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The Doctor had been to many, many places. He'd go so far as to say no one in the universe was as widely travelled as he was, would stake the contents of his pockets on it (and the contents of a Time Lord's pockets can be a very, very interesting thing) if it came to it. He'd travelled high and low, far and wide, had been to worlds that would simply blow the minds of most and places that were the very height of dull. What he hadn't ever been was stuck. At least, never for this long. His brilliant mind working ten to the dozen had saved him from many scrapes in his time, but even he couldn't think, force or charm his way out of this place.
Regardless, he wasn't about to admit defeat. Nor would he ever say he was trapped here, oh no. There was obviously a reason for his being here; something that only he could do to fix it, to put things right. Something that he could only manage with the realisation of his true power. Yes, there was an explanation for everything. Because this place needed fixing, this place was fundamentally broken - any world where the Master could run free, as he'd seen with his own two eyes, was damaged in an exceptional way.
He'd stayed in his TARDIS, mostly; running tests, seeking answers, lashing out at her on occasions and dashing from room to room on others, as if inspiration always lay just behind another door. God knows he could spent an eternity running her corridors, but he did so with the determination of a man who knew he could do anything and that the answer was very definitely his to find.
It was late when he finally chose to emerge from the police box, could've known the time to the millisecond if he'd been focusing, but his mind was still very much elsewhere. He needed air, that was it. Just a little air to cool the whirring machine of his brain and then he'd find the answer.
Regardless, he wasn't about to admit defeat. Nor would he ever say he was trapped here, oh no. There was obviously a reason for his being here; something that only he could do to fix it, to put things right. Something that he could only manage with the realisation of his true power. Yes, there was an explanation for everything. Because this place needed fixing, this place was fundamentally broken - any world where the Master could run free, as he'd seen with his own two eyes, was damaged in an exceptional way.
He'd stayed in his TARDIS, mostly; running tests, seeking answers, lashing out at her on occasions and dashing from room to room on others, as if inspiration always lay just behind another door. God knows he could spent an eternity running her corridors, but he did so with the determination of a man who knew he could do anything and that the answer was very definitely his to find.
It was late when he finally chose to emerge from the police box, could've known the time to the millisecond if he'd been focusing, but his mind was still very much elsewhere. He needed air, that was it. Just a little air to cool the whirring machine of his brain and then he'd find the answer.