A/N: Just a random idea that popped into my head and demanded to be written down! Hope you like it :)

DISCLAIMER FOR ANGRY PEOPLE WITH COPYRIGHT NOTICES: I don't own Doctor Who! I really don't _

DISCLAIMER FOR ANGRY CULINARY GENIUSES: I've never actually TRIED this, so I have no idea what would happen - I just guessed.

DISCLAIMER FOR EVERYONE: ...DON'T try this at home. :3

One day on the Valiant, during a long and boring week as they waited for parts of a nuclear warship to be completed, the Master bounded into the command room and announced that he was going to make dinner.

The Doctor raised his eyebrows disbelievingly. The Joneses exchanged worried looks. Lucy Saxon said nothing.

"What shall we have, then?" the Master mused as the guards brought several large boxes and a portable stove through the door. He opened one of the boxes and began rummaging through it.

"Raisins, flour, apples, ham sandwich," he said, throwing each item over his shoulder in disgust, "Err, what are these?" he held up a small jar of pickled eggs.

There was a pause. The Master tended to speak to the room at large, so nobody really knew who should answer him.

"They're eggs," the Doctor said carefully, "Pickled in vinegar."

"Hm." the Master shrugged and tossed the glass jar carelessly onto the table. It tipped onto its side and then rolled in a circle for a while, while the Master continued looking through the food.

The guards finished setting up the portable cooker, and left very quickly - apparently they didn't want to stick around for the Master to light the gas. Which was a pity, because it was quite a spectacular event.

"Now, then!" the Master said impressively, brandishing a frying pan, "This will be fun!"

He turned on the gas and lit four, (yes, all four) of the rings on top of the cooker, making sure they were at full heat. Positioning the frying pan in the middle, he found a full bottle of cooking oil, opened it, and turned it upside-down over the pan.

The Doctor considered making a remark about kitchen safety. Mr. Jones entertained the idea of stealing the pickled eggs while the Master was distracted, Mrs. Jones and Tish stood on the sidelines looking very concerned, and Lucy Saxon said nothing.

When the frying pan was practically overflowing with sizzling oil, the Master tipped the bottle up again and replaced the cap. Then he went back to the boxes, taking out various packets and jars and placing them on the table.

"This looks delicious," he commented, holding up a tin of black treacle, then rolling it across the table in Tish's direction, "Open it."

While Tish struggled with the tin and a butter knife, Mr. Jones cautiously asked, "Err, Mr. Saxon?"

"That's Master to you," the Master said, pulling open a packet of marshmallows, "What is it?"

"The frying pan is on fire!"

"I know," the Master said unconcernedly. He turned to the cooker, which looked in danger of catching fire itself from the violently blazing frying pan. He emptied some marshmallows into the pan, watching with an evil grin as it fizzled and smoked dangerously.

Mr. and Mrs. Jones watched with growing alarm as the Master selected several other ingredients and added them to the pan - namely; cornflakes, sardines, cinnamon and tomato ketchup. Tish momentarily paused in her treacle tin operation and looked around for a fire extinguisher. The Doctor sighed resignedly. Lucy Saxon said nothing.

Finally, the flames became so hot that they actually started singeing the ceiling (and the Master's eyebrows), so he turned off the heat and carefully smothered the fire using the Doctor's beloved trench coat.

"Hey!" the Doctor protested, "That's my coat! Janis Joplin gave me that!"

"Loves to gloat, doesn't he?" the Master muttered, chucking the now soot-blackened coat over his shoulder. Mrs. Jones caught it and gave it to the Doctor, who cried, "My coat is ruined!"

"There, there." she patted him on the shoulder.

"I got it open!" Tish said, going over to the Master and holding out the open tin of black treacle.

"Good, good," the Master took the tin and spooned some treacle into the frying pan, turning the heat on low.

"Uhh, I don't mean to be rude or anything," Tish said, looking at the sizzling black lumpy stuff at the bottom of the pan, "But what was the point of setting it on fire?"

"Setting things on fire is fun," the Master explained. "I set California on fire yesterday," he added in an offhand way, as if this was the sort of thing one did every day.

The frying pan started to spit angrily, and the Master apparently thought more marshmallows would help, so he tipped up the packet and let the rest of them fall in. The Doctor and Tish looked disgusted. Mr. Jones managed to grab the jar of pickled eggs without anybody noticing, Mrs. Jones folded her arms and muttered about how she was the one who would have to clean out the frying pan, and Lucy Saxon said nothing.

"Lucy, my darling," the Master said, turning away from the stove and walking over to her, "You're not saying much."

"There's nothing to be said," she replied deeply.

"I think there's quite a lot to be said," the Doctor interrupted, "Such as, 'Master, where on Earth did you learn to cook?'"

"Not on Earth," the Master said, "And stop complaining, it'll be absolutely fine."

"The frying pan's on fire again," Mr. Jones said casually.

The Master spun around, and found that it was. He reached for the Doctor's coat, but the Doctor hugged it to his chest and mumbled something unintelligible about Janis Joplin.

Luckily, Mrs. Jones happened to have a large dishcloth on her at the time, and quickly turned off the gas and doused the flames with it.

"Silly ape!" the Master tutted, "Now how are you going to clean the dishes?!"

"Oh, so it's alright if it's my coat..." the Doctor said loudly, "But if it's a dishcloth, Oooh no, dear me, can't have that!"

"Be quiet!" the Master snapped. He opened one of the boxes, found a banana and chucked it over to the Doctor, who immediately shut up.

"Honestly," the Master sighed, going back to the stove, "I won't get any cooking done at this rate."

"You call this cooking?" Tish muttered, but fortunately the Master didn't hear her.

Suddenly, the door opened and Jack Harkness collapsed into the room, closely followed by two guards.

"Sorry, sir, he escaped!" one of them said, bending down to handcuff the temporarily dead Jack, but the Master held up a hand.

"No, don't take him back - he can stay. Put him over there." he waved a hand at some chairs.

Jack came back to life just as the guards finished tying him to a chair.

"What the hell's been going on in here?" he asked, looking around at the numerous scorch marks and boxes of food.

"Our lord and Master has been orchestrating a culinary armageddon." Mr. Jones said sarcastically.

"I didn't know you humans were capable of using such long words," the Master said, adding some anchovies and milk to the frying pan and stirring it vigourously with a wooden spoon.

Jack raised his eyebrows and looked at the pan with disgust. "Is that supposed to be our dinner?"

"Yes," the Master said, "And if you don't be quiet, you won't get any of it."

Jack was about to say that he wouldn't really mind that, but at that moment, he was hit in the head by a banana skin.

"Hey!"

"Sorry," the Doctor said sheepishly, "I was aiming for the Master, but I missed."

The Master smirked and shook some salt into the frying pan. "Lucy, dear, fetch the plates."

Lucy obligingly went over to one of the boxes and took out a stack of plates and some cutlery. While she set the table and poured drinks, the Master untied Jack so he could eat with both hands. "Don't try to escape," he said, "We both know how that ended last time."

Jack huffed resignedly. 'Last time', he'd stolen a parachute while the Valiant was flying over the Great Wall of China and managed to jump out of a window. Unfortunately, the Master remotely disabled the chute, and Jack had to spend the next few weeks being stitched back together again. (The Master humming 'Humpty Dumpty' behind his back every day hadn't helped.)

When the table was set, the Doctor, the Joneses and Lucy sat down, and were all served helpings of dull, pinkish-grey slop by the Master.

"How is it?" he asked as they all took a spoonful.

"It's delicious," Lucy smiled her usual faraway smile.

"Do you really think so?" Jack raised an eyebrow at her over the table, "I think I understand why he likes you. It tastes awful."

Mrs. Jones made a face like she'd just swallowed a whole lemon. "I agree."

"It's, hmm, interesting," the Doctor said, polite as ever. "It's like a sort of... crunchy tomarshmallow fish pie. Not such a big fan of the treacle and cinnamon. And maybe less tomato..."

Mr. Jones frowned in concern at the Doctor. "I think it's absolutely disgusting."

Tish actually spat her mouthful back onto her plate. "Ugh, that's really, really bad," she coughed.

The Master pouted and took a spoonful of his own food. "Nobody appreciates my cooking," he muttered sourly.

"Don't worry, Harry," Lucy reached over and put an arm around his shoulder, "I do."

"Right," Jack said, "I definitely understand why he likes you."