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“That looks like it hurts quite an awful lot, Doctor,” the Master crooned, watching as the Doctor writhed and screamed in agony.
The Chameleon Arch gripped its head in an unwavering grasp that the Doctor had no chance of freeing itself from, no matter how much it desperately tugged at the contraption and begged the Master to let it go. The process was painful, all Time Lords knew that, but watching it unfold before the Master’s eyes, his delightfully agonised enemy sobbing openly as its whole genetic code was rewritten for no reason but the Master’s whims. He had, of course, experienced it himself, but that hadn’t even been remotely fun, and watching as the Doctor cried and struggled, unable to save himself, was so much better. Maybe he should have empathy, since the both of them had already been through the process before and both of them knew how awful it was, but really it just made him gleeful.
For most of his life, the Master had found his greatest joys in the Doctor’s suffering. Watching coldly as the Doctor’s identity was torn apart and remade was probably the greatest experience he’d ever had, and the beautiful symphony of his screams and sobs only enhanced the experience. The Master had all the control he needed over the situation and could just kick back, resting against the Doctor’s desecrated TARDIS – the Master’s paradox machine – and watch contentedly.
There were hundreds of ways he could have forced the Doctor into the Chameleon Arch, from trickery to brute force, but the Master settled on using the Doctor’s hope and faith against it. He offered him a bed for the night, which the Doctor accepted with a worrying lack of suspicion, and the Master simply picked it up and moved it. Already thin, the Master’s erratic way of feeding the Doctor wasn’t doing its health any favours, but it made carrying him so much easier. Waking up to excruciating pain hadn’t been pleasant for the Doctor, the Master was sure of it, but the face it had made when it came to was truly exquisite and any empathy the Master could have felt was swept away.
The Master was patient when he needed to be, and he waited wordlessly until the Doctor – though it may not really be the Doctor any more – stopped screaming and collapsed to the ground. Perfect.
John Smith – because apparently the Master hadn’t had the power to change that awful name – peered up at him with big, empty eyes. No, not empty, not quite. There was something there, but it wasn’t something the Master recognised; a new, enthralling gleam in its eyes.
The Chameleon Arch had created a new person with John Smith. He wasn’t the Doctor, but the Master found him fascinating nonetheless. His skin was hot, hotter than the Master had ever come to expect from the Doctor, and the single heart in his chest was beating slowly, evenly. Aside from all the physical differences, John Smith’s mind was so different to the Doctor’s. The stunning lack of telepathic ability leapt out to the Master, but once he pressed past that and into the new human’s mind itself, he found how stunningly barren his mind was, like an empty house that no one had moved into. All the foundations were there, but the constant rush of emotions and logical leaps that made up the Doctor’s mind were dulled, pressing slowly against the Master’s consciousness, absolutely unfiltered.
It hadn’t been hard to find John Smith a job on the Valiant, since he’d seemed to believe he had one, no matter how much the Master had tried to dissuade him of that at the start. He was convinced he was a mechanic, and the Master needed a new mechanic anyways, after pushing the last few off the Valiant. It was annoying, though, that John was so dedicated to his work when the Master had finally gotten the Doctor to sleep in his bed with him only a week prior. When the Master could convince the stupid human to leave its work, it behaved exactly how he would’ve hoped; devoted and affectionate.
The Master reached down a hand to wipe some of the grime off John’s face and he positively beamed, leaning into the Master’s touch so naturally, like the Master’s touch was the most welcome thing in the world. Something about it unsettled the Master, but the rush he got from keeping the Doctor’s consciousness in his pocket while he held and kissed and did what he wanted with John Smith’s body. To some extent, it was revenge against the Doctor for seeing him as Yana, but it would be lying if he said he didn’t also just enjoy it.
“Master,” John said, those enthralling eyes gleaming.
“Yes?”
John just hummed, pressing further into the Master’s touch. He was hard-working, and clever, and most of all, he wasn’t the Doctor. The Master wasn’t sure whether the differences made him like the human more or less, but either way it was thrilling. Something about seeing the Doctor and for once knowing with certainty that he knew infinitely more than it was impossibly appealing. He knew he did have a plan, but seeing John Smith, so vulnerable without even realising why he shouldn’t be, made him forget it altogether. Why would he rush anything? He had all the time in the world to have as much fun with the human Doctor as he wanted, after all.
“Don’t you think you’re done for the day?” the Master said. If John Smith was any more aware, any more intelligent, he might have realised it wasn’t a question at all, but his attention was being drawn back to his work and his fingers started twitching restlessly.
“Hm?” John said, hardly paying the Master any mind as he turned his attention back to the circuit board he’d been tinkering away at. He was kneeling on the ground for the best angle, and the Master greatly enjoyed seeing him on his knees without all the hard work that would usually get the Doctor in that position. “No, no, I haven’t finished my project. I need to get this done.”
“How dutiful of you,” the Master said, feeling surprisingly patient. “But since I’m your boss, I think I have the authority to tell you to put down your work and come with me.”
“Oh, well, I—” John blinked, torn, and the Master moved his hand to grip his hair and tug just hard enough that he was sure it hurt, a silent warning. “I suppose…”
“That’s better, Doctor.”
John laughed. “I never got a doctorate.” Of course. This wasn’t the Doctor in any way that really mattered, and he had no context for what the Master was ever referring to. “I considered it, you know, but the extra school years and payments… I thought it was better to just jump into the professional world.”
“Oh, of course.” The Master was hardly listening, tugging John along behind him by the hair, which he’d never let go of. John was just chattering on, unaware of the looks he always got from the rest of the staff. They didn’t understand what had happened to him, couldn’t see the watch safe in the Master’s pocket.
“I assume you have a doctorate of some kind,” John said. “Or do you? Do you need one, if you’re not a human? Did you get one on your planet, or is it a completely different system? I would love to hear about how it was on your planet, it's really interesting—”
“That’s enough with the questions,” the Master said, yanking harder on the Doctor’s hair as he pulled him into an unused conference room.
“M-Master?” John said, going to sit down on the long central table. “One last question?”
“Yes, what?”
“Why… Why me?”
“I don’t catch your drift, John.”
“There are so many people here,” John said, tugging at his shirtsleeves. “So many interesting, attractive people. But you’ve chosen me? I just don't understand… why?”
The Doctor would never have me assuage its insecurities, the Master though uncharitably. That wasn’t true, of course, but the Doctor was more likely to be subtle about it. The Master stared at John, all shame and worry, and sighed. “You fascinate me,” he said simply, and John’s eyes lit up with hope. The Master hated the part of him that wanted to reassure him, he wished he could reach into his chest and rip out his hearts. Instead, the Master caressed the fob watch in his pocket, tracing the Gallifreyan engravings. “There is something about you, John— You remind me of an old friend of mine. And you’re certainly far from ugly, which doesn’t hurt anything.”
“Oh.” John was smiling bashfully, kicking his legs under the table. “Thank you. You… you’re not unattractive, either.”
“I know.”
The Master had a plan, and it was truly diabolical. He knew why he had put the Doctor through the Chameleon Arch, he knew what he was building John Smith up for. But the way John was smiling at him was so carefree and trusting, he worried his plans wouldn’t matter any more if John kept looking at him like they had no complicated history, like it was easy for him to appreciate the Master.
“What was it you wanted?” John asked, casual as anything. He had no way of knowing, of course, that the Master had a plan for him, because it simply never occurred to him to search for an ulterior motive.
“Nothing important,” the Master said, relegating his plans for the next day as he had been doing for weeks. He approached John, pinning him in place against the table, one hand on his face and the other on the fob watch as he leaned in and kissed John with surprising gentleness.