Acceptance
He stands alone in the TARDIS's console room, right at the back, one hand resting on the railing and absently tapping out the drumbeat as he waits. Several thoughts of escape flit through his head in rapid succession, still frames of imagining pounding in time with the drums, but he casts each aside because he knows the effort is futile. The controls are set to isomorphic, so he can't commandeer the TARDIS; they're currently suspended in dull stasis in the time vortex so he can't very well just wander out the door; and anyway, some sneaky, unbidden part of the Master's mind tells him that leaving isn't really what he wants.
Oh, he drowns this thought in halfhearted dismissal, telling himself that he doesn't mind staying only because it means being a plague on the Doctor. But it still makes him uncomfortable, and he can't for the life of him work out why, and so his tapping becomes more rapid and feverish, and the Master is just about to ball his fist and pound on the railing with it when the Doctor comes bounding into the room, that familiar ridiculous grin plastered across his face. The Master sneers.
"Where are we off to this time?" he asks lazily, crossing to the console in three strides and leaning back against it. "Is it a tyrant to overthrow this time, or monsters to battle or something? Perhaps a war to stop?" He raises an eyebrow to indicate that this wasn't just a slip of the tongue.
The Doctor blatantly ignores this, busily setting coordinates and looking far too chipper for the time of day (insofar as a time traveller is really sure of the time of day), and it makes the Master scowl, but he says no more. Instead he folds his arms and watches the Doctor expectantly as the Doctor pilots his TARDIS into the unknown in his usual haphazard manner, all dashing about and fiddling with dials and switches, and occasionally bashing something with a hammer. It's no wonder he had to steal his TARDIS, the Master considers with a distant smirk. No one in their right mind would ever give him one.
After about another minute of this, the Master begins to tire of observing and reaches out as the Doctor sprints past him, grabbing the man by the collar of his ridiculous-looking suit jacket, stopping the Doctor so abruptly that he almost falls and yanking him backward so the Master can see his face.
The Doctor frowns, eyes full of indignance but no desire to punish, and the Master very nearly scoffs at him. "What did you do that for?" demands the Doctor, pulling away from the Master's grip a little too quickly.
"You haven't answered my question," the Master replies curtly. "Where are we going?"
"Why? It doesn't matter to you. You hate it here, remember." There is such open sadness in the Doctor's face for one fleeting instant that the Master, surprising himself, bites back his intended comeback.
He chooses instead something a bit less cruel, but still with an edge of cruelty so as not to start himself being nice. "Yes," he says bluntly, then adds, "But I'm still curious."
The Doctor smiles at this, and the Master has a sudden urge to shove the Doctor's face into the wall, hard, so as to never see the arrogant knowingness in that smile again. "All right then," the Doctor tells him slowly, eyes fixed on his. "We're going to Woman Wept."
The Master's eyebrows shoot up. "Woman Wept?" he scoffs, not bothering to stop himself this time. "Woman Wept? Do I look like one of your silly human girlfriends?"
A flash of pain in the Doctor's eyes, but the Master ignores it this time; he's too busy being high and mighty to care about all that Rose Tyler business that he's heard about in the Doctor's mind (which of course is information obtained without permission, while the Doctor slept). "Anywhere in time and space and you bring me to this ridiculous, sappy planet?" he continues, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smirk, revelling in the Doctor's upset silence. "I suppose it's sunset too, is it? My god, you really were asking me out on a date, weren't you?"
It comes as an utter, cold shock - rather like being slapped in the face in the middle of a snowstorm - when the Doctor says firmly, "Shut up." He gives the Master a small smile, one of those infuriatingly excited ones, and wanders outside. The Master follows grudgingly, his footfalls making perfect time with the drumbeats, the metallic sound of the TARDIS's grated floor replaced with the soft crunch of shoes on wet sand. They're on an otherwise unoccupied beach, pristine and calm, and it's sunset. The sky is stained a brilliant orange-pink and the Master scowls at it, then turns his head to scowl at the Doctor and finds the man grinning joyously at him.
"Isn't it beautiful?" the Doctor asks with glee.
"Hmph," replies the Master, folding his arms, looking back up at the sky once more. It really is beautiful, he knows this, but he's never going to admit it to the Doctor.
And the Doctor doesn't expect him to, he realises with a kind of dull, resigned annoyance. Because the Doctor knows the Master, and the Master knows the Doctor. And it's enough for the Doctor, at least for now, to know the Master accepts the beauty of this place without hearing him say so.
The Master snorts, quite suddenly, causing the Doctor to glance over at him in slight puzzlement. The Master knows the Doctor. He knows that the Doctor is a lonely fool.
And this, he also accepts.
Fin.