four; for best_served_hot

[rude_not_ginger]

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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[best-served-hot.livejournal.com]

Opening his eyes, which he hadn't realized he had closed, he watched the Doctor as he pulled back, though their shoulders were still touching. His eyes slid over the Doctor's face, uncertain of what he was thinking. There were times he thought he could almost remember what might be going through his mind, but other times he felt as though he were floundering in waters he had once been familiar with.

This was one of those moments, and then it was gone; the Doctor asleep.

"I hate you."