Drabble, crack and fluff, written in dialogue, and all utter nonsense. The Doctor and the Master reminisce. It's kind of cute, at times, but hopefully not too obnoxious. Ten/Simm!Master; AU post-LoTL.

It's all been done before; really, I don't know why I bother. I haven't seen much of One, Six, or Seven, so please forgive the lack of anything particularly substantial on them. I've only seen Two in The Five Doctors, so I don't know him as well either. (However, the Master's comments aside, I am perfectly fond of him.)

Anyway, I own nothing, I make no profit, I have too much free time...etc.

"I never met Nine."

"Hmm?"

"It's only just occurred to me: I never met your ninth."

"Mm. My one brief respite, really."

"Don't be like that, you know you missed me."

"Think again."

"Oh, come on, Doctor. …Doctor? Doctor."

"Hmm?"

"It's no good pretending to ignore me, you know."

"I can try."

"Doctor?"

"Fine, what then?"

"What were you like?"

"When?"

"Your ninth."

"None of your business."

"I'm only curious!"

"...All right, all right. I was—I had really short, dark hair, and these huge ears. And a rather big nose, too, and these eyebrows that were great for scowling. I did a lot of that. But I had quite a nice smile."

"Hmm. Quite a jump from that to this."

"Well, yeah, it was, a bit. I used to wear jeans and this enormous, fantastic leather jacket. Awe, I loved that jacket! But when I regenerated and slipped it back on—well. It just didn't work."

"Hence the suit."

"What, you don't approve?"

"Oh no, you look lovely."

"There's no call to be sarcastic. You brought it up in the first place."

"So I did."

"…What? Have I got jam on my face?"

"I'm trying to picture you as you are now, in an enormous leather jacket—all thin as a rake, with your hair standing up on end... No wonder you switched to pinstripes. You must have looked like a loony, just escaped from the bin."

"Oh, thanks for that."

"My pleasure. Oh come on, don't be like that. We were talking together, weren't we? Progress."

"I was talking. You were taking the mickey."

"I've done worse things over the years. This is rather tame, to get your knickers in such a twist."

"My knickers are not in a twist."

"Hmm, let's see. First regeneration…a little odd-looking, that one."

"Hey!"

"Second—frightful."

"Hey! I was perfect! Well...not bad, anyway. Certainly not 'frightful.'"

"You were an eternally scowling, recorder-playing, short, dark Vulcan-type."

"Oi! My second regeneration was lovely, thank you very much."

"Try telling that to your third. Mmm, your third. Head up your ass most of the time, back then, but a he had a lovely voice, your third. I remember it with fondness, truly: soft, pleasant…erotic… Oh, Doctor, you're blushing!"

"I am not."

"Fourth—heaven help us."

"Don't even try; you were waxing ecstatic about my fourth, on Traken."

"I was a walking corpse, Doctor; the comparison doesn't exactly work in your favour. At that stage in my life, anything was a step up."

"Stick your nose in the air all you like, Master, I know you liked my fourth."

"Perhaps a little. It was a competent enough regeneration, certainly."

"Mm hmm. And on Logopolis, when I wrapped my arm around you to help you out from under all that rubble, and your heartrates went through the roof… Ah, now who's blushing? You near melted into my arms."

"Smug is not a look that becomes you, Doctor."

"You're right; much better on you."

"I beg your pardon."

"Sorry, sorry. Go on, then; you were saying?"

"Where was I?"

"We've established you fancied Four."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Far too many teeth in the smile, and far too much hair, and that get-up you ran about in!"

"Right, so we've established that you fancied Four and are repressing it. What about Five, then?"

"I am not repressing! And I shall prove it by saying, with absolutely no reservations, that I thought Five was quite attractive."

"That proves nothing, but never mind. Go on."

"Vain, aren't you?"

"You brought this up. I've simply resigned myself to listening to it all, so as not to hurt your feelings."

"Six—"

"I thought you were going to talk about my fifth!"

"Don't pout. Six was a bloody disaster."

"Never judge a man by his clothes, Master."

"And why should I not, when you so often changed the clothes to match the man?"

"Ouch!"

"Mm, you walked into that one, my dear Doctor."

"Oh, you haven't called me that in a long while..."

"Well, haven't you got a far-away look in your eyes? Care to take a turn in the reminiscing, then?"

"No, you haven't gotten through all my regenerations, yet."

"Seven. Hmm. Well, I suppose anything was an improvement on Six's circus tent look."

"I was colourful, and cheerful, and—"

"You were a bloody eye-sore. It was sometimes painful just to look at you. Was that your great plan after all, Doctor, to save the day by distracting your enemies with clashing colours?"

"I refuse to carry on this conversation if you're simply going to make fun."

"What'll you do instead, stick your fingers in your ears? Oh, get your nose out of the air, Doctor. Perhaps your ninth was able to carry off the haughty look, but your nose is too thin now to do much but cut butter."

"I'm going to drink my tea and read the newspaper."

"We haven't got one."

"Well, then I'm going to find a planet that does, and get one, and then I'm going to drink my tea and read it and ignore you."

"Oh, poor Doctor. I apologize. Come on, now, sit back down, I'll be good. There. More tea? ...What was that?"

"I said, 'Yes, thank you.'"

"That's not what it sounded like to me."

"Well, that's what it meant."

"Let's see...your eighth! Mm, yes, I remember that one...what? What?"

"Nothing."

"You're snickering at me!"

"No, I...wouldn't..."

"How dare you?"

"I'm sorry!"

"...It was hardly my fault, you know."

"I'm sorry! But you were just so damned ridiculous..."

"Hmph. Where's that newspaper?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll try not to...hey! That was my tea!"

"Tough it out, that's what you get for laughing."

"I'll put the kettle back on, then...oh dear! ...I'm sorry!"

"You laugh one more time and I'll smash the tea pot over your head."

"Right, no laughing. So, your absurd American body aside, what about my eighth?"

"I don't feel like telling you."

"Petulant doesn't look any better on you than smug does on me."

"But I still don't feel like telling you."

"Oh, Master, don't be like that. Come on. Master..."

"Get off me."

"You're smiling. I can see, right there, the corners of your mouth are turning up, and we call that a smile, you know, and what it means is..."

"Insufferable prat."

"You've nothing to worry about, you know: I've always loved you for your wonderful, demented mind, no matter what body it's housed in. ...And just as well, really..."

"As if you could ever criticize me, after Six."

"Yes, yes, Six was a fashion disaster, wasn't he, and you missed the 'quite attractive' Five very, very...very..."

"Get off me..."

"...much. Right?"

"...Yes... Wait a bit, what?"

"So tell me about Eight."

"Oh, all right, then. Very pretty. You know I've always liked velvet, and there was the long curly hair...yes, I quite miss the long curly hair. So soft, and I could twine my fingers around in it..."

"Well, I could grow mine out, but I'd look a twit."

"Yes, you would."

"So then. I've told you about my ninth. What about my tenth?"

"And the truth comes out. You, Doctor, are no less vain than I."

"Oh come on, indulge me."

"No, I'm tired of talking."

"But—but—but Master!"

"What if I just showed you instead?"

"...oh! Well, that would be all right then, I guess."