Work Text:
He had woken up sheltering in a cave, with a head wound. He had assumed- quite naturally- that he’d simply been in the cave and hit his head.
Perhaps that had been true, but it occurred to him that may not have been a fully accurate estimation of the situation. Things had been fine for a short while, and then it had begun snowing. Which in and of itself wasn’t too much an issue, the clothes he’d been wearing were surprisingly warm.
But then the light bit of snow had progressed, and now he was in the middle of a blizzard- and had no idea in which direction the cave he’d come from. That was less than ideal. Fitting, he supposed, given he had no idea of anything else either. He knew the basics, of course, his-
Well, actually, his name and age were proving somewhat elusive. But he knew basic facts, like just how long he had in the snow before frostbite got to him. Temperature was negative thirty, just about, and the wind was… perhaps fifty miles per hour? Though it had been less, when he’d started. And he’s been walking for… well, the wind had been going at that rate for exactly ten minutes and fifty six seconds, so…
Oh! He already had frostbite! That explained why he couldn’t feel his hands! He grinned, pleased to have figured it out, before his smile faded. He really needed shelter, given the frostbite and the fact his thinking was addled. Why had he left that cave?
Well, there was nothing for it now. He looked around, seeking any sort of shelter- he didn’t even know why he’d been here- he certainly wasn’t dressed appropriately for hiking, or any other activity that might take place on a mountain.
He continued walking, squinting to try and protect his eyes from the wind, looking in every direction to try and sight… anything aside from blinding white snow. He was so busy looking that he eventually walked into something. Or rather, he quickly amended as they caught him, someone. He wasn’t sure how, they’d seemed to have not been there a mere moment ago, or he would have spotted them. Now that he had, however, he took them in.
A man, probably. They were the same height as him, and just as inappropriately dressed, wearing sunglasses of all things. Admittedly, that somewhat made sense- after all, suns frequently appeared brighter in the winter, and the light would reflect off of the snow. Despite this, most people chose to wear goggles and snowsuits, not sunglasses and leather jackets.
He blinked. “It’s rather cold out,” he said through chattering teeth, having not thought it would be so difficult to speak until he tried. “Don’t… suppose you’ve got shelter?”
He could not say quite what happened next- only that they were in the cold and then they quite suddenly weren’t , instead seeming to be in… a medical facility, of some sort.
He assumed the most reasonable explanation. “Did I black out?” he asked, though he wasn’t quite sure why he’d be standing in the middle of the room, with the stranger still holding him, if he’s somehow been brought here to heal.
Then again, he wasn’t sure how the other might have carried him either, when they were roughly the same height. Still, it was what most made sense, probably.
The man looked at him disparagingly, and when he spoke he’d scarcely gotten out more than a syllable before he suddenly realized something. “Oh! You’re American! Is that where I am? I’m afraid I can’t pay an American hospital bill…”
“You are not in America,” the probably-man said scornfully. “Don’t tell me you’ve lost your memory again.”
“Again? Do I do this often?”
“You had last time we met.”
He turned this information around in his mind while the stranger rather brusquely stripped him, sprayed something all over him, toweled him off, and began getting him into a different outfit. It was an odd one, and looked rather similar to that the man wore. The leather of the jacket was smoother than the clothes he’d been wearing, but he didn’t dislike it- the sensation was novel, really.
“Oh, we’ve met before. Terribly sorry, but I don’t recall your name- or my own, for that matter. What are they?”
The man hissed something that sounded like an insult, though it was too quiet to tell. “I am the Master. You are the Doctor.” More quietly, he muttered, “And why people assume you’d be of any aid in the war in this body, I have no idea.”
“War? That sounds terribly unpleasant,” the Doctor said.
“Case in point,” the Master said drily.
“Do I get a pair of sunglasses too? If I’m being dressed like you, I mean. Or is this the only outfit you have?”
The Master muttered a few more insults, seeming exasperated. “You do not get a pair of sunglasses, no,” he responded curtly. “And I have other clothes, but not in this room. Sit down.”
The Doctor obediently sat, hoping he could perhaps get this man to brighten up.
“On the bed,” he said.
The Doctor blinked, standing again and stumbling over to the bed. He was still shivering, but… “Oh, what did you spray on me earlier? Was that why I don’t have frostbite any more? Also, do you have a gender? Terribly sorry for not asking earlier.”
The person sighed, seeming exasperated. “Our society is beyond gender norms,” he told the Doctor, speaking as one might to a child. Perhaps he just always sounded short? “And yes, it was.”
Well, if he didn’t state a preference, the Doctor supposed he would continue using he, he supposed. Or maybe she would be more convenient, so they’d be using different ones? Or he could use she for himself…
But if they were from the same place, perhaps they should have the same pronouns. “Oh! We’re from the same place? Is here that place? If not, could I trouble you to take me back there?”
The Master outright hissed at that. “No.”
“Oh,” the Doctor responded. And yes, having thought about them, those names did feel rather accurate, even if he didn’t think most species had names of that sort. “Why not?”
The Master looked frustrated. “Would you like me to do some guided meditation with you? It might help you with your anger,” the Doctor suggested. “Or… oh, is that fear this time?”
The Master exhaled very slowly. “Neither of us are going back to our home planet, because it is currently trying to conscript us both in a War, and you dislike fighting, while I dislike dying.”
Well, the Doctor supposed that made sense. He watched the Master scanning him with several tools. “Should I be doing that? If I’m the Doctor?”
“No.”
“Alright.”
He stayed silent for a minute, until the Master took out a syringe and drew some blood from him. “Why are you doing that?”
“Because I’m running a comparison of our DNA, to ensure yours is stable,” the Master said.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” the Doctor asked, because of course their blood contained the genetic material, but the Master did not deign to answer.
Still, the Doctor supposed it wouldn’t do too much harm, given the Master had only taken a small amount. He watched, and the room remained silent until the Master muttered, “That will do,” some minutes later.
He looked pleased, so the Doctor decided he could test his theory about whether or not the Master always sounded some variety of negative emotion or not.
“Do we live together?” He was certain they didn’t, given he’d mentioned the last time they’d met, but he did rather enjoy the surprised sputter the question resulted in.
It took only four and three quarters of a second for the Master to regain his composure. “No. We do not live together.”
“How do I know you?”
The Master was silent for several long moments. “We attended school together,” he said. It sounded honest, but the pause left the Doctor uncertain as to the honesty of his words.
Still, he didn’t think he would gain anything by pushing the point. “Can you do something about my memories?” he asked instead.
The Master looked him over for a few moments, silent. The Doctor wished he could see his eyes, try to discern what the man was thinking, but the sunglasses made his face difficult to read.
“Yes,” the Master said. “And before you ask, I will, after I’ve gotten you back to your ship.”
That seemed acceptable enough, the Doctor supposed, so he nodded. “When will you do that? I’ve got a head wound, you know. I forgot to mention, but that’s generally important.”
“I already repaired it while you were on the bed. I am waiting for something to synthesize. Once it is done and I have confirmed it stops the degradation, I will take you back to your ship.”
The Doctor nodded- he had seen the Master put the vial of his blood into a machine, after all. “What’s degrading?”
“Your memory.” It sounded truthful, but also like a lie. An answer to his question, but perhaps not the answer.
“Are you going to do me harm?” the Doctor asked, deciding to just ask .
That, to his immense surprise, got a laugh out of the Master. “Not today.”
Somehow that was reassuring. It seemed like an acknowledgement this man had hurt him, which explained the instinct to leave here. But… that much did seem honest. He wasn’t sure why, or how he’d know, but he decided to trust it.
He watched the Master for a few moments, marveling at the fact he’d been healed and hadn’t even noticed. As he turned his head to look at some equipment, however, he became aware of his wet hair and made a displeased face. When that didn’t suffice to get the Master to ask him what was wrong, he spoke up. “Only, will you tell me where there’s a blow-dryer, then? My hair is wet and I don’t like it. Long hair takes ages to dry, you know.”
The Master stared at him for a few long seconds. “Sit at the foot of the bed,” he ordered. The Doctor did so, assuming there was an outlet there. Instead, to his surprise, the Master retrieved a hairdryer and brush from a drawer but sat behind him and began doing it himself.
It was nice, if he was honest with himself, especially given the Master was careful to not tug any tangles or not. It was rather considerate of him. Alas, it was over before the Doctor might have liked, but he valiantly avoided uttering even a word of complaint when the Master got up.
He walked over to the same machine as before and took out a syringe that was glowing a gorgeous gold colour- different than the one he’d put in, then- and injected himself with it.
He then appeared to scan himself before looking at the computer screen, which the Doctor couldn’t see from his current angle on the bed, and nodding.
Before the Doctor could even think of how to ask what he was doing, the Master had returned. The other man helped him up, not giving him much choice in the matter if the Doctor was quite honest with himself. Then the Doctor blinked and they were in… a different, very crowded room.
“Where are we?”
“Your ship. I utilized a vortex manipulator.”
“What’s that?”
“Either I tell you or I cure your amnesia. Choose wisely.”
“Memories,” the Doctor responded instantly. The Master nodded, leading him to a plush armchair and making him sit down. He didn’t offer any resistance, keen to regain his memories.
The Master took off his sunglasses, and the Doctor became quite unaware of anything except the Master telling him to sleep , and that he’s have his memories back when he woke up.
To the Master’s credit, he’d been telling the truth, and when he woke the Doctor did, in fact, have all the memories he’d had before. He stood up, examining himself.
Well. It certainly wasn’t his worst meeting with the Master- far from it. Compared to most of their recent run-ins it had been positively civil. Yes, he’d stolen some of the Doctor’s DNA, but that was far better than trying to steal his entire body. And allowing the Master to stabilize his body was rather a fair trade for saving him, in the Doctor’s opinion, even if he might have preferred being consulted first.
The Doctor decided to put it out of his mind, instead setting new coordinates and taking off- there was no guarantee his next meeting with the Master would be nearly so civil. Hopefully next time he’s have his memory.