Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He has a plan. That's something important that he has to remember, this is all a part of his plan to stop the Master's latest scheme, it’s imperative that he stop the Master, and he has to focus on that plan, the very important plan, the reason he's even there in the first place. That's easier said than done, and the Doctor finds that he's having a hard time remembering the particulars of the plan. Only that he has to keep the Master there with him for longer, by whatever means necessary. The plan depends on that, and more than that, there are lives hanging in the balance, probably. There are always lives hanging in the balance when it comes to the Master and one of his ridiculous plans.

“While I hate to leave you in the midst of such an impassioned speech on behalf of humanity, I'm afraid I must insist that you take your leave now, Doctor. Do be so kind as to close the door on your way out,” the Master says, leaving it clear exactly what he thinks of the Doctor's attempts at reaching him, at appealing to his better nature.

It would never have convinced him, and the Doctor knew better than to hope, but he still had to try. He doesn't trust the Master at all, but there's still something in him that can't help but wish that things could be different between them, even after all of this hurt. It’s the part that keeps trying to convince him to do the right thing, or at least stop doing the blatantly obviously bad thing. He doesn't need the Master to be a hero, a champion against injustice, as long as he's not taking every effort to be cartoonishly evil.

If only the Master would leave behind his dreams of conquest, they could still see the universe together, they could still be something in unison that he can't describe, but was once the most important relationship of his life, even if he was too much of a fool to see at the time the depth of feeling that existed there. The way that they can still work together when forced by circumstances proves that there is still something there that can be salvaged, some connection that can’t be broken by their fights, and maybe in some twisted way that’s still his most important relationship, across time and regenerations in a way that his Academy self would never have imagined.

Maybe that's the reason he keeps letting the Master escape from between his fingers, afraid to strike a definite blow. He would sooner let the Master escape than close the door on their past.

And yet, this time, the Doctor can't let him leave, not yet, because of his plan. There's… his decoder program, how could he forget, a dreadful thing that he would rather not trust, but well written enough that all the major world powers will have their computers released from the Master's control once it finishes its work. In another two hours or so, if the Master doesn't realise what he's doing. The Doctor is keeping a countdown in the back of his mind, trying to keep aware of how long he needs to stall this, and if he focused he should be able to tell it down to the second, his time sense can't be that damaged, but what’s important now is that it’s still too long to let the Master leave the room, or push the Doctor out.

The problem with his plan is, of course, that the Master, predilection for allying himself to powers who will betray him or underestimating his control of a situation notwithstanding, is brilliant, and possibly better with computers and coding, not that the Doctor would readily admit to that. If he sees the attack coming, he can counteract it with a few keystrokes, and then he won’t fall for the same trick again. The Doctor wouldn’t bet on his ability to code something that the Master can’t block, not when he already saw how hard the Master’s program would be to break, and not in this regeneration, in the state that he's in. He doesn’t like computers under the best of circumstances, doesn’t trust them to keep doing what he told them after he stepped away from the screen, but he doesn’t have much of a choice now. He could have tried to get UNIT to capture the Master, but that plan could go wrong in so many ways, resulting in injuries or maybe even deaths, and the Doctor couldn’t risk it. This plan is all that he has.

So it's imperative that the Master not be allowed to leave this luxury hotel room that he made into his hideout, and the Doctor wishes it was any place but a room because he can't concentrate. People's lives were at stake, the fate of the planet Earth, quite possibly, depending on what the Master wanted to do with control over the major global powers. That has to be more important than the fact that he reached that room alone, without informing UNIT of what he intended to do or even that he located this hideout, and now he’s there with the Master. Alone in the Master’s room, as temporary as it might be, so close that he can smell the Master’s cologne, and identify how well it's complemented by his aftershave. People’s lives are at stake, focus.

When was the last time that they were alone and neither actively trying to kill each other or close to enemies of one or the other and therefore fighting for their lives?

The plan. Taking away the leverage that the Master has over the planet. Stopping him before he can hurt anyone. Capturing him if possible, so the Doctor won’t have to worry about what the Master might be doing free in the universe.

“Just a minute now, old chap,” the Doctor says, and when the Master doesn't look at him and turns towards the door, presumably to open it and throw him out, the Doctor grabs his wrist. For a moment, both of them just stop, painfully aware of their physical contact. “You haven't heard my proposal yet,” the Doctor hastly adds, needing to buy time for his brain to catch up with what his body is doing.

Most of their contact these days is either violent or brief, and this is neither. He's not so much holding the Master in place as he's just catching his attention, but he doesn't drop the hand once he has it. They are alone, in a room, touching. A rather intimate touch too, the pads of his fingers trembling in time with the Master’s double pulse. To the outside world, they might look more like lovers than enemies, and he's not sure that would be wrong. That’s the spectrum that they exist in, and maybe the pendulum can swing to a more favourable position again. He's just not sure which is the side that he would find most favourable now.

In the corner of his eye, he can see the Master’s bed, perfectly made, with a book by the bedside. He can just imagine the Master lying down with a mug of something warm and not local, reading something light to amuse himself. It's too far away to make out the cover of the book, but he assumes it's science fiction, the Master always did enjoy imagined alien races, and probably it’s the sort that doesn’t try to understand the particulars of the science too closely, or at least it doesn’t have enough details to sound painfully wrong. He wonders if the sheets are already impregnated with the Master's intoxicating cologne, or when he stopped thinking it as excessive.

“Yes?” the Master prompts, when the Doctor says nothing, clearly curious enough to at least hear him. Then again, both of them always did have a problem with how much they’re willing to indulge the other.

Unfortunately, the Doctor happens to not have a proposal, and he won't be able to stall the Master for a couple of hours unless he thinks of something. Something good enough to do more than just tempt the Master. Something that’ll catch his attention completely, so much so that the Master won’t even consider his nefarious plot. The Doctor needs to be able to think clearly, and he can’t do that where they are, not when he keeps imagining the Master stripping to sleep, the indent on the mattress when he lays down, how peaceful his expression might be when he isn’t plotting against the Earth or the Doctor.

The Doctor needs a new plan, fast, before the Master tires of this and still throws him out.

Once, the Doctor suggested that they abandon his exile and run away together, and the Master had at least initially accepted it, only abandoning him once he realised that that wasn’t what the Doctor had in mind at all, and that the Doctor was just using him to save humanity on a risky plan that might have trapped both of them. And the Master himself suggested that they run away together, to rule galaxies side by side, offering power not to tempt him but freely, because it was something that he wanted to share, but only with him, offering to give him half the universe as the only equal that the Master would recognise. The Doctor would never have taken him up on his offer, but both instances revealed more about the Master than he would have liked to see shown, missteps in his plans that revealed the feelings that he would likely deny if pressed on them. And so does the way that he keeps coming back, but wastes his opportunities to kill the Doctor, for all his proclamations of hatred.

It's something that he can use, a weakness that he can exploit, and the Doctor hates himself for thinking of it in those terms, although he used it before, only never quite this explicitly. It's cruel, it's a mockery of their past, it says something quite ugly about him, and above all it's dangerous. If he needed ten minutes, just the offer of partnership would be enough, but to keep the Master there for longer, he'll have to offer something more, something that he can't refuse. Something he wants and can't have, that he can't conquer by force. Something that the Doctor doesn't want to give him, because once he does, he isn't sure that he can walk it back. Not without making things worse between them.

“I'll give you what you want, if you don't harm them,” he says, feeling sick for even suggesting it, the implication alone almost too much to bear, and he doesn’t know how he’ll go through with this. “It's not a trade, it'll just prove to me that there's still something of you that I can reach, prove to me that I'm not wrong in still feeling this way about you,” he adds with a caress of his thumb, both because he thinks that the Master would be offended by the transactional nature of his offer, and because it's the only way that he can justify this to himself.

If it's not a trade, then the Doctor can still tell himself that this is genuine, and not him using his oldest friend's feelings against him. It's the one part of the Master that might still be good, the one part that he can still recognise, this part that hasn’t stopped caring about him. As long as he can tell himself that the offer is true, and that he isn't just using the better side of the Master to manipulate him, the Doctor can live with this. He can lie, and hopefully believe it. He can at least try to convince himself that he isn’t doing something terrible to someone he cares about deeply, and that he isn’t compromising his morals by caring in the first place.

“What exactly is it that you think I want and is in your power to give me?” the Master asks, as if he doesn't know the answer, although the Doctor is sure that he understood by the way that his breath catches. Maybe he just can't believe it.

It's wrong, it's his only option, people's lives are at stake, he has his own complicated motives, he can't have feelings for a tyrant, he wants to do this, he has to do this, it means nothing, it has to mean nothing, it means everything. He pulls the Master forward by the wrist, in such an unexpected move that the Master can't properly brace for it, and the Doctor has to catch him by the shoulder with his free hand. He doesn't allow either of them to think any better of it before shifting his hand to the back of the Master's neck and leaning down as he pulls him forward, still holding him by the wrist.

Kissing the Master feels just as the last time, centuries before. It's familiar, although these bodies don't know each other, it's a jolt of electricity that pushes him away and keeps him attached, it's collapsing stars just because they can and no one can tell them otherwise, it's right. And it's wrong, he has to remember that. The Master is trying to kill people, he has killed innocents before, he will kill again. The Doctor has to be better than wanting this. He should be telling himself that it's just a manipulation, a sacrifice in the name of the greater good, a surprise attack to keep the Master from realising what he's planning. It shouldn’t be a true offer, the Doctor can’t stay true to himself and have feelings for someone like this, it has to be about saving people’s lives, even if it’s just a trick. And it has to be a trick.

But the Master doesn't pull away, and when the Doctor pulls him closer, letting go of his wrist so he can put a hand on the Master's back and press their bodies closer together, that earns him a sound out of the Master that's almost a whimper. That's too vulnerable for what the Doctor is planning, just a distraction and nothing else, and it only makes him feel worse. This means something to the Master, and the Doctor is determined to keep it from meaning something to him. It has to be the same as agreeing to collaborate with any other would-be conqueror, only to betray them later, it can't be about anything else. It’s a lie, it’s fake, it has to have no feeling behind it, for either of them. He’s not using the Master’s feelings, he’s playing with his desires because that’s what it’ll take to save lives, and maybe that’s something that the Doctor can accept.

The Master pushes him away slightly, breaking the kiss, still with his eyes closed and breathing far too heavily for such a brief kiss. He seems to be trying to collect his thoughts, process what's happening, maybe even get himself under control. The Doctor can't let him do that, or he might see through the trick, so he kisses him again, turning them around so he can push him against the nearby desk. The Master's height is rather inconvenient this time around, and the Doctor nearly pushes his feet off the ground as most of his weight is supported by the desk, thankfully firm enough to hold as the Doctor tries to manoeuvre them into a position that won’t put this much strain on his neck, with the added bonus of forcing the Master to keep on his tiptoes, needing to hold the Doctor’s arms for support.

The bed is very near them, just around the corner in that ridiculously large room, but it feels almost mocking. This shouldn't be done in a bed, that's too intimate for what's no more than a sparring match, each kiss a blow too fresh still to display the bruise. The Doctor’s only hurting him, and the Master doesn’t even realise this yet. He won’t, not until the final blow.

He feels the moment that some of the Master's inner resistance lets go, that he allows himself to believe that this is happening. The Master puts both arms around his neck, and kisses him with just as much intensity. He doesn't hold back on the little noises he makes, as open as he had been when they were young, nor does he try to hide the reaction that his body is starting to show. The Doctor isn't unaffected, but he can at least justify this to himself in as many ways as he needs to: he can't expect to stall the Master for that long if he's not showing any response to their activities, he has enough control of his physiology to put up an act, it's been so long that any warm and willing body might get a response out of him.

It's not because he still feels the same way about the Master as he did when they were young, he doesn't. It's not because he fantasised about this often enough since the Master came back to his life, as the privacy of his fantasies is his own and has no bearing in this. It's not because the Doctor still loves him, he knows better than to let this affect him now.

“Wait, Doctor,” the Master says, pulling him away with both hands on the sides of his face like he needs to hold him in place. Underneath layer upon layer of mental shields, there's a bleedthrough of fragments of thoughts and emotions, there's hope, dread, and a quiet pleading, still far too clear although he’s trying to hide it all. “Tell me if this is one of your tricks, I couldn't bear… I don't think even you would sink this low. If this isn't real, you must tell me right now.”

The Doctor almost confesses then, but by his estimate they still have one hour, forty-one minutes until his program is done. And if he could convince the Master to abandon his evil ways, wouldn't that be worth even this betrayal? It's a rationalisation and he knows it, he wants the Master just as much as the Master wants him, but he has morals to contend with as well as pride. He can't do this and then send the Master on his merry way to keep on with his disruptions and destruction. Whatever history they have, he can't want this.

He's saving the planet once again, that he might hurt the Master in the process shouldn't factor into his decision. And if the Master really does change sides, then everything would be alright again, and the Doctor wouldn't have to feel so terrible about this. He doesn't know if he can believe either of those excuses. He’s almost sure that they’re contradictory, that he came up with a few of those already and is firmly trying to believe in all of them at once, holding onto the paradox as only a Time Lord can, willing to take anything that won’t tell him to stop now.

“I wouldn't lie to you, not about this. I don't want to conquer the universe, and I won't stand by and let you do it. As long as you're hurting innocent people, I have to fight you, but that was never what I wanted. Don't make me fight you, it doesn't have to be this way, we can still have another chance,” the Doctor says, kissing along the side of his jaw, delighting in the differences the facial hair brings, pushing down his sorrow over all the bodies the Master lost and he never had a chance to know, and trying to ignore how much he wants to know this one.

What he says is a lie, but only because he never believes that the Master will take his offer. It's not enough for the Master, it'll never be enough, and they'll keep on with this game of cat and mouse where he doesn't even know who's hunting and who's hunted. It's a lie, but one that he desperately wishes was true. He wants the Master to say that he’ll give up on everything for him, so they can finally be together.

He can’t want this, he has to think that what the Master has done is unforgivable, and yet all the Master has to do is stop hurting people, stop all of this attempted conquest and destruction, stop his evil schemes, and the Doctor would want him to come back, he wants him back already, even as he can’t stand the harm that the Master causes. He doesn’t even know how they got to this point, him trying to capture the Master, and the Master claiming to want to kill him, and he can’t see a way back for them, but if there is one…

The Master puts his hands firmly on the Doctor’s shoulders and pushes him away again. The Doctor can’t help but notice that he’s shaking, and he has his eyes closed again, those beautiful, intense eyes that can hypnotise nearly anyone. He seems at the limit of his self-control, and if the Doctor can only push him a little further, he might finally break.

“It’s the Venusian word for Master,” he says, and the Doctor can’t imagine what he’s possibly talking about. “I thought you might appreciate it, with how much this face seems to appreciate doing Venusian physical exhibitions. Not standard, archaic, just a century past proto-Venusian extinction, before the sibilant drift. Input the password on any infected terminal, and the administrator interface will open, you can tell the program to delete itself from all devices connected in the network. I hadn’t input any command yet, I only took administrative control, so this will return all devices to normal.”

The Doctor blinks several times, trying to understand what he’s even talking about, and not at all following what all this talk of linguistics has to do with what they are doing. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to remember that he’s there to give himself time to take over a program, and instead the Master is just giving him control on a platter. It makes no sense at all, and he starts to wonder if he’s the one who has fallen in a trap.

“Why are you telling me this now? I’ve asked you to give up on your plans before,” the Doctor says, as if he doesn’t know what’s different now, but he does.

What’s different for the Master is the same thing that’s different for the Doctor. They kissed now, for the first time in centuries, and that makes it all the much harder to pretend that they don’t still have feelings for each other, aware now of their intensity in a way they hadn't fully been during their initial entanglements. They had a taste of what they could still have, and the promise of so much more. It was easier to pretend that everything between them was in the past before he felt how easily he could make the Master crumble with a want so naked that from him can only come out of love, and how desperate the Doctor is to have him again, despite all the guilt and shame that this makes him feel.

If it really is the same for the Master, then maybe there’s no need for any excuse. If all that the Doctor has to do to stop him from causing any harm to others is to offer himself, then that’s not something that his morality can object to, and it would hardly be a sacrifice. For once, what he secretly wants and what he's supposed to do might not be at odds.

“You have what you wanted, you can stop now. You don’t have to pretend to… just leave, Doctor, that’s what you know to do best,” the Master says, still with his eyes closed, but his fingers are digging in painfully on the Doctor’s shoulders, and he doesn't push him further. Begging him to stay even as he taunts him to leave.

It’s only then that he realises just how terribly he acted. He knew that he would be hurting the Master’s feelings, but not how much this would affect him, and it’s so much worse than he would have imagined. For the first time since their falling out, the Doctor sees true vulnerability in him, and he was the one to expose it in the most cruel of manners, by offering something that has to be close to everything that he wants, only without the control over the universe.

He’s breaking the Master’s hearts, and if he leaves now, he’s sure that whatever he can still reach of the Master will be lost forever. They can’t come back from this. If he leaves, the Master will know it was all a trick and the Doctor just lied to him and used his feelings, and he’ll make sure to purge all of these feelings for good, until he has nothing left of the man the Doctor fell in love with so long ago. He’ll be proving all the Master’s worst fears right, worse than he ever did with every previous rejection.

He has a decision to make, and yet it’s no decision at all. He couldn’t leave this path since he took the first step, after what he did, the only way to make things right is by never allowing the Master to know what were his intentions when he first started this, and it should be easy now. Maybe it’s a trick, maybe it’s a test, but the Doctor asked him to stop his plan and he did, and that’s a temptation that the Doctor can’t deny. The Master gave him exactly what he asked, and the Doctor won’t back away now. He wants this too much to do anything else, so much that he doesn’t care that he might be falling into a trap..

“You’re right, I have what I wanted. You, without a ridiculous evil plan that I must stop,” the Doctor says, and kisses him again.

This time, the Master sobs against his lips, but doesn’t push him away again. The Doctor can’t say that he feels the same way about him as he did before, but he would be lying if he said that he ever truly stopped loving him. They’ve both changed, so much so that they’re barely recognisable, and yet they still connect like they did before. There’s still enough love there to keep the Doctor reckless. Perhaps even still love enough to salvage this doomed relationship of theirs.

He tries to tell himself that this is the most selfless course of action. The Master is brilliant, a Time Lord who can evade the Council, and unlike them he sees how pointless non-intervention is. If the Doctor can redirect this energy to do good rather than cause chaos all around the universe, then there’s no telling how many lives he could save, how many people he could help. And the Master doesn’t need to be cruel, he has tried a compromise of his own, offering the Doctor a benevolent dictatorship over the universe. If he can be convinced to do good without demanding control, then the universe will be a better place for it.

Even beyond that, he could be helping his best friend find his redemption, after failing to be there to keep him from going down this path. It’s the best solution, if they were on the same side, if the Master was beholden to the Doctor’s morality, then all would benefit, and he wouldn’t have to both miss him and feel guilty over his failure in capturing the Master. It’s the perfect plan even, and the Doctor can’t believe his luck in having stumbled upon it.

If he had known before that this was all it would take, he would have kissed the Master when he first saw him again. It’s what a part of him wanted to do anyway, each time they met, only to be reminded that the Master was there to hurt people and it was the Doctor’s responsibility to stop him. Holding on to morality and what’s right only got him forcibly regenerated, telepathically hurt, exiled, and beholden to the whims of humans, so maybe there’s something to doing things the renegade way. It’s what they are anyway, as much as he tells himself that they aren’t the same. To the eyes of the Council, a renegade is a renegade, regardless of intentions or even the consequences of their actions.

“Take me to bed, Doctor,” the Master says, finally letting go of any pretence of resistance.

The words sent a shiver down his spine, and even if he wanted to, the Doctor couldn’t have controlled his reaction to that. If before the bed had seemed mocking, now it’s inviting, and it’s this desk that’s inadequate for such a momentous occasion. He doesn’t know what he was thinking when he thought of this plan, of course they could never just have sex, as a distraction or giving in to their mutual desire, not with their history and not with the Doctor still remaining who he is, who he has to remind himself to be.

It could only ever be this, an act of love that will bring about the Master’s redemption. And it is love, above it all it is love. It has always been love, even as the Master tried to kill him and the Doctor tried to trap him, every step has been rooted in their love and the hurt it caused. Trapping them in its gravitational pull, love won’t let them get away.

It’s both slow and frantic. They take several minutes to cross the few metres to the Master’s bed, but along the way manage to divest themselves of most clothes in an almost revert fashion. By the time the Master’s legs hit the side of the bed, he’s wearing only socks and underpants, and the Doctor has one sock, underpants, and an undershirt. His other sock had to be sacrificed in service of keeping the TARDIS key well hidden in his shoe, as not even this moment can make him forget about her, and he doesn’t trust the Master enough to expose his TARDIS to him, which is perhaps an indication that this isn’t the brilliant plan that he’s telling himself it is. The Master would probably mock him for it, if he had noticed, but somehow not even the Doctor tripping and almost making both of them fall could break the concentration with which the Master was kissing him.

He lifts the Master off the floor and quickly deposits him on the centre of the bed, earning a painful pull on his back that he might regret in the morning, but it’s worth it to see the mixture of shock and arousal in the Master’s face. After being short for two incarnations, the Doctor finds that he quite appreciates being tall, although it would have been more practical for them to have a more similar height, as they had been when they were young, his few hard earned extra millimetres a badge of pride that he wore as only a foolish youth might. It briefly occurs to him that they would have been closer in height if the other Time Lords hadn’t forced this regeneration on him, but perhaps it’s best this way. He would never have dared doing something like this in his previous incarnation. Perhaps he had been more moral, or less reckless. Whatever the case, he doubts that this plan would have occurred to him.

“Do you intend to stare at me all night or will you come here and make love to me?” the Master says, and it’s an attempt at a playful insult, like the ones they used to trade, but it misses the mark by a light-year and it lands on a desperate plea.

The Doctor can’t refuse him, not when it’s everything that he wants and has convinced himself that he couldn’t have. This is the truth, and his attempts at justifying his plan to himself were the lie, a way to comfort himself and tell himself that he can still be good and love the Master. He just can’t allow himself to lay with someone who’s taken the world hostage, but the Master released them now. All because the Doctor said so, all because the Doctor asked. There’s hope for the Master yet, if love is enough to make him act this way. There’s hope for them.

“I’m just admiring you,” he says, tossing his undershirt and following the Master into bed, “I want to know this body as well as I knew the first one.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, it brings too much baggage into this moment, which he can see by he shift in the Master’s expression, but he kisses the Master before he can protest, then slides his hands on the sides of his body, memorising every sound he makes. He wants to catalogue every single reaction, all the ways that this body feels differently, and all the things that didn’t change. They have all the time in the world now, he doesn’t have to worry about his program, and UNIT doesn’t know where he is, nor do they have any way of locating him. The Brigadier will probably demand an explanation once he appears again, but having saved the day once again might just be enough to get him out of having to file paperwork and explain his absence like he’s a prisoner who evaded his jailer. Now that he’s determined to do this, he’ll do it properly. He’ll make the Master feel loved.

He moves his kisses down the Master’s neck, sucking and brushing his teeth slightly on the spots that earn him the best responses. For his turn, the Master has found that the Doctor’s body now responds even more readily to having its hair pulled, and uses it to his advantage, although he seems to have no more clue than the Doctor does about how he wants to be touched.

The Doctor himself doesn’t quite know how he likes to be touched in this body that was imposed on him, not beyond what he could find by himself in those long nights inside a TARDIS that he could barely feel, so deeply asleep that he can’t talk to her, and even those moments were quick attempts at relieving a frustration that knew no end, and would only grow worse with the attempt. He wonders if this means that the Master hasn’t met another’s touch in this body, or if his only encounters had been quick and meaningless.

It makes him feel like they are still in the Academy, young and clueless and full of passion. He has to think of it like that, like this is a good thing, them discovering their pleasure together, because the alternative is considering how long the Master has been without someone to love him, and the Doctor can't bear to think of it this way. He hopes that the Master had someone else, through all the centuries they’ve been apart. He hopes that he has been loved, cherished, taken care of, as it would break his hearts to imagine the Master’s loneliness otherwise. The Doctor has been loved since then, so it's with no jealousy that he hopes that the same has been true to the Master, even as he fears that it isn't.

When he moves to the Master’s chest, the Doctor is finally in a good position to pull down the Master’s pants, carefully releasing his erection without touching it. He’s taking his time, and that’s already taking more self-control than he thinks he has. He doesn’t even know if he would be able to do what the Master wants of him, what the Doctor hadn’t realised how much he wanted as well before hearing him say it, and he hasn’t stopped to consider until now the practicality of it. Not a specific physical act, although he knows how conductive completion can be to what they want, and can presume the configuration they might take by the lack of protest on the Master’s part in being pinned to the bed and by the Master’s own words, but he would be willing to try it just about anyway else that the Master might suggest otherwise.

No, they’re Time Lords, and what happens to their bodies is far less important than finally having a chance at contact, and not in any way, but with the openness of a mind that can best be achieved by lowering their mental shields and allowing the feedback of mutual pleasure to deepen the connection. That’s what the Master is asking him without asking, not to take his body but to love him of body and mind, and as much as the Doctor would like to do so, he’s far too afraid of not being able to do it, and he’s not sure if he’s even willing to risk it.

What was done to his mind is abhorrent. His connection to the TARDIS was nearly severed, hanging on by a single inflamed thread that’s only enough for him to feel her lethargy at being put nearly to sleep, and that he has further irritated by continuously poking at it as he fixes as much of her as he can, sometimes carelessly and forcing a painful connection. His memories were scrambled, supposedly in order to hide away the knowledge necessary for him to escape, but even his other memories felt confusing and hard to access. He can’t even remember how old he’s supposed to be, and there are gaps with his travels and even his general knowledge, although he tries to hide that. He estimates that he has less telepathic ability now than the more talented humans, and as much as he shouts he can’t get his TARDIS to listen, even though he at least managed to turn some of her internal systems on again, after his unfortunate incident travelling sideways. It’s entirely possible that he doesn’t have the strength to push out of his mind and into the Master’s, even with their entire bodies touching and the Master pulling him in.

The other, more terrifying possibility, is that he’ll succeed, and the Master will know just what a pathetic mess his mind is now, and take advantage of it. Or he might find things that the Doctor doesn’t want him to find, things that can be used against him, that might turn the Master against him, or simply that might make the Master lose interest in him. It’s too much of a risk in the state that he is now, where he wouldn’t be able to shield his own mind, to keep himself from sharing more than he intends, to keep himself from being controlled once he allows the Master’s mind to make contact. He shouldn’t try it, no matter how tempting of an idea it is.

“Doctor, I can’t, it’s been too long, I need you to touch me,” the Master says, open and desperate, then bites his lip as he realises what he's saying, clearly wanting to hold on to some control.

He’s missed this side of the Master, the one behind all the façade. This has always been the surest way to reach it, and yet the Doctor is surprised to find that it’s still there. It’s like no time at all has passed between them, no betrayals, no irreconcilable moral dilemmas, no attempted murders. And yet it has, they are the Doctor and the Master now, older but not necessarily wiser, more knowledgeable in all the ways that they can hurt each other, in bodies that don’t know each other and seem not to know themselves, that only ever knew violence and never love.

“I missed you too much not to take my time with you,” the Doctor says, and it’s absolutely the truth.

It’s not about stalling anymore, he couldn’t care less about his program, even if it doesn’t work, he still has the Master’s password, which he’s sure will come back to him as soon as he can dedicate enough of his brain to remembering it. The crisis is as good as averted already, and there’s no threat as long as the Master isn’t near a computer to order any of the destruction or make any demands.

He jumps from the Master’s navel straight to his thigh, which earns him a frustrated growl. He kisses his way out to the knee, taking the opportunity to pull away the sock, then does the opposite to the other side, this time moving up until the curve of his leg. He wonders for how long he can keep at this until he makes the Master properly beg, they don’t seem to be too far from it, but it might be too cruel to push them to this point. He doesn’t know if he can stand it, and doesn’t know how long this body would need to recover, in case he loses control and embarrasses himself. The last thing that he wants is to ruin their chance by being too eager, and not only because the Master would never stop mocking him for that.

Still, he decides a little more teasing wouldn’t do any harm, and moves back to the Master’s navel, kissing his way up his middle, occasionally biting hard enough to leave a mark. This body already has a couple of scars that the Master gave him, and the Doctor toys with the idea of giving the Master one that’s made in love, not anger. He doubts that the Master would oppose, but perhaps that’s best left to another night. And isn’t that a wonderful prospect? This could be the rekindling of their love, rather than a moment of weakness on the part of the Doctor.

He only reaches as high as a nipple before the Master pulls him up for a kiss, and takes advantage of his distraction to pull down his pants, scratching his buttocks in his eagerness, and possibly ripping the fabric if the sound is anything to go by, not that he can find it in himself to care. The Doctor raises himself in bed to wiggle it the rest of the way off, and manages to pull away his last sock with a toe, nearly losing his balance and accidentally elbowing the Master, who yelps but doesn't complain. When the Doctor lowers himself again, they’re finally naked, and not one part of their bodies seems not to be touching. He nearly comes from that contact, skin on sensitive skin, and he can almost feel the edges of the Master’s mind, not quite reaching out, but still there, still close, open and inviting.

The Master touches his inner arm, the tattoo that the Doctor tries to ignore, but he doesn't mention it at all, although surely he knows what it is. Despite all of the Doctor's objections, both of them know that the Council doesn’t see them as all that different, except perhaps in the intensity of their crimes. They are both renegades who need to be punished and controlled. The label that the Doctor refuses while the Master embraces. Whatever this proof of their shared status means to the Master, he keeps it firmly in his mind, and thankfully doesn’t force the Doctor to confront it.

“I have something by the nightstand, if you intend to take me,” the Master says finally, struggling with the words through his heavy breath, clearly flustered at his own request.

It’s always been one of the more endearing characteristics of him, how the Master could be embarrassed by what he thought were crude words, even during acts best described by them. The Doctor used to delight in getting him to ask to be fucked, when they had enough time for him to tease the Master until he couldn’t stand anymore. The Master is much more collected now than he had been then, which would make this much more of a challenge, but sadly not one that he can take that night. The Doctor is already desperate, he’s the one who’ll end up begging if they continue this for any longer. In fact, he could remember doing that quite often, when the Master decided to provoke him rather than giving him what he wanted. Games of no real stakes, with winners but never losers, he misses them still, but it's not the time to dwell in the past, as much as he longs to return to a time where their competitive streak didn’t result in so much collateral damage.

So he does as he’s told, and retrieves a vial of what the label claims is ‘Antarian Personal Massage Oil’, illustrated by a tentacle creature doing something to itself that the Doctor doesn’t even want to try to understand. It’s absurd and alien just for the sake of being so, which is just so much like the Master that it almost makes him laugh, until a more sobering realisation hits him.

It makes him think then of how the Master is free to roam the universe as he pleases, while the Doctor is still trapped on Earth. That brings him a little resentment, but he pushes it aside. Perhaps if they are now to be on the same side, the Master could help him escape, since he would likely have the knowledge that was taken away from the Doctor and is necessary to fix his TARDIS properly, how to bypass the blocks made to him and to his TARDIS alike, perhaps even how to procure or otherwise build what he needs to get her in working order. They could travel together, see all the wonderful places in the universe where the Master hadn’t yet tried to kill anyone while wearing this face. He could teach the Master to appreciate the universe without trying to dominate it. WIth the two of them against the Council, they might even be something close to being safe.

“Are you sure this is safe?” the Doctor asks, pushing everything else aside in favour of more immediate concerns, since it doesn’t seem to be made for humanoids, although he hopes that the Master would be careful enough to consider that and do a chemical analysis before touching anything to his body.

This being the Master, the Doctor wouldn’t even have put it past him for it to be some sort of poison, if he had been expecting occasion to use it. Even in their youths he mentioned the romance of dying together, in a way that might have been concerning if the Doctor wasn’t so young and death didn’t seem so far away. The Master had said it then, before he was the Master, how much he wished that they would die in each other’s arms, once they had burnt through every regeneration, and through every star in the universe, already showing signs of who he would become. But this isn’t the Master’s plan, and he clearly wasn’t prepared for this, so the Doctor can expect more honesty from him at the moment.

The Master looks like he might try to disappear into the mattress, clearly debating what he’ll say next, far too embarrassed for someone who is practically demanding to be taken. “It’s perfectly safe for our kind, and it should fit the purpose well enough, from my experience,” he finally says, meeting his eyes in an almost defiant way, challenging the Doctor to ask him about it.

The Doctor bites his lip, and tries to keep from imagining how the Master might have used that before, not with any jealousy, as he truly did hope that the Master hasn’t been as lonely as his desperation seems to indicate, but with a mix of curiosity and almost fear, which he tries and fails not to interrogate.

He can’t stop his mind from wandering, despite knowing that’s a dangerous path to follow. Had the Master met someone through his travels? Or taken to bed whoever was available and caught his fancy? Who would the Master favour in this body? Had he been alone? What had he thought about? Did he leave their confrontations lonely and frustrated, seeking a relief that couldn’t be achieved through physiological means alone? The Doctor certainly had, each time that the Master managed to evade capture, trying to find some relief only to feel worse afterwards. It makes him think once again of how much he wishes that they could join their minds, even though it’s too dangerous. Maybe then they would finally understand each other, and find a solution to their conflict that works for them both, and that won’t put the universe at risk.

He positions himself between the Master’s legs, moving his hands up and down his thighs in a soothing motion. Something crosses the Master’s expression, perhaps disbelief at their situation, and the Doctor isn’t sure that the same thing doesn’t show on his face before being suppressed by awe, love, desire. He has done many reckless things in his life, the worst of which might have been asking for the other Time Lords’ help when he was running and hiding from them, but falling in bed with his nemesis without any assurances that he won’t be back to trying to kill him again come morning isn’t too far from it. And yet he wouldn’t dare to back away now. He doesn’t have enough self-preservation, and he has far too much love.

He places some of the oil on his hand, finding it to be quite fitting as the Master claimed, and he would perhaps not want to know its composition, but it wouldn't be the first time that he found that alien things are best experienced without too many details.

Just then he realises that there’s something important that he should mention. He already lied to the Master too much for a night, and it’s best if he’s sincere about this now. It would certainly cause hurt and mistrust if the Master were to realise it only later, when the Doctor failed to satisfy him properly, and by then he might not believe the truth since it had been hidden. As dangerous and humiliating as it is, the Doctor has to tell him the truth, even if it risks stopping what they’re about to do. He’s made his decision, and so he has to tell the Master, rather than try to pretend that everything is normal and hope for the best, as he might have done if he had chosen otherwise.

“Do you know what the Council did to me?” the Doctor asks, unsure as to where to even start.

The Master blinks half a dozen times in quick succession, seeming like he’s trying to reconnect his higher brain functions, which is at least flattering, when everything else about this interruption is mortifying.

“You are asking me this now? If all of this was a ploy to get my help to unlock your knowledge, I swear that I’ll…” the Master starts, clearly deciding that the appropriate reaction to this interruption is anger.

Or maybe he just can’t accept that the Doctor would truly want to do this with him. The Doctor isn’t sure that he can accept it himself. It feels disrespectful to the people that the Master killed, and the lives that he disrupted, but the Doctor never claimed to be a perfect person, only someone who’s trying to do better. He’s learned quite a lot from the humans he has travelled with, and saw enough suffering to refine his own morals even beyond theirs. He wants to help people when he can, but he isn’t immune from causing damage as well. He might not have intended to, but he did help the Brigadier to commit genocide by being naive and placing humanity’s enemies as a defenseless target, and he abandoned an entire world to burn while saving himself, even if only because he couldn't save anyone else, although he could have tried harder to find another solution. If the Doctor wants to be judged by what he’s doing now, and not by his worst days, then he has to extend the Master the same courtesy.

“Stop that,” he says, lightly slapping the Master’s thigh with his clean hand. The reaction that gets, as restrained as it is, is filed as something that he intends to investigate later, as he wonders if Master acquired it later, or if it's a feature of just this body. “I’m trying to tell you something. They did more than just take away my knowledge and make a mess of my memories, they’ve dulled my telepathy so I wouldn’t be capable of connecting to my TARDIS. I don’t think I can make contact with you, and I won’t risk trying, I could hurt both of us irreversibly.”

He almost feels like it’s worth the risk, but he knows just how devastating the consequences can be. They haven’t just trapped him in a single place and time, they’ve completely isolated him. He might have made friends among the humans, but it’s nothing compared to what was taken from him. Everything else he could take, but he misses the TARDIS most of all, her presence had been a constant in his mind for centuries now, the only telepathic connection that he could form away from his people. Not feeling her feels like losing his soulmate and his home all at once, and although he managed to connect to her somewhat since then, it’s not proper communication, but only brief flashes, and even then she still doesn’t feel awake, but rather like she's stirring in her sleep, hearing a disturbance without listening to him.

He suspects that the Master might understand if he explained this, as even if he hasn’t suffered from this sort of limitation, he’s also on the run and bonded to his own TARDIS. In all likelihood, the Master hasn’t met another mind like theirs since he left, maybe the Doctor was the last mind that he intimately touched, in a far deeper way than his hypnotism can achieve, so he has to understand the loneliness of missing even the connection to the TARDIS, of being completely contained in his own mind. But the Doctor can't quite bring himself to lay bare his weakness.

The Master studies his face for a long, drawed out moment, like he has completely forgotten the wants of his body, The Doctor fears that he might accuse him of lying, or perhaps worse, expel him from his bed. They’re finally here after so long, and he can’t even offer the Master what they both want. It makes him feel damaged and inadequate, and it reawakens something that had kept him from thinking to rekindle their relationship before, the fear of rejection, that what he has to offer isn’t enough to turn the Master away from his plans of conquest, and if he were to add the condition to the Master’s many offers then they would be rescinded. He loves the Master, but not unconditionally, and he knows that the Master can't love him unconditionally either, so this is a matter of finding what they are both willing to offer, and to compromise. They have to be willing to try, knowing that either of them might fall short, and he’s terrified that he will be the one who isn’t enough.

The Master sighs, reaching some sort of conclusion. “Then just take me. If I can’t feel your mind, I want to at least feel your body. Unless this is an attempt to evade me,” he finally says, tension set in his jaw.

Suspicious as always, of course the Master has to continue being this way even when they are in such an intimate position. The Doctor wants to grab the Master by the sides of the head, push his fingers against his temples and hit their heads together as if that might do something, until he can force his uncooperative mind to just get out of his skull so he can make the Master understand, but that would be quite possibly the worst way to try it, and almost sure to cause problems. He might try to ignore the damage that was done to him, try to bypass it in as many ways as he can think of, but he’s not so foolish as to try to take a mind like the Master’s into his without knowing that he can withstand it. It’s a small miracle that the Doctor even has enough control left to protect himself against hypnosis, and he won’t risk whatever shields he still has left by dropping them, as much as he longs to feel the Master’s mind on his again. And if the damage were to extend beyond his mind and into the Master, he doesn’t know what he would be unleashing into the universe. A Master in control of his faculties is dangerous enough already, take that away and there’s no telling what he might do.

“If I didn’t want this, I would have left already,” the Doctor says, and he thinks that’s true enough.

Guilt stopped him from moving at first, but desire has been his main drive through all of this. Not only a physical desire, but a desire for connection with who is quite likely the one person who might truly know the Doctor, beyond what he tried to project to others. If he were honest with himself, this might even be the reason why his improvised plan devolved so quickly into getting the Master into bed, when there were thousands of other ways that the Doctor might have kept him occupied.

He kisses the Master slowly, trying to get them back into focus after another argument. He doesn't know how to convince the Master of his intentions, perhaps because he doesn't know them himself, even now, not with the many twists and turns that he put his mind through, trying to reach the answer that he wanted. He knows that he should think that this is wrong, he would be ashamed of admitting that he still wants the Master to anyone else, which is a good sign that he isn't unaware of the optics of bedding an intergalactic criminal. But in this moment they exist outside of all of their problems, he's thinking only of their past and of this moment, of the brilliant boy who challenged and matched him in every way, and of the renegade who abandoned his ploy just because the Doctor asked him to.

It’s only when he’s satisfied that the Master lets go of that tension that he lets his fingers find their target, earning him a high-pitched moan as he reaches the Master’s entrance. He takes his time, although he doesn't have to, the Master only tenses at the first contact, then breaks the kiss just long enough for a steadying breath, as he tells his muscles to relax in a demonstration of control over his body that’s nothing short of what the Doctor expected from him, who always had better control than any other Time Lord.

Still, the Doctor teases him with a light touch until the Master is moving his hips to meet his fingers, tossing his head back and digging his nails in the Doctor's shoulders, trying to pull him closer with a leg. He kisses the Master's neck, attempting to drink the vibration of every sound he takes out of him. If this is destined to be only a physical release, the Doctor is determined to make it a memorable one. He’ll make the Master feel just as loved as he deserves to be.

“Please, I need you,” the Master says, a strained plea, raw and honest.

The Doctor removes his fingers, and struggles to find the vial again, patting blindly around the bed as the Master is holding him too tightly to even move his head to search for it. He finally finds it, and nearly turns it on the bed as he tries to coat his hand while keeping the other on the Master's face, fingers stretched to his temple. He hadn't even realised that he was doing it, not until he needed the hand, his body acting almost on his own, desiring a connection that he can't give it, but he doesn't take his hand away. He can keep his mind contained, but he won't stop his body from showing that affection, that want. The Master should at least know that the Doctor would do this if it could, and the touch brings a pleasant tingling at the promise of connection, even if he doesn't try to establish contact.

It hurts when he finally touches himself. As focused as he was on teasing the Master, he had neglected his own desire, and now any touch is too much, but he pushes past that discomfort. He spreads the oil quickly and efficiently, in a desperation that doesn't show itself when he positions himself and stops, searching the Master’s eyes, needing confirmation.

“Are you sure that…” the Doctor starts, but the Master grabs him by the chin.

“Get on with it,” he says, pulling the Doctor down for a possessive kiss, impatience winning against desperation, making him demand rather than beg, and proving that both can be equally attractive with that face.

Still, the Doctor moves slowly, muscles straining with the effort to hold back. It's nearly enough to bring him to the edge, and he has to stop once he's fully inside, resting his forehead on the pillow next to the Master’s and trying to get his heavy breath under control. They're Time Lords, he should have better control of his body than this, but that was before the Council decided to play with his mind and mess with his senses. At least he can blame them now, so he doesn't have to think of this as just himself, too desperate to have the Master again with him to control himself.

“I've missed you so much,” the Doctor says, and he doesn't mean the sex, as enjoyable as it always was, but this, closeness, openness, not trying to hurt each other.

They have always been the ones most equipped to hurt each other, since before being on opposite sides. He could destroy the Master now if he wanted to, all that he had to do was pull out and say that it was just a trick to thwart his plans, and call in UNIT to arrest him. If the Doctor were as good a person as he would like to be, that's probably what he should do. Or maybe if he were as bad a person as he feared he was, in his worst moments. He could destroy the Master, but he would never be able to live with himself if he did. And the Master could kill him, not just force him to regenerate, but kill him, take advantage of his distraction and shoot him through the hearts, then again as he started to regenerate. But the Doctor's equally sure that this would bring him no satisfaction, and that he might plan to, but wouldn't do It. The Master only says that he wants to hurt him, and the Doctor only says that he wants to stop him definitively, but what they both want is far more complex, and he doubts either of them knows for sure what that is.

They can destroy each other, and they won't. If that's not romance, he doesn't know what is.

The Master hides his face on the curve of the Doctor's neck, and the Doctor pretends not to notice the wetness he feels there, or hear the muffled sobs. The Master clearly doesn’t want him to see this, and the Doctor allows him that dignity. Instead, he starts to move in a slow rhythm, determined to make this last, showing with his body the love that he can’t show with his mind.

For a few moments, he loses himself in the fantasy that he can love the cruelty out of the Master, that they can go back to being what they were, that they can see the universe together, helping the people they find along the way. They could have this again, their love, and maybe in time it wouldn’t feel like a compromise anymore. It's almost perfect, and he's so close already, but he can feel there's something missing. He's slept with members of non telepathic species before, and has even found release by himself, but it's the promise of not only another mind but the one that he desires the most that keeps him from letting go, it forces him to hold on, waiting for what he didn’t know how much he was missing. It's not enough, but he's so close, if only he can lose himself completely, stop thinking about what could be and just focus on the now, if only he can…

Then the Master suddenly tenses, and pulls the Doctor’s hair violently back, far enough to look at his expression. “Doctor, stop,” he says, his voice firmer than it had been in the past hour.

The Doctor freezes immediately, wondering what he did wrong, not even daring to move enough to pull out. His first thought is that the Master is feeling the same thing that he is, and this isn't enough without contact. He can almost feel the humiliation that he’ll experience when the Master says that he isn't good enough and can't satisfy him, that he would rather finish things by himself than pretend to enjoy this, the fear making the words in his head sound too real. Then, more terrifyingly, he wonders if the Master will reveal now that this was just a trick, and that he feels nothing for him anymore. But that seems too cruel even for the Master, and it ignores the true emotions that he was showing before.

Despite those wild speculations, nothing could have prepared him for the next words out of the Master's mouth.

“Why haven't you disabled my hijacking program?” the Master says, grabbing his hair harder, any vulnerability completely gone now, hidden by a mask of anger.

For a second, the Doctor can't imagine what he's talking about, and he can't understand this change in the Master. Then it hits him, he was supposed to be stopping the Master's plan, and the Master knew that. The Doctor stepped out of their usual game and pushed the boundaries that they so carefully kept between themselves, and the Master, by giving him the password, was saying that he didn't want this new game. He had said it with every word, he only wanted this if it were real, and the Doctor ignored him at every turn. It's real for the Doctor now, but it hadn't been when they started, and he's not sure that this is something that the Master can forgive. He has to keep the Master from finding the truth, but he doesn’t have any believable excuse.

“It's not doing anything yet, I can disable it afterwards,” the Doctor tries, knowing that he's only delaying the inevitable.

He might have been able to distract the Master before he realised the Doctor’s mistake, but now that he did, he won’t let go of it so easily. The Master will need an explanation, and the Doctor doesn’t have a good one to give him. The truth is too dangerous now, but no lie seems to offer enough of a shield as to guard it.

The Master pulls harder, bending his head painfully back now. “You don't know if the password is real.”

“I trust you,” the Doctor says without thinking, and it's the wrong thing to say.

The Master slaps his face hard, still grabbing hold of his hair to keep him in place. It's a lie and they both know it. He might love the Master, he might want to make love to him, he might even want them to be together again, but he certainly can't trust him. Not yet, maybe not ever, but trust has never been a prerequisite of love.

“What's your real plan?” he asks, venom dripping from his voice, and the Doctor can't even say that he doesn't deserve it.

He can't say that he didn't know what he was doing, he knew it was wrong from the start. As much as he tried to justify his own actions, he knew how much he would be hurting the Master once he found out, or at least that he would hurt the Master, although how much came too late to turn back. He was just hoping that it wouldn't come to this, that he could get away with it. If only the Master didn’t question it, it wouldn’t matter if it wasn’t real from the start. The Doctor could get what he wanted and keep his morals, and he was selfish enough to try, all while still saying that it was the right thing to do.

“I want you, that's the truth. The plan doesn't matter,” the Doctor still tries, as much because he wants to spare the Master as because he's afraid of facing what he did.

He doesn’t want to have to say it, doesn’t want to admit to himself how manipulative he could be, how moved by his own desires. The difference between them is that he’s trying to be better and keep his worst instincts at bay, not necessarily their impulses. They have more in common than they have differences, even now.

The Master slaps him again, harder this time. It's meant to humiliate more than hurt him, and it works. “I'll ask you again, Doctor. What is your real plan?”

The Doctor closes his eyes, he can't bear to see the look on the Master's face once he knows. “I'm running a decoder, it should break your program.”

The Master's hand on his hair is now shaking for an entirely different reason. “How long?” the Master spits out, and the words seem to pierce him, hitting in time with another slap.

The Doctor grabs his hand to keep him from slapping him again, pinning it to the bed. It’s only so he can have time to think, as every slap seems to cut through his thoughts. He just needs a second to think, so he can explain what happened. If only he can make sense of what he’s thinking, maybe he can convince the Master that he truly does want him, despite how this started.

He can't stretch this out any longer, it's time to tell the truth, and hope that the Master can forgive him, just as the Doctor was ready to forgive all his previous crimes. This is his leap of faith, just as the Master's was giving him the password. All cards on the table, hoping for the best. It’s the only thing that he can think that might actually have a chance of fixing things.

“It should be done in four minutes, seventeen seconds,” the Doctor says, somewhat glad that at least his time keeping he was able to maintain despite the damage to his mind.

But somehow even keeping that skill makes him feel more inadequate. That's like a human being glad that they can still breathe automatically, something so basic that it only highlights how much was taken away. He was never much of a Time Lord to begin with, not by most of their measured standards, and now he certainly feels less than that, rather than just different from and mostly by his own choice. He never realised how reliant he was on his own biology and telepathy until it was so cruelly taken away from him.

“So out of all the ways that you could have kept me from learning of your plan, you decided to deceive me and humiliate me? What's this, you wanted to prove to yourself that you could still make a pathetic display out of me?” the Master says, and behind the anger there's genuine hurt in his voice, layer upon layer of mental shields trying and failing to keep his emotions from showing.

It's exactly what he didn't want to happen. He can feel the Master mentally redrawing from him, although there hadn't been contact, but even the superficial feel of him is moving further and further away. If he leaves things this way, the Doctor is sure that they'll never have another chance, the Master will never allow for this vulnerability again. He needs to explain himself, needs to make the Master understand, while he’s still here, while he’s still reachable.

“No, that's not it, I wanted you since I saw you again, but it wouldn’t be right, I couldn't want you, not while you were trying to destroy the world,” the Doctor says, hoping that he can still salvage this.

The Master had been willing to give up on his plans for him, maybe he can understand why the Doctor had to do what he did. Maybe he can understand that desperate desire to recover the ruins of what once existed between them, even as it makes for poor decisions. It shouldn't matter how they got there, they're both willing to try, that should be more important. That should be what matters, everything else is just a detail, insignificant.

They still love each other, and if they can find a common ground, that's all he ever wanted. He always thought that it wasn't his job to fix this, that the Master was the one who decided to go around hurting people and so he was the one who had to make the effort to come back, but if reaching out and pulling him to his side is the way to get what he wants, it's what the Doctor has to do. If he can still salvage this relationship, if he can still salvage the Master after this path he put himself on, then it doesn't matter how he does that.

“So you decided to violate me instead? Is that more fitting with your morals?” the Master says, the words hitting harder than the slap, harsher than anything that the Doctor had thought of his own actions.

“That's not…” the Doctor starts, because that's not what he did, that can't be what he did.

Yes, he had lied about his plan, and he had tricked the Master initially, but by the time they started doing anything significant, he had already decided that he wanted this earnestly, it wasn't a lie anymore. It's not… he asked the Master, and he explained his limitations, and he was telling the truth when he said he wanted this. It had to be true enough, he barely deceived the Master, only through their first kisses, and he certainly hadn't forced the Master into bed with him, he didn't force him to do anything, even if he didn't give him time to think about things, even if he pushed him to focus fast on what he was feeling so he couldn't analyse the offer too closely, even if he told the Master exactly what he needed to hear in order to accept his offer.

Oh no, what had he done? He couldn’t have truly… he loved the Master, and the Master loved him, and he wasn’t trying to harm him, much to the contrary, he tried to keep himself from doing so, and yet he could see how the Master might consider it a violation of sorts.

He had to make things right, he had to…

“I should kill you for…” the Master says, releasing his hair so he can search for something on his bedside, probably a weapon.

The Doctor acts on instinct, grabbing his other hand to keep him from doing it, using his weight to his advantage so the Master can’t move, because the Doctor needs him to stop before he does something that they’ll both regret, they need to talk things out rather than hurt each other or this will only escalate further. The Master freezes, for the first time a look of panic in his face as he finds that he's not strong enough to pull his arm free.

“You wouldn't,” the Master says, barely above a whisper, fear and disbelief mixing in his voice.

It hits him all at once. His trickery, his manipulation, his lies to both of them, the betrayal the Master felt, the Master’s accusation, his own dismissive words, and how he now has the Master pinned down, still inside of him, and the fear in the Master’s face in realising that he's trapped, held down with no leverage to escape, no way to defend himself, against someone to whom his hypnosis is useless. He lets go of the Master like he's been burnt, retreating to the foot of the bed, sitting on his heels to keep as far away from him as he can, terrified of his own actions, and how far beyond what he was planning he had landed.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…” he starts, just as the Master pushes himself to sit against the headboard, bending his legs protectively in front of his body, holding them with his arms as another layer between them.

He couldn't have done this, he was a bit manipulative, but that was different, wasn't it? He stopped when the Master asked him to, and he let go of him just now. He hadn't even meant to use his position or his size to his advantage like that, it was just a reaction to thinking that the Master might want to kill him, and he forgot himself, more focused on their fight than their bodies, entirely unaware of how their position might make the Master feel in the context of their discussion. He told the truth when it mattered, that had to be more important than the lies. And he hadn’t meant to hurt the Master, or force him in any real way, he was just trying to show that their love was still possible. Or at least that's what he was trying to do as soon as he himself realised that it was possible.

And yet he can't deny that the Master looks hurt, not physically, but in a deeper way. Everything that he tries to tell himself sounds like an excuse, trying to lift his blame when he knows that he did something terrible, maybe not what the Master accused him of, surely not what the Master accused him of, he couldn’t have done that without knowing, he can't believe that he would have done that, but still some level of violation, if not of his body then of trust, what little there was between them.

Maybe the only way to make his intentions matter is if he can make the Master believe them, because the Master will otherwise still leave this situation feeling used and hurt, and then the love that the Doctor intended by his actions won’t have mattered at all. Then what he fears will truly happen and the Master will never allow his feelings to be used again.

They just stare at each other, a clock ticking in the distance, and then he knows that the Master is thinking the same thing that he is. They had both been counting the seconds, maybe without even realising it. Those precise internal clocks of the Time Lords, they couldn’t stop counting the seconds even if they tried. From the moment he told the Master the truth, their time sense wouldn't let them ignore the approaching moment.

“Your program is complete, your plan worked, you've won this round. I suppose I should congratulate you for doing whatever is necessary to win, I would certainly never have thought of such means. You can go on now, laugh with your human friends about this,” the Master says, and this attempt at anger can't hide his hurt.

The Doctor did this to him. He lied, and took him to bed, and made him come undone, made him cry and express his love openly, only to let him think that it was all a lie. It's exactly what he told himself that he couldn't do, what he would do if he wanted to destroy the Master, and he did it while telling himself that it was fine. As long as his intentions were good, he believed that it was fine, that he could do no wrong. How often has something like this happened, only to make him shake when confronted with the consequences of his actions? The fear comes again, that he isn't a good man, only being forced by the circumstances to help others, when what he wants to do isn't always for the best.

“This wasn't my plan,” he says, and when the Master doesn’t acknowledge him, he tries again. “This wasn’t what I was planning, Master,” he says this time, hoping that acknowledging his chosen name for the first time will at least offer him some assurance that this wasn’t just a game for the Doctor.

The Master shudders and looks away for a second, and the Doctor knows exactly what he's thinking. He hates that he finally had the Doctor call him by his name, and it happened like this, and hates that he still loves hearing it. It's a perversion of what he wants, just as the Doctor did with everything else that evening, and it offers him no comfort. He keeps getting it wrong while trying to make things right.

“Please,” the Doctor presses on, “I meant what I said, I want to give us another chance, I would never lie to you about that.”

He doesn’t dare to move from his corner of the bed although as he says the words he wants more than anything to hold him. He already broke too much of the Master's trust, and it's clear from the way that the Master is holding himself that he wants to be away from him. The Doctor never expected to see this expression in his face, afraid of him, not that the Doctor might stop him or capture him, but that he might be truly hurt by the one he loves. The Master can’t see the love in his actions, and although the Doctor knows it’s there, he’s afraid that he can’t either, not anymore. Not when the image of the Master afraid of him, truly afraid, is burnt in his brain.

“Except you did it before, and like a fool I fall for it every time. I can't believe I ever thought you'd… Just leave me, you went too far this time, I don't want to play this game anymore,” the Master says, proving that some of that vulnerability is still there, and maybe the Doctor can reach it.

He cut him deeply, but the wound is still open. Maybe he can clean it before it has a chance to go septic. It will hurt, but it might just save them. If only he can make the Master understand what he was thinking, as messy and irrational and even contradictory as it all had been, maybe this won’t be what kills the love that somehow still survived in the Master’s hearts.

“Not like this, I wouldn't use you like this,” the Doctor says, shaking his head. “You have to know that I wouldn’t hurt you so much, that I wouldn’t want this.”

He realised early on that he couldn't sleep with the Master in any other way than because he desperately needed to express his love, and through that love bring the Master to his side. He could have stopped the Master from reaching a computer in many other ways, and he chose this because he had been denying himself, denying what he so clearly wants. If only he can make the Master understand this, then there might be hope yet.

“But you did. You lied to me to get me in bed, after I asked you, I asked you, Doctor. I gave you the password and I told you to stop, I told you that I couldn't bear it if…” he stops just as his voice starts to shake.

He has never seen the Master seem so small, and he hates himself for having caused this. The Master might be right in his accusation, he hadn't intended to, but if he caused this much pain, could he truly say that his intentions mattered? And yet it's the only thing that he still has to defend himself. The Master wanted this as well, it’s only the context that changed, and the Doctor has to change it again, if he can change it again then he hasn’t done anything unforgivable, and they can still find their way past that.

“I lied to myself, but I was telling you the truth. It wasn't about the program, I did this because I lo--”

Before he can complete the sentence, the Master has both hands around his throat, launching himself on the Doctor with such force that he falls backwards off the bed, landing with his back painfully on the floor, but the Master doesn't relent, he falls over the Doctor's chest without easing the pressure on his throat, killing the confession the Doctor was trying to make before the sounds can escape his mouth.

It takes a long time to strangle a Time Lord, but if the Master keeps at it for long enough, he can prevent the Doctor from regenerating. The Doctor should fight him off, push him away and run before the Master can kill him, truly kill him, even if he might regret it later. If the Doctor loses consciousness it's all over, he has to act now.

But if he leaves now, then things are over between them. They can never recover from this, and it'll have been his fault. Worse than leaving Gallifrey without the Master, worse than not finding him afterwards, worse than giving up on him when he started to crave power, worse than all the other times that he used the Master's feelings against him.

So he grabs the Master by the back of the head and pulls him down for a kiss, gently pressing their lips together just as he starts to lose consciousness.

Chapter Text

When the Doctor comes to, he's laying on the bed, and he can feel that the Master is still in the room. He lifts his head to look for him, ignoring the uncomfortable pull at his back, and finds him sitting on a simple wooden chair in the corner, dressed in a long burgundy robe that fits him quite well, made of something like silk but much more lustrous. It's the first time that he sees the Master in any real colour, although it’s still dark and rich, and he finds that he quite likes the effect.

It has to be a good sign. The Master could have just as easily left, or gotten dressed properly. He stayed because the Doctor is still under his skin, there's still hope. He just has to bring the Master close again, and convince him of his love. Now that the Doctor knows how much the Master still feels for him, he has to stop trying to protect himself, trying to hide his own feelings, and find a way to fix the hurt that he caused.

“You're still here,” he says, noticing how strained his voice sounds, and putting an arm under himself for support so he can properly look at him.

The Master put quite a lot of force behind that strangling. At least at some point he must have truly intended to kill the Doctor, and he would have regretted it later, but that wouldn't have helped either of them. He wonders if the kiss changed things for the Master at all, or if it was seeing the Doctor unconscious, entirely at his mercy. Whatever the case, the Master stopped when it mattered, just like the Doctor did. That has to count for something. Maybe it’s more romantic than dying with each other, he could have killed the Doctor and chose not to, and the Doctor could have chosen to defend himself, but chose to leave his life at the Master's hands, knowing that it wasn't safe, and hoping, rather than trusting, that the Master would love him too much to follow through with this.

“It's my hotel room, I’ve even paid for it properly, with Earth money. You should be the one to leave,” the Master says, not moving from his spot, far enough away from him to make this personal conversation even more awkward than it already has to be.

In his fantasies, the Doctor always imagined the Master, not quite forcing him, but limiting his options so the Doctor wouldn't feel guilty about giving in and sleeping with him. He never imagined that he would be the one manipulating both of them, and he's not sure that it's better that he lied to both of them, rather than just tricked the Master. Maybe it’s worse, he not only was willing to lie to the Master to get what he wanted, he couldn’t even admit to himself that that’s what he was doing. There’s a certain cowardice to that that he’s afraid to face, and it makes him afraid of what else he can justify to himself, believing that good intentions are enough to shield the morality of his actions.

“I'm sorry,” he says, because he isn't sure what else he can say.

Everything just feels inadequate. The Doctor made him cry and sob, he promised the Master love, or something close to it, and he gave him nothing. Even his own reactions had been somewhat contained, he was holding back without meaning to, he realises only now, as if keeping some level of decorum would have made this situation any better.

The Master cried and sobbed and begged, and the Doctor only gave him a pair of racing hearts and heavy breath, a purely physiological reaction while the Master didn’t shy away from an emotional one. And as the Master always prided himself on his superior mental and physiological control, this lapse has to be devastating to him.

“Oh, I'm sure you are. You always are, once you stop to see the effects of your actions, not that you usually stay for long enough to do so, since you always prefer to run away as fast as you can. I heard about your little Sirulian genocide, did you cry yourself to sleep after that?” the Master asks, knowing exactly how to hurt him in that way that only the Master can.

Once again, the Doctor wants to defend himself. It wasn't his fault, he expressly stated that they were to be left alone, he assured the humans that they wouldn't be dangerous for quite a while and that he would find a better solution later. And he left without checking if they were safe, defenceless as they were, surrounded by humans who had just been threatened with the destruction of their kind, and not any humans, but the military, who’ll always look at a threat first as how they can shoot their way out of it. As much regard as he might have for the Brigadier, and he wouldn’t be working with him if he didn’t have some, he should have known human nature better than that. He knows that he contributed to that massacre, that he isn’t innocent in this. It wasn't his intention, but he can't keep hiding behind intentions.

He exposed the Master, coaxed him into being vulnerable with him and took advantage of that. The least he owes him is the same. He can’t really restore any perceived damage to the Master’s dignity, but he can offer a few blows to his own in return. Maybe that’s the way to fix things, by making sure that both of them leave this equally hurt, equally bruised. It's too late for a no point match, but he can still even the score.

“No, I ran to my TARDIS and tried something reckless to run away, and she zapped me across the console room because I can’t even make her go anywhere but here, she stopped one of my hearts and I had to hit it myself to get it working again because I couldn’t ask anyone for help. I was angry and ashamed, there was nothing that I could do to make things right, and my first instinct was to run away, because you're right, I don't like facing consequences,” he says truthfully, wondering if the Master feels anything like that now.

As much as the Master has accused him of running away, and there's some truth to that, the Master isn't much better. They've both made mistakes, they've both hurt each other. Maybe it's time for the Doctor to give up on his moral high ground, at least when it comes to them. There's the issue of keeping the Master from conquering worlds that he doesn't belong to, and the Doctor still needs to do that, but when it comes to their relationship, he wonders if the Master hasn't been more open about it, more willing to try to fix things. Yes, the Master hurt him, nearly took a regeneration once or twice, but he was always willing to extend a hand, and at least listen to the Doctor whenever he had a proposal. And the Master had plenty of opportunities to make him regenerate or even kill him entirely, which he never seemed particularly inclined to take.

“Why doesn't that surprise me? Then go on, run away. I won't stop you,” the Master says, gesturing towards the door.

The Master has to still want him there, on some level. Otherwise, it would have been easy to just leave the Doctor in the room and go, carry on with his plans or simply leave in his TARDIS. Now that his plan failed, he has no reason to remain there, none other than he doesn't want to let go of the Doctor just yet. Maybe the Master also knows that everything will be over if he leaves now. Neither of them can quite give up on this relationship, no matter how much they’ve both been hurt by it. They’re each just as bad as each other, just as responsible for these ruins, but they’re also together in holding up the rumble and keeping it from falling apart.

Arguing about who is guiltier of leaving who will get them nowhere, so the Doctor decides to bypass that entirely. They’re both there now, that’s what matters. They’re still trying, and there can be only one reason for that.

“I still want you, I never stopped, I just couldn’t allow myself to tolerate what you were doing. What I said before didn't change, you don't have a plan for me to stop, this is our chance to fix things,” the Doctor tries, forcing himself to let the emotions leak through his voice, rather than shielding them, which is harder than he expected, after so long hiding them even from himself.

The problem is that he wasn't honest before, and he was holding himself back. He took everything that the Master was giving him, and didn't let any of his own vulnerability show. He really thought that he could get through this by pulling the Master to his side, by making him admit how much he wants the Doctor, rather than having to meet him in the middle. If the way to bring him back is for the Doctor to admit that he still wants him, that he needs him desperately, then he’ll do it. There’s no point in trying to hold on to what he’s supposed to want or not, pretend that he’s this paragon of virtue, not when it’s the Master, who knows him so well, who knows all of his worst instincts, and who just fell victim to them.

“Do you really think I would fall for the same trick twice?” the Master scoffs, looking away.

The Doctor wants to go there and pull him into his arms, but he knows that he can't do that. He has to wait for the Master to come to him, let him recover some of the agency that the Doctor took from him by manipulating the reactions out of him. He’ll give the Master the time to think that he should have given him before. He'll retrace his steps so he can make things right this time around.

Then it hits him. There's only one thing that can convince the Master now, one thing that can show him that the Doctor isn't lying about his feelings. And the Doctor is too afraid to ask for it, especially as he doesn’t know if it’ll work, but he had barely controlled himself when the circumstances presented themselves to him, and only did so because he didn't have any other choice. Maybe if he can manoeuvre the Master just right, he'll offer without the Doctor having to ask for it. After all, it’s so much easier to agree to something ill-advised in the heat of the moment, and that carries much less guilt. The Doctor is unfortunately familiar with that process.

The plan stumbles half formed out of his brain, words mixing together into the worst possible combination before he has a chance to prepare them further.

“You should fuck me,” he says, and he knows it's the wrong way to put it, but he doesn't know how to explain himself. “It doesn't have to be… If you're angry, I can take that, be rough if you want to, just…” he tries to amend, and somehow only makes things worse, so he closes his mouth, mentally kicking himself for his inability to express something that should be quite simple.

It's not what he wants at all, but if that's the way to get the Master close to him then he'll take it. What he wants is for the Master to hold him close and love him, and that feels humiliating to ask of someone who just tried to kill him and is furious with him, so he has to settle for what he has to work with. He can take the anger that comes from that dangerous love of theirs, and he can mould it into something else.

“Is that what you need to feel better about what you did to me? If I hurt you then we're even? You must know that just by freely giving me your permission, the situation already isn’t the same,” the Master says.

He feels nauseated at the way that the Master takes this, but he can't say that he blames him for that perspective, especially when the Doctor can't express what he's thinking, and is still trying to talk around what he wants with words that are far too distant from what he truly means. The Master feels that he was tricked, and he's judging everything now through those lenses. He certainly doesn’t want the Master to hurt him, but he can’t ask for him to love him after betraying him like that, and he still remembers how the Master would rather try to kill him than letting the Doctor confess his feelings.

“That's not what I meant. I want you to…” He can't say it, not poetically, like the Master did in asking the Doctor to make love to him, and not directly, which would be an admission of what he failed to do. “I want to let you inside of me,” he finally manages to blurt out, which isn’t clearer at all, and might even be worse.

“Yes, I understand what fuck entails,” the Master says before the Doctor can amend it, spitting out the word like he despises having said that, still looking away from him.

He still doesn't get it. The Doctor wonders if he can also blame the Council for his inability to communicate now, but he knows that's all him. He has always been terrible at this. So many of their fights were just this, like they aren't talking in the same language, which is quite impressive for a telepathic species, even more so when considering they are both bonded to their respective TARDIS, and should understand every language through either their own innate systems or the boost that a TARDIS can provide to them. They understand each other so well in every other aspect, they can plot around each other, planning each action and counteraction based solely on how well they know each other, and still they can’t communicate.

He’ll have to say it, there’s no way around it. He can’t tempt the Master into offering, he’ll have to ask for it, knowing that the Master might refuse him. It’s only fair, after everything the Master told him, but that doesn’t make it easier. The Doctor has never been good when it comes to being honest about what he wants, and the fear of rejection makes this terrifying now.

“I meant inside my mind,” he finally says, and somehow that's harder to ask for than anything physical would have been, even offering the Master to take this regeneration as reparation wouldn’t have sounded this desperate, this pathetic.

Back in Gallifrey, it would have been scandalous to ask in this way, outside of a moment of passion, and even then the request should be telepathic, and never this direct. Asking with words, and worse still, because he can't do it himself, is unprecedented, one of his biggest violations of protocol, and that's saying something, considering who he is.

That does give the Master pause, and he finally looks at him. “You said you couldn't.”

He feels his cheeks burning. It's humiliating, and maybe the Master can appreciate that, if nothing else. If the Master knew how much this is costing him, maybe he wouldn't feel so used himself. Or at least he could take solace in how much he could mock the Doctor for this over the years. If someone is leaving this with material to laugh at the other, then it’s the Master, despite what he might think. The Master can leave him behind, assured of his superiority, despite every hard won victory of the Doctor against him. The self-preservation is the hardest part to fight against, but the consequences of leaving things this way push him forward.

“I don't think I can. I kept trying, subconsciously, I caught myself trying, and I couldn't,” he doesn't have to say when, he's sure that the Master felt his proximity, “but I think I can let you in. If you're… if you're in control I think it could work. Or rather, I think I can stop myself from stopping you.”

The admission stings, and he can almost see the Master laughing at him and deciding to leave him after all. Every possibility now is terrible. The Master may reject his offer and force him to leave, and the Doctor will have to go on knowing that he can't even offer enough to tempt the Master anymore, that he’s lost even that tonight. The Master may take him up on his offer and it might still fail, because the Doctor's mind is too damaged for any kind of connection, even without defences. Or he may be able to make contact, and be disgusted by the pathetic mess that the Doctor became, and that will finally be the thing that will make the Master give up on him.

He tosses himself back in bed, and touches the tattoo, or rather the brand on his arm. At least the Master is clever enough to have escaped punishment so far, or at least never stay punished for long, escaping prisons and still evading the Council. The Doctor does wonder sometimes, if he should have fought harder, tried to escape again, or even if he should have abandoned those soldiers to their fate. He hates who he was for just accepting this without a fight and not being able to stop the other Time Lords from doing this to him, and he hates who he is now for even considering that he should have saved himself instead of helping innocent people that should have had no part in any of this. It's a shame that he can't cross him on timestream, he's sure that both sides of this regeneration would want to punch each other if they met.

“It's another trick,” the Master says, but he doesn't sound too sure of himself.

The Doctor laughs, covering his eyes to keep from crying as well, and he has to cut a sob in his throat that he's sure the Master noticed. There he is, offering to show the Master everything that he has been hiding and pretending even to himself not to notice, offering him honesty in its purest form, and the Master still won't believe him. And he can’t even say that he blames him, because the Doctor had just been lying to him after being asked multiple times for the truth. The Master has no reason to trust him, which makes it two of them.

He doesn't trust the Master, that much is true, but this is still an act of trust in a way. He wouldn't do it if he had any other option, and he can't be sure that the Master won't take advantage of the opportunity, but it's his only alternative, or at least the only one that might give him what he wants. So it's not so much trust as it is being more afraid of what might happen otherwise.

“I'm not strong enough to lie to you in here, they made sure of that. Come in and you'll see, then you'll know that I'm telling the truth when I say that I want to try to find a way to fix this mess we both put ourselves in,” he says, not bearing to look at the Master.

Honesty hurts, and it might be what he deserves. He remembers the panic on the Master's face, the panic that he put there, and it's the clearest sign that their lack of trust is mutual, or else the Master wouldn’t have feared that the Doctor might take him by force, and even knowing that the thought crossed his mind, however fleeting, still makes the Doctor feel sick with himself.

Someone has to be the first to expose himself, and he's almost shocked that that someone was already the Master. Maybe he shouldn't have been so surprised, the Master was always the one who couldn't hide who he was, even as the Doctor still tried to pretend for a while longer. The Master is the one too given to impulses and flights of fancy for his own good, and everyone else’s. The Doctor just tries to hold back, with horrible consequences once he can’t anymore.

“If you're as damaged as you say, you wouldn't be able to stop me once I'm past your shields. I could do whatever I wanted inside your mind, I could have complete control over you, destroy you, and you would be powerless to stop me,” the Master says, and his voice sounds closer, but the Doctor doesn't turn to him.

It's likely true. The Doctor might still have enough strength to push him away, but even that is dubious, and he's not sure that he could keep him out long enough to put up his shields again. He's giving the Master a loaded gun, and he can't even say that he trusts him not to use it, because he’s not all that foolish. All that he has is hope, hope that the Master wants this as much as he does, and is willing to prove it by holding himself back from getting his revenge. And if the Master would rather hurt him, then at least the Doctor will know that there’s no more hope, if he’s still alive and in enough control of his faculties to appreciate that. Even if this fails, at least he’ll know that he tried everything that he could to make things right between them. It might be too late to fix this relationship, but he would never forgive himself if he didn’t try.

“You should be careful, if not for my sake then for yours, you could hurt yourself if you break something in here,” he says, because hope can be aided by an appeal to the Master’s self-preservation, which seems to be particularly high with this face.

He thinks again of dying together. Maybe they'll lose their minds together, whatever they still have of them. Then the Council would have to stop their ridiculous non-intervention policy and do something about it, because they would likely be a danger to the entire universe, including Gallifrey. He should be more concerned about this than he is, as it’s not that far of a possibility. Maybe his brain was deprived of oxygen for too long, or maybe that's just the Master, holding him by the hand and taking him to the edge of the abyss. Or maybe they do this to each other, pushing each other past all reason. Mutually assured destruction as their only possible proof of love when they can’t have any trust left.

“Do you really think that you can trick me inside your head?” the Master asks, and by now he's standing by the bed.

If this was before, possibly. Maybe not exactly trick him, but something close to lying to him, by omission if nothing else. His mental disciplines might not be the best, but he knows the Master well enough, and he would have some advantage, being in his own mind. Right now, if he can even allow for any sort of significant connection, he knows that can't keep the Master from finding whatever he wants, and certainly can't trick him.

“No, I just can't do this, I can't be the one to ruin everything again. I hurt you in a way that I didn’t mean to, that I don’t want to be capable of, and I can’t stand that. If there's even a part of you that still has feelings for me, I have to show you that this wasn't a lie. I went about this the wrong way, but my intention wasn’t to trick it, it was to show you that I still want to try to have a relationship,” the Doctor says, closing his eyes so he won't see the Master’s expression.

He made a mistake, but he's starting to think that it wasn't the Master that he hurt the most. They're hurting each other and hurting themselves each moment they are apart, and the Doctor hadn't realised before how he wished that the Master would offer him this, just the two of them, no super weapon, no conquering galaxies, no domain over innocent planets, just this. Only he needed the Master to offer because even now he's too much of a coward to ask for it. He doesn’t want to be told that he isn’t worth abandoning plans of conquest for. Even as the Master keeps offering him things that he doesn't want and can't accept in order to try to convince him, the Doctor can’t ask for what he wants, with the conditions that he has to attach to it.

“You don't trust me, don't try to lie. So how do you expect me to believe that you want this?” he asks.

It's a fair enough question, and the Doctor asked that of himself as well. It's amazing how often hope replaces trust in their relationship. Maybe that’s how he kept tricking the Master so many times, not because he’s so naive as to believe the Doctor’s offers, but because he has to take the chance, however impossible. If there’s even a sliver of hope, they have to try, whatever the cost, because the opposite is unthinkable.

“I don't trust you, I'm taking a risk. I know you could hurt me, but it likely won't be worse than what they… The alternative is worse, so I have to take the risk, and if I trusted you it wouldn’t be a risk. But I can't let this be the end, I won’t ruin this, and if you want to, then that’s on you. But I’m trying to fix things,” he says, not holding back, not trying to protect himself, simply being honest, like he should have been before.

He feels a shifting weight on the bed as the Master sits next to him, and he can feel his gaze, unrelenting, like a physical presence, but he refuses to open his eyes. Perhaps it's silly to feel exposed, given what he's asking of the Master and his state of undress, but somehow it's what the Master might find in his eyes, rather than anything else, that makes him feel his way.

The Master touches his brand, delicately tracing the lines one by one, the silence making the moment stretch tortuously. “They've hurt you,” he says, as though it's only a part of something that he's considering privately, a mumbling of thought in the middle of whatever conclusion he's trying to reach, not truly meant for the Doctor to hear.

The Doctor bites his lip, trying to keep the memory at bay. Hurt seems far too weak a way of describing what happened to him, the damage that he still has to contend with, and the trauma that moment left even beyond the damage. He felt as if he was dying, and in a way he was.

“They forced me to regenerate, and they… well, you always did say that I lacked mental discipline, and you were right, I couldn't hold them back. They took away my knowledge to keep me trapped, took away my connection to my TARDIS, took more than that, I’m not even sure how much, and I couldn't do anything to stop them. I tried to fight but I… I couldn’t do anything,” he says, struggling to keep his voice steady, ashamed of how he must sound.

Sometimes, he does wonder if the extension of the damage is his fault. He didn't exactly collaborate, refusing to agree on a face, and fighting them when they went to take his memories. Maybe it would have been better if he had just let them do what they were going to anyway, as he would never have had any hope of resisting. He's always been a bit stubborn like that, even when it hurts him, and he doesn't see that changing in the future. And isn’t it funny, that he might have fought too much and not enough, and blame himself for both, hate himself for both.

The Master puts a hand on his chin, and turns his face gently, but the Doctor can't open his eyes, if he does…

“Look at me,” the Master says, and it's a command, although not a hypnotic one, but also softer than he expected from this conversation.

The tears start falling before he can follow through, but he still forces his eyes to open. After all of his bravado during their meetings, it hurts to admit weakness like this, but he can't keep protecting himself and make the Master understand that he wasn't taking advantage of him, not how the Master thinks that he was. The only way to convince the Master of his intentions is to show it to him.

He's a Time Lord who barely has any telepathy left, he's broken, ruined, and he can't even take the Master to bed without being a disappointment to both of them. He tries to pretend that everything is still the same, but he knows that he's less than he was before, and for once he can’t hide it. Now that the Master knows this, he’ll have an advantage the next time that he wants to hurt people, but at least he won’t leave here thinking that the Doctor used his feelings in such a cruel way. And the Master will be the only one to understand why he's this way this time around, so unlike his previous incarnation.

The Master just looks into his eyes, unblinking, and he's not trying to make contact, just looking for something in the Doctor’s expression, his mind still firmly within himself, his shields not only in place but reinforced. The Doctor tries in earnest now, raises a hand to touch the contact point on the Master’s temple with just one hand and tries to reach him, but it's like trying to open a vault with wet noodles, and it hurts to even try. The Master sighs, apparently having found the answers that he was looking for.

The Master lets go of his chin, moving his hand to the side of the Doctor's head, the tenderness making him sob, and he leans into the touch. The Master says nothing, but touches the Doctor's neck with his free hand, where he presumes it's bruised, then slides it down his chest, pausing between his hearts. The Doctor can't stand this gentleness and still face him, so he turns, hiding his face on the Master's lap, letting the tears fall freely, and not trying to stop his wailing. The Master just holds him, drawing soothing circles on his back.

To his credit, the Master doesn't mock him for it, although he must make a pathetic sight. Maybe this, more than everything else, shows how much the Master still loves him. If he can stand this sorry display when he abhors weakness, then it must be because of love. Nothing else could make him still stay.

The Doctor is thankful that he doesn't offer any empty platitudes, any word of support would only sound hollow and inadequate, but this silent comfort is somehow exactly what he needs. He hadn't really allowed himself to dwell on it, his focus was on escaping his exile, even if it meant being once again on the run. As long as he had that goal, he didn't have to think about what happened. It's wrong, and they had no right to do that to him, he did nothing to deserve it, and they are fine with manipulating his interventions as long as it's to contain the Master, even as they continue to punish him for it. They're hypocrites, the whole lot of them and he’s right to have run away from them.

He cries until he has no tears left, and the Master continues to comfort him, not complaining, although the position must be uncomfortable for him. He hadn't meant to expose himself in this way, but he can see now that from the moment he suggested contact, it was inevitable. After everything he's done, he can't in good conscience let the Master into his mind without warning him of what he might find there, and he can't tell him that and not let his hurt show.

“I don't suppose the offer is all that appealing now, but I'd still…” the Doctor says, raising his head to look at the Master.

The Master tenses, and stops his soothing movements. “I won't sleep with you. And I most certainly won't make contact with you,” he says, and raises a hand when the Doctor starts to ask for clarification.

He takes a screen from the bedside table, not Earth technology surely, and holds it so the Doctor can see. The writing is Gallifreyan, although the technology is too rudimentary to be, so probably something that the Master picked up along the way and set to his preferences. Either that, or the Master's TARDIS decided to be helpful, as the Doctor’s is too weak to be working at this distance, and it’s not entirely impossible that the Master might be working in a language the Doctor doesn’t know, but he hopes that his brain isn’t so damaged that he can’t tell a foreign translation matrix is being applied to his visual cortex.

It's an error report, detailing how all the devices previously connected to a network were gone, and access to them is denied. It's confirmation that the Doctor's plan worked, the Master no longer has any leverage to blackmail the Earth's governments. And it was already prepared, right next to the bed, that was what the Master was planning on showing him when he woke up, before he derailed this conversation. The Master wanted to rub the Doctor’s plan on his face and send him away.

He must take too long to react, because the Master says, with no small measure of annoyance, “Surely they haven't taken your ability to read. Your program worked, I don't have another plan, so I should just leave the Earth now. You can keep the room, it's paid for to the end of the month. Get some rest, this is certainly better accommodation than whatever your human friends are offering you. I… I won't hold any of this against you, I promise, we can pretend none of this ever happened.”

The Doctor’s blood rises to his face, and he doesn't know if it's anger or shame. He just confessed something that no one else knows, he cried, he offered his mind to the Master, and after comforting him like that means something, he withdrew himself again. If not even the Master wants him anymore, what does that make him?

Maybe this is the Master’s revenge. It’s certainly humiliating enough to be, a cruelty to match his own, however unintentional it had been. A decisive blow to destroy him, just as the one that he had inflicted on the Master, the draw that he wanted, although certainly not in the way that he wanted. Just another instance of them hurting each other like no one else can.

“You can't possibly…! Why would I care about that?” he says, slapping away the screen as he sits up properly. “If you don't want me then say that, but you'll be the one who's walking away now, you'll be the one rejecting me and throwing away our chance of fixing things. So don't pretend this is about your ridiculous plan that would never have worked in the first place, if the idea of touching my mind is so disgusting to you that…”

The Master grabs him by both sides of the face and pushes him down the bed, climbing over him, both legs pressing to the sides of his hips as the Master is practically on his lap, effectively pinning him down with more force than the Doctor expected him to have. He's shaking with anger, and for a moment the Doctor wonders if he'll hit him again, but instead, he lowers his face so that their foreheads are touching.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to control myself? To keep from reaching out and taking what you are so foolishly offering?” the Master says, his entire body tense and his jaw set.

The Doctor can't make sense of it. The Master is furious, the Doctor's words seem to have angered him further, and yet he says he wants this, and just won't take it. Unless the Master doesn't want to want him, as the Doctor is unfortunately familiar with that particular feeling and could understand that. Only the Master doesn’t have a sense of morality to hold him back. It could be propriety, the Master certainly has his own standards to keep, as well as a pride that he might still be trying to defend. Or the Master doesn’t want to want something so pathetic as the Doctor’s ruined mind.

“You were never one to deny yourself. Is the idea truly so awful?” the Doctor says, and he can't help but be bitter.

Maybe that's how the Master felt, when he allowed the Doctor to see him, only to become convinced that the Doctor was mocking him. He pushed back against rejection so often, trying to pretend that he didn't care about the Master, but now he can't lie anymore. He's putting all his cards on the table, and learning that it's a losing hand and maybe he should have just kept on bluffing, since at least that would have pushed forward the end of the game.

“You reckless idiot, are you so eager to have me dissolve your brain? I can't do it, it'd hurt you. I can see that they weren’t gentle and they weren’t precise. You can't let me in, I'd have to force my way through, and I won't hurt you like they did,” the Master says, something snapping in him, his hands pressing on the Doctor’s face just at the edge of pain.

Suddenly, it makes sense. The Master isn't angry at him, or at least not directly. He's angry at the situation, or the Council, or whatever caused him to have to say no to something that he wants. It makes something twist inside of him, knowing that the Master is trembling with the effort of holding back for his benefit. On one hand, it shows a care that he didn't know the Master still had, and it gives him hope that he might still have goodness in him. On the other, it shows the shameful state that the Doctor is in, if someone who claimed to want to kill him and just attempted to do so wouldn't risk even a superficial touch to his mind.

The Doctor puts a hand on the back of the Master's neck, glad to see that he still shivers at the touch, a point in his favour as he’s still afraid of rejection, and searching for every sign that the Master still wants him. “You can. I don't know if you'll hurt me, but I know you're more capable than any of them. If this is the only way you'll believe me…”

“It's not,” the Master says, then frowns, like he didn't know those words were coming. “You couldn't have known I wouldn't take your offer, so you must be telling the truth. I… I can even believe that you were using that ridiculous plan as an excuse, rather than intentionally using me. To use your own words, you were always one to deny yourself. I don’t think you would want to force yourself on me purely for your own benefit, or even to stop my plan, that's far too cruel even for you, but all of this has gotten out of hand, we have both gone too far. I can’t… I can’t feel this way about you, we have to forget all of this.”

Back to status quo, that's what the Master offered him, he believes his apology and is willing to forget all of this, or at least pretend to, since he doubts either one of them can truly forget this. The Doctor should cut his losses and take it, but he was always bad at self-preservation, and if he can bring the Master to his side, then it’s a risk that he has to take. It's not even about protecting the universe from the Master, he just wants his best friend back.

“Please,” he says, the word hitting at his pride, knowing that he isn't able to do what he wants, “I can't pretend this didn't happen, I can't go back to pretending that I don't want you. I need to feel you. I've been so alone, and I’ve missed you so much. Let me show you.”

The tears threaten to come back, and he feels one dropping on his cheek from above. They'll settle it tonight. Either they'll fix their relationship, or they'll give up on it forever, but they can't keep on doing this, otherwise they’ll just destroy each other. This game of theirs has to end, there’s been too much hurt already on both sides. It can't be this way, they can't keep escalating the conflict while still holding on to their feelings, it's just too dangerous.

“Do you have any idea of what you do to me? I tried to forget you, but then you were here, quite conveniently trapped in one place, and I can't stop myself from coming back to you. You ruin my plans, you strip me of my dignity, you haunt my thoughts,” the Master says, so earnestly that the Doctor doesn't know how to answer.

He takes a deep breath and lets his shields drop, wincing at how raw and exposed his mind feels. It hurts already, like it does each time that he tries to connect to the TARDIS, but he won't give up, even as he knows from his experience with the TARDIS that a success will only hurt more, and might not last long. He tries again, and he can't establish contact, but he reaches further now, close enough that the Master has to feel him try. Even if it doesn’t work, he’s counting on it being more of a temptation than the Master can resist.

“Foolish, reckless, idiotic. Take away my sanity too, you've taken everything else,” the Master says, more to himself than anything else, his lips on the Doctor’s.

It's a soft, sweet kiss, and the Master finally starts to relax. It feels so natural that the Doctor needs a moment to realise that he hasn't said anything at all, that this was a stray thought, making its way across before there's even a link proper. He's too exposed like this, but the Master is as well, forgoing all mental barriers himself so he can reach out completely, so his own shields won’t hurt the Doctor as he tries. It’s a risk to both of them, and he should really know better, but he can’t stop now.

It's like a wave hitting a stone wall, water searching for every crevice that it can get into, an almost unbearable pressure with the force of a whole ocean. He tries not to fight, not to brace against it, but his entire body tenses, his mind wants to retract, close in itself and push the Master away, stop this before he can find a way in. It’s instinctive, really, the memory of the pain that came before, and knowing that there’s no way to do this that won’t hurt, even if he wants to. He doesn't want what was done to him to keep him from having this intimacy forever, and maybe there's a better way to ease himself back, but he doesn't know of it, and he was never one to wait.

“Relax,” the Master says into his mind, not quite a hypnotic order, but stronger than a suggestion, aided by the strength of his mind.

He could still resist it with some effort, but it's something that he can follow, and he allows it to make his hearts slow down. He unclenches his fist, realising that his nails were digging painfully into his palm, and searches for something else to do with this hand, while the other is still firmly on the Master’s neck, holding him close. He lets his hand hover around, trying to find a target, until it lands on the rope of the Master’s robes. It’s something to do, focusing on his body so his mind won't be quite this alert, so he pulls the rope open. The Master chuckles, and he doesn't know if that was a mental projection or not, but before the Doctor can be offended, the Master is taking the Doctor's hand and sliding it invitingly down his side, under the robes.

“Does this help?” the Master asks, breaking the kiss and actually using his voice, like he needs to be sure that the Doctor will understand him, not trusting their telepathic connection just yet.

The Doctor nods, and squeezes his hip. It's like biting his lip when he uses a tissue regenerator. It's still just as uncomfortable, but it helps to have a distraction, otherwise he'd squirm at how itchy it makes him. Now, it won’t keep the pain away, but it might stop him from trying to fight what he wants. It's not just the physical proximity that makes sex especially conducive for contact, and just sex isn't even particularly helpful. It's the vulnerability and desire to connect that comes from two telepathic beings making love, their feelings and emotions trying to feed off each other, until all that they feel is amplified and pulled closer, entangling their minds further.

The Master pulls away to reach for something, and when he does, he brushes against the Doctor's stomach. The Doctor can feel that he's half hard, and only then stops to consider his own body, not having noticed even as he touched the Master that his arousal has returned with just as much intensity. He's still desperate for release, and somehow he knows that he'll have it even if the Master stops touching him, just as long as he can reach into his mind. It’s a tension that's been building up for months, since they met again, and he can’t stand it any longer. It’s not something that a physical release could ease, what he needs, what he tried to tell himself that he could do without but can’t, is having the Master fully with him, like he hasn’t been with anyone in centuries.

The Master presses something against his palm. “Finish what you started, but be quick about it, I’m running out of patience with all of your provocations,” he says, and pauses his hands on the sides of the Doctor's face, gently now, caressing the skin that he was starting to bruise before.

The Doctor needs a moment to realise that he's holding the vial of oil again, and what the Master wants him to do. He assumed the Master would want to take charge, that’s why he offered what he did, even if he could have been clearer, but he supposes that's still what the Master is doing, by asking for what he wants. Besides, having the Doctor focus on their bodies will help keep his mind pliant, and keep the Master free to focus only on the telepathic contact. Following his request, the Doctor doesn't tease, only using his fingers to spread the oil as efficiently as he can, and to test if the Master is still relaxed enough for this. The push against his mind grows more insistent, and he tries to think only of their bodies as the Master sinks down, guided by the Doctor’s hands on his hips, letting the pleasure of his body lower his mental defences.

Despite his words, the Master goes painfully slow, both telepathically and with the roll of his hips. The Doctor can't keep his hands to himself, touching anything that he can reach. Trying to clean his hand on the Master's robe earns him a disgusted complaint, and the Master's hands leave him just enough to toss his robes. With this much free skin to explore, the Doctor tries to clear his head completely, focusing only on what he can make the Master feel.

Even this shallow touch of their minds allows him to sense the Master’s reactions, and if he can't help with contact, he's determined to give the Master as much pleasure as he can. The Master's concentration doesn't waver when the Doctor grabs the oil again, this time so he can grab a hold of the Master, moving his hand at the same slow pace of the Master's hips, but the arousal pulses through his mind and outwards, reaching towards the pleasure that the Doctor is feeling as well. This the Doctor can give him, at least, and if it's not enough the Master will have to find a way to take what he needs of his mind.

Finally, the Master finds a way in and almost tumbles into his mind, not enough turning into too much too fast, making the Doctor feel like he’s drowning. His first instinct is to push him away, but he fights it with everything he has, he holds back his mind's defences, and lets the Master have far more access than he should, than anyone should, really. It hurts, and it feels a little like scrambling his insides with a blender, his mind struggling to adjust to a strong presence.

Something has to give, and the Doctor loses nearly all contact with his body, only distantly aware of its sensation and unable to control it, but he manages to grab back some telepathic control. It's not enough to organise things inside his head, to make this more pleasant, but it's just enough to give the Master what he wants before he has to look for it himself.

It's feelings, rather than words, with some occasional flashes of memory. Love, regret, shame, fear, anger, hurt. Things he can't even make into words, and might not make much sense, but the Master doesn't retract from him, and pushes forward some feelings of his own.

Love and betrayal, entangled together into one. Missed opportunities, offers not taken, the desperate wish that the Doctor would just see things his way. Underneath it all, a shameful admission that the Master tries to hide, but he can't hold back and push forward at the same time. He might just care for the Doctor more than he cares for power, if a choice has to be made. The Doctor can’t contain his joy at that, or his hope, nor does he try to, projecting hope like a beacon. Maybe they can still find a way to tolerate each other's most disagreeable tendencies. The Doctor doesn't particularly care if the Master wants to be rich or finesse his way into some influence, it's the threats of violence, the taking of other’s liberties and the killings that he opposes. He tries to express all of that in a more coherent manner, but complete thoughts are getting harder to form, and his mind is pulsating, inflamed, with defences that he can’t hold back, trying to fight against the intrusion.

It takes him completely by surprise. He had forgotten how it felt, too used to contenting himself with physical orgasms, even when he was with someone he might have an emotional connection to, and that's the only way he ever did things with another person, even when the connection was brief, but it's not the same as being with another telepath. It's been so long since he did it this way, with his whole being, that he forgot the way their minds would expand and collide, and the collapse after.

It's too much, he can't take it. His mind snaps shut, shields up all by themselves, a desperate defence mechanism. He's only vaguely aware that he's pushing the Master away, physically as well as telepathically, but he can't see anything, can't hear him, and soon he's falling into darkness.

He doesn't quite lose consciousness, that wouldn’t be the proper way to describe this. Rather, his consciousness loses him. He sinks into something thick like tar, and has to reconnect his senses almost manually. It's part telepathy, part stimulating neural pathways, trying to heal tendrils that were burnt by the excess charge. He hears a muffled voice sometimes, just enough to tell it's concerned, not enough to make out the words. He feels something warm being passed on his torso and his sex, so gentle that he only registers the temperature and not the pressure, as well as something slightly electric around his head, that comes and goes. He smells Venusian herbal tea. He’s itchy and very cold, then warmer. And his internal clock jerks a few times, skipping time and going back, until he's not exactly sure how long has passed, an uncomfortable and foreign sensation for a Time Lord, that he only experienced after severe mental damage.

He knows just enough to tell that a long time passes before he can open his eyes, and even then he's not sure if he can raise his head or move anything else. If that's how he loses this regeneration, at least it'll be quite the story to tell. And the Master will never allow him to forget that.

“Oh, finally,” the Master says at the slightest sign of movement, and the impatience is a poor disguise for his concern. “Are you back?”

The Doctor manages to turn his head just enough to see the Master closing his book — what looks to be a gold-plated edition of Matthew Looney's Voyage to the Earth, at least two hundred years old and smelling of paper not produced on Earth, which he has to remember to ask the Master about some other time — and depositing it on the bedside table, along with his mug.

The Master has different robes now, emerald not-silk that compliments him quite well. It's a shame that the Master doesn't use more colour normally, he looks beautiful, although the attempts at looking intimidating are quite alluring as well, even if not actually intimidating. The Doctor might have let something about that slip during contact, but he certainly let more embarrassing things pass through, so he’s not particularly concerned. Hopefully he won't have to worry about the Master carrying out his next evil plots in this sort of sexy clothing, even if it would disrupt his concentration, because he'll find a way to convince the Master not to have a next evil plot.

Despite his apparent collection of robes, the Master didn't see fit to offer him anything to wear, although he had tucked the Doctor in bed, with a blanket up to his chest. He supposes that’s still a nice thing to do just the same, and he wouldn't want the Master dressing him while he's unconscious and incapacitated. That would only compound his humiliation, needing to be cared for like he’s ill.

“I think so,” he says, finding it hard to form words, but his skills are slowly returning.

His head is throbbing, but he ignores it in favour of just enjoying that illusion of domesticity. It has to mean something that the Master decided to stay next to him in bed rather than leaving. It might just mean that he's concerned after the damage that he accidentally inflicted on the Doctor’s mind, but hopefully it means that he isn't so disappointed in him that he might want to leave immediately. It might be the best result that he could expect.

“You could have given me some warning,” the Master says, absentmindedly tucking the Doctor’s hair away from his face, in a way that might almost seem loving. No, he has to stop tricking himself, it is loving.

Whatever the Doctor did to push him away, it had to have hurt him. Certainly not more than the Master can take, and he’s clearly in a better state than the Doctor, but it couldn’t have been a pleasant sensation. Something akin to being punched on the teeth, only inside his brain, by surprise, in the middle of his orgasm.

“I told you it was bad. I take it that you regret it?” the Doctor says, and he hates that he sounds so unsure of himself, having asked the question before he can think better of it.

At least in this, it can’t be said at all that he misled the Master. He said it from the start that his mind was in a dreadful state, that he couldn’t have proper control of himself, and that he didn’t even think that he could do this. It was a reckless risk, but one that they very much took together. With some provocation on his part, but the Master was the one with full control of his mind and telepathic capabilities, he has to share some responsibility in this.

“You said they took your memories, I foolishly assumed a careful extraction. This was removing boxes with a, with a blowtorch and a wrecking ball,” the Master says, clearly frustrated at his lack of a proper comparison.

The Doctor winces, but he can't say that the Master is completely wrong. There's nothing precise about what they did. They didn’t care about the damage, all they wanted was to get him under control, and show him that they were the ones who made the rules and that they could make him follow them by force if they had to. And he can't even say that he's learned his lesson, despite the punishment. He would rather feel broken and inadequate but away from them than keeping his head down on Gallifrey and accepting things as they are there.

“I tried to warn you,” he says, which is slightly unfair because he was the one insisting that the Master had to do it, while the Master was left to try to be reasonable, but still he did warn the Master.

It's truly terrifying, the idea that, now that he’s at least assured that the Doctor will live and has some control of his capacities, the Master will run away from him. He should probably have called UNIT at some point to stop the Master, but that would be trying to protect his feelings again, rather than trying to fix things. There will be no mending of their relationship without some hurt on both sides. And taking a risk on behalf of humanity that they surely wouldn’t agree to take, but he figures that he gave them plenty already, he's owed this much.

The Master grabs him by the hands and pulls him to sit, with his back to the headboard. “Do you know what day it is today?” he asks carefully, like he’s physically and mentally dealing with something fragile.

The Doctor wants to roll his eyes at such a ridiculous question. “Wednesday,” he says, then frowns, “no, it must be after midnight, Thursday then.”

Something about his answer displeases the Master. It’s a trivial mistake, but a mistake that he shouldn’t be capable of making. Their time sense operates even on a subconscious level, although the precision of microseconds requires at least a spare conscious thought. But missing an hour is unthinkable, even if he had been unconscious, and yet that's exactly what happened. More than one even, it has to be later than that.

“And the time?”

He tries to look for a clock, but the Master holds his chin, gently but firmly. He's meant to use his internal clock, which is a shame because his time sense had been more or less working until they made contact. There's this gap afterwards, and he doesn't know how long he was in that state, as he can't know exactly for how long he had a mild regeneration sickness, or how long passed between his execution and arrival on Earth. His time sense is clearly what the Master is trying to ascertain, although the Doctor can’t imagine why this is so important to him now. Unless he saw these gaps and is horrified by them, or wants to use them against the Doctor now.

“Morning?” he tries, as surely enough time must have passed, not wanting to risk anything more precise, although he should know it perfectly.

The Master lets go of him to take his screen again, evidently recovered at some point and undamaged despite being thrown, and he writes something down, although it's turned towards his chest so the Doctor can't see it. The Doctor looks around and finds an electronic clock, proudly proclaiming that it's sixteen hours, twenty-seven minutes, and nine seconds. He's been with the Master for close to a day. UNIT will surely be looking for him, although he’s not particularly worried about being found.

“You don’t have to worry about any damage, I’m sure you didn’t leave things worse than you’ve found them,” the Doctor says, uncomfortable with the idea of the Master having to check on him after they’ve made love.

It makes him feel weak and vulnerable, and he doesn’t know how to accept this concern without fearing that it has at least some disdain. It makes it even clearer that something was taken from him, as this would never have happened to him before the Time Lords decided to break his mind and he couldn't stop them.

Surrounded by humans with nearly no psychic ability, just enough to learn to protect their minds against low level hypnosis, which the Doctor can do as well and much more efficiently, it was easier to tell himself that he’s injured but hasn’t truly lost anything. Confronted with the Master, he knows that a few of his most important senses were nearly completely stripped away.

“Yesterday you could tell time,” the Master says, pointing out the obvious.

The Doctor’s cheeks burn up. Now that he’s not trying to win the Master’s forgiveness and make up for his mistake, the humiliation is too much to bear, and he won’t stand for it any longer.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t up to your standards, but if you didn’t enjoy yourself, there are easier ways to tell me that than mocking my basic brain processes,” the Doctor says, crossing his arms in front of his chest, aware that doesn’t have the desired effect when he’s still naked and not entirely sure that he can stand, let alone storm out of there.

The Master drops the screen on the bed, hard enough that it bounces twice. “You insufferable… Perhaps you were too busy attacking my mind to notice how much I enjoyed myself last night, but if I can sit here for an entire day wondering if you can come back from the coma that I put you in, after I warned you how dangerous your little stunt would be, then you can answer a few questions,” he says, with genuine hurt and concern in his voice.

The Doctor lets his arms drop. He hadn’t thought of things this way, but whenever he was aware of anything around him, he could feel the Master’s presence with him. The Master had cleaned him, maybe used a tissue regenerator at least on his throat, tucked him in, and quite possibly run a brain scan, or some other sort of medical device. The Master doesn’t do things just to be kind, if he stayed for this long, it’s because he does care, and isn’t asking these questions now to just humiliate him further, even if that’s part of the consequence. He's trying to show that he cares in the only way that he can, and the Doctor is just being difficult.

“Alright, what do you want to ask me?” the Doctor says with a sigh.

He supposes that he owes the Master a little more humiliation, if for nothing else then for the restraint that the Master demonstrated inside his head. The only damage is from having made contact when he wasn’t ready for it, but the Master has only received what the Doctor gave him and transmitted some emotions of his own. The Master did nothing to try to control him or to steal information that the Doctor didn’t want him to have, and aside from having to force his way through, his telepathic touch was gentle and careful, only touching what was on the surface, and not rummaging his way through, despite the unique opportunity to have access to the Doctor’s mind.

“First, get the tea next to you. It should help with any lingering pain on your throat,” the Master says, pointing with his touch pen as he grabs back the screen, apparently satisfied with his reaction.

The Doctor takes the mug, which seems to contain the Venusian herbal tea that he smelled before. It’s at the exact perfect temperature, which the mug assures, although it must have been made hours before. One of those basic amenities that he’s missing on Earth, and he doesn’t like the reminder, but he does appreciate the thoughtfulness. It also has about six or seven sugars, which tells him that the Master knows his tastes quite well. That does ease the humiliation a little, knowing that the Master might truly just intend to care for him, and just has a strange way of showing it, but it's still hard to accept care. They were never the type to help each other in moments of weakness, but then, when they were together it had been as young men, indestructible and believing that they could take on the universe in that reckless way of youth.

The Master has him answer a series of questions on logic, maths, physics, chemistry, and such like, all somewhat basic, occasionally reminding the Doctor to take another sip of tea if he thinks that he’s focusing on the questions too much and forgetting himself, or if his voice seems to strain. To his credit, the Doctor does manage to get most of them right, although he’s not sure how much that counts, since all of them are things that he’s supposed to know already. And he does get the time right down to the second the three times that the Master asks next, although they all come without warning and he hadn’t been consciously counting, which seems to prove that his internal clock was only temporarily disconnected, not damaged.

“You’ve always been terrible at maths,” the Master says, apparently not satisfied with his calculation of the eighty-second factorial digit of pi. “I told you to count only the fractional digits, and either you calculated it wrong, or you started counting from three. Although I suppose that’s not new damage, only your regular ineptitude. I remember how often you came to my room to despair over your test results.”

It says something about how long the Doctor spent around humans that he wants to say that those are two very big numbers to consider at the same time. They learned how to calculate pi until reaching infinity somewhat early at the Academy, as well as several other infinite numbers. Or they were supposed to have learned it, anyway. He’s not sure that he passed that class properly, he did cheat in a few of them. Which the Master should know, since he helped him do it. And fine, the Master is better at maths, but the Doctor actually scored higher on risk assessment, even if he doesn’t always take those lessons to hearts. He would also say that he's a better engineer, even if their instructors said that he lacked ‘elegance’, as he figures it's more important to make things that work than to make them look pretty. He’s sure that there must have been other things that he scored better than the Master, although maybe not many. Which only goes to show that the Master is better at taking tests, and proves absolutely nothing else.

“Now are you satisfied that you haven’t broken my brain worse than it already was?” the Doctor asks, still feeling a bit testy.

He hates how many questions he got wrong, even if it wasn’t all that many. Sometimes he does get even easy questions wrong when he’s distracted or is too confident and doesn’t think of them properly, but he was really trying to concentrate this time, at least as much as he can under the circumstances. He’s afraid that whatever he got wrong that he wouldn’t have otherwise is a sign that the Council caused some unintentional damage to go along with all that intentional damage that they inflicted. It makes him fear that he's even more broken than he already knew that he was, and if they were so careless, there's a chance that they couldn't even fix it if they decided to revert this unfair sentence. It isn’t like turning a lock, they can return what they took away, but this incidental damage isn’t something that was taken, but something destroyed in the process.

“One last question, what’s Gallifrey’s binary location from galactic zero centre?” the Master asks, looking up from his screen expectantly.

It’s ridiculously easy, something that even a child should be able to say, even easier than looking up to the sky and telling how many stars are visible to the naked eye, or estimating how far away a particular star might be.

“Well, obviously it’s ten…” he starts, and it’s at the tip of his tongue, but he can’t say it.

He knows this, he has to know this. It’s like asking how many eyes he has, or what’s the formula of oxygen. It couldn’t have been more simple, but try as he might, he can’t make sense of the other numbers, although he can practically taste them. It’s like trying to describe the ocean using only the language of a planet that is covered entirely by deserts, he knows what he wants to describe, but the words simply aren’t there to connect to the concept inside his head. Only in this case the words should have been simple enough, only whole, positive numbers.

“Yes?” the Master urges, only rubbing salt on the wound.

The Doctor sinks in bed, although thankfully he’s no longer holding his mug, this whole test having taken so long that he has long since finished his tea. “I don’t know. Or rather, I know, I just can’t…. It’s right there, I know where it is, I can feel the shape of it, and I can’t bring it forward. It’s infuriating, but don’t worry, I’m positive this is damage they gave me, not you.”

The Master writes something down. “Oh, I’m not testing what I did to your brain, I know that already. I ran a dozen scans while you were unconscious, and I’m fairly certain you were able to fix all of that by yourself, I was tracking your progress,” the Master says casually, as he continues to tap his screen.

The Doctor sits up, wondering if this was all just some twisted game by the Master, amusing himself with the Doctor’s basic mistakes. The Doctor wouldn’t put it past him, it seems just like the Master to try to deal with a love that he doesn’t want to feel by showing how unworthy the object of his affection is, and as much as the Doctor doesn’t want to admit that, he might truly be unworthy. But the Master has his own problems as well, and shouldn’t be confronting him with that now.

“What was this about then?” the Doctor demands, and he intends to sound annoyed, but it comes out surprisingly hurt, betrayed even, although he knows better than to trust the Master.

They should be past this, that should have been what last night was about. Finally some honesty between them, and both of them admitting what they want, but now he feels mocked and humiliated, and he already knew that letting the Master in was a terrible idea, but he had at least hoped for some better results than this.

The Master turns the screen to him, and it seems to be an analysis of his brain pattern. “I’m mapping what they did to you. I started with the scans and my own observations from when I was inside your mind, although I didn’t go deep enough for a proper assessment. I needed the borders of your general knowledge, and you were too close on the ones that you answered wrong for it to be a guess, I remember how terrible you were at guessing. I don’t think they actually took anything, your mind is just littered with block after block, plastered all over your sinapses, which is making certain skills lag, and keeping you from accessing other things entirely,” he says, pointing at several red areas.

The Doctor takes the screen, and watches carefully what the Master is pointing to him. This is a quite comprehensive analysis. The Master must have spent hours at this, even before the ridiculously long questionnaire. To have time to do all of this, the Master must have truly spent every moment with him since the Doctor fell unconscious, awake and trying to find a way to help him from the start, only stopping his checks when there was nothing else that he could do without the input of the Doctor’s conscious mind.

As casual as the Master is trying to make this seem, this is true dedication. He could very easily have just tried to wake up the Doctor or only checked for the damage he caused, but this is doing the work that the Doctor was too afraid to do. It’s the inventory of his mind that the Doctor was supposed to have done as soon as he started to recover on Earth, so he could try to fix the damage that could be fixed. It’s what he did with the TARDIS, after all, but perhaps he can be said to keep a better care of her than he does his own brain, and in truth he was afraid to see the damage.

“Why would you do something like this?” the Doctor asks, and he doesn’t know if he’s hopeful or afraid of the answer.

He wants the Master to love him, but taking care of him has some connotations that he doubts either of them is ready to deal with. What they have has never been this. Even when they were young and hopeful, and didn’t know how much they could still hurt each other, it was never in this almost human way of keeping a relationship, supporting each other through their vulnerabilities and injuries. It was all about how they could boost each other, two great minds achieving something even greater, and then the Doctor would probably have kept away from the Master if he had so much as a Taurian flu.

The Master looks away from him. “I should have expected that you wouldn’t be taking good care of yourself. Some of this damage you could have fixed by yourself if you had bothered to try, but now that I know what it is, I think I can help you. Not with your knowledge of dematerialisation theory, I won’t help you get away from me, but with the rest, I could help you undo the blocks, they weren’t particularly well made, and most seem almost incidental to whatever it is that they were actually trying to do. Some even seem to be yours, scar tissue overgrown, trying to protect sensible areas but covering too much around,” he says, staring at the stitching on his blanket like it’s the most interesting thing in the universe.

The Master wants to be in his mind again, even in this state. More than that, the Master wants to help him through it, to face his weaknesses and help him move past them rather than using them against him. That makes the Doctor feel something that he isn’t entirely sure that he knows how to classify, and he knows that it couldn’t have been an easy admission for the Master.

Even the way he said it, he wouldn’t help the Doctor get away from him, like his stranded TARDIS would be the only thing keeping him from running… He hopes that in time he can convince the Master that this isn’t true, not so he can get his help in bypassing his exile, or at least not only so he can do that, but also because he wants the Master to know that he would choose him, if he can choose the Doctor rather than dominating as much as the universe as he could get his hands on. They can choose each other, and they never have before, but maybe it’s finally time for things to change.

He would have to give up on some of his independence, and his fear of commitment, but he knows that he's asking the Master to give up on just as much. Maybe even more, as he knows that the Master’s desire for power and control isn’t just about that, or at least it didn’t start as that, and comes from a need to feel safe. Maybe he didn’t know that before, but he knows it now, surprised at finding the knowledge there in his brain, certainly something that the Master wouldn’t have wanted to share, but neither of them had much control over their connection.

“I would appreciate the help, but maybe another day. I don’t think I can stand to open my mind now, it’s sore and stiff, and I just had to rebuild some neural connections. But it’s good to know that you care,” the Doctor says, reaching over and taking his hand.

The Master looks at him, almost offended, but doesn’t pull back his hand. “Of course I care about you. I might wish I didn’t, but there isn’t much of a point in trying to deny the effect you have on me after the display of last night.”

Trying to deny that effect seems to be exactly what the Master was doing, insisting on his questionnaire and treating the Doctor like he’s something that he’s studying rather than someone he’s trying to help, but the Doctor can be charitable enough not to say that, especially as he’s sure that the idea of caring for someone even somewhat openly is entirely foreign for the Master. Maybe the only way that he knows how to do this is treating the Doctor as an experiment, but at least he’s still trying.

The Doctor is just too glad to have that admission, and if the Master will stop trying to deny his feelings now, maybe they can find a way to work together. Which, fine, the Doctor supposes also means that he has to stop trying to deny his own feelings too, both for the sake of fairness, and so they can have the proper results, rather than only making things more difficult between them. It’s not exactly easy to be honest and not try to defend himself, but they’re both trying to have a connection, so maybe there isn’t anything wrong if they don’t get it perfectly right the first time around.

They aren’t built for it, not really. It’s not the way that relationships happen on Gallifrey, the idea of mutual care is entirely foreign to them, although they’ve seen it on other planets often enough. It wasn’t just the two of them that only saw their relationship as something that could boost them and give them some advantage, that’s the only way that a relationship can be for their people. And aside from political marriages, which are alliances more than relationships, only fleeting, not something that might last for centuries and through multiple regenerations.

“I hope the way that I lose myself around you is proof enough of the effect you have on me,” the Doctor says, touching the Master’s face with his free hand.

He wants to say that he loves him, but the words seem too small to describe what he feels. It’s not so much being in love as it is the collision of two galaxies, inevitable, dangerous, fueled by an inescapable attraction, but in the end perhaps not as destructive as it might seem. There’s a lot of empty space in galaxies to keep the celestial bodies from colliding, and a lot of grey areas in his morality to keep the Master entertained. As tumultuous as the collision might be, they might still settle as one stable galaxy, with minimal loss celestial bodies that might reach escape velocity.

“So what will you do now? Try to arrest me again?” the Master asks, and it’s a question, a challenge, and a request all in one.

If he says yes, then the Master will leave, rather than stay around to help him, he’s fairly sure of that. But they might not be so much on opposite sides anymore, and there’s a chance that the Master might come back without some evil plan eventually, just to check on him. The Doctor is not sure where that would leave them, but it’s fine, because he doesn’t intend to say yes.

He’s not on any sort of policing authority, and he doesn’t owe humans anything, although he’ll generally do his best to save them as he would any other people in need of assistance, perhaps a bit more so, because he has a preference for the planet, and a weak spot for humans, even when they test his patience. Still, he has no obligation to persecute the Master for past offences, at least if he’s not doing something that the Doctor can’t tolerate right now. And the Master is his kind, so the Doctor should have a higher claim to him than the humans, although he doubts that UNIT would accept this argument.

“No, you aren’t doing anything wrong. At the moment. Hopefully you can stop yourself from trying to conquer anywhere again, or allying yourself to powers trying to do so, then I won’t have to try to stop you. Right now, I would say that we are at a stalemate, and I won’t be the one to break it.”

They could each be trying to get retribution for what they consider to be the other’s slights, with more or less reason, but that’s not likely to get them anything positive, and he would much rather forget the Master’s terrible plans of the past, if it means that they get to build a future together now. He has always been a bit of a romantic, the Master used to mock him for that, although now the Doctor suspects that this might have been a cover for his own feelings. Even then the Master had also been quite romantic, even if in a more fatalistic way. They should go watch Romeo and Juliet one of these days, the first performance perhaps, and pretend that it’s a romance rather than a cautionary tale.

The Master laughs. “You make it sound simple. Your friends are surely still chasing me, what will you tell them? That I promised you to behave like your lap dog? That you put me on a leash and they don’t have to worry anymore?”

The idea isn’t without some merit. Not the particulars, the Master is clearly mocking him in a way that probably reveals more than he intends about how he sees the particulars of this compromise — and one day the Doctor has to ask him why he always compares not having complete control to being a pet —, but the idea that the Doctor can just ask UNIT to leave the Master alone in exchange for his good behaviour.

No, not ask them, inform them that that’s what they’ll do because the Master is his kind, and so his responsibility, not theirs. They might not like it, but they wouldn’t have all that much choice, as the Master still has a working TARDIS and can simply run away, and the Doctor can always threaten to stop helping them, as the Master would probably help him rescue his TARDIS if the Brigadier tried to use that against him again. Or the Master might take his TARDIS hostage himself, which might be worse, and certainly complicate the power dynamics in their relationship. Alright, not the perfect plan, but one is starting to form. He'll let it rotate in his mind for a little longer, until he has something workable. His ideas often need a little time to develop properly, unless he’s working under threat of death, which he hopes isn’t the case now. At least not anymore.

“I was thinking of telling them that I took you to bed and loved the evil right out of you,” he says, because apparently being in a coma didn’t make him any less reckless.

Besides, he had the idea earlier, and he’s still enamoured with the romanticism of it, so he needs the Master to hear it, if for no other reason than because he’ll be offended by it. It wouldn’t do to have their relationship be just honesty and vulnerability, that would be too boring and too raw. They enjoy teasing each other too much to stop now.

The Master pulls away from him, horrified. “You’ll do no such thing! I expressly forbid you to tell them the… particulars of our relationship, as it were,” he says, in such a panic that he might actually believe the Doctor capable of doing that.

Well, it would be one way of making sure that there would be no follow-up questions, but it’s not truly what he has in mind, he just wanted the Master to hear it said that way so the Doctor could see his reaction.

He takes the Master’s hand and pulls him closer again. “I meant metaphorically. The actual words might be something more along the lines of us making a deal, your cooperation in helping fix my mind in exchange for a pardon for past crimes. Emphasis on past, I won’t give you carte blanche to do whatever you want.”

The Master still seems cross at him, and the Doctor wonders when he’ll learn to say the right thing. He’s still young, there’s plenty of time to learn, but the mistakes do keep on piling up rather uncomfortably, especially when it comes to the Master.

“So this is all this is to you? A trade?” the Master says, more offended than anything else.

It seems that the Doctor was right about the transactional nature being objectionable to him, although he had meant it more literally when he let it change his words before. He should have said it in some other way, even though it’s the best way of convincing UNIT to go along with this.

Humans can be truly selfless, he never doubted that, but they are also very good at making everything into trades. It’s present in essentially all of the societies that they build, and the current one is nearly entirely transactional in all but a few aspects. As they’re his friends, in a way, they might even agree to what they would otherwise consider a high price if it means resolving the damage to his brain. Of course, that would mean confessing that he has a damage to his brain, but they already know that he's stranded there, and he humiliated himself enough these past twenty-four hours, so maybe he can confess to them that he needs help.

“Of course not, never anything of the sort,” the Doctor says, which is a lie as he did think of quite a few things between them as a trade, but the Master doesn’t have to know that, and not all lies are necessarily bad. He puts a hand on the back of the Master’s head and pulls him closer, until their lips are almost touching. “But I don’t think the UN will accept, ‘I love him, please let me keep him, because he’s the keeper of my hearts’ as a justification.”

He kisses him before the Master can object to that as well, and it seems as though what his ego needed to recover was seeing how the Master is still melting against him. But far too early the Master pulls away, keeping his eyes closed and trying to gather his thoughts. The Doctor will still take it as a sign that he has something to offer that the Master can’t easily refuse. It makes him feel less terrible about how otherwise incapable he feels.

“You do realise that’s not a plan,” the Master says, still with his eyes closed, having managed to connect whatever thought he was trying to reach.

The Doctor rolls his eyes, although the Master isn’t seeing him. Of course the Master would put defects on his plan when the Master’s own plans are often full of holes, and the Doctor’s isn’t even so much bad as it is just incomplete. He can make it sound better, as soon as he has the time to properly think of a good wording. He has been able to get away with quite a lot this far, it’s only a matter of knowing how to present his ideas.

He should probably go first, without the Master, so he can explain the situation. And preferably get the Brigadier alone, so he doesn’t have other people reminding him of all of the Master’s crimes. The Master asked him not to say the particulars of their relationship, but if he manages to talk just to the Brigadier, perhaps he can insinuate the true nature of their relationship, and the Brigadier can connect the dots.

“Fine, you want an actionable plan, I think we can start with this hotel room that you’ve so helpfully paid for until the end of the month. We’re staying right here in this room until we can find a way to make this work that’s acceptable to both of us. Deal?”

He could swear that he hears the Master’s hearts speeding up. Discussing plans is likely not the only thing that they’ll be doing in that room, and maybe by the time they have a solution, they’ll have healed his mind enough that they might do this in a way that’s satisfying without hurting either of them. Which will hopefully involve convincing the Master to have him at some point, the Doctor just needs to find the right way to ask for it that won’t be so offensive, since the Master clearly disliked his wording. Now that he managed to say that he loves the Master, maybe it won't be so hard to ask him to make love to him, changing the word with the telepathic meaning it doesn't have in any human language.

And even before they can heal his mind, he would be quite willing to learn all the ways to give the Master pleasure with his body, since now that he had a proper orgasm once, keeping things at a physical level wouldn’t feel unsatisfying and frustrating, but pleasurable and relaxing, even if not as intense. Contact is somewhat of a pressure on the mind, and even before they didn’t do it every time that they had sex, at least if he didn’t count some light brushes of their minds. And then they were still so young, their minds were smaller and more flexible, so contact wasn’t as intense as it is now.

“Won’t your human friends be looking for you?” the Master asks, pulling him out of some rather interesting thoughts.

He missed the Master for too long, and he had too many periods of loneliness. He wants to make up for all the lost time, and if his theory is correct, then the Master also has some loneliness that he might need to shake away. It might be a good way of redirecting their competitiveness, and if they still have some anger that they need to work through, perhaps they could have a sword fight every so often, and once all the anger was dealt with, some more sex. This truly does open a lot of possibilities for conflict resolution.

The Doctor shrugs. He has quite a few plans for both of them to deal with all that undue loneliness, and he’s not concerned at all with what UNIT might be thinking just about now. He’ll likely notice it in some way if there’s a proper threat to Earth, and anything else they should be able to deal with by themselves by now. He can’t hold their hands through every threat, since he won’t be on Earth forever, and humanity should really learn to defend itself. He’s happy to help in any way that he can, but not to act like an employee that has to worry about being fired.

“Quite possibly, but I’m not their prisoner. And I would say that I do have quite the strong bargaining position,” he says, and because he’s tired of discussing this, he kisses the Master’s jaw and nibbles at his ear.

The Master has to hold his arms to keep from dropping to the bed, and he moves his head to give the Doctor better access. It truly says something about his state of trauma if the Doctor woke up thinking that the Master didn’t want him when this is his reaction, as much as he tries to shield it. The Master might have plenty of objections to the Doctor still, and they’ll have to work through them, but it can’t be said that he’s not enjoying himself each time that the Doctor touches him.

“Wait, no,” the Master says, pushing him away, although it’s gentle. “You’re distracting me again. I’ve made a list. Tea, the tests, shower, something to eat, rest. I’ll make sure that you’re fine before anything else. I do have standards, despite your attempts at showing otherwise.”

The Doctor can’t help a smile. It’s just so sweet that he has trouble reconciling it with the person who had just tried to strangle him to death a few hours before, but the Master has always been slightly mercurial. The Doctor just has to know better than to anger him too much, and possibly has to reign in his own worst instincts that tell him that his own actions are justified if the intention behind them is good. It probably won't help that he had a good result now despite his objectionable actions, but maybe the suffering will be deterrent enough.

He won’t soon forget breaking down in front of the Master, crying so openly, nor how hurt the Master had been when he thought that the Doctor had tricked him, and in a way he had. They might be headed to a better point now than they had been since their falling out so long ago, but it wasn’t without pain and without suffering.

“We did the tea and the tests, you did an excellent job of cleaning me already, I’m not hungry, and I’ve just slept for over twelve hours, I don’t need any more rest,” the Doctor says, tracing the Master’s collarbone, then up his neck and the side of his face, earning him a shiver.

It seems as though even without telepathy he can still make the Master come undone under his touch, and he’s determined to do so, if not right now, during this time that they’ll have just for themselves, trying to plot what to do next. It would be too boring to simply discuss plans, trying to find a way to have UNIT accept the Master as the Doctor’s ally rather than a terrorist, and thwart the Council’s will by fixing some of their damage. If the Doctor is going through the painful and laborious process of organising his mind and healing telepathic damage, he at least hopes for some more enjoyable interludes. And even if it’s not a trade, and not quite a reward, it might be something good to give the Master to keep him entertained as he helps the Doctor through this boring healing.

Besides, the reactions that he can get out of the Master give him enough confidence to at least counteract how useless he feels after everything that the Council did to him, so it might be an essential part of returning himself to normal. It makes the trauma easier to deal with, at least, knowing that he hasn’t completely lost his appeal despite all that he’s incapable of doing. He’s not entirely useless, even if at times he feels this way, having nearly lost something so important to his people.

The Master shakes his head. “You weren’t asleep, you were in a coma. I spent hours trying to wake you up, and you’ll let me take care of you now without another word, you owe me as much, and I can’t properly relax without that. Afterwards, you can do whatever you want to me,” the Master says, then opens his eyes, seemingly realising his words. “I mean…”

The Doctor gives him a quick peck, that’s quite the idea, and he’ll hold the Master to it. If they can both stop themselves from trying to save face, things might be considerably more enjoyable to both of them, but he suspects that learning how to do that is a work in progress. They have until the end of the month to get a headstart on that, but he doubts that it’ll be done by then. They have centuries of damage to work past, and it won’t be easy or fast. Neither of them is the kind to stay around and put in work, they’re alway leaving things behind and starting anew, but if there’s one thing that’s worth the effort, it’s their relationship.

“Oh, I know exactly what you meant. And I’ll have you know that you can do whatever you want to me as well, and I know how dangerous that is to say to you. But fine, if you insist, I’ll take a shower, but only if you come with me. It’s only reasonable, I might feel faintly and need a strong, firm body to hold on to,” he teases, glad to move the subject to something lighter after far too much emotional vulnerability.

After so long pretending that nothing was wrong, the Doctor struggles to acknowledge his problems now, and the Master is just the same, possibly for similar reasons. If they’ll learn to trust each other and help each other, it won’t happen overnight, and leaning into what already works between them might be the best way to get started. They were always good at flirting, and that night proved that they are still just as sexually compatible, perhaps even more so.

Holding his face with both hands, the Master says, “Were you always this infuriating?”

But before the Doctor can answer, the Master is kissing him again, softly, and still keeping him at a distance before the Doctor can start to distract him again and ruin his plans of being nice and showing that he cares.

This isn’t a solution. The Doctor can’t say that all is fixed between them, or even that there will be a solution, as it might still be the case that they won’t find enough common ground to agree on, and one or both won’t be willing to give up on each other’s reservations so that they can both live with this. But it’s a start, and this is a step that they are both deciding to take, despite the price that there is to pay.

They hurt each other in the past, they’ll hurt each other again. They have this mutually assured destruction, and might just be damaged enough to use it just to make sure that they’ll go out together, because dying together is better than losing definitively. And isn’t that peak romance? Maybe that’s why their people are so opposed to this sort of entanglement, they’d burn half the universe trying to help each other and the other half trying to destroy each other. The Master wouldn’t care about the damage, and the Doctor wouldn’t notice it until it was too late, but either way the universe would be just as dead. And as the Doctor is still trying to learn, intentions might not matter very much when the consequences are so catastrophic.

Of all the reckless things that he has done in his life, falling in love with the Master in the first place and keeping this love through it all beats telling the Time Lords his location and even stealing a TARDIS and going around interfering with other species, hoping that nothing bad would come of it. Even so, he can’t say that he wishes he could stop, not now, not when he has the Master in his arms, and so much hope that things between them can be better, even if they can never again be exactly as they were, and perhaps he wouldn’t want them to be. Their relationship knows hurt now, in a way that it hadn’t before, but it also knows a care that wouldn’t have been possible before, and that might be a good trade.

The love between them is still the same, despite all the ways that it has changed and evolved with them over the years, it’s only a matter of them being willing to express it, and he’ll learn to do this. The Master has to learn it as well, but he seems even more willing to try, even if not all that skillfully. It won’t be easy, few things that are worth anything are, but the Doctor has never been one for an easy life. If he were, he would have stayed on Gallifrey and led a boring life like all other Time Lords. It would never have been the life for them.

Someday, they’ll be the death of each other, but right here, right now, they’re together again, they’re on their way to fixing their relationship, and that’s worth any hurt.