Bright and early the next morning, as annoyingly usual, the Doctor got up and started making breakfast. The Master groaned angrily as the loud 'making-breakfast' music blared up through the TARDIS chambers, serving as an unstoppable alarm clock.
The Master rolled over, turning to the ticking clock on his wall: 6:15 am. "I'm in hell…" the Master grumbled, turning back over and pulling his pillow over his head.
"FOR SOME REASON I CAN'T EXPLAIN!" the Doctor suddenly jumped in, tone deaf voice carrying through the TARDIS and pervading every sense of calm and privacy the Master possessed.
Pushed to the edge, he threw the pillow down and banged open the door, hollering, "TURN THAT RACKET OFF, YOU TONE-DEAF, WASTE. OF. SPACE!"
Though the Doctor said nothing, the Master got the distinct impression from his silence that the Doctor was sticking his tongue out at him. The Master closed his yes, counted to ten, begged for patience, and envisioned the Doctor naked, gleefully adding that this might soon become a reality.
Sighing and feeling a little better than before, he made his way to the showers, the most attention he got all day.
Feeling particularly obnoxious, the Master didn't bother drying his hair and went down to the kitchen in nothing but his underwear and a robe.
"So if you love me, won't you let me know…" the Doctor was singing quietly to himself, "If you love me –" he turned around and stopped, seeing the Master in the doorway. The Master's sly grin of triumph over the Doctor all but submitting to him slowly melted into weary embarrassment at the Doctor's get up.
He was wearing his favorite 'Kiss the Cook' apron, that the Master swore he only wore just to irk him and the weekend shirt that read, "Trust me, I'm a Doctor."
The Master was even more ashamed because he had the dreadful feeling that he had once given the Doctor that shirt as a present. The Doctor had always been a sucker for a bad pun.
Most Time Lords, after approximately the age of 190, stopped celebrating birthdays, but the Master and the Doctor had vowed to always remember each other on the Doctor's favorite human holiday: Christmas. No matter if they were in the heat of battle against each other or if they were at opposite ends of the universe, they always sent a gift.
Over the centuries, of course, this tradition degenerated and the gifts became increasingly lethal, but it was the thought that counted. In fact, on every bomb and letter of anthrax, the Master always signed it, "Love, The Master", for old times' sake, obviously… not because any of those warm feelings still EXISTED.
Nope.
Never.
Not a single one.
The Master realized he was staring, not so innocently, at the Doctor. It took the Doctor's questioning look slowly turning into one of indulgent smugness that finally snapped him out of it.
"The next time you make breakfast, at least pick a decent band," the Master huffed, sitting down and grabbing the plate of eggs.
"Aw, but I love Coldplay," the Doctor pouted.
The Master rolled his eyes, "Only because you gave Chris Martin the title of 42."
The Doctor chose not to comment and sat down himself, taking up spreading jam on a piece of toast.
"And I see your dress-sense hasn't actually changed for the better since your Sixth," the Master remarked, scathingly.
The Doctor's smug grin returned, "You're just mad because you could never stand the truth."
The Master almost cracked the plate as he cut a little too forcefully into his pancakes. He was making up his mind to steal the last melon slice and take his food up to his room when an ungodly howling was sounded from just outside the TARDIS.
"Hold on, what's that?" the Doctor scrambled up from the table and left the likewise eggs on his plate.
The Master winced at the bad pun in the above sentence, breaking the fourth wall entirely, the Doctor was going to have to fix that later, and reluctantly followed the Doctor.
"!" something, that was probably in horrible pain, yelped from outside, "!"
"Hold on, hold on," the Doctor muttered, hurriedly unlocking all of the locks he had had to put extra on the TARDIS door because of the Master's more and more desperate escape attempts.
The Master sauntered down the stairs, totally at ease with whatever the poor creature outside was whining about.
"AAARROOOOOOOOOOOO – ruff!" the animal's howl was cut short as the door opened and the Doctor stepped out.
"Aaaaawwwwwwwwww! It's a doggy, I love doggies!" the Doctor crouched down to pet the animal as it ran up to him excitedly.
"A dog?" the Master rushed to the TARDIS doorway, "But it's a mongrel! It probably has rabies, Doctor." You could say that the Master wasn't exactly a dog person.
"Oh, who's a good puppy? Who's a good puppy?" the Doctor ignored the Master entirely and ruffled the big dog's ears as it tried to lick every inch of the Doctor it could get to.
Now that struck a chord. This dog, this flea-bitten, mangy, idiotic sub-species of the planet was licking. His. Doctor.
"Now, what were you crying about, big fella? You injured? Or just lonely?" the Doctor looked deep into the dog's eyes.
Almost as if it understood, the dog whimpered and nuzzled the Doctor's face with his great, furry head.
"Aaawwww… that's right, you're just lonely. You need a home. Well, alright boy –"
"Wait, Doctor! You're not seriously considering keeping that thing, are you?" the Master's eyes widened in shock, the Doctor was certifiably insane, but the Master never thought it would come to this! Taking in stray animals! It was UNTHINKABLE!
"Oh, come on Master! Look at him; he's just a big puppy who needs a home…"
"NO." The Master set himself firmly inside the doorway, "That mutt will not step one paw inside the TARDIS."
The Doctor stood up to his full head-above-the-Master height and put on that look of stubbornness that was born from many years trying to stand against the Master's will. The Master knew that look and loathed it. Not only because he never pulled it off quite right, but also because it was a sure sign of a tussle, and not the kind that ended up with naked wrestling.
The Master's glare turned glacier cold, a look that he was quite proud of, mostly because he knew it pierced the Doctor's hearts like shards of ice.
The Doctor picked up the large dog that had never been so quiet in all its life, and approached the TARDIS, "Get out of the way." The words echoed strangely as if, far off in the future, they might have meant something incredibly significant…
But alas, at this moment in time, they did nothing but spur the Master on to hold himself more defiantly still, "No," he answered.
The Doctor drew a deep breath, stepped nose to forehead with the Master, and… the mutt licked him! The Master was so disgusted he stepped back reflexively in shock and horror, allowing the Doctor to run inside and set the happily barking dog down. The Master looked up just in time to see the dog slobber the Doctor's face with kisses.
HIS.
DOCTOR.
THE DOG. LICKED. HIS. DOCTOR!
The Master was pretty sure at least one of his hearts was having heart attack. But did the Doctor notice? NO! He was busy reciprocating the stupid animal's affection! RECIPROCATING!
Wait, that meant… oh no, the Master watched on in silent horror as the Doctor kissed the smelly animal on top of its wretched head! He collapsed in agony at the unfairness of it all! The animal! The dumb, pointless, stupid animal that had spent less than five minutes with him was getting kisses, when HE the Doctor's SOULMATE for Rassilon's sake, the last of his kind, who had spent lifetimes with him, was TUCKED INTO BED AT NIGHT. AND WITHOUT SO MUCH AS A HANDSHAKE!
The Master felt he was beyond counting to ten, instead of patience, he begged for unconsciousness, and to hell with naked, he wanted the Doctor on his knees in front of him, saying his name in that desperate tone that only he…
"Master?"
…that was not the tone.
The Master opened his eyes slowly, the Doctor and… the thing… stood above him, "What're you doing on the floor?"
"Taking a nap," he answered sourly, "what's it look like?" He picked himself up, dusting off his robe.
"You should have gotten more sleep last night if you're tired now," the Doctor advised, completely ignorant of or completely ignoring the Master's sarcasm.
The Master fantasized that he was having a brain aneurysm so that, maybe, he could be rid of all this frustration!
"I'm going to go fetch the dog a collar, and see if I can't figure out what breed he is…" the Doctor started to run off, "oh! And think of a name for him while I'm gone!" He smiled brilliantly, waving at the Master as he left.
"It's a mutt!" the Master shouted, "We'll call it MUTT." He didn't even want to know why the Doctor had a dog collar… as intriguing as the possibilities were.
He exhaled gruffly then stared furiously down at the shaggy dog. It wagged it's tail for a moment then stopped, and growled.
The Master got down at eye level with the beast, "GRRRRRRRRR!" he growled back, and a lot more ferociously.
The dog growled again, but then whimpered and ran away just as the Doctor was returning, "Allo! Here's the collar," he knelt beside his new pet and put the collar on.
"Thought of a name yet?" he questioned the Master, striding closer, the dog following him.
"Hundreds: mutt, mongrel, idiot, thing, inferior life form," the Master smirked.
"Master," the Doctor chastised, pouting slightly, "behave… he's just a dog, what's he ever done to you? Although, if memory serves, you never were a dog person… especially after that…"
"That vow of secrecy still holds, Doctor," the Master threatened.
The Doctor snorted a little at the Master's dark glower, "It's been lifetimes! Surely you've gotten over that little incident by now!" The Doctor couldn't hold down a chortle as the Master's cheeks turned slightly pink.
Without another word the Master abandoned the tramp and his pet to their games and stomped off to brood in his room *ahem* lair… temporarily, like any proper villain.