rude_not_ginger | for best_served_hot | At your side I feel like a ghost

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for best_served_hot | At your side I feel like a ghost

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Hours had passed. Hours. The Valeyard was now sleeping. The two weeks that the Doctor had rested left him awake, energized. There was more than an hour in him, now, though he didn't know how long.

He reached to his side table and flipped a switch. Lights flickered around the ship, and a few of the cameras turned off. The damage done would leave the Valeyard angry, but it would keep the Doctor and the Master safe. For now. It wouldn't be long until the Valeyard worked it out, and the Doctor knew it.

So hard, sharing one body. The part of him that wanted to stay the Doctor remaining safe and secure in a small section of the tyrant's mind.

He got out of bed and slipped down the corridor, avoiding the cameras he knew were still on as he made it to the infirmary. No guards. They were switching out, now. He had a window of opportunity to make sure the Master was safe. He had to make sure. He had to see that the damage the Valeyard had done wouldn't be permanent.

He pulled open the door and stepped inside.

"Master."

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His eyes narrowed at him as he pulled the caps off both syringes with his teeth. He motioned with his hand, the gesture more impatient this time.

"I won't ask again."

"I won't ignore you again," the Doctor replied. He paused, then made a face. "I mean, I probably will. Just a bit. Well, a little bit."

He took another drink, then nodded to the wall in front of them. "He's probably watching us right now. Or, well, planning to."

"Last time I bring you nibbles," he said, only half-meaning it. He reached out and took his wrist, forcefully pulling it closer to him, and prying the bloodied glass from it.

"I'm quite certain he's watching," he said, grinning cheerfully. "And I'm looking forward to seeing just how irritated he is when he wakes up to find out what we've been up to."

He administered both syringes, one at a time, just under the skin of the Doctor's palm. Once that was done, he discarded them on the tray next to him, and reached out for the handkerchief tucked in the Valeyard's breast pocket.

He used it to wipe away the blood, revealing nanogenes at work healing the damaged flesh. The Master grinned, pleased with his work.

"Now are you going to ignore me?" He asked, giving him a pointed look. "And he didn't actually do much. Knocked me out for a bit with a sedative, but I'm otherwise unharmed."

He let go of the Doctor's hand, tossing the handkerchief onto the tray with the syringes, and picked up the small, black, rectangular device.

"I thought of that," he said, more smug than his usual. "Say hello and goodbye, Doctor."

The Master took the opportunity to flip two fingers in the air, and then turned the device on. It would leave the video and audio for the room scrambled and useless.

"Reverse signal transmodifier," the Doctor said, nodding at the device. "Clever. He'll change the frequency the next time around."

He took another swallow of the alcohol and gave the Master a small, devilish smile as the scotch worked through his system. He didn't want to think about he last time that the Valeyard ate, and the Doctor was not even bothering trying to struggle with the alcohol in his system.

"Do you know that term that humans would use to describe the situation we're in right now?" he asked.

He picked up his glass again, finishing off what was left, and pouring himself another. "Mm," he began around another mouthful of scotch. "He can keep that one. I have other toys at my disposal."

"And I am truly offended, at least you have the decency to consider me your adversary. He had the gall to announce to me that I wasn't his enemy. Me."

He drank down a bit more of his own glass, before settling back to make himself more comfortable, and looked over at the Doctor. "What term would that be?"

He let out a laugh at the idea of the Valeyard not considering the Master his enemy. Even now, sharing a drink with him and relying on him entirely, the Doctor still knew he was an enemy. He took another swallow of the alcohol.

"The term they'd use is fucked, Master," he said, letting out another laugh. "You and I, we're fucked."

It took him by surprise that the Doctor would resort to a lower, vulgar term like that, but it didn't last. He began to chuckle, it started slow, deep in his stomach, before he actually laughed, head thrown back against the pillow he was propped up on.

"Oh," he murmured, taking another long drink. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually just laughed. "It's a good term though, isn't it? Very succinct."

"Encompasses a number of our problems, I think," the Doctor agreed, smiling at the Master's laugh. How long had it been since they'd laughed together? Too long.

He took another swallow of his drink and flopped back on the bed. He looked up at the words. They're so very fucked. At least they can recognize it.

"So what should we do, before it all falls apart around our feet, Master?"

"Quite." He cradled his glass to his chest, half resting it there as he let the slow burn of the alcohol work through his body. He could relax, here, at least for a little while. It would be nice though, while it lasted.

"Well, I managed to get where you wanted me," he said, giving him a slight glare. "You're lucky I'm treating you to anything at all, I think. You should be thanking me for being so magnanimous."

"Oh, angry at me, are you?" the Doctor asked, sounding amused. "You should be thankful. I gave you the greatest thing I've ever possessed. If that's not love, I don't know what is."

He took the final swallow of his drink and held it out for the Master to refill."

He put a hand to his chest, just over his hearts, and gave him a longing look. "You love me? Oh, be still my beating hearts, the horrors you could have averted if you'd just told me sooner. All I've every really wanted was your love and devotion."

The Master couldn't actually manage to keep a straight face during all of that, or keep the shake from his shoulders. Even his own theatrics fell short in the face of that. Still, it struck a chord, though he schooled his features not to show it.

"Your gift might have been appreciated more, if only I hadn't thought it as a way to let yourself escape from all of--" He waved the hand holding the glass around. "--This."

He then reached over for the bottle of scotch next to him, and picked it up, refilling the Doctor's glass.

"Do you really think you're going to make it out of this without killing me?" the Doctor asked, his voice still light. "I've prepared for it. I've given you the TARDIS. You've got a way out of this. He just has to be stopped. And he won't. He won't, not as long as he thinks he can defeat you."

He took the glass back and took another swallow.

"And I won't let him kill you."

"Yes."

It was the only answer. The only real option. He let out something of a sigh, and refilled his glass all the way, drinking down about half of it immediately after.

"I can stop him, and his pride will give me the time I need to do it. He wants me around now, it seems, even though it might only be to keep me from you. But the question is, are you going to allow me to stop him, or are you going to take the easy way out?"

"I'm thinking...well, easy way out. That was the plan."

He stopped and looked over at the Master from his prone position on the bed, as if daring him to offer a better option.

"Was. Past tense. It isn't the plan any longer," he said, tone leaving no room for argument.

"If you kill yourself, what reason do I have to play nice and fix what has been happening in this universe? I could start out on my own. I've more than enough at my disposal."

"You wouldn't," the Doctor said, with no small amount of confidence. "I've seen you, Master. I know how much you've changed."

At least, he wanted to believe this was the case. He wanted to think that the Master had become someone he could trust, even after he was dead. All the same, he let out a sigh.

"What's your plan? No, no, nevermind. Don't tell me. I don't want him having any access to that information."

"I would," he said, giving him a sidelong glance that screamed, "Are you stupid?". "We're working together against a common enemy, we've done it before, and after things were the same. But feel free to live in your delusions for as long as you like."

He reached out, absently patting his leg, and went back to his own drink.

"I wasn't going to tell you anyways. Really, Doctor, I'm good, but I don't trust that thing as far as I could throw him. It's entirely possible I overlooked something, and I'm not going to go off at the mouth about my plans just in case."

He eyed the glass cradled against his chest, and then drained it with another gulp. Then he grabbed a biscuit out of the tin, and took a bite out of it.

"You think I trust him?" the Doctor demanded. "He's me. And I don't really trust me all that much, either."

He tipped his head to the side, just a little tipsy, and gave the Master a lopsided smile. "I like you like this," he said. "Ready to fight the evil. I always knew you could."

Oh, it was silly and juvenile of the Doctor, but they were facing a common enemy, now. He could pretend that it would last. And he would, as long as he could.

"Heh, you always did have trouble with that sort of thing. Even at the Academy. You were always questioning yourself." The Master didn't question his every move, he plotted, planned, and took what he wanted. He reworked things to suit his needs, and he was perfectly at ease with this way of living.

"Ugh," he groaned, rolling his eyes. "I'm going to need a bath after this. I'll catch something from you."

It was equally as juvenile what the Master said, but he didn't take it back. In a way, this was similar to many of the things they had spoken of doing when they were children. Changing the universe together. Fixing all the things their people would only observe happening, and do nothing about.

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