[RP for savagestime]: The taking of tea, or: Do I dare disturb the universe?

[timewill_tell]

The memory of the words old friend coming from the Master (John Smith..., no...the Master...) in regards to him was something he struggled to forget. It made an unsettling fondness ripple through him, every time they echoed in his mind, but they were still uttered by a confused mind, under the pretext of shared guilt, of mild duress as they both

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[timewill_tell]

As soon as he heard a voice that shouldn't have been there, the Doctor froze, his head turning swiftly to peer at the man. The Master. Only it wasn't the incarnation he'd met on the Cheetah planet, or the one he'd so recently seen, but rather the one he had seen, the one amongst fire. For a moment, he felt like doing nothing but laughing at the sheer absurdity of it, the normalcy in this, in sharing tea.

Instead, he cleared his throat quietly and responded by handing the kettle as directed, a strained smile on his face.

"I believe one of us isn't where he's supposed to be."

[timewill_tell]

"Yes," he lingered the word, his 's' sibilant as it often was when he ruminated whilst speaking.

"Quite," the Doctor added then, watching the Master with a mixture of apprehension and cleverly disguised pleasure (or so he hoped). He supposed pouring himself a cup of tea would be appropriate, and so he mirrored his friend's actions, taking care not to steep it too long.

Ever curious, he asked, with ease, "Now why would I be sulking?"

[timewill_tell]

The Doctor's uneasy smile transitioned into one of a more genuine cheerfulness, even though a large part of him was still very guarded. This was the Master, after all, and it was important to remember that now, especially since he'd been feeling so recently nostalgic for his old friend.

"It was a rhetorical question," the Doctor responded, dumping heaping spoonfuls of sugar into the warm liquid. "Though I admit to being curious about just why we would have been so close together in your timeline."

Curious though he was, he wasn't about to prod too much where he shouldn't.

There was something he could ask, and something he honestly cared to know, though he didn't care to examine why he cared.

"Have you been well?"

[timewill_tell]

The Doctor's face transitioned to a mask of neutrality; there was the familiar contention, and he wasn't sure why he'd momentarily expected anything different. He supposed he hadn't expected it so much as wanted it. But he hadn't the time to consider that at any length now.

"I suppose I don't much care," the Doctor lied easily. Sometimes he believed things like that himself. "It is an anomaly, that much is obvious. The trouble is ascertaining which of us is impeding--have I crossed into your time stream, or you into mine?"

The Doctor smirked fleetingly. "I suppose even that doesn't matter all that much. How do we fix it? That's the more pertinent question. You've no desire to be here anymore than I wish you to stay."

[timewill_tell]

Of course he would say that. He had no reason to ever expect a different answer, one that might indicate there was even a modicum of nostalgia in the obviously blackened heart of his oldest friend. And yet, despite all evidence to the contrary, despite the folly in putting faith in such impossibilities, he did. He always would, and he wasn't certain if that made him noble, or pathetic.

The Doctor moved away from the Master, taking a sip of his tea to test its sweetness, and then setting the mug carefully on the table.

Avoiding the subject at hand entirely, he muttered aloud, "I believe some shortbread would be a delectable accompaniment to this tea."

He put a finger to his lower lip, deciding whether he should bother searching for some, or collecting another treat entirely.

[timewill_tell]

For half a second, the Doctor's facade slipped, flickering uncertainly between a look of irritation and regret before settling once more into a stoic veneer of neutrality. He had let it show, though, and he worried the damage had been done. If the Master knew the depth of the Doctor's own nostalgia and sentimentality, it would only be used against him. And he did quite enough berating himself that he wasn't eager to incur that brand of torment.

"I haven't run away," the Doctor chose to point out, though even he knew it was a weak argument, "I'm merely attempting to acquire something to satisfy my palate."

He chose to avoid the Master's eyes as much as possible.

[timewill_tell]

When he acknowledged the Master this time, by locking onto his eyes, the Doctor was filled with a burgeoning sense of anger. But as was often the case when he felt anger towards his old friend, he wasn't exactly certain where it came from, or why he felt it. The reasons seemed too innumerable to settle on only one. As a form of resistance, the Doctor wrapped his own fingers around the tea, trying to claim it once more for himself.

"I suppose that's my business, then, isn't it?" He finally spoke, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. "What should it matter to you if I do run?"

He could only think of two reasons why the Master would care: either it bothered him personally (and he was fast growing too coldly rational now to assume that) or it was just yet another thing to torment him about. He had every reason to assume it was the latter and not the former, though he might wish it, at his most naive.

[timewill_tell]

The Doctor kept a firm grip on the cup of tea, at this point unconcerned if the liquid were lost in the tug-of-war. He pursed a lip slightly, curiously.

"It only matters to you because when I'm not around, you lack a worthy opponent with which to test your mental fortitude," the Doctor declared, a trace of fleeing optimism in his tone. "I also doubt you have tea as good as this, you always did over-steep yours."