Author's Note: Thanks very much to the people who reviewed the last chapter - MayFairy, words2live, MountainLord-92, PhoenixFlame123, Aietradaea, Theta'sWorstNightmare and EDZEL2.

This chapter is dedicated to EDZEL2, who reminded me I needed to get off my butt and write the next chapter - thanks XXX

- Chapter Four -

Before Jack could reply, there was a loud, beeping sound from the pocket of his greatcoat. With a slight frown of irritation, he pulled out his PDA and checked his messages. All at once, he swore violently, all his muscles clenched as if he wanted to hurl the device as far away from him as he could.

"I knew it!" he snarled furiously. "That bastard! That goddamn bastard!"

"What?" the Doctor demanded. "Jack, what?"

Almost shaking with rage, Jack handed the PDA over to him. For a moment, the text scrolling across the screen seemed to dance up and down in front of his eyes. He blinked rapidly until his vision settled and he could read the message. It had apparently been sent from an anonymous source, but the mocking content required no explanation.

"How many more can you stand to lose, Captain Freak? Run, run, just as fast as you can...can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man!"

A cold shiver passed over the Doctor's skin. It was an out-and-out challenge, a taunt, something which could not be more typical of the Master. And the reference to Captain Freak, the derisive name the other Time Lord had always called Jack on board the Valiant during 'The Year That Never Was'...the evidence just kept on piling up. Every clue they uncovered, every single indication, seemed to point conclusively to the fact that the Master was back and out for revenge. So why did he still have such a strong feeling that he was being led up the garden path?

At the bottom of the screen was a series of letters and numbers, obviously a map reference. Even as the Doctor was reading, Jack was already feeding the information into his Time Agent wrist-strap. "It's an abandoned warehouse in Butetown, near the docks." His eyes fixed on the Doctor's face. "But why tell us where he is? It has to be a trap."

"Yes, well, thank you, Captain Obvious," the Doctor snapped, his worry overflowing into sarcasm. "Of course it's a trap! It couldn't be more evident if there was a big sign up saying 'Get your free milk and cookies here'."

"So what do we do?"

"If this is the Master we're dealing with, he knows that I know that it's a trap. Even more importantly, he knows that I know that he knows."

Jack blinked in confusion, obviously trying to make sense of this convoluted statement. "So?"

"So this is more of an invitation," the Doctor said grimly. "He's got my attention and now he wants to talk. He always did like the sound of his own voice."

"And you want to go and listen." Jack's tone was cold and flat. The Doctor's propensity to forgive the Master over and over again was something he found incredibly difficult to accept.

The Doctor's jaw tightened. "What else would you suggest? If he's doing this to get back at me, the only way to stop the killing is for me to face up to him and find out what he wants. Like he says, Jack – how many more can you stand to lose?"

"Fine!" Jack said, pulling out his gun and sighting down the barrel. "Let's do it. Because I can think of an answer I'd like to send to that son-of-a-bitch's little invitation – a 38-calibre RSVP, right between his goddamn eyes!"

"That isn't the way, Jack!"

Jack got to his feet, his blue gaze like ice, emotionless and implacable. "Maybe it isn't your way, Doc. But it is mine. And Martha and Mickey were both my people. While you were out there swanning around the Universe, getting married, being busy, they were here, with me, on my team, doing their best to defend the Earth. That makes them my responsibility, not yours. So this time, we're going to do this my way. Now are you coming or not?"

With that, he strode away across the Plass, heading back towards the black Torchwood SUV, his long blue coat flaring out behind him. The bitterness in his voice stung the Doctor like acid, filling him with a keening sense of loss. Always before, Jack had viewed him as a saviour, a hero, a man who could do no wrong. Out of friendship for the Doctor, he had willingly given his life in a heroic sacrifice during the battle against the Daleks on Satellite Five, only to find himself cursed with immortality as a result. Then, instead of trying to help him, the Doctor had done what he always did best – he had run away and left him behind. And yet Jack had repaid him with absolute loyalty, patiently waiting over one hundred years to find him again, only to end up aboard The Valiant, imprisoned and tortured on his behalf. And never once had there been any recrimination or anger for what he had suffered.

But the Doctor had not seen him for a very long time and it appeared that, in his absence, Jack had finally realised that his idol had feet of clay. And while he might look the same as he always had, he was clearly much older now, much harder. He had matured into a leader in his own right and he was no longer prepared to sit back and allow the Doctor to run things as he saw fit.

With a sigh, the Time Lord climbed to his feet, the invisible weight of his long centuries of life settling heavily on to his shoulders. He knew it was his own fault if he had lost Jack's trust, but knowing it didn't make the loss any easier to bear.

Despite the bright sunshine flooding the Plass, he felt cold as he followed Jack across to the big, black car.

Once upon a time, Butetown had been the beating heart of industrial Cardiff, running right down to the Docks, echoing with the clanking racket from the enormous steelworks, black with dust from the coal exported from West Dock to the rest of the world. It had been bustling with life - dirty and noisy and a growing hotbed of crime. But in the latter half of the twentieth century, the area had begun to decline. Coal exports had ceased and West Dock had closed, leaving buildings abandoned and warehouses crumbling into decay. Since the dawn of the new century, many of the waterfront areas had been reclaimed and given an expensive facelift – they were no longer called 'the Docks', but 'the Bay', where everything was gleaming and new, packed full of exclusive restaurants and towering penthouses. But parts of old Butetown still remained, hidden in the shadows not reached by the bright lights of the millennium development, curling in on themselves like dying animals, clinging on to their ugly sprawls of brick-link tenements and tired old 1950s high-rises and deserted warehouses.

The Doctor stared out the window of the SUV, watching as the passing scenery became progressively more worn-out and grubby, smart new buildings swiftly giving way to ghostly old railway embankments, a street market, a series of shabby shop-fronts, terraces, a mosque and screeds of other traffic. The Time Lord couldn't help marvelling that two such different worlds could co-exist so closely, rich and poor living almost side-by-side, each carefully oblivious of the other. It never ceased to amaze him how humans could so consistently refuse to see anything they didn't want to see.

Jack spun the SUV though a confusing tangle of streets, before driving them down a narrow alleyway between several old machine shops and screeching to a stop in the weed-infested gravel bed of a dead lot. A large, bleak-looking red brick building loomed in front of them. Only part of it was still standing. The other half had apparently been destroyed in a fire a long time ago, blackened rafters reaching for the pale sky like skeleton fingers.

"This is it," Jack said, the first words he had spoken since leaving the Plass. "This used to be the Milner and Peabody Number Three Coal Depot. We're right on top of the co-ordinates he's given us, so if you're right, he should be in there somewhere."

Coal, the Doctor thought in disgust, as he climbed out of the vehicle. That was one of the other things that never ceased to amaze him about humans – their short-sightedness. As if burning up the non-renewable resources of their planet had ever been viable as a long term solution to their fuel problem.

Jack slammed the driver's door of the SUV with a crash, startling a flock of pigeons roosting in the derelict warehouse, sending them fluttering to the sky in a flurry of beating wings.

Picking their way carefully over the rubbish-strewn ground, they made their way towards the building. Jack's gun was sitting snugly in his hand, his expression taut and grim as he surveyed their surroundings, alert for any attack. The Doctor guessed that he had been here before. After nearly two centuries of living and working in Cardiff, Jack knew every inch of the city intimately, down to every last brick and stone.

"Can you sense him?" Jack's question was clipped and short, fairly vibrating with tension. His hatred for the Master seemed to colour the air around him, like a swirling black cloud.

The Doctor shook his head. "Not really. There's something here. It feels something like a Time Lord consciousness, but it's...muffled...somehow...different..."

"It's definitely him then!" Jack said, with an air of deep satisfaction, as if he had been waiting for the upcoming confrontation for a very long time. "He's hidden from you before. There's no reason he couldn't do it again."

Inside the warehouse was a single huge room with a cement floor. It was freezing cold. The afternoon was slowly dying and the sun had already started to sink into Cardiff Bay. Very little light penetrated the high, shattered windows of the decaying building. Deep shadows lurked all around, providing more than enough concealment for anyone who wanted to hide. Eerie whispers seemed to trail through the growing darkness, leaving an atmosphere of malevolence in their wake.

Back to back, the two companions stood, listening intently. The Doctor could feel unseen eyes watching them. The sensation was uncomfortable to the point of being almost obscene and he was very glad of Jack's warmth at his back. At first, there was no sound except for the soft cooing of the pigeons in the mouldering rafters. Then, very distinctly, they heard the sound of a demented giggle. It came from somewhere above them, from one of the gloomy mezzanine walkways overhead.

Both of their heads shot up, each of them trying to pinpoint the exact location of the sound. But the echoing acoustics of the old building distorted it, making it very difficult to narrow down.

"Run, run, just as fast as you can...can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man!" a mocking voice sang.

The words seemed to circle around them, coming from every direction at once. The Doctor couldn't tell for sure whether it was the Master's voice or not. Not that it would mean anything – he had no guarantee the Master hadn't regenerated when he had fallen into the Time Lock. He could look completely different now, sound completely different...

But Jack didn't hesitate. With all the arrogance of someone who knew he couldn't die, he strode to the centre of the huge room and threw his head back in fierce challenge. "SAXON!" he roared. "Where are you? I know you're here, so come out and face me, you gutless bastard!"

Again, the mad laughter swirled throughout the room, sending chills down the Doctor's spine. The sound was just so lost and desolate, more insane than even the Master had ever been before.

All at once, something long and thin came arcing through the air with a lethal whooshing sound, moving faster than the eye could follow. It struck Jack violently in the chest, spearing right through him in an explosion of scarlet blood. To the Doctor's horror, he realised it was a javelin. Jack fell on his back to the ground, screaming like an animal, the sound full of sheer agony.

"JACK!" The Doctor ran towards him and fell to his knees beside him, but there was nothing he could do to help. Jack reached out a blood-stained hand towards him, his handsome face contorted in pain as he fought for breath, only to lose the battle. His blue eyes glazed over, all the life seeping out of them as he tumbled once more into the cold darkness of death.

Wincing, the Doctor took a firm grip on the quivering length of the javelin protruding from his friend's chest. He knew it had to come out so that Jack's wound could heal as the immortal man returned to life. It made a vile, squelching noise as he tugged it free, the razor-sharp tip dripping with Jack's blood. He tossed it aside, clattering on to the cement floor.

Again he heard a giggle, this time of pure delight.

"This old man, he played FIVE, he played knick-knack on Jackie's hide," the voice chanted maliciously. "With a knick-knack paddywhack, give the dog a bone, this old man came rolling home!"

Slowly, the Doctor climbed to his feet, his eyes searching the gantries above him. "Master? Master, is that you? I'm here now. That's what you wanted, isn't it? I'm listening to you. So stop playing games and come out and talk to me!"

There was a sudden sharp, creak behind him. The Doctor whirled around, both hearts in his mouth, to see one of the rickety, wooden staircases leading up to the upper regions of the old warehouse. Somebody was coming down, gradually emerging from the shadows, footsteps reverberating on the stairs.

"You'd like it to be him, wouldn't you, Doctor? After all, what's a few human deaths to you, if it means that he's still alive? After everything he's done and you still care about him that much – the very first one you left behind, all those years ago."

Another heavy footstep, another ominous creak. "Sorry to disappoint you, though." To the Doctor's shock, a pair of feet wearing white Converse trainers came into view, along with the hem of a long, brown coat. "Because it's not the Master. It's someone else you left behind. Someone else you abandoned. Someone else you betrayed!"

Bit by bit, the figure stepped into the light. Tall, thin, wearing a blue pin-striped suit, a quiff of spiky brown hair, burning brown eyes, a face twisted in an insane grin of hatred and despair.

"Allons-y, Doctor!" the newcomer spat, his voice dripping with venom. "Allons-y!"

Sickness rose in the Doctor's throat as he realised he was staring at his meta-crisis clone.

Another Author's Note: And kudos to all those who guessed my deep, dark secret - it was "Handy" all along! No putting anything over on you guys, is there? :P