Work Text:
He always had a weakness for the Master, as much as he hates to admit that, and this face in particular captivates him in a way that he thought he ought to be immune. He spent too much time with this Master, he supposes, trapped on a planet that he likes well enough, but not when it's the only place he can go, and trapped inside his own mind, not even the TARDIS to make him company. With so many encounters, it was easy to tell himself that maybe they could find a way to work through their issues, even if his exile came and went and things only became more complicated between them.
This alluring face and soft voice comforted him in especially terrible moments, when he couldn't stand what was done to him and needed the comfort of another mind who knew him well. If anyone can comfort him now, it's him. Or at least it's simpler if it's him, the Doctor never could get completely past the immorality of touching the Master in a body that didn't belong to him, but to a good man that he killed so he could walk around with a new face. Besides, he can't bear to stare at the face that had been Tremas’ now, and it would be harder to find a past version that wasn't trapped in a particular time and place. This Master is just conveniently easy to locate still alive, and if not under a completely favourable scenario, at least with not too much hatred for the Doctor.
“Doctor,” the Master says, tracing his features delicately, seemingly unbothered by the circumstances, although the Doctor has offered him very little before pulling him to the first quiet corner he could find. “Should I even ask?”
Two versions of the same person at the same time within mere miles of one another, the Master has to feel it on him, the buzz of points in his time scraping against each other, nothing drastic yet as he hasn’t talked to his past self, but still noticeable to a Time Lord. Dangerous, reckless, but these are the spatial-temporal coordinates that he was sure he could find the Master in. The brief window where the Master's TARDIS wasn't working, but not touching into any of his schemes that the Doctor was involved in stopping.
“You know better,” the Doctor says, as it's clear that he's in the Master’s relative future, although he hasn't said as much. Even the Master might be careful enough not to thread this particular paradox. “I can't tell… I just needed to see you.”
The Master is dead, left to burn by his best friend. The Master is still alive in front of him. The Doctor hadn't been thinking, he simply needed to stop the Master, and it happened too fast. Letting him go seemed easier, kinder, allowing his dead friend to be cremated, that pretence of a life walking around in the corpse that he stole. And yet he can't stop thinking of it, of the Master disappearing in the fire, all because the Doctor tries to save people, but didn't try to save him.
His best friend, whatever else they were and still are. He should have tried to save him.
“Relax, my dear Doctor. I can help you,” the Master says, putting his hands over the Doctor's clenched fists, and isn't it funny how he didn't realise that he had done that but the Master did?
There's only a hint of hypnotic suggestion in his words, and the Doctor could easily resist him, but the Master could sooner captivate him with his charm than get control over him through telepathy, so he allows the suggestion to calm him, taking it for what it is. The Master is just making an offer, and the Doctor can refuse him, he has many times in the past, but more often than not he took the help, knowing the offer is genuine. They might be enemies, but by then the Master hadn't taken a regeneration yet, and his threats of murder seemed more idle, his declarations of affection more truthful.
Despite his offer, there's nothing the Master can do to help. Contact is too dangerous with mismatched timelines, and just as soon as he thinks that, the Doctor realises that the last time they did it, it was in this body of the Master's, two regenerations ago for the Doctor. The Master's Trakenite body had some psychic abilities, but if it was fit for this, the Doctor never learned. He never offered and the Master wouldn't ask for it, and likely couldn't know without trying and so wouldn't offer and risk proving himself unable, which made their encounters feel even more like mistakes than the doomed romantic encounters of their past.
“There's more than one way of comforting, my dear, allow me to help you however I can,” the Master says, perhaps sensing his hesitation.
There isn't any hypnotic suggestion in that sentence, but the Doctor still feels compelled to follow. That's just the effect of the Master, so charming when he wants to be, capturing all of the Doctor's attention. If only he could stop with his plans of conquest, the Doctor thinks that he might have agreed to follow him, even if without leaving the TARDIS behind. If he could keep at it, settling down with someone even if not in a particular time or place, he isn't sure, but what he does know is that he'll never have the opportunity to find out.
“This is a bad idea, I shouldn't have…” the Doctor stops as the Master brushes the back of his neck, not seeking contact, but simply teasing his mind into being alert.
“Allow me,” the Master repeats, and pulls him down for a kiss.
He could list a million reasons why this is a terrible idea, and he can tell himself that he just wanted to see the Master one final time, but neither would change the fact that this might be exactly what he needs. If it's true, if his Master truly is dead, this might be the last chance that he has, as each crossing of his own timestream is more dangerous than the last.
The Doctor doesn't kiss him back, but doesn't stop him either, allowing the Master to kiss him softly and feeling himself tremble at the contact, needing to hold on to the Master to keep himself from falling.
He can't do this. Not like this. He came here with the Master's blood on his hands, and being reassured by seeing him again is bad enough, allowing the Master to unknowingly comfort his murder with a love he doesn’t deserve would be beyond cruel.
Reluctantly, he pulls away. “If you knew what I did, you wouldn't do this,” he says, closing his eyes so he doesn't have to look at the Master.
Ashamed doesn’t begin to describe his actions. It’s far from being his greatest regret, he has far too many of those by now, but it’s big enough that he can’t simply shake it off and go to his next adventure, pretending to be unaffected by the consequences of his actions.
The Master touches his cheek, caressing his lips with a thumb. “Unfortunately, there's nothing either of us can do to pull you from my hearts, and believe me, I tried.”
He can't say it. It's too dangerous. The Master won't remember it if he says it, not something this significant, but an impression could remain and influence his actions. It's not worth the risk.
“I killed you. I watched you burn in front of me, and you asked for my help but I let you die,” he says, leaning on the Master's palm.
Maybe he wants a reaction. As soon as this moment stops being in flux, the Master will forget what he said, but while the Doctor is still in front of him, he knows. He might get his revenge, and then the Doctor won't have to feel so guilty anymore. He won't have to feel anything anymore, not as he is now, and he hopes that his next face isn't so soft, and doesn't feel his failures so deeply.
“Oh, my dear, you give yourself too much credit. I'm sure I had a failsafe, I'm not so easy to kill,” the Master says, a mix of fondness and pride in his voice.
Only the Master could appreciate being murdered, but as much as the Doctor wishes he could believe that, he won't be sure until he sees his Master again, and he can’t rid himself of the guilt without knowing. Still, the confession sets something loose in his chest.
“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have…” he says, finding the words trapped in his throat, and he leans forward to hide his face on the curve of the Master's neck, crying over his friend's death for the first time.
He made a mistake, a terrible mistake, and he doesn't know how to make things right, but that's always been the problem between them. They never seem to know how to fix things, or maybe they just aren't willing to do what needs to be done.
“My TARDIS is close-by, come with me,” the Master says, pulling him away just enough to take his hand and guide him away without waiting for an answer.
The Doctor follows him without question. If it's a trap, it would only be what he deserves, but as the Master opens the bookshelf that his TARDIS is disguised as and guides him through a labyrinth of corridors to what seems to be his room, he starts to consider that the Master might truly not care, or at least not hold against him, what he did to him in the future.
He blinks at the ceiling, decorated with a moving image of a black hole swallowing a constellation, only vaguely aware of how he got there. He wouldn't be able to retrace his steps, and it takes him a moment to realise that he's looking at the ceiling because he's laying on the Master's bed.
“Doctor?” the Master calls, with the tone of someone who isn't doing so for the first time. “Are you still with me?”
The Doctor blinks, pulling his consciousness back into the forefront, and raises his hands to the Master’s waist, pulling him closer. The Master is right, although probably not for the reasons he thinks. This will help, either by comforting him directly, or by making him feel worse, which is what he deserves.
“Do you want to kill me?” the Doctor asks, unsure if it's something that he needs to know or an offer.
It's not what he was planning to say, but the Master doesn't seem surprised to hear it. He has always been good at knowing what's happening in the Doctor's head, especially in his worst moments. All of that, and he still keeps making offers that he knows the Doctor won't accept, can never accept, instead of trying to find a way forward for them.
“Sometimes, but I never want you to be dead. I don't want an universe without you, even when I want to kill you with my bare hands,” the Master says earnestly, and it doesn't make any sense except for all the sense it does make.
The Doctor realised, perhaps too late, that wanting to stop the Master and wanting an universe without him aren't the same thing. He can only hope that the Master is right and there was some safeguard in place. He never hoped so much for the Master to come back and threaten him.
“I don't want you dead, even though you should be. I told myself it was the natural order of things for you to die, but I was still glad you found a way to survive, even if it was horrible,” he says, biting his lip to stop himself from saying too much.
Every detail about the future only makes this more reckless. He can feel the paradox starting to form in the air, and he knows that he has to leave soon, before he does some serious damage, but he can't bear to, not yet.
“What do you want then, my dear Doctor?” the Master asks, and the truest answer is that he has no idea.
Their relationship is far too complex for there to be an easy answer, and he isn't sure that he wants to investigate it. So he purposely misinterprets the question, giving it a more immediate answer.
“I want to feel you, I want you to have me,” the Doctor says, and kisses him.
He surprises the Master, but is relieved to see that he doesn't pull away. Once again, they sidestep any conversation that by all rights they should have, perhaps for fear that talking things out would only lead to one possible resolution, walking their separate ways. Neither of them wants to confront the inescapable reality that there might not be a way for them to live together, that love might not be enough to cross this schism.
With his Master, the Doctor occasionally asked to be hurt. Most times, he didn't have to ask. There's a cruelty to the Master since becoming a living corpse, decayed and still clinging to life, that wasn't there before, and the Doctor will gladly take it in this form, hoping to decrease the cruelty that he has for the rest of the universe. As much as he wants to be hurt, he can't find it in him to ask for it now. It would be almost cruel of him, with how gentle the Master is, far more than he needs, and certainly more than he deserves.
He doesn't protest at the slow and deliberate way the Master is working him open, instead trying to return to him that same softness, although he's afraid that he's not capable of it anymore. He kisses the Master in a sweet and loving way that he hasn't been allowed to do in a long time, slowly remembering all of the things that this body of the Master's likes.
When the Master finally takes him, it's at once a familiar and novel sensation, and the Doctor holds him tight, trying not to think of how much he changed since last meeting this body. How much both of them changed by his time.
It's making love, although they would never call it that, but as soon as the conclusion reaches him, the Doctor feels the words that he never said catching in his hearts, straining with every beat.
He could say it now, get it off his chest, confide in him as he did with his admission of guilt, safe in the knowledge that the Master won't remember it, but he's stopped by the terrifying possibility that the Master might say it back, which is something that he doesn't know if he could live with. What they have now is barely tolerable while unnamed, it would only be made worse by recognising it as love.
He feels as the Master's body says the words that they deny themselves, and tries to answer in time, for once thankful at the lack of contact, or he isn't sure that he would be able to hide this. The Master seems entirely focused on him, his own pleasure an afterthought, and he demonstrates nearly perfect control, following the Doctor only a second or two behind.
Afterwards, they just hold each other in silence until the Doctor has a headache from the time differential, and he could stand it for longer, but this is already a bad idea as it is. It's not without a certain reluctance that the Doctor gets up from the bed and gets dressed, and he doesn't look at the Master while he does the same.
“I'll see you out,” the Master says, but he doesn't take his hand this time.
The Doctor wonders if they'll ever do that again.
The Master only takes him as far as his TARDIS’ door, and this is goodbye. It might be their last goodbye even, the final note carried for too long after the song is already over.
The Doctor turns to him, already outside, and holds the Master’s face with both hands, kissing him in a way that's a confession and an apology all in one. For one moment, he can understand the Master’s hunger for power, wishing that he could be beyond their people's influence and do whatever he wants, even if it meant breaking the Laws of Time, consequences be damned, and he's terrified at the realisation. That's exactly why he has to stay away, he can't get the Master to his side, he'll only even fall further away from who he wants to be, and they'll both end up as worse people.
“I…” the Doctor starts, ready to confess what he has trouble admitting to himself, entirely forgetting that he'll have to live with this memory even if the Master won't.
But the Master puts a finger on his lips, stopping him. “No, my dear, best not. You'll only be hurting yourself, and that's my job,” the Master says, fondness nearly masking the sorrow.
He's right, the Doctor already took too much advantage of their innate protections against paradoxes, confiding in the Master in a way that he never would have dared otherwise. Pushing it further would be cruel to both of them.
The Doctor takes his hand and kisses his palm then his wrist before dropping it. This is almost certainly the last time that he'll see this face, and possibly the last time that he’ll see the Master.
“This is goodbye, my dear Doctor,” the Master says, so good at guessing what he's thinking. “I'm sure I'll find you again, I have to take my revenge for leaving me to die.”
The Doctor laughs at that, but it's surprisingly reassuring. As he walks away, he tries to convince himself that the Master is right. He's not so easy to kill, not even the regeneration limit could stop him, they'll meet each other again. The Doctor just doesn't know what state their relationship will be in then.