Title: Circle Back
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: M
Length: 9022 words
Content notes: Graphic depictions of violence, casual dismemberment, explosions
Author notes: I was hoping to finish it before but since I'm out of town I got a bit behind... Thanks to Linorien, who looked through the first half of this and encouraged me to continue.
Summary: He ends up sometime in the 21st century with a new face and a corpse in tow. The circumstances, while decidedly different, remind him of another time he'd been stranded on Earth.

He ends up sometime in the 21st century with a new face and a corpse in tow. The circumstances, while decidedly different, remind him of another time he'd been stranded on Earth. Back then he'd had his TARDIS, incapacitated as she was due to the Doctor's meddling, but it was a source of comfort nonetheless. This time all he has to rely on is himself.

It's not too bad, though, because to the Master's immense satisfaction, he finds himself near a small hospital and the thing about hospitals is that they are essentially a glorified shopping centre for out of time geniuses.

They are also very convenient for temporarily hiding bodies, which is exactly what he does.

Next, he puts together his shopping list. What he needs to do is to establish the exact time and date, find some presentable clothes, dispose of the body and come up with a scheme complicated enough to draw the attention of the Doctor.

He leaves the body in the morgue for the time being and heads up towards the showers to wash off the remnants of his stay on Gallifrey.

He tries not to think about it. He doesn't want to think about it anyhow.

While he is within his first few hours of regeneration, he is nonetheless covered in blood and grime. His mind is still a bit foggy but he sincerely doubts he has the energy to pull off a proper takeover without looking somewhat dignified.

The showers prove to be empty and he manages to wash up without any interruptions. Truly, he's beginning to think that this time things might just work out in his favour.

He wraps a towel around himself and observes himself in the mirror. His new body bears a remarkable resemblance to some of his earlier regenerations, although somewhat more youthful. Dark hair prematurely greying at the temples, cool brown eyes and a neat beard that covers his entire jawline. Altogether not bad, especially if he plans on some of his favourite disguises such as a genius scientist, a businessman or, if he's truly desperate, a politician.

The search for clothes does not go so well. He cannot find a decent suit, but he does find a pair of dark grey trousers that fit him, a button up in a similar shade as well and some lace-up boots that are a size too small. A pair of leather gloves tucked away on a high shelf would almost make up for the disappointment but as the most presentable top layer is a jean jacket, he cannot help but feel as though his day is somewhat ruined. Not that he would expect anyone on 21st century Earth to have any fashion sense but is it really too much to ask for a respectable jacket or a coat?

He sighs and puts it on anyway. At this point, the ESA Cosmic Kiss pin stuck to the fabric is beginning to look like a feature, instead of a bug.

"I suppose I can always upgrade later," he says out loud and discovers to his horror that he has somehow acquired a Northern accent.

Still, it proves itself to be good enough when he puts it to use about half an hour later when he hypnotises the medical director in order to look through his files. There are quite a few discrepancies in the documentation and the Master is beginning to suspect it might be a good idea to accelerate his plans before he gets caught up in someone else's, so he heads back to the morgue.

The Master is just in the middle of sawing off Rassilon's head when he hears the Doctor's TARDIS materialise and looks up just in time for the Doctor to stumble out of the Police Box with a pair of humans behind. It's one hell of a coincidence but a welcome one.

They freeze in unison, the Doctor's gaze moving from the Master to the bone saw to Rassilon's body and back to the Master again.

"Ah," he notes in a decidedly philosophical tone, "I suppose this saves me the trouble of finding you."

The Doctor doesn't respond and the humans, a ginger girl in a miniskirt and a clearly flustered man in a godawful plaid shirt glance at each other.

"Oh, don't tell me," the Master says, gingerly setting down the bone saw, "you would prefer I simply torch the body."

The Doctor seems to recover from the shock and takes a step towards him. "Do you have to dismember him?"

"My dear Doctor," he says with a tight smile, "I have a millennia of resentment to work through. Surely you cannot fault me."

There's a pause where the Doctor wrinkles his nose in distaste but despite the horrified expressions of his companions, he crosses the room and steps right into the Master's personal space, a slow giddy smile forming on his face.

"You're alive," the Doctor exclaims, reaching out a palm to feel both of his heartbeats as though he really cannot help himself.

"As per usual." The Master raises an eyebrow. "And so are you. A new regeneration, Doctor?"

"Yes!" the Doctor says cheerfully as though he's just remembered and steps back to gesture at himself. He doesn't remove his hand from the Master's chest. "What do you think?"

"Hm," the Master muses and makes a show of observing him. He has to admit, the Doctor looks decently put together. A little foppish perhaps but that only serves to remind him of some of the Master's favourite incarnations. He's even managed to find an outfit without any embarrassing accessories like celery, question marks or an eyesore of a scarf that more hinders rather than aids him. The Master extends a hand to straighten the bow tie and offers a consolatory smile. "You've certainly had worse."

The Doctor gapes at him, a display of coquettish offence if he's ever seen one.

The Master decides then and there that while they are getting along so far, he has absolutely no interest in encouraging it.

"Now, don't pout," he says, drawing back his hand. "You've yet to introduce me to your friends."

"Oh, yes!" the Doctor says with a grin and swirls on his spot to gesture at his young companions. "These are the Ponds. Ponds, this is the Master, a brilliant mastermind, an excellent strategist and a very very dangerous man."

Ginger Girl blinks, seemingly decides to put the dismemberment aside and says, "hello, I'm Amy!"

"Rory," says Godawful Plaid and raises a hand in an awkward little wave.

"I'm flattered," the Master says to his old friend. He eyes the other two contemplatively. "Do you find them through magazine advertisements, Doctor?"

"What? No. There was a prisoner and spaceships and things," he rambles, snapping shut the TARDIS doors. The Master's eyes focus on his fingers. Now, that's an interesting development. The Doctor glances at him from the corner of his eye and hastily puts them away.

"I am not entirely disappointed I missed it. How long has it been for you?" the Master asks, and although it sounds like generic small talk, he is genuinely interested.

The Doctor shifts awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. "About two weeks."

"Two—" the Master stops himself and stares. "So this is how much my life is worth then. Two weeks."

"Technically it was five minutes," the Doctor says and clearly catching himself, winces. The girl coughs.

"Excuse me?"

Still cringing, the Doctor says with a hint of an apology, "The radiation, remember? I had to— well, you know."

"You wasted a regeneration on an old man," the Master says, then lets out a resigned sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Of course, you did, you idiot."

"So," the Doctor says looking around in an obvious ploy to find something to distract the Master from his line of questioning. "What are you up to?"

The girl coughs again. The Master raises an eyebrow and makes a wide sweeping gesture over the corpse.

"Right," says the Doctor and looks at his companions as if they could possibly save him from himself.

The Master decides to ease off at least for now. "Well, now that you're here, you may as well help me with the body."

"Fine," the Doctor says, pauses and then points an accusatory finger at him, "but we are not dismembering him!"

"Spoilsport," the Master says but he shrugs and goes to retrieve a body bag.

"Uh, Doctor," Rory says, "who is he?"

"The Master," the Doctor says and he can feel his eyes on the back of his head, "I just told you."

"No, him," he says and when the Master glances over his shoulder he's pointing at the corpse.

The Doctor opens his mouth. Closes it.

The Master returns with the bag and hands it to Rory who accepts it in shock. "Someone who had the great idea to try and destroy time itself and cross me in doing so. Now, Doctor, give me a hand with the legs."

The Doctor eyes the half sawed off head, the shoulders the Master is now holding and resigns himself to doing what he's told for once.

"Alright, but what are we going to do with him?" Amy asks, helping Rory untangle the body bag.

"Find a place to burn him. Can't leave Time Lord DNA lying around," the Doctor says, securing his hands on the feet. "That could come back to bite us. Maybe even literally."

"We are near the former Beacon Hill Research Establishment," the Master says, "there should be enough room out there."

The Doctor raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Don't look at me like that," the Master says, somewhat defensively, "it's not as though I handpicked the venue."

The Doctor smirks and manages not to comment which is a feat in and of itself. The girl, however—

"Why, what's so special about that?" she asks as they manoeuvre the body into the bag.

"Oh, we had a little trouble nearby with the Autons back when we were stranded here in the seventies."

"You were stranded," the Master says pointedly, "I was perfectly free to come and go up until you stole the dematerialisation circuit of my TARDIS."

The Doctor does a poor job of hiding his grin. "Yes, well, it was a lot more fun that way."

The Master shakes his head. "You were awfully bored, weren't you?"

"Says you." The Doctor watches him curiously as if there's something he doesn't quite understand but when the Master raises an expectant eyebrow, he shakes his head and clasps his hands together instead. "Right! Let's find something to move the body with. There must be a parking lot."

"Can't we use the TARDIS?" Amy asks, peering over her shoulder.

"Oh no," the Doctor says, even as he's smiling at him, "I'm not letting him anywhere near it."

"I'm hurt, Doctor," the Master says mostly for protocol. He has plenty of time to persuade the Doctor as to his foolishness later. For now, they manage to haul Rassilon's body to what seems to be an unattended car and after the Master's done hot-wiring the car all the while enduring the hushed conversations which he can clearly hear, they decide to split up.

"We're going to need something to accelerate the fire," the Doctor says.

"Leave that to me," the Master says, "just get to the Research Establishment and don't run off."

The Doctor pulls a face, and then, eyeing his companions warily says, "Rory, go with him."

"Why?" he asks, looking up from where he's closing the trunk.

"So that he doesn't run off," the Doctor says, sounding rather petulant.

The Master smirks. In all likelihood, the Doctor is just trying to minimise the inevitable questioning as it seems that Amy is about to explode with excitement rather than genuinely believing he's about to disappear.

"Oh, okay," Rory says rushes to follow the Master inside once more. "Not that there's anything I could do to stop him," he adds under his breath.

"No, indeed, Mr—" the Master pauses, holding open the door. "Sorry, what was your name again?"

"Rory," he says, frowning slightly. "Rory Williams."

The Master raises an eyebrow. "I could have sworn the Doctor said—"

Rory sighs and shrugs. "Yeah, he does that."

"Hm," the Master says, amused despite himself, "I suppose he never did learn to be civil." The hypocrisy of the statement in some of his own incarnations does not escape him but his present company is clearly unaware of his lowest moments and he sees no point in informing him.

By the time they've finished searching the first floor they've yet to come up with anything useful and the Master is starting to get a little irritated. His luck had been so good on arrival but now, unless they find something upstairs, he's going to have to improvise and he's still feeling decidedly foggy.

"Master," his new friend says thoughtfully as they ascend the stairs.

"Yes, Mr Williams?" the Master asks, glancing over his shoulder.

"How come we haven't stumbled across anyone yet?" he asks, looking around with a little frown on his face. "It's a hospital, isn't it? So where are all the people?"

The Master stops dead in his tracks. Now that he mentions it, he hasn't indeed seen anyone but the medical director but he has been so caught up with everything else, he hasn't had the time to realise.

"Ah," he says, lips pursed. "That is an astute observation."

"Do you think there's something going on here?"

"With considerable certainty, yes," the Master says as he resumes his ascent up the stairs. "But it is hardly our concern."

"Why not?" Rory asks and the Master is once more reminded of why he doesn't travel with companions. The Doctor's insistence on fixing every problem he comes across rather than taking advantage of it always has an irritating side effect on people he invites along. Or perhaps, it is the other way round.

"We are here to find petrol and matches, alternatively, to improvise a blowtorch or anything else in the broad category of pyrotechnics," the Master tells him as they enter the corridor.

"Alright," Rory says rather reasonably, although he follows it up with, "but usually whatever's going on makes it our concern."

"It's the Doctor," the Master says as he yanks open a door to what appears to be a rather large storeroom, "he loves to meddle."

"And you don't?" Rory asks, not bothering to keep the skepticism out of his voice.

"I usually am the concern," the Master tells him and halts as he turns round the corner. He stares in stunned silence at the sight in front of him.

"Oh my god," Rory stutters, stopping by his shoulder.

"I retract my previous statement," the Master says, bending down to pick up a single plastic daffodil that lies next to a neatly stacked pile of bodies. "It seems as though it is our concern after all."

"That's— that's dead people," Rory says in alarm, "that's a lot of dead people!"

"It is," the Master agrees. "Seems we might be in a bit of a hurry. Check their pockets — one of them might have a smoking habit."

"Oh, I do not want to do that," Rory says, sounding more devastated than scared but he does as he's told and kneels down next to the pile of bodies, nurses, doctors and patients alike.

The Master makes his way round the room and comes up with a gas balloon. It's not quite what he'd prefer but by the time he's found his way back to Rory, he's also found a handful of other things that could come in handy and stored them away for later use. Out of sight in case the Doctor objects and and they get into an argument at a critical moment where blowing everything sky-high would be a lot more sensible action to take.

"Oh," he says, looking down in surprise. "I believe that's the medical director."

Rory gets off the floor, holding out a lighter. "How do you know?"

The Master takes the lighter. "I had to hypnotise him earlier when I was searching his office."

"You—" Rory tries and throws up his hands. It almost covers the sound of approaching footsteps. "You know what? Hypnosis. Of course. I'm not even surprised at this point."

"That's advantageous," the Master notes and turns to face the door as it opens with a creak only to reveal a perfect replica of the medical director. "Now do get behind me unless you want to die, Mr Williams."

Predictably, it extends a hand just as the Master manages to turn on the gas balloon. The hand drops, revealing the pistol and the Master flicks the lighter once, twice, three times before he finally gets it to work and sets the dummy on fire. He turns, shoves Rory to the side just as the shot comes, only a few inches past his midsection.

They tumble to the floor in an undignified heap. The Master hisses as he hits his head against the metal shelving. The gas balloon rolls to the side, burning a small hole in the linoleum floor. The smell of melting plastic assaults his senses.

The Master rolls off of Rory who looks decidedly startled and leans against the shelving, tipping his head back. He can feel a trickle of warm blood running down his temple although he knows the wound is closing already. It does nothing to help with the dizziness, though.

"Get the fire extinguisher, please," he says somewhat breathlessly. "Can't have the entire place burn down while we're still inside."

"Right, okay," Rory says determinedly, clambering up from the floor and taking a wide step around the still burning dummy. "Are you alright?"

"Just fine, thank you," the Master says, although he doesn't make an effort to get up just yet. Instead, he looks on as Rory puts out the plastic linoleum meld fire.

"What do we do now?" Rory asks and then holds out a hand to help him up. The Master squints at it dubiously for a moment or two but then decides to accept his help.

Once up, he brushes off the worst of the dust and bends to pick up the gas balloon to turn it off. He is just about to respond when a phone rings. Rory scrambles to retrieve it, checking the screen before—

"Amy?" Rory asks, clearly worried.

"Rory, get me the Master, now," comes the Doctor's tinny voice.

"It's for you," Rory says, holding out his phone. The Master hands him the gas balloon and the lighter and takes the phone.

"Yes, Doctor?"

"There were some interesting signs so Amy and I went to look around and now we may have displaced the body," the Doctor says without a hint of shame.

"I told you to not run off!" the Master hisses.

"Yes, yes," the Doctor says impatiently, "and I did so anyway. Now hurry up and get here. Rory has a TARDIS key."

"So do I," the Master snaps and hangs up half-way through the indignant squeak from the other end of the line. He hands back the phone to a wide eyed Rory and tries to get his temper in control. It's really no use fuming at the Doctor when he's not even here to take the brunt of it.

"From what was said before, I'm assuming this is really really bad," Rory says cautiously.

"Yes, Mr Williams," the Master says, retrieving the gas balloon once more. "A lot of people would kill to experiment on our species and the results could be disastrous." He pauses, lips tugging into a grim smile. "Mostly for the rest of the universe but occasionally also for me."

"You said you have a key to the TARDIS," Rory says as they make their way down the hall and to the stairs. It's not a question but it's leading enough that the Master decides to take pity on him.

"I do, yes," he says, peering around the corner. "Stole it the last time I saw the Doctor."

"And he didn't notice?" Rory asks, disbelieving.

"He had other things to worry about," the Master admits. He pauses at the canteen door, considering it briefly. Something about it seems important but he can't put his finger on it.

"Master? What is it?" Rory asks but the Master shakes his head and gestures for him to keep going.

"I can't be sure," he says with a scowl, "I'm certain it will catch up with me sooner or later but for the time being my brain's still not working as it should."

"Because of the regeneration?" Rory asks where he stands by the doorway of the morgue, gripping the handle.

"Precisely," the Master tells him, distractedly glancing back at the canteen.

"It's gone!" Rory shouts from behind him and the Master blinks before rushing to catch up.

"What do you mean 'it's gone'?" he demands.

"It's just not here!" Rory says, looking between the Master and the empty space where the TARDIS had parked.

The Master lets out a string of curses in at least ten different languages and then holds out his hand. "Phone, Mr Williams."

Rory scrambles for it and hands it to the Master looking rather expectant.

The Master scowls at the call log and dials the first number. It picks up after two rings.

"Rory?"

"Miss Pond. Please tell the Doctor to get back here immediately." He pauses for a moment, decides that he is, in fact, petty enough to go there and adds, "tell him we may have displaced his TARDIS."

He hangs up before she can say anything in reply and turns to Rory instead who by the looks of it is most definitely judging him. "I believe, Mr Williams, it is time to take another look at the medical director's office."

"I hope there aren't more of those things there," Rory says, pocketing his phone once more.

"Autons," the Master says, scratching absently at his beard. "Yes, I would prefer that too."

"What are they, then?" Rory asks and the Master launches into a long monologue, wondering briefly how he hasn't ran out of patience yet. Still, by the time they've gathered anything interesting from the office and made it back downstairs they run smack into the Doctor and Amy who are just coming through the front entrance.

"Amy!" Rory exclaims at the same time she calls his name and then they're hugging and kissing as if they've been parted for decades. The Master's too busy judging them to realise the Doctor's hands around his waist are the only reason he's still upright. That particular realisation comes when the Doctor reaches up to touch his temple with a displeased frown on his face.

"You're bleeding."

The Master blinks and takes a step back, except the Doctor's hand stays on his waist. "The regeneration took care of it."

"Oh. Early days?" the Doctor asks, and eyes him even harder. "You do seem a little..." He wriggles his fingers in the Master's face as if that's an adequate explanation. Worse still, it is.

"I'm fine," the Master says, which, of course, because the universe hates him — presumably from attempting a takeover one too many times — is the exact moment when he sways on his feet. He thinks it might be the boots.

"No, you're not," the Doctor decides, sliding his arm around him. "Come on," he nods towards the canteen, "let's get you some tea while we look through what you've found."

Of course. The canteen. How embarrassing.

"Amy, lock the door," the Doctor says, tossing his sonic screwdriver in her direction. He's clearly noticed the need for it already, which just makes it annoying that the Master hadn't. They descend the few steps and then the Doctor deposits him on one of the chairs as if he's a ragdoll.

The Master glares at him. The Doctor, however, pauses with his fingertips resting on his shoulder. His eyes flick to the ESA pin and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards. The Master narrows his eyes.

"You're wearing a jean jacket," the Doctor observes, expression carefully blank.

"Well spotted."

"I like the colour," the Doctor decides.

"You would," the Master says dryly. "Tell me again, Doctor, why haven't you fixed your chameleon circuit in what — nine hundred years it's been stuck that way?"

The Doctor flushes and pretends not to hear him. "If it offends you so much, why are you wearing it?"

With a sigh, the Master reaches into his breast pocket and retrieves the yellow daffodil he'd picked up earlier. "Pockets, my dear."

The Doctor goes through a fascinating array of emotions before he settles on wrinkling his nose. "I thought it might be something like that. Hang on, let me get the tea."

"Plastic flowers?" Amy asks, leaning closer. "What's that about?"

"Careful, Miss Pond," the Master says, moving it out from under her nose. The last thing he needs is the Doctor to blame him for the unfortunate demise of one of his companions. "It could still be dangerous."

"What does it do, then?" she asks, settling in on a chair next to him. "Is it poisonous?"

"More like suffocating," the Master says and launches into yet another explanation of the Autons in the past few hours. Amy, quite like Rory, is a good listener and asks exactly the right questions at exactly the right time. For such a primitive race, the Master's almost starting to like them.

The conversation is paused briefly when the Doctor shoves a cup of tea under his nose.

"Well, that explains the disappearing TARDIS then," the Doctor says as he slides into the chair facing the Master.

The Master shoots him a dark look.

"And the body," the Doctor adds, eyes gleaming, which means he's riling him up on purpose.

Amy coughs from beside him. Rory, who is half-way to sitting down next to the Doctor, pauses just to give him a disbelieving look before he settles in and quirks a brow at Amy who just shrugs in return. He seems to do that a lot, which makes the Master conclude that Rory's the only one with a bit of sense in this situation.

The Doctor doesn't seem to notice. Instead he slides a plate across the table as well.

The Master pulls off his gloves and sets them down beside the plate so he can better inspect the sandwich.

"Pickled cucumber," he notes absently, remembering the times back in the day when they used to meet up at some tea shop or the other for a temporary truce and pleasant conversation. "Nostalgic."

"As is this," the Doctor says and picks up the daffodil, twirling it between his fingers.

"Someone must have had a riot of a time going through old UNIT files," the Master says with a little frown.

"Are you sure it wasn't you?" the Doctor asks, although the Master has a strange feeling he's being teased.

He rolls his eyes. "My dear Doctor, I just arrived. I'm still regenerating. If I'd had the time to scheme, I would have done so after burning the body."

"You always have the time to scheme," the Doctor says fondly, "but I see what you mean."

"Thank you," the Master says and tries the sandwich. He chews, blinks at it in surprise and takes another bite.

"Do you think they know?" the Doctor muses, resting his chin on his palm and eyeing the Master through his lashes.

"UNIT?" the Master asks with a raised eyebrow. At the Doctor's nod he says, "I sure hope not. Bunch of vexatious busybodies."

The Doctor offers a wry grin. "Me too."

"That hardly surprises me," the Master says and tries the tea. It's lovely.

Another cough from Amy and the Doctor starts from his not-so-subtle observation of the Master, deciding to hide behind the stolen documents from upstairs instead. It's a good thing too because there's only so long the Master can pretend not to notice before he starts looking like a complete imbecile himself.

"Oh, this is getting more interesting by the minute," the Doctor says when the Master's nearly finished with his tea. "Three patients admitted for work related injuries from Farrel Autoplastics. I presume they're dead then?"

"Upstairs, yes," the Master replies, frowning. "Farrel Autoplastics? Why does that sound so familiar?"

The Doctor looks up from the file to stare at him. The Master stares back.

The Doctor picks up the plastic daffodil again and points it at him, probably not realising just quite how threatening it is. "It's the same company."

"Good grief, they're still going?" the Master asks. "They were on the verge of bankruptcy even then. Frankly, I did them a favour by increasing their production."

"Must be," the Doctor says with a little frown.

"Hold on," Rory says, palms in the air, "this whole thing here happened the last time? Exactly the same?"

"Yes," the Doctor and the Master say in unison.

"And you did that?" Amy asks him.

"Yes," he says and turns to scowl at the Doctor who had spoken again. Determinedly avoiding eye contact, the Doctor, once more, pretends to be interested in the file.

"But now someone else is?" Rory clarifies.

The Master sighs. "I believe we already addressed the possibility of my involvement."

"Hold on," Amy says, gesturing wildly and the Master's a little disgusted at the gooeyness of those two mirroring one another. "The bomb. That guy we found at the control tower inside a lunch box? That really happened before too?"

"Inside what?" Rory asks faintly.

The Master sets down his cup so fast the last bit of his tea spills over all over his fingers. "They stole my TCE?"

"They stole my TARDIS."

"What do you think are our chances," the Master says in a clipped tone, "of finding both the Nestene Conciousness and whomever's been helping them at Farrel Autoplastics factory?"

"Pretty high, I'd say," the Doctor allows and then offers a wry smile. "Don't you feel like paying them a visit?"

The Master narrows his eyes, licks off the bit of tea on this fingers and retrieves his gloves to pull them on with vicious fervour. "Oh, believe me, Doctor, I do."

If there's another cough beside him, he decides he can deal with that later.

"So," the Doctor says in an awful little lead-in as they find themselves stuck in traffic with the Ponds in the backseat. "You seem to be doing better. Not a homicidal lunatic this time?"

It is such an inappropriate time to be having the Conversation but it's not as though the Master hadn't been expecting that line of questioning from the moment the Doctor smiled at him. He'd just hoped to postpone it indefinitely. He doesn't want to make promises he cannot keep.

"Don't tempt me," the Master says dryly.

"You said you wanted to find me," the Doctor says, glancing at him from the corner of his eye. "Were you looking to shoot me or offer me half the universe?"

And really, it's just like the Doctor to bring up their past disagreements when the Master's making an effort to be civil. As if the sting of rejection wasn't enough the first few times.

"Actually, I was hoping you'd give me a lift," the Master says in a disinterested tone just as the traffic eases up and the Doctor gets them moving again.

"To where?"

"Shada."

The Doctor turns to stare at him, managing a swerve which is highly dangerous for the humans on the backseat but the Master's not about to spell it out for him. It's not as though he had been particularly impressed with the Doctor's driving skills to begin with — be it a car or a TARDIS.

"And what's there?" the Doctor asks once he's cleared his throat and regained some control over this primitive transport.

After some consideration, the Master decides to be truthful. "My Type 45."

The silence is excruciating. The Doctor swallows.

"I had thought—"

"Left from here," the Master interrupts. He has a feeling he already knows what the Doctor had thought and he's not exactly interested in having it confirmed. Something about their last few meetings has balanced the scores. His stay on Gallifrey hadn't helped.

"How long has it been for you?" the Doctor asks quietly.

"Long enough."

"I'm sorry," the Doctor says.

The Master quirks a smile. "I know."

The rest of the drive is, thankfully, silent and by the time they make it to Farrel Autoplastics he has a vague hope he's disturbed the Doctor enough for him to never bring it up again.

The factory itself looks mostly abandoned but there is smoke coming from the chimneys so there must be some life inside. Whether it is human or Auton is a wholly different question altogether. Possibly both.

"I," the Master says, fixing his collar, "am going to take the front entrance."

"I'll come with you," the Doctor says, stepping up beside him.

The Master turns to look at him. "You don't exactly look the part."

"None of us do," the Doctor says with half a shrug. "We better move before they spot us."

"Do you have a plan?" the Master asks with a sigh.

"None whatsoever," the Doctor admits. "You know I like to improvise."

"Your flavour of improvisation is a recipe for disaster," he cannot help but comment.

"I fear it would be rather impolitic of me to comment on your schemes," the Doctor responds primly.

"Indeed."

The Doctor smiles at his tone, tugs on his sleeve and jogs up to the doors. The Master follows and by the sound of footsteps behind him, so do the Ponds.

If it seems for a minute there that they are going to be just fine. It is disappointing then, when an Auton appears, separating them. With an annoyed glare at the Doctor, a masterful 'I told you so' if there ever was one, they take off running in opposite directions.

It's only when he turns round the corner, hissing, "No TCE and he's got a screwdriver," that he realises he's not alone.

"What exactly is a TCE?" Amy asks and the Master does a double take. He eyes her carefully for a moment and decides there is nothing he can do about it except drop her off with the Doctor at the earliest moment.

"Tissue compression eliminator," he says and tries a door handle. She peers into the room from over his shoulder but there is nothing impressive inside unless he wants to fight off Autons with a cleaning mop.

"But what does it do?" she asks as the Master shuts the door once more and tries the next room.

"It shrinks down the target," he tells her, "usually killing them in the process."

"And that's something you use," she says. Interestingly, it's not a question.

"When the occasion calls for it, yes," the Master admits easily.

"So the Doctor was right about the homicidal lunatic bit?"

The Master stops his inspection of useless doors and shoots her a dark look.

"Sorry," she says but after a pause she adds, "Rory said you hypnotise people. Is that something all Time Lords can do?"

"Psychic abilities are an intrinsic biological aspect of our species."

"But it's your area of expertise?"

"You could say that," the Master says and turns to try another door. This one is locked, which means there might actually be something interesting behind it.

"What about the Doctor?" Amy asks, hovering again.

"It's something he tends to avoid," the Master says, trying to remember if he has anything that could unlock doors just so he doesn't have to go through the indignity of kicking it in.

"Like killing people," Amy points out.

The Master shoots her another annoyed look. His eyes quickly land on her hair instead, pinned away from her face.

"Sorry," she says again. Then: "Is that like a hobby of yours?"

The Master cannot believe this is a conversation he's actually having. "It's a means to an end," he says, plucking out the bobby pin to use on the lock, "but I am efficient at it."

She looks a little startled. Whether it is his response or thievery, the Master doesn't know but he stoops down to level with the door anyway.

"So you're not going to kill any of us?" she asks in a careful tone.

"You're quite safe, Miss Pond," he promises, starting on the lock.

"Even if I ask you about the Doctor?"

The Master sighs, irritated. "Is that what this is about?"

"Mostly," she admits, pushing strands of hair out of her face. "You're mad at him?"

"Less so than I was before."

"Why?"

"It hardly matters at this point," the Master hedges, pushing forward with the pin. It has been a while since he's had to pick a lock.

"Were you two married?"

The Master startles, nearly undoing all of his work. "What? No."

"But you were together at some point," she insists. Apparently she's found the perfect time to minimise the response.

"You know," the Master says, voice clipped, "I would appreciate it if we could focus on the matter at hand."

"That is a yes, then," Amy decides.

"Miss Grant—" the Master snaps just as the door clicks.

"Pond," Amy corrects him with an apologetic little smile even as she latches on to his error like a lifeline. "Who's Miss Grant?"

The Master scowls. "No one. You're being ridiculous."

"Oh, did she point it out too?"

The Master doesn't dignify that with a response.

"Another yes, then," Amy says thoughtfully and it doesn't sound like there's anything the Master can do to make her think otherwise. Instead, he gets up from the floor and yanks open the door only to have his own TCE pointed at his person.

The man holding it seems nervous, glancing between the large tank in the room and the newcomers. Clearly, he's been waiting by the door for a while now.

"Stop where you are!" he shouts at them, looking ready to weep in anger when they comply. "No. Inside the room!"

This man has had an entire five minutes to think about what he is going to say and do but so far it's so far below the Master's expectations of a well executed plan that he's getting a bit of second hand embarrassment. It gets worse as the man starts pacing — attention not on his hostages — and begins a shoddy monologue that has clearly been rehearsed.

"I am John Farrel the Third," he says, a hint of pride in his voice. Farrel hesitates, glancing at the tank where the Nestene Consciousness seems to be stored, which seemingly makes him even more nervous. "This factory has been in my family for generations. We've done good work."

The Master doesn't quite remember what they were producing before so he finds it rather difficult to agree. Some of it must show on his face because Farrel's expression darkens and his hand twitches dangerously.

"You two," Farrel continues and the Master can only presume he doesn't mean Amy, seeing as she looks as though she hadn't born yet at the time any of this went on. "You ruined our legacy! You, that Doctor of yours and UNIT — don't think I don't know about them. I've seen it all!"

"Charming," the Master says dryly and arches an eyebrow. "I gather you've had plenty of time to consider what you're going to do when you've finally confronted us."

"Oh, yes," Farrel says, humourless laughter in his voice, "I've had time, and what I think is that you, Master, are going to die. Alongside with your UNIT friends."

The Master's not entirely sure why he's being lumped together with UNIT but he supposes that at the very moment they might have somewhat aligned goals. He's even willing to entertain pretending to be a part of their little club as long as they don't actually show up and try to lock him up for crimes committed nine hundred years ago. It would be just like them to charge him under a law that came into act after he'd first tried to take over Earth.

"Naturally," the Master agrees and gestures towards the tank. "And how does the alien invasion come into play?"

Farrel jumps as though he's already managed to forget about the Consciousness. He casts a nervous look at it and shudders. "We all need allies, you know. Or in this case, servants. I had to lure you here somehow."

"A miscalculation then," the Master observes and decides that he is about nine hundred years older, considerably wiser and presumably less arrogant. At the very least, enough to admit that some of his former plans had been reckless, bordering on insane. "The Nestenes are ruthlessly aggressive and intelligent. What makes you think you aren't expendable?"

The wince on Farrel's face tells him he is correct in his assumption and that Farrel knows it too.

"There's nothing else le—"

The phone rings and Farrel cuts off what was bound to be a rather miserable statement, looking for the source. The Master's more than a little relieved that he isn't required to give the 'there's more to life than this' speech the Doctor's ever so fond of.

It's really not his style.

"Pick it up," Farrel demands. Amy glances at the Master who nods at her. "Put it on speaker."

"Hello?" Rory says and by the hum in the background, it seems as though they've found the Doctor's TARDIS. "We found the TARDIS. No body yet. Where are you?"

"What body?" Farrel asks, scowling at the Master.

"A little busy at the moment," Amy says, eyeing the TCE warily. Presumably it holds more weight now that she knows exactly how it works.

"Shut it, girl," Farrel snaps, jerking his hand really quite recklessly. "Now, listen carefully, Doctor. You have five minutes to get here. No funny business or your dear friends over here suffer a rather unpleasant death."

The Master sighs. It's just not a very elegant speech.

"You too," Farrel adds, "not quite as threatening without your little weapon, are you?"

"I find," the Master says with a quirk of a smile, "that threatening works best if one knows precisely what they're doing. For example, your settings are off."

"What?" Farrel asks, eyes flicking down at the TCE.

"Is he giving him tips?" comes the Doctors unbelieving voice. He's also flicking buttons at an impressive speed which means they might only have moments.

The familiar sound of the Doctor's TARDIS materialising behind them forces him into action.

"Inside, Miss Pond," the Master says, trusting her to comply and grins at Farrel as he slowly reaches into his breast pocket. It's one of his sharper and more deliberate smiles, utilised for moments of absolute victory.

Farrel fumbles with the TCE, eyes widening at the small frosted glass bottle between his gloved fingers.

"Have you found the right setting, Mr Farrel?" the Master asks pleasantly.

"You know, I have," Farrel hisses, eyes flicking between the bottle and the Master's face. "Why?"

"So we can both proceed with our plans," the Master replies. "You want revenge? Now's the time to shoot."

"Fine by me," says Farrel and presses down his thumb.

The Master throws the bottle with precision — right into the TCE beam.

Everything explodes.

It's always nice having his hypothesis proven correct.

The last thing the Master remembers is being thrown back by the blast, someone's arm around his shoulders and the TARDIS door closing with a snap.

Edging back into consciousness is a slow matter. He focuses on the familiar hum of the TARDIS until the voices around him start sounding familiar too.

He finds himself the subject of a conversation, realising slowly that he's lying on the floor with his head propped on the Doctor's thigh with his fingers stroking through his hair. The effort it takes to keep his thoughts private is more than a little exhausting but the Doctor's been fairly tactile the entire time, his intentions bleeding all over the place.

"He looks a little better now, doesn't he?" Rory asks hesitantly as though he's still not sure about the whole regeneration thing. The Master can only presume he hasn't had a front row seat. "What's up with the colours? I thought it was supposed to be gold."

"It was gold!" Amy protests from a little further away.

"Different for everyone," the Doctor says, "and every time, really. The Master's regenerations have always been completely unhinged and psych—"

"Okay, enough of that," Amy says, cutting him off. "Are you mad at him? Why are you mad at him? He just saved everyone."

"Of course, I'm mad at him," the Doctor snaps and his fingers catch on a strand of the Master's hair which sort of helps with the awake part but not particularly with the awkward conversation part. "He just blew up the entire building!"

"You're not really mad at that — I've seen you blow up things before," Amy says, sounding unconvinced. "Is this about the conversation we had before? The one where you got real weird and I had to tell you you were kind of embarrassing."

"What? No, shut up," the Doctor says, managing to sound flustered and petulant. "I didn't get weird about him."

"Who said it was about him?" Amy asks in a tone that suggests she's just got blackout on a Bingo card.

"No one," the Doctor says and the hand retreats from the Master's hair, presumably to point a threatening finger at her.

"Doctor, I think he's waking up," Rory says, once again, annoyingly perceptive.

The thigh under his head jolts and when the Master opens his eyes, the Doctor is hovering over him with an anxious little frown.

The Master clears his throat and struggles up into a sitting position a few feet away. It's all blue and orange and green and frankly—

"I see you've redecorated," he says, squinting around at the interior of the TARDIS. "It's quite elegant."

The Doctor brightens, seeming to forget all about the previous conversation. "Yes, I thought so too! Isn't that right, Amy?"

Amy, who's standing by the scanner, eyes them both with thorough skepticism. "Right."

The Master drags a gloved hand down his face and tries to force his brain to work. "What happened after—? Did you find the body?"

The Doctor blinks, then winces and exchanges a glance with Amy. "Sort of."

The Master stares at him.

"They took the wrong car back," Rory says from beside him. When the Master looks at him, he has his arms crossed but the expression on his face implies he doesn't know whether to laugh or despair.

"They all look the same!" the Doctor protests and then he's clambering up from the floor. "If it were Bessie—"

"You mean that canary yellow death trap of yours?" the Master asks, arching an eyebrow.

The Doctor glares at him. "You only say that because you got bested by my ingenious modifications."

The Master snorts and heaves himself off the floor with the aid of the console. "Remote control, you mean?"

"It worked!" the Doctor insists. "Delivered you right back to UNIT, didn't she? Speaking of—"

The Master groans, massaging at his temples. "Please tell me you didn't call UNIT."

"Someone needs to clean up the mess you've made," the Doctor points out with a shrug, "but don't worry, we'll be long gone by then. We've got a body to get rid of, remember?"

"Difficult to forget," the Master says rather pointedly.

There is a touch of pink spreading over the Doctor's cheeks as he picks up a petrol can sitting next to the chair. "Coming?"

"Of course," the Master says agreeably, because the sooner they get this over with, the sooner the Doctor can get him to his own TARDIS and he may never have to put up with the embarrassing circular conversations again.

'Might get a bit tedious after a while,' says a nagging little voice in his head and the Master tries to block it out without much success.

'Just like every other time you've tried to build something without the Doctor there to stop you,' the voice adds and the Master ignores that too and focuses on the task.

They find the body exactly where the Doctor had first left it and apparently, building a pyre is something they're both fairly familiar with which means they get it up fairly fast.

"Last time I was building one for you," the Doctor notes just as the Master flicks on the lighter.

He manages to drop it on the pyre before stopping to stare at the Doctor. "I'm hardly going to thank you for the funeral service."

"You could have stayed with me," the Doctor says, his eyes fixed on the flickering flames absorbing the body. "I missed you."

"You were lonely and desperate," the Master says bluntly.

"It's not the only reason I asked you."

"So you admit it," the Master points out though it's not exactly something he'd like to be right about.

"I was a little, I think," the Doctor says, glancing at him and back at the pyre. "For so long, I thought— well, you know what I thought. But then you were alive and all I could think about was that I was glad it was you."

The Master can't help but laugh at that. "If the other choice was Braxiatel, perhaps."

The Doctor wrinkles his nose and there's a sad little smile on his face. "I had to do it."

"I know," the Master says, turning to stare at the pyre, "I know better now than ever."

"But you won't stay," the Doctor says. Asks. Pleads?

"My dear Doctor," the Master says with a smile, "surely you must understand that I am tired. It's exhausting to be around you. Your never ending judgement is suffocating."

The Doctor swallows. "What's the plan then?"

The Master sighs and blinks up at the evening sky. It's already dark and he can see the stars, inviting.

"What I want," he says, carefully, "is to find my TARDIS, meddle in some local affairs and engage in low scale takeovers until I get bored and start over somewhere else."

The Doctor seems to consider it. "So you want to be... mildly evil?"

The Master can't help the hysterical strong of low chuckles at the face of that statement. When he finally manages to regain control, the Doctor is looking at him with fondness that is hard to fabricate. The Master arches an eyebrow.

"You look good," the Doctor acknowledges. "Reminds me of—" he cuts himself off, fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket.

The Master hums in agreement. "I always figured you were partial to that regeneration."

The Doctor grins. "We got along well back then. It was nice."

"I tried to kill you on multiple occasions," the Master points out.

"Yes, well," the Doctor flushes, "it was always fun, though. Felt like we were on the same team."

"And which team would that be?" the Master asks, eyebrows climbing upwards.

"Us against the world — Gallifrey, usually," the Doctor says, "but then also whatever you managed to conjure up that would always end up turning against you."

The Master knows he should be offended but it is an alarmingly accurate description of what had actually taken place back then. He heaves a rather histrionic sigh. "Don't know what it is about today."

"No?" the Doctor asks with a small smile, "I'm feeling very nostalgic."

"You don't say," the Master notes dryly, but the amusement is beginning to win out.

Clearly encouraged, the Doctor takes a step closer. His hand finds itself on the Master's chest again, fiddling with the edge of his jacket. He seems transfixed on the pin but after a moment it becomes clear he's just looking to buy himself some time to gather his courage.

"I really do like the jacket," the Doctor says and slides his hand upwards, where his fingers end up brushing against the Master's hair.

"I know," the Master says. "You've been flirting outrageously this entire time."

"I have not!" the Doctor protests, head snapping up so fast the Master thinks he can hear a crack.

The Master raises an eyebrow.

"Well, maybe a little," the Doctor amends with a playful little smile. "You don't mind, do you?"

"No, I don't believe I do," the Master admits because there is very little point in denying it now.

"Good," the Doctor says and leans down to close the gap between them.

It's a familiar kiss, one with a millennia full of hurt, vindictiveness and pure rage poured into it but it also feels like love, reconnection and contentment, which really ought to overshadow the former. The Doctor floods him with everything he's got up until he has very few objections. This time, the desperation doesn't feel like a last resort, rather it is an age long yearning that has been hidden behind a deadlock seal and has now finally broken free.

The Doctor hums into the kiss, seeming to remember something and pulls back to eye him warily from behind a mop of hair.

"Was that TATP before?" he asks and the Master cannot help but like the way he looks, kiss bitten, dishevelled and pliant in his arms. "At the factory?"

The corner of the Master's mouth twitches upwards. "Easy to make."

The Doctor blinks. "You were carrying that the entire time? Are you completely out of your mind?"

"Clearly, I must be," the Master replies, and if it's a little loaded, the Doctor doesn't seem to mind. Instead, he reaches out to tangle his fingers with the Master's and tug him towards the TARDIS.

"Unbelievable," he mutters, shaking his head, "Shada then? Or would you like to stop by somewhere on the way?"

"My dear Doctor," the Master says, "now that is a thought-provoking question."