The Doctor took a shaky breath as he listened to the voicemail, hanging on to every word that came over the recording. His hearts were pounding, the thought of traveling the stars with his best friend filling him with so much hope he was scared to even believe it.
He ended the message, quickly hitting redial on the number that had made the call. He waited with baited breath to hear the voice on the other end.
It’s as it was all those years ago, when this face was still young and clean-shaven. A flip-phone then, primitive and somehow just prosaic enough for the moment. A smartphone now, as they’re allegedly called, and a finger that trembles more than he’d ever care to admit, slides the green answer icon.
the demon rose it’s gaze, slowly to the other time lord. it wasn’t used to such willingness. perhaps time lords didn’t have demons on their planet. maybe that was why they were so willing to experience this all. but even with all these perhaps and maybe theories, it didn’t change the fact that it now had a choice.
a choice she was going to explore in the doctor’s mind before anything else.
a small laugh, a chuckle escaped from her. “this meat suit is loved. by so many, all across the universe. never felt anythin’ like it.” a step forward, and she gave a shake of her head. “i know you. i can see you inside of her mind. a killer. insane, that lack of empathy for everyone except the true love of your life. why would i possess someone who is already, even on the best of days, a demon.”
“you’re nofun.”
“For many reasons. Because we demons have our functions, too, don’t we? Our purpose. In a world of frantic radiance, you still need the gloomy dark emptiness where things rest. You need the monster to thank for teaching you survival. The conflict. The driver of the plot. Hardly dull.”
The Master advances another step, the crushing pressure of his telepathic energies growing still more. Physical reality seems to fishbowl around his approaching form. He leers.
“Come on. You can feel it, can’t you? The cloying comforts of familiarity. The rich velvety dark. Come burrow inside my mind a bit. Come see what terrible things my kind are capable of. Not the diluted guilt-ridden ramblings of this would-be murderer, but a TRUE Weaponized Being. She hates guns. I AM a gun. Through and through. Just a moment, friend. Explore me just a moment. I’ll taste delicious.”
I am no longer a demon, foolish parasite.
She showed me a better way, a selfless way, and that’ll be your ruin.
There’s something raw in the Master tonight, something that badly needed to be reassured of his merit, much as he’s loathe to admit dependence on anything or anyone.
He engulfs the Doctor in his arms. eyes squeezed shut. He holds her airtight. He does not let go, and will not, until she insists.
There’s a searing note of betrayal in the Master’s eyes, as he looks up from his work.
“Is that so,” he balks, in a tone he’s not used on his best friend for long months. It’s suspicious and it’s wounded. “Then how about how to keep you alive? Why’ve I not puzzled that one out?”
You said you wanted to die. I heard you I heard you I heard you I HEARD YOU….! You self-centered old BASTARD, you’re my WHOLE EXISTENCE, or is that still not clear?
As befits an over-achieving Time Lord, the Master is every bit the polyglot that the Doctor is. Her vehement entry signals that he must compensate with calm. He strides over, with a carefully composed look of amusement.
“I’ll hold while you punch?” he ventures, in Urdu.
He produces a handkerchief, fussing over the still-damp parts of her hair and face, following her in her raging circles, a storm-chaser if ever there was one.
She threw up exasperated arms and let them drop. “What t’ bloody hell is wrong with that man? How can anyone be so so flippin’ ignorant, so willfully blind as t’ what’s goin’ on right in front of them?” She gave a huff and sighed, finally beginning to wind down. “Okay, yeah, t’ Earth hasn’t met aliens yet at that point they know are aliens. But why consign your own sufferin’ an’ terrified people to death an’ worse for superstition? They need help, not abuse or fear. Help is what I do. I swear, it’s like I’ve set m’self t’ lookin’ after a planet full of seven billion toddlers, sometimes.”
The Master pauses, and plops into the jumpseat, one leg crossed over the other; all he needs to complete the image of rapt listener is a bag of popcorn. His features remain patiently, wanly attentive. He nods when he should nod, and hums when he should hum, adds the occasional “too right” or “indeed, darling.”
Eventually her diatribe ends and he clicks his tongue.
“I’ve told you a thousand times, love: most sentient life forms’ weakness is their fear. Greater ambitions, and perhaps lesser characters, exploit this ad infinitum. You can only do so much with your audience, no matter their potential, if they’re unwilling to learn.”
He opens his arms to her.
“C’mere. Sit. Even the helpers among us need rest. And if you ever want to use my lax ethics to even out the herd, I’d be happy to dispose of the fear-mongers. Nice and tidy. No one would know I’d meddled with any timeline.”
“Master.” The Doctor replies, schooling his features to not give away any emotion. He studies the man in front of him, his eyes tracing over his face. He clenches his jaw. There’s a million questions wanting to burst from his lips, but he stays quiet, not even sure where to begin.
Koschei lingers in the doorway with a surprisingly gentle expression.
“Nice, isn’t it? To have the perfunctory greeting out of the way. Now, to the meat of it.”
He strides authoritatively toward his counterpart, and oldest friend, and dearest enemy.
“I’ve a simple question, really.”
The expression in dark sly almond eyes is halfway between wistful and predatory. One finger reaches up to trace the contour of that clenched jaw. He knows every compulsion the Doctor combats right now. They’re mirrors.
He whispers the question, inches from the face of his other self.
“Are you happy to see me?”
The Doctor’s eyes stay locked on the Master as he makes his way towards him, and he only lets them close when he feels the Master’s finger trace his jaw.
Of course he wants to say. Of course he’s happy to see him. Especially now that they’re the last of their kind. All they have are each other, and it always brings a spark of relief to see the Master again…
But he also can’t ignore the feeling of dread that fills his stomach when his eyes fall on those of the Master. Every time he comes across him, trouble follows. He never knows what their meetings will bring, and he’s far too cautious to let his guard down easily.
“That depends.” The Doctor replies, keeping his face neutral. “Why are you here?”
The question should not be so terrifying. But it renders the Master static. Every limb locks as he contemplates the honest answer, and constructs the face-saving excuses to conceal it, and finally, calculates how great a risk to his hallowed autonomy it is to be sincere instead.
“I.”
The sacred word, that single syllable. But all it really is, is Icarus drawing too near the sun, and feeling the wax of his wings melting.
For some reason, this makes him smile.
“I dunno. Haven’t seen this face in a long time. Been places you’d scarce imagine, since that Christmas on earth. But you, you as you are now, it always draws me back like a magnetic pole. We were so close, in that wasteland. When you heard them. You know.”
He taps his temple.
“No one else had ever heard them. Until that night. But I knew it’d be you. Always did.”
The Master leaves the safety of the TARDIS threshold, and rushes out onto the hostile planet surface. Every sense thrums; he is feral. Nothing and no one will blockade the way to his Bondmate.
He crashes into the Doctor and braces his arms with surprising power, given his comparably smaller stature.
“I’ve got you, Thete, c’mon.”
He hazards a moment to press together their foreheads, and impart what clean, clear, calming energies he can.
You Are Not Alone.
He revels in it, the comfort that briefly distracts his mind. Perhaps it was the dull red grass of this planet or the way two suns could be seen high above the clouds. Though if enough attention was paid, a third could be seen above the pair. Even so. The simple way this planet both was and was not like the home they could never return to had cut him to his core. The renewal of a pain he had long pushed to the back of his mind had trampled any resolve. The bracing arms of his bondmate were all that kept him steady now.
“Why couldn’t I save them Kos?…”
These words, these melancholies they betray, terrify the Master, because they always signify the Doctor teetering over a ledge. And each time it happens, the Master’s rescue mission grows more precarious.
“Because, my darling: look at me. Say it with me: the thing I’ve told you for years, centuries, millennia: you can’t save everyone.”
How hilariously, chillingly ironic that once, he hammered this home to the Doctor by being proof that not everyone wanted to be saved. And now, he’s the one lifting his oldest friend up out of the whitewater rapids of his pain, and guilt, and shame.
He scours the planet that is so like, and unlike, Gallifrey. Like a favorite song in a discordant key. It’s more wrong for being so close. He understands. And he holds his beloved tighter still.
“Come inside with me. Come away. You still have to rest. To do your best next time around, ey?”
Hands grip the Doctor’s tormented young face; his face used to be that young, too. Ah well. He shelters him now with a piercing stare, that draws him into a safe place: within their two minds.
“You could fail them all and I’d still love you. Idiot: You don’t need to be the Doctor in front of me.”
For the past twenty minutes, while the Doctor’s been preoccupied flying about the Console Room inputting destination points and monologuing about what intrigues her, the Master has been assembling a holly, ivy, and mistletoe wreath. Every time she flurries past chattering, he’s wordlessly applied another piece of the wreath to her hair, with wry determination.
Ultimately, the entire crown adorns her head, and he smugly lifts a mirror for her perusal.
“Happy Christmas, I now have an excuse endorsed by your beloved humans to kiss you at all hours.”
Needless to say, she enjoys him playing with her air when they pass each other. She’s noted an especial liking to tactile affection in this body. Massages, hugs, cuddles, and kisses— and the ever-so-lovely playing with of her hair.
Once the mirror came to her, she laughed, grinning wildly. “You already had my approval”
Her words are simple but stop him temporarily in his tracks.
“ … yeah, well.”
As usual, words fail him in the sincerest moments, and he’s left scrambling for actions that even convey a pale imitation of what he feels.
He starts by tossing aside the mirror, scooping her up, hoisting her high overhead, and simply staring at her: how a child stares at the star atop a Christmas tree. Yet there’s more seasoned warmth in his eyes, like the flavor of cinnamon roasted nuts or the scent of a fire after hours of trudging in the cold and dark. It’s very much the look of a homecoming.
“I did, did I. Me, with your approval? Since we were teenagers? You sure you’re feeling well?”
Before she can protest he presses his lips to hers, and inhales at the incredible flush of pleasure it grants. The soft pliancy of her mouth, the notion that the Oncoming Storm is allowing her small peahen of an acolyte best friend to manipulate any part of her body, it’s intoxicating. It’s a privilege. It’s a sacred rite.
The kiss lasts until he has to part for a gasp of breath.
“Oh God, Thete. You still taste so good.”
He rests his forehead against hers, while still holding her aloft.
Koschei hoards his Theta close. He shifts to slide his legs around his waist, and his arms around his shoulders. He rubs his back while bunting the side of his face into the crook of the Doctor’s neck.
“You, bumping into me on that hillside on Mount Perdition, when we were little kids: that’s still the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Forever sounds good.”
Home, home, I’m home.
He cuddles tightly with both arms, holding him as close as possible.
“I love you. I know I keep saying it, but I do, I love you so much. You, and this, all of this, makes me so happy. I’ve got you, and you’re mine. This wonderful creature, this masterpiece…loves me. That’s why I’m the luckiest person in all the universe. Because I have you.”
Theta turns his head and kisses Koschei’s cheek.
“You make me excited to live,” he whispers. “And that’s not something I thought I would ever say.”
“That, my beauty, was the plan.”
From the moment he espied fizzling gold at the Doctor’s fingertips, and knew the forces against which his old friend struggled: the plan was to impart some of the Master’s own tenacity to live upon his far more self-destructive counterpart.
Hands callused by millennia of mechanical work feel for the honest wrinkles and weathered spots of the Doctor’s face, as though to memorize it for the millionth time. The Master takes his time fondling the features of his beloved.
“Now you’ve got to repay me by doing it. By living as long as you can. Promise me.”
Icarus 