Can't Trust That Day Chapter 2
Title: Can't Trust That Day
Pairing: Doctor/Master
Rating: Overall NC-17
Summary: When the Master returns, the Doctor finds that he can't forgive and forget as easily as he once did. The Master is resuming his game with a vengeance, but is left slighted and furious by a Doctor who wants no part of it. Yet where both Timelords see irreconcilable wounds, when both can't forsee a day where there will be compromise between them, a TARDIS sees a surprising solution within a last-ditch effort to save a dying race.
Warnings: Slash, mpreg
Spoilers: S3, AU for S4
I have no excuse for how late this is. Well, I have plenty of excuses, but none of them seem adequate.
So here I am, on the last day of '09, posting chapter 2. I'm not totally satisfied with it, but I need to get on with it already. So here goes.
Chaper 2- Do You Want to Know a Secret
The Master hated surprises.
They were unexpected, and the Master was a planner. He manipulated and controlled. He relished the hundreds of ideas that sparked through his mind like bursts of electricity. He counted on being able to grab onto one of those sparks and nurture it into a glowing light, feeding it with details and twists and turns and so much malice it made him shiver with anticipation. The best and brightest light was one that had all variables accounted for. When something unexpected happened, his meticulous planning was thrown to the wind.
It wasn’t that the Master couldn’t improvise. He could take a dozen different routes at a moment’s notice to recalculate his plans. But it wasn’t half as satisfying. There was almost nothing in the universe that could beat the thrill the Master got from sculpting a plan carefully and efficiently, laying out all the pieces and taking his time enacting it, watching everything fall into place as it culminated into a wild and bloody victory for himself.
Surprises were even nastier when they came from the Doctor. The Master resented those the most, as he took so much time factoring the Doctor into his own equations. The only thing more satisfying to the Master than reveling in his own genius was having the Doctor play witness to it. He was the only other being who could truly appreciate it, be truly horrified by it, truly understand it.
Because the Doctor was nearly as brilliant as he himself was.
It was the Doctor that made his scheming worth it. Without him, who would stand in the Master’s way? Who would he have to make things interesting? The Doctor was his greatest challenge. The Doctor pushed all his planning to be top-notch. He worked endlessly to make sure the Doctor couldn’t pull one over on him. And still, the Doctor managed to do it.
That bloody fool who counted on thinking on his feet sent all the Master’s hard work crumbling down around them in a desperate surge of genius that was so infuriating and baffling and…
In those moments, the Master hated the Doctor with all the rage and fire he possessed. Those moments reminded him of what he could have had. It forced him back centuries, to the first time he said good riddance to Gallifrey. What if Theta hadn’t refused to join him? The Master could have that brilliance working alongside him, right now, like it had so long ago.
The Master hated those thoughts as much as he hated the Doctor. He didn’t want that, and it was impossible anyway. Once, maybe, he had wanted the other Timelord beside him, before the titles of Doctor and Master had been chosen, and before they found out how very, very different they were. But they were different. Harmony and destruction didn’t mesh, ever.
As it was now, the Master didn’t think he could ever give up having the Doctor pitted against him. It was just too exciting to watch the Doctor struggle to restore what the Master tore down. It was too thrilling when it was the Doctor that the Master was tearing down. The pleasure he took in ripping apart the Doctor’s fruitless ideals and twisting his emotions into a mess of tangled knots was something the Master needed like an addict.
The Master glared out the window of the conference room and into the inky darkness, the members of the Double Council prattling to each other across the low-set round table. The drums beat steadily, angrily, and the Master quietly tapped out the rhythm on the table before him.
He had more important things to do at the moment than play politics with these dull creatures, but he had to keep up appearances, at least for the immediate future. It didn’t stop his mind from furiously dwelling over his latest engagement.
It was the hair he saw first on the surveillance holograms he wasn’t authorised to be monitoring as the familiar, lanky body slipped through the doors of the lobby. The Master’s eyes caught the unkempt ruff of spikes, and for the briefest of moments, his hearts seized. No no no, the Doctor could not find him and poke his big nose into this so early. This plan was definitely one of those that Doctor wasn’t supposed to witness from the beginning.
Understandably, he wasn’t too happy when the Doctor made his face-to-face appearance.
But the Master couldn’t stay irritable when he realised the silent, broody Doctor was absolutely teeming with volatile emotions over their last encounter, just begging to be prodded with a hot iron. The gears were already grinding through the Master’s mind as he approached the other man, exploring the new paths his plan could take with the sudden variable of the Doctor.
And the prodding was fun, so fun, but the Doctor’s reaction was lightening-fast and harsh and…wrong. The Master could feel the churn in his gut as the Doctor hissed those words at him. The Doctor had never been alone because the Master had never really left. He had only pretended to leave, and that was where the wicked brilliance lay, but the Doctor skipped over that rather essential point.
And then they were so close and so tense and the Doctor was absolutely ravishing in his fury, but the Master certainly hadn’t initiated this. He wasn’t in control. It wasn’t fun anymore.
Oh, and the kicker. The Doctor had walked out on him. Actually left him to his own devices. And the Master hated him all over again. He had just reconfigured his plans to make room for the great bloody idiot, and what did the great bloody idiot do? Leave. As if the Master’s horrific genius was nothing more than rubbish to him.
If he hadn’t known the Doctor’s sanctimoniousness would never allow him to leave an unsuspecting population to the Master’s wrath, there would have been quite a few things finding themselves at the end of a laser screwdriver. The Doctor would be back. That, he did know. He had half a drum-driven impulse to incinerate half the population just to spite the Doctor, but that would interfere with his plans in a way which he couldn’t easily recover.
“…And if Mr. Saxon would be kind enough to explain to the chairholder of Wassigua the solution in relation to his own province.” The raspy words caught in the ear the Master was keeping on the current conversation, and his gaze instantly shifted back to the petite forms surrounding him, mouth quirking into a pleasant half-smile as if he’d been wholly involved in the meeting thus far.
“Of course.” The Master’s eyes found the pale chairholder in question across the table, the creature’s filmy gaze locked on the outsider with a dim spark of wariness jumping beneath the surface. The Master caught that spark, his smile widening as he reached up to the holographic model being projected from the centre of the table.
“As you can see, the Wassigua province is far enough from the capital that it won’t be burdened with the brunt of the construction.” The map shimmered under the Master’s fingers as he skimmed over the designated area. “However, the schematics are the same over all the northern provinces. The shield will be set in place approximately 3500 iernotiers above the planet’s surface, here.” He brought his finger to hover above the dark stretch of map, feeling all those gazes following his movements, absorbing his words.
The Master lifted his head from the hologram to lock gazes with the scrawny chairholder once more. “If you’ve read through my calculations, you’ll know that 3500 iernotiers is the optimal distance for this construction. It will put the metal right in the middle of the planet’s incredible magnetosphere, which was pulling those asteroids to your planet in the first place.”
Not that these little beings could even begin to comprehend the scope of the real calculations the Master had worked out. He used theorems they’d never heard of to determine the distance from the ground and weight of the metal in relation to the magnetic strength offset by relative durability. He wrote out space-time equations these things didn’t even know existed to test the metal against rapid heat expansion. Poor creatures didn’t understand a thing.
“So while the metal is being held up by the magnetosphere, it will also be dually held down by the asteroid belt’s gravitational force. So, it won’t fall down and it won’t float away. And, of course, the asteroids will be easily repelled. Ping. Ping.” The Master chimed in with a few high-pitched sound effects as his fingers demonstrated crashing into an imaginary shield and harmlessly bouncing off.
He swept his gaze around the table to his attentive listeners one last time. Behind their speculative gazes, behind their careful curiosity, the Master spotted a familiar glimmer. Hope. “That’s the plan, at least.” He settled back into his chair, letting the council members murmur amongst themselves.
His plans were taking off smoothly, the Master thought with a small smudge of satisfaction. He watched as the outside moonlight glanced off the rarely-used Ulghiron ships transporting the metal he’d ordered to the various designated points across the plush ground and black sky. It would be ready for construction soon. He could hardly wait.
The meeting was adjourned, and the Master waited for the small creatures to shuffle out of the room with a critical eye on their backs. So simple. So stupid. They might have still had some sense, if they’d listened to their cautious natures.
A wicked grin stretched out across the Master’s face at the thought as he traveled through the narrow corridors back to his own designated hole they dared to call an office. His eyes flicked upwards to the clear ceiling, watching the ships zip under the round moon like shadows on its waxy surface.
With the construction underway, the workforce down in the mines would need to start increasing their output. It would be sly, gradual enough that nothing would seem much out of the ordinary. An extra shift here, another sack of Luster crystals there. Nobody who wasn’t looking would notice, nobody would complain.
Until the Master wanted them to.
The Timelord shut his office door behind him and tried to soothe the rush of excitement and swell of drums that tumbled through him at the thought of his success. There was still so much to do before that point. Giant metal casings to build, crystals to mine, populations to enslave. And to figure out where in Rassilon’s bloody eye to find silicon this side of the galaxy. He might need to make an outside trip.
The Master lowered himself into his chair, his mind flashing through every planet within a three-galaxy radius that had a significant deposit of silicon. Yaksor-9 was a good bet…
A scowl furrowed his brow as the Master reached out to bring up the surveillance holograms. He was suddenly, bitterly sure that the minute he made off on this trip would no doubt be the minute the Doctor decided to get over his fit and make his noble re-entrance. Rescue the helpless population, vanquish his adversary in the name of justice and puppies and kittens and fields of flowers, and whatever else the sod pledged to.
That made the Master pause. Unless the Doctor chose to wait an infuriatingly long time, in which he’d be too late anyway, then there would be nothing for the Doctor to save yet. No, the Master’s plan came together at the end, when his plotting and gathering and organising was complete. If the Doctor came in any time before then, he would be clueless.
The Master couldn’t stop another small thrill from running up his spine at the thought of the Doctor puzzling over all the nonsensical elements he’d see, furiously working through possibility after possibility until he was so wrapped up in the Master’s plan he’d have no desire to leave again until he saw for himself what was to become of it.
The Timelord kicked his feet up onto the desk as he settled back in his seat, images of the Doctor flickering through his mind in a private slideshow. Oh, what would his dear Doctor do when he learned the full extent of the Master’s plans? The man’s shock and disbelief would flash to deep-reaching horror, and finally that righteous anger would blaze over the Doctor’s face and it was gorgeous to the Master- knowing he was the one to evoke all those reactions in the other Timelord.
The Master was the one, the only one who could do that to the Doctor. There wasn’t another being in the entire vast and dark universe who could match his brilliance, his absolutely cruel brilliance that left the Doctor grappling for purchase. There wasn’t any other with the determination or resilience to make the Doctor struggle and fight until the very end. No one else had the thumpthumpthumpthump of the drums driving them or the same blood of the destroyed race pumping through their veins or the centuries-old memories of fumbling in dark hallways and empty rooms and running together through the red, red grass.
Only the Master had that. The Doctor would be back.
He needed him.
-------
Writing for the Master is strange. I made him sort of...verbose. Which on the one hand is alright, because I imagine a self-important person such as him to be that way, but...I don't know. Anyway.
Review?
Pairing: Doctor/Master
Rating: Overall NC-17
Summary: When the Master returns, the Doctor finds that he can't forgive and forget as easily as he once did. The Master is resuming his game with a vengeance, but is left slighted and furious by a Doctor who wants no part of it. Yet where both Timelords see irreconcilable wounds, when both can't forsee a day where there will be compromise between them, a TARDIS sees a surprising solution within a last-ditch effort to save a dying race.
Warnings: Slash, mpreg
Spoilers: S3, AU for S4
I have no excuse for how late this is. Well, I have plenty of excuses, but none of them seem adequate.
So here I am, on the last day of '09, posting chapter 2. I'm not totally satisfied with it, but I need to get on with it already. So here goes.
Chaper 2- Do You Want to Know a Secret
The Master hated surprises.
They were unexpected, and the Master was a planner. He manipulated and controlled. He relished the hundreds of ideas that sparked through his mind like bursts of electricity. He counted on being able to grab onto one of those sparks and nurture it into a glowing light, feeding it with details and twists and turns and so much malice it made him shiver with anticipation. The best and brightest light was one that had all variables accounted for. When something unexpected happened, his meticulous planning was thrown to the wind.
It wasn’t that the Master couldn’t improvise. He could take a dozen different routes at a moment’s notice to recalculate his plans. But it wasn’t half as satisfying. There was almost nothing in the universe that could beat the thrill the Master got from sculpting a plan carefully and efficiently, laying out all the pieces and taking his time enacting it, watching everything fall into place as it culminated into a wild and bloody victory for himself.
Surprises were even nastier when they came from the Doctor. The Master resented those the most, as he took so much time factoring the Doctor into his own equations. The only thing more satisfying to the Master than reveling in his own genius was having the Doctor play witness to it. He was the only other being who could truly appreciate it, be truly horrified by it, truly understand it.
Because the Doctor was nearly as brilliant as he himself was.
It was the Doctor that made his scheming worth it. Without him, who would stand in the Master’s way? Who would he have to make things interesting? The Doctor was his greatest challenge. The Doctor pushed all his planning to be top-notch. He worked endlessly to make sure the Doctor couldn’t pull one over on him. And still, the Doctor managed to do it.
That bloody fool who counted on thinking on his feet sent all the Master’s hard work crumbling down around them in a desperate surge of genius that was so infuriating and baffling and…
In those moments, the Master hated the Doctor with all the rage and fire he possessed. Those moments reminded him of what he could have had. It forced him back centuries, to the first time he said good riddance to Gallifrey. What if Theta hadn’t refused to join him? The Master could have that brilliance working alongside him, right now, like it had so long ago.
The Master hated those thoughts as much as he hated the Doctor. He didn’t want that, and it was impossible anyway. Once, maybe, he had wanted the other Timelord beside him, before the titles of Doctor and Master had been chosen, and before they found out how very, very different they were. But they were different. Harmony and destruction didn’t mesh, ever.
As it was now, the Master didn’t think he could ever give up having the Doctor pitted against him. It was just too exciting to watch the Doctor struggle to restore what the Master tore down. It was too thrilling when it was the Doctor that the Master was tearing down. The pleasure he took in ripping apart the Doctor’s fruitless ideals and twisting his emotions into a mess of tangled knots was something the Master needed like an addict.
The Master glared out the window of the conference room and into the inky darkness, the members of the Double Council prattling to each other across the low-set round table. The drums beat steadily, angrily, and the Master quietly tapped out the rhythm on the table before him.
He had more important things to do at the moment than play politics with these dull creatures, but he had to keep up appearances, at least for the immediate future. It didn’t stop his mind from furiously dwelling over his latest engagement.
It was the hair he saw first on the surveillance holograms he wasn’t authorised to be monitoring as the familiar, lanky body slipped through the doors of the lobby. The Master’s eyes caught the unkempt ruff of spikes, and for the briefest of moments, his hearts seized. No no no, the Doctor could not find him and poke his big nose into this so early. This plan was definitely one of those that Doctor wasn’t supposed to witness from the beginning.
Understandably, he wasn’t too happy when the Doctor made his face-to-face appearance.
But the Master couldn’t stay irritable when he realised the silent, broody Doctor was absolutely teeming with volatile emotions over their last encounter, just begging to be prodded with a hot iron. The gears were already grinding through the Master’s mind as he approached the other man, exploring the new paths his plan could take with the sudden variable of the Doctor.
And the prodding was fun, so fun, but the Doctor’s reaction was lightening-fast and harsh and…wrong. The Master could feel the churn in his gut as the Doctor hissed those words at him. The Doctor had never been alone because the Master had never really left. He had only pretended to leave, and that was where the wicked brilliance lay, but the Doctor skipped over that rather essential point.
And then they were so close and so tense and the Doctor was absolutely ravishing in his fury, but the Master certainly hadn’t initiated this. He wasn’t in control. It wasn’t fun anymore.
Oh, and the kicker. The Doctor had walked out on him. Actually left him to his own devices. And the Master hated him all over again. He had just reconfigured his plans to make room for the great bloody idiot, and what did the great bloody idiot do? Leave. As if the Master’s horrific genius was nothing more than rubbish to him.
If he hadn’t known the Doctor’s sanctimoniousness would never allow him to leave an unsuspecting population to the Master’s wrath, there would have been quite a few things finding themselves at the end of a laser screwdriver. The Doctor would be back. That, he did know. He had half a drum-driven impulse to incinerate half the population just to spite the Doctor, but that would interfere with his plans in a way which he couldn’t easily recover.
“…And if Mr. Saxon would be kind enough to explain to the chairholder of Wassigua the solution in relation to his own province.” The raspy words caught in the ear the Master was keeping on the current conversation, and his gaze instantly shifted back to the petite forms surrounding him, mouth quirking into a pleasant half-smile as if he’d been wholly involved in the meeting thus far.
“Of course.” The Master’s eyes found the pale chairholder in question across the table, the creature’s filmy gaze locked on the outsider with a dim spark of wariness jumping beneath the surface. The Master caught that spark, his smile widening as he reached up to the holographic model being projected from the centre of the table.
“As you can see, the Wassigua province is far enough from the capital that it won’t be burdened with the brunt of the construction.” The map shimmered under the Master’s fingers as he skimmed over the designated area. “However, the schematics are the same over all the northern provinces. The shield will be set in place approximately 3500 iernotiers above the planet’s surface, here.” He brought his finger to hover above the dark stretch of map, feeling all those gazes following his movements, absorbing his words.
The Master lifted his head from the hologram to lock gazes with the scrawny chairholder once more. “If you’ve read through my calculations, you’ll know that 3500 iernotiers is the optimal distance for this construction. It will put the metal right in the middle of the planet’s incredible magnetosphere, which was pulling those asteroids to your planet in the first place.”
Not that these little beings could even begin to comprehend the scope of the real calculations the Master had worked out. He used theorems they’d never heard of to determine the distance from the ground and weight of the metal in relation to the magnetic strength offset by relative durability. He wrote out space-time equations these things didn’t even know existed to test the metal against rapid heat expansion. Poor creatures didn’t understand a thing.
“So while the metal is being held up by the magnetosphere, it will also be dually held down by the asteroid belt’s gravitational force. So, it won’t fall down and it won’t float away. And, of course, the asteroids will be easily repelled. Ping. Ping.” The Master chimed in with a few high-pitched sound effects as his fingers demonstrated crashing into an imaginary shield and harmlessly bouncing off.
He swept his gaze around the table to his attentive listeners one last time. Behind their speculative gazes, behind their careful curiosity, the Master spotted a familiar glimmer. Hope. “That’s the plan, at least.” He settled back into his chair, letting the council members murmur amongst themselves.
His plans were taking off smoothly, the Master thought with a small smudge of satisfaction. He watched as the outside moonlight glanced off the rarely-used Ulghiron ships transporting the metal he’d ordered to the various designated points across the plush ground and black sky. It would be ready for construction soon. He could hardly wait.
The meeting was adjourned, and the Master waited for the small creatures to shuffle out of the room with a critical eye on their backs. So simple. So stupid. They might have still had some sense, if they’d listened to their cautious natures.
A wicked grin stretched out across the Master’s face at the thought as he traveled through the narrow corridors back to his own designated hole they dared to call an office. His eyes flicked upwards to the clear ceiling, watching the ships zip under the round moon like shadows on its waxy surface.
With the construction underway, the workforce down in the mines would need to start increasing their output. It would be sly, gradual enough that nothing would seem much out of the ordinary. An extra shift here, another sack of Luster crystals there. Nobody who wasn’t looking would notice, nobody would complain.
Until the Master wanted them to.
The Timelord shut his office door behind him and tried to soothe the rush of excitement and swell of drums that tumbled through him at the thought of his success. There was still so much to do before that point. Giant metal casings to build, crystals to mine, populations to enslave. And to figure out where in Rassilon’s bloody eye to find silicon this side of the galaxy. He might need to make an outside trip.
The Master lowered himself into his chair, his mind flashing through every planet within a three-galaxy radius that had a significant deposit of silicon. Yaksor-9 was a good bet…
A scowl furrowed his brow as the Master reached out to bring up the surveillance holograms. He was suddenly, bitterly sure that the minute he made off on this trip would no doubt be the minute the Doctor decided to get over his fit and make his noble re-entrance. Rescue the helpless population, vanquish his adversary in the name of justice and puppies and kittens and fields of flowers, and whatever else the sod pledged to.
That made the Master pause. Unless the Doctor chose to wait an infuriatingly long time, in which he’d be too late anyway, then there would be nothing for the Doctor to save yet. No, the Master’s plan came together at the end, when his plotting and gathering and organising was complete. If the Doctor came in any time before then, he would be clueless.
The Master couldn’t stop another small thrill from running up his spine at the thought of the Doctor puzzling over all the nonsensical elements he’d see, furiously working through possibility after possibility until he was so wrapped up in the Master’s plan he’d have no desire to leave again until he saw for himself what was to become of it.
The Timelord kicked his feet up onto the desk as he settled back in his seat, images of the Doctor flickering through his mind in a private slideshow. Oh, what would his dear Doctor do when he learned the full extent of the Master’s plans? The man’s shock and disbelief would flash to deep-reaching horror, and finally that righteous anger would blaze over the Doctor’s face and it was gorgeous to the Master- knowing he was the one to evoke all those reactions in the other Timelord.
The Master was the one, the only one who could do that to the Doctor. There wasn’t another being in the entire vast and dark universe who could match his brilliance, his absolutely cruel brilliance that left the Doctor grappling for purchase. There wasn’t any other with the determination or resilience to make the Doctor struggle and fight until the very end. No one else had the thumpthumpthumpthump of the drums driving them or the same blood of the destroyed race pumping through their veins or the centuries-old memories of fumbling in dark hallways and empty rooms and running together through the red, red grass.
Only the Master had that. The Doctor would be back.
He needed him.
-------
Writing for the Master is strange. I made him sort of...verbose. Which on the one hand is alright, because I imagine a self-important person such as him to be that way, but...I don't know. Anyway.
Review?