I thought I'd put this up. I could probably put more into it, develop the plot, and stuff, but I can't really be bothered. For the premises of this fic, The Master and The Doctor are travelling together, although the Master is reluctant and keeps running away. Oh, and The Master isn't Sam.
There are no real spoilers, I suppose, so long as you've seen the shows.
It's T because there's a bit of swearing later on, but it's pretty tame.
The Master ran through the streets, glancing over his shoulder to see if the Doctor was catching up. Judging by the cars it was the early seveties, and the road signs told him he was in Manchester. After a while he slowed down to catch his breath. He looked around. He was outside a pub. He seemed to have lost The Doctor.
"Tyler!" An hand landed on his shoulder, and The Master jerked out the loose grip and turned to see who it was.
"What do you think you're doing?" It was a well built man in his forties, wearing a camel coat. There were two other men behind him, a weedy looking one with his hands in his pockets and another one with a stupid moustache, smoking a cigarette and leaning against a wall.
"Excuse me?" The Master said, his mouth curling into a sneer.
"You said you were doing the paperwork on that football murder. Thought you'd finish and join us?" The weedy one asked.
Suddenly the Doctor appeared around the corner, out of breath. "Found you!". The Master ran, but The Doctor grabbed his arm and shoved him up against the wall. "You aren't getting away again." He muttered.
Then the strange man grabbed the Doctor and threw him to the ground. "Why the hell are attacking my DI?" The Master confused, watched the man hauled the Doctor up, only to punch him in the stomach so he fell to the ground again.
"Who is he Boss?" The one with cigarette asked.
"DI?" The Doctor spluttered, clutching at his stomach.
"What, didn't know who you were chasing? Well bad luck for you mate, 'cause you're nicked for assaulting a police officer." The man pulled out a pair of handcuffs, and cuffed the Doctor's hands behind his back. The Master grinned. He couldn't believe his luck.
"You don't understand, he's not your DI, he's-" The Master cut him off.
"Who do you think I am?" The Doctor gave him a dirty look, but stopped talking. He couldn't say his name was The Master. Human's don't work like that.
"What happened to your accent boss?" The weedy one asked.
"Acc-, well, got a bad cold, frog in the throat and all that, you know." The Master coughed, to illustrate his point.
"And what are you wearing?." The smoker said, disgust on his face. The Master looked down. He was still in a suit, but it was severly crinkled, and there were scorched parts here and there. He'd lost the jacket ages ago. He never understood how the Doctor managed to look immaculate all the time.
Moustache looked him up and Master shrugged.
"I've had a bad day." He said. Moustache didn't look convinced, but let it drop. The two got into the back of a car on the other side of the street with the Doctor, and the older one, presumably the superior officer, because they were clearly police, drove. The Master sat in front.
"Who is this bastard anyway, Sam?" The superior asked.
"I don't know." The Master lied. "I was just walking down the street, and he came out of nowhere."
"Why didn't you give him a kicking then?" the one with the cigarette asked.
The Master shrugged. "I was shocked, I suppose."
"Shocked?" The first one shook his head. "How long have you been here Dorothy, eight months? And you still get shocked when scum try to beat up coppers? I thought you were supposed to be smart." The Master didn't answer.
Apparently they thought he was a police man too, this 'Sam Tyler'. He would have to find the real Sam Tyler and get him out of the picture, at least until he was able to escape. For now though, this was the perfect disguise. He drummed on the side of the window, deep in his own thoughts, until they arrived at what The Master assumed was the police station.
They made their way inside. The others left The Master to book The Doctor, saying they would see him down the pub later, and went back out.
"Name?" the woman at the desk asked, not bothering to look up.
"John Smith." The Doctor said, glaring at The Master, who snorted. The woman paused, before rolling her eyes and writing it down.
"Cleaner then most fake names I get. Date of Birth?"
For a moment The Doctor stopped glaring, and tried to work out the mental arithmatics of giving a reasonable date of birth.
"What year is it?" He asked, at which the woman looked up and gave The Master a long suffering look.
"I don't like idiots playing silly buggers, now answer the question." The Master glanced at some of the paperwork on her desk, looking for the date.
"It's 1973." He told the Doctor. The woman looked up sharply.
"What's wrong with your voice?" She asked staring at him suspiciously.
The Master coughed, and faked a Mancunian accent. "Sorry, bit of a cold, sore throat." The woman nodded slightly, then turned back to the Doctor.
"Well, have you figured out your birthday yet?" The Doctor nodded.
"12th of March, 1945." The woman looked at him, trying to see if it fit.
"I'd have thought older." she said.
The Doctor shrugged. The woman paused, then wrote it down.
"Place of Residence?"
"Oh, I'm... homeless." The Master's smile froze for a second, then he shook himself mentally, and focused on the women.
"Is that it?" He asked, remembering the accent.
"Yep, put him in cell 2." she said, jerking her head behind her.
The Master grabbed the Doctor's arm, and headed in the direction the woman had indicated. After a bit of hit and miss, he found the right cell and entered it.
"This is a bit of luck huh?" The Master said, sitting opposite the Doctor.
"Don't kill the real Sam." The Master faked a look of surprise.
"Why do you automatically assume I'm going to kill him? I want to see how much he looks like me. Then I'll kill him." He laughed, while the Doctor stared at him impassively.
"Oh that was good, that bit with the birthday by the way. 12/3/45. Very clever." The Doctor tried to hide a smile, which made The Master smirk. Then the Doctor looked serious again.
"They won't lock me up forever, and you won't be able to get into the TARDIS without me. What was the plan anyway? Run round Manchester, hypnotize the population, hold it to ransom?"
"No, but good idea, I'll be sure to use it in the future."
"Then what?" The Master stood up, on his way out.
"Honestly? I didn't have one. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to look for Sam Tyler. And don't look at me like that. Tell you what, just for you, I promise I won't kill him for... Let's give it a day, huh? That's reasonable." He grinned and opened the door, but stopped before he actually went through it.
"Oh, I almost forgot." With one quick movement he punched the Doctor in the face. He fell back along the bench, and The Master took the cuffs off, pocketed the sonic screwdriver and walked out.