The Doctor carried the Master to the infirmary of his own TARDIS. He felt as though his organs had turned to lead, dragging him down to the cold grating. The weight of his best friend of so many years matched the ache in his hearts. He had hoped so very much that it wouldn’t come to this. His hopes had been dashed, as it seemed they so often were.
He had been heading back from the now-destroyed marketplace, using the tunnel under the fountain and emerging clean and dry into the cool air when there had been a sharp shock through his mind. A shock he hadn’t felt since the day he erased the rest of the Time Lords from existence. The whiplike lashing pain of his mental links to the Master and Rose suddenly being cut.