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"Don't you see-" The Doctor's voice was sharp and alive, his insistence thrumming through the phone line. There was something irritating, and something becoming, about his naivety; that stubborn assurance that he was doing what was good, and what was right and what would save the day. The gallant hero to juxtapose his villainy. He'd missed that, a little: the flavour that made the fight mean something, if only to one of them.
He'd missed this more though: the desperation flaking from the rough fractures in the Doctor's calm facade. He craved that unfiltered uncertainty, wanted to dip his fingers into the Doctor's mind and coat them with it, intoxicate himself with it. This beautiful, fragile moment when they both realise how much he's willing to give. Just how far his heroism will take him. A singular intersection in their cursed perpendicularity. Perhaps not quite so singular anymore. He treasured it anyway. Despite its charm, this was not a moment he wanted to relive more than once.
The Doctor inhaled, and the Master waited for the right moment, tongue pressed against his teeth in glee. "All we've got…"
"Is each other?" He finished the sentiment for him. It seemed appropriate that he should share in it, if only for mockery's sake. As static and silence hummed in the air around him, he poured himself a drink and sunk back into his chair with a self satisfied smile. Everything about this was so luxurious: the spark of the wine on his tongue, the balance he was tipping, the way the Doctor's face must look now. He wished he could see him. Oh, how he so desperately wanted to see him again. He shifted uncomfortably, swallowed the mouthful with so much vigour it made him cough a little, and turned his attention back to the phone in his hand. It was all he had, for now.
The Doctor sighed eventually, masking all his conflicted emotions with exasperation. A habit he would outgrow, with guidance, and a quirk the Master had almost forgotten. It was sweet, in a nostalgic sort of way, and the Master really did wish he'd stop thinking about the past. This was something he'd looked forward to for so long, after all, and he was slipping dangerously close to ruining it for himself. But he masked all that with beaming confidence, a habit he had never outgrown, and never would.
"How did you know I was going to say that?"
"You're very predictable, Doctor," he said with just enough flippancy that he must have known to be wary. "Please, I hate to interrupt. Do go on. Tell me all about how I could stop this right now, and we could leave this planet." Oh, this was good, wasn't it? He relished it now that he was talking, now that he'd settled into the script he'd run over a hundred times in his head. The words slid so effortlessly from his tongue, and he could hear an awe in them, overshadowing the contempt and the amusement, and perhaps, if he listened to himself closely enough, there was a sort of longing in his voice that he didn't control. Because it wasn't his. He was stealing the Doctor's words, and stealing a little more than that, more than he'd anticipated. He was saying them not only in the same order, but in the same way. It wasn't his fault. It was just that he'd thought about this so many times. "Fight across the constellations... if that's what I want. It's so very touching." The last sentence was especially, purposefully spiteful, a reminder of exactly what he felt towards all this empty fantasising.
"How are you doing this?" The Doctor's voice felt closer somehow, and he pictured him pressing the phone against his face, shoulders angled to cocoon himself in this mystery alone, glancing behind him to ensure his companions were out of earshot. Just the two of them. How intimate.
"Do you know what I did to your TARDIS, Doctor?" he laughed, swinging his feet up onto the table. It was not often he got this sort of indulgence, in which he knew everything, really everything, and the Doctor was beneath him entirely. They're fleeting, usually, and it isn't long before they dissolve into a conflict that places them on essentially equal ground and after that, of course, he inevitably loses. Not this time, though. Not last time. Not in the same way. He'd won for once, actually, and he found that it wasn't at all worth the price. But he was here now, pre-battle, pre-victory, trying to craft a better one. And he couldn't do that if he kept getting so bloody distracted...
"Don't change the subject."
He blinked, trying to remember what he was saying. Remember the script. The brim of the glass touched his lips again, and he hardly tasted the wine. "I turned her into a paradox machine."
"No, you can't-"
"I can, actually. Already have. Do try and keep up." He grinned. The Doctor had always been able to ground him, just with a few words. Just by being there. Something deep in his righteous nature made retaliation come naturally, and he could hide quite nicely in the mockery that spilled from his tongue. "It's quite liberating, really. Knowing I have a big red reset button for when it all gets bollocksed up..."
He knew that the Doctor had caught on before the voice came whispering through the airwaves. "We've had this conversation before..."
"There it is!"
"How many times?"
"Oh, just the once. I always remembered it though." The Doctor's voice had never really left his mind. The promises he'd made, and the promises the Master had made to himself to never entertain them. He'd retrieved every word they'd said to each other, actually, replaying them over and over again until the drums no longer defined repetition for him. But there was no need for the Doctor to know about any of that. All he needed to know was that there was a section of his life belonging solely to the Master. "Something changed, then. It's changing now. Can't you feel it?"
"I don't feel anything."
"You know, you gave me 18 months to figure out what to do with you, and I still couldn't make my mind up. Then you were nice enough to call, and it all became clear. We will explore the stars together, Doctor. Just not side by side."
"So that's what this is about? Your superiority complex?"
"Oh, don't worry, you'll be perfectly content. If you've got any worries, I'll erase them. I can do that now. We can start from the top again as many times as I like." And yet, as he spoke and as he grinned merrily away, he prayed he would never have to step inside that bloody machine again. He wished it was he who did not remember.
"You're messing with something neither of us understand. A paradox machine? You'll rip reality apart if you're not careful!"
"Reality looks fine to me. And who are you to stop me? Wouldn't you like to know how well that worked out for you last time?"
"Not well, I'm assuming. That's as much as you'd tell me, anyway."
"Not well indeed. But it has a happy ending, I promise. You just need to leave behind some of the baggage."
"That's not going to happen."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that… And I would know." He punctuated each word with the tap of a nail against the cup resting lazily in his fingers. A heavy sigh was all that filtered through from the Doctor's end. He really was irritating him with all this ambiguity. How lovely. It made him feel all fuzzy; a natural sedative. He didn't have to worry. Didn't have to remember. "Nothing? That's alright. I can do without your monologues anyway. I'll talk- you just have to listen, alright?"
"I'm busy." Almost a snarl. The Master hissed through his teeth.
"With stopping me, yeah, I'm aware. I'm not doing anything to you right now. You can take a few minutes break." Streaks of white flashed through the skin of his knuckles as his fist clenched around the phone in his hand. The Doctor couldn't leave him yet. He needed to indulge in his voice a little longer… or just know he was there. "You never know, you might learn something. I might get careless."
"You? I doubt that."
"You'd be surprised…" He swallowed, though his throat felt too dry. "Oh! Here, I'll give you this. Do you want to know how long it took for you to give up? Or, even better, give in, and realise that your place was by my side all along?"
"Now, that's just wishful thinking."
"Mine or yours?" He couldn't get the Doctor's face out of his mind. The way his eyes shone beneath the lights of the Valiant; the occasional smirk that felt like a reward, despite the hint of insolence. He really had seemed happier, eventually, and the Master had taken great pleasure in bringing that out of him, though he couldn't quite distinguish between his feelings and the Doctor's: whether that contentment had even been his, or just implanted into him against his will. How close were they, really? Which Doctor was his? His mind twisted around on itself, so convoluted he couldn't possibly unravel all this. The only option he had left was to charge forward, unflinching, unthinking, and hope for the same outcome as last time, or a different one. The anguish in his head spilled from his lips, the snarl forming in his throat before he could stop it.
"Are you alright?" The concern in the Doctor's voice killed him. He loved being served, but he hated being cared for. Hated the sentimentality of it.
"Fine, yes. It was, uh, a year, by the way. How long it took for you to give up."
"Was it now?" He didn't sound scared anymore. There was apathy in his tone, and something else. Something softer. Amusement, perhaps. Was he humouring him? Oh, please, anything but that.
"It will be. You'll see. I'll get it done quicker this time, now that I know what to do."
"You know, I have no real reason to believe this."
"Oh, I can prove it." He jumped at the chance and that, perhaps, was why it had been given to him. Humouring him, still. Concession even in his resistance. The Master didn't know whether he liked that or not. The tapping of his finger on the rim of the glass had become constant, in time with the rhythm underlining even the most private of his thoughts. "I could tell you things about this new regeneration you haven't even noticed yourself yet… But let's not be vulgar. We talked a lot, too. Sometimes. We talked about a lot of things. I could tell you about anything you like. Let's see.. do you want to hear the story of the insufferable Miss Noble, or… what was her name again? Delicate little thing. Rey? Rose? Rose! Now that was certainly enlightening. Quite the Romeo, aren't you?"
"That's enough!"
"You believe me now? Or should I continue? Should I tell you how you felt about her, by the end?"
"No. Don't." Good. He would have had to lie.
"Alright, if you're convinced."
"So you really won, in the end?" He spoke slowly, calculating. Hovering between disbelief and acceptance, unsure of which side to fall on, or which he'd like to fall on, given the choice. There is a certain comfort in knowing the truth, after all, regardless of what that truth may be.
"Yes." He wasn't trying to trick him, just this once. He hoped the Doctor could hear the honesty in his voice. Hoped he knew him that well. Although, he supposed, this was not his Doctor. Not quite. His Doctor was dead.
"What made you stop?"
The Master frowned, feeling suddenly nauseous and slightly hollow. His finger stopped its repetitive beat. This was one question he had not wanted; anticipated, yes, of course, but he had yet to come up with a satisfactory answer.
"My orders weren't obeyed."
The images were returning, tearing across his eyelids: memories from a life that had no longer happened. There had been so much blood. So much blood. The Doctor's skin must have looked ashen, if it hadn't been so thoroughly painted red. It was as if there was nothing left of him, just scraps and ridges of anonymous bones, and so much blood, gashes caressing every line the Master had once traced with gentle fingers on his skin. The toclafane hovered over him, their childlike chatter piercing his skull, so many and so alike that he couldn't tell which one of them had done it. He'd destroyed them all, just to be sure. It did not help. The white-hot rage of vengeance was no replacement for the warmth of one embrace. He did not know what had motivated them to betray him so cruelly. Did not stop to ask. They had just been having a little fun, he supposed; following his example. He did not know why the Doctor had not regenerated. Perhaps he hadn't had time. That was a comforting thought: that it had been quick. It had not looked quick. If only he'd been there, by his side. It was his place, after all.
"You gave up on an empire because someone didn't listen to you?"
Perhaps trying to survive at all after that had been his mistake. He had tried, though, for a few weeks at least. Continued with his marvellous empire; snatched at the power he so desperately desired. He had thrown himself headfirst into it, and it had caught him, cocooning his body until he had no need for regrets. Yes, that had been his mistake, because if he'd only reversed time immediately, he could have told himself he would have been able to go on, if he had chosen to. Now, he did not even have that sanctuary.
The Doctor's remains had looked so insignificant on that obliterated London street; just another streak of decay that scarred his world. He had run back aboard the Valiant as quickly as he could, and felt awful for leaving. The body was no longer a body, no longer anything at all; the Doctor was alive, rejuvenated and coming to find him. The curse in his memory did not exist, except, of course, in his memory, so it was his curse to bear alone. It felt like he was still running away, and could never turn back now. He had abandoned his Doctor forever, entombed in a sealed off timeline. The glass cracked beneath his fingers, and he watched from a distance as blood swirled into the wine.
The Doctor was still there- he could hear him breathing. Still waiting for him to respond, wondering if he'd left, perhaps. No, Doctor, I have not left. I will never leave you again.
He pressed his hand to his face, feeling the uncomfortable residue of blood and slim shards of glass come off on his cheek. "Oh, I'd hardly say gave up," he muttered. "I'll rebuild it, bigger and better and quicker. All my little mistakes have been rectified." Ha. He was still waiting to see how that would work out, actually. If he could really fix what he'd done. There had been some changes he'd implemented though, all of which had felt meaningless in comparison. "Handsome Jack's friends, for instance. They're off in the Himalayas now. And that American did prove to be more troublesome than he appears, so I've resolved to kill him instantly."
"American?"
"You'll see."
"Ah." Another pause. The Master waited patiently. "There's one more thing..."
"Anything."
"Why did you tell me?"
He exhaled, his breath stuttering. This was something else he was unprepared for, not because he did not want to say, but because he honestly did not know what to say.
He shook his head, a small ironic smile creasing his lips. "I had to tell someone."
"Why? What happened?" He could hear it, couldn't he? He knew there was something wrong, and there was so much love in his voice that it made his head spin.
"You'll find out." He would not. Those events would never come to pass again.
"I see." If only he'd stop sounding so kind. It was too much to bear, and it was just the Doctor himself. He made everything better simply by existing. The Master would have to get used to it, he supposed. "So, where do we go from here?"
"Well, if I were you…" He touched a key on his computer, and there he was. The Doctor. A little blurry on the CCTV, but so, so alive. "I'd start by turning to the right."
"He can see us!" So, the others were included again. The conversation was no longer theirs. He was not even a part of it at all. It did not matter; their eyes had met over the camera for just a second, before the Doctor raised his screwdriver and the picture fizzled out. He could still see the shape of his eyes when he closed his own.
"Oh, you public menace! Better start running. Go on, run!" He licked his lips. This was more like it. So simple; he could chase the Doctor in his sleep. "Run for your life!"
It was a life with a new price on it. A life he would do anything to protect. This time around.