time in essence ; open to taptaptaptap
The passage of time has always been different for them, as Lords of it, but with the very essence of his being trapped in such a limited space, the Doctor has entirely too much of it. He's trying to make the best of the situation, as he does most things (being trapped in 1969, living a bit of his life as a human in the early twentieth century, ( Read more... )
The Master - having raged for an indefinite amount of time at the act of being forcibly removed from his body and stuffed, rather unceremoniously, back into the mock timepiece that had held his essence for entirely too long - stands very sullenly in the 'sand' on the astral plane. Somehow, forcing the issue of communicating with the Doctor by effectively invading the solitude of his mind with contact from his own makes the act of speaking with his rival at all a bittersweet thing, indeed. It isn't entirely admitting defeat, after all, if he waltzes right in like he owns the place.
"...figures," he comments dryly, steps sinking him into the sand as he moves to stand over the reposed figure, blotting out the annoyingly tranquil sunlight and casting a dark shadow over his enemy. "The whole of time and space in your very essence, Time Lord, and you can't think of a better place than this?"
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It's not as if the Doctor has exactly avoided contact with his old enemy ... but he's felt a bit guilty about this whole thing. He'd had it all worked out, after all: he would repair the TARDIS, the two of them would leave, and he would take it from there. But he hadn't factored in Torchwood, even though the organization is known for its animosity toward him. He'd believed Jack when Jack said it was reformed; believed that the captain's ... colleague was trustworthy; and then he'd been summarily betrayed. He's quite certain even now that Jack mustn't know - if he did, surely he would do something about it. Perhaps not restoring the Master, but at least he would do it for the Doctor, wouldn't he? And then he could take care of the Master, and they could pick up where they left off. Now, they have no idea where their human selves have even gone, and that concerns him deeply, that the watches should be separated from their bodies ( ... )
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Far from it, in fact; the Master scoffs at the invitation to sit - oh, yes, he recognizes this place, though from the memories (and emotions) extracted from the fact's mind rather than first-hand experience himself - and flashes a disgusted sneer. "I don't think," is his answer, obvious annoyance in the haughty inflection of his tone. He can't decide, however, if he's annoyed more at his rival's choice of telepathic retreat or at the extended offer for him, of all people, to join the Doctor in it. This - compared to all the places the Doctor has been and could be - is a stupid planet with ridiculous sentimental attachment. And he - the Master, the only other Time Lord in the whole of their universe and the only match for the Doctor in cunning and genius - is far from the lowly, stunted ape with whom this vista was previously shared. It's ill-suited for him - the them, together - and he will change it ( ... )
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The Master is right; the choice of location is sentimental, although if he were privy to the other Time Lord's opinion of the place, the Doctor would not agree that it's ridiculous as well. His attachment to this place does, actually, stretch back to his ninth regeneration - not so very long ago, really - and the memories that accompany that part of his life are pleasant ones of companionship and warmth. He does not underestimate, even now, the impact that Rose and Jack both had in helping him in his recovery after the Time War.
And now, the Master is here, tearing it all apart. The Doctor's expression shifts into a bit of alarm and more than a tinge of annoyance as his welcoming of the other Time Lord turns into the quick destruction of his pleasant daydream. He sits motionless and doesn't do anything to fight it, at any rate, although his pain is palpable in the connection they now share, a melancholy shot through the hearts as the Master rebuilds the landscape around them. He expels an unnecessary sigh, looking about at their ( ... )
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Yes, but ... isn't that what the Master does? While the alarm and annoyance at his careless destruction of the Doctor's chosen landscape only makes the process of changing it well-worth the effort, his rival's rather palpable pained reaction actually causes a smile to twitch at the corners of his mouth. Of course, having the whole of time and space and their shared imagination at his disposal, there had been a very poignant reason for the Master to choose Gallifrey; not that, perhaps as he projects, it is the only place suitable for a somewhat companionable meeting of their essence, but rather the point driven sharply into the Doctor's hearts with so very little effort on his part. He didn't, it seems, get to pick enough - or to his satisfaction - at the Doctor's destruction of their home during his year of rule over Earth.
"Don't be," the Master answers the sudden apology with something utterly unanticipated of his own. Perhaps he meant don't, perhaps there was supposed to be much more animosity and hatred in the tone of his 'voice ( ... )
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Were things between them uncomplicated, yet (not that they'll ever reach simplicity, but with a clearer line defined to divide them as friend or foe), the Doctor might meet the comforting gesture with suspicion. And while a part of his consciousness tells him that this is his enemy, the being who singularly attempted, with a particular amount of glee, to destroy the whole of the Earth and subsequently the universe as well, there's another part entirely - and this one much louder, somehow - that is filled with more contented (even if a decidedly more finite amount of) memories.
That makes it much easier to accept the comfort, to sink back and relax and trust the Master's words. There's familiarity, here, like the half-remembered flavor of something he'd tasted only once, and he rests his head against his friend's shoulder, loosing a sigh that sounds remarkably more contented, now. He uncurls himself from his awkward position and looks past the Master, up to the brilliant sky ( ... )
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" ... I would have done it for you," he replies simply, nothing in his voice indicating if his statement is born of love or hate, the complexity of it perhaps being both astounding him into ambiguity. Part of him, the part he's sure is still filled to bursting with hatred and fire and rage, would have only destroyed Gallifrey had the Doctor asked the Master - begged him, perhaps - to remove the burden of decision from his shoulders, to take the weight of guilt away, to prevent him such horrible agony ... and it would have been just another way to break his enemy utterly.
There is a very small, very insignificant little pinprick of light on the darkened horizon of his thoughts that believes, however, that it would have been for the best if he hadn't run, if he'd stayed to play the game he feels the Council must have attempted to force them into playing, if he'd lived up to expectations at the very last and done the deed he was no doubt resurrected to do. He is the Master, he is the perfect warrior for a Time War, and he should have ( ... )
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The Doctor is uncertain what to say in response to that, aside from a lingering insistence that the Master not make that sacrifice ... but he doesn't say anything, doesn't need to say anything, really, does he? He watches as their surroundings change again, and this time he does help, concentrating on little things like a balmy breeze and lightly rustling tree leaves (albeit not silver ones), and maybe even a cicada off in the distance singing its distinctive song. The Doctor smiles, pleased at the compromised landscape, then reclines back on his elbows, nudging the Master in the side with a suggestion to do the same ( ... )
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The elbow in his side earns the Doctor a breathless grunt of a response, followed shortly by a very put-upon sort of noise. The Master eventually concedes - it only takes a few seconds of being left sitting to his own devices for him to agree-to-disagree on the point of joining his friend and enemy - and reclines back, half on the Doctor's coat and half in the silly discolored grass, next to the other Time Lord. He folds his arms beneath his head, attention pulled reflexively skyward to feel and watch the way the stars move with the steady, imagined orbit of the purely fictional planet they've created together ( ... )
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Settling back the rest of the way, the Doctor takes up a position of repose similar to the Master's, although at the last minute he decides to turn onto his side and lean his head against an elbow-propped hand. He remembers Professor Yana quite clearly - the astounding brilliance of the human man, the respect and admiration he'd held for him. In retrospect, it seems as if it all should have been so clear; but he'd relied solely on his senses, never thinking that anyone else could have survived, used his same hiding method, and escaped to the end of the universe ( ... )
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For a long moment, the Master doesn't acknowledge that the Doctor has turned to face him, instead continuing to stare up at the sky with a feigned sort of interest. He knows all the stars, every single one, and feels very little when he stares up at the way they've been set into the sky, a blending of memory and knowledge from the last Time Lords in this universe, despite knowing that the view of the universe from Gallifrey is utterly destroyed. Remorseless. He only spares a glance for his companion moments before the Doctor restlessly shifts positions again.
"Mine also had a perception filter, but Yana was a sentimental old fool. He never parted with the watch, not in all those years." And yet he never opened it, never thought to, and the Master is furious that his human counterpart had been so ... stupid. "He won't be there," the Master comments, hardly apologetic for the fact's current condition, "and for a while, yet, I suspect. Your cute little companion - Rose, wasn't it? - was hardly brilliant, even with the power of the time ( ... )
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There's a definite guilty feeling emanating off the Doctor in regards to Jack. He's sorry, so sorry, that he couldn't protect the captain, that he'd let him go along to begin with, that his efforts were not enough. And now, Jack must think he's abandoned him - just like before. It had been different, then, and while he'd planned to leave this time, he wasn't going to do it without a proper goodbye. He's come to learn, over the years and countless lives he's treaded through, that his companions do at least deserve that. He doesn't like the mention of Rose, another failure on his part in a long line of them. He'd burned up a sun to say goodbye to her ... and hadn't even managed to do that right. Hadn't said ... well.
The Doctor's expression darkens considerably as he listens to the Master repeat those words, and he sits up abruptly, glowering. He doesn't approve, not at all - everything that could be horrible and wrong about the chameleon arch, and that human nailed it directly on the head. He can still remember John Smith's ( ... )
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... And therein lies the difference between himself and the Doctor; the Master is not, even in the slightest bit, apologetic for what he did to the fact. (Or the Joneses, Torchwood, and the entirety of Earth, for that matter.) In fact, he might not even be remotely sorry for his actions against the Doctor, but there does exist a nagging - if not terribly small - sense of guilt associated with the half-remembered idea of having a conscience that inspires him to be less ... flippant with his wrong-doing associated with his rival. Annoyingly. Though he is still thrilled - and openly so - that he has the ability to inspire such a plethora of emotions with just the casual mention of a name or a fact ( ... )
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The Master is right in regards to the potential of anyone finding the watches - it's highly improbable that, if they're locked away somewhere in the Torchwood installation, that they'll be found. The Doctor frowns, thinking about their rather dire feeling situation. No idea where their human selves have swanned off to, in question of whether they're even still alive (although it seems more likely than not), and without hope of a rescue, exactly. He wonders about the TARDIS, whether the humans are dissecting his beloved ship to examine its parts, to see how it works. He hadn't anticipated anything like this happening - he hopes that the emergency protocols have kicked in, but with the pieces of the paradox machine still in place, he can't be sure ( ... )
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The Master says nothing, though he knows perfectly well that refusing to address the gratitude expressed is just as bad as accepting it out-right. He should, of course, have a snarky remark for his oldest enemy, something biting and well-deserved of a thousand year rivalry, but he finds the compression of his essence into an inanimate object very ill-suited for their rivalry. No, they're far better fighting across the whole of time and space ...
"No," he counters logically, "I think it's the worst." He shifts unexpectedly, rolling onto his side to face the Doctor, and the slight smirk curving his lips makes the statement obvious; yes, that was actually a joke and, no, he might not actually mind the company. "But I'd rather not be stuck here 'indefinitely,' Theta. I know the quickest, easiest way to convince Jones to reconsider his drastic measures ... now, are you with me or will you morally object to my subtly manipulating the bastard that put us in here and force a more diplomatic approach? Because, let's be honest, we don't have ( ... )
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The Master does seem to have a certain way of persuading the Doctor to see his side of things. Although the Doctor is typically immune to such, particularly when it comes to anything destructive or - yes - morally objectionable, he has to admit he's a little swayed by the suggestion. And of course he remembers manipulating Jack, in that limited timeline, out of desperation ... on the Master's behalf.
"I ... you can't just brainwash him, Koschei," the Doctor protests, still morally centered - despite everything. He remembers that year, remembers the same time he was required to manipulate Jack, the way the Master had pulled the human man's strings like those of a puppet. "Compromise with me. We'll ... reach out, try to convince him first."
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