Work Text:
September 2025
Oh, golden boy, don't act like you were kind. You were mine, but you were awful every time
"You’re unbelievable," The Master chastised, yanking you through the TARDIS doors. When both of you were inside, he let go of your arm. It had been a real close call, but you’d made it back in one piece. You always did, one way or another. It was mere luck you hadn’t sustained any injuries.
"It’s my middle name, apparently" Your smirk hadn’t wavered, even with ash and cuts on your jacket. That seemed to set off the time lord completely.
"Why?" His question came seemingly out of thin air.
You deadpanned, "Why, what?" You weren’t telepathic, last you checked. Though it wasn’t the right time to be funny, it seemed, judging from the way his eyes darkened immediately. "You jeopardised my plans. I was so close to acquiring the Lumnishards."
Oh, you thought. He’s mad with my interfering.
Of course he had been. It made sense, though this wasn’t your first time meddling in his schemes. When he noticed your lack of a reply, he slowly crossed the console room. His nose almost bumped into yours, no emotion shown on his face. It was his way of trying to intimidate you into giving him an answer.
Right, the Lumnishards. He’d promised you a quick trip for crystals on a planet called Velvoria, home of the Bunsprites species. These crystals could synchronise with the TARDIS’ temporal circuits, enhancing the ship’s capabilities immediately. It seemed great in theory, but that was before you found out his latest scheme.
"I couldn’t let you go through with it," you said, hoping honesty would count for something. He scrunched his nose, "Why not?"
"The Bunsprites-"
"-The Bunsprites," he mocked, "So that’s what this is about? You having a soft spot for bunnies?" The Master leaned back, shaking his head.
"No," You glared at him, "it’s about the way you were going to acquire the shards." A humourless laugh escaped him, "Please, I’ve never been a saint. You know that."
He was right, you knew that. Still, you wouldn’t let that stop you from doing what was right. You’d never feared standing up for the things you’d believed in. It wouldn’t change now, not even if you were his companion. You supposed that’s why The Master took a liking to you.
"Trust me, I know. But you draining the energy out of the Bunsprites? That was going too far," you stood your ground. "They were already endangered, after their exploitation! You were going to kill them completely!"
In the library you’d read an informative book on the species, right before they landed. Guilt had hit you during your adventure. You had no choice but to blow up The Master’s makeshift harvest machine.
He closed the space between them once again, his eyes burning with anger. "You made us look weak," he snarled, "You made me look weak!"
Him blaming you for his shortcomings wasn't something you were going to tolerate. You raised your voice, "Well, I’m sorry your fragile ego can’t handle a botched scheme. Did you really think I’d stay quiet?"
"I was expecting to be able to carry out my plan, to do as I please. You keep holding me back!"
You’d been hoping this wouldn’t escalate. Instead, it felt like a bomb was going to detonate. "Master-"
"No. You hold me back. I have a reputation to uphold. All you’ve ever been is a liability." Your chest tightened, your hands curled into fists at your side. It was futile to continue the conversation, that much you knew.
Maybe this dynamic, this weird understanding between you both, wasn’t ever meant to work. The Doctor, once your friend, had probably been right to warn you.
You blinked, trying to keep your voice steady. "You know what? Fine. I’ll- I’ll go."
His eyes flickered, sober for a moment, but he didn’t move to stop you. Fine.
You didn’t hesitate. You raced through the console room, past the console, and didn’t look back. The TARDIS hummed in apology. Before you knew it, you were met with falling leaves and the breezy London air.
December 2025
And time is strangely calm now ‘cause everybody's gone
You’d been angry and upset, at first. For over a week, your texts to The Master sat half-finished and unsent. You had caught yourself writing a message to him, apologising for your outburst. But then you quickly remembered how temporary you had been to him, what he had said.
And The Master had proven you right; you were merely temporary. It wasn’t something you could blame him for. He should’ve taken on an alien for a companion, you once found herself reflecting, atleast they’re not fragile.
The autumn blues certainly weren’t helping you. You started texting your boss more often, asking for days off. Another major indicator was your lack of enthusiasm for celebrating Halloween. No Halloween party, no scary movies, no costumes, nothing. You’d even shrugged off a Pumpkin Spice Latte. Having anything whimsical in your life felt almost forbidden.
Your brooding had gotten to a point where your friends had to stage an intervention. "(Y/n), we’re worried about you," your friends had confessed. "Usually you love this time of year!"
Explaining what happened wasn’t easy. You couldn’t tell them you’d lost one of your closest friends, an alien, while travelling through time and space. They’d lock you up in a loony bin before you could finish your sentence. Alternatively, you’d opted for ‘ending a really, really meaningful friendship’. Your friends’ concern made you realise you should get reacquainted with your normal life, whatever that meant. Even if you had to rediscover yourself for it.
The entirety of December was spent by you doing the little things that counted. For example, when you were not picking up shifts, you went to other bookstores. A particular edition of ‘The Gift of The Magi’ by O. Henry had caught your eye once, along with a few other holiday-centred books.
It didn’t take long for The Master to contact you through conventional means. He previously didn’t have a phone, claiming it was a ‘pathetic means of time-wasting’. He must’ve backpedalled on that one. It told you that you probably did mean something to him, even if he wouldn’t admit it.
His first voicemail sounded stubborn. "I guess you forgot how your phone works. Typically you. Call me when you finally figure it out." He sounded annoyed, but nowhere near the rage he’d carried back then.
Your eyes returned to the bookshelf, scanning a few titles. Your thumb clicked the button on your phone, locking it, and slipped it back into your coat pocket. This could wait. Right now, you wanted to enjoy your own company again. You handed over O. Henry’s book to the cashier. "Will that be all?" They asked with a smile. You nodded, and before you knew it, you went home with one more new book on your shelf.
The next time, you were baking when a second voicemail came through. You’d been figuring out a carrot cake recipe, a guilty pleasure. He took his time recording this one. It sounded sober, stripped of any anger. "Look. I guess we were both pretty stressed out when we fought, but next time I don’t want you interfering in my plans. You’re probably busy with, well, whatever you humans do on earth. Just call me back." One hand of yours gripped the mixing bowl while the other shut off the phone.
It was during your lunch breaks at work when you noticed an influx of text messages from unknown, scattered phone numbers. "Sounds like you’re really popular, or something," your work colleague Niamh cracked a smile. "Or something," You’d muttered, annoyed.
‘Either you forgot your phone exists, you’re deliberately ignoring me or you’re dead.’
‘It better not be the latter.’
‘If it is the latter I will be very annoyed.’
You clicked your phone and carried on with work.
When you finally got a Christmas tree, it was mid-December. You had caved to peer pressure. The tree was nice, though. Not too big, not too small, just the right size in your flat. When you’d gotten it inside, you decorated your apartment with warm fairy lights and ornaments.
You dug a few ornaments out of an old box when your phone buzzed. The Master. Again. His latest voicemail reeked of desperation.
"(Name), I know you’ve read my messages. You’re not subtle. I know how read receipts work. You’re alive, so that’s something. Maybe I could’ve handled the Bunsprites… differently. But when I make a plan, I’m the one in charge for good reason. Let’s talk this over like adults. The TARDIS is being insufferable and I-"
You scrolled through the messages, pressing delete on each one. Your thumbs hovered over the ‘call back’ button. You shook your head. "Please... don’t call me," You muttered to yourself. It was never going to work, whatever you two had going on. Probably because you differed too much from each other, your kindness and his heartlessness. You’d gotten used to the idea of your normal life again. You weren’t one to simply cave in because of insistent texting and calling.
But it had been hard.
Every flash of purple, smell of espresso and lavender was always a reminder of him. The universe had found a way to taunt you; you came to the realisation you probably could never let go of the time lord. He was your friend, but he’d made it awfully obvious how unnecessary you were in the grand scheme of things. Hope pulled you forward, fear pushed you back, and you were trapped in the middle.
Before you knew it, the calendar marked Christmas Eve. Your day was spent at work, advising people with their last-minute Christmas presents. Someone gifting a Colleen Hoover book to their loved one would not go over well, naturally. You’d pointed them to the Penguin Classics section, instead. After work, you’d spent the walk home watching people. Strangers were smiling, laughing and happy. Everyone but you.
Spending Christmas by yourself wasn’t a new thing. A few years back, you’d gone no contact with your parents, your sibling happily married; no one left to maintain a relationship with. Alone or not, you vowed to make the most of the holiday this year. Old jazz vinyls from a charity shop scratched against the record player. A plate of cinnamon cheesecake cookies and a mug of hot cocoa waited on the coffee table.
‘Merry Christmas! Can’t wait to see you next year! xxxx Lucy’
‘Wishing you a wonderful Christmas. xx Maya’
Nothing really jumped out. One text from your colleague did, however.
‘Hey, just checking in. Are you coming to our Christmas party tonight? Please come! It will be fun, promise. It starts at 9pm. -Niamh’
You huffed. A dull, work Christmas party was the last thing you wanted. You were having a peaceful Christmas Eve (or that was what you were telling yourself, at least). Your fingers quickly came up with a reply:
‘Hi. Let me think it over... My calendar is pretty packed.’
That was a blatant lie, but no one had to know that.
You raised the record player’s volume. Settling into the couch, you closed your eyes and lost track of time.
A sudden knock interrupted whatever pitiful definition of peace you were having. It must’ve been a drunk partygoer, or a lost visitor. You’d invited not a soul; you shouldn’t bother opening the door at all. The knocking became more insistent, as if the person hiding behind the door needed you and no one else. Your gut feeling told you to open the door. Reluctantly, you straightened up from the cough and moved to the hallway.
As soon as you did that, you were met with a long, dark blue wool coat, a lavender scarf, and that familiar bitter espresso smell.
The Master.
He- is he wearing glasses? And he’d also opted for curly hair, it seemed. If it wasn’t for the situation they were in, you would’ve sworn he looked... changed. You had to hold the doorknob to keep yourself together.
God, how long had it been for him?
The look in his eyes tells you it’s been a while for him, possibly the same amount of time passed for him, or longer. You almost surrended right then and there. But then the grief and heartbreak from the past months gave you clarity. The impulse to shut the door was sudden and overwhelming.
Seemingly having read your thoughts (though you didn’t feel his presence in your mind; he was just amazing at seeing right through you), he blocked the door with his foot. Damn his quick time lord instincts. You let out a sharp sigh.
"You ignored my attempts at communication," The Master said in a self-explanatory tone. He welcomed himself inside your place without a beat. That hadn’t changed, then.
"I did." You shut the door and headed for the living room, trying to steady your breath. He was already there, sitting on your couch, looking at you as if you’d stolen the world’s most expensive diamond for him. "You and I, we’ve got to talk. I won’t be leaving until we do."
You almost could’ve scoffed at that; talking things out was something he refused to do the last time you saw each other. Why would it go over well, this time around?
"I see you decorated," A small smirk tugged at his mouth, his focus going to the newly decorated Christmas tree. "Never took you as a Christmas person."
"Guess you don’t know everything about me. I like... a healthy dose of Christmas"
"Sure... 'Healthy'." The Master shifted, his hand buried in his coat pocket, gaze dropping to the floor.
"Why are you here, Master?"
"Merely checking to see if you were alive." He flopped from the couch, and faced you, suddenly serious.
You knew better than to take his word. He wouldn’t just show up without good reason. "That’s all?"
"I was wrong," he admitted quietly. That did catch your attention. "About what?"
His hands hovered awkwardly, unsure where to rest. He looked at you, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen. "About you." The Master hesitated. "You were never a liability. If anything. You were great for me. I was too harsh. When you left the TARDIS..." His eyes softened, "I regretted it."
"Besides, no one should be alone on Christmas." He took out a small, purple-wrapped present from his coat, putting it on the coffee table. He actually got you a gift? Him, The Master? The sentimentality from today alone would make all his previous regenerations want to shoot him.
Your lips twitched into a smile and you couldn’t stop it. "It’s not quite Christmas yet. You do realise that, right?"
He huffed, "Technicalities, dear"
You headed to the kitchen island and poured him a cup of tea. When you returned and handed him his drink, you could’ve sworn he looked awfully nervous. His hands were slightly shaking when holding the cup. But you shut your mouth, not wanting to ruin this fragile sense of reconciliation.
He glanced at the gift, then back at you, nodding as if to say, 'just open it, already'. Your fingers tore the gift paper, revealing a box. Inside there was an oval amulet, amethyst, of course. Of course it was purple. The man had once draped an entire library in plum. But this felt different. Personal.
"What’s this?" You asked, looking back at him.
He took out the amulet out of the box, his fingers carefully putting it around your neck. Your breath hitched.
The moment he stepped away, warmth spread through your body. Unbeknownst to you, the rich purple of the amulet turned to a pale, glowing purple. "What-" You yelp.
The Master had an unreadable expression on his face, as if grounding himself for something. Perhaps it was fear, you realised after. "Don’t worry, it’s not going to hurt you. The amulet, it’s special. I’m not here to kill you, I do hope you know that?"
You ignored his last sentence. "Special, how?"
"Well… maybe you haven’t noticed before, but the amulet is definitely glowing," he said, pointing. He explained, "It only lights up when the wearer is fond for the one who gave it. It reacts to affection,” his voice had gone soft, "Yours, apparently."
A mix of panic and embarrassment hit you. Your feelings were laid open like a book. Fuck. Just brilliant.
Having seen your panic, The Master brushed your shoulder. "It’s okay. It’s a two-way street, this amulet." You opened your mouth to argue, but the same warmth from before washed over you. It was safety. Trust. Love. Not your feelings, his.
A flush crept up your face. "Oh." You’d started to understand him.
Without thinking, you slightly leaned into him; a hug, or as much as he’d tolerate one. He stiffened, his hand hesitantly brushing through your hair. Just like that, weeks of misery crumbled away. This, this was exactlywhat you needed.
Your vinyl clicked as the needle hit the end.
"I would like to make it up to you, if you’d like to give me a chance." He muttered in your hair. Your brows raised subtly. Apologies weren’t his style, neither was fixing things. "You do?"
He nodded and pulled away. "What are you doing for Christmas?"
"I... erm." You looked at the DVD you’d found in a box in your childhood home attic, ‘Barbie in a Christmas Carol’. "Not much. Exactly one thing if you count watching a movie." You felt your cheeks heat. Childhood nostalgia was one thing; admitting it to him was another.
That smirk of his told you that you probably should be worried. Now you were afraid of whatever he’s planned.
"Fine. But if I die in a ditch, I’m blaming you. And I’ll come back to haunt you." You yielded with a sigh. "And I want to be back home in time. I still want my cosy Christmas Day. No funny business, sir."
He grinned and clasped his hands. "Deal." Before you could say anything, he seized your hand. "Let’s go."