Fic!
So I've been listening to "Pancho and Lefty" rather too much. This led to vague thoughts linking it with DW sometime in the future. Then it somehow occured to me how much better it would work like this.
Title: Kindness, I Suppose
Disclaimer: I suppose by now you've all heard that I've apparently been passed over for Steven Moffat. ;) Personally, I think wendymr got robbed... but, well, that's just me. ^^
Summary: The Doctor, the Master, and the end of the road. He hadn't expected it to end in a place like this, but maybe he should have.
Notes: Hmm, how much of what I want to say might constitute spoilers? Let's just say, NINE. There is no PotW here. Needless to say I stole only what I cared to from S3's Master (he was mostly a clone of Ten, and as there isn't a Ten yet...).
American country music isn't the most obvious of choices to pair with a British sci-fi show, but I keep coming back to it, because what other genre's dealt so thoroughly with wanderers?
-
He hadn't expected it to end in a place like this, but maybe he should have. Sand and oven-heat and a wide blue sky... You could hardly get less 'Gallifrey' than that. And neither could they. Or at least, that was what they'd always liked to think.
But how much can you really get away from home? he thought, as the figure he was walking toward grew clearer. How much does it mark you forever, no matter what your best or worst intentions?
"Ah figgered yew'd come," said the man, in a broad and rather terrible imitation of a Texas accent.
"How much choice did you give me? And if you answer in that terrible accent, I will be forced to kill you."
"Ah-- a completist."
The Doctor took a moment to objectively admire the subtlety and craft of the barb while he recovered from its sting. "Where is it?"
"Why, I don't have the faintest idea what you could be talking about." The Master spread his hands in an entirely unconvincing show of innocence.
"Oh, yes, you could never do such a terrible thing as steal a vital component of a colony's life-support system, heavens to Betsy, Doctor, where do you get such horrible ideas? While we're pretending to be innocent and Texan, could we also pretend I'm not stupid?"
"'Heavens to Betsy'?"
"Shut up, you started it. We're on a timetable here, you know."
"Well, lookee there! What with that 'flow a'tha time stream' thingy, ah reckon you do got only fifteen minutes 'fore the hydrogen goes!"
"We're in Mexico, you dolt. Would you at least adopt a bigoted Mexican accent?"
"No habla Ingles."
"Well, thank you. You have made my day complete. Give me the circuit board."
"I repeat, what makes you so sure I have it?"
The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Because I 'didn't jist fall off the turnip truck yesterday', you know. Give it back."
"No."
The Doctor rubbed his temples. "Why not?"
"I frankly prefer not to."
"What for? What does it gain you?"
"Maybe it doesn't gain me anything. Maybe the joy of watching you suffer is its own reward."
"Or maybe you're hoping I'll shoot you."
The Master blinked. "What, you? The 'pacifist'? Though, granted, you've obviously become a lot more violent in recent decades--"
"Yes." The Doctor pulled out a gun from the holster that had been hidden under his jacket. "I have, actually."
"Period piece," said the Master, giving it a bland look, for all the world like it had been a sandwich instead of a firearm. "How quaint of you. What, did you buy it in town before you came?"
"Yes."
"Not exactly reliable, are they?"
"What is? It's good enough. Give me the circuit board."
"Or you'll shoot me?"
"Do you really want to find out?"
The Master looked at him, at the hooded eyes staring coolly at the barrel, considering the rough manner, the rougher accent, that jacket, and wondered what his own answer was. "You've changed, haven't you?"
"Didn't have much choice. You thought Gallifrey went to war of its own accord?"
"So you provoked it, as well. You have grown cold-blooded."
"Do not tell me I wanted this," the Doctor hissed. "Do not tell me I wanted any--"
"And don't tell me you didn't. We filled up notebooks and datachips with plans, don't you remember? Half our childhood was dreams of escape, the other half revenge. What childhood we had, in that place. We planned it, you and I. It was quite rude of you to do it all without me."
"It was rather rude of you to run away. You don't know a damn thing about what went on there, because you ran away at the first sign of trouble. So don't you dare tell me--"
"You've been running from that place your entire life! It's gone, and you still are!"
"What is it you're doing?" The Doctor shook his head. "This can't be what we're really arguing about. What is it you're trying to say?"
"The total destruction of our planet by you isn't sufficient basis for an argument?"
"As you've pointed out yourself, you'd be more likely to congratulate me had I actually destroyed our planet, and have I mentioned that it was not exactly my fault?"
"'Not exactly'?"
"Well, if you want the full explanation, you're gonna have to survive the next few minutes." The Doctor waved the gun a bit, raising an eyebrow. "So let's get working on that, shall we? Step one would be give me the damn circuit board. Now, please."
"You seriously believe you're capable of shooting me, don't you?"
"Apparently you believe I'm capable of destroying our planet; how's that different, then?"
Because he didn't actually believe it. He'd known him far too long for that. "You'd better hope it's not that different, because if you want the board, you will have to shoot me."
"This doesn't make any sense. Worse than your usual plans. Usually there's something you're trying to do, something you're trying to gain-- and you don't get anything if you keep that useless piece of crap the Andellians are still foolhardy enough to call 'technology'. So d'you see how I might come to the conclusion that the board's not what you're after?"
"You think I want you to kill me."
"Everything else is gone. The silence is deafening--"
"What, you get silence? You lucky sod."
The Doctor blinked. "You don't get silence?"
"No, I ran away, remember? Like some sort of coward." He scowled. "I don't get silence."
"What do you get?"
The Master folded his arms, unwilling to answer.
"Is it bad enough for you to decide you want to end your life?"
"Please."
"Because I can see you wanting to spend your death on something useful, under which category you would include torturing me."
"We're not narcissistic at all, are we? Tell me, how much effort have I put into avoiding death in the time you've known me?"
"Oh, truly prodigious amounts, of course." He raised the gun a little higher. "But everyone changes."
"Not that much." The Master laughed. "For instance, you still can't murder anyone."
"Oh, really?"
"If you could, you would've shot me before the deadline rolled around."
"What?"
The Master smiled diabolically. "Don't you realize? All this time we've spent talking, always your favourite pastime--"
The Master watched as the penny started to drop, but his old nemesis resisted, shaking his head against the thought, delaying the truth just a little longer. "What the hell are you--"
"Your TARDIS is nowhere in sight, and that horribly inefficient Andellian board will take longer than three minutes to reinstall. It's too late, Doctor. You've waited too long. They're all dead."
The Doctor paled. "Oh, my God."
"Unless, of course, you cross your own timeline... but that would have even worse effects, wouldn't it?" The Master smiled. "With no one around to ever clean up our mistakes... Will you chance it, then, Doctor? How many people will you kill today?"
"My God." The Doctor shook his head in horror. "That would be absolutely horrible if I hadn't fixed the thing this morning."
The Master's smile faltered. "You're bluffing."
"Nope. Fixed it this morning. Five people got dizzy, and the base commander wrote a very sternly worded letter to headquarters about the advisability of redundant systems and supplies which will almost certainly be entirely ignored." The Doctor smiled sweetly.
"You're lying. Those security-obsessed pencil-pushers don't have any duplicates of that board! I'd bet they're not even willing to release the schematics!"
"Correct on all counts!" The Doctor grinned insufferably.
"So how the blazes could you have fixed it?!"
"You know that thing in your coat?"
"This is not the time for--"
"The circuit board, and please don't tell me what you could possibly have thought I was referring to. Why don't you glance over it a bit?"
The Master glared at him suspiciously and drew it out. "What am I supposed to be..."
"Found it, have we?"
The Master stared at the board, hands shaking in fury. Probably it was fury. "...You switched it?"
"No, through a freak of quantum mechanics, the quartz changed to cubic zirconium on its own. Think, man."
The Master glared at him, envisioning his bloody death. "How?"
"Think back. Why don't you tell me?"
"...That chavvy blonde?! She didn't get close enough!"
"'Course she didn't. I told her to be obvious so you'd draw a timeline. Did you think I wouldn't notice you knew exactly how long it'd been for me in relative time?"
"You--" The Master struggled for appropriately obscene words and found none. "What-- that brunette? I thought she was a whore!"
The Doctor frowned. "Well, with the lack of any other evidence, I'd have to assume she was. I don't have the faintest idea who you're talking about."
"Then how the hell did you do it?!"
"Well, think back. Is there anyone who did get close enough?"
The Master reflected on his morning one more time-- and flushed bright red.
"Good Lord, I hope he didn't do anything too drastic."
"Th--" The Master choked. "That man? That suave, felonious strumpet? You've let him on your TARDIS?"
"Well, as you've seen, he's proven to be dead useful." The Doctor beamed.
"Him? Your TARDIS? Have you gone mad?"
"The pot cried at the kettle, recoiling in horror..." The Doctor rolled his eyes.
"My God." The Master shook his head. "But... if you've already fixed the thing, why the hell have you come here?"
The Doctor shrugged, tossing the empty gun onto the sand between them. "Kindness, I suppose."
"...That gun was never even loaded, was it?"
"'Course not! You knew that. You had to know that. So you weren't trying to die."
"Didn't I tell you that?"
"So what were you trying to do, then?"
"Doctor." The Master scoffed at the title. "Why don't you tell me?"
"You're one hell of a strategist. I think you really wanted exactly what you've got."
"And that would be?"
"Attention," the Doctor said, taking a step forward. "Company. Help."
"Oh, God," said the Master, taking a shaky step back. "The day I come onto your TARDIS to endure some god-awful therapy sessions with you-- what is it you're planning? Our planet's dead, how does that make you feel?"
"Like you don't need therapy? You grew up a Time Lord, for god's sake, that's enough to unbalance any man. Come, children, let's look into the uncontrolled maelstrom of all space and time! That couldn't possibly scar you for life, could it?" The Doctor rolled his eyes. "I'm not interested in 'therapy'. I'm the only person in the universe you wouldn't have to explain it to. So why don't you come with me a while and not explain anything to me? It'll be just like old times..."
The Master pulled himself erect, staring down his nose at the Doctor. "I would rather die," he said, and turned around, storming off into the sand.
He got about five steps before collapsing to the ground.
"Diva," the Doctor muttered, taking a second to roll his eyes before running over to check his pulse. It was there, and fairly steady; so he sighed and dug Rose's mobile from his pocket, hitting the number marked 'TARDIS'.
Two rings: "Yeah?" Rose answered. "Did it go all right?"
"Well, yeah. But remember what I said before I left? That bet?"
"Twenty quid says the idiot's forgotten that Time Lords can get dehydrated?" Jack said, sounding far too amused.
"That'd be it. Someone owes me twenty quid."
"Don't look at me, I didn't take you up on it," Rose protested.
"Yeah, we'll be right there," said Jack. "Rose, get the red lever..."
"By the way, what exactly did you do to him?"
"What, me?" Jack sounded entirely too innocent. "I just talked with him, that's all. What else could I possibly have done?"
The Doctor shook his head. "A model of decorum such as yourself? I don't have the faintest idea what I could have been thinking. Such a shy and innocent flower couldn't possibly have done anything untoward..."
"Oh, god," said Rose.
"Just get here, we can work on the mental scars later."
"Mental scars? I protest!"
"Just try to get here without destroying my ship, all right?"
"Wait!" Rose called, before he could hang up. "...What is it you plan on doin' with him? You can't just keep him here forever, especially if he doesn't want to come."
Answer me truly, because if it weren't for me and him you wouldn't have carried an unloaded gun, Rose didn't say. Couldn't say, because she couldn't know. But she didn't have to; he heard it well enough anyway.
"...I'm not sure I know," he answered. "But... I can't just let him slip away. I've done that too many times already. I've thought it was camaraderie, mercy, distraction, his cleverness... But I wonder..." If all this time I wasn't just afraid. Of what he could tell me about myself.
"Anyway, he's got nowhere else to go, and I can't very well let him run out to wreak havoc again," the Doctor said briskly. Not when he's all you have left of them? "Might not catch it in time. Speaking of which, it would complicate matters quite a bit if he died of heat-stroke before I could get him on the TARDIS, so delightful as this conversation is, why don't we cut it short so you can attempt to pilot my ship?"
"Attempt," Jack scoffed. "Attempt? We're about to show you how it's done, old man! Not that you don't look absolutely fantastic for your age--"
The Doctor hung up. So, is this for you or for him, then? he thought, looking up to the cloudless blue above them. If it truly is a kindness-- kind to whom?
The sky held no answers for him; just the sound of his TARDIS materializing with vexing accuracy nearby.
Which was enough.
-
Title: Kindness, I Suppose
Disclaimer: I suppose by now you've all heard that I've apparently been passed over for Steven Moffat. ;) Personally, I think wendymr got robbed... but, well, that's just me. ^^
Summary: The Doctor, the Master, and the end of the road. He hadn't expected it to end in a place like this, but maybe he should have.
Notes: Hmm, how much of what I want to say might constitute spoilers? Let's just say, NINE. There is no PotW here. Needless to say I stole only what I cared to from S3's Master (he was mostly a clone of Ten, and as there isn't a Ten yet...).
American country music isn't the most obvious of choices to pair with a British sci-fi show, but I keep coming back to it, because what other genre's dealt so thoroughly with wanderers?
-
He hadn't expected it to end in a place like this, but maybe he should have. Sand and oven-heat and a wide blue sky... You could hardly get less 'Gallifrey' than that. And neither could they. Or at least, that was what they'd always liked to think.
But how much can you really get away from home? he thought, as the figure he was walking toward grew clearer. How much does it mark you forever, no matter what your best or worst intentions?
"Ah figgered yew'd come," said the man, in a broad and rather terrible imitation of a Texas accent.
"How much choice did you give me? And if you answer in that terrible accent, I will be forced to kill you."
"Ah-- a completist."
The Doctor took a moment to objectively admire the subtlety and craft of the barb while he recovered from its sting. "Where is it?"
"Why, I don't have the faintest idea what you could be talking about." The Master spread his hands in an entirely unconvincing show of innocence.
"Oh, yes, you could never do such a terrible thing as steal a vital component of a colony's life-support system, heavens to Betsy, Doctor, where do you get such horrible ideas? While we're pretending to be innocent and Texan, could we also pretend I'm not stupid?"
"'Heavens to Betsy'?"
"Shut up, you started it. We're on a timetable here, you know."
"Well, lookee there! What with that 'flow a'tha time stream' thingy, ah reckon you do got only fifteen minutes 'fore the hydrogen goes!"
"We're in Mexico, you dolt. Would you at least adopt a bigoted Mexican accent?"
"No habla Ingles."
"Well, thank you. You have made my day complete. Give me the circuit board."
"I repeat, what makes you so sure I have it?"
The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Because I 'didn't jist fall off the turnip truck yesterday', you know. Give it back."
"No."
The Doctor rubbed his temples. "Why not?"
"I frankly prefer not to."
"What for? What does it gain you?"
"Maybe it doesn't gain me anything. Maybe the joy of watching you suffer is its own reward."
"Or maybe you're hoping I'll shoot you."
The Master blinked. "What, you? The 'pacifist'? Though, granted, you've obviously become a lot more violent in recent decades--"
"Yes." The Doctor pulled out a gun from the holster that had been hidden under his jacket. "I have, actually."
"Period piece," said the Master, giving it a bland look, for all the world like it had been a sandwich instead of a firearm. "How quaint of you. What, did you buy it in town before you came?"
"Yes."
"Not exactly reliable, are they?"
"What is? It's good enough. Give me the circuit board."
"Or you'll shoot me?"
"Do you really want to find out?"
The Master looked at him, at the hooded eyes staring coolly at the barrel, considering the rough manner, the rougher accent, that jacket, and wondered what his own answer was. "You've changed, haven't you?"
"Didn't have much choice. You thought Gallifrey went to war of its own accord?"
"So you provoked it, as well. You have grown cold-blooded."
"Do not tell me I wanted this," the Doctor hissed. "Do not tell me I wanted any--"
"And don't tell me you didn't. We filled up notebooks and datachips with plans, don't you remember? Half our childhood was dreams of escape, the other half revenge. What childhood we had, in that place. We planned it, you and I. It was quite rude of you to do it all without me."
"It was rather rude of you to run away. You don't know a damn thing about what went on there, because you ran away at the first sign of trouble. So don't you dare tell me--"
"You've been running from that place your entire life! It's gone, and you still are!"
"What is it you're doing?" The Doctor shook his head. "This can't be what we're really arguing about. What is it you're trying to say?"
"The total destruction of our planet by you isn't sufficient basis for an argument?"
"As you've pointed out yourself, you'd be more likely to congratulate me had I actually destroyed our planet, and have I mentioned that it was not exactly my fault?"
"'Not exactly'?"
"Well, if you want the full explanation, you're gonna have to survive the next few minutes." The Doctor waved the gun a bit, raising an eyebrow. "So let's get working on that, shall we? Step one would be give me the damn circuit board. Now, please."
"You seriously believe you're capable of shooting me, don't you?"
"Apparently you believe I'm capable of destroying our planet; how's that different, then?"
Because he didn't actually believe it. He'd known him far too long for that. "You'd better hope it's not that different, because if you want the board, you will have to shoot me."
"This doesn't make any sense. Worse than your usual plans. Usually there's something you're trying to do, something you're trying to gain-- and you don't get anything if you keep that useless piece of crap the Andellians are still foolhardy enough to call 'technology'. So d'you see how I might come to the conclusion that the board's not what you're after?"
"You think I want you to kill me."
"Everything else is gone. The silence is deafening--"
"What, you get silence? You lucky sod."
The Doctor blinked. "You don't get silence?"
"No, I ran away, remember? Like some sort of coward." He scowled. "I don't get silence."
"What do you get?"
The Master folded his arms, unwilling to answer.
"Is it bad enough for you to decide you want to end your life?"
"Please."
"Because I can see you wanting to spend your death on something useful, under which category you would include torturing me."
"We're not narcissistic at all, are we? Tell me, how much effort have I put into avoiding death in the time you've known me?"
"Oh, truly prodigious amounts, of course." He raised the gun a little higher. "But everyone changes."
"Not that much." The Master laughed. "For instance, you still can't murder anyone."
"Oh, really?"
"If you could, you would've shot me before the deadline rolled around."
"What?"
The Master smiled diabolically. "Don't you realize? All this time we've spent talking, always your favourite pastime--"
The Master watched as the penny started to drop, but his old nemesis resisted, shaking his head against the thought, delaying the truth just a little longer. "What the hell are you--"
"Your TARDIS is nowhere in sight, and that horribly inefficient Andellian board will take longer than three minutes to reinstall. It's too late, Doctor. You've waited too long. They're all dead."
The Doctor paled. "Oh, my God."
"Unless, of course, you cross your own timeline... but that would have even worse effects, wouldn't it?" The Master smiled. "With no one around to ever clean up our mistakes... Will you chance it, then, Doctor? How many people will you kill today?"
"My God." The Doctor shook his head in horror. "That would be absolutely horrible if I hadn't fixed the thing this morning."
The Master's smile faltered. "You're bluffing."
"Nope. Fixed it this morning. Five people got dizzy, and the base commander wrote a very sternly worded letter to headquarters about the advisability of redundant systems and supplies which will almost certainly be entirely ignored." The Doctor smiled sweetly.
"You're lying. Those security-obsessed pencil-pushers don't have any duplicates of that board! I'd bet they're not even willing to release the schematics!"
"Correct on all counts!" The Doctor grinned insufferably.
"So how the blazes could you have fixed it?!"
"You know that thing in your coat?"
"This is not the time for--"
"The circuit board, and please don't tell me what you could possibly have thought I was referring to. Why don't you glance over it a bit?"
The Master glared at him suspiciously and drew it out. "What am I supposed to be..."
"Found it, have we?"
The Master stared at the board, hands shaking in fury. Probably it was fury. "...You switched it?"
"No, through a freak of quantum mechanics, the quartz changed to cubic zirconium on its own. Think, man."
The Master glared at him, envisioning his bloody death. "How?"
"Think back. Why don't you tell me?"
"...That chavvy blonde?! She didn't get close enough!"
"'Course she didn't. I told her to be obvious so you'd draw a timeline. Did you think I wouldn't notice you knew exactly how long it'd been for me in relative time?"
"You--" The Master struggled for appropriately obscene words and found none. "What-- that brunette? I thought she was a whore!"
The Doctor frowned. "Well, with the lack of any other evidence, I'd have to assume she was. I don't have the faintest idea who you're talking about."
"Then how the hell did you do it?!"
"Well, think back. Is there anyone who did get close enough?"
The Master reflected on his morning one more time-- and flushed bright red.
"Good Lord, I hope he didn't do anything too drastic."
"Th--" The Master choked. "That man? That suave, felonious strumpet? You've let him on your TARDIS?"
"Well, as you've seen, he's proven to be dead useful." The Doctor beamed.
"Him? Your TARDIS? Have you gone mad?"
"The pot cried at the kettle, recoiling in horror..." The Doctor rolled his eyes.
"My God." The Master shook his head. "But... if you've already fixed the thing, why the hell have you come here?"
The Doctor shrugged, tossing the empty gun onto the sand between them. "Kindness, I suppose."
"...That gun was never even loaded, was it?"
"'Course not! You knew that. You had to know that. So you weren't trying to die."
"Didn't I tell you that?"
"So what were you trying to do, then?"
"Doctor." The Master scoffed at the title. "Why don't you tell me?"
"You're one hell of a strategist. I think you really wanted exactly what you've got."
"And that would be?"
"Attention," the Doctor said, taking a step forward. "Company. Help."
"Oh, God," said the Master, taking a shaky step back. "The day I come onto your TARDIS to endure some god-awful therapy sessions with you-- what is it you're planning? Our planet's dead, how does that make you feel?"
"Like you don't need therapy? You grew up a Time Lord, for god's sake, that's enough to unbalance any man. Come, children, let's look into the uncontrolled maelstrom of all space and time! That couldn't possibly scar you for life, could it?" The Doctor rolled his eyes. "I'm not interested in 'therapy'. I'm the only person in the universe you wouldn't have to explain it to. So why don't you come with me a while and not explain anything to me? It'll be just like old times..."
The Master pulled himself erect, staring down his nose at the Doctor. "I would rather die," he said, and turned around, storming off into the sand.
He got about five steps before collapsing to the ground.
"Diva," the Doctor muttered, taking a second to roll his eyes before running over to check his pulse. It was there, and fairly steady; so he sighed and dug Rose's mobile from his pocket, hitting the number marked 'TARDIS'.
Two rings: "Yeah?" Rose answered. "Did it go all right?"
"Well, yeah. But remember what I said before I left? That bet?"
"Twenty quid says the idiot's forgotten that Time Lords can get dehydrated?" Jack said, sounding far too amused.
"That'd be it. Someone owes me twenty quid."
"Don't look at me, I didn't take you up on it," Rose protested.
"Yeah, we'll be right there," said Jack. "Rose, get the red lever..."
"By the way, what exactly did you do to him?"
"What, me?" Jack sounded entirely too innocent. "I just talked with him, that's all. What else could I possibly have done?"
The Doctor shook his head. "A model of decorum such as yourself? I don't have the faintest idea what I could have been thinking. Such a shy and innocent flower couldn't possibly have done anything untoward..."
"Oh, god," said Rose.
"Just get here, we can work on the mental scars later."
"Mental scars? I protest!"
"Just try to get here without destroying my ship, all right?"
"Wait!" Rose called, before he could hang up. "...What is it you plan on doin' with him? You can't just keep him here forever, especially if he doesn't want to come."
Answer me truly, because if it weren't for me and him you wouldn't have carried an unloaded gun, Rose didn't say. Couldn't say, because she couldn't know. But she didn't have to; he heard it well enough anyway.
"...I'm not sure I know," he answered. "But... I can't just let him slip away. I've done that too many times already. I've thought it was camaraderie, mercy, distraction, his cleverness... But I wonder..." If all this time I wasn't just afraid. Of what he could tell me about myself.
"Anyway, he's got nowhere else to go, and I can't very well let him run out to wreak havoc again," the Doctor said briskly. Not when he's all you have left of them? "Might not catch it in time. Speaking of which, it would complicate matters quite a bit if he died of heat-stroke before I could get him on the TARDIS, so delightful as this conversation is, why don't we cut it short so you can attempt to pilot my ship?"
"Attempt," Jack scoffed. "Attempt? We're about to show you how it's done, old man! Not that you don't look absolutely fantastic for your age--"
The Doctor hung up. So, is this for you or for him, then? he thought, looking up to the cloudless blue above them. If it truly is a kindness-- kind to whom?
The sky held no answers for him; just the sound of his TARDIS materializing with vexing accuracy nearby.
Which was enough.
-