The Master stood to stare out of his TARDIS. The sky was a swirl of deep blues, reds, and purples. He ran his hand over his goatee. It was once all black, but now there was silver running through it. He was on his twelfth regeneration. He would only have one after this. He thought of all he had done, and a sickening feeling grew up through him. He had wasted so many of his lives, and for what?
His mind wandered to when he was young and had so many plans. Why did he have to go and ruin it for both of them? If he had him by his side, the whole of the cosmos would be his by now.
He thought of the last time he had seen him. He was running around with some water people. Trying to act human, even had a wife. And a strange obsession with fezes. He had a big, stupid grin and was always spouting off nonsense. They had thought him a fool.
The Master shared their belief, but he’d also seen he wasn't truly happy. But what did he expect trying to make friends with humans? He let himself love them so fast and what did he get in return? Heartbreak, either from them dying or abandoning him.
He wished more than anything he could reach him, make him see how much damage he was doing to himself. Then he smiled. That's exactly what he would have to do. But it wouldn't be that easy. It never was with them. He would have to find a way to show him how stupid he was being.
He would show the Doctor how fragile and pointless the humans where. He could kill the ones closed to him and... No, he couldn't do that. It would just cause him to become angry with him, and the point would become moot. He would never kill the ones he had grown too attached to.
But he could still demonstrate how inferior they were. And when the Doctor couldn't take it anymore, when he needed his true friend, he would be there for him… but only when he was willing to do things his way.
It was perfect. Up until now the Master’s biggest problem when conquering was after so long the people would rebel. He didn't have the disposition to keep them content. But with the Doctor by his side as a kind face and quick wit, nothing could stop him. He would have done something worthwhile in his life and he could leave the Doctor knowing he would not have the sadness that awaited him otherwise.
He would find a younger version of him, one that hadn't been damaged too much, but one that had already faced some loss. He closed the TARDIS doors and went to the center console. He looked at the screen. As he scanned, his grin widened. One of the versions of the Doctor had been exiled to a planet called Earth. He was stuck, he had nowhere to run. He would have to play his games. And if he couldn't get through to him... Well, then he could just die.