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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[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

Another shuddering breath, and he shook his head as well.

"And you've been totally honest with me? How am I supposed to fight him if you won't tell me?"

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He let go of his arm, and took a step back.

He wanted him to fight. He wanted him to want to fight back. This was so far from the comfort of the games he knew. He plotted and the Doctor foiled his plans. Once in a long while, one of them won completely, but it was never dull.

This left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"I've been doing what I can. I can't breathe over anything without him knowing."

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"And you think I can?" he snapped, finally looking up at him, his eyes cold. "I wasn't even aware he was listening."

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Well. This could be a very bad thing. He watched him carefully, but made no move to back away. His head cocked to one side.

"Listening?"

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

"Listening," he replied, taking a very purposeful step forward. "Because that's what he's doing, isn't it? Listening, making moves to help you when you need it. Taking advantage of the time he has?"

He looked at the Master's neck, where he'd smelled that distinctive pheremone of his own coming off of him.

"You positively reeked of, well, me. Though he's taken some very serious precautions to protect you. He didn't need to worry, Master." The way he said Master was very different than the way others might've said the name. It was cold, condescending. He knew who he believed was in control.

"You're not my enemy." He gave him a wide, pleasant smile. "I'm going to go to sleep. Lock myself up in my rooms. Punish him."

[best-served-hot.livejournal.com]

The Master, despite the roiling in his gut at this new revelation, knew this would happen. Sooner or later, they would be found out. This was only sooner than he would have liked.

He smiled, one full of calm and no worry at all to mar the joyous expression. This did throw something of a wrench into things, but it also made it so much better.

"Oh, see, this is just the best. I was getting so sick of skulking about in the shadows. It really isn't my style at all." The tone in his voice was practically a purr. This was exciting. "But you're wrong, Valeyard, I am your enemy, and you should never, ever forget that."

He reached out with a sudden, harmless movement to straighten out the Valeyard's suit. "But I'm keeping you from your beauty sleep, how impolite of me. Go on then," he said, baring his teeth in a grin.

"Sweet dreams."

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"And you," the Valeyard replied. His lips turned into a devilish smile that looked both very right and very wrong on the Doctor's face.

With the hand in his pocket, he lifted it up and pressed a syringe into the Master's neck, right at the place where he imagines the Doctor must've kissed him only a short time before. He injected a sedative into his old enemy's body. Long enough to keep him asleep the entire time the Doctor was trapped in the Valeyard's room.

The Master collapsed, and the Valeyard didn't even bother picking him up before he headed down the hallway to his room.

[best-served-hot.livejournal.com]

The Master was aware of the blur of the Valeyard's hand, the sting and burn of the needle in his neck, and then crumpling to the floor; out cold. Logically, he knew that when he woke he shouldn't have been up so soon. The Valeyard would have made sure of that, but as the grogginess dissipated he sensed something else.

She was in his mind, helping to dispel the sedative he'd been dosed with by the Valeyard in an attempt to keep the Master and the Doctor separated. He couldn't help a chuckle as he rolled over onto his front, and pushed himself up to his feet.

He had an old friend to go visit, but he needed to pick a few items up before he did. He was certain to find a number of homey devices put to good use in order to hinder his progress.

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He stared. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, on the marks across the wall. His hand hurt. He could feel the warm wetness of his own blood running down the side of the bed. He wasn't tied up. That was a surprise. He was just allowed to sit there, on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The bedroom door was padlocked shut, and he imagined only the Valeyard knew the combination to that lock.

He just kept staring at the blood streaks across the ceiling. Trying to work out what they would mean for the future.

Oh, he'd been so stupid. Should've sorted this out sooner. Should've told the Master just how much they had to lose. It didn't matter now. The words said everything.

I KNOW YOU'RE AWAKE.

[best-served-hot.livejournal.com]

He made his way over to the room, arms full of a number of lovely items that he'd stolen from the medical bay, and the Valeyard's private storerooms. The things he had his arms full of were, a tray with a teapot, a tin of biscuits, a bottle of his favorite scotch and a pair of tumblers for that, a small, innocuous rectangular device that blinked a green light every few seconds, and a pair of bolt cutters.

In his pocket he'd also tucked in something special for the Doctor, in case his hunch was right, and he prided himself on not being wrong very often.

Once he arrived at the door, he eyed both of the guards there. It was almost cute how the Valeyard was trying to block his way.

"Shoot him," he ordered, a ridiculously cheerful smile plastered to his face. "I attacked him, and you found him and took him to the infirmary. Run along now kiddies, the adults need to have their alone time."

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The Doctor heard a gun blast outside and he sat up straight in the bed.

What was going on?

No. No, it didn't matter, the nihilistic part of him said. It didn't matter, because all hope was lost. Perhaps the Master found the TARDIS. Perhaps the Doctor could just end it now. He looked over to the side table. He knew there was a gun in there, for the Valeyard's protection. One solid blast to the temple would do the trick. He reached over to the side table and pulled it open. He curled his fingers around the weapon.

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Once the guards were out of the way, he set the tray down and made short work of the controls that locked the door. It was a bit insulting, actually, how little protection there was for him to bypass, but he reminded himself that the Valeyard had grown complacent.

The Master found himself wanting a real challenge.

He opened the door, only to be stopped by chains stretched taut across it. No worries there, he'd come prepared for that. It was only as he retrieved the bolt cutters, and held open the door enough to get at the first chain, then he felt the worry and then fear pressed against his mind.

"If you're thinking of doing anything fantastically stupid and mortally damning, don't you dare."

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The Master's voice. The Doctor's finger loosened on the trigger. It should've tightened, he told himself. He should stop this, and stop it now. But he couldn't.

"Master," he said from his place on the bed.

He watched as a pair of bolt-cutters came through the door, ready to undo the locks that kept the Doctor prisoner here.

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"Are you expecting someone else to be breaking into your quarters in the proverbial middle of the night?" He managed to cut one chain, and grunted softly as he shifted to get a better angle to remove the rest.

The others followed shortly after.

He disappeared back out the door, letting the cutters clatter to the deck, and procured the tray once more. He sauntered in as if nothing were amiss, and the Valeyard hadn't just tried to knock him out for a few hours.

"I brought nibbles."

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The Doctor looked at the tray with the tea and biscuits, and wondered when it was, last, that he'd actually enjoyed any food. The Valeyard did, of course, but moments like that were usually ignored by the Doctor in favor of other things. More important things he had to learn about.

Now, everything to the Valeyard was blocked. He lived his own life, in tiny segments of time.

He nodded to the space on the bed next to himself.

"Come on, then," he said.

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He made his way over, set the tray down on the nightstand next to it, and busied himself with pouring the tea. After that was done, he poured the scotch, and debated between which to offer first.

Scotch would be best, he thought.

He took his own glass, and offered one out for the Doctor as he settled into the space next to him on the bed.

"He's awake, and that's his favorite if I'm any good at sussing these things out from his storeroom," he said by way of greeting, giving a smile. "Drink up."

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"Oooh, I think it is." The Doctor took a swallow of the scotch and made a twisted, disgusted face at the taste. Scotch was not the Doctor's alcohol of choice. All the same, he finished the cup, and offered it to the Master for another. No use not indulging in something that the Valeyard wanted.

"And I know he is," he said. He nodded upwards.

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The Master nursed his own a bit slower, set it next to him, and took the Doctor's to refill it before handing it back. He picked up his glance and had another healthy swallow before he let his eyes travel up to the ceiling.

"He's more predictable than you are," he says, shifting just enough to get into his left trouser pocket, and pull out two capped syringes. He set his drink away again.

"Which hand is it then? Let me see," he motioned for him to hand it over.

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The Doctor took the glass with the injured hand, still gushing a little blood from the wound.

"It's fine," he said, indignantly. "He'll probably do far worse before he's finished."

He reached over for a biscuit and popped it into his mouth before he swallowed more of the alcohol, letting it soak up the sweetness of the biscuit and turn it mushy and alcoholic before he finished it.

"Did he hurt you?" he asked. "When he found out?"

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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."

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

"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."

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"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.

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"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.

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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?"

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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."