This... is my new obsession. Yes, I'm well aware that it's a crack pairing. But I don't care. If the Master wasn't insane, they'd be brilliant.

Also, to warn, this one-shot does have a sex scene in it, BUT. I do not focus on it. Instead, I try to focus on the psychological and emotional aspects behind their reasoning. There is little sexual detail. I hope I succeeded in making it tasteful.

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. Just lots and lots of stuff.

The man at the end of the bar had been glancing at her for almost an hour now.

Through the oppressive jukebox music and trails of cigarette smoke, men and women lighting up, she caught him staring. She swirled the straw in her martini with a sigh. She didn't frequent this bar often, only when a night without Nerys and her other "friends" was needed. It was close enough that a taxi home wasn't horrendously expensive and far enough that she was sure not to run into any of them. She speared the olive in her glass and raised it to her mouth. She caught him staring again, out of the corner of her eye. She neatly pulled it off of the straw with her teeth, then downed the last of the drink.

She was about to pick her purse up when the man at the end of the bar motioned for the bartender to give her another. She raised an eyebrow, then picked up her new glass and moved to the end of the bar. "Normally," she said, sipping the drink. "You introduce yourself first."

The man raised an eyebrow at her and took a swig of his whiskey. He was a rather handsome man with the strangest eyes. They were hazel, yet somehow darker, as though something potentially dangerous lurked beneath his perfect eyelashes. He was thin enough, Donna thought, that she could take him in a fight if he tried anything funny. She had mace in her purse for just such an occasion. "Well," he said, voice smooth as silk. "You've been looking at me for the past hour without an introduction yourself."

"That would be you, mate. Not me," she said, but sitting down next to him nevertheless. Her ginger locks took on a burgundy sheen in the half-light of the bar. "I'm Donna."

"You can call me... Harry," he said, after a pause. He had never seen the woman at this bar before. His notoriety was growing exponentially, but he found that if he spoke not a word, then no one would notice that he was there. Harold Saxon had built quite a name for himself over the last year or more. But bars would always be a place to hide.

Hiding from Lucy, as it were. The woman drove him insane. He put on a marvellous act when she was around, but her lack of brain cells wore on his nerves. Lucy, being the prim, proper thing that she was, did not delve into physical pleasures either. She was barely useful to him, if only as his faux-wife. To add to his frustrations, the drums had become more insistent as of late, demanding further progress when it wasn't his to give. He tapped a heel against the bar stool in a beat of four.

The cigarette smoke overhead was progressively thickening at time passed. It was beginning to make Donna cough at random intervals. It didn't seem to affect the man at all. So they chatted for an indeterminate amount of time. About the weather, about work, of which Donna was currently out. He casually mentioned his job as a politician and bought them each other drink.

"So," she asked casually, feeling the inebriation coming on. She could hold her liquor decently, but not as well as some. "Why aren't you wearing your wedding ring?"

The man raised an eyebrow, surprised but not embarrassed. "How did you know?"

She carefully reached across to grab his left hand. She pulled it toward her, then turned it so the light above them shone on his ring finger. A band of much lighter skin sat there, as if he'd been wearing his ring and gone tanning. "Hard to miss."

Instead of pulling his hand back, he twisted his wrist to cradle her own, then kissed the back of her hand. "You are quite the observant one." This woman wasn't like Lucy. She was observant, by the standards of these stupid monkeys. Perhaps her tonight.

Donna felt a light blush creep over her cheeks, though she insisted to herself that it was only the alcohol. "Temping does have its advantages. And..." She trailed off, but he waited for her to continue. "My ex-fiancée left me for another woman." It was sort of the truth, she supposed. Even if the other woman was a giant, red spider. She had been in a rather deep depression for several months, before she finally made the decision to find the Doctor again. She reasoned that finding him and seeing the stars once more was the only thing that was truly going to make her happy again.

"He left a beauty like you? Never." He smiled, sultry and sweet, and she fell for it like they always did.

When the smoke became unbearable, Donna stood to leave, but Harry stopped her. "Wait." He downed the last of his drink, then pulled a few bills from his wallet, leaving them on the counter for the bartender. He escorted her outside, where she was able to breathe properly again. She thanked him and was about to call a taxi when he put a hand over her phone.

She was just drunk enough that she did not immediately jump to dangerous conclusions. She raised an eyebrow at him to ask for an explanation. Instead of speaking, Harry wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her into a sloppy, alcohol-driven kiss. A few moments later, Donna's face was considerably warmer than it had been before, along with other things. He murmured something about a hotel and she nodded.

The taxi seemed to come quicker than normal. They did not touch, sitting in the backseat of the car. Harry only occasionally looked her way, to make sure she hadn't fallen asleep. She hadn't, and dared to look at him once or twice herself. It didn't bother her that he was married; she had no attachments and would feel no guilt on her end. She had been so focused on finding the Doctor lately that she wasn't sure she ever would. That emotion overrode anything else she could feel.

They arrived at a decent looking hotel, Harry checking them in while Donna fidgeted under the eyes of the staff uncomfortably. It was none of their business what she did. She was a grown woman, free to make her own choices. Just because her mother thought she was worthless didn't mean everyone else did too. She pushed these thoughts out of her mind as the two of them stepped into the elevator. Harry slipped an arm around her waist and kissed her once more, just as involved as before, right in front of the security camera. She was too drunk to care.

They shut their hotel room door behind them and fell onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and clothes. Time blurred for the ginger woman, only bringing her back to the present when "Harry" left a very forceful hickey on her neck.

The Master hoped the sodding ginger wasn't one to assert herself in bed and, thankfully for him, she wasn't. She mumbled some idiot line about protection, then seemed rather pleased with herself when he produced a condom. While he was fairly certain a child could not come of this, human diseases occasionally did affect Time Lords in certain ways. Heaven forbid the world's Lord and Master got herpes.

He was rough with her, Donna thought, but she liked it. His insistent movements sent jolts up her spine, like he had been denied something for a very long time and was finally about to get it. He was good, she thought. Quite good, actually. Her thought process flew out the door as he hit just the right spot and made her groan. Every thought and worry of the Doctor, of the future, what destiny she would have to mete out here on Earth without that Spaceman, melted away in the wake of pleasure.

The Master resisted the urge to tell her his real name, to force it from her lips. He wanted that recognition almost as much as what his body was doing. These humans would praise him and say his name in time, but it wasn't soon enough. It was never soon enough. He noted that she wouldn't say his name, only make sounds, and it irritated him. He tried harder.

Donna felt... free. Lance was the last man she'd been with physically, and though she'd never gone with a man back to a hotel before, it was an emotionally freeing experience in her book. She didn't have to think, only to do, and she'd probably never see him again anyway. She tried to wrestle control from The Master, but he refused, only forcing her back to writhe against the sheets.

Their lips did not touch the entire night. It was an unspoken rule, something never violated. Kisses meant tenderness, love, and those were things that had no place here. They moved together until their worries and frustrations were as far away as they could be. All at once, they shuddered together and collapsed.

Then those worries and frustrations returned.

The Master dressed quickly, immaculately smoothing his sweat-drenched hair. Donna did the same, feeling the alcohol in her system threatening to overtake her. He paid for her taxi and sent her on her merry way. Donna fell asleep on the couch in her living room, not quite making it to her bed. The Master returned to his insufferable wife, sleeping relatively better than he had in months.

Both parties frequented the bar more often after that and every night they did, the hotel was their final destination. Donna was always determined to get control, but a fire in his eyes told her that was a bad idea. So she simply enjoyed.

A couple months later, he stopped showing up. No matter how many weekends she sat at that bar, he never appeared again.

When the time came for elections, Donna Noble voted against Harold Saxon.