Title: There Was a Master in a Game

Author: azriona

Characters: The Master mostly. This week's guest star is Lynda Moss.

Rating: PG-13 for language

Spoilers: Everything. The majority takes place after The End of Time, but there are references to events through the end of Season Five.

Betas: Runriggers and Earlgreytea68

A/N: First and foremost, countless thanks go to LJ's the_tenzo for the most awesome bingo card ever. I wish I could take credit for the card, but it all goes to her.

Second, thanks to the usual suspects, my betas who laugh at my jokes and tell me when I misspell stuff. Any errors that remain are mine and mine alone.

As for you, reading this now: There is too much to say, and too many who need to hear it. But what it boils down to is this: because you read the second chapter, said "HUH?", but kept on reading anyway – thank you. I hope this ending is everything you want it to be.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Everywhere and in Between

By the time the Master returned to the Council Room, the Beer Pong Tournament had concluded.

"Who won?" he asked Romana, the only Time Lord who wasn't sprawled out in some state of intoxication on a chair, table, or floor.

"I don't think they got that far," said Romana. She was sitting on top of the table, her ankles neatly crossed. "Are you going to leave the Time Lock now?"

The Master's glare was particularly sharp. "What makes you think that?"

"You filled in the missing squares, didn't you? You can break the Time Lock."

"Mmm." The Master watched as one of the Time Lords batted at his nose before falling back to sleep. "Don't know why I'd want to stay."

"I think he wanted you to break it," said Romana.

The Master snorted.

"All right, maybe not you, but – someone. Otherwise he would never have left a Key." Romana swung her legs. "It's what the Doctor does, you know. He always offers a choice." Romana straightened, and dropped her voice a few octaves to mimic the Doctor. "'Leave this world, or suffer the consequences'. You know."

"I've heard it," said the Master grimly.

"So you do know," said Romana with a nod. "He's given you a choice. Break the Key, leave the Time Lock. Or not."

The Master pulled the now tattered roll of papers from his back pocket.

"That's the question, isn't it?" said the Master, looking at the papers. "Who suffers the consequences?"

"Oh, what's it matter?" said Romana airily, waving her hand. "As long as you're out of the Time Lock, free to commit wanton acts of destruction?"

The Master's head snapped up. "It matters," he snapped. "And, having traveled with him as long as you did, I'd think you would know that, Romanadvoratrelundar."

And he disappeared.

Romana smiled, and hopped off the table. She kicked the Time Lord closest.

"Time to wake up, sleeping beauty," she said cheerfully. "I'm feeling peckish, and you're going to bake me a coconut cake."

"I say," said Randolph Spencer-Churchill, looking down at his fiancée with surprise. "I should look for peanuts more often."

Sally didn't say anything; she simply buried her nose in his lapel, and tried not to think too hard. It was only a matter of time before the Master returned again, before she had to pretend she didn't know what was in the corner square. Not that she knew, but would he actually believe her…

"Sally," said Randy, and she could hear the concern in his voice. "Is there something the matter?"

"What would you do if I went away?" she asked his coat.

"I'd be quite sorry," said Randy. "I've grown immensely fond of you."

"Would you marry someone else?" she asked, looking up at him.

"I expect I might, in time," he said, his moustache waggling up and down. "But I very much doubt I would look for anyone immediately following the funeral. Perhaps not until the following week."

Sally lightly punched his arm.

"Year," amended Randy. "Decade, perhaps, if that would suit?"

"It would."

"That's decided, then," said Randolph, and most unlike him, leaned over to kiss her.

"Oh, please," said a voice from the corner of the room. "As if I weren't feeling ill enough already."

Sally pulled out of the kiss to stare at the Master, newly returned and looking incredibly sour.

"You look horrid," she told him.

"You don't," he said, very grumbly. "When's the wedding?"

"Two weeks," said Randolph. "And I was rather hoping the portrait would be finished in time for display at the reception, my good fellow—?"

"Yeah, we all want things," said the Master, waving his hand. He turned to Sally. "So you're going through with it?"

"Yes," said Sally, gripping onto Randolph's hand.

"Hmph." The Master sat on the windowsill and glared at them. "End of the world, you know."

"I'll chance it," snapped Sally.

He was quiet for a moment. "How'd you meet?"

Sally blinked. "What?"

"How. Did. You. Meet."

"I heard you, I just…" Sally sighed. "He nearly ran me over in his carriage."

"I did run you over," Randolph corrected her. "You knocked your head against the cobblestones, we thought you would die before we ever learned your name." He was forlorn for a moment, as if the thought of Sally's possible death haunted him even now.

Sally turned and touched his cheek. "I woke up and saw you by the window, asleep in the chair. I thought I was dreaming."

"I'd been sitting there all night, waiting—"

"And you startled awake, and you were so nervous because I was in a nightgown, and there wasn't anyone else," said Sally, smiling. "As if anyone would really think you'd take advantage of me with a concussion!"

"Oh, gag," said the Master. "Do you two realize how annoyingly cute you two sound?"

"You asked," said Sally.

"I did," said the Master regretfully.

"Besides," said Sally. "I think it's romantic – like something you'd expect out of a storybook, or one of those black-and-white movies where they never get together until the end, because you're absolutely convinced they hate each other all the way through, until something happens and they realize—" Sally shrugged. "They're perfect for each other."

The Master winced. "You would say that, wouldn't you?"

Sally crossed her arms. "Well, go on. What did you come back for? I don't think it was to ask us how we met."

"You gave it to me already," said the Master morosely.

Sally blinked. "I did?"

"Sally Sparrow," said the Master, standing. "Do you want to go home?"

"She is home," said Randolph, resting his hand on her shoulder.

The Master kept staring at Sally, and she nodded her agreement.

"I thought you hated the underwear," said the Master.

Sally smiled. "I'll get over it."

"Ugh," said the Master, and disappeared.

Randolph Spencer-Churchill blinked. "Good lord, the man just disappeared."

"He did," said Sally. "I think for good this time."

"Well," said Randolph, and it took him a moment to find the words. "I suppose we'll have to find another artist."

Sally laughed.

"I think the Master's coming back," said Jack Harkness grimly. Lynda swallowed, worried.

"Then I won't leave you," she said firmly. "He didn't want me to see him before – that won't have changed. He won't dare hurt you if I'm here."

"Lynda—" Jack took her by the shoulders. "Don't you see? He's dangerous. He just about killed me before, he could very well do it again, with or without you here. I won't take that chance. You need to go home."

Lynda effortlessly knocked his hands away. "You've never been stupid, Jack. You've been a lot of things, but stupid? Not one of them."

Jack rubbed his eyes. "Lynda…"

"Don't 'Lynda' me! You've never mollycoddled me before, so why start now?"

"Mollycoddled? Really? That word still exists?" Jack looked amused.

"If what you told me before is true, you're from a later time period than I am, Jack Harkness," snapped Lynda. "I wouldn't be making fun of me for a word you recognize!"

"If what I told you?" Jack's voice was cool now. "What do you mean, if?"

"I mean, it may be true, but—"

"Did you or did you not see me die and come back just now? Right there, beneath your desk?"

"Just because you're apparently unable to die doesn't mean you're from the future," said Lynda.

"I'd lie about one thing and not about the other?"

"I don't know what you'd do! As it turns out, I don't know anything about you at all! You're not even American!"

"I never said I was!" shouted Jack.

"You never corrected me when I said it!" Lynda shouted back. "For crying out loud, Jack, I thought you were from Nebraska."

"Nebraska? What about me made you think I was from Hicksville?"

"For starters, you didn't know anything – not the monetary system, not the aerocars – you didn't even know how to work the computers. What was I supposed to think but that you were from the back of nowhere? Oh, wait. I'm sorry, I should have just guessed that you were from a different time period. Why didn't I think of that?"

Jack groaned. "Lynda—"

"Don't 'Lynda' me," she warned him. "My mother 'Lyndas' me. You do not 'Lynda' me."

"Fine," said Jack through gritted teeth. "Tell me how I'm supposed to say your name when you're being ridiculous."

"I'm not the one being ridiculous."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not. I'm being hurt. There's a difference."

Jack blinked. "Hurt?"

"Yes, hurt!" yelled Lynda. "I trusted you, Jack. Why didn't you trust me?"

"Maybe because you wouldn't believe me – and wow, look! You didn't!"

"Who says I don't believe you!"

"You did! Five minutes ago!"

"It has nothing to do with whether I believe you or not, Jack Harkness! It's that you lied to me the whole bloody time! If you'd just told me the truth three years ago, I wouldn't be so angry with you now!"

Jack stared at her. "Wait. You believe me?"

"Didn't I just say—"

"Say it again."

"Yes, I believe you," snapped Lynda. "You're immortal, you're from a gazillion years in the future, you were the last person aboard the Game Station and the only one to survive. Is that all?"

"Not really," said Jack, took two steps to Lynda, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her.

To Lynda's surprise (as well as Jack's), she kissed him back.

When they finally came up for air, they remained locked in each other's arms, staring in shock at each other.

"Uh," said Lynda, swallowing.

"Hmm," said Jack, tasting his lips.

"Again, please," said Lynda, and to her relief, he complied.

Neither of them noticed the man in the hall. This was probably because he wasn't there anymore. Had they seen him before he disappeared, however, they would have noticed the shocked expression on his face. It was very much as if he had witnessed something that had made him queasy enough to cry.

Lynda Moss sat at her desk in Torchwood Tower's lobby, busily working on her notepad. She didn't look up when the lobby doors opened, and the footsteps approached her desk.

"Hello, welcome to Torchwood Tower," she said, somewhat dully. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Not really."

Lynda's head snapped up, and she broke into a wide smile, clearly pleased to see the visitor. "You're back!" she said, delighted.

The Master swallowed. "I'm back."

"I thought you were gone for good," she told him.

He frowned. "I was just here."

"Two weeks ago! You'll never guess – they accepted my application."

"To Big Brother?" She nodded. "That's – good. So you're going?"

"I think so," said Lynda. "No reason to stay here, anyway."

"Oh," said the Master. He tapped his fingers on the counter.

"Did – did you want me to look for your friend the Doctor again?" asked Lynda, a bit more timid now.

"Your head all right?"

Lynda smiled, a bit confused, and nodded. "I had a little headache, but it's been gone for ages."

"Good." He looked somewhat sour. "Oh, look. I'm not any good at this. I'm not usually the sort to care about whether someone has a headache or doesn't, or gets onto the telly or doesn't, or even tries to be helpful or doesn't, unless it benefits me. And frankly, whether or not you have a headache or win the competition or even find that blasted bloody Doctor, not one bloody thing is going to make any of this any better, which is that the one thing I apparently do care about is that I don't like the idea of completely destroying any world in which you exist. Okay?"

Lynda blinked. "Okay."

"So I'm not. I'm just not." He looked up at the ceiling and shouted. "Did you hear that, Doctor? You win! I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

The words echoed off the chamber and almost visibly bounced against the metal and glass walls before they faded away.

"In that case," said Lynda. "Do you want to share my chicken salad sandwich? I think it was an evil chicken."

"Sure," said the Master, and just to prove he was evil, scuffed his feet on the floor.

"Rose!" he bellowed, and there was a clang from under the TARDIS console, which looked rather like a kitchen countertop, probably because it was. The Meta-crisis half-human Doctor peered underneath to see Rose clutching a monkey wrench and rubbing the top of her head. "Oh, there you are. Are all our hatches battened down?"

"Yes," said Rose irritably. "Did you have to shout while you were standing right next to me?"

"I didn't know you were next to me!" The Doctor straightened again and started to shout for Sally.

"Psychic abilities, my foot," said Rose under the console.

"I heard that."

"I said it, not thought it."

"Sally!"

"Here!" sang Sally from above, where she was carefully placing the last of the anti-heat radiator shielding. "Where to first, boss?"

"Don't call me boss," said the Doctor. "I think Barcelona."

"Heard that before," said Rose under the console.

"Are you coming out?" the Doctor asked her.

"I like it under here," said Rose. "You know what would be nice under here? Apple grass."

"New Earth?"

"New beginnings," Rose corrected him, crawling out from under the console. "New worlds to explore. New stories to be spun. New – well, everything. Don't you think?"

He grinned at her as Sally dropped down from above. "New dreams too?"

"Of course!" said Sally.

The Doctor reached for the console. "Well, then – allons-y!"

finis

If you'd like to see what the completed bingo card looks like, please direct your browser to:

www dot azriona dot net/master/chapter_twentyfive dot jpg