Well, things had been going acceptably. Even the fairly drastic situation with the truth-compelling chocolates and the Hogwarts intranet had been salvageable.
Therefore, he sauntered through the halls of Hogwarts at what might safely be considered an ungodly, singing a
jaunty song with gusto. The kitchen was his planned destination, a snack was
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He sat in a dimly lit corner of the kitchen, as still as a statue. Blue eyes were distant, unfocused as he did a bit of psychic rearranging. After over nine hundred years, a periodic tidying up was in order. The only indication that he was even aware of his surroundings was the steaming mug that he would sometimes raise to his lips.
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"Some days, I wonder if that's all Time Lords could do. Hurt each other. We were always so good at that."
"All right."
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"This is what happens," the Master said, pacing closer. "You'll come to me. You'll ask. When you're ready to see. You have to ask, and I have to say yes. A nice bit of symmetry, isn't it?" His smile was radiant and vicious as he held up a hand, fingers outstretched and reaching for the Doctor's face. "But I'll give you a taste first. I won't let you say I'm not trying to play fair."
Contact, and a flood of immediate emotion. The everpresent rage, of course, the weariness that comes with centuries and having seen too much of the universe. Savage glee, and eagerness for the pain he would inflict on both of them. Despair, and most painful of all, a vicious pinprick of hope. All echoing in the too-empty darkness of his mind.
This is as far as I reach. You'll need to come the rest of the way to me.
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Oh and how he understood that despair. A feeling so black and deep that it threatened to overwhelm him after the War. Standing, screaming in the TARDIS, alone. Outside of the Voidwhere he should have fallen.
He would ask. And the Master would say yes. They had come too far to turn back now. He opened his mind, leaving only the barest defenses in place.
Show me, old friend. Please.
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There were no words to accompany this torrent of images, but it was far from silent. Most of it was dreadfully prosaic; Daleks streaming through the sky in horrifically artistic formations toward Gallifrey's domed cities while their ships exploded the planet's ground defenses, oceans hissing into steam, mountain passes heaped with the unrecognizable corpses of a dozen conscript races, one of the moons shattering and raining rocks the size of mountains...
...and with each atrocity, the impotent rage that it was not at his hands.
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Begging Romana to listen to him, to *help* him make the others see that what they were planning was madness.
It all flew by and the pain of it nearly drove him to his knees.
The Monument. He remembered being seized with such terrible fury as he set it all in motion. The blind arrogance. Then impossible silence as the Void swallowed them whole. Leaving him alone. Alive.
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Do you know what Dalek tastes like?
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I remember. I can still taste the soot and ash and the desperation towards the end. The Nightmare Child, the Skaro Degredation.. all of it. Did you know that after you disappeared, I searched everywhere for you? I thought you had fallen.
Even through the bitterness, the anger and the overwhelming grief, there was a tiny ember of hope. That he could find his friend again.
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He ceased the barrage of imagery, stilling his mind to the merest background noise.
A background, that is, of a ringing emptiness where distorted echoes were repeated, magnified, and further distorted. A silence that made his hearts beat louder, as if a vestigial drumming could support the latticework of a mind that had grown so very long around an inescapable intrusion. He forced the unnatural non-silence at the Doctor. Let him see what should have been so very plain already. His mind had been so formed by the distorting influence of the drums that to reshape it would be to destroy the identity he'd struggled to maintain. He'd adapted too well to revert, any more than a bonsai could become a natural tree. Anything that survived an attempt at forcing the issue wouldn't have been him anymore.
Old friend. I can still taste the battle-frenzy in you. Searching for me? Hunting. If you'd found me then, well... we would be extinct.
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And no, not hunting. You were never prey. I wanted to find you again.
The silence was.. disorienting. But having already been exposed to it, he listened. There was such darkness, such emptiness.
For a fleeting moment, he was reminded of the image of a very young boy who had climbed to a dangerously high branch on a tree. As quickly as it came, he tucked it back away.
Finally. I understand. Some damage can't be repaired.. at least not without causing more of it. But it doesn't have to be like this. You don't have to be in the dark, you don't have to be.. you don't have to be alone.
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More weariness, and a knife-bright flash of suspicion. The time for you to promise not to leave me alone was centuries ago.
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His suspicion was met with sadness. I didn't just walk away on my own. As I recall, you did your level best to push me away. But that's the past. We're here. Now.
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His mind filled with the warm glow of a new nebula. Nothing too bright, but enough to push back some of the darkness.
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The image of the nebula only briefly flickered in a haze of remembered flame.
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