A/N: Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far, and SPECIAL thanks go to Hobbit-eyes for practically writing this chapter for me. She did all the Evil Genius stuff. Well, it takes one to know one.


"Ok," said Rose, as she followed the young man leading them down the corridor. "Gimme the low-down."

"I'm afraid we don't know much," the young man – Rose remembered that he was called Alonso, because it made her think momentarily how hilarious the Doctor would have found that – admitted apologetically. "All we know is his general appearance. At first we thought he was just a bit of an oddball, but we did some medical scans and … well … you'd best see for yourself."

"What does he look like?"

"Tall, short-ish hair, reasonably large nose and ears," said Alonso. "Quite broad-shouldered too. And he's dressed like he's going to a fancy dress party or something, all dinner jackets and cravats. We made him turn out his pockets. Mr Smith said he was half expecting him to have a pipe and slippers in there."

"Mickey's seen him?" Rose asked as they rounded a corner. Sarah Jane was still listening intently as Alonso nodded.

"Mr Smith was one of the first on the scene. He's with the man now in Interrogation Room 6 –"

"Handling the situation well, I bet," Rose said jokingly, biting back a small smile at the thought of Mickey trying to interrogate someone.

"– but we thought that, with your background experience, you'd have a better idea of how to communicate with him," continued Alonso, "seeing as you've met more extraterrestrials than Steven Spielberg."

"You are absolutely sure this man is an alien?" Sarah Jane asked. "He's not just a homeless man?"

"Or a Trekkie?" Rose interjected, remembering the embarrassing incident of last month when Torchwood thought they'd arrested their first Vulcan, but it had actually turned out to be an inebriated Star Trek fan on his way home from a convention.

"We're sure," Alonso said excitedly. "Like I told you, we've run some tests and – sorry, who's this?" he suddenly asked, having noticed Sarah Jane for the first time. Rose glanced at her before firmly addressing Alonso.

"Sarah Jane. She's with me," she said pointedly. Alonso nodded and didn't press the matter any further. "What were you saying?" Rose pressed on.

"Well, we picked him up in a park not too far from here," he said, quickening his pace when he noticed Rose's agitation. "We got a telephone call about a man hanging around and looking suspicious. At first we thought it was nothing, but then the lady who phoned the police mentioned something about a blue police box nearby. Anyway, we intercepted the call from there, found the guy, brought him in and did the medical scans. Now, what's really interesting is –"

But he stopped in mid-sentence for the second time in as many minutes when he noticed that neither Rose nor Sarah Jane were following him any more. Rose was staring blankly ahead, her breathing ragged. Sarah Jane was frowning questioningly at Alonso.

"Did … did you say … a blue police box?" Sarah Jane asked. Rose seemed dumbfounded. Alonso nodded curtly.

"It's a telephone box. From the 1950's. It's a disguise."

"And, like I was saying, what's really interesting is the scan we did of his body. It turns out he's got two hearts –"

Alonso suddenly found himself flying through the air and landing with a large thump on the opposite side of the corridor. Shaking his head, he realised that, in her rush to get past him, Rose had literally knocked him off his feet. Acknowledging the hurried apology from Sarah Jane, Alonso picked himself up, shook his head and followed them as they sprinted down the corridor towards the interrogation rooms.

Rose didn't notice the sharp, stabbing pain of a stitch in her side, nor did she pay any attention to the fact that she was running barefoot, having kicked off her shoes about ten seconds previously. She ignored Sarah Jane's shouts and protests, and instead concentrated on fanning the flames of hope that had been burning steadily dimmer these past few months. With each thud of her foot on the floor, she heard her own voice echoing in her head.

can't be can't be can't be can't be …

Skidding to a halt outside Interrogation Room 6, Rose took a second to regain her composure and open the door to the adjoining room, where she would be able to see this alien for herself. This alien … this alien …

It couldn't be, she kept telling herself. She walked in and almost fainted at the sight that greeted her through the two-way mirror.

It was.

It was him.

And he was looking right at her.

"Is … is that your Doctor?" she heard Sarah Jane ask in a small, faraway-sounding voice. Rose blinked. The hair was different – longer, with a dandy-looking side parting – and the leather jacket was gone in favour of a 1930's style evening suit, complete, like Alonso had said, with cravat and pin … but it was definitely the Doctor. Her Doctor. The same nose, the same ears, the same eyes that burned with an icy blue fire. This wasn't just the Doctor – this was the old Doctor. The Doctor she'd met first. The Doctor she'd fallen in love with first …

"It is," she heard herself reply. She cleared her throat. "It was. But he … he changed." She took a deep, steadying breath and licked her dry lips. Her heart was racing so much she thought the man – the Doctor – might be able to hear it from where she was standing. Pete came up behind her and put a paternal hand on her shoulder. He'd watched her burst in from a chair in the corner of the room, where he'd been monitoring the video and audio feeds from the interrogation room, but seeing Rose so obviously shocked had disconcerted him.

"You alright?" he asked gently, looking at her concernedly. Rose didn't reply. She just stared at the man – at the Doctor – sitting at the table. He was still staring unblinkingly at her, as if he could see her through the glass. No, not at her, she reminded herself – he wouldn't be able to see anything through the mirror. That was impossible.

"You have to tell me what's going on!"
"No I don't."

He, contrary to her expression of disbelief and shock, seemed nonplussed to the extreme. His expression was nonchalant bordering on bored. This unsettled Rose deeply. Her Doctor had never been bored of anything in his life. Something wasn't right here. She watched as Mickey paced up and down in front of the table at which the Doctor was seated, growing increasingly frustrated by his lack of response.

"For the eighteenth time," growled Mickey threateningly, "wh—"

"Seventeenth." Mickey blinked.

"What?"

"It's the seventeenth time you're about to ask me that question." He still hadn't blinked nor taken his eyes off Rose, but she was no longer concerned by this – she was more shocked to hear his voice. The strong Northern accent was gone, replaced with a very upper class, Received Pronunciation dialect that suited his outfit but didn't gel with Rose at all.

"All right," Mickey sighed exasperatedly, "for the seventeenth time … where do you come from?"

The man rolled his eyes as if he had been practising all his life – Rose could practically taste the disdain radiating from this simple facial gesture, and a perfectly timed and only slightly melodramatic sigh highlighted the man's attitude of blatant superiority over Mickey. "And for the seventeenth time," the man said calmly, "why should I tell you? It's not as if you'd know where it is. And even if you did know, you'd have no way of reaching it. Your stupid little ape minds aren't sufficiently evolved enough. Frankly, trying to teach interstellar geography to creatures with sub-par intelligence wearies me."

"I did it again. I picked another stupid ape."

It must be him, Rose thought suddenly. No-one but the Doctor insults Mickey like that …

And on that, she pushed her way past Pete, past Sarah Jane, past a surprised-looking security guard and into the interrogation room, finally making the man – and Mickey – blink at her in a somewhat surprised manner.

"Rose," Mickey muttered under his breath, annoyed at the interruption, "I'm on a roll here –"

Ignoring him, Rose leaned over the table and stared at the man sitting calmly in the chair opposite. She couldn't take her eyes off him. She committed every part of him to memory, burning his image in her mind. The nose. The eyes. The mole on his cheek. The wrinkles on his forehead. The ears. There was no mistaking him now. No-one else in the entire universe had ears like that.

"Are …" she began. She scarcely dared to ask the question in case it was the wrong one. She nearly chickened out and ran away, but she had to know. Taking another deep breath, she steeled herself and tried again. "Are you … is … is that you, Doctor?"

The man looked at her. For what seemed to Rose like an eternity, he just looked at her. It was the most thorough examination she'd ever undergone in her life. He looked her slowly up and down, judging her, before arching an eyebrow and replying delicately, "Doctor … who?"

"Just 'the Doctor'."

"Don't play games," Rose hissed. "Is it you? Are you the Doctor?" The man continued to watch Rose with his eyebrow raised, before leaning backwards in the chair and settling his face into a neutral, unreadable expression.

"I have my moments," he said, giving a ghost of a smile. But it wasn't the sort of smile that Rose had known and loved. Her Doctor had grinned maniacally at her, beaming and happy, or he smiled gently and thoughtfully without being condescending in any way. Her Doctor's smiles were spontaneous and fresh, and had made her feel safe and protected. This man's smiles were something else entirely. This smile was unctuous, guarded and controlled, giving nothing away. This smile didn't melt the ice in his eyes.

This smile reminded her of crocodiles.

"Who are you, then?" she asked, her voice starting to shake slightly.

"Just a man, passing through," he replied, continuing to smile. "But border control can be so tedious –"

"Are you a Time Lord?" she demanded forcefully.

That did it. The smile fell from his face immediately. He narrowed his eyes dangerously and frowned slightly. Rose sensed Mickey stiffen behind her, as if preparing to strike. The man leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, interlocking his fingers and resting his chin lightly on his hands.

"Now," he began quietly and questioningly, "where would a little girl like you learn something like that?"

Rose suddenly felt distinctly uneasy. There was a strange swooping feeling in the vicinity of her stomach which reminded her of seasickness. "Well?" she asked again. "Are you?"

The man considered her for a long time, his glare still dangerous and threatening. He fixed Rose with another unblinking stare, and Rose stared back defiantly, almost daring him to retaliate. After a while, the man leaned backwards and rested his interlocked hands in his lap.

"In a manner of speaking," he said quietly, every syllable carefully considered. "I'm a cut above your 'Doctor', though. There's a name I thought I'd never hear again." His smile slid greasily back into place, as if he were granting her an honour. "You may call me the Master."

"Is that supposed to sound impressive?"
"Sort of."

"Do you know the Doctor, then?" Rose asked, trying and failing to keep the eagerness out of her voice.

"Do you?" the man – the Master – asked, by way of a reply.

"I … did," said Rose quietly, emphasising her words carefully. She eyed the Master nervously as she saw a flicker of amusement cross his face. "Do you?" she repeated.

"'Did'," said the Master mockingly. "Past tense. That always seemed to me to have a final tone to it. Almost funereal, you might say …"

"What do you mean?"

Clearly, the Master was very intrigued by Rose. Here was a girl who couldn't have been much older than about 23 or 24 years old, with a knowledge way beyond not only her own years, but the years of her entire planet. He swept a disapproving look over her, and Rose got the impression that she was being judged as to whether or not she was worthy of such information.

"Do you believe me?"
"No."
"But you're still listening."

"I knew the Doctor," he said eventually, cutting through the thick silence, an ironic smile curving up one corner of his mouth. "Knew. Past tense again." The smile grew. "Curse that perfect tense." The smile dropped. "The question of knowing the Doctor now is one that requires careful consideration."

"Do you know him or don't you?" Mickey yelled, just as Rose opened her mouth to say the same thing. Rose stared in awe and disbelief at Mickey. She'd not seen him this angry, this forceful, for years. Not since the events at Cardiff Bay so long ago. He'd been angry with Rose then, angry with her for leaving him and hurting him. Now, it seemed, he was angry because he could see that this … Master … was hurting Rose. And oh, he was hurting her. The taunting, the teasing, the ridicule, the derision … so very familiar, and yet so very foreign. So Doctor, yet so not.

The Master sighed wearily and resettled himself in the chair. It was clear he was only doing it for show – it wasn't to show his discomfort, but his disdain at the situation. It was several seconds before he deigned to open his mouth again.

"I knew the Doctor," he said. "In some sense, I still do. But I'll never see him again. And neither will you."

"And why's that?" Rose demanded forcefully. The Master blinked, looking slightly taken aback by his question. His eyes flicked over to Mickey's confused expression and swept over the two-way mirror before settling back on Rose.

"Because he's dead, my dear," he said simply. "Why else?"

"That's not supposed to happen …"

…TBC…