![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: One Last Time
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
unfeathered
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Simm!Master
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Word Count: 2087
Spoilers: End of Doctor Season 3 and Voyage of the Damned
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: After the year that wasn't and the incident on the Titanic, the Doctor realises he still has something he needs to say to the Master.
Beta: The absolutely wonderfulmad_jaks who has not only made this tons better than it was originally, but also kept poking me gently to actually get on with editing it. :-)
Author's Note: This came about following a conversation withsnowgrouse back in February which made me realise that I hadn't actually written any Doctor/Master fic apart from Master Plan - and therefore no Doctor/Master without Jack in the mix. It's taken me a while, but I’ve finished it at last. So this one's for snowgrouse.
It's not hard to find the Master in London in the late summer of 2007, despite the perception filter and the Master's general attempts to avoid drawing the Doctor's attention. The Doctor knows he's there, anyway. He just locates Lucy Cole and waits around near her house for the Master to bring her back after their date. He knows he will. The Master spent a year bragging about what a perfect consort he was, always escorting her home to Daddy instead of taking her to his own house. What a good boy he was. Protecting her purity. Not that she was particularly pure, but her Daddy didn't know that.
The Doctor skulks in the shadows a few doors down as they draw up in the Master's chauffeured Bentley. His heart is in his mouth as he watches the Master get out with Lucy, his first sight of the Master since he burned his body. It tears at the Doctor to see him now, whole and alive and actually looking a lot younger and happier now, near the start of his time on Earth, than he was on the Valiant, when the stresses of overseeing a complicated plan for universal domination had really begun to wear him down.
He watches the Master give Lucy a single chaste kiss on her cheek by way of farewell. Oh, he must be loving playing this part. He always did love employing self-restraint, the thrill of not letting himself be a slave to his body's demands.
The Master hands Lucy over to her father and returns to the car, obviously very pleased with himself. Then he pauses on the pavement, head tilted to the side as if listening, and the Doctor tenses, even as he feels himself smile. It's nice to know he's not completely invisible to the Master, that the Master can still sense him. He waits, leaning against the trunk of a tree in a deliberately casual pose, hands in his trouser pockets, feet crossed at the ankle, until the Master suddenly turns his head and looks straight at him.
"Doctor."
The Doctor smiles enigmatically, pushes himself upright and saunters towards him.
"Master."
The Master gives him a charming smile at the use of his name, and raises a lazy eyebrow. "Can I offer you a lift somewhere?"
He knew he could rely on the Master. "Thanks," he says genially.
"My pleasure." The Master opens the back nearside door and holds it for him with an expectant glance, and the Doctor swallows because, oh god, he's going to have to pass so close to the Master to get into the car. His sleeve brushes against the Master's jacket, in fact, as he climbs in, and he's shaking as he slithers across and settles into the back seat.
The Master folds himself into the seat beside him, then taps on the glass with a gloved hand for the driver to start the car. He leans back but looks out of the window rather than at the Doctor. "I wasn't expecting you just yet," he says conversationally.
Of course he wasn’t. For him, this is still the beginning of the game. He’s still enjoying himself, building his empire, laying everything in place for the fruition of his latest plan.
The Doctor knows this, but it hadn’t really sunk in until this moment. Suddenly he’s immobilised by everything that's happened since, everything he’s gone through, everything he's lost – Jack and Martha and Astrid – and being here with the Master after losing him too is just too much and the flippant answer he was planning sticks in his throat.
He didn't come here with the intention of changing history. Honestly he didn't. He was very careful to choose a time when he hadn't been on Earth himself, to avoid corrupting his own timeline. All he was planning on doing was spending some time with the Master. Not changing anything.
And yet the first words out of his mouth are a desperate plea, "Let me help you with the drums?"
He knows he couldn’t do it, even if – incredibly – the Master agreed. Because removing the drums with the purpose of stopping the year that never happened would be changing his timeline, and that would tear the universe apart. He can't afford to change anything. All he can do is visit the past, this fragile memory of the man who meant more to him, despite his flaws, than anyone else ever has or will do again.
It might be a non-starter as far as plans go, but it gets the Master to look at him. "What?" he says, politely incredulous.
"The drums. They're making you crazy. Making you do things you'd never have done before." Like choosing to die rather than be with me.
"What, like planning to take over the world? I think I've done that sort of thing a few times."
"No. Not that." He can't tell him. Can't say it. But maybe he doesn't need to.
The Master looks at him with narrowed eyes. "What exactly are you talking about?"
He knows, the Doctor's sure. He knows the Doctor's from the future. He can't possibly know exactly when, or exactly what's happened, but the fact that something's gone terribly wrong must be coming through loud and strong to someone who knows him as well as the Master does.
The Master's not going to ask, though, any more than the Doctor's going to admit it. They both know better than that. They have to preserve the timeline as much as they can.
"Just let me help you. Please, let me help you." He's begging now. There are very few people in the universe who can make the Doctor beg, but the Master’s always been able to do it. Even more so now they're the only two Time Lords left.
The Master shifts to lean a shoulder against the luxurious suede of the seat, arms folded, and studies him, looking curious and a little disturbed. "Why? Don't you love me just the way I am?"
The Doctor brushes that aside because it goes without saying. "It was a lot easier before you went completely barking mad."
"Oh, who wants easy?" The Master flicks impatient fingers. "Easy's boring."
He manages a grin at that. "For what it's worth, Master, you've never been easy."
"I'm glad to hear it." The Master reaches out a hand and trails his gloved knuckles down the side of the Doctor's face. "And you like it that way." Crinkles form around his eyes as he smiles, the backs of his fingers rubbing affectionately. "What's the fun in anything if you don't have to work at it?"
The Doctor’s breath catches at the touch. This may be little more than a ghost of the Master but it feels real, solid, here. He holds himself still, as if leaning into it would lose him that precious contact.
As in fact it might. The Master's mind works in perplexing ways.
He must have got it right because the Master doesn't take his hand away. In fact, he shifts closer, his hand opening to cup the Doctor's cheek as he leans across and brushes his lips across the Doctor's in the lightest of kisses. The Doctor's eyes flutter closed and his breath hitches again. Suddenly, his hearts are racing.
"Of course, you, on the other hand, are sometimes a little too easy," the Master says dryly, sitting back and taking his hand away, and the Doctor opens his eyes and stares – not in shock at the words, because he knows what the Master thinks of him: he heard it pretty much daily for a year – but in protest. Because he might be easy now but he wasn’t then, when it mattered. He stayed strong, he really did. He's only easy now, when it's too late, when he lies awake at night wondering desperately if staying strong was the right thing to do, if perhaps giving in might have led to the Master staying with him. Giving him that victory so he wouldn't have to take the only one he'd been able to, in the end.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he says, mouth dry.
The Master quirks an eyebrow. "What for?"
"Just… everything." He raises his eyes to the Master's again, desperate and pleading. "Touch me again? Please?"
The Master is starting to look seriously disturbed by his behaviour. But he graciously condescends to trail his knuckles down the Doctor's cheek again with a crooked little smile, then reaches to cup the Doctor's chin, fingers and thumb digging in hard as he holds the Doctor facing him.
The Doctor inhales sharply at the sudden pain, but manages not to flinch, just stares at the Master, letting him see all his despair, his loss.
"What’s happened?" the Master murmurs, eyes flicking back and forth in an apparent attempt to see both of the Doctor's.
The Doctor wrenches himself out of the Master's grasp and turns his head away. "I can't tell you that. You know I can't tell you that."
He fully expects the Master to try and get into his mind, to take the knowledge if he won’t give it freely, and he braces himself mentally, making his shields as strong as he can because if there’s anyone who can break through them, it’s the Master.
But the attack doesn’t come. Apparently, even the Master isn’t so far gone that he’ll dare to challenge the timeline. The Master just waits, watching him patiently, and in the end he can't bear it any longer. He looks back at the Master, almost glaring, and says fiercely, "Tell me you have a back-up plan. Please tell me you have a back-up plan?"
The Master… relaxes. He tilts his head, giving the Doctor an almost pitying look, as if he was a child in need of comfort. Which is, in fact, exactly what he feels like. "Oh, come now, Doctor. You know me. How can you imagine I don't have a back-up plan?"
He tries to cling to the reply, cling to hope, but it’s hard. Yes, the Master always comes back, but this time is different. He watched him die and he watched him burn, and it’s hard to believe he’ll come back from that. He has no idea how the Master could come back from that.
Because after all, even if he came back before, it was because he wasn’t completely gone – his pattern was stored in the Matrix. But now the Matrix is gone, along with the rest of Gallifrey. There’s literally nothing left of the Master and how the hell can he come back from that?
"Oh, Doctor," the Master croons, leather-clad fingertips caressing the Doctor’s cheek so that he shivers lightly. "So little faith. I thought better of you."
"Promise me," the Doctor whispers – begs. "Please, promise me, Master."
"I promise," the Master says readily, stroking those fingers down the side of his neck, over the pulse beating ridiculously fast there, and the Doctor sags with relief.
"And now that I’ve allayed your pointless fears and comforted you, you can please get the hell out and back to your own time," the Master says. It’s in that same pleasant tone, but the sudden shift of the words is cruel. He leans forward to tap on the glass, and the car slows and pulls over smoothly.
The Doctor can only stare at the Master, not really hearing what’s being said, unable to take it in, and the Master grins tightly and very pointedly leans across the Doctor’s lap and opens the door. "Go," he says firmly, looking at the Doctor coolly, challenging him to disobey.
He can’t stay anyway. He knows he can’t. That doesn’t mean he wants to go. He opens his mouth to speak, and the Master repeats it, less patiently, eyes hardening, "Go."
He goes. Slides awkwardly out of the seat, and pauses with his legs outside and his bum still on the seat. The Master glares at him but he stays there anyway, because there’s something he needs to say. There's a lump in his throat making it almost impossible to speak, but he manages because, after all, this is what he came for. No matter if he believes the Master will come back or not, he has to say it.
So he gazes at the Master, swallowing his grief and uncertainty as much as he can, and says it, before sliding out, slamming the door and walking unsteadily away.
"Goodbye, Master."
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Author:
unfeatheredPairing: Tenth Doctor/Simm!Master
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Word Count: 2087
Spoilers: End of Doctor Season 3 and Voyage of the Damned
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: After the year that wasn't and the incident on the Titanic, the Doctor realises he still has something he needs to say to the Master.
Beta: The absolutely wonderful
mad_jaks who has not only made this tons better than it was originally, but also kept poking me gently to actually get on with editing it. :-)Author's Note: This came about following a conversation with
snowgrouse back in February which made me realise that I hadn't actually written any Doctor/Master fic apart from Master Plan - and therefore no Doctor/Master without Jack in the mix. It's taken me a while, but I’ve finished it at last. So this one's for snowgrouse.It's not hard to find the Master in London in the late summer of 2007, despite the perception filter and the Master's general attempts to avoid drawing the Doctor's attention. The Doctor knows he's there, anyway. He just locates Lucy Cole and waits around near her house for the Master to bring her back after their date. He knows he will. The Master spent a year bragging about what a perfect consort he was, always escorting her home to Daddy instead of taking her to his own house. What a good boy he was. Protecting her purity. Not that she was particularly pure, but her Daddy didn't know that.
The Doctor skulks in the shadows a few doors down as they draw up in the Master's chauffeured Bentley. His heart is in his mouth as he watches the Master get out with Lucy, his first sight of the Master since he burned his body. It tears at the Doctor to see him now, whole and alive and actually looking a lot younger and happier now, near the start of his time on Earth, than he was on the Valiant, when the stresses of overseeing a complicated plan for universal domination had really begun to wear him down.
He watches the Master give Lucy a single chaste kiss on her cheek by way of farewell. Oh, he must be loving playing this part. He always did love employing self-restraint, the thrill of not letting himself be a slave to his body's demands.
The Master hands Lucy over to her father and returns to the car, obviously very pleased with himself. Then he pauses on the pavement, head tilted to the side as if listening, and the Doctor tenses, even as he feels himself smile. It's nice to know he's not completely invisible to the Master, that the Master can still sense him. He waits, leaning against the trunk of a tree in a deliberately casual pose, hands in his trouser pockets, feet crossed at the ankle, until the Master suddenly turns his head and looks straight at him.
"Doctor."
The Doctor smiles enigmatically, pushes himself upright and saunters towards him.
"Master."
The Master gives him a charming smile at the use of his name, and raises a lazy eyebrow. "Can I offer you a lift somewhere?"
He knew he could rely on the Master. "Thanks," he says genially.
"My pleasure." The Master opens the back nearside door and holds it for him with an expectant glance, and the Doctor swallows because, oh god, he's going to have to pass so close to the Master to get into the car. His sleeve brushes against the Master's jacket, in fact, as he climbs in, and he's shaking as he slithers across and settles into the back seat.
The Master folds himself into the seat beside him, then taps on the glass with a gloved hand for the driver to start the car. He leans back but looks out of the window rather than at the Doctor. "I wasn't expecting you just yet," he says conversationally.
Of course he wasn’t. For him, this is still the beginning of the game. He’s still enjoying himself, building his empire, laying everything in place for the fruition of his latest plan.
The Doctor knows this, but it hadn’t really sunk in until this moment. Suddenly he’s immobilised by everything that's happened since, everything he’s gone through, everything he's lost – Jack and Martha and Astrid – and being here with the Master after losing him too is just too much and the flippant answer he was planning sticks in his throat.
He didn't come here with the intention of changing history. Honestly he didn't. He was very careful to choose a time when he hadn't been on Earth himself, to avoid corrupting his own timeline. All he was planning on doing was spending some time with the Master. Not changing anything.
And yet the first words out of his mouth are a desperate plea, "Let me help you with the drums?"
He knows he couldn’t do it, even if – incredibly – the Master agreed. Because removing the drums with the purpose of stopping the year that never happened would be changing his timeline, and that would tear the universe apart. He can't afford to change anything. All he can do is visit the past, this fragile memory of the man who meant more to him, despite his flaws, than anyone else ever has or will do again.
It might be a non-starter as far as plans go, but it gets the Master to look at him. "What?" he says, politely incredulous.
"The drums. They're making you crazy. Making you do things you'd never have done before." Like choosing to die rather than be with me.
"What, like planning to take over the world? I think I've done that sort of thing a few times."
"No. Not that." He can't tell him. Can't say it. But maybe he doesn't need to.
The Master looks at him with narrowed eyes. "What exactly are you talking about?"
He knows, the Doctor's sure. He knows the Doctor's from the future. He can't possibly know exactly when, or exactly what's happened, but the fact that something's gone terribly wrong must be coming through loud and strong to someone who knows him as well as the Master does.
The Master's not going to ask, though, any more than the Doctor's going to admit it. They both know better than that. They have to preserve the timeline as much as they can.
"Just let me help you. Please, let me help you." He's begging now. There are very few people in the universe who can make the Doctor beg, but the Master’s always been able to do it. Even more so now they're the only two Time Lords left.
The Master shifts to lean a shoulder against the luxurious suede of the seat, arms folded, and studies him, looking curious and a little disturbed. "Why? Don't you love me just the way I am?"
The Doctor brushes that aside because it goes without saying. "It was a lot easier before you went completely barking mad."
"Oh, who wants easy?" The Master flicks impatient fingers. "Easy's boring."
He manages a grin at that. "For what it's worth, Master, you've never been easy."
"I'm glad to hear it." The Master reaches out a hand and trails his gloved knuckles down the side of the Doctor's face. "And you like it that way." Crinkles form around his eyes as he smiles, the backs of his fingers rubbing affectionately. "What's the fun in anything if you don't have to work at it?"
The Doctor’s breath catches at the touch. This may be little more than a ghost of the Master but it feels real, solid, here. He holds himself still, as if leaning into it would lose him that precious contact.
As in fact it might. The Master's mind works in perplexing ways.
He must have got it right because the Master doesn't take his hand away. In fact, he shifts closer, his hand opening to cup the Doctor's cheek as he leans across and brushes his lips across the Doctor's in the lightest of kisses. The Doctor's eyes flutter closed and his breath hitches again. Suddenly, his hearts are racing.
"Of course, you, on the other hand, are sometimes a little too easy," the Master says dryly, sitting back and taking his hand away, and the Doctor opens his eyes and stares – not in shock at the words, because he knows what the Master thinks of him: he heard it pretty much daily for a year – but in protest. Because he might be easy now but he wasn’t then, when it mattered. He stayed strong, he really did. He's only easy now, when it's too late, when he lies awake at night wondering desperately if staying strong was the right thing to do, if perhaps giving in might have led to the Master staying with him. Giving him that victory so he wouldn't have to take the only one he'd been able to, in the end.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he says, mouth dry.
The Master quirks an eyebrow. "What for?"
"Just… everything." He raises his eyes to the Master's again, desperate and pleading. "Touch me again? Please?"
The Master is starting to look seriously disturbed by his behaviour. But he graciously condescends to trail his knuckles down the Doctor's cheek again with a crooked little smile, then reaches to cup the Doctor's chin, fingers and thumb digging in hard as he holds the Doctor facing him.
The Doctor inhales sharply at the sudden pain, but manages not to flinch, just stares at the Master, letting him see all his despair, his loss.
"What’s happened?" the Master murmurs, eyes flicking back and forth in an apparent attempt to see both of the Doctor's.
The Doctor wrenches himself out of the Master's grasp and turns his head away. "I can't tell you that. You know I can't tell you that."
He fully expects the Master to try and get into his mind, to take the knowledge if he won’t give it freely, and he braces himself mentally, making his shields as strong as he can because if there’s anyone who can break through them, it’s the Master.
But the attack doesn’t come. Apparently, even the Master isn’t so far gone that he’ll dare to challenge the timeline. The Master just waits, watching him patiently, and in the end he can't bear it any longer. He looks back at the Master, almost glaring, and says fiercely, "Tell me you have a back-up plan. Please tell me you have a back-up plan?"
The Master… relaxes. He tilts his head, giving the Doctor an almost pitying look, as if he was a child in need of comfort. Which is, in fact, exactly what he feels like. "Oh, come now, Doctor. You know me. How can you imagine I don't have a back-up plan?"
He tries to cling to the reply, cling to hope, but it’s hard. Yes, the Master always comes back, but this time is different. He watched him die and he watched him burn, and it’s hard to believe he’ll come back from that. He has no idea how the Master could come back from that.
Because after all, even if he came back before, it was because he wasn’t completely gone – his pattern was stored in the Matrix. But now the Matrix is gone, along with the rest of Gallifrey. There’s literally nothing left of the Master and how the hell can he come back from that?
"Oh, Doctor," the Master croons, leather-clad fingertips caressing the Doctor’s cheek so that he shivers lightly. "So little faith. I thought better of you."
"Promise me," the Doctor whispers – begs. "Please, promise me, Master."
"I promise," the Master says readily, stroking those fingers down the side of his neck, over the pulse beating ridiculously fast there, and the Doctor sags with relief.
"And now that I’ve allayed your pointless fears and comforted you, you can please get the hell out and back to your own time," the Master says. It’s in that same pleasant tone, but the sudden shift of the words is cruel. He leans forward to tap on the glass, and the car slows and pulls over smoothly.
The Doctor can only stare at the Master, not really hearing what’s being said, unable to take it in, and the Master grins tightly and very pointedly leans across the Doctor’s lap and opens the door. "Go," he says firmly, looking at the Doctor coolly, challenging him to disobey.
He can’t stay anyway. He knows he can’t. That doesn’t mean he wants to go. He opens his mouth to speak, and the Master repeats it, less patiently, eyes hardening, "Go."
He goes. Slides awkwardly out of the seat, and pauses with his legs outside and his bum still on the seat. The Master glares at him but he stays there anyway, because there’s something he needs to say. There's a lump in his throat making it almost impossible to speak, but he manages because, after all, this is what he came for. No matter if he believes the Master will come back or not, he has to say it.
So he gazes at the Master, swallowing his grief and uncertainty as much as he can, and says it, before sliding out, slamming the door and walking unsteadily away.
"Goodbye, Master."
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I need to watch that one again, actually. Just to check up on my Master and Lucy voices. :-)
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trying to write Jacobi!Master
Does this mean we'll be seeing some of that some time??? :-)
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Yay for writing him, though!
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