.

[but watch as his hand makes a death grip on the cutlass]

I always liked redheads better.

[rolls his eyes]

Doctor, I know exactly which tendon to cut to make your hand release the sword.

[and like a little boy, he rubs away the blood on his nose with his sleeve]

[you just had to make a comment about him not being ginger, didn't you?]

And risk cutting an artery? Are you really that desperate to win? [struggles to get back up again, because clearly *he* is]

[It was about The Time Monster, actually. Who cares about the Doctor?]

I'm sure you won't bleed to death.

[the Master pushes the Doctor down again]

[the Master does, obvs]

And maybe I won't regenerate. Then, who will win?

I will. Death is a type of disarming, and I'll chop off your arm if I have to. When the Twins bring you back, you'll have to honour the deal.

[with his free hand, he wiggles his nose a bit, wincing]

You broke it, you bastard.

Broke it badly? Think you need a doctor?

[and takes this opportunity to aim a kick at the Master's abdomen]

[Witty retort about Doctors? Completely cut off as the Master takes the hit. When he recovers, he is not in the slightest amused]

This is ending now.

[and with that the Master tries to hold the Doctor's arm down to slam the hilt down where it's most likely to hit the tendon that will make the hand unclench]

[the Doctor cries out again and struggles, but his grip falters]

You won't win.

[tries to slam up wards with his shoulder to knock the Master away]

[pushes his shoulder down]

Stop fighting so we can just finish this!

[again aims the hilt down for a smash]

I'm not about to just give up!

[now we have the moment of desperation. The Doctor is about to lose, and that means the Master is about to win and somehow this needs to be stopped. So! The very desperate Doctor grabs the Master by the tie and kisses him. It's shocking, if nothing else.]

[it is quite stunning, and the Master's hand hits the ground, hilt trapped between his palm and the floor. The Master pulls away, looking at the Doctor like he's mad - which, as far as the Master is concerned, the Doctor is]

Either you have very strange turn-ons or you just violated any sense of sacredness one might associate with acts of physical intimacy. And that's not an exclusive-or.

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