Note: Thanks for being patient. Uni is still attempting to kill me with stress, so I don't know when the next chapter will be up, but as always, you guys have been amazing with the support. And - I know I say it every chapter - but reviews would be lovely. It's nice to hear from you lot.

I suppose I should come clean about this set of memories: there will be no sex *gasp*. Like I said in the note at the beginning: this is a story with sex, not about sex. I want to cover everything, and that includes the fighting. I only mention it because I know most of you are dirty beasts and are expecting it. There are some sexy bits in the next section though, so don't worry.

But let's face it: these two fighting is practically foreplay.

Blog post is up :)

Until next chapter,

Turkaholic

Chapter 39

There was no moon tonight.

Or if there was, no rays of it could penetrate the thick layer of cloud that smothered the sky. They hung still and silent over the scarred earth, no breath of wind in the air to move them, and yet there was movement: High above the surface, the now familiar flickers of light swept across the sky. Any eyes that were still awake to watch paid little attention to them, except when they came near; however something else stirred in the inky-blackness. A vast shadow drifted overhead, like a phantom; a terrifying void in the darkness.

There could be no doubt what it was, and those who saw it couldn't tear their eyes from the sight. The Master was passing over them, surveying his subjects from the Valiant. Those on the surface only hoped that they would avoid his attention: The word Japan still sent shudders down the spine of every human on the Earth.

High above, the little light the night provided filtered through the windows of the silent ship. The nearly-abandoned corridors were cast in an ethereal glow, the only noises those of the engines humming, and the sound of the air conditioning as it hissed and sighed in the empty space.

The Doctor could hear both. He'd grown used to the noises of the Valiant by now, but right now he was listening to the air conditioning, pumping its ever sterile air into the tiny room. All those months ago it had made him homesick; had reminded him too much of the Tardis, but now it had become a beacon: a reminder of what he was waiting for; what he was working for.

He sat on the floor, his back to the unmade bed, the ghoulish glow of the night outside falling through the small window and casting its dim light across his face. To all appearances he seemed to be sleeping: his eyes were shut, his breathing deep and slow, but he was in fact wide awake. Sleep was eluding him, as it so often did, and so he'd resigned himself to listening to the noises of the Valiant at night. He was imagining himself back in a newly-fixed Tardis. It was something to hold on to in the silence.

He could feel the psychic network, like the tiniest thread running across his mind. He was starting to feel it permanently now. His brain was beginning to feel so full of thoughts and connections that it was like having a constant headache, but at least it meant the plan was working. He only hoped that Martha – wherever she was right now – was safe, and doing what he'd asked her to. Everything depended on her.

"If I wanted to watch someone sleeping? I'd be back at the bar."

The Doctor looked into his own face, remembering the strange sense of isolation as if it had been yesterday. He had grown used to being alone over the years, but this had been something completely different, and it had taken a different kind of mental strength to cope with; one he'd never known he possessed until then. "People aren't always doing what they appear to be." He said quietly. "That's one lesson you never learned, Jack Harkness."

Jack examined the Doctor at his side for a moment before he answered. Something had changed, though he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Even though the Doctor still seemed deeply troubled, it was as though some of the weight had lifted from his shoulders. He couldn't say for certain why it was, but he could guess.

He said nothing about it, however; he merely brushed a hand through his hair and laughed. "Feels like I'm getting a crash-course, now."

The Doctor didn't answer, but a small smile lifted one side of his mouth momentarily. Apparently he approved of the reply.

The Doctor let his head lilt back against the bed, the soft rustle of bedclothes disturbing the near silence. He couldn't deny that he was tired, but he hadn't been an easy sleeper in a very long time. Even less so, these last seven months: he could sense the other Timelord from here; like a constant, distant echo in his ear. Even if he accepted that there was still hope, as long as the Master was in control he could still fall into a rage, or suddenly decide the Doctor was too much of a risk to be left alive. Hope – as the Doctor knew painfully well – was no guarantee.

Especially when it came to that man.

As if on cue, the Doctor's eyes snapped open. He stared up at the nearly-black ceiling and frowned. After a moment he pulled his head away from the bed, sitting upright. He shifted a knee towards him, folding his arms across it as he waited. A sigh rose up from his chest, though whether it was through relief or anxiety, even the Doctor couldn't tell.

He listened, though this time he was trying to hear past the air conditioning, waiting for something else. Inevitably he heard the approach of footsteps echoing from beyond the door. He glanced towards the noise just for a moment, then turned his gaze away, concentrating instead on the blank wall.

The door slid open and the Doctor felt a rush of cold air hit his face. He breathed it in gratefully, but didn't move.

The Master stood in the doorway. His eyes caught the dim, ghostly glow of the night sky beyond the tiny window. For a moment he frowned, worry or confusion in his face as he surveyed the empty, unmade bed. The Doctor moved his head slightly. The Master's eyes snapped towards the movement, and suddenly he smirked.

"…sleeping on the floor now, Doctor?" came that arrogant, mocking voice. The Doctor didn't reply. The Master snorted. "Just look at what you've become."

The Doctor let the insult lie. At least if the Master was mocking him it meant he was in a stable mood, and as much as he hated to admit it, the sound of a voice other than his own was a relief. He continued to gaze at the wall as he heard the other man's footsteps advance across the room.

The Master halted beside the bed, looking down into the illuminated face of the other Timelord carefully. After a moment he lowered himself, sitting on his haunches with his hands clasped in front of him. The Doctor didn't make eye contact, but his glare darkened at the wall. That reaction, however, seemed to be enough to satisfy the other man. He smiled darkly and stood back up, glancing towards the tiny window.

"…America." He said quietly. "You should take a look. I think I've improved it."

The Doctor didn't react. The Master's smile faltered just slightly at the silence and he turned away from the other Timelord, sliding onto the empty bed. He placed his hands on his stomach as he glared up at the ceiling. A finger arched and began tapping against his shirt silently.

The Doctor closed his eyes. He could feel the Master's presence behind him, and every instinct – both of danger and… anything else – told him that this was not a good position to be in, but he had no choice. He had long since learned not to retaliate. He could still remember that night five months ago, and how close the Master had come to destroying him. Whether that had been his intention or not didn't matter, the fact remained that it had happened, and the Doctor couldn't afford to get that close again. He had to wait; wait for Martha, and after that…

But that was getting ahead of himself. The present was what mattered now. The Master was here to taunt him, which meant he wasn't an immediate threat. He kept his eyes closed and listened to the other Timelord's breathing, allowing himself to appreciate the company just a little.

The Master almost seemed to be doing the same. He, too, had his eyes closed as if listening. He settled himself down on the bed, a dark smirk sliding across his face.

"You should see Mount Rushmore," he said suddenly, his voice soft and quivering with self-appreciation. "Some of my best work. Well…" the smirk drifted upwards into a grin. "I say my work-"

The Doctor opened his eyes as the Timelord behind him began to laugh; a harsh, jarring sound like glass breaking as he tilted his head back against the pillow. "You know…" he continued, still laughing, "you were absolutely right about these humans: they really can work…" the laughter faded, and a sneer took its place. His bared teeth caught the light from the window. "…when you eviscerate a few." He growled.

The Doctor felt his stomach twist, that ancient tangle of emotions rising at the Master's words: disgust, regret, and sadness pulled at him. He lowered his eyes to the floor, trying to push it away as best he could.

The Master opened his eyes. They began to flicker across the ceiling thoughtfully. "Ooh… another good word. Eviscerate." The word rolled off his tongue in an appreciative hiss. "…Eviscerate… Decimate… this language, Doctor…" He tilted his head towards the other Timelord. The Doctor felt the eyes burning into the back of his head. "So many excellent words."

The Doctor opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again before he could be tempted. Silence was his best defence right now, no matter how much he wanted some form of interaction. He swallowed instead, reminding himself that all he needed to do was wait.

The Master surveyed the back of the Doctor's head, and for a moment – in the dull glow of the deep night outside – some strange emotion flickered in his eyes. He frowned and sniffed dismissively, turning his gaze back towards the ceiling.

Minutes passed in silence, the Master splayed arrogantly on the Doctor's bed as he surveyed the ceiling; the Doctor with his eyes on the carpet, his arms crossed on his knee. Eventually the Master seemed to grow tired of the silence and grunted.

"Glad to see your conversational skills haven't dulled in your old age." He muttered childishly.

The Doctor heard the rustle of movement behind him and tensed, unsure what it meant. Even if it had been five months, he could still remember the cold feel of the screwdriver against his skin. All the other Timelord was doing however was looking at his watch. He sighed and sat up.

"After midnight. A glorious new day begins over my dominion…" he bit his lower lip, studying the air in front of him almost manically, "and every day brings us closer to launch day."

The taller Timelord kept his thoughts to himself. The Master had no idea that the words he'd just said had given the Doctor courage.

"Anyway," said the Master. He slid himself back towards the edge of the bed, "as… enthralling as your company is, I have preparations to make." He turned to the other Timelord with a humourless smile. "The universe isn't going to destroy itself."

The Master rose back to his feet slowly, his demeanour full of elated self-importance. He rolled his neck with a low grunt and took one last look at the motionless Doctor on the floor. He studied him for a moment, then snorted and made his way back towards the door.

The Doctor finally moved. He raised his eyes from the carpet and looked at the Master's back as the other Timelord walked away.

"Oh-"

The Doctor shifted his gaze back to the carpet as the Master turned on the spot.

"One more thing…" the Master raised his eyes to the ceiling with a twisted smirk. He stuck his tongue between his teeth in mock-thought, "now what was that old Earth saying? Oh yes…" his eyes darted downwards to the Doctor once more. An eyebrow twitched upwards.

"…'Merry Christmas'"

With that, the Master turned his back, walked towards the opening door and stepped through. His footsteps echoed away into nothingness, and soon the Doctor was alone once more, nothing but the familiar hiss of the air conditioning to keep him company.