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Time for teletubbies,
Time for teletubbies,
Time for teletubbies...
The first sign that not all was right* in the Teletubbyland was that the Master's pillow was gone. Well, not exactly gone, there was a pillow, but the pillow the Master got used to over the past few months was bony (though not as bony as he remembered) and was making very pleasant noises when tickled.
* From the Master's perspective, that is. Anyone else would have been more concerned with Teletubbies having blasted the sun-baby out of the sky with their stomach beams.
The Master opened one eye with a yawn and looked around. This revealed the second sign that not all was right in the Teletubbyland: this wasn't Teletubbyland at all. Which begged the question of where the showerhead singing was coming from.
Time for teletubbies,
Time for teletubbies,
Time for teletubbies...
The Master opened the other eye, stretched and looked around a bit more to locate the source of the song. It was coming from his stupidreddittrollingandcatbrowsingdevice (no, he refused to call it a "smartphone"). He picked it up, but instead of a cute cat in a party hat the screen was showing the word "Donna".
- "Donna". Who's "Donna"? - the Master asked the empty not-Teletubbyland.
- That would be the Earth woman in whose backyard you and the Doctor have been living for the past year or so - supplied a voice in his head that had the audacity to call itself the Master's "voice of reason" and sounded remarkably like his own, except from the time he was smoking Cuban cigars and the Doctor drove a very ugly car.
The Master, the current Master, groaned and glared at the screen, expecting the ringing to stop from the power of his stare alone. He made a mental note to punch the Doctor's face for giving his number to some human, as well as putting hers in the catbrowser's memory.
The device did not take the hint, and so, with another groan, the Master swiped the green phonehead.
- Yes? - he asked with the fake politeness that served him during his political career. At first, all he heard was wild howling, screams and car horns.
- Master? - Donna's voice finally sounded. The Master rolled his eyes.
- No, Tony Blair - he spat. He had no patience for human phonecall courtesies.
- Haha, at least he didn't get shot by his own wife - Donna spat back, causing the Master to open his mouth in shock. He couldn't help but admire the backyard-having Earth woman's sass, but only when it was directed at the Doctor.
There was another series of noises.
- Busy day at UNIT? - the Master gritted out with a forced smile.
- IF YOU CAN CALL A GAL SO HEARTBROKEN OVER HER WIFE'S DEATH THAT SHE OPEN THE GATE TO THE LAND OF THE DEAD AND RELEASED THE FREAKING CERBERUS IN ST. PAUL'S "BUSY", THEN YES, IT'S BUSY! - Donna shouted back, by the sound of it running.
The Master smiled more honestly now. You had to hand to humans, they had style when it came to bringing about their own global annihilation.
- Well, then, how may I help you on this fine, early hour - the Master wanted to make it clear how much he detested being woken up too early. Greenwhich time was 2pm.
- Listen. Could you go check on the Doctor? - Donna asked and that gave the Master a pause.
- And why should that be necessary? - it's not like the Master cared about the other Time Lord's wellbeing, but. He had a claim on causing the Doctor to be checked up on.
- I don't know, that's the thing! He called me a moment ago and goes "hey, Donna, would you perhaps be able to get home and give me a hand?" and I say "no, not really, a three-headed dog is on the loose in central London", so he goes "oh", and I ask what is it, and he just says "nothing, nothing, just could use a hand", so I ask him if he could perhaps elaborate - I used different wording, mind you - and he just goes "uh, not really, my phone battery is dying...", so I go, "can't your not-magic wand charge a freaking phone?", and he "uhm, I don't really have it on me..." and I guess at that point his battery really died, beacuse the call ended and I can't call him back, so you can see, he doesn't have the sonic and, by the sound of it, is in some small metallic box, so. Go check on him?
The Master tried to parse sense out of Donna's rambling tale, but gave up. The important part was, the Doctor managed to get himself in trouble in Chiswick (the TARDIS hasn't moved, that was certain), and the Master had a monopoly on being the Doctor's trouble.
- And can't your lawful married do the vet visit?
- Shaun's at his cooking class, and he always turns his phone off for that, and won't be home for another two hours...
The Master rolled his eyes. Right, of course. The stupiddevices were to be turned off right when they were needed.
- Rose?
- In Glasgow with my mom...
Another irritated growl.
- Oh, alright, I'll go see whatever it is that's trying to eat him and if it's willing to share - he drawled lazily, totally not to cover up how frantic his footsteps sounded on the TARDIS floor.
- Ok, good. Now, if you excuse me, I gotta go fetch a month's suppy of Pets Choice.
The was a strange itch at the back of the Master's head. He fought with it for a moment, but decided to let it have its way.
- Ms Noble?
- What?! - Donna shouted back, over a particularly loud scream and the sound of chewing.
- Don't you Earthlings have a story about a fella that was so sad over losing his wife that he travelled to the Underworld to get her back?
The silence - that is, ambient noise of screams and honking - was so long, the Master started to believe his hint was duly intercepted.
- OH MY FUCKING GOD, YOU AND THE DOCTOR ARE MARRIED?!!!!! - Donna yelled in shock.
- WHAT, NO, ABSOLUTELY NOT!!! - the Master shouted in equal shock. He cleared his throat to regain some control over himself. He would not contemplate why this thought came to the Earth woman right now. - I'm just trying to subtly nudge your brain to remember just how that guy got around the pooch!
- Oi, my brain doesn't need any nu... - Donna broke off, and perhaps this silence really did mean the message was not only received, but read. Thankfully, it did. - Oh. Hell, if this works, I'm finding my primary school lit teacher and sending him flowers.
After a moment, the honking, screaming and howling got a vocal part.
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, o-ohh
If you liked it then you should have put a ring on it
If you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it
Don't be mad once you see that he want it
The howling quieted to a soft growl and then pleased whimper.
- Fuck's sake, can't believe it. It worked! - Donna exclaimed into the phone.
- You're welcome - the Master stated with amicability that you could make fleather coats with.
- Yeah, yeah, right, the month's supply of Pets Choice is yours.
The Master froze in appalled disbelief. Again, Donna's sass sounded better when it was the Doctor on its butt end. On the other hand, the Master had to admit Pets Choice really wasn't that bad. Then he heard a sigh.
- Thanks, Master - Donna said, sounding much calmer than before. - Will you go check on the Doctor now?
- Through a bog, through bush, through brake, through brier - the Master gritted in return and hung up.
Well, at least the itch was scratched, he thought preparing to glare the TARDIS into cooperation. Who knew doing good will be so simple? No wonder the Doctor's always smug.
***
- Ooooh, Doooctoooor! - the Master crooned while sneaking around the empty house. Was the sneaking necessary? No, judging by the TARDIS intel that the Doctor has been out for no more than half an hour. But it was fun. - Come out, come out, wherever you aaaare!
No response. The Master sent a suspicious glance at a wardrobe and, after whistling innocently for a moment, slammed its doors open. It was very full of winter clothes and equally empty of the Doctor. The Master scowled and closed it. He had a strange feeling he would find his pillow in something wardrobe-like. After a moment he decided to make sure, reopened the furniture and stepped inside. You never knew where the Doctor would find some satyrs, Turkish delights and Santa Claus, probably. But no, the more he looked the more the Doctor wasn't inside.
- This is a PSA, the Master is about to set out on a diabolically genius plan and only the Doctor can stop him! - he shouted again, closing Temple-Nobles' not-Narnia. - The scheme commences is three... two... one-and-a-half... three quarters...
Still no answer. The Master cursed under his breath and told the same part of his brain that was itching earlier to shut up about how many mothballs would it take to make a Time Lord unconscious.
- Argh, don't make me sniff after you - the Master spoke loudly, as shouting didn't seem to work anyway. Needs must, however, so he took a long, deep whiff of the air. The stupid tea, old books and roses scent that clung onto the recycled body was there, alright. Though there was a strangely cold undertone, like frozen fruit. Choosing not to piece everything together just yet, the Master entered the kitchen and was greeted with the sight of last week's groceries scattered across the floor.
- And what, on the Tesco of Rassilon, is that? - he spoke in loud, but resigned voice. Not piecing everything together was becoming harder and harder.
- Master?! - and yes, there was the Doctor's voice, muffled by thick doors.
- Oh, don't tell me - the Master shoved his hands inside his red bathrobe's pockets and planting his feet in front of the fridge - another unbelievable myth befell you of all Time Lords and you underwent kitchenappliance-ation?
- Ha, ha, very funny - the Doctor scoffed back. - Just open the damn door, will you?
Musing that this mess may yet turn out better than expected, the Master did as asked. And blown his funny fuse, apparently, because he couldn't even start laughing at what he saw.
The Doctor was indeed inside the empty fridge, wearing only pyjamas and a blue bathrobe, folded messily between the skinny arse and fridge floor. His ridiculously long legs were bent around in a way that shouldn't be possible outside the TARDIS, with one bony knee pressed right under his chin and the other bearing marks of being pressed tight against the inside shelves. His one hand, holding a dead phone, was lifted in a failed attempt to push against the back of the fridge, while the other was tucked uncomfortably somewhere around the tailbone. Overall effect was somewhere between Pablo Picasso and snake mating ritual. The Master leaned casually against the frame near one uncomfortably curled foot.
- You know, there are beings older than Time that would pay this planet's worth in diamonds just to see you like this - he tilted his head thoughtfully.
- And here is the one and only Master, getting it for free! - the Doctor apparently hoped flattery will spare him Instagram fame with prospect of meme career. - So could you please get me out of here? - he grinned pathetically. The Master titled his head the other way.
- Nooo, I don't think I will - he drawled slowly, gaining a delightful groan in return. - That is, not until I know exactly how you got yourself into a "Ratatouille"-themed Mobius strip - he added with a smug smirk.
The Doctor groaned again and made a pathetic attempt at getting himself untangled. All he achieved was getting his knee closer to his nose, which couldn't be pleasant.
- Oh, alright - he finally wailed, knowing better than to experiment with the Master's stubbornness. - So I woke up maybe half an hour ago, with this strong itch for a banana, and you looked so peaceful sleeping that I didn't want to take you up, so I tiptoed out and into the kitchen, and I ran into Shaun who was finishing his lunch before going to the class, and so I say "hi", and he says "hi" too, and I open the fridge to get my banana, but an apple falls out and Shaun goes "damn, this thing really could use some tidying", and I turn to him "wait, fridges need to be cleaned?", so he laughs, not that I know why, and says "don't worry, Spaceman, I'll take care of it once I get home", and then he says "bye" and leaves, and I'm still standing right where you're standing now, and I think "blimey, so the Earth fridges don't have an automatic food dematerialization function? gotta install one, but hey, I could just clean it out myself now, Shaun will be so happy when he gets home!", so I take all this stuff out, and- look, Master, have you ever seen an empty fridge?! They're absolutely brilliant, they are, so neat, and empty and metallic, and did you know the light turns off right when you close the door?! Because I just couldn't believe and I think to myself "hey, maybe if I keep my eye just very close to the door while it's closing, I'll see the light turning off", but that didn't work! So I decide the only way to check this is to be inside the fridge when it's closed! And so-
- And so you got inside the fridge, closed the door and found out you can't get out - the Master broke the rambling when his felt his eyelid starting to twitch.
- But the light does turn off! - the Doctor shouted with enthusiasm that should be covering the embarassment, but was way too honest to believe that.
- Which still leaves you stuck inside the fridge - the Master reminded in a flat voice, the flatness covering hysterical undertones.
- Oh, yes, right, right. Yes, there's that. So. Now that I've told you the story... Get me out? - the Doctor asked with one of the innocently oblivious smiles that shouldn't look so natural on an entity older than whole civilizations.
The Master smacked his lips and lifted up his catbrowser.
- Aaaaah, c'mon! - the Doctor exclaimed as flashlight blinded him.
***
Shaun Temple entered his house, whistling happily. The cooking class was cancelled at a last notice, which apparently had something to do with the traffic jam near St. Paul's. Well, that just meant he had the rest of the day free. Not that Shaun didn't like the classes - he enrolled because he wanted to, after all - but unexpected free afternoon was always a nice thing. And anyway, he could have an individual class by preparing the dinner. He just had to remember to tweak the recipe for four to cover five... The only people at dinner would be him, Donna and the two aliens (which Shaun found were definitely less of a backyard nuissance than garden gnomes), but the Doctor's... well, whoever the Master was to the Doctor, had a tendency to eat for two, if not three. Mr Temple had to admit, there was something flattering to this.
But first, the fridge.
Still whistling happily, Shaun headed for the kitchen door. As he got close, however, he could hear what sounded like groans. Of two male-presenting adults. Shaun slowed to a halt and listened. Just in case it was a break-in, of course.
- Argh!
- Ooof!
- Fuck's sake, can't you push harder? - Shaun heard the Master's voice.
- I really can't - the Doctor whined. - I think we have to... wait, grab me like this, yes...
- Don't tell me what to do!
- OK, but auch!, no, don't twist like this, it hurts!
- Could have thought of it before getting yourself in this position!
Shaun found himself blinking, like, a lot.
- Wait, I got an idea - the Master stated as the grunting stopped. Where's butter?
- Argh, really? - the Doctor groaned and Shaun decided this is the right moment to turn around and tiptoe out, probably to buy some more butter. Much more butter.
- And what the fuck is a keychain blacklight doing here?!
- I wanted to see what the insides look like!
Shaun tiptoed faster.
***
- Ugh!
With one final shared grunt and a slicky plop, the Master extracted the Doctor out of the fridge. And then promptly slipped and landed on his arse with a lapful of very well buttered Time Lord. He should probably be more indignant than he was.
The Doctor was smiling down at him, still breathing heavily from exertion. He bent down, gave the Master a quick peck on the lips and nuzzled his head into the goatee. Apparently not caring that the butter was now both on his head and Master's facial hair.
- That was very kind of you - the Doctor smiled into the other's neck. The Master wrinkled his nose.
- Shut up - he drawled, but lifted his hand to muss the spiky (and oily) brown hair. - Just returning a favour.
- How so?
- Getting you out of the Underworld or something.
The Doctor smiled widely and the Master felt his facial muscles do the same.