The Master Factor

The Master had never forgotten what life was like before the Doctor and he began to, putting it delicately, get along. He'd had his fair share of fun; then that nosy do-gooder came along and ruined a long line of perfectly good plans. The Master had never thought he would miss the Doctor this much.

Actually, the Master hadn't gotten around to missing him yet. He was still in denial and he wasn't feeling anything. The only mental progress that had taken place since the Doctor's death was remembering how boring Gallifrey was. He hadn't even spent a day in this alternate dimension's Gallifrey before he was off an out in the universe with the Doctor's TARDIS to a glorious new campaign of scheming and wrecking havoc. No way was he staying on Gallifrey with his alternate self running about and being some important ass in the Council. The "Architect" had done well for himself, and the Master got sick simply by staying in the same solar system. His personal opinion was that the Architect was a bumbling old fool whose only positive streak was his resemblance to Francis Bacon.

The Doctor of this dimension was nowhere to be found. No doubt dashing about and saving the Earth (after all, there had to be things other than Daleks threatening that miserable excuse for a planet). No doubt they would run into each other eventually. The Master had yet to decide what he would do, once that happened. He was sort of dreading the encounter, but he couldn't stay away from Earth. He was caught between wanting to see the Doctor and wishing to watch the man's beloved planet burn.

The TARDIS landed on a space station that would oversee the death of Earth as the sun expanded. How fitting to go from one funeral to another. Closure? Absolutely not. Nostalgia and some destructive glee; definitely. He stood before the massive window that overlooked Earth with one hand pressed to the glass pane. The planet was empty now, he knew. At least the Doctor couldn't have scolded him too much for taking joy in its destruction.

People were going in and out of the room, but no one bothered him. It hardly took any effort to manipulate them into thinking he was allowed there. Voices talked and he wasn't paying attention, until one word in particular made his stomach lurch.

"...Doctor plus one. She's my plus one."

The Master turned his head and looked. He scrunched his nose. It didn't feel or smell like the Doctor, but that was clearly because this was an alternate dimension. A far greater problem was that it definitely didn't look like the Doctor. He had the psychic paper though, as well as a stupid monkey companion. This time it was some blond girl with a scary big mouth. If this was a later regeneration, Eleven should be damned grateful that he had died permanently.

As much as the Master wanted the Doctor back, this wasn't his Doctor. He couldn't see him for the hammering noise in his head and he turned back to look at the Earth, hating how the two giggled and chattered on like old women at a tea party. Of course the Doctor would think it romantic to take a girl to see her planet burn. He rolled his eyes, debating on leaving before he did something he would regret.

Before the Master could make a decision and avoid any incidents, the Doctor caught the Master off guard, slapping a hand down on his shoulder.

"You're a Time Lord! Not here to apprehend me, are you? If you've taken an interest in Earth, I'm afraid you dropped in at a bad time. Or do you come to this planet often?"

The Master's lips curled with dismay as he looked into the face of this other Doctor. Big ears, big nose and a big, stupid grin. "Apprehend you? Now, why would I ever."

"Oh, now and then the Architect sends someone to drag me back to Gallifrey. I'm the Doctor," he said, offering his hand.

"Ah. The meddlesome time meddler," the Master said, slightly confused but supposing the Doctor was as renowned as always. "I am the Master." There was still pride in that title somewhere, and maybe he was throwing the Doctor somewhat off with his frigid tone. "And being apprehended doesn't worry you?"

"No, no," the Doctor assured. "They give me a slap on the wrist and I make my escape, off to meddle some more. Fantastic system, isn't it? I'm surprised you haven't heard."

"Fantastic indeed," the Master said darkly. That wasn't at all the Time Lords he was familiar with. On another note, he had thought that the Architect and the Doctor were a thing. "You knew him personally, didn't you?"

"Me? Well, you could say that. But he's all government and rules. Way too boring for me," he said and stifled a yawn. "What about you? What are you doing out here?"

"Observing." The Master was distant, watching the companion as she ran around on her own and talked to people. "Who's the human?"

"She's Rose Tyler. Travels with me. We just met after fighting off some plastic. Living plastic. That's not something you see on Gallifrey. Don't see why the Architect would miss out on that."

The Master let out a snort. "No, I can't see why. I had my own run-in with those aliens a long while ago." And he and the Doctor had cooperated by the end of the day. Up until the point where the Master had tried to run him over with a bus, naturally. God, he missed that man. Hearing the Architect was not part of the equation any more, the Master was starting to consider. "Been travelling for a very long time, have you?"

"A very long time," the Doctor confirmed.

"Seen much trouble, I bet."

"I should say. I'm number Nine."

"I see." The wheels in the Master's head were turning in time with the noise. It grew into a hammering orchestra of drums when he looked at Rose. The Doctor had just met her, but was feeling responsible for her. She would be his ticket into the Doctor's good graces.

Currently she was having an argument with Cassandra, the Last Pure Human. The Doctor and the Master regarded her in silence, until they both spoke up at the same time.

"Not very clever is she?"

"Brilliant, isn't she?"

Both cleared their throats and pretended like that hadn't happened. The empty space inside the Master was starting to fill with all the joys and hopes of breaking this foolish, innocent Doctor down like a hammer to fine porcelain. He would savour every second of it.

"I suppose she has her charm. She sure looks as if she adores you already."

"Oh, well." The Doctor rubbed at the back of his neck. It wasn't difficult to see that he was pleased with himself. Silly Doctor. He had no idea he was going to ruin any chance of Rose leading a normal life, only to turn Martha into a weapon and then lose Donna to some random guy in a library. Imagining all the other companions that the Doctor had lost, the Master almost felt pity for him. Pity for all the ways he was going to exploit the Doctor's broken hearts. He would never have his Doctor back, but this one would make due for some time; after a few adjustments.

"I'll leave you to it, shall I?" the Master asked with a wide smile. "There may be a few more people who desire air from your lungs. A sensual gift, indeed."

"You'd like some, would you?" the Doctor asked with that stupid grin of his. He was failing to notice the over-the-top predatory look in the Master's eyes. The Doctor wouldn't have any air left in his lungs by the time the Master was finished with him.

"Some other time, Doctor. But rest assured I'll leave you breathless at one point in the future."

The Doctor appeared mildly puzzled, but the Master knew he wasn't all that ignorant. He wandered off, seemingly about to greet the other attendants while in fact he was looking for Rose. This Doctor had obviously never suffered at his hand before. He had experienced the end of a relationship, but he hadn't had a proper nemesis. Hadn't even fought the Daleks to the same extent as the proper Doctor had. The Master could only presume that the Daleks had never gotten as far as to acquiring time travel, and that was why the Time War hadn't destroyed Gallifrey in this dimension. It had done the Doctor a whole world of good, leaving him naïve and kind compared to the other Doctor. The Master would rectify that.

He wandered off with his hands in his pockets, humming a certain song from when he'd been carting an old Doctor around in a wheelchair. Trust the Doctor to appear when Earth was about to be incinerated. The Master ignored the other guests, as opposed to the tiny robots skittering about with evil intentions. Someone was up to something, as always. The Doctor would handle it, but the Master would use the situation to his advantage. There wasn't much to do with a dying planet, so he was certain that these robots were after the lives of those on the space station.

With a good idea of what was going to happen, the Master smirked to himself when he spotted Rose all by herself. The Doctor had let her wander. First rule, he thought to himself with a silent tsk. She was in a hallway with a view of the planet, phone in hand. It was a stupid idea for a date, showing her how the world would end (unless of course you were the Master, who had rather thrived in showing Lucy such horrors).

"Savouring your planet's death spasms?" he asked. Rose looked up and made a face. Or perhaps she was simply born that way. In either case, she was both disturbed and enthralled by the situation. "I suppose he could have found a better place to take you for your first trip."

"I don't know," she said. "It's so weird, you know? Do you know I just called my mum, all the way back in the 21st century? She's dead, but I spoke to her just now."

"You talk as if it's horrifying that she's dead at this point in time. I would be horrified if she wasn't. Humans aren't meant to last forever." The Master walked up next to her. Rose stared for a while at the phone before putting it back in her pocket.

"I guess it's all the same to you," she said with a sniff. "You don't know what it's like. You're used to it. You're like him."

The Master brushed his knuckles over the front of his jacket. "In less ways than you imagine." The silly girl was staring at the Earth. Soundlessly the Master fished the phone out of her pocket.

"I'm just wondering about all the places he could take me," she said. "I could go anywhere I like and be back when I left. The day before, even."

"And you think you'll be able to just stop and go home?" the Master mused.

"I guess that's why you keep going, isn't it?" she asked. "You and him, you just travel like this all your life. That must be brilliant."

"Mhm. Keep imagining that," the Master said. He was on his way down the hall.

"Hey, where are you going?" she called after him.

"People to see," the Master replied before he was gone around a corner. First step of the plan had succeeded. The second part would be far more difficult. He did not like to rely on chance, but there was a certain thrill to it. A cruel idea came to his mind; something that would keep him occupied until it was time. He took the phone out, as well as his screwdriver.

While he worked, the Doctor and Rose had found themselves what was as close to a balcony as the space station could provide. The room consisted of a small tribune and a huge window with a view of the Earth. The Master interrupted some doubtlessly deep and engrossing conversation as he joined them.

"Still following us around?" Rose asked, giggling with all her teeth showing. The Master arched a brow at her.

"Enjoying the sights," he said with sarcasm. "The Steward would like a word with you, Doctor. That is all."

"Oh, alright then?" the Doctor said. "Rose, if there's anything, you just get hold of me." He strolled off, unknowing that he was about to discover a murder scene. The tiny robots had burnt the Steward to a crisp a short while ago. Who was the Master to deny the Doctor the glory of such a discovery? He smirked down at Rose.

"Just the two of us again, then." He sat down next to her and leaned back, looking up at the Earth. "Not a lot of Time Lords have been interested in this planet of yours. Didn't appreciate it myself, until I met the Doctor." His eyes shone, but with far darker intensions than what Rose could tell. She wasn't sure about having him this close.

"You Time Lords sure run around a lot."

"Can hardly sit still," the Master assured. "He's not interested in watching Earth burn. Very entertaining the first time around, but you can only watch so many planets die before it becomes a bore."

"Hey, that's my planet you're talking about," Rose complained.

"And? It's not as if you live on it any more. By now, the last real human is that patch of skin down the hall."

Rose was getting pissy. She was right where the Master wanted her, so he said nothing more. It was time to distract the Doctor. "I'll leave you to it. Make sure you wave goodbye when the Earth is incinerated," the Master said cheerfully. He had already slipped Rose's phone back into her pocket, so he might as well be on his way.

"You're right, you're not like him," Rose huffed. "He'd show some understanding."

The Master rolled his eyes and left the observatory. The door closed behind him. He casually flicked out the laser screwdriver and melted the lock without anyone being the wiser. It should be starting soon, and now all he had to do was wait.

The Doctor had captured one of the spider robots, which he was interrogating the guests about. The space station had begun to malfunction. It was getting hotter. Everyone was growing nervous, too busy with their own problems to notice the sound of burning walls. The Master smiled as he heard Rose's muffled cries from the observatory. The solar shield was going down. It wasn't long before his own phone rang and he picked it up with a grin.

"Doctor, help!" he heard Rose crying out from the other end.

"Not the Doctor, sadly," said the Master. "I locked your phone so that all your calls will be rerouted to me. I could take a message for the Doctor, if you like, though I can't promise it will be in verbatim."

"What the—? The shields are going down!" Rose yelled. "Master, help me, please," she begged.

"I do enjoy it when people use my name," the Master murmured. "If you'll excuse me, the Doctor just lost his companion and will be in need of consolation." He hung up. After pocketing his phone, he put on his best frightened expression and ran out to the other guests. He joined the Doctor, making sure he was directing the man away from the observatory. A watchful eye on the clock told him just when to bring the Doctor over to the melted door, through which they could watch as the last remnants of Rose was fried to ashes.

The Doctor stared in mute horror and sank down to his knees.

"Doctor, I know, but we have to restore the shields," the Master said. He got down next to the Doctor and took him by the collar. He managed to look honestly upset. "There was nothing you could do. We have to make sure no one else dies."

The Doctor didn't make a sound. His face went hard and cold as it did when he was masking his emotions. Grief and guilt would have to tear him apart later. The two of them ran down to the bowels of the space station where some massive fans were separating them from the controls of the automatic restore system. The Master grabbed hold of the searing hot lever that slowed the fans, while the Doctor leapt through the whirring metal blades. Idiotic construction if ever there was one. Their architect must have played too many videogames.

The Doctor reached the switch that restored the shields. By the time he made it back, the Master had severe burns on his hands and was panting hard.

"I'll be fine. I'll be fine," he assured and wiped sweat from his forehead with the unharmed back of his hand. The Doctor grabbed his hands to examine them. The Master definitely took some sick pleasure in this care. The loss of Rose could sink in now that they were safe, and the Doctor channelled it all into worry.

"You were great," the Doctor said. His expression was stern as he examined the Master's hands. "I'm sorry about this, I really am." He was crumbling. The Master furrowed his brows.

"You knew her for a day."

"She died because of me. I took her out here, and she died just like that. I've never been so careless before."

The Master hooked his arms over the Doctor's shoulders, careful of his burnt hands. They stung, but he was hugging the Doctor again. Not his Doctor, but it was a small consolation. "No one can have a flawless record, now can they?"

The Doctor flinched. Apparently, when it came down to human lives, a flawless record was the only acceptable record to the Doctor. The Master was delighted to imagine the Doctor was now silently vowing never to bring a human with him again.

"She was so young, and we just started out. There was so much I was going to show her."

The Master stroked the Doctor's back with the side of his hand. "I know, but you told her about the risks," he murmured. "You always let them know about the risks." It was strange, but the Master rather missed Amy and Rory. At least they had been capable of taking care of themselves. They'd never have fallen for such a basic trap.

"What were you even doing here?" the Doctor asked, once he had pulled himself somewhat together. He seemed embarrassed to have shown his grief so openly, but he was no mind of steel like the Real Doctor had been.

"Remembering someone I lost," the Master replied quietly.

"I'm sorry. Is it long ago?"

"Very recent. Far too recent."

Now it was somehow the Doctor comforting the Master. Who else could comfort him, really? No one but the Doctor could ease the loss of the Doctor. Hadn't this incarnation been less appealing to him, the Master would have taken full advantage of the situation. He'd have broken this man into the floor and taken all the comfort he needed, but he was not that desperate yet. This incarnation had some charm; the Master could definitely get behind the leather clothing, but he would wait. Perhaps for a familiar face.

"Where do you plan on going?" the Doctor asked. The hug had gotten uncomfortably long for him.

"I am not sure," the Master murmured. "Wherever chance takes me." He tightened his hold.

"You wouldn't...?"

The Master let go. "We should both be on our way before someone starts asking questions. I am sure you have a lot to deal with ahead of you, considering Rose."

The Doctor looked miffed at the Master's sudden change of tone. He was torn, not sure whether he wanted to get to know this strange but inviting man, or if he was unsettled by him. "I'm sure you know how to get hold of me if you change your mind."

"We'll see each other again," the Master promised before he walked away. He couldn't remember being this successful with his own Doctor. With hardly any effort he had murdered the Doctor's companion without leaving a trace of evidence behind. Rose's death boiled down to foul chance. The Master returned to the TARDIS, which was deeply displeased both with his presence and this other dimension.

"Bear with me," the Master gritted out. "You miss the Doctor too, and this is the only way to get him back." The ghost of the Doctor's touch still lingered, but it brought him nothing but bitterness, as did the TARDIS. They had shared too many memories in here. No, he would need to see the Doctor again soon, even if it was just Other Doctor. There were a few certain ways to get hold of him again without directly contacting him.

First on his list of priorities were his hands. These nasty burns would need time to heal, and in the meantime he would orchestrate a far larger scheme that was sure to call upon the Doctor's attention. He found himself a lower life form (in this particular case, the Slitheen), and assisted them in a large scale plot that would threaten all of Earth. There was no better place to wait for the Doctor than in London, and if he didn't show, well then the Master would have toppled the government that he, at this point, was very pissed at. Oh, he would be Prime Minister again, but not before he had levelled 10 Downing Street to the ground at least once. Wouldn't be any fun, otherwise. The Slitheen had no idea that the Master was planning their demise, so if the Doctor didn't show up, he'd at least have Earth. Either way he would come out on top.

It was good, being back in a position where he could be the big bad spider, holding all the threads and controlling everything. In his own dimension, everyone on Earth knew his face. Now he was once again the Master of disguise. To his delight, the Doctor appeared right on cue, without company. The Master watched him run about for a while, safely situated inside the TARDIS with a nice cuppa. The Doctor acquired the help of a Harriet Jones. He remembered her as his predecessor for Prime Minister. It was fine. For now, he would let the Doctor have his toys.

"Whores will have their trinkets," he snickered to himself as he pocketed the laser screwdriver and sauntered out of the time machine. He had parked outside 10 Downing Street, wherein the Doctor, Harriet and the Slitheen were chasing each other Benny Hill style. The Master ran in to help them, a last minute hero and saviour of the day. The Slitheen were under the impression that he was assisting them, but it was the Master who helped the Doctor decode the Slitheen's plan, and then got the Doctor and Harriet in safety within Downing Street's very own bomb shelter.

"We're trapped!" Harried cried out. "Even if they can't get at us here, how are we supposed to stop them? They will turn the Earth into radioactive waste before we have a chance to escape."

They all looked at each other in fear; the Doctor and Harriet genuinely so. The Master had grabbed a laptop with him from one of the other rooms, and he looked to the Doctor.

"I have an idea. It's not going to sound pleasant, but it's the only way to wipe out all the Slitheen and stopping a nuclear apocalypse."

The Doctor looked as if he was catching onto what the Master had in mind. He glanced to Harriet briefly, then nodded to the Master. "Should I?"

"I can handle it," the Master said and sat down with the laptop. He did so enjoy blowing things up. "You have been through so much, you don't have to do this." The Doctor looked embarrassed at this remark, but Harriet's enquiry got between any romantics.

"What are you going to do?" she asked the Doctor with wide eyes.

"We're firing a missile at 10 Downing Street."

"You're what?"

"Oh yes." The Doctor was leaning over the Master with his face set as the Master hacked into the Royal Navy HMS Taurean, a Trafalgar class submarine armed with non-nuclear missiles. "The missile will take out the entire building as well as the Slitheen. This room shouldn't be possible to breech."

"Should?" Harriet cried.

"Still, no worries, right?"

Harriet swallowed hard, but saw the necessity of such extreme means. The Master was a bit uncertain himself as to whether this had been a smart plan. Firing missiles at himself was, come to think of it, not his favourite pastime, but he had the Doctor watching him save the planet. As wrong as that felt, he wouldn't mind a chance at getting to first base.

"There." He pressed the launch button, then backed off. Now they could only wait.

"You showed up right in time," the Doctor said.

"I am sure you have managed far greater challenges without my help."

"Just got back from 1860, actually."

"And how did you enjoy that?"

"Well, Charles Dickens believes in ghosts, now."

Their eyes met right before the missile impacted. Everything shook and they were temporarily deafened. 10 Downing Street was reduced to rubble and there was a lot of mess and confusion before the two of them could sneak out from the ruin, avoid the media and find themselves out of breath some streets away, exhilarated but pleased, both for their own reasons. They were whole, and that was more than they had hoped for.

"Let's face it, though," the Master panted. "We have seen too much for that to be the end of us. An explosion would be a far too boring way to go."

The Doctor had to laugh. He composed himself and looked at the Master with interest, perhaps even some suspicion. "Rather big coincidence that you should show up here, right as they invade."

"You would have managed either way."

"But you're here, and I'm here. In all of Time and Space, what are the chances of that? Were you following me?" the Doctor asked.

Still not a very trusting man, was he? The Master curled his lips in an indecisive smile, or sneer. It was hard to tell what he wanted it to be. It all boiled down to frustration, to loss. He wanted to be all cool and detached, but when he looked at the Doctor he saw the man he used to love. It wasn't the right face, but it was enough.

"What?" The Doctor was disturbed by how the Master scrutinized him. "Is there something on my face?"

"Only your huge nose," the Master snapped at him. Then he grabbed the Doctor by his equally huge ears and kissed him. It wasn't the same in the least, but it was fun how the Doctor spluttered and flailed. "Oh, don't give me that. It's not your first; I know you and the Architect were getting it on."

The Doctor would have said something, but the Master kissed him again, hard. As rough and demanding as the Master was, the Doctor couldn't be sure whether he was being kissed or devoured. He was still dumbfounded when the Master let go of him and made to leave.

"Hey!" the Doctor called after him. "What, did my huge nose get in the way?" he called after him with humour. The Master didn't react. The Doctor took a moment to consider before he followed after him. He had just rounded the corner in time to hear the noise of a dematerializing TARDIS, but he didn't see a trace of the machine or the Master. This game would continue, even if the Master could have kicked himself for his indiscretions.

Self-control. He had to find himself some self-control before he spoiled the game. The next trap would have to be elaborate, something he wouldn't want to spoil for the good Doctor. No, when he sent the TARDIS towards the future, it was with a specific and exceedingly ambitious goal in mind. It would be the Doctor's time to lose his head in awe when he saw what the Master had conducted for him and him alone.

XXX

It was an unthinkable amount of years into the future when the Doctor landed on Satellite 5, a TV station that filtered all the Earth's news. It consisted of exactly five hundred floors. He strolled out of his TARDIS by himself, with only a few adventures between now and the incident with the Slitheen. It was supposed to be exciting, seeing a whole new place and time. This age was meant to be the pinnacle of human achievement, but there was no human travelling with him to appreciate it.

After wandering the station for a while, discovering how they fed information through the human brain like a super computer and other pleasantries, he stopped by a window to look down at the planet. It should have been further developed by now. A reporter, named Cathica, had told him about Floor 500. Something sinister was definitely going on, but the Doctor's approach to the plot at hand was lacklustre at best. He had not been himself after suffering the death of a companion. He couldn't stop revisiting Earth after that.

"Fantastic."

That was his word. The Doctor turned with a frown, which immediately disappeared when he saw the Master with his hands pressed to the glass pane and looking down at the planet.

"Out of all possible coincidences," the Doctor said, with a severe amount of suspicion this time. The Master grinned. He breathed against the glass and started drawing in the fog left behind.

"If we both keep hanging about poor planet Earth, we are bound to keep running into each other."

"And why would you 'hang about'?" the Doctor asked.

"Let's just say it has a lot of replay value." The Master watched his crude scribbles fade before he looked back at the Doctor and measured him up with his eyes. He honestly was disappointed every time he looked at the Doctor's current state. Nothing personal; he simply had a definite preference (as opposed to infatuation, a word he'd never use with a straight face). "You are still on your own. How long has it been? Have we done World War Three yet?"

"Which World War Three?" the Doctor asked.

"The Slitheen. I like to make up titles for my little escapades. I keep a diary."

"Oh. That World War Three." If the Master didn't know better, he'd say the Doctor was flustered from remembering what had happened at the end of said escapade. "Yes. I had a few stops since then. Visited the man who owned the Internet back in 2012. Collector with a private museum."

"Yes, you always loved museums," the Master murmured, but quickly caught himself. "If I am one to guess. Encountered one of the last Daleks, I presume?" There was always a last Dalek popping its ugly eyestalk up somewhere.

The Doctor snorted. "And where have you been the last few millennia? Skaro burned long ago. There hasn't been a Dalek around since ancient times."

The Master looked at the Doctor with curiosity. The Daleks may never have discovered time travel, but they were still sturdy and somewhat intelligent creatures. "The Emperor Dalek was never verified to be destroyed." This remark visibly displeased the Doctor, who stared down at the underdeveloped Earth with a bad feeling in his stomach.

"Even so, he'd need the help from someone pretty powerful and really stupid to rebuild his empire."

"Makes you stop and worry at times though, doesn't it?" The Master digressed, but he decided that his plan was so stupid it was bordering on sheer brilliance.

"Are you going to tell me what you want?" the Doctor asked. He seemed frustrated with his inability to guess what was on the Master's mind. "What was it about, that thing last time?"

"Oh, come on. Live a little. We saved the world and you needed considerable cheering up. Now here you are, moping about again." The Master tsked. "I hear they have some really whacky milkshakes at the stalls. Come along, Doctor." It hurt a little to say that.

The Doctor didn't like being out-mysterioused. Besides, there were more important things than whacky milkshakes; he had just discovered an information point. He would have at it with his sonic screwdriver like he always did in hopes of discovering what was going on. When the Master returned with two milkshakes to breathe down his neck, he had brought up a map of the satellite.

"What have you discovered this time, Nancy Drew?"

"Something seems very off about the ventilation."

"I should say. The heat up here is melting the ice-cream float," the Master complained sadly. "I got a banana flavoured one for you." The Real Doctor had told him about that time he invented banana daiquiri a few centuries too early, and other banana-related jokes. The Master had supplied some banana-related ideas of his own, but those had quickly been turned down.

"Oh." The Doctor was positively surprised. "Fantastic."

"Mine's beef."

"The cooling system is somehow designed to shift all the heat upwards in the satellite, keeping the lower floors cool."

The Master peered at the screen. "Think of all the bodies you could stash in that big a freezer." The Doctor raised a brow, but he now seemed more concerned with getting to the bottom of this, literally. He twirled the sonic screwdriver around and strode over to the lift. "You should stay here."

"No way." The Master downed his shake and slipped in with the Doctor as the screwdriver forced the doors open. A moment later it was just the two of them, trapped in a tiny, moving box. Somehow, that made the Doctor a lot more attractive. It was clearly circumstantial, as the Master had told himself so many times to wait, but he still had these waves of grief whenever he looked upon the Doctor.

They stood in awkward silence for a while. The Master looked at the Doctor, who broke out into that idiotic smile of his. The Master resisted the urge to groan. There was a time when the Doctor had worn frilled shirts, velvet smoking jackets and a black Inverness cloak with red lining. That had been the first time the Master met him since academy days. And honestly, even the converse and the fez had been classier than this cheesy goofball. One point in Nine's favour, though; he didn't have question marks all over his shirt. It would have to do.

"If you don't kiss me now, I am going to slap that stupid grin off your face," he sneered. His mind was reeling with the conflict of emotion. The Doctor looked frozen in place, but the Master wasn't letting him off that easily. He shoved the Doctor up against the wall and clenched his fists in the Doctor's leather jacket. He was fighting not to ravish the Doctor right there. Their bodies were pressed together and he was looking up into the Doctor's eyes with intense desire, or possibly fury. He didn't know yet, but he wasn't stopping until the Doctor did something in return, anything.

The poor Doctor had no idea what was going on. How could he? He was an idiot. Not half the man that the Real Doctor had been. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. The Master could feel all grasp of reality slipping, and the Doctor was just letting himself be assaulted, staggered and confused.

"Is this why you keep following me?" he gasped as he felt the Master's hand on his thigh. It stroked upwards, brushed against his groin before it slipped around his hip to grab his ass firmly.

"I'd call you instead but that would seem bit desperate, don't you think?" the Master murmured. This Doctor was supposedly more experienced with this sort of relations than the Real Doctor had been at this point in time. The Architect had gotten there first. Less introductory work for him, the Master supposed. Something had occurred to the Doctor, though. It was staring him right in the face and he hadn't even considered it before now. He reached into the Master's trousers and made him squirm, though that was definitely not his intentions.

"Hey! No fair," the Master complained and grabbed for his phone, which the Doctor had fished out of his pocket.

"Why didn't Rose call?" the Doctor asked. He held the phone up and out of reach, pushing the Master an arm's length away.

"She was a stupid bitch, now give me that back!" He flailed a vigilant attempt at intercepting the Doctor from digging through his phone log, but it was too late. The Doctor had seen the call from Rose. The Master grabbed his phone back and stepped away.

"She called me. So what?"

"Why would she call you?" the Doctor demanded. "Right before she died, why would she call you?"

The Master shrugged. "I am pretty handsome, you have to admit." So this Doctor was a little clever. It wasn't paranoia if someone actually had conspired to get your companion murdered.

The Doctor looked ready to fly at his throat. Right as the Master was about to panic, the doors of the lift opened. Far too much drama had taken place in the course of five hundred floors. He cleared his throat. "Saving the world now, remember?"

The Doctor strode past him and didn't bother to wait before venturing into the chilly ghost floor that awaited them. Skeletons were splayed out across tables where they had transmitted information until their very last breath. They were covered in frost, brittle from the cold. Some were fresher than others. The Master was not surprised; he knew what the Doctor was about to find and he knew what to do once the Doctor had been captured by the Editor-in-Chief.

The Master was naturally the one who had gotten the Mighty Jagrafess of the Holy Hadrojassic Maxarodenfoe stationed at Satellite 5. He had perhaps mentioned the Doctor and how it would be very clever indeed to kill him and take his TARDIS. Max and the Editor were ready for the Doctor. Sadly they were also under the conviction that they had the Master and the Daleks backing them. The Master went over to a circuit box in the hallway and stared at his watch for five minutes before he reversed the cooling system. He heard the shrill screams of Max.

The Master rushed in, only to find that Max had taken the Editor with him as he died. Too bad; the Editor had been rather hot. More importantly, the Doctor was in handcuffs and looking affronted.

"What did you do?" he asked.

"I saved your life," the Master made a point of replying. He burnt through the cuffs with his laser screwdriver. The Doctor rubbed his wrists. He did not look amused.

"You knew reversing the cooling system would kill Jagrafess."

The Master shrugged. "I improvised. That's what we—you do. It's your thing, it's rubbing off. Maybe not enough, though. We can do some more rubbing if you—"

"You got Rose killed, and don't try to deny you had something to do with this," the Doctor thundered. Even this version of him sent shivers down the Master's spine when he got angry. Angry Doctor was always something. "I should drag your sorry arse back to Gallifrey and in front of a court."

The Master backed off, hands up and defensive. He wasn't putting the screwdriver away any time soon. The Doctor forced him further back still. "Look, it was only some harmless fun. If you want in, you just have to tell me."

"You enslaved humanity by television!"

The Master looked at the Doctor with shining ambition in his eyes, even as he backed off. "Think of all the good we could do if you and I enslaved everyone, you and me together."

"I've had it with power-crazy men like you." The Doctor's voice was positively dangerous, now. The Master leapt back and into the lift, pressing the button. The doors closed just in time for him to send the Doctor a sad puppy look and a salute, and then he was on his way up. The Doctor was hammering at the elevator doors, but the sound grew distant. The Master sighed and leaned against the wall with closed eyes. This was a disaster.

On the plus side, there was no longer any point in behaving. The Doctor hated him, whatever he did. Hated, hated, hated, hated him. The drums were growing louder, consuming him, or maybe it was heartsache. As if he would know the meaning of that word, he told himself with scorn. He would rather be mad than hurt, any day. Straightening his tie, he stepped out of the lift and marched quickly back to where he left his TARDIS. He struggled to unlock the door. It didn't want to let him in. It was growing increasingly displeased with him.

"I'm all you have left of him, alright?" he shouted at it and slammed his fist against the door. "And you're all I have, so suck it up and let me—" The door opened and he fell on his face. He didn't move. Everything had gone to shit. His shoulders shook and his nails scraped against the floor as he curled his hands into fists. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. A Doctor that hated him was better than no Doctor at all. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. He loved him, but he hated him for making him care so damn much. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. He would make the Doctor hurt for everything he had put him through. One, two, three, four...

The Master pushed himself up when he realized he was hearing footsteps. The Doctor was running for the open door of the TARDIS, and the Master got to his feet. The Doctor called after him, sonic screwdriver pointed towards him. The Master narrowed his eyes and closed the door, slowly. The Doctor ran into it right after the lock clicked. The Master let out a sigh. The Doctor should not have seen the TARDIS. He would know something was up. What were the chances that two TARDISes were both stuck permanently as British police boxes from the 60s? The Master hadn't had the hearts to fix it. Stupid move. Why did emotions have to be so compromising?

Angry, he knew he had waited long enough. He would make the Doctor his, and he already had a plan. He wouldn't need to travel far, only a hundred years ahead and he would have access to everything he needed, right there on Satellite 5. The Daleks ought to be ready by then. While he arranged for this, he supposed the Doctor would simply be allowed some time alone.

XXX

The Master would have been a lot more worried if he knew that the Doctor's next adventure involved a tense World War Two adventure with Jack Harkness, and then going on a date with the last of the Slitheen. His jealousy would have known no bounds, so that was just as well. The Master was overcome by the need to have the Doctor back. He didn't care how many would have to die, in fact, a genocide or two would improve his mood considerably. This Doctor would soon have his first meeting with the Daleks in a very long time.

The Daleks picked the Doctor out of time and space on the Master's orders. They removed him from the TARDIS and beamed him right into one of the reality shows that were running on Satellite 5. At this point, the news station had evolved into a brilliant, brain-washing mass-production machine for trash telly. The Master couldn't have adored it more; they aired Teletubbies. That would never grow old, not even after four great and bountiful human empires. He also got to watch the Doctor be really out of place on Big Brother, until the Doctor got bored and went to presumably get himself destroyed. Instead, the Master got him teleported up to the control room.

The Master was watching over security cameras as the Doctor investigated the place, meeting the Controller, who tried to warn him that this was a trap. The Master was laughing as the Doctor only grew even more insistent on getting to the bottom of what was going on. He was getting closer to the observation room where the Master was sitting by the minute.

Everything would go down in the observation room. The Master had it all ready. He swivelled around in his chair, away from the many surveillance monitors and out to face the room, a big platform with mainly two things. There was the Real Doctor's TARDIS, and then there was the Other Doctor's TARDIS. This world's TARDIS was a little more worn. It hadn't been through the universe ceasing to exist and then being rebooted, nor had it burned and crashed in Amy Pond's garden. The Master had gotten it open and it had been like a nostalgic trip back to his adventures with the tenth Doctor. Marvellous.

The TARDISes were connected by a thick tube. The Master had exposed their hearts and linked them together through an intricate apparatus that would soon earn him a lot of points. He was grinning widely as the Doctor entered, watched his expression of disgust as he saw what the Master had done to his TARDIS.

"What have you done?" the Doctor said with fear in his voice, treading carefully over cords and tubes that littered the floor. "What have you done?" He put a hesitant hand on his time machine, then looked at the Master with big eyes. "Explain to me. Why are they the same, and what have you done to them?"

"There is something else I will show you, first," the Master murmured. He had the impression that this Doctor might be a little more violent than what he was used to. He wouldn't take any chances; he pressed a button on the dashboard behind him. The blinds that had covered up the massive panorama windows were opening up. "My project, since the whole affair with the Slitheen. I may as well tell you that I was behind that one, as well," he snickered. "I deserve some praise. Have you any idea how much trouble I had to go to in order to find a Dalek in this stupid universe?"

The Doctor's face changed into one of mute horror as the rising blinds unveiled the fleet strewn out in space. He hadn't seen a Dalek since his first incarnation, and at that time they hadn't even been able to move outside their city, let alone go off in space ships. It was undoubtedly their design, but it shouldn't have been possible. "How?"

"I scoured the universe until I found a few left, hidden away and desperately trying to rebuild their race." The Master slipped out of his chair and strolled casually towards the Doctor, yet with something definitely predatory about him. "And oh, they were desperate, Doctor. Desperate enough to mix their DNA with whatever they came across, anything in order to survive. Over many, many millennia they were able to build themselves a fleet. The Dalek Emperor himself is still alive, still in control. All I had to do was point."

"And you pointed them to Earth," the Doctor sneered. "Would you honestly have all of humanity enslaved by these monsters?"

"Four hundred thousand Daleks," the Master said, looking through the windows and out over the fleet. "I might just like to see them enslave humankind, yes. Though of course, I have a solution to the situation. Better than your idea."

The Doctor went tense. "You don't know anything, you have no idea. You can't have, not if you are insane enough to release these things upon the universe."

The Master shook his head and stuck his hands down his pockets. "You are already thinking of making a Delta Wave generator. You would rather fry the brain of everyone on Earth along with the Daleks than allowing the Daleks to win. Genocide. Two races, and yourself while you're at it." That was more like his Doctor.

"Oh yes," the Doctor said through gritted teeth. "And I will take you with me. There is no way I am letting you endanger yet another race." He would struggle to do this, and the Master let him struggle in his moral dilemma and unfortunate fate for a while longer before he strolled over to the TARDISes. "Now, this brings back memories," he murmured. He had no idea what would happen if this little trick of his went wrong. He stroked the Real Doctor's TARDIS fondly. "I am doing this for you, Doctor. I drew the Daleks out in order to destroy them, for you," he said as he grabbed a lever that worked as a junction between all the cords and tubes extending from the two TARDISes.

"What are you playing at?" the Doctor asked, grabbing his arm. "I don't trust you for a second to have led the Daleks here with good intentions."

"Genocide and a chance to have your forgiveness? How could I resist?" the Master purred and took the Doctor's chin and pulled his snarling face close.

"Forgiveness? How about asking forgiveness for all the people you have gotten killed? The Slitheen, Jagrafess, the Daleks; they were all because of you. No one could ever forgive you."

"My Doctor will," the Master hissed, and he pressed the button on his screwdriver. The Doctor yelled as he was zapped, and he fell to the floor with cries of pain. The Master kneeled down next to him and put a hand on top of the Doctor's head. "If anything, that's what I would like forgiveness for. Not that I am sorry in any way," he said with affection in his voice.

The Daleks were breaking through the Earth's defences while the Master pulled the Doctor into his arms and whispered in his ear. "Chain-linked autodestruct. I made sure it was incorporated into their ships' design; all it needs is an impossible boost of power to activate and it will erase the Daleks from the very fabric of reality." He smirked, forcing the Doctor's head to turn towards the windows, even as he was dying. "Ridiculous idea, though. You would need something like a time vortex to power that. Maybe even two." He grinned and pulled the lever when he was sure the Doctor was watching.

The Dalek fleet unravelled. It disintegrated into dust before their eyes, and at the same time the Doctor began to emit wisps of golden light. The Master put him down and stepped back. His eyes were aglow as he watched the explosion of gold radiance that meant he would be getting exactly what he wanted. He held his breath as he watched the regeneration. He could have broken down on the spot when he saw a very familiar face take form, framed by light and so gorgeous.

The light faded, and on the floor was the tenth Doctor. The Master had to remind himself that this was the Doctor from an alternate universe and that he would never be the real thing, but this was a face that he had missed for an immensely long time. Ten had left him too soon. They had only been at the beginning of their time actually together, and then the Doctor had to go and throw away his life for someone unimportant and expendable. The Master gritted his teeth with rage at the memory. And Eleven hadn't been better; just when some semblance of commitment had formed between them, his Doctor had let himself be killed. He would never forgive that. Now, he had someone younger and far less broken to mould and break as he wished.

He kneeled next to the Doctor, almost reverent in the way he carefully ran his hand through the Doctor's hair. Strange to feel it without any product in it. Used to be he couldn't touch the man's hair without getting all sticky, but he supposed they'd get to that when the Doctor had his strength back. The Master ran a finger down familiar features, following that impressive bone structure with a smile on his lips. "I could squeeze the life out of you," he whispered with affection.

The Doctor groaned. A puff of golden wisps escaped his mouth. He wouldn't be any use for a while. Of course, the Dalek threat was over, but the Master wasn't sure what he thought of leaving the Doctor here. He wouldn't take him along, that would never fly. The Doctor wasn't quite the type to get Stockholm's Syndrome, as delicious as that idea was.

The decision was made for the Master. At this point, the Real Doctor's TARDIS had taken enough of his crap. That, or something was calling it back to its own dimension. It was, at any rate, very disgruntled and ejected the cords and tubes with violent force. Its doors slammed shut and it disappeared. The Master stared. He was stranded. Stranded with an unconscious Doctor and no companions looking over his shoulder and making sure he didn't molest the Doctor on the spot. He bit his lip. Those leather trousers held quite some appeal, even if the Doctor was a stick and he didn't quite fit into them. They were too short, first of all. Way too short.

"And again I put my fate in your hands," the Master grumbled. "Getting really old, that." He scooped the unconscious Doctor into his arms as well as he could, and he half lifted, half dragged him into the remaining TARDIS. He left him on the floor while he disconnected the TARDIS from the intricate machinery, then he closed the doors and got working on putting the TARDIS back together. He knew how much the Doctor hated him tampering with his TARDIS.

This was not going according to plan. Shooting the Doctor and leaving him probably hadn't been the best of plans, but it had been a plan. Now he had to rely on the Doctor not kicking him out. Considering the circumstances, he actually wouldn't bet on the Doctor's bottomless hearts for this one. He didn't understand how the TARDIS could just leave him like that. With the Real Doctor gone, no one could possibly be more important than him. It was probably frolicking among the other TARDISes down on Gallifrey. The idiot Time Lords wouldn't know not to fix its chameleon circuit.

The Master would have complained that the TARDIS was the only thing he had left after the real Doctor, but then he would be lying in an attempt at hiding his sentimentality. With him he had the red diary that the Doctor had given him and the blue bowtie that had tied them together in marriage. He didn't know what he would have done if those things had been taken away from him along with the TARDIS.

In the end, even a machine had abandoned him. That aside, it would be a point in his favour if he took care of the Doctor. He sent a sideways look at the unconscious body next to him. The things he could do... But he would want the Doctor awake for it. After some moral debate (between naughty and seriously down-to-Earth evil), he helped the Doctor to bed. He couldn't make himself change the Doctor into pyjamas, because if he first started undressing him he wouldn't be able to keep his fingers to himself. Even now he was ogling the Doctor to the very extreme definition of creepy, letting his fingers brush against the face he loved so much. The Doctor wasn't reacting to any of his actions. He was out cold, on occasion letting out some quiet breaths of golden light.

The Master left them adrift in deep space, having nowhere he wanted to be than at the Doctor's side. When night came around, he curled up at the foot of the Doctor's bed if only because he could. He missed having the Doctor next to him, and now was his opportunity to be close without being chased away. It led to an embarrassing situation. When the Doctor woke up, he found the Master asleep with a half-empty cup of tea on the nightstand. Something was, without a doubt, very wrong.

"Hey!"

The Master woke with a start at the angry wakeup-call. He immediately scrambled to his feet and backed off when he saw how angry the Doctor was. "Morning," he said sheepishly.

"Oh, no. No, you're not seriously going to try that, after everything you've done," the Doctor said and rolled out of bed to poke one accusing finger at his chest. He was too infuriated to still be tired. "You. You..." Oh, now the Doctor was more livid than the Master had ever seen him, struggling to put the rage into words. Rarely did the Doctor struggle with words.

"Look," the Master said with a certain degree of nervousness. "All I wanted was my Doctor back. I couldn't stand seeing you like, like that. It's hard to explain, but I just saved all of humanity and everyone else. The Daleks won't hurt anyone again, thanks to me. I deserve to at least have the benefit of the doubt."

"Your Doctor?" the Doctor asked coldly. The Master swallowed hard.

"I can't tell you, but you're going to save me." After a moment, he added another admission he hadn't thought he had in him. "I want you to save me."

"You killed me."

"See? It's a terrible habit and it needs fixing. To some extent."

"You killed me!" the shouted, still affronted.

"It goes both ways, trust me," the Master said with raised brows and a wise nod for emphasis. "So, fixing, yes? I need a chance. I deserve to at least get a chance, and you're going to give it to me." Even if he was A-okay with being a genocidal lunatic, their relationship depended on the Doctor trying to make him into a better person. He watched the Doctor with great care as the Doctor stepped around him and went to leave. He halted only a moment in the doorway.

"One chance. Consider yourself lucky that's the kind of man I am."

"You have no idea," the Master sighed. It was indisputably the man he needed. He followed after the Doctor. "I can travel with you, then?"

"Why would you?" the Doctor demanded. "What happened to your own TARDIS? 'Yours' being debatable."

"It left," the Master said with undisguised shame. "It never liked me." With the Doctor gone he no longer bothered referring to it as "she". Probably another reason why it was pissed.

"If I get so much as one complaint about you, you are off this ship," the Doctor warned him.

"Aye, sir," the Master saluted. The Doctor had no idea he was like a chronic disease; there was no getting rid of him now.

XXX

It was with utter displeasure and disgust that the Doctor allowed the Master to come with him. He didn't say it, in fact he didn't address him if he didn't have to, but it was visible all over him. The Master didn't care. They would be fighting evil mechanical Santas or even werewolves, and the Master would catch himself in staring at the Doctor, recalling fond memories of scribbling math problems all over him. Also doing other things all over him, but sex was one thing. He'd easily get there again. What he wanted was the man he loved, and he just didn't think that would happen.

He watched the Doctor dash about with all his enthusiasm and flair, but it wasn't the same. The Master had a hard time feeling anything for this copy other than frustration and sad recollection. Even reencountering Cassandra and having their bodies possessed by her didn't particularly reignite the spark. They still weren't talking when the TARDIS landed outside Deffry Vale School some time after the affair with Cassandra. Fighting, though; that was still on, even as they were walking out of the TARDIS.

"So I killed a few of the plague zombies, so what? They were about to infect us!"

"They were people; clones born in captivity and pumped full of every disease in existence. I was able to cure them and free them from their misery," the Doctor snapped back at him.

"They would have gotten us both killed. I didn't hear you complaining when I shot down the werewolf. If anything, you should be realizing how much more superior laser is to sonic," the Master replied and twirled his screwdriver between his fingers. The Doctor snatched it in mid-air.

"I am confiscating this."

"Oh, like Hell you are," the Master snarled and lunged at him. They struggled awkwardly, until the Master gave up. It wasn't as if he hadn't been without his screwdriver before, and maybe it would make the Doctor less wary of him. "Fine," he muttered, still glaring. He would comply, but he wouldn't be happy about it. He watched with longing as the Doctor pocketed the screwdriver. "Why are we here?"

"That's Deffry Vale School up ahead. Their physics teacher is about to win the grand prize in the lottery."

"So?"

"I thought I'd take up teaching," the Doctor said and put his glasses on. "Call me John Smith."

"Really." The Master was not amused, and the glasses were a cruel reminder of better times. "And what am I supposed to do?"

"I hear there's an open spot in the cafeteria."

Surely the Doctor's hatred for him knew no bounds. The Master had to really think about why he wanted to stay with the Doctor before he even considered helping him out. Something very wrong was going on at this school, and the Doctor wanted to investigate. Undercover, for a change.

"Oh, so you're not going to run around and pretend like a grown man in converse with a glowing stick is anything out of the ordinary? Doctor, I am shocked and appalled. Let me see you pull this one off."

"You have no idea what I am capable of pulling off," the Doctor said with a grin, and he left the Master in the hallway as he went to open his first class with the phrase "physics. Physics, physics, physics. Physics." The Master knew; he'd been peeking, because the Doctor playing teacher was hot. Then he resigned to the shitty cafeteria job and spent most of the time grumbling and mulling over how white wasn't his colour. The Doctor would never have trusted him on his own if he wasn't without his screwdriver, but after two days he was dangerously close to grabbing a meat cleaver and making the best of it. He could hear the knives singing to him in one very specific rhythm.

Thankfully, something happened before the Master made a mess. Someone else made a mess; a lunch lady bringing in a huge vat of something suspicious managed to spill it all over herself. She started burning and sizzling, and the other lunch ladies were quick to get her out of sight and denied that anything was wrong. This was when he went to find the Doctor, if only to bring an end to his Hell. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the Doctor speaking to some woman who was not on the teacher staff. He was grinning so widely he looked ready to split his head open like the moron he was.

"Don't you think it's weird; so many children going missing, and the abnormal test results," the woman whispered to the Doctor, who was not so much agreeing as going gaga over this woman. "I thought I had better look into it."

"Yes. Good for you, good for you," the Doctor said and smiled as she walked after Mr. Finch, the headmaster. "Oh, good for you, Sarah Jane Smith."

"And who is that?" the Master asked sourly. He might vaguely recall a companion by that name and looks, but the Doctor had dragged too many women into his TARDIS for anyone to bother keeping a count. He sure wasn't, and he sure as hell didn't care. "Why are you smiling like a retard?"

"No reason," the Doctor said, not even trying to hide it. "If you go near her, I will personally punish you for everything you have done." His smile vanished in favour of glaring at the Master over the top of his glasses. "You will beg for me to send you back to Gallifrey and let the Time Lords sentence you."

The Master glared right back at him. "I would like to see you make me beg," he murmured. This made the Doctor terribly ill at ease, and he made sure no one was looking before he hissed his reply back at the Master.

"Until you tell me who you are and why you insist on following me, I don't want to hear another word from you that isn't relevant."

"Sheesh, joykill," the Master said with a scoff before he left. Knowing the Doctor, he would be rekindling the flames of adventuring with Sarah Jane any moment. Perhaps he would do his own investigation and solve this, just to shove it up the Doctor's ass. The Doctor had looked so happy when he had spoken to her. The Master stalked off with his hands down his pockets and tried to recall where he had seen her before. He realized it was a very long time ago. She had been one of several companions he had met that day. The affair had been altogether awkward, all of those Doctors in one place. It hadn't turned out in his favour, as always, and he would rather not think about it. He just hoped he wouldn't have to see that bloody robot dog again.

He hid inside the school complex until it turned dark outside and the halls were vacant. Then he had a closer look at the vats of chemicals that had been brought in, and he made sure to fill a jar for later analysis.

In the meantime Sarah Jane had discovered who the Doctor was, and they had a heartsfelt yet bittersweet reunion. The Doctor didn't even think twice about fetching the Master to join in on their nightly investigation. Before they ran into each other, the Doctor and Sarah Jane had already discovered the alien teachers all nested up like giant bats hanging from the ceiling of the headmaster's office. The Master had found himself showered by a closetful of vacuum-packed rodents when the two came running, trying to put as much distance between them and the batmen as possible.

"Whoa, hey, what are you two doing here?" the Master asked with a snarl. He was covered in rats and he wasn't the least bit happy. Sarah Jane looked at the Doctor with a raised brow.

"Who's that?"

The Doctor cleared his throat. "Renegade Time Lord with unknown intentions?"

"What?"

"He's with me. You wouldn't know him. What do you suppose all these are for?" he asked, picking up one of the rats.

"They dissect them in science class," Sarah Jane said and offered the Master her hand. "Sarah Jane Smith."

"The Master," the Master replied without taking her hand. He'd rather sift through the rodents. "I'd rather wager they are food."

"Wouldn't surprise me. Apparently, teachers these days are huge bat-monsters," the Doctor said.

"I have a sample of the chemical they use in the cafeteria food. If we can get back to the TARDIS and analyse it..."

"I have a better plan," Sarah Jane said. "Let's get out of here before those things wake up."

Not long after, the Master had his unfortunate reunion with K-9. He really hated that dog, and he was standing at a distance while the Doctor cooed over it. Eventually they settled in a nearby diner, where the Doctor and Sarah Jane chattered gleefully while repairing K-9. The Master sat down away from them to sulk over his fries.

"I thought of you, when that big space ship came down on Christmas. I knew you'd be up there," Sarah Jane said.

"Right on top of it," the Doctor assured her as he tinkered with K-9.

"Was he with you?" she asked, inclining her head towards the Master.

"Well..." The Doctor frowned, not meeting her eyes. "If you mean 'did he convince the Prime Minister to have Torchwood blast the space ship into bits', then yes."

"So you're not friends," Sarah Jane said. She was in the same boat as the Doctor on this one. "You could have asked for my help. Why do you even take him with you?"

The Doctor furrowed his brows, concentrating on sonicing K-9. "He's done worse than kill forfeiting alien invaders. Keeping him with me is damage control."

Sarah Jane watched the Master maliciously stab at his food as he glared at the people in the diner. He looked tempted to change the menu. "He killed someone close to you?"

"I didn't know her for long," the Doctor murmured. "He has this..." The Doctor had to consider it, not really knowing what was going on in that crazy head. "Obsession. He sought me out and followed me." Forced him to regenerate, even. "Something is very wrong with him. At the same time, I sort of know him, but I can't put my finger on it." The Master reminded him of a particular someone, yet he was everything the Architect had failed to be.

"You could still have come for me. I missed you."

The Doctor forced himself to meet her beseeching gaze. It was hard. "I can't let him hurt anyone else." K-9 powered up. It was time to solve this mystery.

With K-9's powers of analysis, they unveiled that the chemical was Krillitane oil. The Krillitanes were using it to turn the children into a super computer, for means yet unknown. They would confront Mr. Finch about it in the morning. It was time to call it a day. Sarah Jane headed home.

"What are you going to do?" the Master asked.

"I will find out what their plan is. If I don't like it, I will stop it." The Doctor was stern, unlike anything the Master had seen before. He could only imagine how harsh and cold the real Doctor had been back in these days. "I am so old. I used to have so much mercy."

"Now I'm here to drain what little mercy you have left, so you can kill those Krillitanes without thinking twice," the Master laughed. "Sounds splendid."

The Doctor sent him a glare and chased him into the TARDIS. The Master pulled himself somewhat together; he had to try and appeal to the Doctor in some way.

"You have had so many companions, but you keep leaving them because you know humans wither and die," he said. Not a good start, but he could try and row himself back onto safe shores. "I know what it's like." He remembered how the real Doctor had felt about it, anyway. "So Rose was a bit of an undesirable situation, but you're giving me a chance for a reason. You know you don't have to be alone."

His argument hit home, but the constant fluctuation of the Master's behaviour was incomprehensible. The Doctor was confused, yet moved. He decided he would concentrate on the mystery with the Krillitanes rather than the mystery right in front of him. He left the Master and went to bed.

That next day, the Krillitanes initiated the final phase of their plan. While the Doctor, the Master and Sarah Jane poked about in the computer systems, the Krillitanes gathered the children in front of the computers in an effort to solve the Skasis Paradigm, the theory of everything. They were inviting the Doctor to join them, but this Doctor didn't have the loss of Gallifrey to weigh down his moral choices. There was, however, the Master. He saw his own chance.

"I'll help you," the Master said, shoving the startled Doctor to the side. With power such as that, he could have the Real Doctor back.

"And what good would you do us? Who are you, even?" Mr. Finch asked with a scoff.

"I am the Master," he said with pride. "And I am just the man you need for this."

"You can't honestly mean you will help them unravel the universe and shape it in their own image," the Doctor spat at him, but the Master grabbed him by his coat and stared him down. It hurt more each time he looked at him.

"You have no idea how much I have lost, and what lengths I'll go to in order to have it back."

"I can help you," the Doctor insisted. "I said I would help you."

"You keep saying that, but you're not him and you never will be!"

He wasn't being any clearer than before. Either way, he never got the chance to help the Krillitanes. The Doctor zapped him with his own screwdriver and knocked him unconscious. The Doctor and Sarah Jane were able to pull the plug on the project while the Master was knocked out. He missed the entire wrap-up where K-9 was blown up along with the school, Sarah Jane was given a replacement and they had a proper goodbye. The Master found himself in the TARDIS when he woke up, with his wrist shackled to a couch. That brought back memories, except the Doctor was nowhere to be seen.

This sucked. The Doctor was probably planning some morbidly cruel punishment. The Master didn't reckon he would be cut any slack this time. One chance, that was all anyone got. He'd abused his like a five dollar whore. On another note, he realized his jacket was missing. The Doctor must have taken it to make him somewhat more comfortable, so he couldn't be that angry. On yet another note, his jacket was where he kept the diary and the bowtie.

"Doctor?" He turned around wildly and yanked at the cuff. "Doctor!" There was no answer. The Master trashed and twisted, made a valid effort at pulling his hand free with one foot braced against the couch while standing on the other. None of it had the desired effect. On the plus side, he could only panic for so long. After a while, he resigned to sit down on the couch and fret. There were no greater accomplishments to be made, handcuffed to a couch without company.

He was near dozing off again by the time the Doctor appeared in the doorway, journal in hand and that expression he so remembered Ten for. Guilty and sad at the same time, staying strong without trying to hide it.

"You looked in my journal."

"Yes."

Always so truthful when it really mattered. The Master sighed and straightened up where he sat. "Those are spoilers, but you're just too damn curious, aren't you? So what did you read?"

The Doctor hadn't read all that much. Most of it had been very crude. The rest had been about him, often crude things about him. It told him nothing of who the Master was or where he came from; the journal had been started recently. At last the Doctor had flipped to the very last entry, which had one angry sentence scratched in so hard that the words were etched through four pages. He's dead, dead, dead, dead. He had a hard time imagining that they had been in a relationship. It looked more like the ravings of a madman.

"You are from a different dimension. That's why our TARDISes looked the same," the Doctor murmured. He offered back the diary.

"I want the bowtie back," the Master demanded. He held his hand out, without taking the diary.

"Bowtie?"

"Yes. Now."

The Doctor pulled the blue strip of cloth out of his pocket. "This?" he asked with a frown. The Master snatched it and wound it around his own hand, which he curled up into a fist. The Doctor looked at him questioningly, then put the diary down on a nearby table.

"Gallifrey in our dimension was destroyed in a Time War. After he died, I came here with his TARDIS. Not with intentions of finding you, not at first," the Master explained, stroking his fingers over the blue fabric. "That just happened. After his TARDIS abandoned me, this is all I have left of him."

"He—I—used to wear that?" the Doctor asked, scrunching his nose.

"Next incarnation, I swear you'll develop an inexplicable taste for bowties and suspenders."

"You know my Eleventh incarnation?" the Doctor asked.

"I know most of your incarnations," the Master murmured. "But this..." He waved the hand with the bowtie at the Doctor. "This bound us together in marriage. Oh yes." He smirked as the Doctor grew pale.

"You don't belong here," the Doctor said with force, and he pointed towards the control room. "You have to go back to your own dimension. I am taking you there now, before you cost me another incarnation."

"I wouldn't ever harm you, Doctor," the Master said in a murmur. He would have approached the Doctor, but the cuff held him back. Damn it. "Yours is the face I fell in love with. You're the one who fixed me. Now you just have to do it again."

"You're insane," the Doctor said with wide eyes, taking a step back.

"So you keep telling me."

"I am taking you back."

"I closed the rift," the Master lied. He sank back on the couch with a grimace. "After I got here. It's what you would have wanted. Well, second to not going at all."

The Doctor shook his head without taking his eyes off the Master, arms crossed. "Then I am finding a way back, whether you like it or not."

The Master's eyes softened and glazed over. His shoulders sagged and his gaze fell to the floor. "I can't live in a world without you."

The Doctor went quiet. His arms fell to his sides, and after a moment he went to sit down next to him. The Master rubbed at his face with the back of his hand, so hopefully the Doctor wouldn't see his triumphant grin.

"Maybe not right away," the Doctor murmured, patting the Master's shoulder. "After all, it wouldn't be responsible to let you run off on your own." People would die, and the Doctor was not at all against the idea of turning someone to good. "But I need to know what happened between you and... me, I suppose."

The Master grabbed onto the Doctor and curled up to him. "Hmph. What didn't happen? We have known each other our whole lives." This Doctor lacked all the fond memories. The Master could recall when the third incarnation of the Doctor was stuck on Earth, and they had their first real clash as enemies. Time and again his plots had blown up in his face and he had joined forces with the Doctor to save both their lives and Earth. He'd even offered the Doctor to join him and take control over the universe. Together they could command it, heal it and shape it into perfection.

He told this Other Doctor of this, of everything that followed and of how the Doctor in his tenth incarnation had forced him to travel the stars with him, how it had ended in tragedy. He was hoarding all the pity points with a glorious tale of love and loss. The Doctor would think the Master completely enslaved to him by feelings, by the time he was done.

The Doctor sat in silence with one arm awkwardly around the Master, because he didn't know what the Master might do if he pulled away. The Master was holding tightly onto the bowtie, half lying in the Doctor's lap and making him gradually less comfortable by the minute.

"You know I can't just pick up where he left off," the Doctor said quietly. Oh, how complicated this had become. The Master sat up and looked at him intently.

"But you don't have to be alone anymore."

"Time Lords still exist here, remember? I chose not to travel with any of them."

"Because they are boring, dusty academics with no interest in the world, but I am different," the Master insisted. "We had so much fun, you and I."

"But then I died."

"Well, yes," the Master sighed.

"Was your dimension very different from this one?" the Doctor asked warily.

"Like snowflakes," the Master assured without enthusiasm.

"You don't think I'll—?"

"Absolutely not. No way would I let anything happen to you."

The Doctor appeared to be touched, and he would have commented on this confession, hadn't the alarms gone off. Pleasantries would have to wait; it was about to get nasty. They exchanged looks before they both ran to the TARDIS console to see what was after them. The Doctor turned the screen to him and put his glasses on with an expression of distress.

"Oh, no."

The Master grabbed the screen to have a look. His brows furrowed. "We can kill them."

"Not if I can help it," the Doctor said, already working on concocting a plan to avoid their pursuers.

"They'll chase us until they die. Would that make you feel better?" the Master asked pleasantly.

"I am not letting you murder anyone. If the other me could prevent you, then so can I."

"How?" the Master snorted.

"They won't recognize you as a Time Lord. You smell different," the Doctor said. He met the Master's eyes with determination. "I'll have to trust you with this one."

"Is that a Chameleon Arch you are programming?" the Master asked with a nagging suspicion. The Doctor held up a fob watch.

"You know what this is for?"

"Used it myself. It was horrible and I am never doing it again."

"Promise me you keep it safe until the Family is dead."

"Why?" the Master demanded.

"Because it'll be a mercy compared to what I will do to creatures who hunt Time Lords."

XXX

It was 1913 and the Doctor was a helpless human. The TARDIS had placed them here against (according to the Master) its better judgement. The Doctor's Time Lord configuration had been transferred to a fob watch, which was now resting on the Master's desk. He, for one, had been thrown into this situation without any preparation or desire to live as a human, let alone in such a primal era.

A couple of weeks had passed already. He was getting comfortable in his role as the school's head physician. Of course, nothing was ever easy, even with an unlimited access to adolescent boys in school uniforms.

He was glaring out of the window with a view over the courtyard. Professor John Smith was timidly chatting with the school's nurse. They were two floors below his office window, but he could see them enjoying themselves oh so much. Joan Redfern was her name. The Master made her life miserable whenever he could. The Doctor had better not ask her to the village dance.

"May I go now, Dr. Saxon? If... If we're quite finished?"

"Hm? Yes, Mr. Latimer. Be on your way, already. You're missing class," the Master dismissed him, still glaring out the window.

Timothy Latimer eyed his doctor nervously as he put his shirt back on. Then his gaze fell to the fob watch. After Timothy Latimer left the room, the Master didn't think twice about the missing watch. He was too busy sneering at the Doctor, wandering off on his own outside while he had to treat colds and fevers, and scratches and bruises like some 20th century physician. He'd taken the position for irony's sake, and this had better pay off when the Doctor got his mind back.

With the Doctor out of sight, he strode out from his office only to encounter Joan in the ward. Her apparent joy made him put on his "not funny" face. "And what are you so giddy about, Nurse Redfern?"

"Oh, well." She was smiling and fidgeting like a schoolgirl, all blushed. "I was actually coming to see you about that. You know the dance that's coming up..."

"The one you will be unable to attend because there are simply mountains of paperwork?" the Master asked with a laugh. "Hilarious that you should mention it, because I was just about to tell you that."

"B-but," she stammered. "I have just been invited by Professor Smith, if you would please..."

"I am going to see him now and I will let him know, don't you worry, dear. I'll assure him it's my fault entirely," the Master said and patted her bottom. Tomorrow's sexual harassment was today's endearments.

"Doctor!" she scolded him.

"I do love it when you call me that," the Master said, and he winked at her before he slipped out of the ward and hurried down the stairs. His white coat fluttered behind him as he hurried outside. He was having a hard time not killing anyone, and not just because this place was getting on his nerves. It was too idyllic. More importantly, the Doctor was far too vulnerable. The Master sighed and slowed down as he caught sight of him telling off some children in the school yard.

The Doctor didn't raise his voice at the boys. As a human he was too timid, too quiet. He was gorgeous like this, and the Master admired him from afar until the Doctor caught sight of him and nodded in acknowledgement. The Master returned it, hesitant to confronting him. He had told himself not to abuse the Doctor's trust. There were simply so many ways of taking advantage of this poor, misguided human mind. He reminded himself that keeping his trousers on now would give him easier access to the Doctor's trousers later. It was all for the greater good, but as the Doctor approached him, he wavered.

"Morning, Doctor," the Doctor greeted him with a smile. It looked so sincere and void of troubles. The Master hated the word "innocent", but it surely fitted.

"Professor." The Master nodded to him. "How was your night?"

"The usual," the Doctor said. He made sure that no one was listening in before he continued. "Tonight I dreamt of the same flying box," he explained with excitement. "And a robot dog. Imagine that! Men that could turn into giant bats."

"These dreams get more curious each time," the Master said, playing along as the man that the Doctor could confide in. He relished this trust. "Are you sure we shouldn't make another appointment?"

"They are only dreams," the Doctor said with some worry. "Surely they mean nothing."

"Still. I am sure you have a lot on your mind," the Master said smoothly. "Wouldn't hurt to sort it out over a stiff one, would it?"

"When you put it like that." The Doctor shrugged, still nervous but elated. The Master narrowed his eyes.

"Oh, that's right," he said. "I just spoke to Nurse Redfern. Apparently she has a lot of paperwork on the night of the village dance. Medical supplies arrive that day, and she has volunteered to take care of it."

"She has?" The Doctor's face fell.

"Just now, actually," the Master said with a genuine smile of his own. "Any reason as to why she would want me to relay this information to you?"

"Oh. No, none that I can see," the Doctor said, straightening his tie while he stared at the ground. "I'm not even going."

"Neither am I. Sad, isn't it? Whatever will become of us," the Master said with amusement.

Each time it got more difficult to stay composed. The Doctor would frequently tell him about the dreams he had; his only recollections of who he really was. The Master would listen, as the sole confidante. John Smith felt as if the school doctor didn't judge, perhaps even believed him when he said it felt real. One night John Smith brought his dairy along.

"I call it The Journal of Impossible Things," he said as he sat down in the Master's study that evening. Drinks had been poured, but the Doctor was too nervous to touch his. He held the book close to him, as if embarrassed.

"Catchy," the Master commented, and sipped his drink. "Are you going to show me, then?" The Doctor was suddenly unwilling.

"There is something I haven't told you," the Doctor admitted. He shifted uncomfortably, then gave in and had quite a large taste of the scotch.

"What is it, Professor?"

The Doctor opened his mouth, hesitated, then said something entirely different from what was on his mind. "You may call me John. In private. Unless you think I am being too familiar."

"Not at all. Call me Harry," the Master said, as much as it saddened him not to be called "doctor" by the Doctor. It had been a short-lived pleasure. "What is it you are too scared to tell me, John?"

"These dreams. I have told you how real they feel, as if I am living another life. I am this strange, magnificent hero who can move nations with a single word."

"And surely there's a little something of him inside you," the Master murmured. He filled the Doctor's glass back up, keeping careful watch over the man.

"You are also in there."

The Master raised his brows. "Oh, really." He shouldn't be surprised, but now he was honestly curious for the first time. "Nothing bad, I hope," he said with a bad hunch.

"No, not as such." It didn't sound entirely true. The Doctor was ill at ease with the entire topic, but he had been holding this in for quite some time. "At times I am simply encountering you, other times you are travelling alongside me. You are... You are imposing and foreign to me. A man of action, with incredible power. You have this rod that shoots a burning light. I must admit I find you both demanding and dangerous. Nothing at all like in real life, of course," the Doctor was quick to say. He cleared his throat. "I am sorry, this is far too inappropriate."

"How so?" the Master asked with a laugh. "A rod that shoots light? It's a fairytale adventure. There is no harm in having a vivid imagination. It's delightful, is what it is."

"There are some parts I am afraid of writing down," the Doctor admitted. He turned his head away in shame. "Once or twice the nature of the dreams turns almost... Ah..."

"Intimate?" the Master murmured. His eyes sparkled in the light of the fireplace. He didn't want to come off as a threat, but the Doctor's squirming set his teeth on edge.

"Indecent," the Doctor corrected.

"A far more condemning word."

"As it should be. You would throw me out and not speak to me again if I told you of the obscenities that take place, and rightly so."

The Master put his drink down and got up. He leaned over the Doctor's chair with a smirk. "I assure you, as your doctor. We will work through this, if your dreams make you uncomfortable." He said this in a far too sensual voice. He sure as Hell was the Master of throwing all caution to the wind. "Tell me, John. What happened in your dream?"

The Doctor, now with the background of a man born in the 19th century, was having great difficulties speaking. He was looking anywhere but at the Master, shrinking back in his seat. His head was turned to the side, yet he wasn't making a move to push the Master away. "A kiss," he stammered. His breath hitched in his throat as he felt the Master's mouth pressed to his ear. He closed his eyes, his one heart beating in his throat. He was hot and flustered, trying to deny the pleasure he derived from this. "On the lips."

The Master took the Doctor's face in his hands and turned his head back. Their eyes met, and he could see the desire that the Doctor was fighting. He leaned in, to the point where their lips were barely ghosting against each other. "Then what?" he whispered.

"Your hands. They were touching me." The Doctor's voice was barely audible due to shame and embarrassment. He wasn't squirming any more, but sat still as a statue in fear of the promise of intimacy.

"Like this?" the Master asked. He put his hand on the Doctor's knee, sliding it slowly up his inner thigh in a simulation of their last physical encounter. He moved slowly, attentive to any changes in the Doctor's pulse. Again the Doctor's breath hitched in his throat. His heart skipped a beat and he drew his knees together in an effort to stop the Master's wandering hand. It only served to trap it.

"Harry," he breathed.

The Master cringed at the false name. It reminded him that he should not be doing this. The Doctor would be so angry with him when his memories returned. He was just about able to force himself away, but then he felt the Doctor's slim fingers on his cheek and neck. He remembered how much he missed his Doctor. He wanted to smash something, to cry and scream at all of reality for taking the one person that mattered away, and then playing him like this.

He could hide the watch away and keep the Doctor like this forever. He decided, and then he kissed the Doctor with fiery passion. His rage died out immediately as the Doctor reciprocated, and the Master held him so tightly in his arms. A moment later they were rolling over on the rug, the Master guiding the uncertain Doctor's hands. The pleasure of corrupting was too great, as was the need to taste this body again. The Doctor cried underneath him as he was broken, but the Master reassured him with tender kisses and caresses that he'd never treated the Doctor to before.

The Doctor could scarcely handle the Master's brutal, demanding act, yet he'd never felt so loved. He was forced down, held in place and lavished by a man so unexpectedly starving for his flesh. It was beyond what his dreams had managed to show him, although it stirred something at the very back of his brain. He thought nothing of it until he was allowed to collapse in the Master's arms by the early hours of the morning. He gasped for air and clung onto the Master, shuddering now that the fire was reduced to ashes.

"You will call in sick today," the Master murmured against his ear. He stroked the Doctor's hair back, kissed his temple. "Doctor's orders."

"I can't," the Doctor said, breathless and exhausted. "I... Have an afternoon class. Can't let the boys down." He winced, too sore to warrant for any movement.

The Master snickered, patting the Doctor's hip. "I'll tell the headmaster you had an accident and should rest for today. You need sleep."

"And you don't?"

"I think I just proved to you that I'm rather durable." He kissed the Doctor again before extracting himself. The Doctor was embarrassed, and shielded his eyes while the Master searched around for his clothes.

"I don't know how this happened." Guilt was sneaking up on him. The Master, now with his trousers on, kneeled down next to him and wrapped his shirt around his shoulders.

"Whatever happens, I will protect us. I'm a lot more like the man in your dreams than you imagine." The Doctor was about to protest, but the Master put his finger over his lips. "Whatever happens." This powerless human Doctor could never be a threat. He was just this timid man in need of love that was physically everything the Master had missed. Nothing would come between that.

"Alright." The Doctor smiled up at him, and the Master kissed him again before he helped him to his feet and offered him the rest of his clothes.

"Now, be on your way. You look like a mess."

The Doctor was quick to dress, still so flustered by the Master's wandering eyes. Once he was fully covered up, consciously smoothing out his shirt, he turned to face him. No one could know about this. It was the 20th century. Why, oh why couldn't the TARDIS have dropped them off in Jack's time or something, where everything was allowed? That said, the Master felt a twinge of something at the realization that Jack wouldn't be a fixed point in time in this dimension.

"When can..." The Doctor hesitated, but decided on finishing what he had started. "When can I see you again?"

The Master was called back from his train of thoughts, and he smirked. "Why don't you make an appointment?" he suggested with the dirtiest of intensions.

XXX

Nurse Redfern checked up on the children in the ward before bedtime. She smoothed out their blankets and made sure they were all quiet and trying to sleep. Before leaving the ward, she turned out the last oil lamp and left the room dark. Right on her way out, she almost bumped into the Doctor.

"Oh! Professor Smith? What are you doing here in the middle of the night?"

"Nurse Redfern! Ah, I was simply having a midnight stroll, that is all," the Doctor excused himself without much conviction. She smiled and raised a brow at him.

"Really, Professor. Without a light?"

"I see exceptionally well in the dark."

"Then why are you carrying an unlit candlestick with you?" she asked slyly.

"I was... Ah. You see, this exceptional night vision of mine is a work in progress. You caught me in the middle of night vision development. Yes, that's it."

"You spin the most delightful tales, Professor. You are surely not here to beg me to drop my paperwork on the night of the village dance?"

"Not... Not as such."

"Oh. That was much too forward of me." Her jaw went tense and she knitted her brows. "Excuse me," she said shortly and strode past him with her bottom lip between her teeth. The Doctor would have been mystified, but Professor John Smith felt terrible for her. It was with a heart heavy from guilt that he knocked on the Master's door. He entered quietly.

"Is the coast clear?" the Master asked from somewhere in the darkness after the door was closed.

"Yes."

An oil lamp lit up softly at the far end of the room, casting a warm glow over the Master's pleased face. He beckoned the Doctor closer.

"She didn't volunteer for the extra work, did she?" the Doctor asked quietly.

The Master froze. No, he could not have this Doctor hating him as well. It wasn't fair. His lies never lived very long, it seemed. He took a calculated step closer to the Doctor and took him by his hips. "I was supposed to simply let her have you?"

"You shouldn't have lied. We can't go to the dance together either way."

"I can still be jealous," the Master huffed. He wrapped his arms around the Doctor's waist, pulled him close and pressed his face to his chest. "I can still want to dance with you." And think of Titanic, when he had danced with the Real Doctor for the first time, just before murdering a shipfull of people. What a glorious night that had been. Death and destruction and dancing and Doctor. The thought of Nurse Redfern believing she had the slightest chance with his Doctor made him want to wring her neck.

The Doctor embraced him in return, and they swayed lightly on the spot. The Master thought about when the Doctor's memories would return, and he wondered if this could soon be classified as an on-again off-again relationship. It was all very annoying, and he would have made sure the Doctor stayed like this, if it wasn't for what happened on the night of the village dance.

The Family attacked the school with an army of animated scarecrows. Before the Master could get out of bed, the Doctor had already joined in orchestrating the retaliation. The schoolboys had been trained for battle, but nothing like this. Even the Master was worried, when he realized that the Doctor was in the middle of it all. This was the time to bring John Smith to an end, but the watch was nowhere to be found. The Master swore loudly as he ransacked his office, but foul words didn't exactly aid the situation.

What was worse; he didn't have his screwdriver. He lacked any proper means to fight back efficiently against the Family, and he wasn't letting the Doctor join the front line. He grabbed him as he was rushing past, pulling him down the hall.

"Harry, what are you doing? We are under attack!"

"Don't call me Harry," the Master hissed. "In fact, shut up entirely." He dragged the Doctor with him away from the battle, out from under everyone's noses. There was a backdoor, and it was their way to safety. He didn't have any plan, per say, but something would come to him. They would need to find the watch if they were to kill their pursuers. If the Family was at the school, it probably meant that it was still in the building and something had set it off. Either way there was no finding anything in the ruckus that was going on.

The Master's second idea was to simply run for it. Only a few more days and the Family would be dead. They could wait it out. Forget the watch until the Doctor's mortality became a problem, and in the meantime...

"Doctor Saxon," the Doctor said, sounding like a kicked puppy, but keeping his priorities in order. "Where are we headed? Surely you don't mean to abandon those boys. Is there a plan?"

"The plan is not to die," the Master said, pushing some iron gates open and allowing them out of the school grounds and into the forest. He stopped and grabbed the Doctor by his face, staring up at him with a fierce look in his eyes. "You're not dying for them. I'll kill you myself before I watch you throw your life away again." This last part was said more to himself than to the Doctor, who was confused more than anything.

"Doctor Saxon?" The Doctor sounded worried. Scared. The Master took a deep breath and smoothed the front of the Doctor's jacket, straightened his lapels.

"Harry is fine," he said, now that he had time to control his temper. "Stress, that's all. I know of somewhere we will be safe." Without waiting for another word of complaint, he continued with the Doctor in tow, out to an abandoned house by itself. He knew the girl had lived there, the one that the Family had killed for her body. Being a doctor he knew these people all too well by now.

"Are we simply going to wait here until everyone is dead?" the Doctor asked. This was Professor John Smith, though. He wasn't brave, not like the Doctor. It didn't take any convincing for the Master to make him stay put. The Doctor sank down on a bench, clutching his hands together in his lap as he looked anxiously out of the window.

The Master sat down next to him and put his forehead to the Doctor's shoulder. "It's fine. Everything will be just fine," he murmured. "We'll wait it out. They won't get you." He grabbed onto the Doctor's arm, possessive. The Doctor was put off.

"Do you know what's going on?" He was starting to sound suspicious. The Master couldn't have that, no; he needed John Smith to think only good of him, to adore him, to fulfil his every need and obey his every demand. The Master was grinding his teeth in frustration.

"The Journal of Impossible Things is the real truth," he said. "The Family is after the Doctor. You. I know this because I am here to protect you, and I will never let them get you."

The Doctor looked at him as if he was mad. While as this was nothing new, the Master could have told him that there was a time and place. Instead, he looked insistently at him. "It's alright. You can be John Smith, if we just wait for a few days. They will be gone. It'll be like nothing ever happened."

The Doctor was in a mixed state of horror and denial. He drew away from the Master, standing upright so he could back away with wide eyes. "If what you're saying is the truth, then everyone who dies here today is because of me."

The Master raised his brows, then smiled. "But it's alright, don't you see? You're not one of them. You're like me; we're not part of this filthy race and together we can do whatever we like. All we have to do is sit this one out."

The Doctor seemed all the more convinced that the Master was a raving lunatic. "If the Doctor, the man I've seen in my dreams, is anything like that, I don't want to believe any of it."

"He's not."

They turned to see a young boy standing in the doorway. He wore a school uniform and in his hand was the fob watch. It had no doubt told him where to go; the Doctor wanted to become whole again. Of course that blundering good-for-nothing wanted to protect people. Being a watch didn't stop him from ruining the Master's plans. The boy looked perfectly creepy, and he walked into the room, clutching the watch to him.

"I've seen him," he said with eyes alight. "The Doctor is fire and ice. He travels to the furthest reaches of time and space to protect people when no one else can." He held the watch out for the Doctor. "It told me to come here. We need you."

The Doctor looked at the Master, whose eyes were pleading for him not to. He grabbed onto the Doctor's arm and tried to hold him back. "Don't you dare. Only a few more days, just give me a chance. Those people don't matter; you don't know how good we can have it."

At least the Doctor appeared to be regretful when he tore his arm loose from the Master's grip. He gave him one last peck on the forehead before shaking him off and going for the watch. The Master sank onto his knees, and he refused to look as the transformation happened. It was as if the Doctor hadn't even thought twice about leaving him. He hammered his fists against the floor and screamed out in rage, but the sound fell dead silent underneath the surge of energy from the watch. The Doctor returned.

XXX

Again he had lost the Doctor. The Master had to smile where he was sitting on a stone fence outside the house, kicking his legs back and forth. Morning had dawned, without any trace of the Doctor. He had left the house and been gone since. He hadn't just been lost in a physical sense, though. Every time the Master thought they managed scrape together a half-decent way of living together, shit happened. It wasn't even funny anymore. In fact, it was so not funny that it was hilarious.

The Doctor would, of course, remember everything. Even if the sex had been great, the Master wasn't sure if the Doctor would appreciate it. Somewhere in that funny old head of his, the Master knew that he'd taken advantage. He didn't feel sorry in the least, not if it was the only way to get what he wanted. It worried him more that the Doctor might be angry enough to leave him on this sucky planet. The TARDIS could already have taken off, and he would sit there like a scarecrow, waiting for his Doctor to return for him.

He spent some time pitying himself, feeling sorry for this clearly unjust situation he had put himself in. He wasn't entirely clear on which excuse he was going for yet, but he was certain that he was in the right. Eleven had been a lot more likely to let "love" fly as an excuse; that was out of the question with Ten. It wouldn't matter, either way. Not if the Doctor just left him.

In the end, his pity-party ended without much pomp or circumstance. He saw the Doctor approaching from down the road, and he knew he hadn't been abandoned. He was a loyal dog—scruffy around the edges but loyal nonetheless—resentfully waiting for his master. How ironic that he was still wearing the white doctor coat. Role reversal. It made him sick, and he wasn't particularly pleased when the Doctor finally caught up to him and stopped a few meters away.

The Doctor wasn't looking at him. There was an inexplicable expression on his face. Possibly it was fury, possibly it was shame.

"Well?" the Master asked. "You sure took your sweet time."

"I had to take care of the Family."

"I see."

"It's all taken care of now."

"Well then." He wasn't about to beg for the Doctor to not leave him behind nor was he going to say that he was sorry, because he wasn't. Every second of ravaging the Doctor's ass was a second well spent.

"If you want to know what happened to them—"

"Not interested," said the Master, who was worried that the Doctor might not yet be done dealing out holy vengeance on this fine morning. "Are we going back to the TARDIS?"

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair, looking distressed and awkward as if he wanted to say something more. In the end, he didn't. "Yes. Yes, we are."

They trudged along then, the Doctor in the front trying to hide his deeply troubled mind. The Master sauntered after with his hands buried in the pockets of his white coat. He was walk-of-shaming off a planet. There had to be a reward for that.

"You weren't a half bad doctor," the Doctor admitted.

"Being a doctor in this time and place hardly requires skills," the Master said and sniffed.

"Curious choice of profession."

"I wanted to see what it was like to have a degree in cheese making and so on."

"I am surprised you don't have one yourself."

"Mine would be a degree in evil cheese making." The Master rolled his eyes and decided to cut to the chase. "I thought you would be angrier."

The Doctor was getting hot around the ears. His mind was no doubt full of some steamy, consensual memories that hadn't been there before. He pushed open the door to the TARDIS, but stopped in the doorway to look back at the Master. "I thought you'd be a lot crueller."

The Master found himself torn between pleased and angry. "And what did you expect of me?"

"A million reasons never to give you a chance."

The Master puzzled over this as they got into the TARDIS. The Doctor went straight for the control panel, not hesitating to get them off the planet at once. The Master watched him out of the corner of his eye, trying to figure out what was going through the Doctor's head. Surely he remembered how much he had enjoyed their time together, but he also knew that the Master had taken advantage of him. Such a complicated situation.

XXX

A fair amount of awkward time had passed. Neither of them spoke of what had happened, and they went on travelling as they usually did. At some point they were back on Earth, walking out of the TARDIS and into pitch black darkness. The Doctor used his screwdriver for light, revealing that they were in a basement.

"This is old. No one has been here for decades," the Master said. "And what's with you always wanting to go to the 21st century? I am sick of the 21st century. Can't you take me somewhere nice, for once?"

"I like the 21st century. It's my TARDIS, so I decide."

"We are in a basement."

"And it's a lovely specimen of a basement," the Doctor said, more concerned with sonicing the area.

The Master made a displeased noise before he wandered off. He wanted his screwdriver back. He also wanted to rule the universe and have the Doctor at his beck and call, but mostly he wanted his screwdriver.

Going upstairs, he found that they were in an old mansion about to fall apart. How fitting; the Doctor's scrapheap had taken them to a scrapheap. With his nose wrinkled, he poked around in the dusty sitting room. No aliens with respect for themselves would stand such poor interior design, so he didn't know what the Doctor was expecting to find. Surely they hadn't come all this way for the sake of aliens whose natural habitat was poor interior design. He knew a few species that required Marimekko to nest, and he doubted they were capable of taking over even such a lousy planet as Earth.

The dust whirled around him and he coughed. Scratch the previous statement; any alien living here would have to breathe dust for a living. Then this house would be the perfect launch pad for a global invasion. He pushed the veranda door open and stepped out with a sigh. He took a moment to pat down his suit, but then he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. He froze, then turned slowly to see the statue of an angel. It had large wings folded on its back and it was holding its hands before its eyes.

The Master knew what it was, but before the realization dawned on him he had already blinked. In that fraction of a second the angel moved from the garden and onto the veranda. Damn his persistent lack of laser screwdriver. He would have to bring it up with the Doctor, but for now he would simply like someone else to be stuck staring at the angel. He had some vivid memories of sand pouring out of Amy's eyes.

"Doctor?" he called out as he slowly backed away. "Doctor!"

The Doctor heard him from down in the basement, and he hurried upstairs. By the time he reached the living room, the angel was in the open veranda doorway, and there was no trace of the Master anywhere. He could see another angel out in the garden, and there was one standing in the stairs up to the second floor.

Being hurled through time without a TARDIS was, by far, not comfortable in the very least. He had possibly just experienced whatever was below vortex manipulators on his list of preferred ways to travel. With a groan he picked his face up from the grass and pushed himself to his feet. As he patted down his suit, he looked around and tried to assert when and where he was.

He was surrounded by fields, with a single dirt road running between them. It looked vaguely familiar, and there were tyre tracks on the road. Either he had been thrown around thirty or forty years back in time, or the angel had simply sent him for a walk on the countryside, because this was definitely still Britain. He knew he'd been here before.

If that honestly was the case, he could just sit around and wait until his past self showed up, and then he'd ask for a lift. Or rather, the Architect's past self, come to think of it. History might be vastly different in this dimension. There could be no one coming for him. The Master sighed. What were a few decades to him, anyway? He could conquer a spa resort and longue back for a bit. Take it as a holiday.

He kicked at the dirt before he started down the road. First thing on his to-do list was definitely to make a new screwdriver. Again. He sneered at no one in particular, but mostly at Eleven's TARDIS for just leaving him. The Doctor had every reason not to go back for him, and he wouldn't even know where he was.

He wandered and he wandered, hating on life and generally cursing the inconvenient situation. He hardly noticed as a canary yellow roadster passed by him in his direction. It took him a moment before he called out for the driver. The man behind the wheel was a dandy in his fifties with curly, white hair, and he dressed in an Inverness cape. Underneath it he would have a velvet smoking jacket and a cravat or bow tie. The Master knew this. He couldn't ever forget; an incarnation of the Doctor that actually liked alcohol.

The car—which the Master distinctly remembered had been named Bessie—stopped. The Doctor looked back at him, impatient. "What are you back there shouting about? Do I know you?" Because he definitely must have smelt something funny about the Master.

The Master remembered how grouchy the third incarnation of the Doctor had been, and he pulled himself upright and tried to maintain some dignity as he walked up to the car. "I've been looking for you, Doctor."

"Is that so?" the Doctor asked and furrowed his brows in suspicious interest. "Have you heard of me from the Brigadier perhaps, or is there some other explanation as to why you know who I am?"

The idea of asking for help was sickening, because this was the time period where the two of them had started their long relationship as arch enemies. Right then he was not pleased to recall any of the events that had taken place at this time. The Doctor had been exiled to Earth by the Time Lords, and he had stolen a part of the Master's TARDIS so that they were both stuck. The Master had a hard time not sneering as he presented himself.

"I am another Time Lord, like you." Except that he was a far superior Time Lord. "I have been stranded here by Weeping Angels, and I am sure you know exactly how frustrating it is to be confined to this lump of space rock. I heard about your exile, how the Time Lords broke your TARDIS and removed the secret of time travel from your mind, but perhaps we can help each other."

"I already have ten thumbs helping me back at UNIT," the Doctor said. "I am afraid I don't quite trust your story. Where did you come from?"

"Yes, as an unpaid scientist for UNIT I am sure you are getting all the help you need," the Master scoffed. This was humiliating. "I was thrown back here from the 21st century and don't have access to my own TARDIS. All I want is to get back to it."

The Doctor did not look convinced, but appeared to conclude that a stray Time Lord with uncertain intentions was not something he wanted on his hands. "Alright. You'd best hop in, then. I am late as it is."

Finally. The Master got in next to the Doctor and tried hard not to roll his eyes. The Doctor was wearing a bowtie that day. The Master found his hand in his pocket, clutching the strip of blue fabric. It was still with him, even now.

"So, tell me," the Doctor said. "Why would a Time Lord such as yourself travel to Earth? And running into Weeping Angels, of all things."

"My, ah, companion has rather taken a liking to the place," the Master said dryly.

"From here, is she?"

"Oh, practically." Presumptuous old goat. "How long have you been here, now? Long enough to see some trouble, I bet."

"The first year was a lot of trouble, but things have been calm these last few months, oddly enough. You should know how the aliens keep popping up in this place," the Doctor said and shook his head.

The Master furrowed his brow. At this point, he should have showed up. How could the last few months have been calm? The Architect was supposed to try and take over the world with plastic, assassinate an American ambassador, awaken an ancient demon in attempts at gaining its power. It wasn't supposed to be calm.

They reached the UNIT facilities where the Doctor now worked. His TARDIS was stored away in there, impossible to use. The Doctor had probably messed it up pretty badly in his attempts at fixing it and breaking free of his exile. UNIT's scientific advisor by day, ruiner of TARDISes by night. His glorious conquest would certainly...

Oh no. No, this wasn't right at all. Upon entering the Doctor's laboratory, the Master found himself face to face with his own thirteenth incarnation. Sure, at this point he had found the Doctor a worthy opponent and almost intellectual equal, but they weren't supposed to work together. He had been a haughty psychopath, suave and witty with a sardonic sense of humour. He was not the Doctor's assistant.

The Architect was the spitting image of how the Master had looked at this time. It was back when he had an actual beard, rather than a wife. His hair was greying, but he still looked damned classy, in his own opinion, dressed in all black and with eyes that could look into people's souls. Yes. He had liked this incarnation so much, even if it had been supposed to be his last. It was before the whole mess of resurrection and stealing bodies began.

"Who is this?" the Architect asked with disapproval, casting one dark glance up at them before he returned to working on a machine part from the TARDIS.

"A stray Time Lord I picked up on the road," the Doctor said with poorly conceived, however amused, disdain. "He knows about our exile and insists he can help." In a flourish he removed his Inverness cape and put it on a hanger.

"Your exile. Remember whose meddling got us stuck here in the first place," the Architect said with his concentration and interest set on his work. "Did you get the parts we need?"

"I did." The Doctor cleared his throat. "And he says he was separated from his TARDIS by Weeping Angels." He walked around the worktable to lean in a bit closer to the Architect. "And they removed the secret of time travel from you as well, so be quiet you."

"Perhaps you should show a bit more respect to the only Time Lord here that remembers how to fix a TARDIS, then," the Master said spitefully.

"Very well," the Architect gritted out. And oh, the Master remembered how he had perfected that line back in the days. He had honed these two words into the perfect statement of annoyance and frustration with every lowly and inferior creature that surrounded him and intervened with his plans. Very well.

"I am the Master," the Master said and removed his jacket. "Show me to your TARDIS." He would show these stuffy old bastards that they needed him.

The TARDIS was a disaster. They had tried to fix it for a long time, and they had only made matters worse. It would take days, and the Master found himself more annoyed by the minute. At all times one of the old coots was keeping an eye on him, because they didn't trust him in the least even though they depended on his help. Being stuck with the Doctor's third incarnation was one thing, but having his younger self looking over his shoulder was downright uncomfortable. He wondered whether his younger self back in his own dimension would have been disappointed in seeing him now. He'd been so dignified back then.

"Tell me," he said nonchalantly as he sat one late evening in the TARDIS. "How come you got yourself exiled as well? Isn't it the Doctor who is infamous for his meddling?" The Architect was not him, after all. He'd never had to suffer the constant noise that plagued him every waking hour, only to haunt him in his sleep and drive him over the edge of sanity. The Architect was supposed to be a goody-two-shoes, more so than the Doctor.

His question didn't seem to please the Architect much. Questions, in general, didn't please him. He would give the Master what tools and parts he needed, but his participation was minute. "I have travelled with him for a very long time."

"Since you were children, I am sure."

"I assisted him."

The Master raised a brow at him. "But the Time Lords don't consider you as guilty, do they?" Otherwise there would have been a lot less animosity between the Doctor and the Architect. It occurred to the Master that perhaps this was the point in time where the Doctor and the Architect left each other.

"They will clear me of all charges if I leave him," the Architect admitted.

The tools in the Master's hands clattered to the floor and he stared over at his other, far more stupid self. "Then do it! Do you seriously prefer to be stuck on this piece of space junk?"

The Architect narrowed his eyes at him. "Nothing awaits me in Gallifrey, and I don't see how this is any of your business."

The Master straightened up and cleared his throat. "Look, I know what happens to you in the future." And he was not about to let that future change. He was not competing with the Architect if he could avoid it; he was just too dashing. He seemed to catch the Architect's attention, anyway. "I know you; after you are pardoned you start a career in the government. You are practically running Gallifrey in the time I come from."

The Architect didn't trust him, but the Master knew he had a bad habit of dealing with alien races who later turned on him. Getting the Architect to listen to himself shouldn't be a problem.

"What of the Doctor?" the Architect asked.

"He makes it just fine," the Master insisted with a light shrug. "Nothing bad happens to him after you leave. You could almost say he doesn't even need you. Of course, he is sad and alone, but that probably just means you could take him back whenever you wanted, should you regret your decision. You would have every possibility open to you."

The Architect was hesitating, but definitely starting to consider it. The Master inched closer to him and smiled.

"How long have you been stuck here, hm? Over a year. The two of you are arguing like old women. It'll only be a matter of time before you hate each other and tear what's left of your... companionship apart. The only way to salvage what's left is to leave."

His thirteenth incarnation had been a master of manipulation, but the Architect not so much. "What do I do, then?" he asked after due consideration.

"You contact the Time Lords and tell them you will leave in exchange for being cleared of all charges. They return your knowledge of time travel to you, as well as your own TARDIS. It's left on Gallifrey, isn't it? Then you give me a lift to the 21st century before you go back to Gallifrey and conquer it with politics."

He was able to sway the Architect, and he could only hope that the Doctor would never recall meeting him. It was a while until his ninth incarnation; he could hope. And now, as the Architect took care of their ticket out of the 70s, the Master could lounge back and wait. It didn't take long until a light blue horsebox made its appearance on a field not far away, where a circus was setting up. The Architect, unlike the Doctor, kept his chameleon circuit intact.

"Newer model, is it?" the Master asked as he looked over the horsebox with interest. "Far more advanced than the Doctor's."

"We all make some sacrifices," the Architect said. "Get inside. I want to be off as soon as possible." He hadn't told the Doctor, and he wasn't planning on it. Saying goodbye would be too difficult, but of course, the Doctor wasn't stupid. He'd known the moment the Architect had contacted the Time Lords.

"Leaving so soon?"

The Architect stopped halfway into the horsebox, braced himself and turned around.

"I have to."

"As soon as the Master showed up, I see."

"It has nothing to do with him." The Architect stepped down from the doorway and towards the Doctor. "Forget the Master." His ability to control minds wouldn't have much effect on the Doctor, but he could try. The Master had asked him to, and the Architect would have liked the Doctor not to think he had left for someone else. He reached a hand out for the Doctor, but the Doctor pushed it away.

"On you go, then," the Doctor said coldly. "I had better not see you again."

"You will appreciate this someday," the Architect growled at him before he turned and got into the horsebox. He slammed the door behind him. The Doctor didn't stand around to watch the horsebox dematerialize, but he heard the sounds of a TARDIS growing fainter behind him as he walked away. It would be a very long time until the two saw each other again.

"It feels good to be travelling again," the Master sighed. He was lounged back in a chair inside the TARDIS, far too pleased with himself. He had plotted in the coordinates for their next destination, and everything seemed to be going his way for once. Time and again he had asked himself why it never went smooth, but not this time. He felt deliciously cruel as he watched the Architect man the control panel, head turned down.

"You know, I can let you off anywhere you like," he said with a sideways look at the Master. "I can take you back to Gallifrey; you can have a new TARDIS."

The Master went red around the ears. The Architect couldn't possibly have seen through his scheme, could he? No, that was ridiculous. On the other hand, he might honestly have a choice, but he dismissed the thought quickly. "No. This will be fine."

The Architect looked away without a word, looking awfully broody even from behind. The Master jumped to his feet and joined him at the console as they landed. "It'll work out for you," he said. "You won't be missing this; running around on a backwater planet playing hero. Now you can do something important with your life."

The Architect pulled a lever on the console and made the doors open. "Out," he said without looking at him.

"Whoa, hostile much," the Master grumbled. "Fine. But I helped you, and you know it. Some day you will appreciate it. If you don't, well, it was your choice." He huffed and walked out of the TARDIS with his hands in his pockets. He found himself in the street outside the mansion with the Weeping Angels.

The Doctor had better not have gotten himself thrown back in time as well, or worse yet; killed. The Master hadn't gone through all that trouble simply to start a rescue mission. He tried the front door, which was locked. He rang the doorbell before knocking, impatient. This had better be the right year.

He heard the sound of the lock clicking, and the door was thrown open. The Doctor, the tenth Doctor, was looking scratched and out of breath, and more than surprised at his sudden appearance.

"Master?"

"I love it when you use my name," he purred. "Ouf." He found himself in a tight, unexpected embrace. His first instinct was to fight, but then he realized that the Doctor was hugging him. The Doctor had been worried. Oh, this was his Doctor, alright. No more grumpy old goat, thank time and space. He melted into the Doctor's arms, until the Doctor realized what he was doing and quickly let go.

"The angels," he said, clearing his throat. "I took care of the angels. They are stuck in the basement, staring at each other. What happened to you?"

The Master joined him inside the house, shrugging. "Nothing special. Dull. I was taken back a few decades. Sat around and waited for the most part. Invaded Poland at one point." He saw the Doctor's expression and had to laugh. "Joking, Doctor." He reached out to run a finger over a cut on the Doctor's cheek.

"You could have come sooner," the Doctor huffed.

"I lost track of time. Besides, I knew you could manage a few Weeping Angels."

"Unlike you. You let them take you, just like that."

"Were you worried?" the Master asked slyly. The Doctor glanced back at him, but said nothing and continued down the cellar stairs. "Hah! You worried about me, admit it."

"Oh, shut up," the Doctor groaned and shepherded him into the TARDIS.

"You know, this would all be better if I had my screwdriver and was able to defend myself."

"It's out of the question."

"Then I can only presume you enjoy saving me," the Master said. As soon as they were inside the TARDIS, he turned around and pushed the Doctor up against the door with a gleam in his eye. The Doctor had no idea what trouble he'd gone through in order to have him to himself. "Is that it, Doctor? You want me to be your damsel in distress? You can hope all you like; I'm a self-rescuing prin—"

The Doctor shut him up with a kiss. He had honestly been worried, and he was confused and driven by the memories of John Smith. The Master couldn't have been more pleased, and after the initial shock he was pulling the Doctor down on him for a proper snog. He pinned him against the door with force, groping at his hair and feeling him up until they both had to break apart for air.

The Doctor's face was red with embarrassment. Whether he was ashamed or just flustered was for anyone to guess. The Master stroked a hand down his chest and looked up at him with a smirk.

"Don't be an ass about it," the Doctor warned him through gritted teeth.

"No one is being an ass," the Master assured. "You're not angry, then?" he added, far more quiet.

"Yes. Of course I am angry. You took advantage of me! Worst of all, you otherwise proved capable of acting like a half-decent person."

The Master stroked a finger along the Doctor's strong cheekbone. It was time for the final strike. "In my dimension, we were married. Think about that. We fought against each other for centuries and this; this is the incarnation of you I first fell in love with."

"I am not married to you," the Doctor said in a mutter. "We can... Maybe if we take it slowly."

The Master pressed his face to the Doctor's chest, mostly to hide his grin as he spoke. "Every second I look at you, unable to touch you..." He stroked his fingers slowly down the Doctor's sides. "...is torture."

He listened intently for a reaction from the Doctor. Without a word, the Doctor brought his arms up, around his back and shoulders to hold him. He knew in that moment that he had won.

XXX

The Doctor still wouldn't have sex with him (he had a feeling the Doctor still didn't trust his intentions, what was up with that?) but the situation was nevertheless working out in his favour. He simply had to enjoy—pretend to enjoy giving out the occasional hug and surprise kiss. He was endearing himself to the Doctor and there was no way to stop him.

The Doctor was minding his own business trying to run the TARDIS and then suddenly, out of nowhere, affection. The Master had his arms around the Doctor's waist, and he pressed a kiss to his neck that made the Doctor's hair stand on end. He was so delicious when he was flustered.

"Where are we going this time?" the Master said in a soft purr against the Doctor's ear. He cast a look at the screen. "Earth again?" There was more of a groan to his voice, now.

"19th century. I always wanted to meet Sherlock Holmes."

The Master raised a brow, still not letting go of the Doctor. "That's the wrong century, though."

"In your dimension, perhaps."

That was right. It was sort of the Master's fault in the first place that time had gone askew and altered the master detective's timeline. It would be curious to see what he would have been like in his natural habitat.

The TARDIS shook as it landed. By now the Master had gotten used to the Doctor's dreadful piloting. What he hadn't expected was the shaking that began after they had landed and were supposed to be standing still. It only took a moment, then it felt as if something was trying to topple the TARDIS.

The Doctor grabbed onto the console for support and the Master ran for the doors. He flung them open and saw a thick tentacle coiling around the TARDIS, which was perched on the edge of a cliff. "Dematerialize us!" he called out and slammed the door before another tentacle could sneak inside.

They materialized a bit further onto the cliff and poked their heads back out only to see the arms of a gigantic octopus questing up over the top of the cliff. The Master looked over at the Doctor with horror.

"What sort of shit version of Sherlock Holmes is this?" he demanded.

"We landed in the middle of his greatest yet least known case," the Doctor said with glittering eyes as he took out his screwdriver. "We have to find him. Allons-y!"

"But Doctor!" the Master cried as he ran after him back into the TARDIS. "How could a giant octopus not be known?" He never got a proper answer to that question. In any case, they had landed on the coast of Newhaven in the dark of the night. There weren't a lot of spectators.

At least there weren't many of them left. They materialized in London the next morning, only to find that the papers spoke of a ship carrying gold, which had been destroyed at the coast of Newhaven. The sole survivor was hospitalized, rumoured to have gone mad.

"If he is mad, what's the point of visiting him?" the Master asked as they headed for the hospital.

"Because mad people usually know what they're talking about," the Doctor said with a cunning smile.

"Doctor, I'm afraid to tell you that you're just a special case."

"Out of us two, you're the mad one."

"See? I have no idea what I'm saying," the Master said triumphantly.

"Nice try. We're going."

Patient confidentiality wasn't that big of a deal in the late 19th century, so they found the hospital and made their way over there in a hurry.

"Just what do you intend on gaining here?" the Master muttered as they snuck through the hallways of the hospital. The Doctor smirked back at him.

"I didn't imagine you to be so grounded and rational. You'd make the perfect Watson to my Holmes."

"You did not just say that," the Master hissed, but was quickly shushed as they heard voices from the room of the survivor. The patient was crying loudly about a monster that had lifted the ship up in its arms and crushed it. As he was sedated, someone was calmly discussing the validity of his story.

"Whomever that snobbish fop speaking is, I am so not buying his accent," the Master said, but was silenced by an elbow to the side from the Doctor as three people exited the room.

"What is the diagnosis, Doctor Watson?" said the owner of the voice that the Master had condemned right before.

"Well, aside from a bit of bruising I should say he is in a fine set of health," said the taller one of them. He had a moustache, and dark curly hair. He looked scary familiar.

"And what do you make of his story?"

"Madness," said a plump man in a bowler hat.

"He suffered a deeply traumatic shock that has manifested itself as delusions," Watson said with certainty.

"So you don't believe then," Holmes murmured with a sly smile. "Nevertheless, Watson. We should investigate the remains of the ship."

"I think we can help you there," the Doctor said, stepping in with the Master in tow. He used his Scottish accent, making the Master weak at the knees and unable to protest.

"And who might you be?" Holmes asked with a frown. "Were you eavesdropping on our conversation?"

The Doctor took out his slightly psychic paper, and the Master hoped that it was more efficient on this Holmes than it had been on the other one. "Aye, Mr. Holmes. We've been looking for you. I am John Smith, head of the Monsters and Supernatural Creatures Control Squad, and this is Colonel Masters. We have been looking for you, Mr. Holmes."

Watson didn't even make an attempt at hiding it as he rolled his eyes. The Master would have done the same, but he was too busy being weak at the knees.

"Oh." Holmes raised his brows. The Master thought that this Sherlock Holmes looked much like a well-dressed ferret. Watson had to be an ancestor of Ianto Jones; there was no other explanation. "I see. You are a bit of an expert on the topic, then?" It wasn't apparent as to whether he appreciated this or not.

Inspector Lestrade, the plump man with the bowler, just shook his head. "I expect you to deal with this, Holmes. Give my regards to your brother; I hear he is out of the hospital." He wandered off, and Holmes appeared more puzzled at his remark than anything else going down around him. The Master leaned close to the Doctor.

"I have to admit, he is more like I imagined Lestrade from the stories. He was damn fine in my dimension, though."

The Doctor gave him a whack at the back of his head. "You were going out to investigate the ship, then? The two of us are very keen on seeing this sea monster of yours. Wouldn't harm to have some experts in store, now would it?"

Watson snorted. "Come on, Holmes. You don't believe there is such a thing as Supernatural Creature Control, do you?"

"Their credentials look just fine," Holmes said. "We'd best be off, before the tide washes away all the evidence. Come along, everyone. The game's afoot."

The Master sent the Doctor a displeased look as they tagged after Holmes and Watson. "You must be joking, right? Watson is supposed to be small and adorable and grumpy, like a hedgehog."

"Like a hedgehog?" the Doctor asked.

"Yes, like a hedgehog."

"He could be adorable without the moustache, maybe."

"Maybe," the Master huffed, thinking back on Ianto. "Either way, you're not serious about following these two, are you?"

"We weren't able to stop the ship from getting wrecked. We have to do something."

The Master considered it. "No. No, I'm still not interested in working with the worst Sherlock knockoff ever."

"How about if I let you decide where we go next? It's sea monsters, Colonel. Aren't you curious?"

The Master was not. He had seen demons and he had seen aliens of all kinds. This was not, in any way, curious. He remained sour, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I'll use the accent at all times until we leave."

"I'm in."

XXX

It was windy out on the cliff at the port of Newhaven. There was no spotting the ship over the edge of the cliff, and so somehow Holmes was able to convince Watson to climb down with only a rope around him. He lit his pipe calmly as Watson dared the lethal drop, absolutely calm. The Master really only wished that he was watching Watson from an upwards angle rather than a downwards one.

In the end, their investigation of the ship didn't amount to much. They spotted an obviously dead body in the water, and Watson wasn't even halfway down the cliff before they hoisted him back up. It was all a bit of a mess, and neither the Doctor nor the Master was particularly impressed. They took the 7 o'clock train back to London together with Holmes and a traumatized Watson.

"Did you make anything out of our field trip?" he asked with an angry look at the Doctor and the Master. "Since you are the experts, supposedly?"

"Still not believing in monsters, Watson?" said Holmes lightly.

"There were marks on the edge of the cliff," the Doctor countered. "Something was definitely there."

"Do you honestly believe this?" Watson scoffed. "Masters, you seem like a reasonable fellow. What are you even doing in that phoney business of Mr. Smiths?"

"Charity," the Master said flatly.

"I say," Holmes chuckled. "If the two of you don't have anywhere to stay, there is room for you in Baker Street with us, at least for this one night."

"Absolutely," the Doctor said before the Master could intervene. He mentally groaned, knowing he would end up on a couch. On the other hand, he got the Doctor sleeping in the same room as him. When the lights had been turned out, he wasn't about to let him rest any time soon.

As soon as he thought the Doctor had reached a state of slumber, he crept up on him as silently as a cat. He looked over the Doctor's sleeping face critically, but there was no getting by it; he was the exact same as Ten of his own dimension. There was nothing to fault him at. He scrunched his nose up, then in one motion he pulled the Doctor's blanket away and grabbed him at his sides.

"Giant octopus drill!" he called out over the Doctor's surprised yelp. The Doctor sprang up from the couch and ended up toppling them both on the floor.

"What the Hell?"

"Remember the accent," the Master chided him with a grin.

The Doctor glared at him for a moment, until he could no longer stand it and broke up into a smile. He laughed. If only he knew about the Christmas they had spent together at Baker Street.

No. It hadn't been them. It had been him and the Real Doctor. Under no circumstances could he forget that. For a while it had been just like old times.

"What's wrong?" the Doctor asked, stroking the Master's cheek. The Master shook his head and brushed the Doctor's hand away.

"Nothing," he said, before he pulled the Doctor down for a kiss. "Go to sleep, and tomorrow we'll catch ourselves a sea monster." It wasn't like the Doctor would let him fuck him on the floor of someone else's apartment, anyway.

XXX

The morning paper surprised them with news of another attack, or rather what Watson called "sensationalist claptrap". The Master felt inclined to agree. A monster had allegedly attacked a boy in Whitechapel, witnessed by one of the "unfortunate women who apply their trade in East End" as the newspaper so delicately stated.

"Prostitute," Holmes clarified.

"I know what it means," Watson scoffed.

"I'm sure you do," Holmes said, smirking in satisfaction at Watson's sigh.

"The important thing," the Master said. "Is that we know the monster doesn't like the taste of hooker. If everyone branched out, we would all be safe."

"This is preposterous!" Watson exclaimed.

"Go on, read the rest of it," the Doctor urged him.

Watson rolled his eyes. "'Local citizens have witnessed the beast in and around Whitechapel'. This is nothing but a product of mass hysteria."

A little mass hysteria never stopped the Doctor. The lot all insisted on following Watson for his morning stroll, and Watson was feeling that his life was becoming unpleasantly crowded by both people and ludicrous nonsense. It didn't help at all when they discovered a massive footprint out in the forest. A rustling in the bushes sent them all running. There was something big out there, and it chased them deep into the forest.

What they saw literally jumping out of a bush was, hands down, a dinosaur.

"Why did I never think of that?" the Master said with awe. The dinosaur let out a roar.

"Run!"

They scattered. The Master found himself hating this dimension. On the other hand, it seemed to have a far higher count of pleasant coincidences than his own, and that was saying something. The dinosaur had chased them right into a rundown building where they found Lestrade. He was also investigating, apparently. He was off rather quickly, leaving the four investigators to investigate.

The building was a pump house, so there should by all means have been a pump. There was not. Either the dinosaur and the giant octopus were up to something involving the waterworks, or there was something else, far more sinister afoot.

Holmes tapped his chin with his pipe as he examined the broken pipes that would have led to the pump. "I am starting to believe that the dinosaur and the giant octopus may be connected."

"Why ever would you think that?" Watson asked.

"I wonder," the Master said with sarcasm. "How could a dinosaur and a giant octopus ever be related?"

XXX

Holmes and the Doctor ran down leads together, because the Master couldn't stand another word out of Holmes' mouth. The Master joined Watson at the clinic, wondering whether he wanted to find out what Jack had seen in Ianto all that time. It was a very disturbing thought, but after Lucy he wasn't entirely clear on what his standards were. Nevertheless, he found that it would be a bad idea to gamble his chances with the Doctor when he was finally on the right track. Of course, Watson hadn't been informed of the day's arrangement.

"'The dinosaur appeared...' Is that honestly how you are going to start this memoir?" the Master asked. He'd been peeking over Watson's shoulder as he wrote and made him jump in the air.

"Masters? What are you doing here?" Watson demanded once he'd stopped having a near heart attack.

"I thought I should help," the Master said. He'd put on a doctor's coat, mostly out of fond nostalgia. "By not getting in their way." It sadly meant less Scottish accent, but it also meant less terrible Sherlock Holmes. Oh well. He supposed a relationship wasn't validated until after a Sherlock Holmes flick of some kind.

"But you can't..." Watson sighed as a nurse poked her head into his office and announced that he had a patient. "I will be right there," he said.

It turned out that the clinic was visited by an ice cold woman and a sickly, thin and rugged man in a wheelchair. He was there for some heavy medication, which he looked to be sorely in need of. Watson helped them as best as he could and made sure to invite the ice woman on a date. Of course Holmes, being true to the nature of any Sherlock Holmes, cancelled the date with a single phone call to ask for Watson's aid. That night the four of them were going down to Whitechapel to hunt for monsters.

They had been pointed towards a copper factory. Apparently the dinosaur had been headed there, because copper was an excellent conductor of electricity. Watson found himself confused, but they all assured him that he would soon understand. They lay in wait, until late at night they heard noises. Indeed, the dinosaur was back and it wanted their copper. After biting Holmes' leg, it escaped through the roof. This whole dinosaur situation was grating on the nerves by now. Not as grating as Holmes' voice, but pretty grating.

They later visited a rubber factory, as skin scraps from the dinosaur turned out to be of their make. The dinosaur's skin was synthetic. Holmes got them in by pointing out that the factory had barred the inside of the windows, not the outside, and thus had to be trying to keep something inside rather than outside. How that would make a difference was anyone's guess, but it got them inside. They waited in the courtyard as one of the staff got them some information on a client. Holmes had lit his pipe about the same time as the one from the staff came flying out of the top window of the factory in a fiery explosion. Moments later the entire factory blew up, and the four of them were hardly able to scrabble out of the way. The dinosaurs had upped their arsenal and were once again a step ahead of them.

Holmes, on the other hand, had picked up a particular rock on the factory site, and he knew that this kind of stone was only found one place in all of England; an old mansion where he had played as a young boy. This led them to the climax of their investigation. The Doctor was thrilled at how far-fetched the situation was, the leaps in logic and the complete lack of reasoning. They snuck into the mansion first thing that very evening.

"I have so many questions regarding what's going on right now," the Master said as they snuck through the dark rooms of the mansion, holding a candlestick each.

"So have I. Isn't it great?" the Doctor asked with a big grin. "I've never been so clueless. You know, despite that someone is obviously trying to blow up Buckingham Palace."

The Master frowned. "What gave you that idea?"

"Someone is always trying to blow up Buckingham Palace."

There was truth in those words. After evading a deathly gas trap (which somehow did not respond to their lit candles in any sort of explosive way), they found their way to the basement. Here they found several other machines; dinosaurs and a giant octopus which at the moment weren't activated. They were still as death, collecting dust in the dim light. Their eyes fell upon one thing they had not seen before, though; what appeared to be an early prototype of Iron Man.

At first it appeared to be a statue; a copper man with a solid helmet that obscured its face entirely. Watson ventured closer to it and tapped its face with his gun, to which it reacted by giving him a slap to the wrist. The copper man jumped down from his pedestal and attacked.

"Screwdriver, I told you," the Master yelled at the Doctor as they scattered. It turned into a violent fist-fight against the inhumanly strong machine, until it had thrown them all into the walls and had Holmes in a choking grip.

"Who are you?" Holmes gasped out, unable to breathe yet still clutching a sword he had taken down from the wall.

"Drop your weapon, if you please." The ice lady had appeared, pointing a gun at him. Somehow the choking grip hadn't convinced her that the copper man had full control of the situation. Nevertheless, Holmes' sword clattered to the floor. He was put down, and the four of them watched as the copper man removed his helmet. It was the man from the wheelchair previously.

"Hello, brother," he said with a smirk at Holmes. Now the tables had turned.

The Doctor and the Master exchanged looks, wondering what they should feel about interfering in a family affair. Interfering had never bothered them before, and they had little choice as they were led downstairs at gunpoint.

"Glad to see your skills in swordplay have not diminished, Robert," the copper man said to Holmes.

"His name is Sherlock," the Master said.

"I think I know my brother's name."

"I really think you don't." He shut up though, as the ice lady pressed the gun into his back. He sent a sour look at the Doctor.

They were taken down to the copper man's laboratory in the basement, where Watson marvelled at what he saw. The drugs he had given to him at the clinic, they suddenly made sense.

"I don't believe it," Watson said. "You accomplished neuro-transgeneration?"

"Neurore generation," the copper man said with satisfaction.

The Doctor and the Master exchanged looks. "You didn't teach this idiot anything, did you?" the Doctor muttered.

"How? Why? Like I'd share the secrets of regeneration with him," the Master scoffed.

It turned out that the copper man controlled his suit with his mind. He had built it after police service had destroyed his body, and now... "I have found a new purpose. I am motivated by something far more powerful. The only thing more powerful in fact, is my love for you, Robert."

Even Holmes was surprised at this one, and they would all have liked to know where this spontaneous exclamation came from, particularly after the choking grip only minutes before.

"Revenge," the copper man explained. "Imagine my surprise when I learned that the bullet which put me in a wheelchair was fired by no other than my partner on the force, Inspector Lestrade."

"Let me get this right," the Master said. "Lestrade accidentally shot you and paralyzed you, so you're going to frame him for blowing up Buckingham Palace."

"Think it's unfair, do you?" the copper man asked. "You can't even begin to imagine a life like—"

"It's definitely my kind of insane," the Master said. "I love it."

"How do you know he's going to blow up Buckingham Palace?" Watson asked.

"Yes, how do you know?" the copper man asked.

"Oh, please," the Master said with an air of pride. "I am a professional. I saw that coming miles away."

The copper man sneered. "Either way, there is nothing you can do to stop me now."

The ice lady opened a door, revealing that they had Lestrade captured and tied to a chair.

"Brother, please," Holmes begged him. Heroically he ran across the room for Lestrade, only to be shot by the ice lady. The copper man yelled out, as did Watson.

"I feel a lot of conflicted emotion here," the Master commented.

They had been right, one way or another. The ice lady was also a mechanical contraption, and the copper man had installed a bomb in her. After kissing her he sent her off to Buckingham Palace, before he left them all tied up and took Lestrade to a giant, fire-breathing and flying mechanical dragon that waited outside.

Of course Holmes was alright (tobacco boxes were excellent bullet repellents), and after setting them loose and sending them after the bomb lady, he took off in a hot air balloon. No better way to fight a fire-breathing mechanical dragon than a very inflammable balloon with a Gatling gun mounted on it. Seriously. It worked.

The dragon had managed to set fire to half of London by the time they caught up with the bomb lady. People were screaming and fleeing in every direction, until the dragon and the balloon both crashed right outside Buckingham Palace. Watson ran to the ruins, only to have the dying copper man point a gun at his head. Holmes was forced to shoot his brother in order to save his best friend, and the Doctor and the Master all watched it with speechless astonishment. Somehow, the world was not going to remember this. They were both shocked by this knowledge. Apparently a mechanical dragon fighting a hot air balloon, and also dinosaurs and giant octopuses, was not interesting unless John Watson wrote about it, which in the end he didn't.

The Doctor and the Master stood in the flickering light of the fire that blazed over the ruins of the mechanical dragon, and the Doctor turned to the Master. "I hope Mycroft hasn't put any ideas into your head."

"Hah. Who am I to be affected by a power-crazy megalomaniac with giant mechanical dragons?"

"A power-crazy megalomaniac without giant mechanical dragons."

"You make a fair point. This must be redeemed quickly."

"His name was Thorpe," Holmes said. "My brother's name was Thorpe."

"No, Mycroft," the Master said. "Your brother's name was Mycroft."

"I think I know my brother's name," Holmes insisted.

"No, you really don't," the Master sighed. He looked over at the Doctor. "Can we leave? Please?"

Yes. Yes they could. Exhausted, the two of them returned to the TARDIS. They were leaving so many questions unanswered, but they thought they were better off for it. Once the TARDIS' door was closed behind them, they couldn't help but look at each other and laugh.

"What was that?"

"I have no idea, but it was glorious," the Doctor said and shook his head. They smiled at each other, until they both grabbed hold of the other and met in a ferocious kiss. It seemed ridiculous after what had just happened, but it didn't matter. Compared to what they had just witnessed, their own situation seemed too easy to explain and conclude. That, or maybe mechanical dragons was just a huge turn-on. The Master would keep it in mind for next time he needed them to fight their way to the bedroom while ripping each other's clothes off.

He could force his Doctor down in the sheets without guilt for the first time. He wasn't taking advantage and he wasn't hiding anything. He could simply have his slow, intense way with him until they were both glistening in sweat and gasping for breath.

Of course, he was still hiding the fact that he was the one that broke up the Doctor and the Architect, and he felt guilty for being unable to let go of the Doctor. He was only there to compensate for the loss of the Real Doctor. He sighed as he lay in bed, covered in the Doctor's naked, sleeping body and still not satisfied. This Doctor wasn't enough. He needed more.

XXX

"I was under the impression that you couldn't stand Earth," the Doctor said.

"Our destination was for me to decide," the Master said simply. "I told you not to ask questions."

"I wouldn't if I wasn't highly suspicious of your activities."

The Master had taken them back to the 21st century. He had said he wanted to do a bit of a science project and the Doctor had allowed it, if not without doubt. They had been there for about a week now, and the Doctor was growing impatient. That the Master was working with human scientists did nothing to reassure him.

"I told you. Tonight will be the grand unveiling of the experiment. You will simply have to wait until this evening before you get to know what it is."

The Doctor was not convinced, and so the Master reached up on his toes and placed a kiss on the tip of his nose.

"It's something good. I promise. After tonight, no power in the 'verse can stop me," he purred, pressing another kiss to the Doctor's neck. The Doctor didn't know what to make of this, and he stroked the Master's hair with consideration. "I had you in mind when I made it."

This didn't serve to calm the Doctor's nerves, but the Master wasn't the one in charge of this project. Surely the Master could find a way to make the humans develop their own doom, but working through humans was far less efficient. If anyone could muck up their own destruction, it was humans.

And so the evening was allowed to unfold. The leader of the experiment was an old, rich man by the name of Professor Richard Lazarus. He had arranged quite the posh gala around the unveiling of the Lazarus Experiment, as it had been named. The Doctor was surprised that the Master had allowed this. One would think his massive ego got in the way, but this seemed to be a new side of him.

There was a large crowd there to watch as the veil was drawn away from the machine created by Lazarus Labs.

"This will change what it means to be human," Professor Lazarus stated before he entered the machine.

"You gave them alien technology," the Doctor groaned as the machine fired up. It was whirring and creating all sorts of light and noise, and for a moment it looked in danger or exploding, and the Doctor was about to lose his head until it finally stopped. Out walked a young Professor Lazarus, and the crowd gasped. The Doctor was no less shocked.

"What have you done," he whispered.

"Changed what it means to be human," the Master murmured. "Now your precious race can live forever. Are you not pleased? It's a gift to you."

"No. No, I don't believe for a second that you did this for the sake of humanity," the Doctor sneered at him. "Tell me what you are planning. You promised to tell me."

The Master wasn't getting the reaction he liked. He might as well not sugar-coat it. He took the Doctor's hand, not allowing the man to run off. "Very soon I am going to get myself elected Prime Minister of this country. By then, the Lazarus Machine will be commercially available everywhere. I will make sure of it. While it makes the human younger, it also turns them into sleeper agents that can be activated at my command. I will already be in a position of power, and I will make them turn to me for salvation."

The Doctor didn't believe what he was hearing. He backed away, shaking his head in disbelief. "You can't. I won't let you."

"Oh, yes you will. You will help me, even," the Master said.

"Never."

"Look, you knew this when we got together, that I am going to burn in a special Hell; a special Hell they reserve for child molesters and people who talk at the theatre. You knew what you were getting into. Do you think you can turn me down now?"

"I was supposed to change you," the Doctor said, horrified.

"Exactly." The Master smirked. "Are you giving up simply because I am trying to take over the world? That's like saying someone is too much of a criminal to go to jail."

"Excuse me?"

"It makes perfect sense if you think about it. And you can't hear it, but I am getting an epic drum beat in the background right now."

The Doctor was confused, but more than anything he was appalled at himself for letting this happen. He could have stopped the Master at any given point, but he had been too blinded to see it coming. The Master pulled him closer by his wrist, leering at him.

"Come on, Doctor. I am going to need someone to pose as my pretty wife. Can't be Prime Minister if I am unmarried, can't I?"

"So you can relive your little fantasy?" the Doctor sneered. "Play house?"

"Mostly to piss off America."

The entire room was busy fawning over Professor Lazarus. If the Master had been in any situation to look at him, he would have remarked upon how the young Lazarus looked curiously like the Real Sherlock's Real Brother. This dimension had it all wrong. However, he was busy forcing the Doctor into his embrace, and only one thing in the entire fabric of reality could have stopped him. That thing arrived with a familiar vworp vworp.

He couldn't believe it at first. The surging, grinding noise of screeching brakes took everyone's attention away from the future of humanity, and it began to materialize as quite real. It was like a wedding so long ago. The crowd parted to give room to something that materialized in the middle of the floor. It was big, it was brilliantly blue and the Master had never thought he would lay eyes on it again. He let go of the Doctor, of the impostor, and he staggered forward with open mouth and eyes like saucers. Napkins and paper was whirring through the air in a flourish around the tall, very solid police box. Complete silence rang throughout the room, and the doors swung open.

He was slinky, he was dressed in a tailcoat and a top hat, and he was leaning on a sonic cane. He smiled with self-satisfaction and straightened his bowtie with hands that wore white gloves. He had never looked more gloriously alive and stylish.

"There will be dancing, right? I only go to parties for the dancing."

The Master's knees buckled. He was going mad. Mad. Mad. Mad. But no, for only the Real Doctor could twirl his cane around and walk into his private scandal with such nonchalance and flair. "Doctor..." He couldn't find words, nor could anyone else. Hell, no one else existed at that moment. The Master carefully stepped closer to Eleven, as if he was afraid that he was an apparition or a ghost that would vanish at any given moment.

"You're alive."

"Yes, I'm alive; of course I'm alive. There's no way I could be not alive, silly." He reached a hand out for the Master. "What did you think the Teselecta was for?"

The Master rubbed the back of his hand furiously at his eyes, sneering at the floor as he fought joy. "You're alive," he said, half choked and quiet.

"Yes, we already clarified that," Eleven said, reaching out to take his hands. "And now we are going back to our own dimension before this gets any more dangerous, hm?"

The Master swatted him away before he gave him a flat hand across the face. It echoed throughout the room. "You're alive, you fucker!"

Eleven staggered back, clutching his cheek. "Ow. Yes, well, could we talk about this when we are not in danger of ripping the fabric of the universe apart?"

The Master was snarling through barred teeth, and he was struggling between the urge to bite the Doctor and going with him. He would do both; it was simply a question about in which order.

"Don't."

The Master looked back. Ten had grabbed him by the elbow and was looking at him with determination.

"Don't go with him," Ten said.

Eleven frowned, still smiling but dangerously so. "Oh come on, Doctor. You know you don't stand a chance against the Doctor."

The Master shook his arm free. "Sorry," he told Ten. "You're not him."

Ten looked like a kicked puppy in serious inner turmoil. He was losing the one person that cared about him, and in turn he was losing every grip on what was right or wrong. He had been able to watch the man he cared for walk away once, but he could not let it happen again.

"I'll help you," he said bitterly. The Master stopped in his tracks. "I will help you take over the world."

The Master's eyes gleamed. "What do you have to offer against that, Doctor?" he asked Eleven. More than anything he loved that the two were fighting over him.

Eleven snorted. "I am not helping you take over this world any more than I would let you take over mine."

"Yes." The Master's lips curled with displeasure. "You rejected that notion a long time ago." He took Ten's hand.

Eleven couldn't believe what he was seeing. "You are married to me. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Tough luck. I also want the world."

Eleven's lips became a thin line. He couldn't meet that demand, though he ransacked his brain for a way around the situation. "Then I have to stop you."

He hadn't even raised his cane before Ten had pushed the Master back and whipped out his screwdriver. "You of all should know better than to threaten someone I care about, Doctor."

"You know, I used to enjoy having more of me around," Eleven said. "But you're really not very flattering."

Ten replied with a deadpan expression. "I suggest you take your fancy suit and cane back where you belong, because this stopped being funny a long time ago." There was a fire burning in his eyes, a willingness to fight tooth and claw until there wasn't a shred left of him capable of protecting the man he cared for. "If he doesn't want to go with you, I swear there is no power in the universe that would let you take him."

The Master raised a brow at Eleven. He had nothing to add to that. He was certain that at the moment, Ten could move planets with his intensity alone. In fact, Eleven took a step back, putting a hand on the doorframe of the TARDIS. His smile was forced in place, but his eyes were dark with a promise that this was not over.

"I can only say that I am very disappointed in you, Doctor. You don't know what you have gotten yourself into." He couldn't fight them both at once.

Ten said nothing. His screwdriver was pointing unflinchingly at Eleven, his expression was void of waiver. He was radiating a sort of nobility that Eleven could only dream of, and the Master was soaking it up as he watched Eleven step backwards into the TARDIS and vanish. Only when the final noises of the TARDIS were gone did the crowd begin to chatter wildly.

The Doctor eased up a little, and his hair fluttered with the last winds of the vanished time machine. He lowered the screwdriver, but his eyes were still fixed at the point where the TARDIS had been. He did not know what he had signed up for, but he would go through with it. He had made his decision and he would stand by it.

The Master wrapped his arms around the Doctor's waist from behind. He brushed his lips against the rock-steady Doctor's ear and he whispered. "Take me now."

The Doctor turned his head to look at him, and then he took the Master by his elbows and dragged him out of the hall. In the first private room he found, he bent the Master over a desk and gave him exactly what he wanted. The Master wanted the Doctor to fuck him until he cried. They didn't exchange a word until the Master was a quivering mess in the Doctor's arms, exactly as he liked it.

"You and I," the Master said, breathless and laughing between shivers. "Together we can heal the world, and rule it." He closed his eyes and leaned his head on the Doctor's shoulder. He was smiling. It was terrifying. If the world could have seen his confidence and satisfaction at this point, it would have surrendered.

XXX

In the time that followed, the Master spent a lot of his days reflecting. He was running for Prime Minister again (after getting rid of all the humans that had witnessed the argument), and he knew he was retracing old steps. Surely this wasn't necessary, but it was occurring to him that perhaps he had a desire to be stopped.

More importantly, it was starting to sink in that the Real Doctor was alive. He hadn't died on that nightmarish day at the beach in Utah. It wasn't his body that he had set alight and returned to the fabric of Time and Space. He was too angry to be happy about it, and whenever he began to miss Eleven he always had Ten at hand.

With Ten on his side he should have been overconfident about winning. Two Doctors was fine for a short time, but in the end he was probably going to be so very fucked, and not in a good way. He hadn't won yet, and he would have to be careful. His imminent success was mind numbing, and so was Ten's head resting on his shoulder while he tried to sleep, unable to because of a particular drumming partying in his head. It was as if the noise got worse whenever he tried to be rational about something.

He looked down from the ceiling when he felt Ten's hand stroking his cheek. Their eyes met, and he really didn't need to ask what was troubling the Doctor. He could feel the question in his lingering gaze, and he stroked Ten's hair and made a soothing noise. "Shh. Go to sleep, or I'll fuck you until you regenerate," he purred.

Ten raised a brow. "Would you like that?"

The Master had a feeling that the right answer wasn't "yes." Instead, he replied "no. It's a figure of speech. I just invented it, so I should know."

Ten settled back down. The Master had resigned to the fact that this was a long shot, but Ten was honestly worried. How adorable. He stroked a finger up Ten's cheek and murmured softly to him. "You don't know the reason why I regenerated last time. I was this old, useless geezer. Then you showed up. The tenth incarnation. You were young and handsome, and I wanted to be all of that," he said. Languidly, he ran his tongue up the Doctor's cheek before kissing his forehead, possessive. "I am this for you. If you saw the fuzz I made when Eleven came around, you wouldn't worry for a second."

"It's not about incarnation, though. You don't belong in this dimension," Ten said quietly.

"It's alright," the Master whispered, stroking and soothing the man in bed with him. "You're my Doctor."

He would allow them both to believe that for now, if only so he could enjoy one last attempt at seizing the world and everything he ever wanted, when in fact he was deathly afraid of what the Real Doctor would do to him. It was part of the thrill. Forcing the Doctor to fight himself made his blood boil, only to soon after become ice in his veins as he imagined the aftermath.

He held Ten tightly to him, eyes narrowed and face set as he contemplated to the sound of continuous drums. Eleven would see that he hadn't changed, and he would be locked up or worse. He wasn't going to allow that again, whatever the cost.

While as he and Ten got through another pensive night on Earth, Eleven was landing his TARDIS on a planet far, far away. It was a regeneration since he set foot on Gallifrey. He had his first kiss with the Master lying in the red grass of these fields. Everything had been cruel and rough when they started off, but it had changed; for a long while he thought that the Master had as well. This conflict was his own fault for leaving the Master out of his plan, but nothing should have been able to drive them this far apart.

He wondered if they would ever have been capable of it; living on Gallifrey together. They had been able to dream, all that time ago. He was a Time Lord; able to go anywhere, anytime, and yet there was no going back.

He walked through the silent halls within the Citadel of the Time Lords, in the Mountains of Solace and Solitude. He could clearly see the silver trees in the distance, the fields underneath the amber sky. He wouldn't have set foot here again if it wasn't for the one person he knew would help him. Deep inside the Citadel he found an old man by himself. His hair was white as snow, and his fingers fumbled with the pen he used to scratch down writings in Gallifreyan. The stacks of books that surrounded his desk were taller than him, and even in the robes of a Time Lord he didn't come off as someone powerful. He was an antique, a remainder from the past that had been put away to be forgotten.

The Doctor recognized him, though they hadn't ever met. He had seen this face at the very end of the universe, when the last hours of time were ticking away and this mild, caring man was humanity's only hope of escaping tragedy. Then he had remembered who he was, and everything had gone wrong. The Doctor leaned on the doorframe, unable not to look fondly upon him.

"Hello, you," he said with his smile askew and eyes gleaming. "It's time we met, Architect." The Architect looked up at him, brows knitted and old eyes full of wondering. "I'm the Doctor."

It would take some clarification. He certainly gave the old man a fright, but he invited himself inside, sat down and started explaining.

"I came here from another universe. I know; you don't have to tell me what that might do to the poor old girl, but I am chasing another Time Lord. He came here who knows how long ago and now he is threatening Earth. He tends to do that."

"Earth, you say." The Architect slid aside the leaf-thin papers on his desk, until he found a map of a vaguely familiar galaxy. "I have been there, a very long time ago. Yes, we visited several times." He looked as if he'd rather not think about it. The furrow between his brows deepened, and he looked up at the Doctor. "What does any of this have to do with me?" he asked.

The Doctor was certain that the Architect was trying to read him, see through him and find out what their history was in this other dimension; if it was anything like this world. The Doctor had a dilemma of his own. In the end, he decided that the Architect had no need to know about his other, insane self. It wouldn't do anyone any good. "This Time Lord who escaped from my dimension calls himself the Master. He has caused nothing but trouble his entire life, throughout the entire universe." No offense, but it was the truth. "It's not going to be any different here. I want to reason with him, to talk to him and make him come back with me. I can make him listen, so long as he doesn't have the upper hand. Usually he doesn't, but your Doctor is helping him."

"'My' Doctor?" the Architect asked with equal amounts of disbelief and dread. "He would never do such a thing. He is a meddler, but he would never do anyone harm who didn't deserve it."

"Well just now, healing the world has become second to running rampant with the Master," the Doctor insisted. He was getting impatient. "Once the Master has taken over Earth, he will use it as a launching pad for an invasion that will cover every corner of the universe. I know because he has tried it before, only this time I have to fight both him and me. Wouldn't you want to stop me, him, from making my or his worst mistake ever?"

The Architect stared at him as he tried to make sense of this, and then he shook his head. He understood well enough, but the past was too painful. "The Doctor, both you and him, do whatever you like. This isn't your dimension. Go back and play hero where you belong." He waved the Doctor off, wanting him gone from the room. The Doctor pursed his lips and got up.

"Fine. Fine, do as you like you... you lazy excuse for a Time Lord. As exciting as you are, I wonder why I ever left you." He wasn't sure how much sense that made himself, and he really wished the other Doctor had been the eleventh incarnation as well; they understood each other a lot better.

"Doctor."

The Doctor paused on his way out and looked back over his shoulder. The Architect had a stern, tired expression that was sure of its conviction.

"The Doctor, you and him both, will always do the right thing. If this Master is as bad as you say, I don't see a reason why he won't realize his mistake and fight alongside you."

"Yes, that's all very nice and flattering of you," the Doctor said without looking appreciative. "But he has a reason, and that reason is love. The Doctor is a silly old man who will always do anything in his power for someone he loves."

This made the Architect shut up. He got uncomfortable as he tried to hide his true reactions, and finally he caved in. "The Doctor loves him?"

"Whether he realizes it or not, he surely must," the Doctor replied and tried very hard to ignore the irony of his words. He was quite sure that the Architect was onto him, too. How unfair for him that both Doctors should want to be with someone else than him. Nevertheless, what was important were the lives at stake. The Architect's regrets—if he had any—would have to wait.

The Architect rose from his chair and let out a sigh. He went into a drawer, finding a slim box that he ran his fingers over. "It's been a long time since I was on any sort of adventures. I don't know if I can hold up in a fight on my own anymore."

"Nonsense. You look amazing. You might want to bring a pair of glasses and a cane, but you'll be just fine. Besides, I'll be at your side and together we a very likely, possibly, to be capable of talking them down."

"No." The Architect opened the box and took out his screwdriver. It had collected dust for some time, but it was the exact same design as that the Master used. This, the Doctor found, was slightly disconcerting.

"No?" he asked, still considering the screwdriver. The Architect passed him in the doorway and went out in the hall. He followed. "What do you mean, 'no'? That doesn't even make sense."

"'No' as in I will not waste my breath on an interdimensional troublemaker. I'm going to talk my Doctor, as you call him, into reason and I don't need you there." He pressed a button on his screwdriver, which lit up and summoned the Architect's TARDIS. It was a black, sleek thing that appeared right before them and opened up.

"No. No, no that's not how we accomplish anything. We have to meet them together. You're being insane, and trust me, you don't have a good track record with insane."

"I told you to go back to your own dimension, and I meant it," the Architect said. He shook the Doctor off and vanished inside his TARDIS. The Doctor let out an unseemly curse as it soundlessly dematerialized, and then he ran down the hall to get back to his own time machine. The Architect was far more like the Master than he had anticipated. If this became any worse, the Architect would join them rather than stop them. It was no doubt in his nature. The Master's plot would have to end one way or another, regardless of whether the Doctor liked the outcome.

XXX

As Prime Minister the Master could ensure the distribution of the Lazarus Machines throughout Britain, and the rest of the world had begun opening up to the idea as soon as they saw the perfect results they were achieving. As for his actual duties... While he was waiting for his massive airborne fortress to be finished, he had taken the Doctor and escaped to the countryside. They were sitting on an old pier on the coast of Sussex, with no sign of civilization around them. White beach and cliffs were the only things within miles. The Doctor hadn't said much on the flight down there, or ever since he was elected.

"I think congratulations are in order," the Master told him. He was sipping a glass of champagne. The Doctor had declined.

"They didn't stand a chance to begin with."

"Because I'm clever," the Master said and pulled the Doctor closer to him with one arm. Ten's face was blank, void of any joy that the Master had been elected as Prime Minister. That wasn't how it was supposed to go, and the Master put his glass down. He took the Doctor's face in his hands and cooed at him softly. "Now see, I am confused. I was under the conviction that you were helping me, because we are going to stay together no matter what." He stroked the Doctor's hair out of his face, smirking up at him. He would have pressed on and asked if the Doctor didn't care for his happiness, but he seemed to have gotten through.

"Congratulations," the Doctor said and leaned in to kiss his cheek. It was stiff and without emotion, but it would do. The Master was frankly surprised of the things this other Doctor would do for him. The Real Doctor never would have strayed from the right path, no matter how alone he ended up.

"I don't see why you would go through the trouble of being elected when you could simply use your mind-control to make them distribute the machine," the Doctor said.

"It's a question of style," the Master said. He let go of the Doctor and reached down to remove his shoes and socks. Next he rolled up the legs of his trousers and the sleeves of his shirt. He stood up on the pier and undid his tie, letting the breeze that rolled in from the ocean carry it away. "Once I rule everything you'll get whatever you like," he said as he stared at the horizon with his hands folded behind his head. "We can heal the world, force it to perfection together."

"So long as you control it?" the Doctor asked.

"Exactly. Now, take your shoes off."

The two of them wandered the shore together until the sun set. It was dark by the time they returned to the pier and finished off the champagne, and the Master was relieved to see that he could make the Doctor smile and forget about the horrors they were about to inflict upon the world. Only for a little while. The moon was high above them by the time they returned to the summer house, just up a narrow path from the beach.

The house was located on a bit of a cliff with a view of the ocean. There was a lonely rock on the very tip of the cliff, a black monolith framed in blue light by the moon. In the dark it took a moment before they realized it was entirely out of place. The Master barely ducked in time to avoid a scorching orange laser, which shot past his ear and singed an unfortunate hawthorn behind them.

"Really?" the Master said as he picked himself up and dusted off his trousers. The Doctor had whipped out his screwdriver, and he used it to illuminate the little path they were on.

Out of the shadows stepped a familiar face. Too familiar. It was like being haunted by one of his past reflections. As soon as he recognized the Architect, the Master had his own screwdriver at the ready.

"What are you doing here?" the Doctor asked. It was obvious that he hadn't expected him to show up. The Architect was the last person to give him any sort of solace.

"I came to tell you what an idiot you're being," the Architect said with scorn directed at the Master. "This is a renegade Time Lord from another dimension. What, after he failed at destroying his own world, you're going to help him destroy ours? I thought I was the one who gave up too easily."

"You left!" the Doctor accused him. He might as well be staring at a ghost.

"Our past has nothing to do with what you're about to do to this planet," the Architect said, mournfully so. His eyes softened just a little. "You look well."

The Doctor faltered, and the Master lost his patience. He pushed the Doctor to the side.

"Very nice to finally meet you, Architect, but you ruined a perfectly good evening," he sneered. "Just die." Before anyone could react, he had shot the Architect down with a single beam from his screwdriver. It wasn't going to be done so quickly, and he stepped forward to finish the job when the Doctor ran past him and fell to his knees by the Architect.

"What have you done?" he yelled at the Master.

"He's not dead yet," the Master huffed and crossed his arms. "It was a warning shot."

Golden light began to illuminate the body of the Architect. The Doctor carefully laid him back down and backed away, not without glaring at the Master. He took a firm grip of his arm.

"You are not killing him."

"Sorry, Doctor. I just can't afford him meddling," the Master said. It was now or never. If he let him regenerate, there would be no stopping him. He hefted his screwdriver, but the Doctor seemed to have his mind made up.

"If you kill him, I'll leave."

The Master paused to consider his options. "But you won't let him talk sense into you, will you?" he asked. "No matter what happens now?"

"I won't," the Doctor said, pleading.

It was too late, at any rate. There was an explosion of golden light that knocked them both off their feet. By the time the light subsided, the Doctor was speechless and unable to tear his eyes away from the Architect's new appearance.

"When were you going to tell me?" he asked quietly.

"Come. If you want him to live, then we are getting out of here now. He won't be following us for some time, but he is going to be a problem." The Master hauled the Doctor to his feet, away from the Architect who was slowly coming to. The regeneration had left him weak, and this was their little window away from a man who would be invincible for the next hours. He took the Doctor by his hand and dragged him away.

The Doctor looked back, and in the dark he could see the outline of the Architect's new features. He looked exactly the same as the Master, except for his dark hair. This was in no way a coincidence.

"Look, it changes nothing," the Master insisted. "The Architect abandoned you, but I am a different version; the one that wants you by my side."

The Doctor did not seem convinced, but he said nothing. He was worried for the Architect, and it was becoming more and more difficult for the Master to get through to him. Leaving the Architect out in the dark did nothing to ease his conscience.

XXX

They reached the final stage of the Lazarus Experiment. The Master had gotten the Valiant rebuilt from memory, which would play an essential part in his plan. This massive airborne aircraft carrier would be the perfect fortress from where to initiate the chaos. He had set up a wireless transmission with isometric controls that would allow him to activate the sleepers. Everyone who had been subjected to a Lazarus Machine would be turned into a weapon under his command. Ten was there with him, and he was trying to ease the poor Doctor's nerves.

"It will only be a demonstration. What would I do with some mountains of human corpses, anyway?" the Master said in an attempt at reassurance. "I can just as easily deactivate the sleepers, as soon as the world has seen the power I have over the human race."

The Doctor wished he could believe that. The Master saw that he didn't. The two of them were sitting in a window in the control room. The Master had left the guards outside. He stroked the Doctor's hair, traced his fingers down his neck almost lovingly.

"Isn't there anything I can do to make you stop?" the Doctor asked quietly. "Nothing else could possibly satisfy you?"

"Nothing," the Master murmured against the Doctor's ear. He kissed him with a soft chuckle, then nuzzled into the back of his head. "Mmh. Besides, what would I do in this dimension if I gave up on this? You wouldn't want me to leave, would you?"

"I'd hoped you had at least one reason to stay."

"Oh, absolutely," the Master assured, taking the Doctor's chin in hand. "But I have a reason for going back that's just as good. It evens out."

The Doctor still didn't ask outright who he'd rather be with. The Master liked it that way. He wasn't sure what his answer would be. He cooed at the Doctor and was about to kiss him again when a very familiar noise caught their attention. A distinct vworp vworp filled the room. The Master feared it would be the Architect returning for a rematch, but it was worse. The TARDIS that appeared in the control room was a blue police box.

Eleven was back, and he stepped out of the time machine looking prepared for a final battle. He would fight to his last breath before he let the Master destroy life on earth.

"Look who's back," the Master said through gritted teeth. He got up, striding up in front of Eleven with Ten at his side.

"I've come to give you one last chance," Eleven said. "Don't make me stop you."

The Master had to laugh. "Really?" he asked. "Really? You know you can't defeat us both. Now, I am not going to kill you, Doctor. If I were, it would have happened a very, very long time ago. On the other hand, I can make you watch Earth's des—"

"I am not helping you fight him," Ten said.

"What?" The Master whirled on him with a sneer. He couldn't hear his own thoughts for the enraged noise in his head. "You couldn't have chosen a better time to betray me? One where I wasn't this close to winning?"

Ten looked at him with the sort of hopelessness than only he could portray. He had tried, but he could no longer pretend that he was capable of betraying the Earth. He'd given up. Just like that. The Master snarled, taking a step away from him and towards the control panel. He looked from Eleven to Ten and back again.

"Do you think I don't have the advantage still?" He felt behind him for the control panel. "I can turn a third of the human race into killing machines with a simple command. I already conquered this planet! They just don't know it yet."

"Master, don't," Ten began, but Eleven broke him off.

"If you stop this now, everything can be as it used to, before you thought I was dead. We can travel again, just you and me. You can see Amy and Rory again. You miss them, don't you?"

The Master gritted his teeth. His fingers had found the keyboard. If he only typed in the command, the planet would be one big massacre.

"Or you could come with me," Ten insisted. "You said so yourself, I am your Doctor."

"He married me," Eleven huffed at Ten.

"Maybe he's tired of the abnormally huge chin. I really hope my next incarnation won't have that."

"I have some bad news for you," Elven said.

"Will you both quit it?" the Master asked. "There is something you both can do to stop a global bloodbath." He waited until he was sure that he had their rapt attention, and then he pointed to Eleven. "Kiss him," he told Ten.

The Doctors blanked, and then they looked at each other with hesitation.

"Nothing against this very diplomatic way of solving things, but honestly there's a time and a place for that sort of—"

Eleven never got to finish. Ten was very insistent about coming out on top of this, and he grabbed Eleven by his lapels and swung him around in a kiss so intense he found himself on the floor flailing. At any later time he would deny just how mind-blowing this experience was. When Ten was finished with him and let go of him, he was dishevelled and wondering what the hell just hit him.

He looked up with big eyes, and both he and Ten saw the Master at the control panel, typing in the last bit of the command. The sleepers were activated. He looked at the two Doctors, apologetic. "I just can't resist if given the choice." So many lives depended on this one little command, and he was the deciding factor as to whether they would live or die. At the moment he activated the sleepers, he was a god. He was a god and he had to kill, murder, maim, kill.

It didn't take long before they heard the screams rising up from the city below them. Those who had been subjected to the Lazarus Machine were transforming into massive scorpion-like mutations who fed on the life source of all living things around them. In all parts of the world, the sleepers were being activated in an instant. Countless people would die every second.

Ten ran up to the Master, taking him by the front of his jacket. "Tell me what to do and I'll do it. Just stop this madness now!"

"You can't force me," the Master hissed.

"You'll find that we can."

The Architect had joined them, appearing from the TARDIS with his screwdriver at the ready.

"Oh, great. Now you choose to pop out and contribute," Eleven said. "Much use you are as reinforcements."

"Hopefully now you both see him for the genocidal psychopath that he is," the Architect said. "And neither of you will get in my way. Stand away from him, Doctor." He was ready to shoot at the Master, but Ten was still holding onto him. He refused to let go and give the Architect a clear shot. The Architect's jaw clenched and he tried to ignore the pure hatred he felt for this crazed version of himself that somehow could do whatever he liked and still have the affection of both Doctors.

"Good luck stopping this without me," the Master said. "The controls are isometric."

"I'll trust we have the same DNA. I said stand away, Doctor."

"We won't solve this by killing him."

"That's exactly what we will, now stand away!"

Ten was relentless. The Architect boiled over and he fired anyway. In a split second the Master grabbed Ten and pulled him away with him, just as Eleven tackled the Architect. The Master and Ten got out of the way of the laser, which passed by them and hit the control panel. It blew up, followed by some noises throughout the ship that were in no way good. The whole deck shook. Very slowly the ship began to lose altitude.

"Lovely," the Master muttered. "You doomed us all."

"Hello. TARDIS," Eleven reminded them. A TARDIS which was now beginning to slide across the floor as the ship cantered. They threw themselves out of the way as the TARDIS caught speed and crashed into the far wall. They were all thrown after it, and the Master took his chance to get his own screwdriver and attack the Architect with purpose. They fell on top of each other behind the control panel, ending in a fierce struggle that sent laser beams cutting through the walls and the ceiling.

Eleven had nearly been knocked unconscious, but he found himself right next to the TARDIS. He grabbed onto it as he felt the ship begin to canter the other way after a series of explosions on the lower floors. They were in a rocking boat and might as well have been at sea in a storm. He made an effort to assess the damage once he managed to hold himself up straight.

The control panel was completely destroyed. There was no way they could disable the sleepers from here. The ship was closing in on the ground, and if they survived the impact they would be surrounded by mutations programmed to kill.

Ten was making an effort to stop the Master and the Architect from fighting, but another violent tremor shook the ship and he was thrown off. A shower of debris rained down on him, and Eleven cursed himself before he ran to help him out. They had the TARDIS. If they only stopped fighting, they could...

"Master?"

The Master was next to him, helping him dig through the debris. He had cuts and singes all over. Eleven looked over his shoulder to see the Architect lying limp on the floor.

"If we can just get back to the TARDIS, I can fix this," the Master insisted. "Just help me get him out!"

There was an honest desperation in his voice, and Eleven helped move the debris and drag Ten out from under it. He was coughing and shaking, but as soon as he saw the Architect he pulled himself together.

"No."

He scrabbled across the floor, not listening to a single word from the Master. He crawled to the Architect, who had taken a direct hit with the laser. He was dying. They all were, but by the looks of it, the Architect would be the first to go.

"It takes more to kill a Time Lord," Ten said through gritted teeth. "Architect." He scooped him into his arms. "Architect, you're not going to die here."

"Looking like him? I'd rather be dead," the Architect muttered. "And besides..." He struggled with his words.

"Hush. Hush, don't say anything. You can regenerate. Why aren't you regenerating?" Ten asked. He stroked the Architect's face, unable to do anything and it was tearing him apart.

"I already lost what's most important," the Architect said. He coughed blood. He wouldn't last another minute. "Go with them."

"I couldn't. Don't... I forgive you, do you hear me? I forgive you!"

The Architect was already gone. Ten lowered his head so neither Eleven nor the Master could see his face. Ten's shoulders were shaking. That they were going to crash and burn seemed insignificant now. The Master was glad that the Architect had at least never gotten a chance to reveal that he was the one who split the two of them. He felt Eleven's hand on his shoulder and looked up.

"Let's get out of here," he said and went to open the doors of the TARDIS.

"But the Doctor..."

Eleven looked at him sternly, waiting by the door without a word. The Master couldn't for the life of him believe what he was seeing, and he turned around and went for Ten.

"Come with us," he said, grabbing Ten by the shoulder. "Let go of him and come with us."

Ten said nothing. He was tired beyond the struggles of that day and the time he'd spent with the Master. Every day since the Architect left him had been a trial. When he had finally been able to forget his hurt, he'd fallen victim to the Master and everything had gone wrong.

"We'll figure something out. If you stay here, you die," the Master insisted. He didn't want that to happen. He'd have both of them if he could have his way, but even if it simply meant taking Ten to safety, then he wanted Ten on the TARDIS with them for one last trip before he left this dimension.

"You made me live again. If only for a little while," Ten said. "But you just cause pain and death in the end."

"So you'd rather die?" the Master asked. "What sort of fucked up decision is that?" he demanded.

"You killed him," Ten said quietly and turned away from him.

Eleven took him by his wrist, and he dragged the Master away. Flames were welling up around the ship and smoke was making its way through the smashed windows. They had seconds, and Eleven hauled the Master back to the TARDIS. The Master fought and kicked, refusing the fate that Ten had chosen.

When the door locked behind them, he sank down along it to sit on the floor as the Doctor dematerialized them. The last thing they heard before the silence of space was a massive explosion all around them. The Master visibly winced, and after that there was only the soundless nothingness of empty space all around them.

They were adrift for some time before the Doctor even tried to approach him. The Master hadn't moved a muscle, but sat with his head leaned against the door. The Doctor kneeled down next to him and regarded him mournfully.

"Did you love him?" he asked.

The Master looked up with sore, red eyes. "I think so." He rubbed his face with the palm of his hand. "I don't know if it's just because he was you or not."

"You were cruel to him," the Doctor said. "And what you did today is unforgiveable."

"I can still fix it."

"Then I suggest you do so."

The Master got up slowly. He moved around the Doctor and went up to the TARDIS console. He had been thinking of this for some time. It was a small consolation, if nothing more. He had a choice between two terrible fates, but he could alter what had happened today.

"What are you doing?" the Doctor asked, joining him at the console.

"I am sending a message through space and time," the Master said. "It will change history so that none of this will have taken place. It shouldn't affect the two of us if we hurry back to our own dimension."

"I see." The Doctor hesitated to ask just what he was going to send. "The Architect sure surprised me, though. He's nothing like you, after all."

"Then maybe you don't know me all that well," the Master replied. "I was ready to do the exact same rather than to be locked up in your TARDIS. The Architect would rather die than continue a life without meaning." He'd seen how his Doctor had come to care more for the Master.

Self-conscious, the Doctor cleared his throat. "Just exactly what are you going to change?"

The Master finished the message and paused with his finger on the "send" button. He glanced to the Doctor, wondering what he would think of this. "I am sending the secret of time travel to the Daleks."

"You're... Excuse me, what?"

The Master pressed the send button. The Doctor's panic came on a second too late.

"What, what did you just do?" the Doctor yelled, tearing at his hair. "Have you even considered the consequences of this? This means they will have a Time War in this dimension as well. You just destroyed Gallifrey!"

"Technically, you destroyed Gallifrey," the Master corrected him. "But the Architect will hear the drums. He will go insane. He and the Doctor will fight for millennia."

"And that's what you call 'fixing' it?"

"They'll end up together, like they were supposed to."

The Doctor struggled to find a good argument, flailing and gesturing towards nowhere in particular. "You destroyed Gallifrey!"

The Master remained calm and collected. "What's important is that we're together." He turned away from the screen to face the Doctor. "What happens to us?"

"We'll discuss that when we get back to our own dimension," the Doctor snapped at him. He pushed the Master aside and got to the controls. The Master watched with his hands in his pockets as the Doctor relocated the hole in reality, and before he knew it they were back in their own dimension. It almost felt foreign after all this time spent away.

His fingers automatically closed around a familiar strip of fabric in his pocket. "Home," he said softly. "As much as you can call it that."

Again they had no home planet, they had nowhere to go and he definitely didn't know what to do with himself without the Doctor.

"I have to ask," the Doctor said. "Why didn't you come home with me at once?"

The Master lowered his gaze to the floor. "I was angry, of course. I thought you were dead, so what was I supposed to do? I was going crazy all over again, so I left to find the one thing that could possibly make it better; you. Then you show up, all alive and smug. In fact, just thinking about it makes me want to give you a good smacking." He scoffed, clenching his fist. "So what do we do?"

"Well, you're obviously insane," the Doctor said. "And it's never going to stop."

The Master shook his head. "The noise is back and I can't... I don't know what I'll do next."

"I can't let you go, that much is clear." The Doctor placed his hands on either side of the Master's face. "But the noise is only your imagination this time. We made it go away before, we can make it go away again. I just hate to think you left your hearts back in that other dimension."

Slowly, the Master pulled out the ribbon from his pocket. It was worn and a bit singed from the last big battle, but it was no doubt a blue bowtie. "I never stopped thinking about you. Knowing he wasn't you... That drove me more insane than anything else."

"That's..."

"I kept it since the day on the beach in Utah. I went to a lot of trouble of getting it, so I wasn't going to lose it any time soon."

The Doctor's expression softened. He let the Master undo his current, red bowtie and replace it with the worn one that had bound them together as more than lovers. "One more go, then? Our next disastrous adventure can't possibly turn out any worse."

"You keep telling yourself that," the Master said. He reached up on his toes to kiss his Doctor. "And we never really finished the ceremony, did we?"

"Fair enough, but only if you promise never to run off again, even though I appear to be dead."

"Deal."

"And no more genocide."

"Darn."

They wrapped themselves in a more passionate kiss, finally enjoying the relief of their reunion. Two years had passed since they were married and separated. It was nothing compared to what they had endured before. Still they had spent more time as enemies than as lovers, and no doubt were there trials still ahead of them. Until the end of time they would find new ways of destroying what they had, but they would also rebuild it every time. They both knew that, and they didn't have to tell each other that they would take on the challenge whatever the cost.

Like this, enveloped in a tight embrace, they were able to finally whisper their true names to each other. There was no taking that back, and though events might get between them again, they would always find a way to return to this one point in time.

A/N: This is the end. It's been a really great run. I have loved writing this, and I appreciate all the positive feedback and constructive criticism I have recieved. I hope you who have enjoyed this will take a moment to leave a review, if only to share your thoughts on the ending or anything else you may feel like sharing. I am also thankful to you who leave me comments on my DeviantArt.

The 7th season of Doctor Who will start in some months. However, as it is I don't feel there is anything more that can or needs to be said in this story. This fanfic is the length of a book now, though the Doctor Who universe has endless possibilities.

Crossover featured in this chapter was the Asylum's Sherlock Holmes, a movie so bad it's good. The Doctor Who Classic scene is from season 8, and I hope those who have yet to see it might want to check it out.

Thanks to everyone who read this and particularly to my dear friend and partner in crime Fox, without whom I wouldn't have had the balls to write anything Doctor Who related. And to all you Whovians out there: enjoy season seven and everything thereafter!