Alphadog & Omegalomaniac

Welcome to the new déja vu.

"Doctor," he spits. When he spits the name, it's more of a vile curse word than a name at all. Sweat pours down from his forehead. Thick beads of it streak down his neck, dampening his hair and collar. The Master's presentation briefly reminds the Doctor or a better time--except for the grimace that weighs down his lips, the depth of insanity and hatred in his glare. That look sends shivers down the Doctor's spine--and not the good kind of shivers.
"And so we meet again." The Master's voice is heavy and tired, but laced with poison. It's aimed to kill and that's what scares the Doctor more than anything else.

"I never thought I'd see you again--" He runs his tongue over his too-dry lips and picks up blood. Ow. Lip must have cracked. "--M-master." It's not often he stutters and it's not often that he runs out of words.

"You never expect to see me again and yet I always come back." The Master smirks, showing yellowed teeth that would look more proper on a long-dead skeleton than they do on a man. "I thought I'd never lose you." He takes a pause for effect, staring the Doctor straight in the eyes. "But isn't it you who can't lose me?" The Master takes a step forward, nodding his head in time to the beats trapped inside of it. "Are you sick of me yet, Doctor?" When he senses that his friend-or-enemy won't answer, he takes another step forward. "Are you?"

"If I wasn't before, why would I be now?" He's afraid of the uncertainty in his own words. The Doctor attempts to take steps back, but the loose rocks under his feet nearly make him trip.

"Careful, now," the Master mocks, "don't trip." In a second, he's by the Doctor's side, catching his elbow. "Look at us. It's sickening."

The Doctor pulls away from him, gritting his teeth against the truth. "You've changed."

"And so have you." The Master eyes the Doctor. "Look at you. Look at you." He walks forward and takes a long, deep breath. "New companion, too, I'd assume. It always ends like that. Everytime I see you--you're with a new one of those Earth girls."

"You've had a few, yourself."

"Situational neccessities!" he exclaims. "But you, no, no--you thrive off of their praise..." He clicks his tongue. "...Doctor." A manical laugh and the Master takes to pacing. "You need the company. First it was me, and then your pretty little wife, your granddaugher--oh, yes, I remember her--and now you change these girls faster than you regenerate."

"I--" But he's cut off by the Master's rant.

"How do you get them to join you? How?" He's not just raging to the Doctor now, but also to the sky, the sea, the earth. "How do you keep them--once they know all the others who came before them? Do you tell them that they're not the first, or the last, but they're oh, so beautiful?"

The Master lets off one more scream of rage before crouching on the ground, wrapping his arms around his head. He's a shaking, shivering, disgusting ball of pain and misery. His headache is louder than ever and he wants to throw it all out. The Doctor stands still, silent, in front of him. Why won't the damned Time Lord talk?! Even after all of these centuries, the Doctor is still a creature that the Master can't quite unpuzzle--outside of his obvious love for the vermin called humanity.

"Let it rest, Master," the Doctor whispers, turning away from his old friend. "We repeat this argument in patterns. Ever since the Academy. Ever since you were--"

"Shut up," he growls. "Shut up. I'm not your precious Koschei anymore."

"You could be him." The Doctor is almost at his TARDIS. It feels too much like an illusion for it to be real. "Follow me and we could find him."

"Don't you understand?" The Master looks up, glaring fire at the Doctor. The feeling on his back makes him turn around. Good. "He is dead. Long, long dead. The drums killed him--you see? And you'll never have him back."

The Doctor shakes his head and returns to the Master's side, crouching next to him. "He could always come back."

"Give it up, Doctor."