Author's Notes

Spoilers for the entire series, but especially "The End of Time."

Our foray into "The End of Time" is complete after this chapter. Starting with Chapter 4, we shall venture into new territories.

Doctor Who does not belong to me. If it did, I'd find a way to save Donna Noble, have River Song meet Captain Jack Harkness, and commission a Doctor Who – Sherlock crossover. In the meantime, I have to credit Steven Moffat, Russell T. Davies, Julie Gardner, and the BBC. I should also credit Verity Lambert and Sydney Newman.

Journey's Beginning

Chapter 3

Naismith Mansion
London, UK
December 26, 2012

"Listen to me," the Doctor begged. "You can't."

The Lord President spoke. "It is a fitting paradox that our salvation comes at the hands of our most infamous child."

The Doctor shook his head. "He's not saving you. Don't you realize what he's doing?"

"Hey! No! Hey!" the Master broke in. "That's mine. Hush. Look around you. I've transplanted myself into every single human being. But who wants a mongrel little species like them?"

Donna shook her fist at him. "I'll give you 'mongrel little species,' Spaceman!"

He ignored the ginger woman. "Because now I can transplant myself into every single Time Lord. Oh yes! Mr. President, sir. Standing there all noble and resplendent. And decrepit. Think how much better you're gonna look as me."

To his chagrin, the Lord President held out a gauntlet-clad arm. In no time at all, the Master Race was no more. The humans – oh, they looked so much better with his face – were walking around in utter confusion.

"On your knees, mankind," Rassilon commanded.

Instead of listening, the humans fled from the room. Wise choice, the Master thought.

Donna patted him on the shoulder. "Oh, you poor thing," she cooed. "There's no more yous!" She was lucky they weren't alone; otherwise he would have had something to say about her mock sympathy.

He didn't want to appear bitter about the foiling of his latest scheme. "That's fine, that's good. Because you said 'salvation.' I still saved you. Don't forget that!"

"The approach begins!" Rassilon announced.

"The approach of what?" the Master and Donna both asked.

"'Something is returning,'" the Doctor quoted. "Don't you ever listen? That was the prophecy. Not some 'one,' some 'thing.'"

"What is it?" the Master asked.

"They're not just bringing back the species," his ex-friend explained. "It's Gallifrey! Right here. Right now."

"But this is fantastic, isn't it? The Time Lords restored."

"You weren't there. In the final days of the war," the Doctor said. "You never saw what was born. But if the time lock's broken then everything is coming through. Not just the Daleks, but the Star of Degradations. The Horde of Travesties. The Nightmare Child. The Could-Have-Been King with his army of Meanwhiles and Neverweres. The war turned into hell! And that's what you've opened. Right above the Earth. Hell is descending."

"My kind of world," the Master bragged.

Donna Noble glared at him. "Are all Time Lords that stupid? You bloody idiot!"

"Just listen!" the Doctor begged him. "'Cause even the Time Lords can't survive that."

"We will initiate the Final Sanction," Lord President announced. "The end of time will come. At my hand. The rupture will continue until it rips the time vortex apart."

"That's suicide," the Master warned.

"We will ascend!" Rassilon continued. "To become creatures of consciousness alone. Free of these bodies. Free of time. And cause and effect, where creation itself ceases to be."

"You see now," the Doctor told his old friend. "That's what they were planning. In the final days of the war. I had to stop them."

"Then... take me with you, Lord President. Let me ascend into glory!"

"You are diseased," Rassilon sneered. "Albeit a disease of our own making. No more." He eyed the service revolver suddenly pointed in his direction. "Choose your enemy well," he warned the Doctor. "We are many. The Master is but one."

"Oi!" Donna shouted. "Mr. 'No Guns!' Is that – is that Gramps' service revolver?" She glanced over at the old man in the chamber. "Oh, Gramps," she sighed.

"But he's the president," the Master said. "Kill him and Gallifrey could be yours." The Doctor aimed the gun at the Master. "He's to blame. Not me!"

Donna had a look that many humans had when their inferior brains were working overtime. "What?" he mouthed.

"This might sound barmy, but I think the drums were a link to the Time Lock."

He could have kissed her. Not that he'd ever admit it, but the Doctor sure knew how to pick his pets. Maybe he'd keep this feisty human around for awhile. It would be worth it just to see the Doctor squirm.

"Oh... the link is inside my head. Kill me, the link gets broken, they go back. You never would, you coward. Go on then. Do it!" He smirked as the Doctor again changed his focus, this time onto Rassilon. "Exactly! It's not just me, it's him! Kill him!"

"The final act of your life is murder," sneered the Lord President. "But which one of us."

The Doctor aimed the service revolver at the white point star. He pulled the trigger, shattering it. "The link is broken. Back into the time war, Rassilon. Back into hell!"

"Gallifrey falling!" a woman chanted. "Gallifrey falling!"

"You die with me, Doctor!" Rassilon threatened.

The Doctor was resigned. "I know."

The Master shoved his oldest friend turned enemy aside. "Get out of the way." He could feel the artron energy coursing through his veins and held out his arms. "You did this to me!" he screamed. "All of my life! You made me!" Artron energy shot out of one hand toward the Time Lords and Ladies. He counted out loud to the drum beats in his head, alternating arms. "One! Two! Three! Four!"

The Master felt himself being violently sucked into the Time Lock. His last thought: How am I going to get myself out of this one?