#62 Spring
Fic Name: Spring
Rating: G
Prompt: #62 Spring
Claim: Ten/Master
Summary: Spring=fluffy new beginnings. Seriously. This is actually what I have written. The Master does some cooking (yes, the 'done before' bell is ringing loudly), the Doctor doesn't trust him, but then he does (kind of) and they do some running.
The first minute of Vivaldi’s Spring is following the Doctor around the TARDIS.
“Good, isn’t it?” the Master says, when the Doctor eventually tracks him down, rather improbably, in the kitchen, stirring what looks like blue soup in a large shiny saucepan. “It’s like being on hold,” he continues “but, this time, the nice Indian people will never pick up.”
“Programmed to respond to my DNA?” the Doctor asks. “That’s rather clever.” He gives the soup a curious sniff. “What are you doing??”
“None of your business." The track abruptly stops and then begins again. The Master grimaces. “Would you mind leaving? That’s really quite annoying.”
“Well, yes, it is,” the Doctor agrees, leaning against the worktop next to the oven. “But the thing is,” the Doctor says. “The thing is that, basically, it’s a complete waste of time.” He grins, and the Master glowers at him, which just makes the Doctor start to laugh. “An evil scheme I can foil with a pair of earplugs? Hardly end of the universe stuff, is it? You’re losing your touch.”
The music stops and restarts. The Doctor dips a finger into the blue soup and licks it. “Seriously, what is this? Tastes like… salt and vinegar crisps." He sticks his fingers into the soup again. “Actually, it’s not bad. What is it?”
“If I’ve made it correctly,” the Master says, “you should begin to lose consciousness in about ten minutes.”
The Doctor pauses, fingers still in his mouth. “’Ou’re ‘okin'.”
The Master grins slowly. “Unfortunately, I am. I’ve got to freeze it and add lemon and then - voila: a traditional forty-eighth century Ionian pudding. I’m so bored I’m actually learning to cook. Are you pleased?”
“More confused, really, than pleased,” the Doctor says, wiping his fingers on his jacket just to be sure. “You’re cooking?”
“Yes,” the Master says. “You’ve crushed my spirit, changed my ways, the tedium has been too much and I’ve actually gone insane. Take your pick. The upshot is I’m making dessert.”
Spring restarts again. The Master pulls a small remote device from one of his pockets and presses it. The music stops. “What a waste of a week,” he says, beginning to stir the blue mixture again. “As you pointed out though - not one of my better ideas. Fortunate that I’d already decided to give up my wicked ways.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m hurt.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
‘Oh, of course you are.”
“You’ve done it,” the Master says, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the spoon in his hand. “You’ve won. Aren’t you happy? Is it everything you’d hoped for? I’m tired of rebelling just for something to do, so you win. Your victory will be long and boring and filled with dubious culinary concoctions. The last of the Time Lords rotting away in a TARDIS that ought to have been scrapped five hundred years ago. Isn't this what you wanted?”
“Oh," the Doctor says, "oh, don’t bother trying to manipulate me.”
The Master glances at him sideways. “Why not? It’s clearly working. And all it took was the truth: how marvelous!” He laughs and abandons the saucepan. “Look - neither of us want to spend the rest of eternity like this, sitting around quietly like good little boys: watching and not interfering. That’s why we left Gallifrey in the first place. I know you don’t trust me, but this is ridiculous. Let’s go somewhere! Anywhere. I don’t care. I’m sick of sitting here day after day doing nothing. Frankly, next time I won’t bother to regenerate if this is all there is to look forward to.”
There is a pause and then the Doctor smiles broadly. “OK,” he says. “Let’s do it.”
The Master raises an eyebrow. “You mean it?”
“Well, obviously, I’m not going to let you wander off and destroy any civilizations or anything, but we could go for a walk… investigate… check out the local colour on some unexplored planet... That is, if you want to...”
They grin almost simultaneously and, as if on cue, start running for the control room.
“What about your dessert?” the Doctor asks as they hurl out the door.
“Leave it,” the Master says. “I don’t think it was supposed to be blue anyway.”
Back to winter : On to summer
Rating: G
Prompt: #62 Spring
Claim: Ten/Master
Summary: Spring=fluffy new beginnings. Seriously. This is actually what I have written. The Master does some cooking (yes, the 'done before' bell is ringing loudly), the Doctor doesn't trust him, but then he does (kind of) and they do some running.
The first minute of Vivaldi’s Spring is following the Doctor around the TARDIS.
“Good, isn’t it?” the Master says, when the Doctor eventually tracks him down, rather improbably, in the kitchen, stirring what looks like blue soup in a large shiny saucepan. “It’s like being on hold,” he continues “but, this time, the nice Indian people will never pick up.”
“Programmed to respond to my DNA?” the Doctor asks. “That’s rather clever.” He gives the soup a curious sniff. “What are you doing??”
“None of your business." The track abruptly stops and then begins again. The Master grimaces. “Would you mind leaving? That’s really quite annoying.”
“Well, yes, it is,” the Doctor agrees, leaning against the worktop next to the oven. “But the thing is,” the Doctor says. “The thing is that, basically, it’s a complete waste of time.” He grins, and the Master glowers at him, which just makes the Doctor start to laugh. “An evil scheme I can foil with a pair of earplugs? Hardly end of the universe stuff, is it? You’re losing your touch.”
The music stops and restarts. The Doctor dips a finger into the blue soup and licks it. “Seriously, what is this? Tastes like… salt and vinegar crisps." He sticks his fingers into the soup again. “Actually, it’s not bad. What is it?”
“If I’ve made it correctly,” the Master says, “you should begin to lose consciousness in about ten minutes.”
The Doctor pauses, fingers still in his mouth. “’Ou’re ‘okin'.”
The Master grins slowly. “Unfortunately, I am. I’ve got to freeze it and add lemon and then - voila: a traditional forty-eighth century Ionian pudding. I’m so bored I’m actually learning to cook. Are you pleased?”
“More confused, really, than pleased,” the Doctor says, wiping his fingers on his jacket just to be sure. “You’re cooking?”
“Yes,” the Master says. “You’ve crushed my spirit, changed my ways, the tedium has been too much and I’ve actually gone insane. Take your pick. The upshot is I’m making dessert.”
Spring restarts again. The Master pulls a small remote device from one of his pockets and presses it. The music stops. “What a waste of a week,” he says, beginning to stir the blue mixture again. “As you pointed out though - not one of my better ideas. Fortunate that I’d already decided to give up my wicked ways.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m hurt.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
‘Oh, of course you are.”
“You’ve done it,” the Master says, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the spoon in his hand. “You’ve won. Aren’t you happy? Is it everything you’d hoped for? I’m tired of rebelling just for something to do, so you win. Your victory will be long and boring and filled with dubious culinary concoctions. The last of the Time Lords rotting away in a TARDIS that ought to have been scrapped five hundred years ago. Isn't this what you wanted?”
“Oh," the Doctor says, "oh, don’t bother trying to manipulate me.”
The Master glances at him sideways. “Why not? It’s clearly working. And all it took was the truth: how marvelous!” He laughs and abandons the saucepan. “Look - neither of us want to spend the rest of eternity like this, sitting around quietly like good little boys: watching and not interfering. That’s why we left Gallifrey in the first place. I know you don’t trust me, but this is ridiculous. Let’s go somewhere! Anywhere. I don’t care. I’m sick of sitting here day after day doing nothing. Frankly, next time I won’t bother to regenerate if this is all there is to look forward to.”
There is a pause and then the Doctor smiles broadly. “OK,” he says. “Let’s do it.”
The Master raises an eyebrow. “You mean it?”
“Well, obviously, I’m not going to let you wander off and destroy any civilizations or anything, but we could go for a walk… investigate… check out the local colour on some unexplored planet... That is, if you want to...”
They grin almost simultaneously and, as if on cue, start running for the control room.
“What about your dessert?” the Doctor asks as they hurl out the door.
“Leave it,” the Master says. “I don’t think it was supposed to be blue anyway.”
Back to winter : On to summer