Chapter Text
After a few minutes of discordant groaning and wheezing capped with a deep and low thump, the TARDIS comes to a stop just as the Master enters the console room. He had felt the slight change in atmosphere and the gentle vibrations of the space-time machine as it took flight moments ago, and since he was feeling a bit bored anyway, he had decided to go check where they had landed.
It's not like the Doctor to initiate flight without consulting him first. At least not recently. Lately, the Doctor has been trying to include him in the decision-making more often, even if he ignores most of the Master's suggestions. In fairness, his suggestions are often ludicrous, but watching the Doctor's face when he suggests going to the planet that turns your body inside out as soon as you set foot in it would never get old.
Wherever they have landed now has the Doctor in a good mood, because he's running around the console as if he's light as a feather. A huge grin blossoms on his face as soon as he sees the Master.
“Just in time! I was about to go look for you,” the Doctor beams excitedly. With a jolt, he dashes across the console room, rising a breeze as he runs past the Master and deeper into the TARDIS. “Wait here!”
The Master sighs, already feeling tired of the Doctor's enthusiasm. He walks towards the TARDIS door, and is surprised to find it unlocked. He opens it to take a peek outside, and immediately understands why. They haven't exactly landed; the TARDIS is parked in mid-air, floating a few hundred feet above ground – or rather water, because looking down that's all the Master can see. Before him, as if staring at a picturesque postcard, stand the London Eye and the Big Ben. It's nighttime, and the lights of the giant wheel and the buildings nearby cast a colourful mantle over the surface of the River Thames. It's a beautiful sight, the Master must admit, but hardly an interesting place to stop by when they have all of time and space to explore.
Behind him, the Master can hear the Doctor's footsteps on the grilled metal floor of the TARDIS. Without turning to look at him, the Master asks, “What exactly are we doing here?”
“Celebrating the New Year!” the Doctor replies with delight.
Frowning, the Master turns around to find the Doctor standing in the middle of the console room with a mess of blankets in his arms. He can barely see the Doctor's eyes, framed by soft wrinkles no doubt caused by a big smile hidden behind the blankets.
“Human New Year, you mean,” the Master corrects him.
The Doctor, still light on his feet, approaches the entrance of the TARDIS and dumps the blankets on the walkway. “Well, yes,” he admits, his smile unwavering.
“Why?” the Master asks.
“Because it's fun!”
The Doctor is not about to let the Master's grumpiness ruin his plan, that much is clear to both of them. Not that he had been planning this for long; in reality, the idea to celebrate the New Year had come to him just a few hours ago.
He's never celebrated the New Year with the Master before – unless you were to count that one time with the whole Eye of Harmony mess, but best not to bring that up. No, this would be their first time properly celebrating a New (human) Year together, and since they have also been travelling together for around a year, give or take, he thought they could do both celebrations in one.
“I've parked the TARDIS here so we can get a good view of the fireworks,” the Doctor starts as he grabs one of the blankets from the messy bundle. “Could you move aside?”
A bit reluctantly, the Master presses his back against the railing and walks around the Doctor and the blankets. He watches the Doctor open the second TARDIS door and lay the blanket on the floor, kneeling and using both his hands to spread it until the fluffy fabric covers the entrance to the TARDIS.
With a jump to avoid stepping on the blanket with his trainers, the Doctor scrambles to his feet and sprints past the Master once more. “Take your shoes off before sitting down! I'll be back in a mo!”
The Master observes the Doctor disappear into the depths of the TARDIS corridors, and sighs again. This will be a long night, he thinks with dread, but better to play along than to return to his boredom. At least he will see some fireworks, and perhaps something will go wrong and they will cause some fires and destruction, maybe even some deaths. The Master doesn't think he will be that lucky, but he can dream.
He takes his shoes off, keeping the socks for dignity, and steps on the blanket. Even with the socks on he can feel how fluffy and soft the blanket is, like stepping on a cloud from Nimbusia VI. Perhaps that place would be a good suggestion to make to the Doctor, the Master considers. Keeping that thought for later, he takes a few steps forwards and sits down on the edge of the TARDIS doorway, letting his legs dangle from it and admiring the view.
It doesn't take the Doctor long to return, but he's not running this time, which prompts the Master to take a peek over his shoulder.
Making his way across the console room with careful steps, the Doctor brings with him a tray with two steaming mugs, two champagne glasses and a plate, a bottle precariously held under one of his arms, and something colourful under the other. Once he reaches the blanket on the floor, he slips his trainers off before stepping on it, and places the tray and bottle down behind the Master. While the Doctor takes a seat beside him, the Master gazes down at the tray. The mugs are filled to the brim with what looks like hot chocolate, and the plate contains a variety of biscuits and pastries.
“I couldn't find any Christmas crackers, but I found a couple of these,” the Doctor says as he retrieves two paper hats from under his arm and shows them to the Master. The sight of them brings back warm memories to the Doctor. He hadn't been in the mood to celebrate Christmas for some time, but he's not alone anymore, and he feels like sharing the festivity with the Master. “A bit late for Christmas, but we're still in the season. I thought we could make things more festive. Which one do you want?”
The Master is about to complain about the silliness of all this, but catching a glimpse of the warmth in the Doctor's gaze makes him reconsider. He had decided to play along, after all. With a sigh, he takes a look at the paper hats, his eyes flickering between the two. “The red one.”
“Blue one for me, then,” the Doctor says, giving the red hat to the Master and putting on the blue one. “There we go! No fancy Christmas dinner unfortunately, but I brought all this. Oh! Hold on.”
While putting on his hat, the Master watches the Doctor pull out a small plastic bag from one of his pockets and pour some of the contents from it on the plate.
“Jelly babies?” the Master scoffs in disbelief. “You still eat that rubbish?”
The Doctor pulls a face, looking offended. “They're good! You don't have to eat them if you don't want to. More for me,” he says as he happily pops one of the jelly babies into his mouth.
The Master rolls his eyes at the Doctor's childish behaviour, and takes a biscuit instead. He sees the Doctor grabbing one of the mugs, and does the same. “Remind me what is it that humans do for New Year?” he asks while munching on his biscuit.
The Doctor lets out a little satisfied hum as he takes a sip of his hot chocolate, and wipes his upper lip with his tongue before speaking. “Oh, the usual. They gather with family and friends – or complete strangers even – either in a house or on the street. Usually close to a clock tower if they're outside. They do a countdown as the clock is about to strike midnight, and when it does, they celebrate the start of the new year. They hug, they sing, they kiss, they dance... And they wish each other a Happy New Year.”
“And they drink,” adds the Master.
The Doctor chuckles. “And they drink. That's what I brought the champagne for, but that's for later.”
Drinking his chocolate, the Master nods and glances behind him. “And the blankets?”
“The blankets?” The Doctor frowns, the cogs inside his head turning until he finally remembers, his face lighting up with the realisation. “The blankets!”
Leaving his mug on the tray, the Doctor crawls a small distance to reach the bundle of blankets and bring them with him. He manages to unfold two of them, discarding the rest, and then proceeds to drape one blanket over the Master's shoulders and the other over his own. With a quick buzz of his sonic screwdriver, the Doctor lowers the interior lighting of the console room to add to the cosy atmosphere.
“There we are. Much better,” the Doctor exclaims delightedly as he puts the sonic back inside his breast pocket and sits down again. He wraps the blanket more tightly around himself and grabs his mug to take another sip. “You know, there are many odd New Year's Eve traditions on Earth. Did you know that in Spain they eat grapes as the clock strikes midnight? One grape for each chime. Imagine that! Brilliant humans and their rituals – they never cease to amaze me.”
“Riveting. Tell me more,” the Master says sarcastically. It's unclear whether the Doctor hasn't noticed his tone or is simply ignoring it, because much to the Master's dismay, he continues going on and on about human customs and traditions around New Year's Eve.
It's annoying the first few minutes, but after a while the Master finds himself not minding the Doctor's babble that much. Perhaps having his belly full of delicious biscuits and hot chocolate is helping him to tolerate the Doctor, and the warmth of the blankets and the beautiful sight in front of them seem to be contributing as well. Whatever the reason, the Master feels comfortable for once, so much that he can allow himself to drift a little, letting the lights in the distance become a blur of colours and the Doctor's voice a pleasant background noise. But as it often happens when he tries to unwind and relax, something inside him begins to stir and rear its ugly head, clawing at the walls inside his mind and demanding attention.
The Doctor has almost run out of facts when he notices the Master has been awfully quiet for some time. He had expected him to be visibly and audibly annoyed by his constant babble, asking him to stop more than once, so his silence comes as a surprise. At first glance, the Master looks almost peaceful. His eyes are closed and his head is slightly tilted to one side, as if he's listening. But taking a closer look, the Doctor notices the slight pinch of his brow and the tension in his jaw. He doesn't seem to be in pain, but something is bothering him, and the Doctor has a good idea of what it is.
Dropping his gaze, the Doctor finds confirmation of his suspicions. Under the low, soft humming of the TARDIS, a light sound can be heard: two fingers tapping insistently a rhythm of four against the fur of the blanket on the floor; a rhythm of four that the Doctor is very familiar with by now.
Gently so as not to startle him, the Doctor reaches out and places his hand over the Master's, giving him a little squeeze and putting an end to his tapping. The Master opens his eyes immediately and looks down with an expression somewhere between surprise and irritation, not towards the Doctor, but towards himself.
“Contact?” the Doctor whispers softly and sympathetic.
The Master shakes his head in frustration. “It's useless.”
“At least it will quiet them down for a bit. It's better than nothing.”
The Master meets the Doctor's kind gaze, his big brown eyes pleading for him to let him help. He hates when the Doctor gets like this, and he hates that it works even more.
“Fine,” the Master finally relents. “But do it quickly.”
Half-smiling, and still holding one of the Master's hands, the Doctor closes the distance between them and brings their foreheads together.
“Contact,” they both say at the same time as they squeeze their eyes shut, and the walls separating their minds crumble into nothing.
The Doctor doesn't linger, respecting the Master's demand and focusing only on the ever-present drumming. It's always overwhelming at first, to enter the Master's mind and be hit with the intensity of the noise, but the Doctor is getting better at enduring it and it doesn't take him long to numb the drums. Calmness washes over them both, and the Doctor stays just a few seconds longer to enjoy that sensation before severing the connection.
His smile widens when he opens his eyes and sees the look of relief on the Master's face. “Better?” he asks.
The Master nods and hums in response, still finding it hard to admit out loud that it does help, but the Doctor doesn't need vocal reassurance to know that the Master is grateful.
In the distance, the noise of cheerful anticipation snaps the two Time Lords out of their reverie.
The Doctor lets out a gasp. “It's almost midnight!” he exclaims, and hurries to grab the bottle of champagne and the two glasses to have them ready.
The Master helps by removing the foil and the wire cage, but hands the bottle back to the Doctor so he can do the honours of popping the cork when the time comes, much to the Doctor's pleasure.
The Doctor is practically vibrating with excitement, his mirth so infectious that the Master can't help but share it with him, albeit in a more subdued manner.
“Oh, I love this bit,” the Doctor beams, holding the bottle firmly and making sure that he's aiming the top at the interior of the TARDIS to avoid any littering. Turning his gaze to the Master, he asks, “Are you ready?”
The Master can't hide the lopsided smile forming on his lips. With the drums locked away for the time being, and the feeling of anticipation stirring in the air, he can allow himself to enjoy this moment. “Yeah. Are we counting down?”
“Of course we are!”
Right as the Doctor says this, the first chime strikes, and the two Time Lords wait an extra second to begin counting down from ten.
“Ten, nine...”
The Doctor holds the cork of the bottle firmly with one hand while keeping the bottle secured with the other.
“...eight, seven...”
The Master leans back and away from the trajectory of the cork just a little to be safe.
“...six, five…”
The Doctor begins twisting the bottle.
“...four, three...”
They look at each other with huge grins spreading across their faces.
“...two, one…”