Koschei watches as Theta cheerfully constructs some sort of contraption out of three temporal stabilisers, a data entry pad (his, incidentally), a formerly functional helmic regulator, and the remains of what appears to be a telepathic field generator.
Momentarily, he ventures a question.
"Far be it from me to question your capabilities, but what, in Omega's name, is that?"
A pair of (lovely) blue eyes fixes on his.
"This, my dear Koschei, is a perfect simulation of a Terran device designed for the sole purpose of generating mild heat through the application of electromagnetic waves."
Koschei blinks.
"You've built a primate form of climate control?"
His friend shakes his head impatiently, blond curls bouncing about distractingly at the violent movement.
"No, no, no! You see, you focus the rays, like so, place foodstuff in the centreplace, and it is warmed to a temperature you find personally pleasing via my addition of a light telepathic field."
Half of Koschei's mind swiftly processes this information and rapidly comes to the conclusion that Theta Sigma is a very strange individual with an alarming obsession with the primitive inhabitants of the planet Terra, whilst the other half busily analyses how... attractive his colleague is when thus excited, and is thus formulating other ways in which he could excite him.
"Well? What do you think?"
Theta demands.
Koschei blurts out his most prevalent thought,
"Would you be interested in an interpersonal relationship? With me?"
Theta blinks, stares and burst into peals of (exuberant) laughter in quick succession.
Koschei is fairly certain he should be feeling insulted.
Instead he feels like laughing with his friend.
Theta has that effect on him.
--------------------------------------------
A century later, the Master gazes through newer, older eyes, as Theta regards him with the kind of wariness normally shown to a dangerous, unpredictable animal.
And in some part of the Master's blackened soul, it hurts.
Something (possibly nostalgia) gives him impulsive desperation.
"Come with me."
"What?"
"Come with me. There's nothing left for you here."
Theta's eyes flash, the pain and hurt of Koschei's latest betrayal transmuting into rage.
"Oh isn't there? And what, exactly, are you offering me, hmm?"
"Freedom."
"Freed - How dare you? How can you...you come in here and act as though nothing's happened after what you did? She's dead because of you! Do you understand? Dead! She didn't regenerate! She couldn't! And you just stood there and -"
Theta's voice cuts off with a hoarse sob.
Koschei moves forward, instinctively.
But Theta steps away, his face, still tear-streaked, suddenly, horribly, blank.
"Just go, Master . I have an orphan to care for."
The Doctor turns on his heel and strides away, never looking back.
Koschei stands, frozen.
Half an hour later, the Master leaves Gallifrey.
--------------------------------------------
The Doctor is utterly, horribly still and, for a moment, the Master feels a thrill of something that couldn't possibly be fear.
Nonetheless, he dashes to the younger Time Lord's side, shoves aside that silly Earth jacket, and checks the man's hearts with a haste which belies his earlier indifference.
One of the idiot's hearts has stopped all together.
As he rescusitates him, the Master forces down a rush of something which couldn't possibly be guilt.
The Doctor stirs and the Master smiles, mask firmly back in place.
--------------------------------------------
Madness, hatred, anger.
He remembers it all.
He remembers the Doctor frozen in front of him, bent to his will, the Trakenite whose body he now wears forced to go against his very nature, and, most of all, the sheer exhilaration he'd felt, that thrill of pure power, over the Doctor, over all those insignificant fools, the entire universe within his grasp.
He remembers the Doctor falling, body broken on that sodden Terran soil.
He remembers laughing as he left his old foe (friend) to his death.
In his more lucid moments he feels a flicker of something , deep inside him, which might be shame, might be guilt.
He's not sure if he remembers what either feels like.
--------------------------------------------
He burns.
Flames dance over his form, he is in agony.
He sees an old-young pair of (lovely blue) eyes, watching him, anguished.
And all he can think, outside the pain, is that he's done it.
He's finally driven the Doctor away to such an extent that he's willing to just let him die.
And it's good.
Maybe now that foolish little part of him will finally die and allow him to get on with his destiny.
--------------------------------------------
It's prepared.
He stands before the Chameleon Arch whilst Time twists and fractures about him.
As distasteful as this course of action is, it will work.
He will survive.
He always does.
And so (he hopes) will the Doctor.