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[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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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.

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"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."

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"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?"

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"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?"

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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."

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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.

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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.

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"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?"

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"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.

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"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."

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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.

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"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.

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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.

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Oh, there was plenty else. The main part of that 'else' had to do with what was in the room the Master was to find later. But the Doctor couldn't tell him now. He couldn't let that out, not yet.

Later.

"I've set the cameras in this area to randomly flicker off and on, along with the rest of the power," he said. "Feel free to mock him about shoddy workmanship, he built this place himself and it will drive him mad."

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The Master offered a grin at that. "You say that as if I don't already, you're just supplying me with more ammunition," he says.

"How much time do I have to move around and return to my quarters unnoticed?"

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"Three hours after I fall asleep," he replied. "He's exhausted. He's been holding out as long as he can. Which is good, it makes taking over easier. Less of a drain on me."

He pulled back just enough to look at the Master. He didn't know how to ask what he needed to ask, but there wasn't much choice. The Master was his opposite in many ways, but they were on the same side, now. They had to fight the same enemy.

"You have to make him do something good," he said. "You have to...work out some way that he has no choice but to do what's right. It will make him weaker."

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"Without knowing what it is that he's planning I'll have to wait until the actual moment he's doing something to try and manipulate it. As much as I would love for you to believe, I think we're each far too old to think I conjure illusions out of hats for my schemes."

He was quiet a moment, mulling over recent events in his mind. "If I can keep him from using that weapon he used on Work Planet 7, it would be a start. Or does he only save that for special occasions?"

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"Have him use it to save someone," the Doctor replied, just a shade of desperately. "The Sontarans are working on destroying a nearby system. If he can stop the Sontarans, he'll save all of those people. It's not much, but it's a start."

It's almost nothing, though. The Valeyard will do it selfishly, to gain power. The Doctor would do it just to help people.

"You're clever, Master. You'll work out a way to get him there. You'll manipulate it."

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The Master hummed thoughtfully a moment. "He did mention it in passing before, I know of their advances in the system, but not much else. I'll see what I can do once he's out and about later."

Hearing that sort belief tinged with desperation directed at him was new and wholly different from the desperate pleas he had heard from the Doctor during the Year. He wasn't sure how to react to it.

"We will, Doctor. Together."

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"I won't be as much help to you as you'd hope for. All I can do is plan." He took a breath. "And wait."

He'd done so much waiting, a little more wouldn't kill him. He could only hope it wouldn't kill the Master, either.

He gave the Master a small, tight smile. "Bit like old times, then? Working together against a common foe?"

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"At least one of us can, the most I can do at the moment is stay out of his way." Which was maddening to say the very least.

"It is," he said, chuckling softly. "Somehow, despite everything, that keeps happening." How often had they ended up doing this in the past? "Almost like-" he stopped himself, averting his gaze momentarily.

He pushed back the memories of childhood conversations, under the stars of the home world, deep into his mind. He couldn't afford to dwell on that. The Doctor might thrive off of that sort of thing, but he didn't. Being around the Valeyard, though, it threw him off balance. He found himself almost craving the simple, childhood dreams that had once been untainted by reality.

But even that was tainted now, the Valeyard would use anything to his advantage, even the memories of two long dead children, swallowed up by the harsh truths of the universe. The Master hated the Valeyard with ever fiber of his being, and hate would be enough for him. He would bide his time and wait until the right moment, then it would be over.

Things could return to what they had once been.

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The Doctor raised his hand to the Master's face and brushed his fingertips across his cheek in a purely sentimental touch. It was so brief. It was so simple. It was all they had. The brevity of it was tragic.

"I should be awake longer next time."

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The Master tensed, briefly, much like a spring wound too tight at the touch. It wasn't something he was familiar with, something he expected at all, and yet he found himself reaching up, after a moment, to place his hand over the Doctor's.

"Good," he said, voice rough with an emotion he couldn't quite put a name to. He had spent so long simply trying to pull a reaction from the Doctor during that year, just trying to get his attention, or a simple acknowledgment, now that he had it, he wasn't certain what to do with it.

"Just focus on regaining your strength where you can. I'm not going anywhere."

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"Don't let him leave you anywhere," the Doctor said. "If I'm resting, he won't have me to beg him to release you."

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"I told you, I stay well out of his way. Unless he's having a fit, we shouldn't have a problem," " said the Master. "I'll keep my manipulations subtle when I have to use them."