“Mmmmmmmhmhm,” the Master hums at the delectable greeting.
He draws the Doctor near, feasting upon her, his face doting, more wholesome than most might believe him capable. It could not be clearer that he delights in every beauty and blemish that make the Doctor who she is.
“What did I do to deserve that, hmmmm? Tell me so I can do it more.”
He pinches her bum, and rubs her lower back warmly.
The Master takes care to lean into the Doctor’s personal space. Calculated gestures of self-invitation: he smells of cinnamon and sharply clean aftershave and, vaguely, from incessant mechanical tinkering, the tang of gasoline. Black-lined maple-brown eyes sweep her features; they are bright; they simmer with yearning. Regardless of the color, they always have. He smiles.
And then he pulls back.
“Oh yes, of course. That’s self-evident. I can’t imagine why I would ever wish to encroach upon your bubble, Doctor. It’s not as if you’re my lifelong North Star, and, currently, a breathtaking adorkable little blonde. That I should very much like to ravish. Right here, right now.”
He’s so close to responding to that command with exactly what he’s just been told not to say. He shuts his mouth instead and looks away, trying to form the sentence before he lets it leave his mouth.
This is so stupid. How many times has he sat in silent anguish over these nightmares? And now, when he’s given a judgement-free space to talk about them, the pain they cause recedes into the depths of his mind, hiding. He could tell the Master it doesn’t matter. He could say they aren’t bad enough to warrant this conversation, or lie outright and say he doesn’t remember them.
It would be pointless, though. They’d achieve nothing. No. He needs to be brave and for once in his life, not apologise or feel guilty for admitting his pain.
“The confession dial,” he says finally, forcing himself to make eye contact. “I made myself a little strategy while I was in the castle slash personal torture chamber, and now it’s causing considerable problems for me.”
The Doctor very rarely speaks of this time. No matter how much time passes, heavy footsteps behind him will never again be separate from the idea of being constantly followed by a being that must only touch him in order to kill him.
“If I lured the creature to one end of the castle, then ran to the other, I could earn myself a maximum of eighty-two minutes. That’s how long it took it to catch up to me. So, with that time, I could sleep for one hour. One hour was a safe amount of time. I had to use my sonic sunglasses at first, to wake myself up, but after a certain amount of time it just became natural. Or — well, as natural as being woken up by the sudden terrifying realisation that it might be there outside the door can be. Because that’s what it feels like, when I start to get close to the one hour mark. It’s there, in the corners of my dreams. Always following me. Always so close that if I don’t wake up, it might get me.”
He shrugs, movement slow with the weight of it.
“I know it’s not there. I know that because you’re there, usually. I can touch you, and you’re real, so any thought I have of that creature can’t be real. If it was, I’d be completely alone. I can think about it rationally now, when I’m awake. I couldn’t at first. I had to get up and check that I was in the TARDIS and nobody else was on board. Stupid. I felt stupid.”
He runs both hands through his hair, a tiny distraction from the truth of what he’s saying. Honesty frightens him. He’s got nothing to hide behind here. The Master can see him.
“So, there you go. I physically can’t sleep for longer than one hour at a time. I can wake up very briefly and go back to sleep for another hour, which is why I’ve been able to hide it. It’s not obvious when it’s not a particularly vivid nightmare that wakes me. Sometimes it’s not even a dream, I just wake up, acknowledge that I’m safe, and go back to sleep. But now you know. I’ve told you the truth.”
The Master’s gaze is steel-trap-sharp. Not a syllable his beloved speaks goes unheard. He witnesses the Doctor’s suffering firsthand.
When he speaks, it’s with matching precision.
“Wake me up. No. Really. When it happens, the hour-mark. Wake me up with you.”
He reaches out, tidies the Doctor’s rumpled white buttonup and his black vest, tidies his hair, with all the doting diligence of a longtime spouse. Which is, all calamity and strife aside, exactly what he has always been.
“Doesn’t have to be a long conversation or anything. Grab onto me. Touch me. Say ‘hi.’ I’ll show you you’re here. Really here. Neither of us is there anymore. Or will ever be again.”
A fond smile appeared on her lips and she sat up slightly so that she could kiss his nose properly.
“I mean, you would have to find him first. Ryan sent him far back into the past… not sure when or where… but with some luck he will be eaten by a dinosaur.” she grinned.
The Master, thusly baptized by the rainbows, unicorns, and sunbeams inherent to the Doctor’s nose-kiss, flings back his head. He cackles.
“How droll, I do hope that he was eaten in parts, legs first, and then perhaps his essential bits, and finally his empty head. Oh, it warms my hearts.”
A pause. He steals an almost sheepish look her way.
“I suppose that’s not how I’m meant to react to that news …”
Icarus 