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This was not funny in the slightest.
The Doctor thought it to himself in a fluster as he gathered water bottles, an obnoxiously cheerful picnic blanket, an umbrella, and other summer-based accoutrements into a waterproof rucksack. Despite what Tegan’s snickering at his ill-concealed pout seemed to suggest, this was no laughing matter.
The beach?
“Just to clarify,” he had ventured only an hour ago with a polite smile, attempting against all odds to keep his voice from squeaking upwards indignantly, “we almost die in a sailing race, and your first idea for a recovery sojourn is the ocean?”
“That was solar sailing, it hardly counts!” Tegan’s protest was echoed by an emphatic nod from Turlough, of all people. “Anyways, all that boat talk got me missing the water, and it’s been ages since I’ve felt anything like sand.”
The whole universe at their disposal; anywhere and anywhen. He could show them the crystal dunes of Istris, or the sentient water beings of Goda Four. And yet, above all other offers, they had chosen...
Cornwall. In July of 1972, of all things.
He sighed noisily as he pitched a large umbrella unsteadily into the sand over their blanket, Turlough scrambling to aid him on its other side as the strong wind threatened to carry it away. Their chosen spot was relatively remote at very least. He could see only a few strolling couples in the distance, as well as a beach hut advertising ice-creams and other summer treats neatly tucked in amongst the treeline.
Tegan had named the date specifically, citing memories of family holidays when she claimed they had had the best ice cream stall that couldn’t possibly compare to its replacement the following year. He had beseechingly suggested Brighton as a compromise, but apparently pebble beaches wouldn’t do. While Turlough had no such fond ties to the beach, much less to Cornwall— their recent engagement with the Black Guardian had left him shaken enough that he all too readily joined her demands for a seaside holiday.
'Somewhere nice and normal for once Doctor, I don’t want to find anything alien crawling out of my pastries.'
Nice!? He fought back the urge to wail in despair as he wrestled the sand out of his beach bag, scavenging its depths for his book. How could anyone possibly find the beach nice?
If he was being honest, that was the true crux of his dismay. He hated— well okay, perhaps that was a bit too harsh. He…wasn’t fond of the beach. What with the noisy crowds, and the sand getting everywhere, and the salt and the damp and—
“Doctor!”
A cry from the waves had him startling in his folding chair, audibly gasping as the jolt dropped his freshly-located novel from his hands. Tegan padded over to where he sat, forlornly shaking sand from its pages once again. She stood dripping and looming above his perch with her arms crossed, far more menacing than her one-hundred and fifty-seven centimetres of height should allow.
She tapped her foot and eyed him over, expectantly. “Aren’t you going to come in the water?” she inquired eventually, when it became clear he wasn’t planning on budging the conversation along himself.
In the distance, the waves crashed menacingly and a flock of seagulls cawed. He wracked his brains trying to think of when any offer had ever sounded worse, shuddering to himself before remembering his audience and shooting her a winning smile. “Lovely as that sounds Tegan, I’m afraid that I’m very happy here with my book. You’ll have to enjoy it for the both of us.”
The girl appeared very close to stamping her foot in frustration, or to just physically dragging him into the depths herself. “But it’s the beach,” she said, gesturing to their surroundings as if a magician’s reveal of the landscape would elucidate some deeper meaning that his eyes had yet to see. “And you’re not even wearing a bathing suit!”
He looked down in confusion, relieved when the sight confirmed that his morning’s dressing hadn’t been in error. “I most certainly am,” he rebuffed, straightening the straps over his bare shoulders uncomfortably. Surely this was too much skin to be showing in the broad daylight of an English afternoon? But as he glanced around, he couldn’t help but notice that his fellow beachgoers were wearing even less, so he supposed he was in the clear.
She eyed him up and down, incredulously. “It even has a belt,” she bemoaned. “It’s linen!”
“—It’s stylish” he clarified primly. “I’ve gotten many a compliment in this bathing costume, I’ll have you know. And the occasional admiring look!”
She wrinkled her nose at that. “When, in the 1920’s? I think my grandfather had the same one.”
His smile faltered, confidence waning. “Well— yes, I suppose it was,” he admitted. “And plenty of off-planet compliments as well,” he wagged a finger he doubled down, as if the addendum lent any further weight to his claim. “Earth doesn’t have the monopoly on temperate vats of dihydrogen monoxide.”
Tegan threw up her hands at that. “Well then you’ll do wonders for the grandfathers and aliens of Cornwall alike,” she said with an eye-roll, clearly giving him up as a lost cause. She swivelled her attentions towards Turlough, who sunk deeper into the blanket next to him under the intensity of her scrutiny. “You’re getting into the water,” she decreed icily, leaving absolutely no room for debate.
Turlough cast him a pleading glance, but he had sufficiently exhausted all his spare resolve for that afternoon and had absolutely none left to lend the boy. He shrugged minutely, apologetically, as Tegan hauled him up by the wrist and dragged him across the sand like a hostage to the dungeons. He hardly had time to throw off his own polo shirt before the waves took him.
The Doctor looked away politely. Shirtless, really? Youths these days. It’s not that he shared any humanlike concerns about the impropriety of physical nudity, just…not for himself. And preferably, not in front of himself. Or in his line of sight at all. He blamed it on this body; his previous bodies had been far more, shall we say— free-spirited?
CRASH
He was torn from his grumbles and momentarily blinded by the sun as his umbrella tumbled over in the wind. He scrambled up to grab it, only to find himself holding half of a splintered wooden stake, watching as the broken remains of its shades pinwheeled merrily over the dunes and out of sight. Oh that’s just perfect, he thought to himself bitterly, stubbornly plonking back down in his chair and re-brandishing his book with a vengeance, in abject spite of the newfound glare off its white pages.
He was a Time Lord. His plans for relaxation would not be deterred by one measly star, no matter how unnecessarily warm or bright it insisted on being. He had made multiple stars for science projects during his schooldays, for Rassilon’s sake— he could take a little heat.
***
Thirty minutes later found the Doctor flat on the picnic blanket and wishing for death, both the blinding glare of his book and the sweltering plastic of his chair, abandoned in favour of cowering spread-eagle on the ground. On his front, having minutes ago sacrificed his back to the direct heat in favour of protecting the painful skin on the front of his body that was most definitely burnt. Although, not five minutes into in his current position and he could already feel the prickles of heat spreading to his back and shoulders. Facedown in the sand and spitting it out all the while, he wondered whether it was time to re-assess the merits of wailing.
He heard sand shifting under careful footsteps and felt a shadow pass over him as another beachgoer walked by. Suddenly, the steps doubled back, and the shadow came to a halt directly over his position, blessedly blocking him from the sun’s rays. He held still and prayed to any psychic force that would listen that the stranger would be distracted by something in the water and linger there just a while longer. And would it be impolite to ask if they’d consider standing there for the remainder of the afternoon?
“Doctor?” An imperious voice called to him from the direction of his shadow. The stranger was nudging lightly at his hip with what felt like a foot. “Have you expired in the heat?” the voice continued politely.
However, the foot that came to a light rest on his hip did so far higher than what could be considered appropriate, much less polite.
The Doctor rolled over onto his back crossly, squinting up at the dark silhouette above him and fully prepared to give the stranger a piece of his mind (before politely and earnestly begging them to stay right where they were). But not two seconds later, his eyes adjusted well enough to discern just who it was interrupting his misery, and he most certainly did not yelp.
“NO!” he yelped, instinctually chucking the nearest item at hand towards the familiar figure.
Sun-blindness aside, he heard an oof as his novel impacted squarely into the supposed stranger’s shoulder, the suddenness of his attack having caught the other off guard. He scrambled back until he felt the bare skin of his thighs brush directly against the scorching sand and was forced to inch carefully forwards onto the safety of the blanket with another noise that was— again, certainly not a yelp.
“No!” he reiterated firmly before the stranger could speak, groping for another item and finding only the broken wood of the umbrella stand. He brandished the stick wildly, resolute on shutting down whatever mischief the Master had brewing before it could hatch. “Now you listen here, I’ve promised Tegan and Turlough a fun, safe and alien-free afternoon, and you being here is a flagrant violation all three of those descriptors. You’ll just have to try and kill me on some other day.”
The Master held his hands up in mock-surrender, eyeing his makeshift weapon before bending to pick up his book, rubbing at his shoulder reproachfully. “Am I to be executed by— Brontë’s finest?” he inquired, brushing sand away to read from its hardcover. “Or shall it be a vampiric stake through one of my hearts? Either way, I seem to have caught you in the mood for late-1800’s dramatism.”
“Oh, and you aren’t even the right you,” he moaned, flopping back down onto the blanket in defeat and wincing as his back touched its coarse surface. Yes, definitely burnt there too. “You haven’t been my problem for decades now!”
The Master sighed, decidedly both darker in complexion and calmer in demeanour than his contemporary bearded menace. “If it helps, you aren’t the you I expected to find here either,” he clarified, before drawing a disproportionally lingering gaze across his reddened and bared skin. “Not that I’m adverse to this future form.”
The Doctor scowled, having to consciously remind himself that it would be ineffective and cartoonishly ridiculousto give into temptation and cover his indecency with his hands.
He watched warily as the Master stepped aside to settle precisely on the blanket next to him, looking unbelievably out of place in a three-piece suit against the sand. “How possibly are you wearing that in this heat?” he asked grumpily, hyperaware of his own skin shining with sweat, in contrast to the other Time Lord’s improbably perfect coif. If he had been wearing the black velvet that his contemporary counterpart favoured, the sight alone would have driven him to ruin.
The Master raised an eyebrow at his confusion. “It’s a thermoneutral Orion blend,” he explained slowly, as though it should have been obvious. “It’s delightfully chilling, but I’m afraid it does nothing for the sand.” He cast a disparaging look towards the granules that had already climbed their way up his ankles and into his socks, before glancing back at the Doctor’s attire. “Don’t tell me you’re wearing Earth linen.”
“It’s stylish!” he found himself protesting for a second time, before smacking at the fingers that had crawled up his hemline, ostensibly to pinch the material in disbelief.
The other Time Lord gave him another meticulous once-over. “That it is,” he agreed approvingly, with some indulgence. “Minimalistic, too.”
He gave him a withering look before the pair were distracted by a commotion in the waves, as his companions splashed happily in the distance. Even Turlough hadn’t been able to hold back a delighted smile as Tegan attempted to jump onto his back and pull him under with a whoop.
It was almost enough to make him think that the outing might not have been such a bad idea after all. That is, until he remembered the threat to their tranquillity that the Time Lord next to him posed.
“So, what’s it to be?” he sighed, more resignation than curiosity. “Mutant-crab henchman crawling out of the sea to snatch up my companions unless I submit myself to a thousand years of servitude? Salicylic poison in the ice-cream? Or, did you just go back in time and meddle with beachfront English lawmaking and make striped linens illegal— by punishment of immediate stripping and torture, no less?”
It was always the 'explaining his genius plan’ portion of his schemes that took the most time; the Doctor figured that it would be easier just to ask. After that, he ventured they could speed right through the ‘plot inevitably falling apart at its seams’ stage, take a brief detour into ‘uneasy collaboration’, and make a quick break for ‘solve everything and swan-off home’ with minimal embarrassment.
The Master’s look of concern tiptoed closer to horror with each sequential suggestion. “Doctor, with every aspersion future you’s assume about my intentions, I grow more and more worried about stability of my own future selves."
“You should be, he’s terrible,” the Doctor emphasized cheerfully, glad to have brought the other Time Lord some measure of disquiet. “Absolutely off his rocker, and by no means above using malevolent crustaceans, ice cream, or nudity against me— for the sake of murderous schemes, of course!” He clarified his point hurriedly as the Master attempted to bite back a smile.
“How promising,” he commented neatly, and the Doctor could only pray that he wasn’t taking his derisive hyperbole as suggestions for a future date. “But no schemes today— or any foreign alien presences, barring my own,” he conceded at his pointed stare. “So your companions can rest assured. I only dropped by because my sensors picked up your TARDIS in the vicinity, and I was curious as to whether my you had gotten the senile thing functioning again.”
“Evidently I do, eventually,” he sniffed, bristling at the insult to his ship. The poor girl had been through the ringer in those days, it wasn’t their fault the Time Lord council had insisted on tampering as well as exile. “But anything more would be telling.”
“Quite,” the Master agreed succinctly, making no further efforts to pry into their future.
The Doctor tried not to acknowledge the tiny flare of disappointment that coursed through him at the news. “So…no schemes at all then?” he ventured tentatively, keeping his voice purposefully aloof. “Not that I’d hoped for any plotting, but it’s best I keep on my toes.”
His attempted subterfuge didn’t pass the other unnoticed. “Why Doctor, are you bored?” He chuckled as the Doctor turned away defiantly, refusing to give the other the satisfaction of a verbal confirmation. “And on such a lovely summer’s day. Just listen to the sounds of the waves, the gulls cawing— why I can even hear a few human children giggling in delight—”
“Do cut the soliloquy short, you know I hate the beach!” the Doctor snapped, souring further as the Master’s shoulders only shook harder with amusement. “I don’t know why you’re laughing. As I recall, you don’t exactly love the place yourself.”
“No—” the Master’s chuckles died down and he had the audacity to wipe the mirth from his eyes, still grinning. “That I don’t. But the amount I dislike the beach is far less than how much I enjoy watching you hate it.”
The Doctor briefly re-considering stabbing him with the wooden stake, right through his wretched thermally-controlled suit.
“…Hi there?”
Tegan’s voice cut through his violent fantasies, and he turned to find her standing beside their towel holding an ice-cream. She did a double-take upon seeing the Master, eyeing him suspiciously as he rightened himself and brushed off his suit. “Have we met?” she asked slowly, her voice laced with apprehension.
“I don’t believe so, but I’ll be delighted to change that” he replied smoothly, offering her a hand. “I’m—”
“He’s a friend from my UNIT days,” the Doctor butt in hastily, cutting off the Master before he could say anything unduly revealing. The other Time Lord had no way of knowing how reluctantly familiar his companions were with his future counterpart, and the very last thing today needed was an explanation as to why the alien who had killed Tegan’s aunt was sharing his picnic blanket. “Good friend— used to get lunch together, and other friendly things. Ran in to him here, completely by accident. What are the odds!” He continued to babble as both Tegan and the Master’s faces grew more incredulous.
The Master nodded slowly, digesting the backstory that he had so haphazardly spewed as Tegan shook his hand. “My name is Colonel Marsters,” he drawled out with a respectful declination of his head, making the Doctor choke on the water he had swallowed to distract his mouth from blowing their cover. “But you can call me Harold.”
For a moment Tegan’s brow furrowed, and he held his breath waiting for the other shoe to drop. But evidently trust won out and her expression eased. To his utter horror, she appeared downright flattered by the Master’s decorum. “I’m Tegan,” she responded with a charming smile.
Clearly, she had deemed that Marsters would be too glaringly idiotic of an alias for the named villain whom she suspected.
“Do you know the Brigadier?” Turlough emerged from behind Tegan with two iced lollies, handing one to the Doctor before sitting down on his far side. “Green apple flavour,” he explained, shoving his own into his mouth as the Doctor frowned at the sticky treat.
The Doctor cast a visibly suspicious eye towards the Master in case of any ice-cream related schemes he could be waltzing straight into, as per their previous discussion.
In response, the Master simply rolled his eyes at what he presumably deemed paranoia and leaned down and in, making a point of tasting the iced lolly in his hand before straightening up with a smug look, as if to demonstrate his decidedly un-poisoned state.
“Yes I do know him. Lovely chap, and a dear old friend of mine,” he lied amicably in response to Turlough’s unanswered question, squinting in the direction of the small beachside shop from whence his companions had wandered. “Actually, that was quite refreshing, perhaps I’ll go buy one myself.” Without pause, the Master turned and made a beeline for the hut, which stood alone and unpopulated a hundred meters down the sand.
Across from him, Turlough had fallen uncomfortably silent, frowning at what he clearly believed was an overly presumptive move against the Doctor’s person. As if tasting his dessert would make the top ten thousand of the Master’s greatest presumptions against him. Tegan was squinting at the retreating figure as well, her suspicions kindled anew.
“As I said— good friend, funny running into him here,” he distracted them from their unease with a falsely cheerful air, covering his own nerves by taking a large bite of his iced lolly.
...Only to spit it out onto the sand mere moments later, doubling over in a hacking cough.
“Doctor! Are you alright?” Tegan’s worry trailed in as he felt Turlough pounding on his back in an attempt to help what he assumed was a choking fit.
“Yes, yes I’m fine, thank you, ” he gasped out, kindly (but firmly) pushing down Turlough’s hands before they could bruise his back further in their quest to be helpful. His companions watched as he pulled a face, smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth in displeasure.
“Pears!” he bemoaned in disgust. “That was pear-flavoured, now I’m going to have the taste of pear stuck in my mouth for hours!”
Both Tegan and Turlough shared an exasperated sigh. “All that trouble because they gave you the wrong ice-cream flavour?” Tegan exclaimed in shrill disbelief.
“You know my feelings about pears!” he snapped back defensively, resisting the urge to scrub his own tongue. Even the sand had tasted better than this.
“Ehem—”
The Doctor turned towards the polite sound of a throat being cleared, just in time for a new iced lolly to be placed into his hand. His task completed, the Master sunk down in his original spot with his own ice-cream.
“As I was walking towards the shop, I happened to recall that you had a particular aversion to pears, and I suspected that you might not be pleased when you realised the vendor’s mistake.”
He said it casually, by way of explanation. But the guileless expression that the Master was straining to maintain as he spoke was doing nothing to ease his renewed suspicion. “However, the gentleman at the shop sends both his apologies and regards, as well as a replacement— completely of his own free will," he amended quickly as the Doctor’s eyes narrowed.
He liked to believe that hypnotising an ice-cream vendor for free treats was beneath the Master (at least this Master) but one could never be too careful.
“How thoughtful!” Tegan exclaimed, as the Master cordially returned her smile. He glared at the iced lolly without thanks; the other Time Lord’s general popularity doing nothing to improve his deteriorating mood.
"Lord, Doctor— you really have gotten burnt!” Turlough exclaimed from his other side as he gently pressing a fingertip against one ruddy shoulder. He let out a pained gasp at the contact, the added heat differential between human and Time Lord skin making the touch all the more painful.
Unfortunately, leaning away from Turlough’s assailing finger meant leaning into the Master, who had the infuriating nerve to feel delightfully and indecently chilled against his left side.
He immediately straightened up, glaring at the Master for having any right to feel soothing. At least this body of his had the decorum to reserve his self-satisfaction to a tight smile; his contemporary body would have been unbearably and salaciously smug.
“Perhaps you should go back to the TARDIS?” Tegan said, looking crestfallen as she did so. “We’ll be fine out here by ourselves for a few hours. And besides, the ice-cream isn’t nearly as good as I remembered.”
“Yes, you certainly could.” The Master concurred, tone laden with badly-concealed humour at what he knew was an impossible offer to accept. As much as he would love to retreat to the cold, dark, and Master-free confines of his ship, he couldn’t leave his companions on the beach alone while the other Time Lord was lurking around. Interfering with his timeline to any lethal extent might be in flagrant violation of his future self, but there were no such reservations against the lives of his friends.
Plus— not most important of all, he assured himself; but poignant nevertheless— he flatly refused to let the Master win.
“That’s alright. I’m actually extremely comfortable right where I am here.” He insisted with a beaming smile, saving the expression’s tighter, more frigid counterpart for the Time Lord to his left.
The Master remained undeterred by his reluctance to leave. “Ah, the same old Doctor. Always the stalwart trooper.” He punctuated the claim by throwing a congenial arm over the Doctor’s shoulders. To the companions, the action had all the trimmings of light-hearted comradery. Only the Master’s more attuned Time Lord ears could have discerned the high whine of distress that escaped his throat as the material chaffed against his inflamed skin. “Ah, my apologies—” he amended, full seconds after the fact, relinquishing the limb as if he had only just remembered that touching his shoulders might cause him discomfort. “But perhaps you should borrow my jacket to protect your skin?”
“No. That won’t be necessary.” He forced the sentence out between teeth clenched tightly into a mockery of a smile, imbuing it with syrupy sincerity that was far from friendly.
“Oh, but I insist,” the Master pressed smoothly, for all appearances the concerned friend. (So long as no one looked too closely at the vicious humour lurking in the corners of his eyes.)
Trust the Master to leap at the chance to combine his physical discomfort with social humiliation, and appear to be having a jolly good time doing so.
“Oh, Doctor please do! It’s a right good thing of him to offer, and you’re hurting my eyes just to look at!” Tegan urged, looking at his arms in distress.
What was he supposed to say? That he couldn’t because he just knew the blasted jacket would be a trap. Or, more likely, it would feel lovely and that would be a worse kind of trap because that’s exactly the kind of self-satisfied win that would fuel the Master for years and he’d never hear the end of it? Or maybe just a quick “I’d love to— only, it would remind me too much of taking his jacket as a love-struck simpering youth, and that’s exactly the kind of poor decision making I spend every waking moment trying to atone for."
His hearts were pounding from the indignity of it all— and possibly, from heatstroke.
He sighed in defeat. “Sure, how kind of you," he intoned dully, giving in and accepting the proffered jacket. He slipped it carefully over his arms and shoulders while Tegan and Turlough chatted away, spitefully allowing the coattails to drag around him collecting sand where he sat. But he had to bite back a moan as the cold silken material clung luxuriously to his skin.
To his unmitigated dismay, it felt incredible. What a complete and utter bastard.
He flatly ignored the way the Master’s eyes trailed proprietarily over the seam of his shoulders, where the Doctor’s bare skin pressed against his own material, in favour of taking a large and obstinate bite from his new iced lolly—
Before furiously spitting it out into the sand once again.
“Pear! Again?!” This time he really did allow himself to wail, shooting up from the blanket and stomping away towards the beach hut, holding himself with tightly coiled outrage.
“Doctor? Where are you going?” Both Turlough and Tegan’s bafflement trailed after him as he stormed away. However, the Master’s surprise, he noted furiously, was auspiciously absent.
“I am going to fetch something— anything, that isn’t pear-flavoured, and then I’m going to give the vendor a piece of my mind.”
And, with any luck, shove an ice lolly right down the Master’s horrendously smug throat.
***
The blanket’s occupants watched together as the Doctor stomped off in the direction of the beach hut.
Regardless of his ire (or perhaps— made all the better for it) there was something unmistakably humorous about the figure he cut; youthful face and figure offset by the sheer magnitude of his outrage; not to mention his antiquated bathing suit, nor the Master’s own black jacket that flapped in the wind of his stride, clinging to his freckled skin like a great winged bat.
“I apologise for his behaviour, I don’t think he likes the beach very much but there’s no call for that sort of rudeness.”
He was bemused to find that the Doctor’s young female companion (Tegan, was it?) was attempting to console him. “And after you were so thoughtful to get him a new iced lolly, and give him your jacket, and everything!”
“Not to worry my dear, I’m intimately familiar with the Doctor’s moods.” He shot her a fortifying smile as she snorted in commiseration.
The unlikely group sat in amicable silence for a few minutes, enjoying their desserts. The Master tried very hard not to feel aggrieved by the heat sinking through his newly-bared shirt and onto his own shoulders; reminding himself that in this case, the end was more than justified by any irksome means— such as sun, or human company.
Nearly ten minutes had elapsed before the other companion, the boy, ventured his concern. “Do you think he’s alright?” he wavered, anxiously scanning the vista towards the beach hut. He was bracing to rise from the blanket in search of the Doctor before the Master shot out a hand to stop him.
“I’m sure he’s fine, there are very few people more capable of looking after themselves,” he reassured the boy, calming him into sitting back down. Still, the youth looked uncertain. “You know how he likes to 'make friends'— ” he joked, cajoling a small smile from the humans. “Almost as much as he likes to call people out when he’s in a pique. I’m certain he’s off doing one of the two, or both, or something equally stimulating.”
Internally, he smiled at his own joke. There’s something to be said about paying your favours forwards.
“What was your name young man? My apologies, I believe I forgot to ask.”
“I’m Turlough,” came the tentative reply, the boy shooting out a hand of his own. The Master shook it duly.
“Lovely to meet you Turlough,” he hammed back before splitting his attention between the two humans. While we wait— has the Doctor ever told you any stories of his time with UNIT?”
Two equally curious and greedy heads shook in response.
“Well believe me, I have more than a few stories about your Doctor, but you must promise to never let the man know I told you, lest he feel embarrassed.” The Master settled in, readying himself for what he could only hope was a lengthy performance. “Firstly, there was this one time when…”
***
The sun was setting, and after enough embarrassing tales of mishap, the Doctor’s companions had been persuaded to re-enter the waves. Meanwhile, the Master felt he had earned a break, and had allowed himself to close his eyes and be lulled into a dose from the rhythmic sounds of the shoreline.
All at once— the tranquillity was abruptly shattered by the distant slamming of a door, followed by the sound of familiar footfalls crunching their way towards his position.
Footsteps that were both unsteadier and more furious than they had been upon their departure.
Eyes still closed, the Master allowed himself a smug grin.
“Tegan! Turlough!” The Doctor’s incensed holler rang out in the silence of the late afternoon lull. “Get out of there, we are leaving this instant!”
He peaked an eye open just in time to see an iced lolly being chucked at his head with a vengeance, dodging it by inches.
“And you!”
The Master felt the Doctor’s rage turn on him with near physical palpability. While the other Time Lord fumed, he let his eyes roam leisurely across the Doctor’s form and couldn’t contain another chuckle. He looked— well, askance was putting it delicately. He stood unsteadily, golden hair irreparably ruffled and somehow even more reddened across the shoulders and shins than he had been before his departure.
Along the way, it appeared that he had also lost his bathing shirt. And his belt.
“Oh Doctor, so you’ve returned.” He responded pleasantly, and in pointed ignorance of the other Time Lord’s state. He brought himself to a gracefully seated position. “I take it you’ve sorted out your iced lolly problem?”
If looks could kill, the Doctor’s glower would have taken out his remaining centuries in one fell swoop.
“I loathe you, ” the Doctor informed him matter-of-factly, punctuating the insult by tipping him over and off the blanket so that he could bunch it up and stuff it back into his sandy rucksack, along with his forgotten novel. “Let’s never do this again sometime.”
He smiled beatifically up at the Doctor’s scandalised rage as he turned and hobbled in the direction of where his TARDIS must lie hidden, patently ignoring the questions and concerns of his companions as they hurried to follow him.
“Doctor!” he called out, watching as he stiffly froze and tensed before whirling around; the expression on his face just begging him to try his luck at any smart retort.
He got up and padded his way placidly over to the other Time Lord, watching his conniption mount with every step. “I’ll need my coat back,” he said graciously, shooting a mock-apologetic glance towards his concerned companions.
The Doctor paled, physically trembling with sheer indignation at having forgotten he was wearing it. And wasn’t that just a lovely sight? Wordless and tight-lipped, he shucked off the jacked and balled it up before throwing it unceremoniously at the Master’s waiting figure and turning back once more.
“See you again soon!” He couldn’t resist a final jibe at the retreating form, watching fondly as those lovely freckled shoulders seized once more before taking a deep, centring breath and proceeding onwards without returning the spar. Perhaps even sooner than his timeline would suggest, if the tracker he had slipped into the other's bag had any say in the matter.
All in a day’s work, he thought to himself, near whistling with cheer as he made his way back to his own TARDIS. And as he walked, he passed the vacant indent in the sand where a beach hut (or what appeared to have been a beach hut) had, until very recently, stood.
Now, what could his own Doctor be up to on a fine evening such as this?
***
[A few hours earlier]
“Pear iced lollies— it was an inspired choice.”
The shop’s sole employee paused his pretence at appearing busy, turning to face the Master with a sharp grin. “Well, I do learn from the best,” the man (or rather, the individual posing as a man) purred out in reply from beneath a long and astonishingly fake-looking grey beard, overlaying what appeared to be a natural goatee.
A grey beard, which sat in jarring contrast to the decidedly black hair that he could see hidden away under a comedically-antiquated sweets shop hat.
“That we are,” he agreed. “The iced lolly wasn’t really poisoned, was it?” he inquired after a moment; while he had scoffed at the idea only minutes ago, it was now an entirely probable notion.
An uncannily familiar expression of exasperation met his own as the other’s eyebrows raised.
He’d take that as an affirmation of a negative. “So,” he began conversationally, lounging against the shop counter with practiced ease. “We’ve taken to double dipping in our old age?”
“Double dip— he’s not even your Doctor, you utter poacher!” his older body seethed, taking advantage of the present company to momentarily free himself from his fake beard and hat. The Master could only commiserate; he knew first hand how tedious disguises could get on a hot day such as this.
And apparently— would know it again.
He shrugged. “Finders-keepers, and all that.” His tone was nowhere near apologetic.
“Moreover,"his future self continued, peering over his shoulder and back towards the blanket where the Doctor had just bent over sputtering in a coughing fit. “Do you know how rarefied it is to coerce that man into a bathing suit? I assure you it doesn’t get any easier; I’m only surprised there aren’t more of us here.”
“Pears!” The aggrieved wail echoed over to their position, and they shared twin looks of indulgent glee.
“I concede that this is your domain, and far be it for me to rob from myself,” he conceded, giving the other Time Lord a nod of approval. “In which case, how do you propose we proceed?”
His future self busied his hands behind the counter before coming up with another iced lolly, remarkably similar to the one that had been handed to the Doctor only minutes before. “Give him this,” he stated, thrusting the treat into the Master’s receptive grip.
He pinched its thin plastic casing between his fingers, scrutinizing the thing. “And is this one salicylate-flavoured?” he enquired with false ease, only slightly worried for the Doctor’s sake. While the Time Lord in front of him was remarkably similar to his current self, there was a glint of madness behind his unfamiliar blue eyes that he didn’t quite recognise from his own mirror, and it implied that no threat was entirely unfounded.
“No, far better!” His future body's face was animated with a conspiratory mischief. “It’s pear.”
The Master was briefly befuddled, before full comprehension of his meaning kicked in. “Understood.” He felt a matching smile creep across his own face. “Naturally he’ll be furious, but I’d bet that I can help prod things along.”
“You can. I remember it well.”
“Then by all means.” He turned to head back towards the picnic blanket before pausing for a final comment to his future self, who was busy re-fastening his costume.
“I believe that good things come to those who wait. Accordingly, I expect you to prove me right in a few decades’ time.”
“Oh, but of course.” Re-disguised, he couldn’t see the full expression that sprung to the lips of his future form, but those eyes sparkled with indecent intent. “Good luck, Master. You’ll see me in the mirror very soon.”
“Good luck— and happy hunting.”