A/N: Short little chapter, containing more banter and a soggy surprise!
"For the last time, NO!" said the Doctor, doing his best to storm down the TARDIS corridor. The Master stormed after him, and the Doctor tried to ignore how much better the Master was at storming. He, the Doctor, should be the best at storming. He was the Oncoming Storm. The Master was, what? The Oncoming Pain-In-The-Arse.
"Pleeeeease?" the Master said, rolling the word around in his mouth like a gobstopper, "Come on, please? I'm saying please here. Me. Doesn't that count for anything?"
"The fact that you've suddenly acquired some manners from somewhere is a bit remarkable, yes," said the Doctor, abruptly changing direction and storming down another corridor, which was lined on both sides with multicoloured doors, "But the answer's still no."
"I just want to see the famous waterholes of Siluria," said the Master in an innocent voice, matching his pace easily.
The Doctor snorted. "You just want to terrorise harmless Homo Reptilia while they're in the bath, which I refuse to allow."
"You're in an uncharacteristically bad mood,"
The Doctor made a noncommittal "Hmph!" and spun around again, approaching a bright purple door at random and storming inside.
Before he could observe anything about the room he had entered, the Doctor was drenched by a torrent of ice cold water. Gasping and spluttering, he stepped back into the doorway and craned his neck to see where it had come from. The room was about two metres square, with tiled walls stretched so far upwards that the ceiling was lost in shadow. A freezing waterfall was rushing down from above, cascading onto the floor and draining away down a circular hole in the centre of the room.
"Okay," the Doctor said, spinning on his heel and trying to casually exit the room again, "Maybe not."
"What-" the Master began, but then saw the Doctor's bedraggled and shellshocked appearance, and burst out laughing.
The Doctor huffed, folding his arms and trying to ignore the fact that every inch of his body was soaked and freezing. He shook himself like a dog, which only caused the Master to laugh harder.
"What," he started again, gasping, "Was in that room?"
"It was either a shower or a torture chamber," muttered the Doctor, reaching up and squeezing some excess water out of his hair, which had been flattened over his eyes, "Maybe both."
"You look like you've just been in a Silurian waterhole!" The Master was almost crying with mirth. With a jolt of surprise, the Doctor realised this was the first time he'd heard the Master laugh - properly laugh - for several months. True, it was at the Doctor's expense, but he still couldn't suppress a small smile.
"Alright, alright, lesson learnt. Don't open random doors and go in without checking what's inside first." the Doctor sighed. "Now, can we please go to a beach so I can get dry?"
The Master's laughter died as suddenly as his usual mood swings, and he gave the Doctor an odd look. "Why are you asking me?"
"Uh," said the Doctor, absentmindedly flapping his tie around to get some water out of it, "Why shouldn't I?"
"Well, you're..." the Master raised his eyebrows, "The boss around here, aren't you? I mean," he continued when the Doctor looked bewildered, "I'm allowed to drive the TARDIS, but haven't we pretty much established that anywhere you don't want to go, we don't go?"
"My reasons for not wanting to go to certain places are extremely valid," replied the Doctor, now trying to wring more water out of his jacket, "Considering the amount of innocent lives at stake, and your questionable sense of humour."
"So why not just decide yourself?"
"Listen," said the Doctor, abandoning his jacket and turning to face the Master, "I don't want to make you feel like a prisoner here, or like I'm forcing you to do anything."
The Master looked at him. "Well, I'm afraid you are."
The Doctor sighed and bowed his head. "I'm sorry."
"Oh good Lord President," the Master threw his hands up in the air and turned away as the Doctor's eyes started to look like chocolate dinner plates, "Don't go all dramatic puppy dog on me."
The Doctor caught him by the arm. "I'm serious, Master."
However, any hope that the other Time Lord would take him seriously was dashed when the Doctor fixed him with the Serious Eyebrow Face.
The Master gave him a disbelieving look. "Did you just use the Serious Eyebrow Face on me?"
"No," The Doctor's expression quickly changed into one of polite innocence.
"You did," said the Master in disgust, "I thought you only used it on your stupid little humans, because they think it's cute. Using it on me is just insulting."
"It's my normal face!"
"There is nothing at all normal about it, or your face, or in fact you," retorted the Master, turning and starting off down the corridor again, heading for the console room. "Now, getting back to the situation at hand, I have somewhere way better than a beach."
"Hey Master," said the Doctor casually, prodding at the Doctor-shaped bubble of seemingly insubstantial matter surrounding him, "are you sure these shields work?"
The Master, surrounded by his own nearly skintight forcefield, turned to look at him. "Uh, yeah."
"I mean, have you tested them?"
"No. Well, yes. On a dog."
The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "And what happened to it?"
"It burnt to a crisp, but I'm sure we'll be fine. Come on!"
Without waiting for an objection, the Master launched himself over the rim of the volcano - screaming in either fear or exhilaration, it was hard to tell - as a gigantic fountain of lava spewed over the opposite edge, sending flames high into the smoky black sky of Pyrovillia.
With a sigh, the Doctor pushed his still dripping wet hair out of his eyes and followed.
It was much more effective than going to the beach, he had to admit.
References: Siluria