Word Count: 22,575
Author’s Summary: In a universe where the Master works for the Celestial Intervention Agency, the Doctor and his companions inevitably find themselves on the wrong side of the law.
Characters/Pairings: Third Doctor/Delgado!Master, Adelaide Brooke, Original Companions
This is a story that begins in a zeppelin above an acid lake on an alien world and only gets better from there. If that isn’t enough to sell you, I’m not sure what else I could possibly say to change your mind.
Seriously, though: this fic is an AU wherein the Master (still calling himself Koschei) is an Agent of the CIA, Three has a fully-functional TARDIS, and they end up playing just the cat-and-mouse game you might expect. That would be brilliant enough, but what makes this fic exceptional is the unique Team TARDIS--Adelaide Brooke (much younger and with a wonderfully fleshed-out personality), Mohandas Gandhi, and Gamma, Twenty-Third Chief Executrix of the Google-Exxon Imperium--and the wonderful sense of humor with which it’s written. It’s a wildly enjoyable read, start to finish.
"As though you've any room to lecture me about morals!" The Doctor huffed. "Now see here, old chap: I'm certain that if you put your mind to it, you could find more productive things to do with your time than nagging me across time and space. Don't you have a pack of murderers to brainwash? Rogue Time Agents to torture? Surely somewhere, in this very galaxy, there is a badly-organized totalitarian regime that is in desperate need of your consulting services. I hear the Judoon have been letting themselves go."
Now it was Koschei's turn to be annoyed. He lit one of his cigars, and let the soft roll of smoke soothe his fraying temper.
Koschei was a simple man, and he liked to think that he was a good one. All he wanted was a nice, orderly cosmos, bound by a nice, orderly timeline; the universe needed laws, a master to create and enforce them. Yet the Doctor, who should have understood his interventionist leanings better than anyone else, worked instead to complicate his mission at every turn, and insisted on painting him as some kind of beard-stroking villain. The man was absolutely impossible.
"Parole on Earth didn't work, and you won't see sense about becoming my partner. You won't even touch the side projects I set up. What am I to do with you?"
"What you always do," the Doctor proclaimed, as though it were obvious. "Confiscate my companions and let me go. Unless you'd care to see me executed by the High Council for what we both know is little more than petty theft."