Author's Note: Hello everyone! Thanks very much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter: EDZEL2, gallifrey calls now, MayFairy, Son of Whitebeard, words2live, Theta'sWorstNightmare and Aietradaea. Love you all XXX

- Chapter Three -

As one man, the Doctor and Jack turned and pelted back the way they had come, pulling up short at the locked gate.

"Damn it, get this open, Andy!" Jack yelled, shaking the bars in frustration. "NOW!"

Andy was frantically fumbling at his belt, trying to tug the keys free. The Doctor didn't hesitate. He pulled out his sonic screwdriver, the diode at the tip already glowing an eerie green. A high-pitched buzzing sound filled the air and the tumblers in the lock clicked open. Jack kicked the gate open with a metallic crash and then they were running again.

When they reached Mickey's cell door, the Doctor didn't even wait for Andy, who was bringing up the rear. He just used the screwdriver on the door. Jack drew his gun and together they burst inside, alert for any attack. But the tiny cell was completely empty, except for Mickey, who was lying in the middle of the cement floor. The air was full of the heavy, coppery smell of fresh blood.

"MICKEY!" the Doctor yelled, falling to his knees beside his friend.

Mickey was gasping for breath, a horrible, wheezing, rattling sound that seemed to echo around the small room, bouncing off the concrete walls. His eyes were wide with shock, his hands clutching at the long, thin wooden handle protruding obscenely from the centre of his chest. The cold, rational part of the Doctor's mind, the part that always noticed everything, told him that it was a large ice pick. There was blood everywhere, pooling redly on the ground beneath Mickey in a great, wet puddle.

Andy swore violently and thumped the alarm button on the wall with his fist. Somewhere back in the station, a siren began whooping madly.

"Hang in there, it's going to be all right!" the Doctor promised, supporting Mickey's head in his arms. "Help's on the way! Just hang in there!"

The injured man was shaking violently, his face filled with fear as he gazed up at the Time Lord holding him.

"Doctor!" Jack said, his voice full of impotent rage. Glancing up, the Doctor saw what the Captain was looking at. The back of the cell wall was splashed with Mickey's blood, inscribed in a familiar circular pattern. It hadn't been done as delicately as the writing left on the mirror in Martha's bedroom, scrawled sloppily and in haste rather than carefully and deliberately. But the message was still very clear.

Four.

"Mickey, what happened?" the Doctor said urgently, returning his gaze to his dying friend. "You have to tell us who did this to you!"

Slowly and painfully, Mickey's bloodstained hand closed on his coat sleeve. His eyes were glazed over by now, the life in them seeping away in a steady tide.

"Doctor..." he rasped.

In the distance, they could hear the sound of running feet pounding along the corridor. But it was already far too late for Mickey.

"I'm here with you, Mickey, tell me who did this!" the Doctor begged, tightening his embrace, willing his friend to stay with them just a few moments longer.

"Doctor..." Mickey sighed again. But before he could finish his sentence, the hoarse sound of his breathing stopped abruptly and his body went limp, his head falling to the side.

At that moment, a group of paramedics rushed into the room, brushing the stunned Time Lord aside and commencing CPR with professional efficiency. But it was no use. The Doctor knew long before they declared him dead that he would never speak to Mickey again.

There had been a lot of questions and explanations and red tape before Jack and the Doctor had been allowed to leave the police station. However, it helped to have friends in high places, and a couple of phone calls from UNIT seemed to sort everything out. The Doctor just hoped that Andy wouldn't end up in too much trouble over it all.

He and Jack were back at the Plass, seated in the thin autumn sunshine on a bench not far from the TARDIS, a packet of chips open between them, the neglected food slowly growing cold and congealing. Neither of them felt like eating.

"Rest in peace, Mickey Mouse," Jack said, his head in his hands and his voice filled with grief. "First Martha, now Mickey. What's going on, Doctor?"

"I don't know," the Doctor answered heavily. "But according to the scan I did with the sonic screwdriver, there was a distinctive artron energy signature present in Mickey's cell. Someone's been using a vortex manipulator to get in and out again."

"Someone..." Jack repeated, his ocean blue eyes swinging around to fix steadily on the Doctor's face. "Someone who knows how to write in Gallifreyan. Tell me more about this River Song woman."

The Doctor sighed. "It wasn't her."

"You're sure about that? After all, you did say she's banged up for murder. Perhaps she's escaped."

"She didn't actually kill anyone," the Doctor said testily. "She's in the Stormcage for murdering me."

"You!"

"It's kind of a long story. But, as you can see, I'm very much alive. And I can promise you that River would never do anything like this."

Jack frowned, clearly unwilling to let such an obvious solution go. "How do you know?"

"Because she's my wife."

"Whoa!" Jack exclaimed, sitting up straight in astonishment. "You weren't kidding when you said you'd been busy, were you? When did that happen?"

"Not long ago. It was a bit of an impromptu thing, no time to send out invitations," the Doctor said gruffly. He was still getting used to the fact that he was married himself. Sometimes it all seemed like a dream, or something that had happened to someone else. However, he didn't feel like explaining any of that to Jack, especially when they had so much else going on. "But if someone is murdering my friends to satisfy some sort of grudge against me, then it isn't River."

There was a deep silence for a moment. Then Jack said, "Then there's only one other possible answer, isn't there? He's back."

The Doctor said nothing. He didn't need to ask who Jack was talking about. If he was honest, he'd been having much the same thought himself. He just didn't want to admit it.

"Someone who hates you that much, someone who finds murder as easy as falling off a log, someone with enough skill in time-technology to create a vortex manipulator of his own, someone who knows how to write in Gallifreyan...someone who's come back from the dead over and over again!" Jack snarled, ticking the damning points off on his fingers. "Who else could it be? By leaving you those messages, he's rubbing it in your face! He wants you dancing to his tune all over again."

The Doctor shifted uncomfortably on the bench. "I saw him fall back into the Time Lock with Rassilon and the others. It can't be him. Besides, this isn't his style. He always does things on a grand scale. He's an exhibitionist. He needs an audience. This is much too...personal."

"You really thought a mere Time Lock would stop him forever?" Jack scoffed, his handsome features twisted with rage and pain and awful, bitter memories. "And as for the rest, Doctor, don't you dare start making excuses for him. You did too much of that last time. I looked into those eyes every single day during the Year That Never Was, while he tortured and killed me over and over again. No-one knows better than I do what he is. There's nothing that sick, insane bastard isn't capable of."

The Doctor stared blankly out across the dancing waves of Cardiff Bay. Could it really be possible? Was he back again? For a moment, instead of the bustle of the Plass, all he could hear in the back of his head was a voice saying, "Get out of the way!" Despite the enmity of centuries, the Master had sacrificed his own life to save him. Had the other Time Lord now returned to redeem the debt in the blood of his friends?

"If you're right, Jack...if the Master is back and killing people..." he said worriedly. "The real question becomes, who were victims number one and number two?"