"Good evening, Doctor," the Master said, stepping out of the shadow of his TARDIS.
"What do you want?" the Doctor demanded, rising from his workbench.
"Only to talk, Doctor," the Master said as he approached. "You see, it seems that my plans to rule the universe are missing one crucial component, without which I can never succeed."
"And you think I have that component," challenged the Doctor, watching the Master warily.
"On the contrary," said the Master, now with barely four feet between them. "Quite the contrary, Doctor. You see, you—" he closed the gap and laid long gloved fingers on the Doctor's cheek—"are that component."
"How do you—" the Doctor began, before the Master's lips met his and cut him off.
The kiss lasted seconds, if that; but in that time the Master's visit began to make sense to the Doctor. He pulled away, in the little space he had in front of the workbench. "I don't understand," he said softly, because though he knew what was happening, he didn't know why.
"You see, Doctor," said the Master, gently tracing the Doctor's jawline and resting his hand on the Doctor's shoulder, "how much more pleasant life could be if we were on the same side. How much good we could do for the universe." And not just for the universe, he thought but dared not say. He was becoming nervous again.
"Certainly we could do good," the Doctor replied cautiously, "as long as that side wasn't your side."
"Do you know what your problem is, Doctor?" the Master asked, leaning back for a moment and pulling off one glove, finger by finger. The Doctor found himself mesmerized by the gesture, and some part of him realized that the Master had not had this sort of hold on him in quite a long time. And yet, since he thought he knew everything, it didn't bother him.
"You talk too much," said the Master, "and understand too little." The Doctor opened his mouth to argue, and the Master kissed him again. When the Doctor did not resist, the Master laid his bare hand on the Doctor's face again, in the traditional pose for psychic contact.
The Doctor felt, as if from a great distance, the Master's free hand tugging at the buttons of his shirt. He remembered, as if it were centuries ago, easing that hand out of its glove and moving on to the buttons of the Master's jacket. But lost in each other as they were, none of this was as immediate as the presence of each other's minds, and their need to no longer be alone.
Master, the Doctor whispered into his oldest friend's ear, and into his mind.
Yes, Doctor, the Master replied.
Doctor…Doctor…
"Doctor?"
He woke to someone calling his name. He found himself slumped in a chair, hat askew and scarf pouring off his shoulders into puddles of cloth between his legs, which, though stretched out in front of him, proved no barrier to Adric of Alzarius, who stood inches from his face, shaking his shoulder gently. "Doctor, are you all right?"
The Doctor sat up, tugging his scarf ends out from underfoot and adjusting his hat. "Yes, of course I'm all right. Why would I not be all right?"
"Well, y'see, it looked like you were having a nightmare," Adric explained sheepishly, backing away.
"It wasn't a nightmare," the Doctor said. "At least…I don't think it was."
An alarm on the TARDIS console started beeping. "That's the spatiotemporal barrier alert," said the Doctor, jumping to his feet and grabbing his hat. "We're entering N-Space. Why didn't you wake me when we left E-Space?"
"I just did," Adric protested, but the Doctor was no longer listening.
"Are you sure you're okay, Professor?"
The Doctor ran a hand through his short, graying hair. "Of course I am, Ace. Just thinking about a dream I had."
"What sort of dream?" Ace asked, though she suspected it wouldn't make sense to her.
The Doctor took a long time to answer. He paced around the console, pulling levers and pushing buttons almost mechanically, watching the time rotor as if it had the answers. "I dreamed I was traveling with an old friend of mine. Someone who left his whole universe behind to come with me…and whom I hurt quite badly, and never saw again."
"Oh." That sort of dream. Ace wasn't sure what to say, and said the first thing she thought of. "What do you think it means, Professor?"
"Probably everything," the Doctor said. Then he smiled. "And perhaps nothing at all."
The Doctor wasn't sure where he was, or what sound had awakened him. Then it began to come back: he was a prisoner, trapped not only in the Master's web of deception and time paradoxes, but in his own body as well, unable to walk on his own, let alone help his friends.
Soft music wafted through the cracks around his door. The music was always soft and soothing when the Master was asleep; it gave the night guards something resembling sanity. Thinking of sanity, he remembered the dream he'd woken from. He was leading Ace through the halls of the Academy on Gallifrey, where she was to become a student. How long had it been since he'd left her there, and how much longer since he'd studied there himself? Since he'd been an innocent child, unaware of how dark and cold the universe could be, how it could turn your friends against you…
He remembered the Master in their childhoods, and it brought him back to reality. The same song was still playing in the hall, one that he almost recognized, and that he knew would never be written if the Master's grip on Earth was not broken. The world's just full of paradoxes today, he thought helplessly, and listened until he fell asleep.
Koschei tried to meditate, but the pounding in his head kept him from clearing his mind. He had been getting these headaches for as long as he could remember, and nothing he tried could cure them. The nightmares were a more recent phenomenon: for the last four nights he'd dreamed of death, and he was certain that all the deaths were his own.
He was sick of it. Sick of waking up drenched in sweat, alone among his sleeping fellow students; sick of being scared to tell anyone about his dreams; and worst of all, sick of knowing he was going to die.
Well, no more of it. One way or another, Koschei decided, he was going to live forever. He resolved to tell Theta about his plan, and maybe even about the dreams. Maybe he would have some idea as to how—
Then he remembered that Theta had been in his dream that night—holding him, stroking his hair and sobbing as Koschei struggled to breathe, still young and beautiful when there was nothing left of himself.
No, Koschei decided, he would not tell Theta about his dreams, or about his plans to live forever. They would be his secrets, and his alone.
And one day, the universe would obey him.
"He was part of my dream, of course - but then I was part of his dream, too!" –Alice, Through the Looking Glass