The Doctor opened his eyes to see two yellow eyes peering into his. The
mammal had somehow gotten out of Alison's room, made its way to the console
room and decided to jump onto the arm of the Doctor's chair. And it was
looking at him mournfully.
"I'm afraid you'll get no sympathy from me whatsoever," he informed the creature. "I'd throw you into the Vortex if it were not for a particular young lady's vehement defence of your presence on board my ship."
It blinked and began to purr.
The Doctor rolled his eyes and stood up, unsurprised when it followed him to the console. The readout told him they were still in a holding orbit above Arkan. How tedious – the planet was nothing more than a desert with a minute population struggling to keep themselves alive. In their infinite wisdom this was where the Time Lords had sent him, but they had rather spectacularly failed to leave any instructions on what he was supposed to do.
So he had no intention of doing anything. Being bored was something he was accustomed to, and he wasn't wandering around some godforsaken world hoping to bump into the problem that he was supposed to fix.
The Doctor frowned. Something wasn't quite right. Everything looked normal enough...ah! The smell! He spared at quick glance at the mammalian, but quickly dismissed it as the source. The smell was far too sweet.
"Someone is cooking," he said to no one in particular.
Presently he entered the kitchen to discover what he considered to be an extraordinary sight. The Master and Alison were indeed engaged in the creation of some culinary delight. Eggshells and flour littered the workspace. Alison was busy whisking something in a bowl whilst the Master was pouring batter into a frying pan. Both were caught up enough in their tasks not to notice the Doctor's appearance in the doorway.
The Doctor cleared his throat and they both looked up. "Ah, Doctor, and how are we feeling this morning?" asked the Master in far too cheerful a voice. It was a particular voice that he reserved for mornings when he suspected that the Doctor had woken up with a hangover. That could only mean that he had found the half empty bottle of whisky that the other Time Lord had stashed under his armchair. He hadn't bothered to check whether it was there or not when he woke, but guessed now that it would be gone. It had been good stuff too.
"What are you doing?" the Doctor asked.
"Cooking," replied Alison. She frowned, "Pebbles really shouldn't be in the kitchen, Doctor. It's not exactly hygienic."
The Doctor looked down to see that the blasted animal was still following him around. "He shouldn't really be allowed to roam around the TARDIS either; Rassilon knows where he might end up."
"He's been cooped up in my room for days, Doctor. He needed a bit of exercise. Now, how do you like your pancakes?"
"I..." he tired to remember whether he even liked pancakes or not. "Look. I thought we agreed no cooking, not after what happened last time." This remark was directed to the Master, who merely shrugged.
"I was not aware that Miss Cheney was also banned from using the kitchen," he said. "She requested something substantial to eat."
"There's only so long someone can survive on those food pills," added Alison. "Besides, I thought you'd prefer pancakes to a fry-up." The Doctor's involuntary shudder did not go unnoticed. "Looks like I made the right choice," said Alison with a grin. "Do you have any lemons?"
"Second cupboard to the left," said the Master as he expertly flipped a pancake, catching the Doctor's eye as he did so. The other Time Lord raised an eyebrow. "If you want to make yourself useful, Doctor, there's an empty teapot on the table."
Some minutes later, the three of them were seated around the small table in front on the fireplace in the console room. Despite the Doctor's protests, Pebbles had also joined them and seemed to be enjoying his share of the pancakes.
The Time Lord knew that he should feel happier that the Master was managing to do more than simply tolerate Alison's presence, but seeing the two of them in the kitchen, perfectly comfortable with each other was somewhat disconcerting. Today cooking, tomorrow they'd be demanding to choose destinations. Take over his ship.
Mutiny!
And that blasted monkey would be on their side of course.
"Delicious," Alison declared as she finished off her plate.
"Certainly an improvement on the cuisine that usually comes out of that kitchen," said the Master, glancing at the Doctor.
"Well now that's over, I, for one, have work to do," the Doctor said. "The Time Lords didn't send me here to sit around eating pancakes."
"Just a minute, Doctor," said Alison. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
"I am?"
"Why, yes, Doctor," said the Master. "We cooked. You're washing up."
The Doctor felt his teeth grinding; he was right. Mutiny: it was only a matter of time.
"I'm afraid you'll get no sympathy from me whatsoever," he informed the creature. "I'd throw you into the Vortex if it were not for a particular young lady's vehement defence of your presence on board my ship."
It blinked and began to purr.
The Doctor rolled his eyes and stood up, unsurprised when it followed him to the console. The readout told him they were still in a holding orbit above Arkan. How tedious – the planet was nothing more than a desert with a minute population struggling to keep themselves alive. In their infinite wisdom this was where the Time Lords had sent him, but they had rather spectacularly failed to leave any instructions on what he was supposed to do.
So he had no intention of doing anything. Being bored was something he was accustomed to, and he wasn't wandering around some godforsaken world hoping to bump into the problem that he was supposed to fix.
The Doctor frowned. Something wasn't quite right. Everything looked normal enough...ah! The smell! He spared at quick glance at the mammalian, but quickly dismissed it as the source. The smell was far too sweet.
"Someone is cooking," he said to no one in particular.
Presently he entered the kitchen to discover what he considered to be an extraordinary sight. The Master and Alison were indeed engaged in the creation of some culinary delight. Eggshells and flour littered the workspace. Alison was busy whisking something in a bowl whilst the Master was pouring batter into a frying pan. Both were caught up enough in their tasks not to notice the Doctor's appearance in the doorway.
The Doctor cleared his throat and they both looked up. "Ah, Doctor, and how are we feeling this morning?" asked the Master in far too cheerful a voice. It was a particular voice that he reserved for mornings when he suspected that the Doctor had woken up with a hangover. That could only mean that he had found the half empty bottle of whisky that the other Time Lord had stashed under his armchair. He hadn't bothered to check whether it was there or not when he woke, but guessed now that it would be gone. It had been good stuff too.
"What are you doing?" the Doctor asked.
"Cooking," replied Alison. She frowned, "Pebbles really shouldn't be in the kitchen, Doctor. It's not exactly hygienic."
The Doctor looked down to see that the blasted animal was still following him around. "He shouldn't really be allowed to roam around the TARDIS either; Rassilon knows where he might end up."
"He's been cooped up in my room for days, Doctor. He needed a bit of exercise. Now, how do you like your pancakes?"
"I..." he tired to remember whether he even liked pancakes or not. "Look. I thought we agreed no cooking, not after what happened last time." This remark was directed to the Master, who merely shrugged.
"I was not aware that Miss Cheney was also banned from using the kitchen," he said. "She requested something substantial to eat."
"There's only so long someone can survive on those food pills," added Alison. "Besides, I thought you'd prefer pancakes to a fry-up." The Doctor's involuntary shudder did not go unnoticed. "Looks like I made the right choice," said Alison with a grin. "Do you have any lemons?"
"Second cupboard to the left," said the Master as he expertly flipped a pancake, catching the Doctor's eye as he did so. The other Time Lord raised an eyebrow. "If you want to make yourself useful, Doctor, there's an empty teapot on the table."
Some minutes later, the three of them were seated around the small table in front on the fireplace in the console room. Despite the Doctor's protests, Pebbles had also joined them and seemed to be enjoying his share of the pancakes.
The Time Lord knew that he should feel happier that the Master was managing to do more than simply tolerate Alison's presence, but seeing the two of them in the kitchen, perfectly comfortable with each other was somewhat disconcerting. Today cooking, tomorrow they'd be demanding to choose destinations. Take over his ship.
Mutiny!
And that blasted monkey would be on their side of course.
"Delicious," Alison declared as she finished off her plate.
"Certainly an improvement on the cuisine that usually comes out of that kitchen," said the Master, glancing at the Doctor.
"Well now that's over, I, for one, have work to do," the Doctor said. "The Time Lords didn't send me here to sit around eating pancakes."
"Just a minute, Doctor," said Alison. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
"I am?"
"Why, yes, Doctor," said the Master. "We cooked. You're washing up."
The Doctor felt his teeth grinding; he was right. Mutiny: it was only a matter of time.