The Doctor sighed as he took out the key to the TARDIS. He had finally taken a chance and left the Master in there by himself. Gallifrey knows what he'd done to it.
Oh, please, let him not have found my closet.
The Master had narrowly escaped death, much to said man's dismay. The bullet hadn't actually pierced anything too vital, and the Doctor was able to get him into the TARDIS in time with the help of a reluctant Jack. According to the Master, being stuck with the Doctor was at least seven different kinds of hell, and that wasn't even including his hatred for the Doctor's fashion sense. Or lack thereof. Whatever.
Straightening his tie self-consciously, the Doctor managed to get the door unlocked and tentatively pulled it open.
He was instantly and violently blasted back by loud techno music.
"BARNACLES!" the Doctor bellowed, grabbing the edge of the TARDIS door. He whipped out his handy-dandy extra-strength intergalactic hair gel and plastered his hair over his ears. For some reason, it worked.
Having mostly muted the lethal sound, he charged into the TARDIS to find the Master wearing boxers with a Toclafane motif.
Nothing else.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" the Doctor screeched over the blasting music, which had suddenly changed to the Scissor Sisters. The Master was on top of the console, doing outrageously outdated dance moves that made the Doctor's gel-laden hair attempt to stand on end.
Abruptly, the music stopped. No one knew how, or why, but the TARDIS appeared to have finally had enough. She was quietly crying as the Doctor stroked the console tenderly.
"DOCTOR!" the Master squealed, having finally noticed him. "Are you here to join the party?"
"What party?!" the Doctor squawked.
Jack stepped out from the other side of the console. One of the Doctor's hearts gave out and the Master had to resuscitate him. Enthusiastically.
Jack was wearing a party hat.
...
Nothing else.
"ALRIGHT, OUT."
"But Doctor..." the Master pouted.
"I SAID, OUT."
The Doctor grabbed Jack, who immediately swooned while little hearts appeared in his eyes. The Doctor hauled him out of the TARDIS, slamming the door shut and turning to face the pouting Master.
"I leave you alone to go get ice cream and this is what I come back to?"
The Master toed the floor, looking like the five-year-old he was. "I only wanted to spend time with Jack. Y'know, get over our differences."
"You tortured him for a year."
"...Technically, I didn't."
"And what is with that outfit? Are you trying to tell me something?"
"Are you asking me out on a date?"
"Are you?"
"Doctor!" the Master gasped effeminately. "You should know by now that I'm married to my work."
"Wrong show, kelp-for-brains."
As the two were having their argument, the TARDIS took off without them noticing. They flew through time and space, all of it, narrowly avoiding universal catastrophes and speed bumps.
By the time they landed, the Master had latched onto the Doctor's back like a rabid koala and almost successfully gotten a hold of his hair gel. Thankfully, for the fate of the known universe(s), he hadn't.
"Jinkies," the Doctor commented as he realized they were settling. "Where are we?"
"Dunno." The Master whipped out a deerstalker from the Doctor's pocket, jamming it on his head. "ALLONS-Y!"
"HEY!"
They scurried out of the TARDIS. Pastures of red grass, stretching across the slopes of Mount Perdition lay in front of them. The Master sued for plagiarism and they left.
THE END
...
...
"HEY!" the Master exclaimed, successfully punching a hole through the fourth wall. The Doctor flinched at the mess. "YOU SAID I HAD AT LEAST TWO MORE LINES!"
The author of the story cowered beneath her desk as the Master fired his laser screwdriver (because really, who'd have sonic?) at the computer screen, which he could sense with his timey-wimey Timelord senses.
"Alright, alright!" she whimpered, shakily grabbing the keyboard and beginning to type again.
"SO!" the Master chirped, ripping off his expensive suit he'd worn for the trial, revealing "I Heart Teletubbies" boxers and placing his hands on his hips. "How about that party?"
"There will be no party."
"Party pooper."
"I can't be a party pooper if there IS NO PARTY."
The Master pouted. The Doctor shielded his eyes from the sheer power of said pout. Worlds began to collapse and black holes were created as the Master's eyes began to water pitifully.
"Fine," the Doctor sighed, and the tears evaporated. "I'll call Jack and Torchwoo-"
"NO CROSSOVERS."
"...Alright."
So after a series of phone calls, the Master, the Doctor, Martha, Donna (who'd gotten her memory back through a series of inexplicable plot holes), Rose (who'd climbed through one of said inexplicable plot holes), Wilfred, a bunch of other really cool minor characters, and Jack all got in the TARDIS and got down. Like, really down. To funkytown.
The Master decided that the story could end here.
For now, at least.
THE END (again)