He's Fire And Ice And Rage

FOR THE DRABBLE MEME.

• Hello there, Spencer.
I see you, you boy, boy.
I see you, Spencer.
With my eyes.

You’re the architect of my dreams, Spencer.
You plan them, and build them on blue paper,
And hand them to me.

And then I dream them Spencer,
That’s what you do for me.
Thank you for that, Spencer,
You prick.… •

He used to dream about Gallifrey.

The swirling sky, the vast estates, the sloping fields of red grass.

Back before, when there was nothing but memories and the hate pumping through his veins. Back when he had no home world.

Now, that is all they have. They have Gallifrey, they have the estates and the whole stupid Time Lord planet at their feet. The Master even has something akin to a harem of people, following him, adoring him. No longer an exile, he's practically welcomed back to his home world with open arms. He has nothing to fear, not anymore.

And he still dreams.

Dreams of the drumbeats, dreams of the anguish and anger. Dreams of the Doctor.

Oh, so much.

He opens the door to the tiny club-like room. It's empty, now. Empty but for the Doctor, making his customary cup of tea. They don't fight, not here, not recently at least. Still, a tension settles over the room. Heavy and thick and not quite hatred and not quite desire. It's a frustrating sensation.

"Just us today?" the Master says. "I had hoped to have someone intelligent to talk to."

"I've invited a few others," the Doctor says.

The Master snorts. It won't be long, he assumes, until the whole room is full of people, ready to talk and drink and argue their way through another night. It lends the current moment to a sense of urgency. They only have the briefest moment to connect, to talk, to do something before their privacy is broken.

"Do you dream, here?" the Master asks.

"I don't dream at all," the Doctor lies, and the Master knows it is a lie.

"I dream." The Master lets the words hang for a moment, longing for the time needed to properly stretch that sentence to its fullest dramatic potential. And if he knows the Doctor, the Doctor would want to let it stretch, too. They're very like each other, and that makes the Master smile, privately. However, they only have a brief time, now.

"What of?" the Doctor says.

"You." The Master's smile remains, widening only the slightest flicker at the Doctor's expression, something that is not quite horror and not quite intrigue.

There's a slight bang as the door swings open, permitting Tempest, John, Rose, and Jack. More are on their way, Jack says.

Tempest looks vaguely bemused. She asks if they interrupted something.

They did. Not that either of the men in the room would admit it.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 416
Based on RP in riseofgallifrey