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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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.

"We'll stop him," the Doctor agreed.

He wasn't entirely sure it could be fixed. Not anymore.

He took a breath. Something was hiding there, behind his eyes. Something he had to do. He wasn't ready for it, but he didn't have a choice.

"I have to trust you with something," he said. "You won't understand it yet, Master, but you need it. You will need it."

"I won't understand what exactly?" he asked warily. Despite assurances that they would find a way to end all of this, turn it back to something like what it had been before the Valeyard's reign, the Master felt a growing sense of dread as time went on.

"What aren't you telling me, Doctor?"

"Oh, Master. I couldn't tell you everything. Not even if you wanted me to."

There was just far too much going on. Far too much that had to be set up. Far too many dominoes that couldn't fall until the time was right.

He reached out a hand and gestured at the Master's temple. "Trust me?"

Instinctively, he pulled back, eyes narrowing sharply for a moment. He watched him carefully, searching his eyes for anything that might give him cause to worry. Finding nothing, he nodded slowly.

"Go ahead."

The Doctor shut his eyes and pressed his fingertips to the Master's temple. The connection was brief, a short burst of information directly from his mind into the Master's. The place that belonged to the Doctor was small and secret and hidden behind old memories and things the Valeyard chose to forget. The place the Doctor wrapped this information, a series of numbers and letters, was in the Master's mind behind the instructions on how to fly a TARDIS. It was somewhere he imagined the Valeyard would never look.

And as quickly as it began, the connection was over. The Doctor looked almost winded by the experience.

The Master hadn't realized he'd closed his eyes during it, and blinked them open as the connection dissipated. He watched him, taking in how weak he seemed after the simple contact, and resisted the urge to sigh.

"You should rest."

He hated to say it. He hated having to tell him that it would be best if he left and let the Valeyard have control again. He hated this universe, and the idea given form that ruled it like a toddler throwing a fit who knew nothing of true creation.

He would stay with the Doctor for as long as he could before returning to his quarters. He only wished it would be longer than this time they had stolen.

"I should," he agreed. "But let's be honest, Master, I've been resting for a week, now."

He relaxed, though, and let his head rest against the Master's for a moment as he reoriented himself. He only had an hour. He had to make the most of that hour.

"How are you holding up?"

"True," he said, voice quiet, as the Doctor leaned into him a moment to regain his bearings. He stayed very still, a part of him perhaps afraid that if he moved too quickly or spoke too loudly, it would end their time too quickly.

"I keep myself busy," he started. "Mostly in the labs, he doesn't seem to like the idea of me prying into things too much," he finished, letting out a soft breath that might have been a sigh.

"He's afraid of you," the Doctor admitted. "He knows you can stop him. You're the only one who can."

He took a breath, taking in the Master's scent and presence as a drowning man takes in air. He was the Doctor's only lifeline, the only person he could trust.

His greatest enemy.

His only friend.

"There's not enough time."

He smiled then, actually smiled, it was a good feeling that came from thinking that the Valeyard was scared of him. He knew this already, of course, but it was better to hear it. "He tries to hide it, but I've known for a while."

The Master watched him, taking in another breath, and trying to ignore the seconds counting down in his head of the time they didn't have. There were things he didn't know that he would need at some point. Information was hard to come by.

"Do you know anything about how he brought me back?" he asked, voice quiet still. He wasn't going to bring it up, but he didn't know when they would be able to talk next; it would help him.

"Mostly physical repair," the Doctor replied. "He delighted in picking Martha's brain before---"

He swallowed. Martha. Sweet, beautiful Martha. She loved him, and he could tell she still loved him as the Valeyard destroyed her. His hearts hurt just thinking about it.

"He stitched you up. Literally, I'm afraid. And...well, then there was a bit of time manipulation involved. Which can't be reversed."

It could, of course. But the Doctor wouldn't allow it. Not even the Valeyard would want to.

The Valeyard really had been very busy. He imagined, if that were Martha's fate, that most of the people the Doctor cared for, if not all of them, met similar fates.

The Master frowned, mulling over information in his mind. Something else was there, he just couldn't put his finger on precisely what.

"There's nothing else?" he pressed further.

four; for best_served_hot

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