The fact that there were now three Last of the Time Lords was, in many ways, very good news and soothed a great deal of the Doctor’s angst and misery from having been the one to destroy his species in the first place.
On the other hand, two of the three Last of the Time Lords were getting to have sex. And not just any old sex, but loud, kinky, highly gratifying sex that the Doctor was made aware of wherever he happened to be in the TARDIS at the time. Sometimes being slightly telepathic really sucked. So did being the only Time Lord left in existence who wasn’t getting any.
But the worst of it, the real utter, oh-how-I wish-I-was-the-only-one-of-my-species-again nadir of the situation was that his ex-boyfriend, and the closest thing he’d ever had to a committed relationship, was getting it off with his only surviving child. Or maybe it was worse that his only surviving child was shagging the man who used to think that blowing up planets to impress him was a good way to get into his trousers.
Well, the Doctor had not seen any planets blow up lately and he was beginning to feel just a tad left out. Not to mention horny. And worried about what evil things the Master was whispering into Jenny’s innocent and naive ears. And what Jenny might be telling the Master about effective military strategy. And what they might be telling each other about him.
Really, of all the ways he’d imagined his life could go horribly, horribly wrong, he could honestly say his only daughter, of whom he was both mother and father, and his ex-boyfriend, who happened to be a psychopathic killer and his on-off lover for almost a millennia, shacking up together in his own TARDIS was not on the list. Well, it hadn’t been in the top five hundred, anyway. The Doctor did have a very good imagination, after all.
“Can you blame me?” the Master asked, as he waltzed into the kitchen, disgustingly flushed after what the Doctor guessed was a quick morning shag. “She’s just like you, only prettier.”
“I’m pretty,” muttered the Doctor, who was certainly not sulking over his soggy cornflakes. Soggy cornflakes: that was all he had left in the universe, bowl after bowl of soggy cornflakes. He sniffed sadly. They were probably a beautiful metaphor for his tortured soul. Maybe someone would write poetry about his sopping cosmic angst. He could do that. Dash off a few stanzas on his epic sufferings and mushy breakfasts. Maybe Kellogg’s would sponsor him and name a cereal after him or something. That might cheer him up, having a bowl of Doctors in the morning. He could boast about it the next time he met that irritatingly smug version of himself. “I’m very pretty,” he added when he realised the Master was ignoring him in favour of making coffee.
“Of course you are,” said the Master, patting his head. The Doctor pretended not to be pathetically grateful for the patronising physical contact. It was undoubtedly just the latest cunning move in whatever evil plot he’d cooked up. “She’s just prettier.”
The Doctor waited until the Master had left the room before he muttered, “Is not.”
“Dad, I think he might be the one.”
The Doctor feigned disinterest. “The one what?”
“You know, the one. For marrying and having time-babies with.”
The Doctor’s eyes widened in horror. “You’re much too young for all that. Besides, you’re not supposed to know about... about...stuff. All the important Time Lord-y stuff and That Sort Of Thing.” His latest incarnation was especially good at pronouncing capital letters.
“Oh, don’t worry. Romana gave me The Loom Talk years ago.”
The Doctor did a mental hiccup and pretended that made sense because Romana was dead, since he’d killed her, and if she wasn’t, she’d surely come and find him and not completely ignore his continued existence. And if his daughter had spoken to her then she’d most certainly tell him and not just drop it into a random conversation as though it were a trivial matter. “You can’t marry the Master,” the Doctor said finally, deciding to stick to matters that wouldn’t make his life even more complicated and depressing.
That was easy. “Because he’s evil; they’ll be evil babies.”
Jenny rolled her eyes. ““He’s less genocidal than you.”
Darn Jenny, and her tricky ways of logic. The Doctor cleared his throat and assumed a tone of hurt dignity: “I do terrible things because I have to; he does them for fun.” Then he added: “And he has syphilis.”
“Thanks , Dad. You’re being really supportive.”
“It’s not my fault that the love of your life is infected with an STD! Well, actually it probably is, because we had sex, lots and lots of sex. All over the place. Probably in the same places you’re having it. Doesn’t that squick you out?”
“Not really, no.”
“Well, it should,” said the Doctor firmly. “It really, really should.”
It hadn’t always been like that, of course. It had all started to go wrong when Jenny had decided it was time to grow-up, grow her own TARDIS and get a companion of her own. Unfortunately, Jenny had decided that the best way to get a companion of her own was to borrow one of the Doctor’s.
“Sarah Jane?” she’d asked.
“No, she’s my favourite. And she’s old now. You might give her a heart attack. If you kill Sarah Jane, I will never, ever forgive you.”
“What about asking her for one of her kids then?”
The Doctor managed to stop himself mentioning that he’d already tried that. “She won’t let you,” he said.
“What if I didn’t ask?”
“Jenny,” said the Doctor severely, “you cannot go around kidnapping humans... or any other sentient species.”
“Of course I didn’t,” the Doctor lied, “those were just misunderstandings.”
Jenny sighed. “Alright, how about Barbara?”
“No, she’s my favourite.”
“Are you going to say that about everyone?”
“No, of course not,” the Doctor said quickly. “Besides,” he continued, “Barbara comes with an Ian, and he falls over everywhere. Wonky legs or something. That’s not the sort of thing you want in a companion.”
It had gone on like that for a while, until they’d found out that the Master was still alive. And the Doctor had invited the Master onboard so that they could all live together as a happy dysfunctional family. They’d managed the dysfunctional part quite well.
He hadn’t been sure why the Master had agreed to the arrangement so readily, but in retrospect, he thought the leers he’d been giving Jenny should probably have given him a bit of a clue.
“It’s over,” said Jenny, one day, “between me and the Master, I mean. We want different things.”
“Let me guess: he wants to hold total dominion over all matter, you want to see new worlds and save civilisations.”
“No! ...well, yes. But don’t you dare say I told you so.”
The Doctor remained diplomatically silent. For all of three seconds. “I did try and-“
“Yes, all right,” snapped Jenny. “Anyway, I’ve found someone new. I’m off to meet her now and we’re going away for a little while. To a whole new universe in fact. It’s called E-Space.”
The Doctor felt a nasty tingling feeling crawl up the back of his neck. “And who is this new person?” he asked, finding that his voice was now a strangled squeak.
“Romana!” said the Doctor. “What? Nicking one ex isn’t enough for you? No, no you most certainly cannot go! One, she’s dead. Two, that’s my Romana. Get your own. We frolicked around Paris, punted on the Cam, were tragically separated by whole universes. Twice! We were epic and awesome and several religions were founded based on our love. You can’t have her.”
Jenny raised an elegant eyebrow and threw her backpack over her shoulder. “She’s not dead, and she asked me. I really think you ought to work on your ability to handle rejection.”
“She didn’t reject me,” muttered the Doctor. “She just felt hurt and betrayed that I fought the Time lords to save myself but couldn’t be bothered doing the same on her behalf.”
“Well then. Bye, Dad. See you round.”
The Doctor sniffed dramatically as he watched his daughter leave the TARDIS. Probably forever. Except that he’d snuck into her room one night and injected her with a tracking device. It wasn’t creepy; it was just the act of a loving and concerned parent. Anyway, she’d been sleeping with a crazy homicidal psychopath who might’ve kidnapped her at any moment and used her as a pawn in his mad quest for ultimate power. It certainly wasn’t because he was afraid the pair of them might elope.
“All alone,” muttered the Doctor sadly. “Poor Doctor. Poor lonely Doctor.” He sobbed dramatically. And then remembered that no-one was there to observe his epic Time Lord angst and felt even worse.
“Oh, don’t be so wet,” snapped the Master, strolling into the console room. “I’m still here.”
The Doctor sighed sorrowfully. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “How can I possibly forget the fact that you slept with my daughter? It’ll never be the same again between us. Never ever.”
The Master rolled his eyes. “Right, because sleeping with your daughter is so much worse than accidently destroying a quarter of the known universe.”
The Doctor thought about that. Then he thought about it some more. Then he very carefully put his emotional issues to one side and dragged the Master into the nearest bedroom for a long overdue shag.
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