Fic: That's What Brothers Are For
Still avoiding finishing the Nine/Simm!Master fic that makes me feel guilty and a little bit ill. In the meantime, I give you this, which at least mentions Doctor/Master. I also give you a reminder that I don't follow the books or audiotapes, etc., so the family relationships I've incorporated here don't follow what might be spelled out in those mediums, either.
Title: That's What Brothers Are For
Author: Evilawyer
Characters: Simm!Master, The Meddling Monk
Time Frames: post-LotTL, post-The Time Meddler
Rating: PG-13ish
Summary: “Isn't that what brothers are for? To listen to you pour your heart out to them?”
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters in this story and I make no monetary profit from them. No infringement of U.S. or international copyright law or of trademarks is intended.
The floors in 11th century monasteries were a lot harder than the floors in any other type of building in any other time. The Master knew this for a fact. He'd wound up face down on more floors than you could shake a laser screwdriver at because of the Doctor. As a result, he knew his floors.
The Master felt large hands grip him by the shoulders. “Finally! Took you long enough,” the portly monk said as he helped the Master stand up. “What's with the suit? Is this how you rebel these days? Dressing up in Armani business attire?”
“Ah, little brother,” the Master said as he brushed down the front of his jacket with his hands. “What sling have you gotten your arse into this time?”
“I didn't get my arse into any sling, thank you. It was put in one. And I'm sure you'll love hearing who put it there,“ the Meddling Monk complained petulantly as he helped the Master brush soot and ash off of his back and shoulders. “What is all this? You dress up in your most stylish black to go clean chimneys?”
“No,” the Master said tersely. “I've just been through a spot of cremation.” The look on the Master face said “topic closed” in no uncertain terms.
Which, of course, meant that the Meddling Monk, like any really annoying younger sibling worth his or her salt, had to ask more questions. “And the bio-duplication function of your emergency regeneration catalyzer couldn't reconstruct you into clean clothes?”
“Apparently not,” the Master said as he twirled his signet ring around so that the design faced up. “It did locate the nearest genetic match and dump me here with you, though. I am blessed. The oldest son gets all the best family heirlooms.”
“You know, there are other Time Lords who aren't so lucky as to have a brother who helps them out and hides their secrets. You never think of that, do you? And, besides, it wasn't just your ring seeking out a compatible DNA structure that brought you here. It was my ring, too,” the Monk said as he wiggled the fingers of his right hand in front of the Master's face, making sure that the light caught and flashed on the huge citrine stone set within his ring. “I used it to set up a reciprocal feedback loop. Our rings sought out each other's DNA."
“Ooh, very good, little brother.” The Master patted the Monk's head.
“Stop calling me that. And stop patting me on the head. I may be the younger brother but I'm just as much a force to be reckoned with as you are.”
“Of course you are, little brother,” the Master said as he rubbed the top of his little brother's head, displacing his skullcap.
The Monk pulled away before the Master started giving him a noogie. “Come on, now. Enough of that." The Monk straightened his robe. “And I am, you know. I've brought off many a brilliant master plan. Lots of things in lots of places are better for my being a time meddler,” the Monk maintained, a disgusted pout crossing his face at the title he practically spit out of his mouth.
The Master's back went ramrod straight and a grim look settled on his features. His brother would never in a million years call himself a time meddler. No, that sounded like an insult someone leveled at his kin, his. The kind of insult that one particular certain someone always felt it was his business and Rassilon-given right to level at people. “Who told you you were a time meddler?
The Monk turned to his brother, sneered and said “Your boyfriend, that's who. Still has a mighty huge stick up his arse from what I can tell. And he isn't looking like he's enjoying it so, if you put it there, you might as well pull it on out for him.” He looked speculatively at the Master. “Doesn't look like it's helping you get any, either.”
“Shut up,” the Master said distractedly as he pivoted around to look for the Doctor. “Is he here?”
“No, he's not here. Are you thick or something? If he was still here, why would I have to call for you? I'd have just knocked him over the head and stolen it back.”
The Master looked back at the Monk. “Stolen what back?”
“My dimensional stabilizer, that's what! Your twat of a lover took my dimensional stabilizer and marooned me! Here! Do you have any idea how bored I've been?”
“Don't call him a twat,” the Master said. “And he's not my lover. That ship sailed eons ago.”
“Yeah, so you keep saying. And yet, somehow, the minute I mention him, you start spinning around hoping to catch the merest glimpse of him. So, what? Is it still true love? True love that's still making you out into a total moron? Still making you happy to be his doormat so that he'll always have a bit on the side waiting and breathing heavy for him when he deigns to come home from saving galaxies?”
If the Master had ever had any sense of humor about himself, the look he leveled at the Monk said that he didn't any more. The Monk was no fool. He knew his brother. He knew what that look meant, and he had a self-preservationist streak a mile wide. That look said “Be quiet, little brother. Be quiet. Don't make me.” But he'd been stuck on this godforsaken rock in this unholy time and it was all Koschei's fault. All of it. If Koschei hadn't fallen in love with that ... that whore who was always willing, always eager to give his attention, his assistance, his love to all these apes rather than to Koschei... Well, if Koschei hadn't fallen in love with that, Koschei might have still been whole, and still been healthy, and still been his brother.
The look on Koschei's face told the Monk that he should just be quiet. He couldn't, though. Blame it on fraternal rivalry. No, not that. Blame it on the kind of fraternal taunting that's borne of a brother's disappointment.
“After all, you are tied to him, aren't you? Even though he turned tail and ran before you were able to tie him to you. You bonded to him. Him not bonded to you. Such an embarrassment, that was. The wondrous, the brilliant oldest son, one of Gallifrey's shining stars, left at the proverbial alter. Good enough to fuck, not good enough to marry, like some slip of a shop girl with her brain between her legs.”
The Master moved lightning-quick to grab the Monk by the throat. “I said. He's not. My lover. Hasn't been for some time. Whatever he did to you, he didn't do it in my time line.”
The Monk pulled at the Master's hands and loosened them enough to talk. “And that makes it like it never happened to me, then, does it? Like I haven't spent an entire year waiting for you to come and help me. I tried to reach you, Koschei. I called to you, even before I set up the ring. One whole year, waiting and telling myself 'He'll come. Koschei'll hear, he'll come.' Where were you, Koschei? Where were you this past year? Hmmmh? Good God, I sound like him now. “Hmmmmh”, he told me, like some ancient, cranky guinea pig. 'Hmmmmh', then he trapped me here. Didn't even recognize me. I was so sure he had, but he didn't. Didn't recognize me, when it was always me that made sure the two of you were left alone when you wanted to be. And you. Where were you? You have his smell all over you even now. Too busy putting it to him to come and help your own brother?”
“No!” The Master let go of the Monk's neck and pushed him back so that he staggered. “He was ... there,” he said as he turned around and rested his hands on the top of the sabotaged sarcophogus-shaped TARDIS . He fell silent.
The Monk looked at the Master's back, waiting for an explanation. The silence that stretched on filled the Monk with unease. He took one step toward the Master and stopped. “Koschei?”
“For this past year, he was where I was.” The Master's voice was composed, but he kept his back to his brother as he leaned heavily against the sarcophogus. “But we weren't together. I thought, in the beginning ...,” the Master trailed off. He straightened up. “We weren't together. Not like that. Not at all.” The Master turned to face the Monk again, his face a blank mask. “I didn't come because I couldn't hear you. I was having a bit of a problem with my hearing. And you weren't...I couldn't hear you. But now,” the Master held his arms up and out to his sides. He grinned broadly. “Ta-daa! Here I am.” The Master dropped his arms and walked over to his brother, still grinning. “Now, what thing do you need me to do because you can't manage it yourself?”
The grin didn't reach the Master's eye, the Monk noted. He smiled back at the Master nonetheless. “I can manage just fine as long as pompous, holier-than-thou pricks don't nick my TARDIS parts.”
“Well, then, you can't manage at all. You have to be ready for anything because it's always something. And things like pompous, holier-than-thou pricks nicking your TARDIS parts happen with alarming frequency.” The Master stopped short and stopped smiling. “At least, they used to.” He looked at the Monk, a look so genuinely tender on his face that the Monk wasn't sure whether to burst out laughing or to be worried. “It's been such a very long time, little brother. It's good to see you.” The Master wrapped his arms around the Monk and hugged him tightly.
The Monk swallowed the lump he felt in his throat. He decided to act as though his brother's uncharacteristic display of fraternal love wasn't happening. “And it's good to see you, too, big brother,” he said jovially as he patted the Master's back. “Especially since now you can help me get a replacement part. Where's your TARDIS?”
“End of the universe,” the Master said briskly as he let go of the Monk. “We'll have a hell of a time getting there if your TARDIS is in dimensional lock down.”
“Well, you're the brilliant one,' the Monk reminded. “Think of something. I've been trapped here long enough. I want off this rock and I want off it now.”
The Master rolled his eyes. “Now, now, now. Me, me, me. Still such a greedy little piggy. Forever the youngest, you are.”
“You wouldn't think I was being so greedy if you knew what I've been through. You haven't been stuck here going absolutely insane.”
“Not here, no,” the Master said. At the quizzical look the Monk gave him, he rushed ahead to forestall any questions. “What is it you want to do that you're in such a tearing hurry to get out of here?”
“I want to get your boyfriend, that's what!” It was out of the Monk's mouth before he could assess the wisdom of saying it. He studied the Master's face, looking for signs of roaring jealousy. He didn't see any. Instead, he saw a look of resolute calm. He found that more frightening than he would have found jealousy.
“I see. You 'want' Theta, then.” The Master started circling the Monk. “And by 'want', you mean...?”
The Monk's mouth fell open. “You're joking! As if I'd want your sloppy seconds!”
“That's because you've never had them. Of all the irritating, maddening things Theta has ever been, bad in the sack was never one of them. Sloppy or not.”
“Can we not talk about this? Because really, I could do without this wealth of knowledge about someone who broke your heart.” At the Master's slit-eyed, sideways look, the Monk added “According to you, anyway. In all of those drunken 'Oh, God, why doesn't he love me?' moments you indulged in in front of me before passing out on my bed so I had to go sleep on the sofa.”
“Isn't that what brothers are for? To listen to you pour your heart out to them?”
“It hardly matters whether that's what brothers are for or not, since I did it anyway. That's not all I did for you, either. It looks like I need to remind you how I never told Mum about all the grunting and groaning that used to go on in your bedroom whenever you'd bring Thete home on school holidays. I was right next door, remember? I heard it all, and was Theta ever noisy.” The Monk's voice went into falsetto mode. “Oh, master. Oh, harder, master. Faster. Faster, please, please master.” Gotta say, picking your sex game moniker as your official title is just too weird, even for you.”
“And I'm supposed to be grateful that you kept your chatterbox mouth shut? Mum knew how I felt about Theta. She'd have understood.”
“I don't think so. You never heard her on wash days, cussing and swearing and wondering why your bed sheets had so many oily, greasy stains on them.” The Monk furrowed his brow. “And what do you mean, 'she'd have understood'. She understands, doesn't she?”
That tender look came to the Master's face again, making the Monk tense. “Of course,” the Master answered gently.
The gentle tone did nothing for the Monk's tension. “Are you going to help me or aren't you,” he asked peevishly. He took a deep breath to ward off his inexplicable, growing worry. He couldn't think why he should be worried. Koschei would bitch and Koschei would moan, but Koschei would help him.
“Yes. I'll help you,” the Master said briskly, then clapped his hands together once. “First things first.” He took his laser screwdriver out of his inside breast pocket. “Even better than my TCE --- it works in reverse. But only temporarily, I'm afraid. We'll go to my TARDIS, then we'll pop out and pick up the parts we need and build you a new dimensional stabilizer.”
A gleeful, impish grin crossed the Monk's face. “Remember the last time you 'picked up' TARDIS parts? Did Dad ever figure out where his temporal stabilizer got to?”
“Not that I ever heard. And don't you tell him,” the Master admonished as he aimed his screwdriver at the sarcophogus.
“Now, would I,” the Monk asked in a mock insulted tone. “When he asked me if you'd taken it, I told him I hadn't seen you for months. I look out for you, Koschei. That's what brothers are for.” The Master looked at the Monk with that worryingly benign and loving look again, then turned his attention to the controls of his laser screwdriver. Watching the Master twirl the control knob, the Monk asked, “How're we going to get the parts we need now, Kosch?”
“I'll think of something, don't you worry, little brother. One thing, though. If Dad calls you and tells you he can't get into his TARDIS because it's smaller on the inside than it is on the outside, make sure you tell him you haven't seen me in months.”
“Of course, big brother. Of course.”
Title: That's What Brothers Are For
Author: Evilawyer
Characters: Simm!Master, The Meddling Monk
Time Frames: post-LotTL, post-The Time Meddler
Rating: PG-13ish
Summary: “Isn't that what brothers are for? To listen to you pour your heart out to them?”
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters in this story and I make no monetary profit from them. No infringement of U.S. or international copyright law or of trademarks is intended.
The floors in 11th century monasteries were a lot harder than the floors in any other type of building in any other time. The Master knew this for a fact. He'd wound up face down on more floors than you could shake a laser screwdriver at because of the Doctor. As a result, he knew his floors.
The Master felt large hands grip him by the shoulders. “Finally! Took you long enough,” the portly monk said as he helped the Master stand up. “What's with the suit? Is this how you rebel these days? Dressing up in Armani business attire?”
“Ah, little brother,” the Master said as he brushed down the front of his jacket with his hands. “What sling have you gotten your arse into this time?”
“I didn't get my arse into any sling, thank you. It was put in one. And I'm sure you'll love hearing who put it there,“ the Meddling Monk complained petulantly as he helped the Master brush soot and ash off of his back and shoulders. “What is all this? You dress up in your most stylish black to go clean chimneys?”
“No,” the Master said tersely. “I've just been through a spot of cremation.” The look on the Master face said “topic closed” in no uncertain terms.
Which, of course, meant that the Meddling Monk, like any really annoying younger sibling worth his or her salt, had to ask more questions. “And the bio-duplication function of your emergency regeneration catalyzer couldn't reconstruct you into clean clothes?”
“Apparently not,” the Master said as he twirled his signet ring around so that the design faced up. “It did locate the nearest genetic match and dump me here with you, though. I am blessed. The oldest son gets all the best family heirlooms.”
“You know, there are other Time Lords who aren't so lucky as to have a brother who helps them out and hides their secrets. You never think of that, do you? And, besides, it wasn't just your ring seeking out a compatible DNA structure that brought you here. It was my ring, too,” the Monk said as he wiggled the fingers of his right hand in front of the Master's face, making sure that the light caught and flashed on the huge citrine stone set within his ring. “I used it to set up a reciprocal feedback loop. Our rings sought out each other's DNA."
“Ooh, very good, little brother.” The Master patted the Monk's head.
“Stop calling me that. And stop patting me on the head. I may be the younger brother but I'm just as much a force to be reckoned with as you are.”
“Of course you are, little brother,” the Master said as he rubbed the top of his little brother's head, displacing his skullcap.
The Monk pulled away before the Master started giving him a noogie. “Come on, now. Enough of that." The Monk straightened his robe. “And I am, you know. I've brought off many a brilliant master plan. Lots of things in lots of places are better for my being a time meddler,” the Monk maintained, a disgusted pout crossing his face at the title he practically spit out of his mouth.
The Master's back went ramrod straight and a grim look settled on his features. His brother would never in a million years call himself a time meddler. No, that sounded like an insult someone leveled at his kin, his. The kind of insult that one particular certain someone always felt it was his business and Rassilon-given right to level at people. “Who told you you were a time meddler?
The Monk turned to his brother, sneered and said “Your boyfriend, that's who. Still has a mighty huge stick up his arse from what I can tell. And he isn't looking like he's enjoying it so, if you put it there, you might as well pull it on out for him.” He looked speculatively at the Master. “Doesn't look like it's helping you get any, either.”
“Shut up,” the Master said distractedly as he pivoted around to look for the Doctor. “Is he here?”
“No, he's not here. Are you thick or something? If he was still here, why would I have to call for you? I'd have just knocked him over the head and stolen it back.”
The Master looked back at the Monk. “Stolen what back?”
“My dimensional stabilizer, that's what! Your twat of a lover took my dimensional stabilizer and marooned me! Here! Do you have any idea how bored I've been?”
“Don't call him a twat,” the Master said. “And he's not my lover. That ship sailed eons ago.”
“Yeah, so you keep saying. And yet, somehow, the minute I mention him, you start spinning around hoping to catch the merest glimpse of him. So, what? Is it still true love? True love that's still making you out into a total moron? Still making you happy to be his doormat so that he'll always have a bit on the side waiting and breathing heavy for him when he deigns to come home from saving galaxies?”
If the Master had ever had any sense of humor about himself, the look he leveled at the Monk said that he didn't any more. The Monk was no fool. He knew his brother. He knew what that look meant, and he had a self-preservationist streak a mile wide. That look said “Be quiet, little brother. Be quiet. Don't make me.” But he'd been stuck on this godforsaken rock in this unholy time and it was all Koschei's fault. All of it. If Koschei hadn't fallen in love with that ... that whore who was always willing, always eager to give his attention, his assistance, his love to all these apes rather than to Koschei... Well, if Koschei hadn't fallen in love with that, Koschei might have still been whole, and still been healthy, and still been his brother.
The look on Koschei's face told the Monk that he should just be quiet. He couldn't, though. Blame it on fraternal rivalry. No, not that. Blame it on the kind of fraternal taunting that's borne of a brother's disappointment.
“After all, you are tied to him, aren't you? Even though he turned tail and ran before you were able to tie him to you. You bonded to him. Him not bonded to you. Such an embarrassment, that was. The wondrous, the brilliant oldest son, one of Gallifrey's shining stars, left at the proverbial alter. Good enough to fuck, not good enough to marry, like some slip of a shop girl with her brain between her legs.”
The Master moved lightning-quick to grab the Monk by the throat. “I said. He's not. My lover. Hasn't been for some time. Whatever he did to you, he didn't do it in my time line.”
The Monk pulled at the Master's hands and loosened them enough to talk. “And that makes it like it never happened to me, then, does it? Like I haven't spent an entire year waiting for you to come and help me. I tried to reach you, Koschei. I called to you, even before I set up the ring. One whole year, waiting and telling myself 'He'll come. Koschei'll hear, he'll come.' Where were you, Koschei? Where were you this past year? Hmmmh? Good God, I sound like him now. “Hmmmmh”, he told me, like some ancient, cranky guinea pig. 'Hmmmmh', then he trapped me here. Didn't even recognize me. I was so sure he had, but he didn't. Didn't recognize me, when it was always me that made sure the two of you were left alone when you wanted to be. And you. Where were you? You have his smell all over you even now. Too busy putting it to him to come and help your own brother?”
“No!” The Master let go of the Monk's neck and pushed him back so that he staggered. “He was ... there,” he said as he turned around and rested his hands on the top of the sabotaged sarcophogus-shaped TARDIS . He fell silent.
The Monk looked at the Master's back, waiting for an explanation. The silence that stretched on filled the Monk with unease. He took one step toward the Master and stopped. “Koschei?”
“For this past year, he was where I was.” The Master's voice was composed, but he kept his back to his brother as he leaned heavily against the sarcophogus. “But we weren't together. I thought, in the beginning ...,” the Master trailed off. He straightened up. “We weren't together. Not like that. Not at all.” The Master turned to face the Monk again, his face a blank mask. “I didn't come because I couldn't hear you. I was having a bit of a problem with my hearing. And you weren't...I couldn't hear you. But now,” the Master held his arms up and out to his sides. He grinned broadly. “Ta-daa! Here I am.” The Master dropped his arms and walked over to his brother, still grinning. “Now, what thing do you need me to do because you can't manage it yourself?”
The grin didn't reach the Master's eye, the Monk noted. He smiled back at the Master nonetheless. “I can manage just fine as long as pompous, holier-than-thou pricks don't nick my TARDIS parts.”
“Well, then, you can't manage at all. You have to be ready for anything because it's always something. And things like pompous, holier-than-thou pricks nicking your TARDIS parts happen with alarming frequency.” The Master stopped short and stopped smiling. “At least, they used to.” He looked at the Monk, a look so genuinely tender on his face that the Monk wasn't sure whether to burst out laughing or to be worried. “It's been such a very long time, little brother. It's good to see you.” The Master wrapped his arms around the Monk and hugged him tightly.
The Monk swallowed the lump he felt in his throat. He decided to act as though his brother's uncharacteristic display of fraternal love wasn't happening. “And it's good to see you, too, big brother,” he said jovially as he patted the Master's back. “Especially since now you can help me get a replacement part. Where's your TARDIS?”
“End of the universe,” the Master said briskly as he let go of the Monk. “We'll have a hell of a time getting there if your TARDIS is in dimensional lock down.”
“Well, you're the brilliant one,' the Monk reminded. “Think of something. I've been trapped here long enough. I want off this rock and I want off it now.”
The Master rolled his eyes. “Now, now, now. Me, me, me. Still such a greedy little piggy. Forever the youngest, you are.”
“You wouldn't think I was being so greedy if you knew what I've been through. You haven't been stuck here going absolutely insane.”
“Not here, no,” the Master said. At the quizzical look the Monk gave him, he rushed ahead to forestall any questions. “What is it you want to do that you're in such a tearing hurry to get out of here?”
“I want to get your boyfriend, that's what!” It was out of the Monk's mouth before he could assess the wisdom of saying it. He studied the Master's face, looking for signs of roaring jealousy. He didn't see any. Instead, he saw a look of resolute calm. He found that more frightening than he would have found jealousy.
“I see. You 'want' Theta, then.” The Master started circling the Monk. “And by 'want', you mean...?”
The Monk's mouth fell open. “You're joking! As if I'd want your sloppy seconds!”
“That's because you've never had them. Of all the irritating, maddening things Theta has ever been, bad in the sack was never one of them. Sloppy or not.”
“Can we not talk about this? Because really, I could do without this wealth of knowledge about someone who broke your heart.” At the Master's slit-eyed, sideways look, the Monk added “According to you, anyway. In all of those drunken 'Oh, God, why doesn't he love me?' moments you indulged in in front of me before passing out on my bed so I had to go sleep on the sofa.”
“Isn't that what brothers are for? To listen to you pour your heart out to them?”
“It hardly matters whether that's what brothers are for or not, since I did it anyway. That's not all I did for you, either. It looks like I need to remind you how I never told Mum about all the grunting and groaning that used to go on in your bedroom whenever you'd bring Thete home on school holidays. I was right next door, remember? I heard it all, and was Theta ever noisy.” The Monk's voice went into falsetto mode. “Oh, master. Oh, harder, master. Faster. Faster, please, please master.” Gotta say, picking your sex game moniker as your official title is just too weird, even for you.”
“And I'm supposed to be grateful that you kept your chatterbox mouth shut? Mum knew how I felt about Theta. She'd have understood.”
“I don't think so. You never heard her on wash days, cussing and swearing and wondering why your bed sheets had so many oily, greasy stains on them.” The Monk furrowed his brow. “And what do you mean, 'she'd have understood'. She understands, doesn't she?”
That tender look came to the Master's face again, making the Monk tense. “Of course,” the Master answered gently.
The gentle tone did nothing for the Monk's tension. “Are you going to help me or aren't you,” he asked peevishly. He took a deep breath to ward off his inexplicable, growing worry. He couldn't think why he should be worried. Koschei would bitch and Koschei would moan, but Koschei would help him.
“Yes. I'll help you,” the Master said briskly, then clapped his hands together once. “First things first.” He took his laser screwdriver out of his inside breast pocket. “Even better than my TCE --- it works in reverse. But only temporarily, I'm afraid. We'll go to my TARDIS, then we'll pop out and pick up the parts we need and build you a new dimensional stabilizer.”
A gleeful, impish grin crossed the Monk's face. “Remember the last time you 'picked up' TARDIS parts? Did Dad ever figure out where his temporal stabilizer got to?”
“Not that I ever heard. And don't you tell him,” the Master admonished as he aimed his screwdriver at the sarcophogus.
“Now, would I,” the Monk asked in a mock insulted tone. “When he asked me if you'd taken it, I told him I hadn't seen you for months. I look out for you, Koschei. That's what brothers are for.” The Master looked at the Monk with that worryingly benign and loving look again, then turned his attention to the controls of his laser screwdriver. Watching the Master twirl the control knob, the Monk asked, “How're we going to get the parts we need now, Kosch?”
“I'll think of something, don't you worry, little brother. One thing, though. If Dad calls you and tells you he can't get into his TARDIS because it's smaller on the inside than it is on the outside, make sure you tell him you haven't seen me in months.”
“Of course, big brother. Of course.”