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Between the sudden banging of doors in the distance and her TARDIS buzzing in her head, Clara had almost minutes of warning to prepare for what was coming. She was able to mark her spot in the book she was reading, replace both it and her drink back onto her table, and adjust her position on the sofa before feeling rather than seeing him fling himself carelessly into her personal space. She doubted if it was a pleasant experience for either of them, if she were honest, with his legs crashing against the furniture and his head cracking against her shoulder. She remained silent as he wriggled and squirmed, eventually settling with his head in her lap and his feet (still in his shoes, she noted with annoyance, although at least this time he wasn’t dripping blood all over her furniture) up on the sofa’s opposite arm. She waited while his breathing slowed and he failed to offer any kind of greeting, let alone an explanation for his sudden appearance. His hair was messy, his clothes were rumpled, and he was jacketless (though this last didn’t mean much considering he wasn’t exactly above throwing it onto her floor somewhere, leaving her TARDIS to swallow it up like a favourite toy). She tentatively placed a hand onto his head, and when he didn’t react to her touch she started to gently smooth out his hair. After all the effort he went to to get to her, she complained to herself, he certainly didn’t seem particularly interested in her.
It didn’t take long for the silence to lose its appeal. “Missy?” Clara inquired tentatively.
At least that got a reaction out of him. “I told you, you can call me-”
“And I told you ,” she interrupted, “I would rather call you literally anything else. Since you’ve still failed to provide an alternative, you’re stuck with Missy for the foreseeable future.” As usual, he didn’t have an answer for her. “ So, Missy,” she said pointedly, her hand frozen on his head, “to what do I owe this pleasant surprise ?” She wasn’t overly surprised when he didn’t have an answer for that one either. She sighed and went back to sorting out his hair. Not like there was anything else about him she could sort out.
“So,” he ventured when he felt he had composed himself enough for small talk, “new rug?”
“You bled all over the last one,” Clara answered flatly.
“Ah. Now that you mention it, that does sound familiar.”
“I should hope so, it wasn’t the first time.”
“You’re not expecting me to apologize, are you?”
She shook her head, not rising to the implied challenge. “Apologize? Never. Just invite me in on the fun next time, we’ll call it even.”
“Growing cocky in your immortality, are we?”
“It’s not cocky if you actually know what you can handle. Now why are you here?”
“Just thought I’d spice up your eternal torment. I was in the neighbourhood an-”
“I’m orbiting a dead star,” she said, removing both hands from him completely. If he was looking for attention he’d have to do better than that.
“Oh, you know,” he postured, adjusting his position and stretching his arms out in front of Clara, “in my line of work you end up in all kinds of-”
Not initially certain of what she was seeing as his arms stretched out and his sleeves fell back, Clara grabbed his wrist with unexpectedly fast reflexes, bringing it in for closer examination. Almost as quickly, he pulled his arm back like a wounded animal and sat up, separating completely from her. He counted the seconds, waiting for her to say something, and breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t. Just as he was considering settling back into place, she whispered with a dark look on her face, “Gonna tell me what happened?”
Damn. He blinked at her, then forced a laugh. “You know, my line of work. Got myself caught in a-”
“No. You may not acknowledge me as your intellectual equal but you can’t have forgotten I was a highschool teacher. I can recognize when something is self-inflicted.” She stared him down, waiting. Sure, there had been a time when she wouldn’t dream of contradicting and confronting the individual sharing space with her, over anything, but they both knew those days were long past. “Ready to try that again? What happened to you?”
He sat frozen, save for the blinking like a deer caught in the headlights. What had he come here for? Surely it wasn’t just to get caught in a lie, he already had her for that. Or did he really? He opened his mouth to speak, shook his head, closed it again. How could he even begin explaining himself to Clara? Scratch that, why the fuck should he explain himself to Clara? She had that same holier-than-thou attitude, modelled directly off of, well... And really, whose fault was that?
He wanted to open his mouth and spill out everything. He wanted to stand straight up and walk out without looking back. He wanted to just give up, let her sort things out. But he didn’t do any of those things. His eyes darted around the room. His hearts pounded in his ears. His fingers twitched against his legs. Why had he come here?
And so sat two immortals, on opposite ends of an ugly-but comfortable couch, refusing to give an inch to the other. For him to be vulnerable in front of her, no matter how many times he’d been dragged through it before... for her to let him go off and do God only knows what, no matter how many times she’d been pushed into it before.... And who, exactly, was it again that held up the power in this relationship? He shivered briefly before he could suppress it.
And he came back to himself, back to the couch, back to where he always ended up. He lifted his eyes back up towards her. “Grab me again,” he snarled as his eyes met Clara’s, “and I’ll kill you.”
She didn’t answer, didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink.
She watched dejected as he stood up slowly. She pretended not to notice the shake in his step. She stared at the door long after he had slammed it shut.
He had thrown off his jacket onto the floor of Clara’s entryway. It had been a calculatedly stupid decision, and he still wasn’t sure whether it had paid off even as he picked it up and dusted it off. Did he feel any better for having come here? Of course he didn’t, she was always so pushy and- of course he did, she was the only one who really paid any attention and- it didn’t matter. He had come. He would go. All they ever seemed to do lately. He shows up in a whirlwind, makes a mess of her TARDIS, and she makes a mess of his head. Would he ever learn to just-
And would you stay out of it! he screamed back at the nosy ship prodding at his mind. Just because you’re lonely doesn’t mean that- okay, fine , whatever you say.
At least, he thought, firmly to himself, his coat had been where he had left it this time. Maybe the girl could learn.
And the TARDIS was quiet again, the Master gone not nearly as suddenly as he had arrived, and nobody was satisfied.
As usual.
And as she always did after one of these visits, the TARDIS gently reminded Clara that there were ways she could safeguard herself against... interlopers. But they both knew that wasn’t in the cards for them, and she wasn’t exactly insistent about it. She had been, when he had first started showing up. She didn’t always understand human- or, for that matter, time lord- emotions, and she still had a hard time with linearity. Clara had been furious the first time. But as much as she was happy to see another Gallifreyan she... cared. She cared about Clara more.
Enough to offer to remove the toxic ex from the premises.
Clara hadn’t much approved of that description of him.
But it wasn’t like he did ever did much to disprove it.
And so continued the game between the two of them.
At least he hadn’t been bleeding this time.