Fic: Song of Songs

[captainpegas.livejournal.com]

Title:  Song of Songs
Characters: Eight/Ainley!Master, well, at least I tried.
Rating: PG-13. Maybe.
Summary: We all know that Doctor Who:The Movie has never happened. Or at least that's what I think. Hence, we know absolutely nothing of how the seventh Doctor regenerated into eighth and what happened next. My imagination being somewhat limited, I assume that the Doctor was shot accidentally, as in the movie, and then operated to death in a local hospital. After that the Master stole his cold body from the morgue and everything that came out of it.
Note: I'm afraid my beta-readerlucife to whom I never listen properly is right, and it actually is a bit too sloppy. And maybe the Master reading poetry to the Doctor is a bit out of character. Oh, and my English is dreadful. Sorry about that.

“Regenerate, just regenerate! You, stupid old clown, you happy-go-lucky careless idiot, how for Rassilon’s sake do you manage to get yourself into situations like this? Regenerate, you useless old prat, just regenerate, please! Regenerate, or I promise, I’ll bring you back to life to strangle you with my own hands! Well? What are you lying there for, stiff and cold, with your eyes closed? Are you doing it just to get on my nerves? You’ve succeeded, I’m annoyed out of my wits. Regenerate!”

 

Something was going wrong. The Doctor could feel his slightly delayed regeneration going all wrong. He actually might not be regenerating at all, by all he knew, not in a morgue, where it was so cold and far away from the TARDIS. He might be dead. But on the other hand, dead are not supposed to have headaches, are they?

 

"Please, you can't do this to me, please, Doctor, I'm begging you. You can't die! Not now, pease. Come on, it's just a stupid little bullet, it didn't even get into your hearts. Regenerate! Now! I’m the Master! You’ve got to obey me! You’ve got to… You’ve… Oh, please, please, Doctor, you are not doing this to me! Regenerate!"

 

He could feel every cell of his body change. He was regenerating. It hurt this time. And it was going wrong and he would probably end up being someone unpleasant, but it was still better than being killed dead by a gang of drug dealers or whoever they were. Just too stupid even for him. And then, being killed by humans? Didn't sound like a pleasant options, not after all those times.

Regeneration was over. The Doctor tried to move his new hand and open his new eyes, but he was too tired. Completely exhausted and definitely very ill. He fell into a deep sleep.

 

"Hush, Doctor, don't cry. Everything is fine, my dear, you'll be all right. Please, don't moan, you are breaking my hearts. You'll get better very soon, I promise. Nasty fever you are running, but it will be over. You'll be glad to see your new body. It's lovely. Stupid, isn't it, talking to someone as unconscious as you  are now? But after all, you've always enjoyed talking to yourself, I believe it's worse. By the way, you keep muttering something in your sleep. You' ve got a lovely voice, Doctor..."

 

The Doctor opened his eyes. His head felt somewhat funny, and he was very vague on the events of the last few days. There were some blurred bits and pieces of images, sensations, voices, scattered about, all indistinct, as if hidden in the fog. He stared at the ceiling for a couple of moments. It was a rather familiar ceiling. Not the one he was used to, but still... He turned his head to look around. There was a man by the bed he was laying on, a man he knew...

 

"Ah, Master. How appalling to see you."

"Welcome back. How are you feeling?"

"Not too bad, thank you. A bit amnesiac... Is it my voice? I like it."

"You've been luckier than you deserve."

"And what is this place? Oh, no! No, no, no, no! Oh, do tell me it's not my TARDIS, please! What have you done to my poor old girl?! Of all the interiors she is capable of, why this one?! And just tell me, what are all those candles for? No, really, you make my TARDIS look like a haunted castle, you light something like a thousand of candles... Why? Are you planning to sacrifice me to some god so that he gives you a new life cycle? I've got to warn you then, gods don't usually keep their side of the bargain. And besides, sacrifices don't work inside this ship. Well, not supposed to, anyway…"

"As talkative as ever, Doctor. But considering how lovely your voice is, I think I might take this useless prattle of yours for gratitude."

"And why would I be grateful? You are trespassing in my home, you know. While I am in bed, apparently naked and with no recollection of the last few days. Is there any good reason for it? Just don’t tell me I’ve been invited to someone’s birthday party and got drunk to regeneration there, that would be so very undignified."

"You'd better have. Would have been easier to nurse you back to health."

"You are nursing me back to health. Sounds exciting. Remind me, on how exactly many occasions have you tried to kill me?"

"Quite a few. That's why I'm not letting a couple of apes with medical education get all the fun."

"And now you'll take a big dark knife with ornate handle and drive it into my hearts after saying some pompous gibberish?"

"Kill you while you can’t even get out of your bed? That’s no fun, Doctor. I’ll bring you something to eat. By the way, do you drink your tea with milk or your milk with tea?"

"Is it a sense of humour? Not top-class, but still. Some day you might even become a tolerable being."

 

The Doctor was holding a cup of tea in his hands, examining it carefully.

"Hmph. It doesn't smell of cyanide, which is a relief, because poisoning with cyanide is a terrible cliché, nor does it of any other poison I know. But still, how can I be sure it's not poisoned?"

The Master took the cup out of his hand silently and made a sip himself.

"Has it not been for the six pieces of sugar you put into this cup yourself, it would have been quite paletable as well as being completely safe."

"Aha. But what if I drink this tea and the next thing I know, you are taking the antidote and turning my last moments into pure hell by making some preposterous farewell speech?"

"My dear Doctor, unlike some of your companions, I never lie to you about my intentions. I'm in a nasty habit of being honest with you. Even though you keep cheating me in return. Well, if you don't want to trust me, you are free to starve."

"All right, all right, Master, there's no need to be so touchy. But you must understand my suspicions. You save my life, you take care of me while I'm unconscious, you prompt me against the pillow comfortably, you make me breakfast and even try to spoon feed me because my hands are still shaky. You must be aware of the fact that you don't sound like the man to be doing all this. Not really."

"People change, Doctor."

"Speaking of which, may I ask you to give me a mirror?"

"No."

"Why ever not?"

"Because for all I know, you might start licking your own reflection, and I'm not sure I might survive it."

"Come on, Master, I've never been like that!"

"You really are amnesiac, Doctor, aren't you?"

"Well, yes. So, you tell me then, what do I look like?"

"Annoyingly aristocratic. Very righteous. I can already see you moralizing innocent people to insanity. Or catching butterflies in the jungle in 1890-s. By the way, who is Jamie?"

"Jamie?"

"You kept muttering this name in your sleep."

"My brave, my lovely Jamie... A friend of mine. I was really fond of him. Although his English was dreadful, no matter how hard I tried."

"You thought the language might just slip into his mouth from the tip of your tongue inside it?"

"My private life is none of your business, Master, not anymore."

"Thanks goodness, no. I would not even try to follow it, Doctor, it might be overwhelming even for my intellect. Too many names. There was emperor Rudolph, during that story with ailien drug dealers hiding their stuff within alchemists' laboratories, and Catherine the Geat, and madam Curie, oh, I shouldn't forget about Plato himself, dear old Socrates is also on the list, oh, and our Madam President Romana, and of course, Isaac Newton, and William Shakespeare, Billy you usually call him… And don't forget Oscar Wilde. You simply must pay him a visit while in this incarnation, you'll make a very handsome couple."

"As I've already told you, it's none of your business."

"Of course. Would you like something to read? Maybe a book by someone you haven't slept with yet?"

"Master, what's got into you? Why are you acting as if you are my jealous lover? You are not, not any longer. Remember? We split up, if you forgive the expression, a very long time ago. All we ever did since was fight. Every time we met you broke my hearts by becoming more and more corrupted. And don't tell me you wanted to have the world simply to fill in the empty space that was left in your soul when you lost me, I'm not buying that melodramatic crap. What do you want from me, anyway?"

"Nothing, Doctor. Unlike your companions, I don't need you to show me all the marvels of the Universe, I don't need your protection and I'm not trying to get into your bed. All I want is your getting well. And right now I would recommend you to stay silent. You do enough talking to damage your fragile health in your sleep, so do me a favor of keeping your mouth shut while awake, will you?"

The Master fell silent and pretended not to hear the Doctor's further apologies and accusations. The Doctor soon fell asleep, worn out by talking that was indeed too much for his current state of health.

 

“Being your slave, what should I do, but tend

Upon the hours and times of your desire?

I have no precious time at all to spend,

Nor services to do, till you require.

Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour

Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you

Nor think the bitterness of absence sour

When you have bid your servant once adieu;

Nor dare I question with my jealous thought

Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,

But, like a sad slave, stay and think of naught

Save, where you are how happy you make those.

So true a fool is love that in your will

Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill...

You know, when I was young, when we both were young, I tried writing poetry to you. I never dared show you, of course. I hypnotised Shakespeare into writing some of it as his own, not much, maybe a couple of sonnets. He never knew about it. And then, he reads it to you instead of me. Such a blow from a genius. Funny though, that even in the academy, when we were equals, I never dared to say how exactly much I love you, Doctor. Was too afraid to expose my greatest weakness. I always knew you could never belong to me, you are too good to be anyone’s. Everyone loves you. You love everyone, but no one in particular. Yes, I know, it all sounds very cheap, but what do I care, when you can't hear me?”

The Master fell silent, looking at the Doctor’s handsome face. He smiled as the thought of cutting a lock of Doctor’s hair as a keepsake crossed his mind. Such lovely curls he had this time. The Master caressed the Doctor’s cheek with the tips of his fingers gently, trying to remember the softness of his skin, every detail of his aristocratic features, the curve of his long neck, as if carved to be kissed.

“I’m impressed, Master, I really am.”

The Doctor was smiling innocently.

“You… You were awake! That’s eavesdropping, Doctor, that’s just not fair! You should not have heard any of it!”

“Oh, as if I didn’t know it all without you telling me! But poetry, from you, that’s just… Wow! I especially liked that bit when you started paraphrasing the Song of Songs Does it mean I'm just as handsome as the legend says about King Solomon? In reality the man was nothing of the kind, it was his powerful mind that drove everyone mad with desire, I remember when I met him...”

"Name dropper."

"But I did!"

"Did you want to become one of his 300 wives?"

"289, as a matter of fact, and no, I didn't. I  had to get Iris away from there."

"Iris Wildthyme?"

"Yes, her. Or do you think a man of such intelligence really did fall for some pretty face from a vineyard? Sulamif was no ordinary girl, it was Iris, in the days of her sparkling youth. She thought she might try her hand in politics. I had to kidnap her from the palace, making everyone believe she was dead. And that made her think I was in love with her. The meddling fool didn't even bother to hide her bus properly!"

"Doctor, shut it."

"And where are your so ever sinister impeccable manners?"

"Doctor, save those stories for the girls you'll start picking up the moment I leave, don't waste your breath telling them to me. I'm most unlikely to appreciate."

"And what would you appreciate?"

"Don't flirt with me, Doctor."

"Or you will what? Look, Master, I might not feel like reading poetry to you, not my style this time, but you are still the dearest friend I've ever had and I do love you. And you know that."

"No, I don't. And I am no friend of yours. But I do value our enmity rather highly, and I am not having it depreciated by you flirting with me."

"Oh, I see. Is it some new trend among you, villains, reading love poems to your nemesis? What a peculiar fashion. And would a kiss depreciate our so highly valued enmity as well?"

"What?!"

"Come on, Master, we are alone it my TARDIS, and by the way I've come to appreciate its new posh looks, so romantic and provoking. I've missed you, I've missed you so much, you won't believe it."

"That's why among all the names you whispered while being delirious, mine was not present?"

"Master, Master, Master, just listen to me. If I wasn't dreaming of you in my sleep, it doesn't mean anything! I'm sorry if I hurt you, no, no, no if, it's just I'm sorry I hurt you, I know, I did, and I'm truly, deeply sorry, but maybe it's time to forget our old grudges, just forget about them, because if we don't they'll keep mounting up until one day we find ourselves buried under them, worn out and embittered. Hatred leads to destruction, and of the one who hates in the first place."

"Yes, I've guessed that much. Sentimental, moralising pretty face blabbermouth. Not that many things change from life to life, do they?"

"As a matter of fact, they do. Right now I have very little idea of who I am. All I can be certain of is I will rush to save anything and anyone I see being in danger, actually sometimes I have a suspicion that I do it merely so as not to lose the grip on who I am. It's so annoying. I mean, personality keeps changing every time, how lame is that?"

"Take my condolences, Doctor."

"Yes, and we got carried away from the topic. Will you or will you not kiss me?"

"Stop being ridiculous!"

"That's no answer, Master. You like it when I call you the Master, don't you? Oh, stop being an enemy to yourself. I can see you want to kiss me, and more than just kiss, after all, do you think I really could not feel your fingertips exploring my face, my neck, my chest, could not feel your lips above my collarbone, on my forehead, on the corner of my lips, could not feel you holding my hand and placing gentle kisses into my palm? So chaste, so timid, but still full to the brim with sparkling emotion. Stop this pretence, Master. For your own sake, stop it. You can hit me if it might make it easier for you, you can keep telling me how much you will turn every moment of my existence into an endless torture, but I insist - just for once, give in to your desires."

"Give in to desires?! What have you been reading before your death this time?!"

"Well, right, yes, that was not the best thing to say, but you got my point, I believe. So, I ask you one last time, and I mean it, last, will you give me an honest kiss, like you did back in the old times?"

"No."

"All right then."

The next thing the Master knew, he was lying on his back on the bed and the Doctor, pressing him down with all his weight, was kissing him fully on the mouth, unbuttoning all there was to unbutton. For a couple if moments he tried to resist, but the Doctor's kiss was so much headier than the sweetest of wines, and the smell of honey coming from his skin was so much more intoxicating than the most exquisite of perfumes, that the Master gave up soon. He acted as if in a dream, the most delightful dream of all, only partially aware of his hands digging deep into the Doctor's auburn curls and the moving on to explore every inch of his body, of his lips trying to keep attached to the Doctor's for as long as possible, of his whole being as if trying to dissolve into the Doctor. Sometimes he would pull back, just to see the Doctor's divine beauty flourish to its peak as his seductively smiling lips became bright red and a bit swollen, and the roses on his cheeks bloomed a richer shade of pink and the brilliant blue of his eyes was sparkled with even more intensity, and kiss him again with built up passion.

Suddenly the Master pulled back abruptly.

“What’s the matter?” asked the Doctor, rather taken aback.

“Nothing, it’s just before we get back to where I had the imprudence to interrupt - you call me Turlough as you did three days ago in your sleep when I was wiping the sweat from your forehead, and you are sure to wake up in the Matrix."

"Understood, Master," smiled the Doctor trailing the Master’s beard with his knuckles and they carried on.

 

For seven days and seven nights lasted their infinite happiness. For seven days and seven nights they hardly ever broke their embrace. For seven days and seven nights they whispered the sweetest words of love to each other. And then the Master said he had to leave. The Doctor did not ask why, the Master would not have answered anyway. No matter how much grief they both were feeling, kissing a good buy, it had to be. And the only thing the Master asked the Doctor for was to remember these days. And so the Doctor swore to do.

 

Weeks or maybe month later, after another loss of memory, which seemed to happen to him nearly every day, the Doctor found himself telling a 19 years old blond girl that he loved her. He knew there was something wrong about it, that it was not what he should be saying, that it was not what he was feeling like, that it was not what he was saving the Universe at the cost of his own life for, but he could not remember what the truth was. And only later, in a completely different universe, he remembered. And smiled bitterly at the stupid little girl’s prattle of love.