Chapter 2

(6 years ago):

The scene inside the Valiant was one of complete chaos. As the Master lay dying in a pool of his own blood, the floating ship began to faintly tremble as its human controllers abandoned their posts and grabbed whatever they could before leaping into the rapidly departing escape ships.

Jack Harkness, that impossible man, swore and tore across the open floor, Tish, Clive, and Francine on his heels as he sprinted towards the cockpit. That left a dazed Lucy Saxon and a still frozen Martha Jones to stare at the two Time Lords on the floor.

The Master looked past his wife to stare at Martha. Lucy, always more of a pet to him than a true partner, was already written off in his mind. Her betrayal meant as much to him as the angry swipe of a cat's paw. Her loyalty would've been the bigger surprise. But Martha…

"Come closer, Martha Jones," he said around a mouthful of blood. Oh, he was really dying, and wasn't that ironic? Dying when he'd spent so long avoiding it. Ran to the end of the universe itself. And at the hands of a human doctor, the same one who saved him in the first place. Lucy might have pulled the trigger, but if not for Martha…He couldn't help but hate her for that, admire her, want her to come closer so he could spend his last moments tearing her apart.

How easy it was to ignore the last dramatic moments of his desperate scheme falling to pieces around him: his plans, his ship, the Doctor still futilely pleading with him. All of it he discarded and ignored in favor of glaring into Martha Jones's wide brown eyes, "come savor my death. You should be honored: not everyone can say they've killed a Time Lord."

~~~

The Doctor wasn't sure what to expect when he knocked on the door. A bat to the face, perhaps. Or an escape out the back garden; that would be just like the Master. There was a tingle, the psychic equivalent to an elbow jab in the side, as the Tardis impressed the name, 'Sam Tyler,' across his thoughts with all the vehemence of a proud mum. The Doctor couldn't help but be amused. She was proud of the work she'd done on the Master and wouldn't let him forget it.

'Alright, old girl: Sam Tyler,' he affectionately thought, his attention immediately refocusing as the lock in the door turned. The door opened a crack, just enough to reveal one dark brown eye and half a scowling face. The Doctor's hearts clenched.

"Er…"

"Who are you and why were you staring at my house?" Sam Tyler demanded, neatly cutting the Doctor off. The Doctor started, for once at a loss for words.

"Well, uh -"

"Oh, don't tell me Martha didn't tell you we were coming?" Donna said, smacking her forehead with her palm and shaking her head.

Sam's head tilted, brows furrowing as he replied, "Ehh, no she didn't, sorry."

Donna shook her head again, rolling her eyes and nudging the Doctor in the side as she said, "Well, that doesn't surprise me a bit. This is the same girl who forgot to tell us she was married, and all because John and I," she jerked her thumb at the Doctor to indicate that he was John, "have been traveling abroad in South America. He's a doctor, too y'see, and poor me gets dragged from here to Timbuktu with him while he's working for Doctors Without Borders."

The Master's (Sam's) face relaxed more and more the longer he listened to Donna talk. There was a small, bemused look on his face, the suspiscious glint rapidly fading from his eyes. The Doctor could've kissed Donna. He wouldn't, because he liked his current body, but he could have. She was a genius! Underappreciated in her time! The way she weaved their cover story was, well, masterful, and by the time she finished, Sam's entire posture had softened into something much more open and friendly, even smiling a little when she stopped speaking.

"Ah, don't be too angry with Martha; our little girl is a bit sick, and that always gets her out of sorts. I'm sure it just slipped her mind." The Master (Sam!) stuck his hand out, "I'm Sam Tyler, by the way."

Donna, unaware of the monster sleeping behind Sam's face and how monumental that proffered hand was, easily took his hand and shook it firmly. "I'm Donna, and the beanpole is my brother, John." Sam grinned, outright laughing at the Doctor's indignant, "Hey!" The sound of that laugh, untainted by malice or madness, was beautiful.

"Martha isn't due home for another hour or two. I'd hate for you to get to your hotel just to come right back, so please come in and I'll make tea." The pair thanked him and quickly entered.

Sam was disappearing down a darkened hallway, and his voice drifted to them as he ducked into a bedroom, "Just checking on my daughter, be back in a mo'." The door shut behind him, and the Doctor and Donna were alone in the living room.

The Doctor immediately set to studying the room. It was a modest space, with a couch and a couple of comfortable looking chairs arranged around a coffee table. A television sat on its own table off to the side of the big window, a game console, controllers, and an assortment of games neatly beneath it. A half wall separated the living space from the kitchen, and a table and chairs were situated along the half wall. In the far corner was a bookshelf, lamp, and another chair, and the Doctor wandered over, neatly stepping over toys and half finished puzzles.

The bookshelf held an eclectic collection, Martha's medical textbooks sharing space with trashy romance novels, speculative fiction, and political thrillers, among other genres. Given who the adults living in the home were, the Doctor wasn't sure he could assign a specific reader to any of them. Slotted in among the books were the plain spines of well used journals. The Doctor's hearts sped up. If Sam Tyler was anything like his John Smith, those journals would be like peering directly into the Master's soul. His fingers twitched.

"Sorry about that. Missy's never liked taking her medicine," Sam said as he reemerged from the hallway. The Doctor spun away from the bookshelf, feeling oddly guilty.

"Missy?" Donna asked. The vaguely embarrassed expression on Sam's face disappeared as he smiled.

"My daughter. Melissa. She'll be four in June. When she's feeling better I'll introduce you but look," he pulled out his phone and quickly pulled up a photo that had him, Martha, and Missy at some fair. It was a selfie, obviously taken by Sam. He and Martha were cheek to cheek, his arm curled around her shoulders to pull her close. One of Martha's hands could be seen on the nape of Sam's neck, her fingers twisted in his hair. A beautiful girl of two or three that had Martha's coloring and a mass of corkscrew curls anchored on Martha's hip, her hazel eyes wide with delight as she held up a stuffed animal almost as big as she was. All three of them were smiling beatifically at the camera.

"My girls," Sam said with obvious pride, his expression one of infinite tenderness and love as he gazed at the picture. For the first time, a sinking feeling filled the Doctor's stomach with hot lead, and he didn't need to see Donna's face to know what she was thinking.

"They're beautiful," Donna said. The Doctor silently agreed, the sounds of their conversation slowly fading as his thoughts turned inward. The Tardis had certainly given the Master a beautiful life. A life that Koschei would've loved, back when he still answered to that name. The perfect life.

And he was going to destroy it.