Sometimes I wonder if Jon Pertwee, Roger Delgado, and Anthony Ainley are watching me write this stuff about their characters from the afterlife and thinking, "...you pervert." Well, they're dead now, so their opinions don't matter anyway. (Okay, I'm kidding.)

Title: "Intoxication" (Remix)
Starring: Five/Ainley!Master
Summary: After the events of The Five Doctors, the Doctor feels incredibly guilty and decides to drown his worries with a pint or two...or eighteen.

The Doctor threw back another shot of whiskey. He'd winced at the sharp taste of the first several drinks, but by now, the burn of the booze barely bothered him.

His mind was in a fog. Which the Doctor thought to himself was good, considering that he'd come in here to forget something. What was it? Oh, yes, the Master. The Doctor wanted to smack himself for drudging that up. It had slipped his tipsy mind. Until now, of course! He sighed and called for another shot.

"I rather think you've had enough," said the patron sitting at the bar beside him.

"Hmph," grumbled the Doctor, downing another shot. "Umma Time Lerd," he slurred. "I could schober up like that!" It took him several attempts to correctly snap his fingers.

"See I so," observed the patron. "Why haven't you then, Lord-"

"Doctor!" he exclaimed, drunkenly shaking the other man's hand. "Um tha Doctuuur!"

"Ah. Well then, Doctor. Why have you decided to drown your sorrows in a quart of Jack Daniels?"

"A quert?" said the Doctor, looking confused. He scratched as his normally neat blonde hair. "Suuuuurely I huven't drunk a quert of this shi-stuff." He burped.

"Nearly two," corrected the man, ignoring the Doctor's almost swear and belch.

The Doctor blinked, one blue eye, then, the other. He ripped the celery off of his lapel and bit into it. "You wan know why um drunk?" he crunched, pointing the stalk at his new found friend like a fencing foil. Oh, don't bring up fencing! Too many bad memories. Well actually, they were splendid memories, but too painful. "Iss because um a terrible, no good, dirty rotten son of a Racnoss!"

"Oh really?"

"Shif'less, worf'less pesa Bantha fodder!" nodded the Doctor, belching again. "I leff my bess fren to DIIIIIE and now hill neh fugimme!"

"My dear Doctor, please pull yourself together. Your slurring will be illegible to the readers."

"Don call me tha!" sobbed the Doctor, slamming his head down on the sticky counter of the bar. "Oln he gess ta call me tha!"

"Please calm down."

"Bu hah kin I?" wailed the Doctor. "Why kint we jess be frenz agin?!" Then, he raised his head and starting singing, "Why can't we be friends…why can't we be friends-"

"Doctor, please. You're terrible enough at karaoke sober, let alone completely intoxicated-no, no more!" the man exclaimed, slapping the Doctor's hand away from another shot glass. "Come now. You'll poison yourself into your next regeneration at this rate."

The Doctor sniffled as the man took his arm and gently lead him out of the bar. "Wheh-were we gon?" he mumbled, and hiccupped.

"To my home. You need a good strong cup of coffee."

"I don like coffee," the Doctor pouted.

"I'll put extra sugar in it."

The Doctor shut up.

The man led him to, interestingly enough, a Port-A-Potty. The Doctor gave a hiccupy giggle. "I don think it'll fit bovovus."

"You'll find it's bigger on the inside. Come along, Doctor."

The Doctor blinked as the man led him inside. The interior certainly was bigger. "Iss like a TARDIS!" he gasped.

The man smiled. Oh, he had a nice smile. Like someone else he knew. But who? That ginger kid with the school uniform and the stripy tie? No. Not Turlap, or whatever his name was.

The Doctor dazedly looked around. The room, with its black walls, swam before him. He stumbled and fell backward a bit, into his new friend, who caught him around the middle. "Careful, dear," said the man.

The Doctor's heartsrate picked a little and he blushed. Oh, who was this man? And who did he remind him of so much?

The man helped him regain his balance. "Come on, Doctor. The kitchen is this way."

The man gave him a warm mug of dark brown liquid. It smelled good, at least. "You'll like it, Doctor," said the man. "Plenty of sugar, as promised."

The Doctor took a sip and slightly recoiled at the sharp taste, but drank it anyway. This man seemed to know his tastes exactly. Incredible! "Iss not bad," he mumbled.

"I'm glad you like it," said the man. "It should help your metabolism kick start so that you can regain your coherence."

"Oh, but I don wanna re-regain my coherence!" protested the Doctor, feeling the drunken fog in his mind beginning to clear up. "I just want to be drunk and forget all about…Master?" He blinked up at the man, his brain now clear.

"Hello, my dear Doctor," said the Master.

The Doctor put down the mug. "Oh, Master, I'm so sorry! I should have believed you! About the Cybermen, about the High Council, everything!"

"Distrust is part of your nature, Doctor," said the Master. "At least when it comes to me."

"No, don't try to make me feel better, I've been perfectly awful!" He took the Master's hand, which was unusually ungloved, in both of his. "You've no reason to pardon me after I've been so beastly toward you. But would you forgive me?" His eyebrows scrunched over those cornflower blue eyes of his. "Please, Master?"

The Master slowly smiled. "Oh, my dear Doctor. I'm afraid you're terribly forgivable. And I'm an utter fool when it comes to you."

Then he leaned in and kissed the other man.