"Stop that, it's annoying."

The Master looked up and met Donna's dark look. She nodded towards his fingers that drummed a constant four-beat against the ship's wood. He hadn't even noticed doing it. And now that he knew it annoyed the human he only gave her a mocking grin and drummed even louder against the railing.

Donna's brows drew so close that the Master wondered if they would make a small 'clonk' sound when hitting together. The thought made him giggle, much to her annoyance.

"Why do I even bother with you!" She threw her hands up in exasperation and let them fall again with a grunt.

"Because you're an awful do-gooder like all of the Doctor's tagalongs." The Master stifled another giggle. "You think that he, or maybe even you, can make me better. That's what they all think."

"Being a little less of a prick really wouldn't do you harm," scolded Donna. "Maybe Lucy wouldn't have chosen home instead of you then."

Ouch! That woman could throw a punch. And it would have hurt, had it been the truth. He wouldn't tell her that the girl had chosen to stay with him.

And that it had been himself who had destroyed the opportunity on a stupid whim.

Luckily the TARDIS landed, right in time to keep him from doing something awful to the human, just to shut her up. The Doctor stepped out, nodding satisfied when looking at the time machine. Over the years his driving skills had become a little better, the Master had to admit. They were still far from being decent, however.

Without another word he shoved past the other Time Lord, nudging him with a shoulder on the way. He heard the red head spitting words again, but didn't care. He just wanted to get lost in the library and fetch some earbuds to drown out the drumming with music. If he turned the volume loud enough the incessant beating of four wouldn't reach his consciousness.

For a while.

Because, right now, they did their best to slither into the forefront of every thought that dared to appear inside his mind. Like an inferno they rose to new heights, burning down every strand of him, one by one. Sometimes it just was like this. Then they would overwhelm him, force him to his metaphorical knees for hours.

The moment the music started playing, the Master felt relief wash over him. One ear bud, then the next, and a blanket of notes and harmonies was thrown over the beating of four. It never vanished, though. If he listened close enough, the drums were still audible, no matter how loud his environment was.

So many rows in this vast library. One thing the Doctor had done right, as he had to admit; collecting all those volumes of stories and knowledge from all around the universe. The Master closed his eyes and let the music run through his veins. It was a strong beat, something the people of esoloparia used to dance to when their planet had still been young. It was like a heartbeat of its own, guiding his fingertips as they ran over the spine of the books he passed by.

There. This one. The beat sped up and the texture his fingers touched felt warm, soothing. The Master drew the book out with care, admiring the silver letters on its cover. One of the works from a woman called Agatha Christie, a favourite of his, although from earth. It would be a good distraction.

.

A subtle shadow on the beige pages captured the Master's attention. Ignoring it wouldn't be an option; he was aware of that. And still, he wished there would have been a little more time, a few more melodies, another page.

With a barely concealed sigh the Master lifted his head and removed the earplugs. Slow. First one, drawing out the moment, then the other, dreading the overwhelming pounding of the drums already. And there they were - one, two, three, four - one, two, three, four.

He took a breath - it was bearable - and looked up. His finger stayed between the pages when he closed the book, a vague hope that would be utterly in vain, of course.

"What do you want? I'm busy."

Oh how he wanted to slap that smug grin out of the Doctor's… No, wait, that expression was neither smug nor a grin. It was… uncertain, shy almost.

"That's one for the books," mocked the Master and finally laid aside the one he was holding. "The Doctor, speechless before me." He shuddered dramatically, grinning. "I need to burn that image into my head."

Actually, he really wasn't sure whether or not this was the first time. And if not, the last instance of this happening must have been a long time ago. A very long time.

The Doctor snorted and a twinkle returned to his eyes. "I know what to say. I'm just not sure which how is appropriate."

Appropriate. The Master dipped his head to the side, considering the taste of this word. It was about something important then. Important enough to tear him out of his drumless bliss. Ironic, considering the man before him didn't even believe in their existence.

"Oh right." The Doctor pulled up his sleeve, revealing the Vortex Manipulator. The Master's eyes curiously followed every movement now, already preparing to just knock him out to get the thing. But the Doctor loosened the strap and held out the device to him, his expression guarded. "I fixed the melted wire, but I'm afraid it won't be any good for long without some extra components. But… I guess you knew that before."

The Master reached for the Manipulator, his hand taking a moment longer than necessary to grab it. Every second, every movement was an opportunity for the Doctor to take it back and let the thing vanish with a derisive grin.

It never happened. The Master closed his hand around the strap and drew it closer, blinking at it as if he couldn't quite believe what he saw… and experienced. Could this be another sort of trap? Had the Doctor put a tracker inside?

"I didn't touch it." As if he had read the thought. "Aside from the little fix." He sighed and deflated like a tired balloon.

The Master nodded to the free spot on the sofa next to him. The Vortex Manipulator landed on the face of whatever old woman Miss Christie had imagined to be the protagonist of her book. Both items weren't that interesting at that moment. He could take a look later to find out if really nothing was altered. His focus was now on the man he thought he knew so well and yet managed to break his expectations time and time again.

The Doctor sat down with folded hands that he watched intensely. "I… wanted to talk."

"You talk all the bloody time."

The other one shook his head. A grim smile graced his lips. "Usually I'm more of a runner."

"Mhm… I noticed."

That was it. The amount of words he had found seemed to be exhausted. Instead, the Doctor kneaded his hands.

How annoying.

"Spill it already," groaned the Master. "What's it this time? 'Here, have your means to fuck off, but I'd rather you stay my prisoner, because I can't bare to be responsible for whatever you're going to do out there?'" He huffed. "Tell you what? You aren't. My decisions are my own, so is whatever I decide to do."

The Doctor's head snapped up. "That… wasn't even on my mind, no. I said I wasn't going to stop you. And I won't. I just wanted to…"

There they were. The conditions.

"Actually… just wanted to apologise. Shouldn't have gotten so drunk last night. It just uh… happened."

Well, alright. That was not what the Master had expected. So he shrugged. "You're an adult. You've been officially given the title of Time Lord. That's authority enough to do with yourself whatever the heck you want. At least if it doesn't kill you. Because then you really get a problem. With me." He ended the sentence with a sweet grin that he knew was verging on predatory.

"Y… yeaaaaah. I knooow." The Doctor grunted and buried his face in his hands, making his next words a little hard to hear. "But I said so many stupid things. I was out of control. I shouldn't be like that."

Oh, so there was the issue. The Master nodded to himself. This wasn't surprising, really. He had actually wondered how long it would take the Doctor to steer backwards and deny everything that had happened. Or, well, blame it on a slightly altered state of consciousness that, frankly, doesn't affect Time Lords that much anyways.

No, he wasn't surprised. It still stung.

"So, just forget about it?" the Master offered, trying to keep his voice level. He would not give him ammunition. The Doctor looked up and regarded him with a blank stare. "You know what? I might even play along and let it slip and refrain from using it against you next time we fight."

"You could really just… forget?"

The Master laughed. "That makes it easier." Oh, this was hilarious. And cruel. Toss him one crumb and then sweep it away, demand to forget it had ever existed. However, cruelty was something he understood.

"Stop laughing at me," whined the Doctor.

But he couldn't. He giggled to himself, trying to hold his sanity together. The drums were loud again. They did not like this. Not one bit. The Doctor leaned closer, probably to shut him up. But the Master didn't care, he would not be silenced, even when it meant… to have lips pressed against his own.

The laugh died in his throat. His eyes opened to meet a freckled face. One with a noticeable red tint to it. His lips were warm, careful, yet firm. It would be so easy to just respond. Everything inside of him screamed for it. The Master raised his hands… and pushed the Doctor away. "That… I'd call sending mixed signals. What the…?"

It should have been impossible, but the Doctor took on an even deeper shade of red. "I never said I want you to forget." He glanced away, but didn't retreat, his upper body still lingering above the Master, his head still impossibly close. "It was… when I saw you two so comfy together… And you wanted to leave… and…"

"So, you're not going to… take it back?" Fuck that light crack in his voice!

Of course the Doctor had heard it too. Smiling, he shook his head. And that was enough. The Master didn't need and didn't want to hear another word. He grabbed the Doctor's stupid tie and dragged him towards him again, resuming what he had interrupted. With the difference that he was now not only responding but also taking the upper hand. There came a surprised, yet satisfied and muffled hum. The Doctor didn't fight it, quite the opposite. He kept up quite right and even was so bold to use his tongue. Damn thing! The Master groaned into his open mouth, dragging the Doctor closer, but then decided differently and instead pushed him backwards, following without ever breaking or even slowing the kiss.

He only did when the Doctor laid on his back, below the Master, helpless and trapped. Just as he had imagined oh so many - too many - times already. But in those daydreams there had been no snogging. There had been… His hands around that way too thin neck, squeezing, waiting for a plea to stumble from blue-turning lips. The drums approved, getting louder and more intense. Take it, take it, take it, take it. Another one on the counter, another soul he would never feel again…

The Master shot backwards, panting. It took him every ounce of willpower to fight down the urge to make his vision true. The pounding in his head demanded it, his heartbeat underlined the thought, drumming just as loud.

"Hey." Gentle hands wrapped around his own that were clawed into his hair. "What's wrong? Did I do-"

"No-ooh," the Master groaned. Not again. He could not take a life again. Not one that mattered so much. How many losses did it take for him to finally stop? "Go. Just go until they're quiet again."

The Doctor let his hand sink, taking its warmth away too. But what did it matter? He wouldn't believe him anyway. There was no use. He just wanted to put those ear plugs back in and drown the drums in blood and chaos.

"No! No, I don't." He shook his head, pressing both hands over his ears as if that would stop anything.

"Master."

"GO!" He groaned. "I will hurt you otherwise."

And then the Master wasn't sure anymore if he had truly gone insane on a whim. The Doctor spoke again, but his words didn't want to make sense, didn't seem to reach his brain in the proper order. Those were just scrambled letters, nonsense without any meaning. Too quiet in the deafening rhythm. But no, no, it wasn't like that. He heard it perfectly well. It was simply impossible to accept.

"Let me hear them."