#verywelldone

A frown slipped upon his face as the other spoke, causing him to tilt his head a tiny bit, keeping a harsh look upon the one that spoke to him, his fingers drumming in rhythm to his hip, resisting the small crackles the danced on his fingertips for a split second. He wouldn’t resort to that. He wouldn’t let this get to him. Perhaps, yes. He was defective. All his life. He had been. But he had managed. In a way he had managed to drums. Okay, so he had ended up worse for the wear, but he was trying to become better, wasn’t he?  “You are mistaken." he finally spoke, licking his lips once. “You forget… When the Doctor apparently put a Timelock on Gallifrey… He thought me dead. I was resurrected by the Time Lords. But the Doctor knew nothing of that, now did he?" he stated, quirking an eyebrow before taking in a deep breath. And even if he had… Would he have returned for the Master…? No, no it was best not to think on such things. To push them aside. Easier. “I don’t expect him to be bothered with me, i’m not looking for him to be bothered by me. I am living life in my own way. I need not his approval. Or his care. I can look after myself. I always have. And always will." he spat out before pursing his lips, narrowing his eyes for a second and finally inhaling deeply through his nose.

That was a lie. The Doctor and he had looked after one another, a long, long time ago. Who was this person to know so much of him…? Never before had his eyes fallen upon the grey-faced ones.