for best_served_hot | At your side I feel like a ghost

[rude_not_ginger]

Follows this.

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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He reeled as if struck by a blow, turning an incredulous look upon the Doctor. He could feel his hearts speeding up at the rush of a new emotion. He swallowed, taking a moment to find his voice, then his eyes narrowed in pure, unadulterated anger.

"You want it," he said. He had thought so at another, earlier time as well, but dismissed it. "You're not even fighting it. You fought me. Even with your silence you still fought, and you're giving in to this thing that you've become."

He turned slightly on the bed, reaching out with his good arm to grab the Doctor by the front of his suit, his voice a low hiss. "You aren't allowed to give him that! Do you understand me?"

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The Doctor's smile was small and tired. He was so tired of fighting the Valeyard, fighting everything. Feeling hopeless. That was how he felt right now. Utterly hopeless.

"I won't give him anything," he assured the Master. "I'll just take the one thing of mine he controls."

The Doctor didn't mean the Master, of course. Even with how much the Valeyard controlled this place, even the Doctor didn't imagine that the Master was remotely controlled by the Valeyard. It was his life. Only his life.

"And I'm not going to let him kill you. When he finds out I'm still awake, he will kill you if he thinks it will hurt me."

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"You are giving him that. Right now, with all of-" He let go of his suit, and waved his hand in his general vicinity. "-This."

The foggy-headed feeling from the drugs that were administered was dissipating rapidly. He almost felt well enough to stand on his own two feet again.

Almost.

"I can look after myself," he snapped, still angry. "If he thinks I can't defend myself against him, he's wrong, and far more idiotic than I originally assumed. You worry about you. What happened with the parasite was unexpected, yes, but that shouldn't be taken as my inability to look out for my own skin."

He watched him, eyes dark. "I will never give into him, and I will not allow you the luxury of doing it either."

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"I won't be giving in to him, Master," the Doctor replied, still calm in the face of the Master's dark anger. "I will be defeating him."

There was no emotion to the Doctor's voice. Nothing but pure resignation. He tilted his head a little to the side while the Master spoke, though. That passion, that purity. That was something the Master had that the Doctor wished he could hold onto. He wanted to pull it from the Master and hold it onto himself forever.

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He opened his mouth to say something, but the Doctor's words made him snap it shut. His jaw clenched, a tremor going throughout his entire body; tensed like a spring wound far too tight.

He moved before he even thought about it. It wasn't anger, no, that was far too gentle a word. This was rage, hatred, desire, and so many other things he hadn't put a name to in centuries.

It wasn't his usual manic style, or something brought on by a foul mood. He cared. He cared for the Doctor, he wanted him in the universe, and he hated him completely for it.

He punched him. Hard.

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He saw the look on the Master's face for just a split second. All that rage, all that hate and desire and all of it. The Doctor wanted it. He wanted to feel that again, but he felt nothing. Not the anger of the Master or the ambition of the Valeyard. He was a failure.

The Doctor saw the punch coming and didn't even move to block it. It hit him hard across the side, dislocating his jaw and throwing him off the bed. He fell backwards with a crash, landing hard on his backside. He straightened and relocated his jaw with a loud crack before trying to move to his feet.

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He slid off after the Doctor, not giving him time enough to get to his feet. He wasn't done, not by a long shot. He kicked him viciously in the side, and knelt, aiming to pin him with a well placed knee on his chest.

He grabbed him roughly by the face, too far gone to even care that the Valeyard would wonder about the damage later when he woke. That he would know something was wrong about the pain he'd be in. A part of him perhaps noted this would happen, and relished the idea. Inflicting even a fleeting amount of agony on that creature was worth the risk. He wanted, so badly, to tear it apart with his bare hands, but he couldn't.

He couldn't because, deep down, it was the Doctor. He was the Doctor.

"A year on the Valiant," he began, voice low. "And all you ever offered was silence and forgiveness. Then you're left with this thing that tears apart the universe you love, and all you can do is lie here and take it? That isn't the Doctor I know. Do I have to remind you? What will it take to bring him out of you again? Because this isn't it."

His grip tightened, and he moved to slam the Doctor's head back against the floor from where he held his chin in his hand. "You are not the Doctor. You're not even his shadow."

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Not even his shadow. The Doctor wanted to sneer at that, but he also wanted to accept it. He didn't deserve the title of 'the Doctor'. He was nothing. He was---

But he wanted to be the Doctor. He wanted to stop this all himself. He wanted to be the man that armies fell to without having to raise a single weapon. But he had none of it. He had none of it without the drive. He had none of it without the anger. He looked up at the Master, all anger and drive and fury and---he was beautiful, in his own way. Like that. A mass of burning rage. It was good, seeing him like this. It was engaging. He could see everything he wanted to have back, and it was right there.

He didn't even think before he acted. He blocked the arm that was gripping his head, and then raised his other arm up to lock around the Master's neck. He pulled him down and crushed his mouth to the Master's. It wasn't really a kiss. Not really. It was almost like the Doctor was desperately trying to pull some of that rage into himself. To pull back in the emotions he needed. Just a little bit. Just for a moment.

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There wasn't any surprise to the Doctor's next move, it was the same as a dance, or simply breathing. They fought each other, tore apart each other's worlds, and left the marks to prove it.

This was simply another fight for dominance, for control. He bit sharply at his bottom lip, any care he might have had to the mark it would leave gone from his mind, and he kissed like this were any other fight they might have had. He was in control of this, at least so he thought, and he gave over that rage willingly. Anything to get that fire back that was the Doctor he knew.

Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice chided him for desperation, but he didn't deny it. He was angry, passionate, and desperate for anything familiar. This, here, was familiar. It was a battleground he knew well.

If it helped, then it was a victory.

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The Master kissed back viciously, and that made the Doctor's breath catch. There was nothing romantic in the Master's kiss, and that was what the Doctor wanted. He wanted to pull the anger in, he wanted to feel the rage. The fight for dominance was something the Doctor knew well, and it was something he'd become too compliant in. He'd given up fighting with the Valeyard, but this fight, this was something part of him wanted to win.

He released his grip on the Master's head and took his wrists instead, struggling to flip them both over so the Doctor would be on top, controlling this kiss. Controlling whatever the hell it was they were doing right now. Kissing, fighting, taking, sharing, it was everything they were. He could taste blood from where the Master bit down on his lip and that was good, too. Nothing nice, everything that was a fight.

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He broke the kiss momentarily, giving a low hiss of pain at one of the Doctor's hands finding his injured arm, and pressed down with more of his weight with the knee that rested on his chest. He didn't intend for the Doctor to end up in control of this, and if he wanted to win, he would have to work for it.

"Funny, someone might think you were fighting," he mocked, voice a sneer from where he knelt over him. "I thought you didn't do that any more."

He moved to shift his good arm out of the Doctor's hand, and pin his wrist to the floor. He leaned back down, crushing their lips together again, kissing him harshly, and staking his claim like he would have any other time. He owned the Doctor. He was his, not the Valeyard's.

Nothing changed that. Not the shape of things now, or what it might have been had things gone differently. They were the constants, a binary pair caught up in the other's gravity, and screaming back at entropy in a dying universe.

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The Master asserted dominance again, and the Doctor struggled back. This was how things were supposed to be, he thought. They were supposed to fight like this, they were supposed to be two who fought against each other. The Master with one wrist in his grip, the Doctor with the other. They were the Ouroboros, each swallowing the others' tail.

He kissed back with his own form of dominance, and let his tongue sweep across the Master's mouth, dueling in his own way. A burst of something hit the Doctor in the chest. The Valeyard wanted this. He wanted to connect to the Master, maybe even wanted him physically, but he couldn't have him. The Master and the Doctor were the only ones to fight each other so completely.

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There was a soft growl in the back of his throat, he knew what the Doctor was playing at, and if he didn't want this as much as he did, he might have waited; teased in his own way. As things were, the only time they had was in these few moments, however long they lasted. Soon, it wouldn't be the Master and the Doctor as they should have been.

They would once again have to contend with that thing, and each would be left to their own devices.

He opened up, only to thrust his tongue against the Doctor's, letting it slide against his with all the possessiveness he could pour into it from that action alone. He wanted to carve who owned the Doctor into his flesh. He wanted to burn it into the stars for the universe to see. He wished the Valeyard was separate, somehow, so that he could sear it into his mind just how wrong he was to think he could take this from him.

Before this was over, he would find a way. He would make it a lesson the Valeyard wouldn't forget for what short amount of time he still existed.

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The Doctor couldn't move to make this go any farther, even if he wanted it to. To move one hand was to release the Master's, and the other was in the Master's grip. They were trapped in their own need to control the other. It was intoxicating and, in a way, extremely arousing. He let his hips move upwards and let out a groan against the Master's growl.

The Doctor was aroused. That was really inappropriate. Hell, considering what was happening with them, it probably wasn't even tasteful. But he wanted---he wanted to just feel. Maybe it was the human side of him. Maybe it was something else. It didn't matter.

"Master." He growled his name into the Master's mouth. The way the Doctor said the Master's name wasn't like the way the Valeyard said his name. There was anger and hatred and desire in there, all the things the Valeyard only thought he understood but didn't. The Master made the Doctor hungry for something. Something that was more than just physical. It was more than the Valeyard could understand.

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He swallowed the groan with an harder, more insistent kiss and slide of his tongue as it came from the Doctor. He responded in kind, pure instinct and desire as he pressed his hips down to meet his.

There was nothing appropriate about any part of their shared situation. A shudder went through his entire body at hearing his name come from the Doctor's lips, and he pulled back, eyeing him like a hungry wolf.

"Say it again."

He wanted to hear it again. His name and all the implications that came from it when the Doctor said it. He wanted everything it meant, and then more. This, here and now, was proof that perhaps even the universe would never be enough.

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The Doctor should've fought back, he figured. He should've made the Master say his own name, but there was some amount of ego behind him, some knowledge that the Master would return the name in kind. That ego, that was something that he hadn't felt in a long, long time.

"Master." It came out again, this time his voice going just a little high-pitched as the Master's hips pressed against his own. He wanted something from the Master, he thought, as he captured his mouth again. He wasn't even sure if it was just a physical connection. They needed, no, no, he needed---

"Sir?" It was the voice of someone else. A guard, no doubt alerted by the sounds of fighting within the room.

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That hungry gleam never left his eyes, and he gave a low chuckle. He pulled back momentarily, just enough to give him space to whisper himself.

"Doctor," he said, and allowed him to pull him into another kiss. Only to have it interrupted by one of the Valeyard's idiotic little pawns. He broke the contact, body still thrumming with desire and, now, anger. He tensed, his eyes narrowing on the intruder, a multitude of dark, agonizing things coming to mind as to what he could do to the man for walking in on this.

He couldn't be allowed to live. Too much was at stake.

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The name shot pure desire down the Doctor's spine, and there was nothing more he wanted than to---

Oh, but the moment was suddenly broken, and the cold emotion that replaced the desire was fear. These were two of the Valeyard's loyal dogs. No matter what happened now, the Valeyard would know that he was here in the infirmary, kissing the Master. There was no way to deny what was happening.

And what if they heard the Master calling him 'Doctor'? There was no way they would---

He looked back at the Master. His initial reaction was to tell the Master no, not to do what the Doctor knew he would. But there was no choice. They had to be silenced.

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The Master shifted, relinquishing his hold on the Doctor's wrist, as he moved to get to his feet. He immediately felt the loss of the contact where their bodies had been touching, but he pushed it out of his mind. There would be time for more after he dealt with this.

Even with one arm broken and bound, he was still extremely dangerous. He took a step towards the guard.

"Well, isn't this a bit embarrassing," he said, stalking closer. "I thought I'd locked the door."

He moved before the Doctor could protest verbally, or the guard could call out for assistance, aiming to close the distance between them. He took hold of the man's throat with one hand, pushing him into the wall. He held him there, very calmly strangling the life out of him, and ignoring the thrashing and flailing limbs as he fought to get free.

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The Doctor slowly got to his feet. He didn't watch the Master strangling the life out of the guard. He didn't want to.

Roy Farne. He was a high-ranked guard for the Valeyard. They weren't close, but the Valeyard knew everything about him. If the Doctor concentrated, he could pull up memories from the Valeyard about Roy. Top of his class in physics. Allergic to nuts. Heterosexual. Enjoyed rugby. Non-smoker. Wanted to see the stars, at whatever cost. Harmless, until the Valeyard put a gun in his hands.

The Doctor could hear it as Roy Farne stopped struggling against the Master's grip. Could hear that final hiss as whatever air was left in his lungs was released. He could not feel remorse.

More footsteps, and another guard stepped inside.

"No!" the Doctor called out immediately. "Don't---not that one!"

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The Master dropped the dead guard's body just as the other entered the room. He didn't care about any of these men, they were less than nothing to him, and right now, in that precise moment, they were taking something that belonged to him.

This was simply what they deserved for walking into the wrong room at the wrong time.

He pushed the other against the same wall, grip tight on his throat so he wouldn't be able to call out, and shot a glare in the Doctor's direction. "What precisely do you suggest I do then? Ask him nicely not to mention any of this?"

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The Doctor felt nothing but pity for this guard. Ian Amerson. 22. New to the guard, assigned with Roy because he was 'so very good' in the Valeyard's opinion. Left handed. Smoker. Liked cheesecake and bad telly. The Valeyard knew all of this but knew nothing about them.

"Roy attacked me," the Doctor said, wiping the blood off of his lip. "And Ian had to stop him. Strangled the life out of him. Was so stunned by that that he fainted for a number of hours."

He nodded to the Master. "I know you can make him believe that, I've seen you do more intense memory replacement. He'll detect it if it's mine. He won't think to look for it if it's yours."

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The Master considered this a long moment, and then nodded.

"You'll have to hold him."

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The Doctor nodded, then stepped around the Master to take Ian's arms. He reached out and shut the door, locking it before he gripped him.

"Ready."

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Once he was certain that the Doctor had the young guard in his grip, he let go from where he held his throat, and uttered a single word to start, as his eyes bored into his.

"Quiet."

He reached up then, placing a his uninjured hand along the side of the guard's face, making contact easily. He wouldn't usually be careful with this sort of thing, but in this case he had to make an exception. Nothing had to give off red flags if the Valeyard went looking later, and he was certain he would. Carefully, he began to remove and rework the events that took place. As he began the process of altering the guard's memories, he took a moment to go deeper into his mind, seeking out any information about the room the Doctor had mentioned to him some weeks previous. It was surprisingly easy to locate, and once he found it, he memorized the passcodes that would grant him access.

His eyes closed as he focused, implanting the false memories with ease. Once that was finished, he suggested that he sleep, and broke contact.

The guard slumped in the Doctor's grip.

"Done."