rude_not_ginger | four; for best_served

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four; for best_served_hot

Follows this.

He was quite pleased with the Master's development. He'd learned how to behave, for the most part. Oh, he was hardly the most agreeable of companions, but he wouldn't want the Master to be agreeable. He wanted him to be the Master. He wanted him to be there, part of his world.

Over the week that followed, the quiet drumming in his mind that insisted that the Master had to live at all costs had quieted, the part of him that was the Doctor apparently sated with the Master's presence. The Valeyard was pleased with it, too. He remembered why he was so fond of his old enemy. He posed a challenge.

He was challenged with frustration and irritation and glorious success. Things were going better than planned, and now with the traitor out of the way, he'd be able to do so much more.

The week went by wonderfully. He felt the first tremor of exhaustion run through him and he believed that he might sleep well for the first time since the Master came back into his life.

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The Master, while he quite often amused himself with devices of his own making, did not strictly keep to himself. This new found truce, of sorts, with the Valeyard, demanded his presence at various times. He still knew little of the intricacies of the Valeyard's relationship with the Atraxi, and remained reluctant to play any hidden cards too soon.

The guards on the ship were subdued yet tense, a steady thrum of fear pulsed through all aboard (save the Master), making the air seem to ripple around them as if it were a living thing. It might have thrilled him if he were not so intent on dispelling the cause of it. The Master could feel the sense of wrong that reverberated through the universe outside of the ship as well, it remained a steady reminder of what he might eventually have to do.

But that time was not at hand, and he took a small comfort in that. The universe was bearable in the fact that a part of the Doctor was still in it, he shuddered to think of a universe without.

The Master slept during the week, and as exhaustion was beginning to fill the Valeyard, he would have to leave him for a time. He headed over to one of the laboratories on the upper decks. He could smell the Master there, his scent strong above the fear of all of the followers around. They were all so afraid. The Master's lack of fear was intoxicating.

He didn't bother knocking on the door.

"Anything interesting, Master?" he asked.

He heard the Valeyard's steps before he caught his scent, but continued his work as he approached. He had a few of the items he vaguely remembered seeing from his being pulled back into life into this universe. He wanted to know just how it had been done, what was required, and what it had cost.

One could never be too careful, but his careful analyzing had yielded nothing so far.

Eventually he would test his own blood to check for anomalies, he spent a lot of time during the Year perfecting what was needed for a future resurrection, should it be needed. His right hand still felt odd without the comforting weight of his ring, but at least the Valeyard did not have that, so far that he knew.

"Not overly," he replied, keeping his tone neutral, if not pleasant. "Sating my own curiosity, really."

"Well, curiosity is something that we both had in abundance in our youth," he replied. There was no small amount of warning in his tone, as if to say that curiosity wasn't a bad thing, but it needed to stop at some point.

"Do keep out of trouble, will you?" he asked. He was surprised by the tenderness in his own voice. He was obviously far too tired. He shook his head and immediately turned for the door.

"It never really goes away. I never thought you would resort to something like one of my old tricks, I want to know how it works." His tone spoke of not leaving it alone. If he wanted answers, he got them, it was as simple as that.

"But that would hardly be a challenge for you if I did," he said, mouth turning up slightly at the corners. It was almost like old times. A friendly reminder that he was just as dangerous as he used to be.

The Valeyard stopped and turned back to the Master. A slow grin spread across his face. Cold, evil. He did like the Master. That was the only reason, right now, that he was still alive.

"See you in the morning, Master."

"I'll be here." He turned back to his work, where else would he go? It was too dangerous to take a look around with things so tense aboard the ship. He contented himself with his readings for a while longer, put everything away, and retired to his own quarters for the evening.

He wasn't tired, but he held some small amount of hope (a strange emotion to cling to actively after all this time), that the Doctor was once again strong enough to take control and bypass the security so they could see each other again. The Master shrugged out of his jacket, setting it over a chair near his bed, as he toed off his shoes and loosened his tie before laying down.

It wasn't quite an hour later when the communicator that linked the Valeyard's room to the Master's was activated. The voice was quiet, but sure.

"Master?"

The Master did not set aside the book he had been perusing yet, eyes rolling to land on the device.

"I'm here."

He had to be careful. He had to be certain it was the Doctor, but his fingers tightened briefly on the cover of the book. The past week had felt like an eternity, it reminded him of older, deeper wounds that he failed to acknowledge at the best of times.

It reminded him of the weak child he used to be, that somehow seemed more prominent in his mind due to recent events. He was not prone to sentimentality, but he found himself slipping into it more often in the Valeyard's extended presence.

He found himself wanting, no needing, his best friend and old enemy back, if only for a brief span.

There was silence on the other end, as if the voice were trying to sort itself out before it continued.

"An hour," it said, and then the communication went silent.

For a moment, he worried that it had not been the Doctor at all, that somehow he had betrayed the fact that the Doctor was still active and well in his mind with those two simple words. After the communications went silent, he let out a soft breath he had not realized he had been holding in.

As he sat up to put the book away on the nearby table, his mind caught up with the brief message. Did he mean that they only had an hour, or that he would be there in an hour? He decided to take a risk, but remained silent for a moment.

"Where?"

"His room."

There was a sound over the communicator of a lock releasing itself. He was letting the Master come in, should he want to.

It was still dangerous, he knew, but he didn't feel that he had any other choice but to go. This could be the only time they had until the Valeyard took his rest again. While he was usually so careful to make sure he was presentable, he paid it little attention, not even taking the time to slip his shoes back on.

He checked the corridor as he exited his room, making his way with speed to the Valeyard's. He paused, only briefly, outside of the door before going inside.

For a moment, he felt so much younger, he felt like the boy who used to creep over to his friend's bed in the night so he didn't feel alone. A part of him railed against the ridiculous feeling curling in his gut, while another clung tightly to it.

"How long?" It was hesitant, as he was still on edge from the uncertainty of just who he was speaking to.

"An hour at most," the Doctor said. He was sitting on the bed, his feet on the floor and his elbows on his knees. This was the most active he'd been since he was able to start taking control, but he didn't want to overexert himself on his first outing. He was looking down at the tie in his hands.

It was a black tie with a blue swirl across the side. It might've been the Doctor's tie, if it wasn't so dark. That was the Valeyard. Living the Doctor's life, but with a level of darkness the Doctor refused to reach.

"If I rest more during the week, I think I can have longer," he added. His voice was still quiet, he still conserved his energy. He looked over to the Master like a starving man looks at food. His oldest enemy, his only friend.

An hour, if that. The Master could yell in frustration, he already felt the time ticking away, their time, like sand through his fingers.

The Master closed the rest of the distance between them, padding over to the bed in order to sit beside him. He reached out to try and take the tie from the Doctor's hands, it looked alien there now that he knew precisely who he was speaking to. It didn't belong to the Doctor, and everything in this room looked wrong, except for the man sitting beside him.

He wanted to tear it all to pieces, rend it to shreds until his fingers bled, as if it would help the Doctor have a greater stronghold. As if he could bring him back with the sheer force of his own will. He gave the thin piece of fabric a look of disgust, face twisting into hate before just returning to a kind of resignation. Patience, that was usually his strong suit, felt as if it were nothing in the presence of the Valeyard.

"You should try to do that then. Things seem to be going smoothly enough," he whispered, as if a louder word would steal these precious few moments from them.

"Won't forever," the Doctor replied, letting out a sigh. "Once things start to fall apart around him, he's going to look for someone to take it out on."

He turned his head, then, and looked over at the Master. He could barely see him before, he was so tired. The Doctor didn't get a chance to take him in, to see him so very alive in front of him. He grieved for so long without the Master. He couldn't fathom a world without him. But he was back, and it was thanks to the Valeyard.

"At least he did one thing right," he murmured.

The Master could do little more than nod mutely, he knew full well that the Valeyard's tantrums could outdo his worst day in mere minutes. The Valeyard, to him, had little self control, and while the Master's was not the best, he at least managed some semblance of it most times.

It was odd, hearing the Doctor say that. Odd to hear that something had been done right in the Doctor's eyes in regards to him. It felt agreeable, after that Year. How many times had he asked the Doctor if it was good?

More times than he could remember.

He kept his growing doubts on the nature of his resurrection at the Valeyard's hands to himself. Something felt very wrong to him, but he had no idea what it was. He took a breath, reaching out to take the Doctor's hand. It was a simple gesture, not meant to be anything other than it was, something only for the Doctor. Something the Valeyard would never have.

"It's good then," he began. "Isn't it?"

The phrase, from so long ago, struck a cord in the Doctor. He held his breath for a moment, then allowed the slightest of smiles to touch his lips. It had been a very long time since he'd smiled.

"None of it is good," he said. He took his free hand and gestured to the rest of the place around them, as if to say that obviously he wasn't referring to the Master's resurrection. The Master, as in all things, was exempt from his normal judgements.

"We can stop this," he promised, quietly. "I know how we can stop this."

He watched him carefully, keeping his hand where it was in the Doctor's. "I have noticed, you realize," he said, voice almost teasing, but it was more hollow than anything. A brow arched up in question.

"How?"

"Patience." It was something the Doctor had become very used to. He was patient throughout the Year under the Master's control, and he was now patient as he shared a body with the part of himself that he despised.

"There's a room," he said. "56674D. Don't pretend you know anything about it, but if you can get the code for the room before the next time we meet, we'll need it. And don't, whatever you do, don't let him take you there."

"I can do that." But it was a very long and dangerous game they would each be playing.

Mentally, he filed the room number away with all the other useful information he'd been collecting in bits and pieces. "What's in there?"

"Doesn't matter yet," the Doctor said. "But it will."

He wanted to tell the Master that he missed him. He wanted to tell the Master that he needed him. But he knew he couldn't. He knew the words would be either hollow or painful once the Valeyard was back in control.

"I think," he started, putting the tie down beside himself. "That the more he thinks about me, the stronger I can be. We have to get him in situations where he has to do what I would do. Be it for personal gain rather than doing what's right."

"Manipulate the situations he's in so that you can gain a stronger foothold," he murmured softly, watching him set the tie away. He could wait to find out was was int he room, he wasn't going to waste this time being argumentative.

"He's more at ease around me, but he doesn't trust me by any stretch of the imagination," he started, pulling in a long breath. "I don't know what he might be planning that could be useful in that respect." He would have to wait and watch.

Perhaps something would reveal itself.

"He wants to recreate the Matrix from Gallifrey," the Doctor said without hesitation. "The more I sleep, the less I know, but I've seen his plans. He wants to start resurrecting people, people he hated, and using their information."

He paused. "People I hated. It's not going to be easy. And it's going to hurt." He didn't bother explaining why, as he knew that would come out in time.

"I'm sorry, Master, but you're the only one."

His expression became something cold and unreadable when the Doctor told him that. He remained quiet for a few long moments. The Valeyard was toying with very dangerous things.

"You apologize too much," he said, absently. It was something he could grasp on to. "We'll stop him. We'll fix this." Somehow.

four; for best_served_hot

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