Chapter Text
It wasn't, in fairness, the Doctor's best effort as far as kisses went.
They stumbled, the Master having to catch himself against the control panel with the force of the Doctor's unplanned eagerness. He voiced muffled surprise, one hand shooting up to fist in the Doctor's shirtfront. They were off-centre, off-balance, so that it was more grapple than embrace.
The Doctor flinched back nearly immediately, aborting a bad idea.
"I'm sorry," he rasped. "That wasn't..." He bowed his head, unable to meet the Master's direct, inquisitive regard. But they were still too close, still tangled together, so that his forehead only nudged against the Master's with the movement. The Master pressed relentlessly up into the contact. He kept his eyes open, golden and predatory, rapt with unwholesome challenge. Mouth parted just slightly, he swayed close enough that they could exchange a quickened breath back and forth.
The Doctor forced himself free of the tempting proximity. He might have retreated entirely, nearly did, but that the Master reached for him like a strike. He grasped the Doctor's collar, brought him smartly back into place. The Doctor snatched a breath and held it, straining to keep himself in check.
"That was brave," the Master whispered like an accusation.
The Doctor pushed against him, stumbled inelegantly away. "I'm sorry," he said again, sharper than intended. He brought a hand up over his eyes, dizzied by his own spectacular lack of judgement. "I shouldn't have done that. I didn't mean -" But he couldn't decide quite how that sentence was supposed to end, so fell abruptly silent.
The Master cocked his head, unmoving and deeply unimpressed by the performance.
"I should... I should go," the Doctor muttered, already backing away. He had to flee, before the Master's inebriating presence led him to even greater acts of stupidity. He bumped against the TARDIS door and nearly scrambled at it in his desire to escape.
"See?" the Master observed behind him, voice brittle with scorn. "No follow-through."
The Doctor didn't stay to argue the point.
Devastatingly, the ritual of the Sunday morning food shop was no longer working.
The Doctor couldn't find the calm focus it usually inspired in him. Could barely bring himself to pay attention, in fact. The first thing he did was drop the carton of eggs he'd picked out, creating an excessive mess which he only succeeded in making worse while trying to clean up, until scandalised shop workers ordered him away.
"You okay, Doc?" Shaun asked, frowning as he watched him distractedly smear remnants of eggwhite across the front of his waistcoat.
"Fine," he answered tersely. "I'm fine. What else do we need?"
"Uhm... Wine. The order was lots of wine."
The Doctor snatched the list from him and stalked away, unreasonably irritated.
Despite the instruction he wandered the shop aimlessly, bereft of the usual comfort in his familiar routine. His mistake still replayed in his mind; his own profound lack of self-control. He hadn't meant for that to happen. Still wasn't quite sure why it had. A surge of deluded optimism, perhaps, that the Master had briefly cared about something. Or, even simpler, another betrayal of his own imperfect regeneration; an adolescent surge of chemicals he hadn't properly guarded against.
It dawned on him that he was being deeply pathetic when he found himself standing desolate in the sweet aisle, staring at a bag of jelly babies. The Doctor rubbed his eyes. He needed to get himself back under control.
He had a responsibility, he reminded himself. The Master was in his custody. Not helpless, exactly, as he'd already proven several times. But certainly compromised. The Doctor's conscience pricked at him, suspecting it wasn't quite right to pursue something that would further compromise both of them.
Of course, if he allowed the pendulum of reason to swing the other way...
There was also every chance the Master knew exactly what he was doing, and the Doctor was the only real mark in the equation. Perhaps the Master had simply spotted a weakness to exploit. The Doctor could barely even bring himself to be angry about it. If he would insist on being so helplessly, pitifully obvious about his 'crush' - well. He'd never faulted the Master's resourcefulness.
Space, he decided. That was what they needed. Just a little distance, for just a little while. Enough that he could regain his common sense, at least.
He tracked down Shaun in the bread aisle.
The human eyed him. "That's a lot of Jammy Dodgers, Doc. And no wine."
The Doctor dumped his completely reasonable thirteen packets into the trolley. "What? I had a craving."
"We're going to put on a little meal for Rose finishing her exams," Sylvia informed him as they were putting away the shopping. "You can bring your significant other if you want."
The Doctor froze in the act of stacking soup tins in the cupboard. For a ridiculous, fleeting moment he wondered if she somehow knew what had happened, if she could possibly have seen.
Donna loosed a scoff. "'Significant other', what are you on about? Giving them a few airs and graces, aren't you?"
Sylvia scrunched her nose. "Well. It feels a bit silly saying 'boyfriends' at their big age, don't you think?"
"No, no," the Doctor interrupted, holding up a finger to halt the exchange. "Neither, actually. Neither is good."
"Oh alright," Sylvia relented, lifting her hands as though retreating from a sensitive subject. "Whatever you call him, then."
He mentally skipped back a few steps, to the original suggestion. "Anyway, I don't think that's a good idea..."
But to his distinct amazement, Donna shrugged. "You might as well," she offered with a sigh. "He's in and out of here often enough. And Rose likes him. And I suppose he did help her a lot with that last maths test."
The Doctor stared at her, brought up short by the pivot in attitude.
"Besides," Donna added with a note of irritation and a pointed glance, "mother's invited half the neighbourhood, from what I gather. God knows why. What's one more?"
"They won't come, don't worry," Sylvia said, sounding mournfully resigned. She, too, raked a pointed glance up and down the Doctor. "We're the weird family around here."
And just like that, his self-appointed mission to put some safe space between them was sabotaged utterly by the Temple-Nobles' apparently unanimous decision that the Master's presence in their household was just another strange fact of life, now. If the Doctor had wanted distance, he was to be disappointed. For the next week it seemed he couldn't so much as enter a room without stumbling over the man.
On Monday, he began his day almost taking an inelegant header down the stairs, as Pasha maintained her best housecat impression trying to race him to the front door.
"Absolutely not," the Doctor informed her sternly, stumbling as he tried to step over her and she darted between his legs.
"Don't let the cat out!" Shaun called his usual tired warning.
"I know, I know..." the Doctor muttered, following Pasha's heavy-footed run to join Shaun in the kitchen.
Shaun bent down to bash the creature affectionately on one broad shoulder, eliciting a pleased rumble. The Master, standing nearby making tea, scowled down at the interaction. The Doctor faltered at the sight of him. He wasn't quite sure if they were on speaking terms, silly as the notion sounded.
Straightening up, Shaun offered a wince as he nodded down at the cat. "She got past me earlier, got in a scrap with that rottweiler up the road before I could stop it."
The Doctor paused. "How's the dog?"
Shaun shook his head with a foreboding expression. "Don't ask. Still, nothing a quick vet visit won't fix. I, uh, said we'd pay the bill."
"Oof. Yeah, okay."
The Master tapped off his teaspoon on the side of his cup and tossed it into the sink. "You should get a shock collar," he suggested cordially, lifting his eyebrows. "That's the usual solution, isn't it?"
Shaun shot him a deeply troubled look. The Doctor flinched, and made himself scarce.
Wednesday morning, the Doctor intercepted Rose running full-pelt down the stairs, just managing to avoid a collision by springing to one side.
"Woah, what's the rush?"
"I can't find it! Today of all days!"
He followed her into the living room, watching as she lifted up cushions and checked all the available surfaces in immediate sight.
"Can't find what?"
"My makeup bag!" She stopped long enough to shoot him a look, managing to imply quite a bit about her thoughts on his skills of observation.
Perhaps drawn by the commotion, the Master wandered into the living room. He, too, stood observing the frantic search with an expression of mild interest.
The Doctor eyed him surreptitously across the room. They hadn't really spoken much since he'd humiliated himself. The Master seemed largely unbothered by the fact, which was somehow all the more discomfiting. The Doctor wondered if he'd even thought of the incident at all, or if it had been just one more mild and momentary distraction for his boredom.
Would that even be such a bad thing...? The Doctor chewed his lip, conflicted.
Rose let out a frustrated growl.
"Rose," he tried with a sigh. "Do you really need to have it right now? You're going to be late for school -"
"Ugh! You don't understand the mavity of the situation!"
Seemingly unable to stop himself, the Master barked a harsh laugh. "The what?"
"The mavity of the situation!" Rose growled back at him, uncharitable in her teenage impatience.
"It means the seriousness of it," the Doctor translated absently, frowning as he watched her dump out the full contents of her school bag. "Clearly."
The Master turned a squint from one to the other of them. "Are both of you having a collective stroke? What's happening?"
"It's photo day!" Rose half-wailed, throwing up her hands in defeat as she stepped back from the pile of upended stationary all over the couch. "I can't be the only girl that shows up looking a state. Do you think Gran would have moved it? Tidied it away somewhere?"
The Doctor cast about helplessly, opening the nearest drawer of the sideboard and giving it a cursory scan. "Uhh..."
Visibly exasperated with both of them, the Master reached into the inner pocket of his suit. To the Doctor's curious interest he extracted a slim black eyeliner pencil and tossed it towards Rose. Then he jerked his head out towards the garden. "Try the TARDIS for the rest. Wardrobe's two on the left, I'm sure you can scrounge up something."
She blinked down at the pencil, then clutched it against her chest like it was something precious. "Why didn't I think of that?" She was gone before even finishing the question, out and halfway across the grass.
The Doctor watched her go feeling deeply bemused. He waited until she'd disappeared inside the ship, then turned back towards the Master. The other Time Lord affected disinterest.
"That was... nice of you," the Doctor ventured tentatively.
"Appearance is important," the Master retorted, by way of explanation. Then he cast a scathing glance over the Doctor. "To some of us."
The Doctor wordlessly surveyed the scene, which was not unusual for a Friday evening but for one conspicuous addition.
The living room was dark and cosy. Donna was in her typical spot on the couch, dressing gown donned and glass of wine in hand. She was watching what looked to be a rerun of Twilight. Wilf was settled in his armchair to her right, glowering. To her left, at the far end of the couch, the Master nursed a matching glass of wine against his chest, slouched back against the cushions with his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He was wearing checkered pyjama bottoms and an oversized grey jumper, a startling lack of formality that the Doctor stared at for longer than he intended. His feet were bare, he noticed helplessly.
"Can we help you?" the Master drawled, without taking his eyes from the screen. "Your looming is interrupting the sparkly vampire professing his love."
The Doctor opened his mouth, but for the life of him didn't know what to say to that.
For a moment or two, he couldn't bring himself to look away from the scene, reeling at the strangeness of it. Bordering on mundane to the casual observer, perhaps. But the Doctor was keenly, painfully aware that he was looking at two beings from the furthest-possible-flung reaches of space, Time, biology, and temperament; both equally important for such very different reasons. And somehow, by unlikely chance, here they both sat sharing a drink on his couch. Watching Twilight.
Wilf grumbled from his armchair. He was glaring daggers at the Master, clutching the TV remote in both hands as though half-wishing it were a shotgun. He turned a baleful look up at the Doctor. "This is your doing," he accused.
"Sorry," the Doctor offered faintly, not particularly meaning it.
Saturday afternoon was the celebration meal.
The neighbours did not show up en masse, to no one's surprise or disappointment but Sylvia's. Donna had offered to host any of Rose's friends she might want to invite, but she'd ignored the offer and no one had pushed her on the topic. So, not unexpectedly, they were left to enjoy their perfectly nice garden barbeque in relative isolation.
Shaun was in charge of the grill, and Donna occupied setting out snacks and side dishes across the wide garden dining table. Wilf, ensconced in his wheelchair, was trying gamely to follow along as Rose excitedly described the Spotify playlist she was compiling. The Doctor smiled commiseration in passing.
He crossed towards the TARDIS. The door was already cracked open a few inches, so he wasn't terribly surprised when he slipped inside to find the Master lingering in the control room. He was standing by the console, ostensibly occupied trying his luck poking at the computer system. The open door allowed in a light summer breeze and the poppy, upbeat melody of Rose's music, the Doctor noticed. The Master had his back to it, and didn't bother acknowledging company.
The Doctor regarded him as he stepped closer, unobserved for a moment. Exactly as he had upon first laying eyes on the Master in a UNIT holding cell - and which he at least now recognised for what it was - he felt a sharp, needful ache of longing. Which was still just as absurd and just as selfish, he chastised himself. He could list a dozen reasons why his unchecked infatuation was a terrible idea, not least of which that he'd already made an idiot of himself over the whole thing.
Regardless, age had evidently not lent him wisdom in this particular matter. Unbidden, the memory returned of the brief, guilty few seconds he'd dared to kiss the Master, and the undeniable flash of desire it had sparked. No matter what he told himself about sense and propriety - he wanted that again. It didn't matter whether it amounted to anything past that, not really, if he could just have those fumbled, frantic few moments of closeness again. If he could just -
The Doctor recalled himself with a jolt. Stop being ridiculous, he thought viciously, tugging hard at the line of his waistcoat. He took a fortifying breath.
"You can come out and join us, if you want."
The Master huffed, still not bothering to look back at him. "Not my kind of party," he dismissed. He stood a little straighter, hands sliding into his pockets and head tilting back in contemplation. "Not enough bloodsports or debauchery."
The Doctor's mouth tugging in a reluctant smile. He glanced again at the open door, hearing Donna's strident voice and Rose's laughter drift through.
"You were invited," he admitted.
At that, the Master turned a fraction. "Was I?"
"You'll like the music," the Doctor wheedled. "And the food." He didn't dare to suggest anything as outrageous as the Master might possibly even enjoy the company, of course. That would be a step too far.
The Master sniffed, turning nonchalantly to regard the open door. "Well," he considered. "If you're going to be a pest about it."
So the Doctor followed him out into the garden, hardly believing the attempt at persuasion had worked. It was a good thing too. This, he reminded himself, was exactly the kind of low-stakes, harmless entertainment he was trying to showcase for the Master.
The sweet, smoky smell of burgers and sausages filled the air.
"Rare, for me," the Master instructed, eyeing the barbeque. "Like a good vet could still intervene."
The Doctor nudged him disapprovingly, over towards the outdoor dining table. Wilf looked none too pleased to see the other Time Lord as he took a seat, and the Doctor braced himself for the beginnings of another spat. It was deterred, thankfully, as Rose promptly scooted over so she could show the Master her playlist. He evidently had a much more invested opinion of the girlie pop music genre, as they immediately began quibbling over which songs should be included. The Doctor looked on in pleased bemusement.
He hadn't accounted for them getting along, honestly, but perhaps he should have. If the Master had ever possessed anything close to a soft spot, it was an affinity for children. To the Doctor's discerning eye, it was obvious he'd taken a liking to Rose, even if he did insist on justifying it by deeming her part Time Lord. With a twinge of melancholy, the Doctor wondered if she reminded him of -
"You sure about this?" Wilf asked quietly, frowning across at the pair. "What if something happens?"
The Doctor hitched a shoulder, offering a wry smile. "I'm sure she'll go easy on him."
"Doctor -"
"I know," he said, reaching over to pat Wilf's knee reassuringly. "I'm watching. It's fine."
"That's not even a song!" Rose squawked in sudden protest, scrolling exaggeratedly on her phone. "I can't find it."
"Oh." The Master wrinkled his nose in annoyance. "Well, maybe I'm a few years early. You'll see, I'll be right."
For someone so dedicated to despising humans, the Doctor noted, the Master was more than familiar enough with his favourite bits of the culture.
The Master noticed his attention and lifted an eyebrow in challenge. The Doctor shook his head, still smiling as he raised his hands in concession. Far be it from him to commentate, or indeed offer the recollection that the Master had held a genuine fondness for early 00's pop-rock. Amber eyes flashed brief amusement, the Master catching the unspoken accusation.
And then, just as quickly, his expression shuttered closed as he glanced past the Doctor. The Doctor turned to follow his gaze, laughter dying in his throat.
Kate stood framed by the open patio doors, just stepping out into the garden. She stilled as she noticed the Doctor's attention on her.
He sprang to his feet, alert and wary. The Master rose with him, slower. He moved like something dangerous that had been backed into a corner. The Doctor instinctively stepped in front of him, holding out a forestalling hand towards Kate. "What are you doing here?"
"I was invited," she said mildly. Indeed, she held up a little wrapped present in demonstration, eyes finding Rose. "Well done on the exams."
"I invited her," Sylvia confirmed, beaming as she too emerged from the house. Her smile faltered as she took note of the expressions worn by the Doctor, Master and Donna. "What? Should I not have?"
"Mother..." Donna muttered furiously.
Kate stayed where she was. The Doctor scanned over her, cataloguing observations. She wore her long military coat, too heavy for the summer weather but necessary if she was concealing weapons or other equipment. Her hair was loose, no doubt to hide the earpiece she'd be wearing. And while she held a polite smile of greeting, her steady gaze slid past him to fix on the Master.
Again the Doctor moved to intercept. "I want to stay friends with you, Kate," he told her, ensuring his voice stayed light and casual. "So let's not do this."
"What's going on?" Rose asked, evidently noticing the unusual tension. She got up from the table and started to move forward, but Donna caught her arm and pulled her tight to her side.
"Stay here a minute, sweetheart."
Kate took a slow step further into the garden, just enough that she could carefully set her present atop the dining table. She stepped back again with her hands lifted as though in surrender. "I'm here as a friend," she insisted neutrally. She flicked her eyebrows. "Which is more than I can say for the last time you visited me."
There it was.
The Doctor exhaled sharply. "Yes, well, if you'd just listened to me when I said -"
"You stole a prisoner," Kate cut across him, the words clipped and unforgiving. Her eyes narrowed, flicked past him again. "The Master, of all people. Why would you free him?"
"He's detained," the Doctor snapped.
Her eyebrows furrowed with eloquent disbelief. "I see that."
It was difficult to mount an effective defence against her scepticism, he acknowledged, surrounded as they were by the trappings of a family garden party. Regardless, he was going to make the attempt.
"I'm well aware of why you think you need to do this, Kate, but you don't. I'm telling you that I'll see to it he causes no harm. You have my word."
"Not good enough, Doctor. I have a responsibility to protect this planet -"
"So do I."
She let out a frustrated sound. "Then act like it. You had no right to -"
"I have the only right!"
It was out before he'd really considered, an instinctive decree. Kate faltered, so that his words hung incriminatingly in the ensuing silence. The Doctor clenched his jaw. He chanced a look back over his shoulder. The Master was watching him with a curious expression, head cocked. He made no move to interfere, apparently set on seeing how the confrontation played out.
"Time Lords deal with their own," the Doctor amended carefully. It was true enough, if only one among a dozen conflicting truths clamouring in the back of his mind. That the Master was his to deal with, in any way that mattered. That UNIT were incapable of holding him. That this was an unplanned, precious second chance at something that had long ago slipped through his fingers. That this was what he wanted, and for once he would not be denied. He set his jaw. "You're not taking him."
There was a dart of movement, and the Doctor spared a glance to see Rose slip from her mother's grasp. Before Donna could stop her, she'd crossed the grass to plant herself firmly beside the Master. The Doctor turned more fully to stare at her in alarm, and caught the Master's expression flicker with similar bafflement as he regarded her.
Rose shrugged defensively. "What? I owe him."
And then Donna and Shaun were flanking their daughter, as they had to, which rather committed the whole family to an unexpected side in the standoff.
Kate shook her head. "This is a mistake. If he escapes -"
"He won't," the Doctor said firmly, returning his attention to her. "We have an agreement."
The Master scoffed, but mercifully didn't argue the point.
The Doctor stepped forward, placing himself between her and the group of people at his back. He would not let her pass, no matter what happened.
"You are in my home, Kate Lethbridge Stewart," he reminded her quietly. "Surrounded by my family." Coldness seeped into his voice, old and remote as a glacier. "This is not how you want to fall out with me."
She glared up at him, defiant, and for a moment the confrontation felt poised on a precipice. The Doctor readied himself, spread his awareness outwards as he tried to predict what she'd do, how to stop her, how to get everyone into the stronghold of the TARDIS.
Kate glanced aside, shook her head again. At last she lifted one hand and tapped the earpiece she was indeed wearing.
"Stand down."
The Doctor released a breath, feeling something between relief and dark, rolling anger. "You should go," he warned her grimly.
"I should go," she agreed with a tight, perfunctory smile. Briefly, she craned to see past him. "See you Monday?"
Donna spluttered. "I'm not fired?!"
"Not today," Kate confirmed mildly, finally turning to retreat back through the house.
Sylvia hurried to accompany her. "How was I supposed to know...?" she asked sheepishly, of no one in particular.
The Doctor bowed his head at the sudden release of tension. Behind him, he could hear Donna scolding Rose for getting involved, and Wilf demanding to know who that had been, and the discordant note of a pop song now distinctly out of place. He turned to regard the scene.
The Master's gaze cut across the cluster of activity, sharp as glass.
The Doctor swallowed, and looked away.
That effectively called a halt to celebrations for the day.
The Doctor made tea and hot chocolates, helped getting everyone settled back inside the house. He also took a few spare minutes to shore up his security systems, bristling at the thought that a potential threat had been able to stroll right through his front door. Well. Besides the one he'd invited to live here.
The faint smell of barbeque smoke still lingered in the deserted garden, as did the Master. The Doctor found him lounging on the bench by the hydrangeas, arms spread wide across the back as he considered the fading evening sky. At the Doctor's approach, he tipped his head back lazily.
"If it isn't my hero."
The Doctor twitched a smile. "You're welcome."
"Then again," the Master drawled, "I wouldn't need defending if you hadn't incapacitated me." He lifted one hand, turning it to show off the darminium cuff. "I hate to repeat a point, but you could make both our lives easier by taking this off."
"Don't push it."
The Doctor slipped his hands into the pockets of his slacks, considering the garden. Today could have gone very differently, he recognised. His slightly dishevelled lawn could have been the site of a violent UNIT extraction, and then the Doctor's retirement would have been well and truly over.
The Master hummed consideration. "Still, it was quite the show. From you and the troops." His gaze drifted briefly towards the house, shadow of a frown flitting over his expression.
The Doctor suspected he could follow the unvoiced thought. He, too, glanced back at the house. "They like you," he heard himself saying.
"You sound surprised," the Master observed with mock offence.
"Astonished," he admitted. Though, privately, he supposed the real cause of his surprise was that the Master seemed half-inclined towards the little group of humans in return. Not that he'd ever admit as much, if pressed.
"It's done now, anyway," the Doctor concluded, returning to the point. "With UNIT, I mean. I don't think Kate will try anything else."
"I'm ever so relieved."
"Means you can have the, uh, peace and quiet I promised."
Somehow, the Master didn't look terribly pleased by that assurance. A flash of irritation contorted his placid expression and he sat suddenly forward, hunching with his forearms braced against his knees.
The Doctor sighed. "What?"
"I don't understand the game you're playing," the Master snapped, visibly frustrated. "This little charade of domesticity. You're a Time Lord! One of the only Time Lords, free to do whatever you like with the whole of the universe! All that endless potential, and instead..." He paused and then dropped his hand, exhausted by a conclusion he didn't understand. "You're you. You're not supposed to be -"
"What does it matter what I'm supposed to be doing?!" the Doctor demanded, rising to the provocation despite himself. "I'm not actually 'supposed' to be here at all, if you want to be picky about it. Neither are you, for that matter! As far as I can tell, we were both on track to regenerate into... whoever the next one was going to be. And yet here we are."
The Master frowned up at him. "What's your point?"
The Doctor tried to decide if he had one. "Well. My point is... we're off script now. We're anomalies. Neither of us should still exist, frankly. Doesn't that sound liberating?"
But the Master looked utterly perplexed, not following the logic.
"It means," the Doctor persisted, warming to his train of thought and suddenly desperate to convince the other Time Lord. "It means we don't have to do anything. Certainly not what we're 'supposed' to be doing, just because those are the roles we've always played. I don't have to keep running, you don't have to fight everything that's in front of you. We can just... be. Here. If you wanted."
For a moment he thought he'd done it, successfully made the argument that would persuade. The Master regarded him with a puzzled, thoughtful expression, as though contemplating the possibility.
"Doesn't it drive you mad, though?" the Master demanded abruptly. He gestured around them at the otherwise empty garden, or perhaps the sleepy neighbourhood, or even the whole new life the Doctor had built for himself. "This. The... the nothingness of it. You've made yourself insignificant here. How can you possibly stand it?" The words hissed through his teeth with a kind of horrified fascination.
The Doctor glanced away, trying to decide how to explain. "I'm tired of being significant," he landed on finally, then winced at the strange arrogance of it. But it was true, and the admission tumbling free opened up a floodgate. "I'm tired of running, and fighting, and... surviving. I'm tired of losing everyone. This might not look like much to you, but it is to me. I'm not supposed to have any of this," the Doctor said again, marvelling at the truth of it. The statistical impossibility of getting Donna back, the wonderful accident that was Rose, even the anomaly of his own bi-generation. He met the Master's gaze, trying to convey his own bedrock certainty. "But I do, and it's mine, and I'm keeping it."
The Master's eyes glittered. "Not entirely dead," he observed for a second time.
The Doctor stopped himself just short of voicing the thought that the Master, too, fell somewhere near that category: returned to the Doctor by unlikely chance, made all the more vital for it. Still, the unspoken implication lingered. The reason for the Doctor's bid at possession, nearly voiced. He wanted to keep him here, keep him now, in this year of peace, in this messy garden that the Doctor would defend with his life.
"Give me a year," the Doctor said. It was no longer a plea, but a steady offering of terms. "That's nothing. You've spent longer on Earth before, and kept the peace."
"A year," the Master mused, non-committal. He stretched out his legs in front of him on the garden bench, tipped his head back to look skyward. "We'd have more fun if you'd loosen up a bit. Just think!" He shot a glance up at the Doctor, flashing a smile that was almost conspiratorial. "A whole year. We could rule this planet together inside six months, I reckon."
"I've done that already," the Doctor admitted, thinking of titles bestowed on lives past. "So have you. Aren't you tired?"
The Master paused, like the question had taken him by quiet surprise.
"Well what else am I supposed to do?" he asked finally. Maybe it had been intended as sarcasm, but a note of genuine curiosity seemed to have crept in there.
The Doctor took a breath, moving to join him on the bench. He sat himself carefully, testing his welcome.
"Well. You're not supposed to do much of anything, really. That's the point. Gardening is nice, though. And funfairs. Cooking has mixed results. I'll teach you how to drive a car, if you want -"
"I can figure out how to drive a car, thank you very much -"
"I'm just saying. Anything, really. What do you want to do?"
The Master frowned, brought up short by the consideration. He drummed his fingers against the arm of the bench. "I meant to see the northern lights last time I was here," he admitted at length, shrugging as though it was unimportant. "Never found the time."
"We could..." The Doctor nearly held his breath, half-afraid he might spook him with too much enthusiasm. "We could do that."
The Master slid a shrewd look across at him. "Hang on - you're not going to do this hesitant, dithering bit the whole time, are you? I can't stand it."
The Doctor felt warmth rise against the back of his neck. Still, not much point pretending ignorance anymore. "I wasn't planning on it, no," he said carefully.
"Oh? Does that mean I can look forward to something more... decisive?"
The Doctor ducked his head, considering the grass between his trainers. "It's, uh..." He cleared his throat, offered a wry smile. "It's a bad idea, don't you think? Complicated."
"Better than boring."
When the Doctor chanced a look, the Master was watching him. He didn't give much away, neither encouraging nor scornful. He wore an almost clinical interest, head cocked at a curious angle; waiting to see what would happen.
So the Doctor kissed him. Properly this time, and in full knowledge of the risk he was taking.
He set his fingertips carefully against the Master's jaw, tilted his head just so. It felt like relief to lean against the man's unmoving solidity. All the meaningless distance between them - the vast stretch of Time; the tangle of regenerations; the old, familiar animosity - seemed to fold in on itself, until there was nothing at all but the intimate exchange of warmth.
He'd intended it to be a brief concession, something chaste and affectionate. But the Master lifted a hand to grip the back of his neck, powerful and proprietary. He caught the Doctor's lower lip in his teeth like a sharp little demand, licked self-assuredly into his mouth.
If the Doctor had hoped that indulging the demands of his new and clamorous hormones might quiet them, he was to be thwarted. The Master gripped his hair, tight enough that the sensation shot down his spine, and the Doctor loosed a truly embarrassing sound as effervescent pleasure sparked right through him. His brain lit up, aglow with awareness of all the places they were in contact. He couldn't shut down his own euphoric psychic broadcast, spilling out surprise and excitement and base, unflattering greediness for more.
In answer, the Master breathed shock against his mouth. He pushed with sudden insistence, toppling the Doctor backwards so that he landed awkwardly against the arm of the bench. Hardly noticing the discomfort, the Doctor arched to let the Master's arm curl beneath his back, clutched at the man's expensive suit jacket. His converse slid against the grass as they fumbled to somehow get closer without tumbling straight off the bench. The Master's fingertips teased beneath the buttons of his waistcoat and in the same moment the Doctor felt the unexpected jolt of full psychic connection; felt the bright flare of the Master's possessive desire, the blade's edge of his good humour, the low, complex thrum of old frustration. And oh, this was exactly what he'd wanted, this decadent tangle of minds and bodies he hadn't experienced in longer than he cared to think about. The Doctor grabbed at him, uncoordinated and urgent.
A distant, insistent knocking gradually penetrated their awareness, then the sound of a window cracking open.
"Not where the neighbours can see!" Sylvia's scandalised voice drifted through the garden, followed faintly by what might have been Rose giggling.
The connection closed.
The Master stilled, lifting just enough that he could arrange a suitably murderous expression. "...Give me five minutes out of this cuff and I could at least deal with that woman."
"Tempting," the Doctor conceded reluctantly. But he pushed at the Master's chest until they could both resume a more dignified upright position. He also aimed a glare toward the window until it snapped shut and the blinds twitched back into place.
They sat for a while in loaded silence as the Doctor tried in vain to re-orient himself. He was nearly giddy with sensation. He scrubbed a hand up through his hair and cleared his throat. "Uhm. So does that mean...?"
"Oh very well," the Master decided abruptly, magnanimous. "Let's see if you can entertain me for a year."
Not quite looking at him, the Doctor aimed a grin out at the garden. He gripped the edge of the bench seat, trying to disguise the rush of elated relief that passed through him. The Master's quiet scoff told him he didn't quite succeed.
A belated thought occurred to him. "Oh," he said, turning a concerned frown towards the other Time Lord. "Wait. You know we don't have to -" He stopped abruptly, tried to rephrase. "I mean, you should still stay, even if you didn't want to -" He coughed, offering a pleading glance he hoped conveyed the message.
"That's adorable." The Master's eyebrows pitched up in faux sympathy. "Are you having moral qualms about keeping me prisoner and taking advantage?"
The Doctor blinked. "Well I'm not as practiced as you," he demurred, with an equally sincere expression.
The Master's smile was a thing of sly, creeping delight. "Flatterer," he crooned approvingly.
A lot could happen in a year, the Doctor reminded himself, pleased by the thought. And besides which, he was a Time Lord. One of the only Time Lords.
He could ensure a year lasted exactly as long as he needed it to.