A/N: This is the first of several short fics I have written, all of which are missing moments/thought streams that fit (in theory) into the finale of series three. This is not the first chronologically, but it is the first from the Master's perspective - and they all work fairly well on their own. I'm working on a Doctor thought stream set in Utopia at the moment, so that should be up next (if I keep up with NaNo, that is). Enjoy!
On Meeting Again – Koschei Valiant
It's easy, at first – the after effects of opening the watch coupled with the distraction of dying and then regeneration keeps your mind focussed strictly on yourself. Even hearing his voice, first shouting from Yana's lab and then intense over the phone, you manage to keep your head, to keep your plan on track.
You nearly lose your grip at the landing strip – you know he's there, how could you not, you can sense it, sense him – but the freak is with him too, thank Rassilon, and that uncomfortable wrong feeling keeps you from outwardly reacting to the whirlwind of emotions and feelings that his presence evokes. For now.
But then, but then… then you're standing on the deck of the Valiant, and he's thrown to his knees before you, and you start the speech you always have running through the back of your mind, and it's going perfectly until you make that fatal mistake.
You meet his eyes.
And for the first time in this regeneration, you look at him properly.
Oh, Rassilon.
It's a fluke, it has to be – or is it Murphy's law, the threefold rule, some giant cosmic irony that this incarnation of his resembles your young best friend so closely?
And there's a moment in which your head spins and the world seems to dissolve around you, and even as the flawless accuracy of your subconscious tells you that only a second has passed you can hardly believe it.
That untidy, dark brown hair, that pale skin, that slender frame, those deep, storm-tossed eyes…
You snap out of it as his mind brushes the edge of yours and you realise what you're doing. In anger, in fear, you draw his attention to the one thing you're certain of – your power.
"Oh, how to shut him up. I know! Memory lane…"
You tell him how you've been watching him for months and you see something flicker in those brown, brown eyes. Stupid humans – how can they think that brown is ordinary, that there is anything remotely mundane about that complex shade?
You realise you're lost in looking at him again.
Suddenly you hate it, hate how much power he has over you with this simple accident of biology, you clench your fists in your pockets and – ah. Of course. You feel the hard metal of the laser screwdriver brush against your knuckles. You take it out and explain what you've done to it. You don't look at him, but you can feel the fear flowing from his mind – he's scared you'll use it on one of his precious human pets, and you laugh inside your mind because that was indeed its original purpose. Aging people to death – like shrinking them to death, only slightly slower and less comical. Makes more mess, of course, but who cares? You're a dictator, you can afford it.
But no. It's not for them right now. It's for him. For you. You flick the switch and hold it down, watching that perfect skin crease and crumple, that unruly hair disappear entirely, that slim body cripple – but when you stop and look at your handiwork, those eyes are unchanged. You force your attentions elsewhere.
