I'm all out of ideas so here's the end I guess.
The Master sighs, watching the elevator on the screen move obscenely slowly. His arms are flung over the back of the dilapidated couch. Bill is asleep on the bed, turned away from him so he tilts his head up to an angle more suited for him.
It's been years since he met Bill now.
Being Razor has itched like an old wool jumper and pulled like a suit too tight.
Only a little longer now- only days.
Then he can finally take off his disguise and be the Master again- not this pathetic excuse for a human.
Far more quietly than Razor could have if he was real the Time Lord stands, shoulders squared and back straight, and looks down on the room around him- on the spaceship around. Hell- he looks down on the whole universe.
It would be very good to be the Master again.
He strides over to one of the cluttered trolleys and silently plucks a bottle from among the crap. Shows how well things can hide in plain sight.
The Master unscrews the cap and takes a swallow, feeling the burn of alcohol down his throat and laughing low in his chest.
God- it's been so long.
He relishes that burn, savouring the ache as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose.
He takes another swig, letting the liquid scorch the inside of his mouth before swallowing it down with a smile, teeth bared to nobody here to see it.
In a few more days he would dance toe to toe with his nemesis and his future- he can't wait!
He lets out another laugh, a hand sliding down his face as he turns around to return to the couch and fling his legs up on the small cleared space on the coffee table.
His grin drops when he sees the human on the bed in the corner of the room. The Master stares at her for a moment.
The human would have to go.
And yet part of him rebels at that.
Part of him actually likes Bill.
Ugh- he'd even started thinking of it as having a name and identity.
The Master scowls and almost throws himself back down into the protesting chair. He takes another drink from the bottle, larger this time and hisses at the burn, eyes closed but pointed at the ceiling.
It wasn't his fault that the Doctor had picked someone vaguely endearing. After ten years he was bound to have some form of attachment to the woman- thing. It is just a human.
It's not like having affection for things had stopped him killing them before.
The Master sneers at the emotion regardless, putting the bottle of his lips again.
It would hurt the Doctor and that would make it more than worth it.
He can imagine that expression right now- the same pain on his face as it had appeared when the human had been shot. That darkness in his eyes and the anger with which he'd turn to him- or maybe her.
Maybe he would blame her for this- his future. Perhaps he would glare at her in disgust for it. Perhaps he would tear her apart for it.
The Master would love to watch himself be torn down by the Doctor. She would fight back too probably, rip open the curtain to the flaws of his morality, make him weep at the sight. His future couldn't be anything other than beautiful flame, smouldering for moments in the pretense of tameness then blazing a path, sending up smoke and ashes and screams.
The Doctor turns his head again, looks at Bill and ignores that small doubt in the very back of his mind.
It won't turn out the way you think.
You're out of place.
It whispers, muffled shouts.
The Master drinks.
You don't really want this. Is his limit.
The great and mighty Time Lord leaves, striding away from his worries about his plan, so long in process and with so much invested in it.
He doesn't care about the human and his future self wouldn't care about the human and the Doctor would be torn apart between them.
This would happen because he is the Master.
He knows- he knows- he knows-
It's his future.
It's him.
There's no way that his future self actually has compassion, is there?
There's no way that the Doctor could forgive her?
There's no way that this will all fall to pieces?
The Master slumps against the wall and drinks.
He wouldn't regret killing Bill.
He wouldn't care.
Would he?