When Azula woke, she had to take a moment and orient herself on the bed. It wasn't hers. It was far too soft. She pushed herself up on her elbows and looked down at the body curled away from her. His back was still bear, and she could see the angry scratch marks where she had dug her nails into him. When she shifted to get up she felt similar marks on her own back.
When she pushed herself to her feet, the movement of the soft shirt sent a flicker of pain across her nipples and she hunched her shoulders to lift the fabric away. He'd lent her the shirt to sleep in when he'd invited her to sleep in his bed. Underneath she only wore her lower undergarment, just as he did.
She found her clothing scattered around the room. Her shirt hadn't survived the night's activities however, and she tossed it in the trash bin. This one she was wearing now would have to do until she got back to her own rooms. The Master was still sleeping half on his stomach when Azula finished dressing. She held her hair back from her face and leaned over to look at him. He looked different. Younger. In a strange way he reminded her of Zuko.
Azula banished that comparison as quickly as it rose. Strange, but suddenly she knew that she had seen him before he had rescued her from prison. She leaned closer and set a gentle kiss on his forehead and stepped towards the door. He mumbled in his sleep, causing her to freeze with her hand on the knob. With a rustle of blankets he rolled onto his back, throwing an arm across the now cooling spot she had occupied. But he didn't wake up, so Azula slipped out into the corridor.
It was cooler than his room had been and she hugged herself. Thankfully, the corridor was empty. She hurried to her own rooms. As her hand hovered over the handle, a thought paralyzed her. She knew—somehow she knew—that if she went into the rooms now; she'd lose the Master. Her hand dropped back to her side and she stared at the doorway. She should never have left his bed. She should have set a fire in the door, and locked both of them in his rooms. This was a mistake, a total mistake. With a shriek, she flung a bolt of lightening at the wall. It burned an ugly black mark into the burnished metal. She punched that mark, and the pain in her fist joined the other pain throughout her body. Leaning forward, she set her forehead against the cool metal wall and stared down at the floor. She'd never really noticed the floor before. It was a rather harsh looking carpet that had once been red. She wasn't quite sure what color it was now, but the red showed through in places. Straightening, she turned her back to the scorch mark and leaned against the wall, staring into the corridor around her. She could hear footsteps down at the junction, a murmur of voices further down and to her left. The coolness of the wall permeated the soft shirt, cooling the scratches on her back. She rubbed her arms and a new pain emerged. She looked down, finding a red mark. She remembered his lips on her arm, and the slight pressure of his teeth. Setting her fingers over the spot she smiled at the memory. He wouldn't leave her; couldn't leave her. Surely marks like these were signs of his claim on her body. She lifted her arm to her lips and kissed the spot where his mouth had been pressed.
Pushing herself to her feet, she continued down the corridor, further away from the Master's room. She needed to speak with the Doctor.
When the Master woke it took him a moment to realize there why it felt like there was an empty space in his bed. He lifted his head up and noted that Azula was nowhere to be found. Blowing out his lips, he sat up and rubbed the top of his head. She must have woken before him and slipped out. Slowly he pulled himself out of the warm cocoon of blankets and stretched upward. Aside from the general disarray, there was no indication that she had ever been in his rooms. Sighing, the Master stumbled over to his dresser and picked out clothing to wear. His eyes flickered over the room, settling on the scrap of bright fabric that was trailing out of his waste bin. Still bare-chested, he lifted the tattered shirt. It had cooled completely from her skin, but her scent still lingered. The Master resisted the urge to lift it to his face and inhale, however. Instead, he remembered how satisfying the sound of it ripping had been. Wadding the shirt up, he tossed it on the bed and finished dressing. He needed to find her, needed to know she was okay.
Strange, he'd never needed to know that the other party was okay before. He'd had sex many times, but what he'd done with Azula was much more…intimate. As he reflected, he realized that the word he was looking for was making love. He'd never made love before.
He'd never had such difficulty tying a tie before. His hands were shaking. What if she hadn't enjoyed it? What if she hated him? He didn't know what he would do if she hated him. The hairpiece he had stolen from her younger version sparkled on the dressed and he tucked it into his pocket.
He gave up on the tie and stepped over to his computer unit. A few quick keystrokes and he learned she wasn't in her quarters. In fact, she hadn't been in her quarters since yesterday morning. He rubbed his cheek and realized with an unhappy grunt that he needed to shave.
But he needed to find Azula first.
Despite what the computer had told him, he went to her quarters anyway. Standing outside her door, he could sense that she had been there, almost like he could feel the heat that was always boiling under her skin. There was also the scorch mark on the wall. He set his fingertips against the mark. Lightning, definitely. And there was only one source of lightning on his ship. He stared at the mark a moment, tucking his hands in his pockets. So, she had been here. Where was she now?
The scream of the alarm system snapped him out of his revere.
"Prisoner escaping, prisoner escaping." The cold metallic voice declared dispassionately.
The Master swore and took off at a run towards the Doctor's containment room. There had only been one prisoner on his ship.
If the Doctor was free, he'd have only one goal: the Tardis. The Master changed direction quickly, charging instead towards the bay where the Tardis was held. His heart was pounding in his chest. How the hell had the Doctor gotten free? Was Azula…? No, the Doctor would never hurt Azula, it wasn't his style.
Was it?
