The pumping of the time rotor almost drowned out Amy's frustrated pleading with the time capsule as her hands hovered uncertainly over the console, moving from one bizarrely-shaped control to another.

"Come on, which one, which one – no!" For a tantalising moment, the vibrations beneath her feet ceased and she could perhaps imagine the blue box resting on solid ground – before the platform rocked once more and they were off, lights dimming as the time rotor kicked in to stabilise the TARDIS in the time vortex.

"Why won't you land?" she groaned, gripping the handrail for another bumpy ride.

...

"That was incredible!" Pushing back his empty plate, Craig flopped back into the sofa with a contented sigh. "That was absolutely brilliant – where did you learn to cook?"

"Probably the Axillary Moon of Phacochoerus," Kaiser put in from where he sat behind them, perched on the countertop with his legs crossed. "I'd check your shirt before you go out, if I were you." Caught by the man's infectious grin, a baffled Craig couldn't help but laugh, and apparently unperturbed, the Doctor settled back in his armchair and folded his hands with the look of a guest trying his best to seem at ease.

"You're not much of a traveller, are you, Craig?" he said.

"Nah." Craig shook his head indifferently. "Why should I? Nice enough here, isn't it? Besides, there's…" He trailed off, averting his eyes with a discomfiture the Doctor couldn't have failed to notice, as the other man's gaze drifted down to Craig's hand and Craig realized, mortified, that he held Sophie's fluffy pink keyring in his hand, rolling it absent-mindedly between his thumb and forefinger. "Anyway," he said loudly, hastily stuffing the keyring in his pocket. "What makes you think I don't travel?"

"Your sofa," came Kaiser's voice. "You're starting to look like it." Craig wasn't quite sure what to make of that – certainly, the words themselves could have been no more than gentle teasing, but there was something of a malicious edge that was never far from Kaiser's voice. The man sprang down from the countertop in a smooth, agile movement and strolled across the room to peer curiously at the corner of the ceiling, and Craig found himself glancing self-consciously down at himself sprawled in the comfortable leather.

"Right," he announced, stirring himself into action and pushing himself up. "These are your keys." He grabbed something from another bench top and hurried over to the Doctor, who bounded to his feet.

"We can stay?"

"Yeah." Kaiser appeared to be ignoring the whole process, almost as if he had expected nothing less, and Craig quickly thrust the keys into the Doctor's eagerly outstretched hand before he could change his mind. First – and second, and third – impressions aside, he settled for the one thing he could be sure of. "You can cook – that's good enough for me." Happily, the Doctor slipped the keys into his pocket.

"My keys – my room. Me with a room, a room of one's own…" he beamed. Kaiser cleared his throat loudly, but it fell on deaf ears to the delighted Doctor. "My place – ha!"

"Oh, and by the way," Craig lowered his voice and the Doctor met his eyes expectantly. "Me and Mark, we had an arrangement – if you two ever want me…you know…out of your hair, just give me a shout. O.K.?" He winked; the Doctor winked back, and there was a pause. Craig blinked – had he offended him somehow? Had he said something too personal? He opened his mouth to try and stammer a hasty apology, but the Doctor cut in.

"Why would I want that?"

"Well, you know…" Craig shuffled his feet; he could feel his ears reddening. "Bit of…time to yourselves, maybe? Dinner for two?"

"Oh!" The Doctor nodded understandingly. "Oh, right – yes, he'd eat dinner for six if he got the chance. Don't worry – we'll keep the kitchen tidy. Spotless. You'll never know we'd been there."

...

The echo of heels on concrete rang out dismally down the lamplit street. Every few steps, the steady clop-clop would be accompanied by a barely disguised sniff or a shaky breath. It was close to midnight, but the young woman trudging through the pools of light cast by the streetlights was alone.

Or at least, she had hoped she was.

"Hello? Stop. Please – can you hear me?"

Through a curtain of dishevelled hair damp with tears and sweat, she turned her weary eyes in the direction of the voice.

"I need your help. Please – my little girl's hurt."

She no longer had the fight in her to refuse. Hitching up the strap of her trailing handbag in one hand, she turned down the garden path and shuffled towards the red, wooden door from which the tinny voice pleaded.

The door was unlocked and swung open at her push, and she stepped cautiously into a darkened hallway, the only source of light a flickering, bare lightbulb at the top of a steep flight of stairs. Standing beneath the lightbulb, features obscured by the dancing shadows, a lone figure stood with an illuminated door at his back.

"I'm so sorry, but will you help me? Please," the figure implored.

"Help you?" the woman repeated, taking her first step up the creaking wooden staircase towards the figure.

...

"Earth to Pond, Earth to Pond, come in Pond…" The curtains were drawn, the door securely locked, and the Doctor bounced lightly where he sat on the springy mattress, awaiting Amy's voice in a delicate earpiece that sat ear. On the end of the bed, the Master was pulling off his black workboots and inspecting with distaste the ruined, tattered remains of his socks. Evidently, they just hadn't been made for chasing monsters through 19th century streets. Feeling the Doctor's eyes on his back, he glanced up to a teasing grin.

"Well, you always did dress for the occ-"

"DOCTOR!"

The Master couldn't help a snicker as Amy's piercing voice reverberated suddenly from the earpiece and the Doctor leaped about a foot in the air.

"Would you mind not wrecking the new earpiece, Pond?" he snapped, rubbing his ear, and the Master heard a murmur of subdued apology from the human girl. He turned away and pulled off his socks, dropping them to the floor in disgust and poking them under the bed.

"How's the TARDIS coping?" the Doctor was asking.

"Mm, see for yourself." In the console room of the time capsule, Amy raised her mouthpiece and moved it back and forth, and the Doctor frowned. The time rotor was still functioning, but its usual smooth undulating rush was halting, broken by alarming clunks from deep within the console, and there was a grating, high-pitched quality to its tone.

"Ooh, nasty…" he muttered. "She's locked in a materialization loop, trying to land again, but she can't…"

"Have I ever mentioned the knack of this regeneration of yours for stating the blindingly obvious?" the Master snorted, now opening and closing the various empty cupboards and drawers in the room.

"Is that Mister Saxon?" Amy demanded. "What's he doing?"

"Looking for new footwear, I believe," the Doctor replied, watching the Master's fruitless search out of the corner of his eye.

...

Lying flat in bed, cellphone propped against one ear, Craig fished in the paper bag by his side and pulled out a wad of banknotes. Fingering absently through them, it was only the soft cough in his ear that reminded him suddenly of Sophie on the other end of the line.

"Well, I mean…they seem…" He hesitated, suddenly stuck for words, and realized for the first time that he actually still couldn't make head or tail of his new lodgers. Certainly, Kaiser had seemed the more normal at first, with his handshake and something of a reassuring air of authority. There was still something about the man, though, that gave Craig the vaguest sense of unease…not quite distrust – maybe too much trust, if anything. Despite the second stranger's distinct peculiarities, Craig was finding himself warming more towards the Doctor than Kaiser. "They're…well, I guess they're…"

"They had three grand with them in a paper bag," Sophie supplied. Her tone sounded sceptical, and Craig couldn't blame her. "Wait – the 'Doctor'? And does 'Kaiser' sound like a normal name to you? What if they're on the run?"

"We would've heard something, wouldn't we?" said Craig, still somewhat unsure. "Don't they show things like that on the telly?"

"Craig!" Sophie exclaimed. "They might be wanted by the police! I think you should check, just in case."

"Nah – I can't do that, Soph."

"Why not?"

"Well, it's just…you know…" Craig crumpled the cash in his fist and stuffed it back into the paper bag. "I bet they get stuff like that all the time. You know – being…well, a couple. They're just blokes. Maybe they're foreign or something – the Doctor was a bit confused about the money."

...

"Oh, great." The Doctor could almost imagine Amy rolling her eyes in exasperation. "So he's looking for something to keep his toes warm – while I'm stuck in a spaceship being thrown around time and space. What about that upstairs flat? You said whatever's stopping the TARDIS landing is up there – now why isn't he up there sorting it out?"

"We," the Doctor answered carefully, "will sort it out as soon as we know what it is. Anything that can stop the TARDIS landing is big. Scary big…"

"Wait – are you scared?" Amy sounded as though she couldn't quite believe her ears. "Two Time Lords against one alien…time…thing?"

"Exactly – it's a thing. We can't go up there until we know what it is and how to deal with it. And it is vital that that…man…upstairs doesn't realize who and what we are. So no sonic, no advanced technology, no 'I am the Master and you will obey'! I can only use this," he gestured to the earpiece, "'cause we're on scramble. To anyone else hearing this conversation, we're talking absolute gibberish."

"Maybe you should try turning it off some day," the Master put in with a smirk, standing on tiptoe to reach a wooden cupboard high on the wall. He managed to flick it open and several small, cobwebbed items fell out, abandoned by lodgers past – an old-fashioned shower radio, a dusty plastic bottle, a yellowed magazine and… "Ha! Socks!"

...

"A bow tie? Are you serious?" Sophie was laughing now, incredulous. Craig, however, found his attention called away once more by the two voices he could hear emitting through the thin walls from the room next door. There was still something…odd…

"Hang on a sec," he interrupted, pushing the paper bag to one side and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"What?" Sophie whispered, but Craig had lowered the phone from his ear and was heading over to the wall. "Craig? Craig – don't listen to them!"

"Popping orange juice," the Doctor's energetic voice was saying. Craig's eyebrows furrowed and he leaned in closer to the wall. "Real bean star buckle, red badger on the table, parakeet bedsocks in acoustic chimneys. Practical eruption in chicken dates – long, hardy spiral." Kaiser's somewhat softer voice cut in at that point.

"Burning in the reaper's iron claw." There was the creak of a cupboard door, and then, "Ha! Blood!" Craig shook his head. He must have misheard – they were obviously foreign after all.

...

"Now all we've got to do," the Doctor continued, as the Master shook out the pair of socks, "is pass as two ordinary human beings. Simple. What could possibly go wrong?"

"Mmm, let me think…" Amy drawled, voice already oozing sarcasm. "A Prime Minister who died two years ago, and a wardrobe that died eighty years ago. Yeah, what could possibly go wrong?"

"Oh, so you're just going to be snide. No helpful hints?"

"Ask Mister Saxon – he lived on Earth for, like, a year and a half, didn't he? Let him do the talking – I'm sure that'll make him happy."

"He had fifteen telepathic satellites last time," the Doctor pointed out. He got to his feet and began pacing around the room, poking at unfamiliar items on the dresser. Stopping in front of a circular mirror that hung from the wall, he picked up a pair of sunglasses and perched them on the end of his nose. "And besides, he was in Parliament all the time. Nope – what we need is normal blokes. What do normal blokes do?"

"They…watch telly, they play football, they go down the pub."

"We could do that… Hear that?" he called over his shoulder to the Master, pulling off the sunglasses and perching them on top of his thick, floppy hair. "You get to watch telly – apparently, that's actually normal."

"You sound so surprised." He was pleased though, the Doctor could tell, even if his fellow Time Lord was doing a fair job of hiding it – but before he could make comment, a crash overhead startled them both into raising their heads. Seconds later, they both felt as the disturbance became more than a sound, jarring on their temporal senses like nails on a blackboard. Time itself began to bend around them, swinging dizzyingly back and forth; on the counter, the hands of two alarm clocks whirled and spun erratically, and the Doctor could hear Amy's cries of alarm and the pained rumbling of the TARDIS engines.

"Localized time loop," they both realized aloud.

"Local time distortion…" the Doctor hummed thoughtfully.

"Yuck," the Master grimaced. "Powerful one, too. Some sort of ripple in the temporal energy weave of this causal nexus – and I'd say…"

"…we're right…underneath…it," the Doctor finished; their eyes met and travelled uneasily upwards as time settled itself. A moment later, the Doctor clapped a hand to his ear.

"Will you two cut out that Time Lordy babbling and tell me what is going on?" Amy shrieked.

"All right, all right, no need for hysterics," the Doctor moaned, wincing. "Whatever's happening here is affecting the TARDIS…"

"Which is what?"

"…which is nothing to worry about. Not really. Well, it might-"

"Doctor!"

"No, no – just keep the zigzag plotter on full – that'll protect you," the Doctor said hastily, deliberately turning his back on the Master, who was mouthing something, eyebrows raised in disdain. He heard the series of clicks as the plotter was pulled, and then what could have been a small, hissing explosion and Amy's growl of irritation. "Amy – I said the zigzag plotter."

"I pulled the zigzag plotter!" she snapped.

"Well, you're standing with the door behind you?"

"Yes!"

"O.K., take two steps to your…hey!" He felt the slightest crackling of heat at the side of his head and a hand snatched the earpiece from his ear.

"Forget the zigzag plotter." The Master didn't place the earpiece in his own ear, but held it to his mouth and spoke impatiently into the microphone. "To the left of the two golden gears sticking out of a panel divider, just under the cold water tap, there's a silver gearstick. Pull that three clicks towards you. If the lights go dim, push it back one." He tossed the earpiece onto the bed and watched while the Doctor's hands made vague motions in the air, trying to visualize the rapid commands – and then grabbed wildly at the earpiece.

"Amy, don't do it!" he shouted frantically. "Whatever he told you to do – don't do it!" Fumbling in his panic, he nearly dropped the delicate piece of technology, slipping it into his ear just in time to hear Amy's cool voice.

"It didn't explode."

"What do you mean it didn't explode – of course it exploded!" the Doctor shot back, while the Master laughed aloud.

"Nope. Not a pop. No supernova, no…black hole. Not even a parking ticket."

"Oh. Right. Right…" the Doctor croaked weakly. His whole expression flooded with sheer relief and he sat down heavily on the bed. "Right…no, of course not…"

"Sooo…" He could just make out the sound of Amy's long fingernails tapping on the console.

"So, Pond," he said decisively, jumping up and throwing open several cupboards. "We've got work to do."

"Hey-" Amy's voice was cut off as, with a flick of a switch, the communication device was disconnected and the Doctor removed it from his ear and tossed it into a drawer beside the bed, slamming the drawer loudly.

"Zigzag plotter?" the Master snorted. "Really, Doctor, that's crude." Opening and closing cupboards and drawers with a series of hasty bangs, the Doctor did his utmost to feign temporary deafness, but the Master continued with the same infuriating derision in his voice. "Surely you would have remembered that the sawtooth plotter gives greater stationary stability for riding out non-laminar disturbances in the vortex…" Finally, in a desperate attempt to change the subject, the Doctor's eyes swept the room and alighted on an object the Master still held in one hand.

"What do you call those?" It was the pair of socks he had unearthed in the cupboard earlier, and even the Doctor had to admit they were revolting – knitted woollen stockings in garish green and red stripes adorned with large, lopsided snowflakes. "You're not actually going to wear them, are you?" The Master eyed the socks with undisguised distaste, before flinging them into an open drawer.

"I'd rather wear that scarf you used to trip over."

"Well it's all there is," the Doctor shrugged nonchalantly. "Come on, then – we've got a few items to pick up." He made a move towards the door and the Master picked up his boots. There was the longest pause; the Doctor stood with his hand on the doorhandle, watching the Master almost expectantly, and eventually with a snort of disgust, the Master reached back into the drawer to retrieve the socks.

"Ugh – now I know I've been stuck with you for too long."

Just before he turned the doorhandle, the Doctor rubbed the side of his head, where his hair still tingled with static from the brush of the Master's hand, and glanced at the other Time Lord out of the corner of his eye just in time to glimpse another pulse of life force energy glimmering through his skin.

"You know, whether you'll admit it or not, you're going to be in trouble if we don't get the TARDIS back soon," he said quietly. The Master narrowed his eyes and said nothing.

...

Later that night, if Craig had still been awake to hear, he might have wondered at the clattering of a shopping trolley that broke the stillness of the silent street. He might have heard the hushed voices of two Time Lords, one of whom was none too pleased about being appreciated for his experience living rough on the streets. He might even, if he had listened closely, have made out the contented purring of a cat held in the arms of the darker clad of the two, who walked beside the one with the trolley.

But in the pitch darkness of the small hours of the night, he could not have seen the lingering gaze that rested on the upper window of the house, or the faint twitching at the corner of the hooded figure's mouth as he followed the first up the steps and through the door.