Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who

Modern Crusaders

Chapter 4

"I don't know your face no more
Or feel your touch that I adore
I don't know your face no more
It's just a place I'm looking for
We might as well be strangers in another town
We might as well be living in a different world
We might as well
We might as well
We might as well

I don't know your thoughts these days
We're strangers in an empty space
I don't understand your heart
It's easier to be apart

We might as well be strangers in another town
We might as well be living in a another time
We might as well
We might as well
We might as well be strangers…"

We Might As Well be Strangers- Keane

The one good thing about London, The Doctor observed, was that it was easy to get lost in.

He had lived a good portion of ten lives roaming these streets, but found that he never could seem to find his way around. Or maybe he had been able to at one point, and had simply lost that gift, along with all of his other Time Lord capabilities.

Either way, he was, once again, lost.

And that was good.

How would they find him, if he himself did not know where he was? Twas a fool-proof defense! He was safe!

He was barefoot now, his shoes thrown into a burning bin, compliments of his homeless brethren. Here he sat, huddled in an abandoned cargo shaft. He was dirty from head to foot, every inch of skin covered in grime and soot. Upon his flesh lay numerous cuts and bruises; some of them caused from the dangers of the city, others caused by his own nails digging agitatedly at his face.

His hair was more of a mess than it ever had been, falling down to his neck in long brown tresses. He cursed as he ran his fingers through it, practically feeling every lost gray hair laughing down at him. He didn't look like The Doctor anymore. He looked like…well, he didn't know anymore. A stranger.

His fingers were long and bony as they worked his way down to caress his chin, which was in dire need of a shave. It was only a little stubble by human standards, but for him, had he cared, it would have been too much. He wasn't Rassilon, and he wasn't The Master. Beards did not become him, no matter what Rose said.

He felt his stomach plummet at the thought of her name. Ugh, why her? Why did every little thing have to remind him of her?

He rocked back and forth in his familiar lullaby, lips red with blood from where he had bitten down. He was so hungry, and the blood tasted good. For a minute his thoughts wandered back to his days with Romana, and he thought for a flash that vampires were indeed sensible in enjoying its flavor. How many days had it been, he wondered, since he had last eaten? How many weeks? Shouldn't he be dead by now?

It was never that easy.

He couldn't make sense of his thoughts anymore. Did he want to live, or did he want to die? Why was he running, if he did not care about his own life? Maybe it was because he knew they would keep him alive. Those human detectives; they would stuff his face with food and medicine and tear at his mind for as long as they needed, before finally getting a confession out of him. Or maybe they wouldn't have to wait; maybe he'd crack under the pressure instantaneously, spilling his guts in a hyper waltz.

It didn't matter, though. He wasn't going to wait around to find out. He would continue running, continue hiding, until no human dare take notice of his skeleton cadaver.

Because they thought he was a murderer.

Well, they were wrong.

He'd make sure they knew how wrong they were.

He'd show them…

The Master cursed, stomping down the streets in search of a shop. As he walked, many people turned and stared, but he knew that this time, it was not because of his clothes, nor was it because he smelled.

They said that dogs were a man's best friend.

He wondered if they could guess what a Time Lord's best friend was.

The cat had followed him everywhere, in turn making it impossible for him to board a bus. Five miles he had walked; five agonizingly long miles down these winding roads. It wasn't as though he was getting tired, as if… but damn it, he was growing impatient! In no form of logical reasoning should it have been this difficult to acquire something as simple as a change of clothes.

Lucy meowed happily as her paws pattered against the asphalt; several young girls cooing over the way she followed her Master.

Lucy. That was her name. Because he said so, and because she was just as annoying as his dead human wife, if not more. At least she listened to him!

Well, besides the whole killing him twice thing.

"Curse you!" He swore under his breath, though whether he was cursing Lucy the cat or Lucy the human was unclear. Either way he was not happy, and was going to be even less so if he did not find a department store now.

As if by magic, one appeared, and he practically skipped into it, but not before slamming the door in Lucy's face.

The feline glared at him, green eyes piercing into his back as it faded from view. After several minutes of waiting, she jumped up onto a nearby bin, soaking up the humid sun as she awaited his return.

The Master breathed deeply, inhaling the fine scents of cotton and polyester. "Oh, I love shopping…" He exhaled.

"Me too, love. How can I help ya?"

He turned around, startled. Had he said that out loud?

"Ah, no help needed." He stuttered at the middle-aged employee. "I think I've got it covered." He grinned in an almost amused way, receiving a complimentary smile paired with dark brown hair and blue eyes. He might not be able to hypnotize humans anymore, but natural charm had to count for something.

"Well, I'll be just over there, if you need me." She pointed to the cash register, and he nodded in understanding, rocking on his toes as she took her leave.

Looking around, he was surprised to find that the vicinity was much fancier than he had expected. It also seemed to have a wider interior; in that respect it reminded him of a TARDIS, and he made a mental note of where his next journey would be.

Strolling down the aisles of clothes, he had a basic idea of what he was looking for. All he needed was a nice black ensemble. Because he had always looked good in black, no matter what his regeneration, be it skeleton or Lord of all camp.

He browsed through the rows of hangers, looking for the correct sizes. For some reason, he felt slightly shorter than he did when he had been Harold Saxon. Perhaps it was another side effect of Lucy's resurrection-meddling; damn the woman.

Finally, he found what he was looking for. A black suit, very much resembling that of a catholic priest. Come to think of it, it looked exactly like what a priest might wear, neck tie and all.

He blinked, turning it over in his hands. Did humans normally mix formal wear with daily attire?

Oh well, who was he to complain?

Slipping it off the hanger, he made his way into a dressing room.

It was perfect.

He examined himself in the mirror, tying around the collar as he did so. Why not wear the whole thing? It looked good on him!

He grinned, satisfied as he ran his fingers through his blonde hair. Oh yes, this suited him nicely, somehow.

Knowing he was happy with his decision, he made his way out, not bothering to change back into his prior rags.

It still felt like something was missing, though.

He pondered, looking around for some kind of hint as to what was off, and then spotted something blue in the corner of his eye.

Prancing his way over to it, he saw that it was a long, flowing tailcoat. He took it off the hanger, holding it up to his torso, before trying it on. It was indeed very long, barely an inch off of the ground, much reminding him of the Doctor's own puddle of brown; except this coat seemed to fit much closer to the skin.

He stared at himself in the mirror, considering. He had never worn much color before, especially such a light shade of blue, but he had to admit it looked good with his hair.

Yes. This would do splendidly.

Gathering up his old clothes, he strode up to the cashier from before, whose smile quickly faded.

"All right, love." He beamed. "Ring me up!" He spread his arms eagle-style, grinning from ear to ear as the tags dangled loosely from their appendages.

The woman placed her hands on her hips, glaring at him through her amused smile. "Now how do I know you haven't got more clothes under there?"

He let his arms flop to his sides, a dejected mope plastered on his face. "Oh, well by all means, if you want me to take them off-" He started undoing his collar.

She held up her hands, scanner pointing at him like a gun. "No, no, it's fine, come here."

He advanced towards her, watching with interest as she moved around to scan the items one by one. "Goin' to a party?" she asked casually.

"No." He furrowed his brow in confusion, then looked down at her as she scanned the tag on his trousers. "Why?"

She stared up at him, eyebrows raised. "Well you got this in fancy dress, didn't you?"

He looked back at the section where he had found the suit, brow furrowed in contemplation. "Is that what it was…?"

"All right, finished." She stood up, handing him a receipt, which he eyed carefully. "Isn't this a bit expensive…?" He glared at her.

"Not in this shop, it aint." The woman grinned.

He sniffed. "Fine, whatever you want." And slammed the money down on the counter. "See if I come here again! I've got the whole universe to choose from! Or I will, in a few hours…" And with that he exited the shop, the door bell clanging behind him.

The woman smiled as his form disappeared into the crowd, a black cat following in his wake.

What a strange man.

Counting the money before placing it in the cash register, she discovered that the lump sum was ten pounds short of what he owed her.

Sighing, she opened up her own purse, adding the lost amount. Oh well, this was her good deed for the day…

And besides, he did look good in that coat.

"C'mon, Lucy!"

The Master really didn't need to keep encouraging her to follow him, but what kind of a Master would he be if he did not order his minions around?

Yes, she was a minion. He did not keep pets. He tried to keep a dog once; gave him his own bowl and tent and everything. But the dog behaved badly, so he then turned him into a canary, having to keep him locked up in a bird cage. Just look how that turned out.

Lucy purred, staring up at him with pompous affection. It almost looked as if she was asking him, "Where are we going, Master?"

He smirked down at her. "Where all Time Lords go when they need to hide something on earth." He answered matter-of-faculty "76 Totter's Lane."

"What are you hiding?" Her nonexistent prying continued.

"I'm not hiding something, I'm picking something up." He grinned, fiddling with the buttons on his new coat.

"What is it? Is it tasty?"

Now he was sure he was not just imagining things. Though, considering his behavior on Christmas…

He shook his head, ignoring his better judgment. "Not remotely."

Lucy quickened her pace, scampering ahead as they neared their destination.

"Oi!" The Master growled, having to jog in order to keep up with her. "Don't you walk away from me! Who do you think is in charge, here?!"

She meowed.

"Oh, is that so?" He caught up with her, slamming open a pair of blue double-gate doors. Upon them was the inscription "Forman's Junkyard," barely visible in its now faded white paint.

"Hasn't changed much." He looked around, stepping on a piece of glass in the process. Looking down, he realized he had forgotten to buy new shoes.

Damn.

Well, these ones weren't too bad. He rocked up and down, testing them on his feet as if putting them on for the first time. They were stark and firm-fitting black boots, with a vague hint of a heel to them. Yeah, he could work with these. They fit, didn't they? Could use a good wash, though…

Peering around the cluttered enclosure, he got that all-too familiar feeling of it being too quiet, mixed with the feeling of being watched. But then, this junkyard was full of many things, both human and alien, and being a Time Lord he was sensitive to those energies.

Still, best to proceed with caution.

He made his way over to one of the various piles, and began rummaging for his prize. He doubted any human would find it, but had still taken precautions as to put a perception filter on it. It was his last resort, after all.

Now in his many years of regenerations, and the mistakes made in them, he had learned long ago that he could never be too careful, especially in matters concerning The Doctor. He always had to think three steps ahead, because, as much as he hated to admit it, The Doctor would always be five steps ahead of his three steps.

So considering the ridiculous prospect that his plan to overthrow the earth would fail, there had been some things to take into consideration. Should he fail, what would his next move be? Should he die, what would he do after regeneration? Should regeneration not be an option (because it had happened before) how could he then manage to survive, regenerations still in tact? Should he be alone, stranded, and powerless, as he was now, how was he going to get out of it? If, by the small chance, any of this happened?

Coming back to life? Well, he had achieved it, although he had hit several detours along the way. Still, he managed. Means of getting off this planet should The Doctor re-claim his TARDIS? Well, that had been planned from the very beginning. Even before his creation of the paradox machine. Even before seducing Lucy into her doomed marriage, he had planned for this.

"Aha!" His smile seemed to stretch from ear to ear, as he pulled a small, old fashioned safe from a rubbish bin. "Found it! Now, let's see, the code, the code…" He sat down on the dirt, filling in a long combination as he muttered a wide string of numbers to himself. Finally, the metal lock gave way, and he opened the lid with much enthusiasm. Noticing the change of events, Lucy frolicked over to him, curious of any treasures that may yet be unveiled.

Inside the box were no more than two things; the first being a replacement laser screwdriver, the second being what appeared to be an aging piece of coral.

The Master grinned, picking up the screwdriver and twisting it over in his hands. Peering at it with some nostalgia, a rather odd thought entered his mind.

"This could be a little more sonic…" He blinked at it, then stuck it in his coat pocket. As he reached for the coral, he felt the terrible urge to go through the entire junkyard, excited as to what other artifacts he might find. But first things first, he had to get down to business.

Producing his laser screwdriver from his pocket, he set the coral down on the ground, aiming it at the small child. Normally it would take thousands of years for a TARDIS to grow, but what did he care about rules? He had Lazarus technology!

He laughed to himself as the fetus trembled on the ground, a small noise emitting from it like wind through air pipes.

Lucy hissed and hid behind The Master, hair standing on end as the piece of coral shifted, soon glowing with a vibrant yellow light. In a matter of seconds the color had changed from a rusty brown, to a strident shade of blue, and the coral grew and grew, larger and larger as both the light and the noise grew stronger. But The Master's smile began to fade, and as he neared the end of the labor, standing before him was anything but what a young TARDIS should look like.

Instead it was a police box.

"…Shit." He a low growl escaped his throat, and he swung the doors open. Of course! How could he be so stupid!

The Doctor's TARDIS was a damaged and spoiled one; how could her offspring, bred from a single parent, be born into anything than what it knew of its mother. The walls were the same, the floors were the same. The pillars, the console, everything was an exact replica of The Doctor's TARDIS, save for the lack of any furniture or otherwise inanimate objects.

He continued to growl, Lucy stepping in to examine the new surroundings. As he flicked several switches on the console, turning a few knobs and pressing a few buttons, his worst fears were confirmed. Not only was the interior the same, but so were the very dynamics of the machinery. Anything that had been broken in her mother was also broken in her. This also meant that the time controls were locked, just as they had been when he had escaped from the end of the universe.

He was stuck.

Damn that Doctor.

Very much shaking with rage, he kicked a piece of the console. This resulted in a small shake of the room, much like the equivalent of a child's whimper. What did I do wrong? Her language was of the highest Gallifreyan, reserved only for loved ones and family members. The Master was surprised to find something tearing at his hearts like knives, deep within his subconscious.

"Er, sorry…" he muttered, stroking the console as he rose to his feet. "It's not your fault, it's your mum's, really. Well not your mum, more so her master…"

Are you my master?

He grinned, feeling rather pathetic in his foolhardiness, but answered. "Yes. And you will obey me."

With that he exited The TARDIS, taking a good hard look at its exterior. It was young, yes, but seemed to be whole enough. He sighed, staring up at it with his arms folded securely across his chest. Now the question was, how was he going to fix it?

"Get out of the way."

The Master froze. He'd know that voice anywhere.

Why hadn't he sensed him…?

Turning around slowly, sweat forming on his brow, he felt no warmth in those words this time. Left was only a malice, a ferocity that did not belong on that tongue, not in any circumstances. The sight that met him was only more horrifying.

It was The Doctor; gun in hand.

And it was pointed at him.

Author's Notes: What a hard chapter to write! I tried to keep it as canonical as I possibly could, forgive me if I messed up somewhere in the technology-babble, I'm not smart like The Doctor/Master.

I.M Foreman's Junkyard was a key plot point to several episodes in the classic series, where The First Doctor hid his TARDIS and where the hand of Omega was hidden. According to Wikipedia, so I don't know how true this is, bear with me, I.M. Foreman was a Gallifreyan monk who lived on Gallifrey but was driven from the monasteries following Rassilon's Intuitive Revolution. It's not clear whether there is a connection between the two, but I choose to use my imagination, as you may also do. I think there were more things I was supposed to mention but I forgot them. If you have any questions feel free to ask in a review.