Chapter 4:

Donna didn't know much about Martha Jones outside of the fact that she was brilliant and had apparently been in love with the Doctor (or so he liked to say), but she didn't need to know her to see that she needed help.

"Sam's told us about your sick baby. John and I can leave if you like. Just say, 'Donna, John, get the hell out of my house,' and we'll be gone like that," she said, snapping her fingers to emphasize her point.

She noticed the way Martha seemed to lean imperceptibly closer to Sam, a considering look on her pretty face that told Donna that the young woman was seriously considering her offer. But before Martha or anyone else could say or do anything, the Doctor sighed. And not one of his normal sighs, either. No, this was one of his "I've settled on a terrible decision and nothing can stop me," sighs.

"Donna, stop," he said, somehow managing to sound weary and irritated at the same time, "much as I love a bit of cloak and dagger, we don't have time. Sam Tyler," he now said, causing the man to twist slightly in order to look at him, which only hardened the look of determination on the Doctor's face, "I need your help to fix my ship. Well," he paused, brows furrowing, "not you, but…"

Sam's eyebrows quirked. "Your ship?"

The Doctor jerked his thumb at the blue police box sitting placidly outside. "The Tardis. Time and Relative Dimension In Space. It's an acronym. And she's not a ship ship; she's a time machine."

Sam nodded his head in the way adults did when a toddler was speaking. "Riiiiiiight. A time machine. And you need my help to fix it, huh. Sure, mate." Sam cut his eyes to Martha as if to say, "D'you hear this crap?" but whatever he saw when he looked at her caused the amused expression to slide off his face.

The Doctor answered as if he hadn't heard the thick skepticism in Sam's voice. "Like I said, it's not you that I need. But come see for yourself. The rest will be easier to explain then. Ask your wife if you don't believe me."

Martha stiffened in Sam's arms, a bitterly hot retort on her lips as she roughly twisted to face the Doctor. What a fine way to talk about her; he hadn't even used her name! As if she was some random woman off the street and not the friend he'd entrusted so much to. Where did he get his nerve!

"Martha?" The sound of Sam calling her name caught her up short, and she found that the little flame of rage that so quickly built inside her was snuffed out by the uncertain way her husband said her name. Anger, and likely more than she would be able to stand, would come later. Right now, she needed calm.

Martha forced confidence and a small bit of levity in her voice, looking up with a smile at Sam as she said, "John, the Doctor, isn't pulling your leg. It really is bigger on the inside, love." She laced their fingers together and walked towards the door, gently tugging him along behind her. "C'mon, I'll even show you my old room and some of the clothes I left behind. The Doctor hasn't rearranged things, has he, Donna?" She asked, pausing with her hand on the doorknob. This seemed to jolt Donna out of her shock, and she replied, "No, but he's so troublesome that I won't be shocked to see he's done it while we've been in here talking."

Martha snorted, favoring the other woman with a genuine smile, a part of her glad to see that the Doctor had found a sensible person to travel with. He needed someone who wasn't easily impressed so that his head wouldn't swell up too much. Daron the little she'd experienced of Donna so far, the redhead seemed like the perfect person for the job. Sam's hand a reassuring presence in hers, Martha made to leave her home.

"We'll need his fob watch, Martha." The Doctor, much closer on her heels than she'd have thought, said. But of course their home was small. It took no effort to get from one side to the other. Without looking back, Martha simply said, "It's in my pocket. I don't leave home without it."

It took less than thirty seconds to walk from the front door to the door of the Tardis. All three humans formed a loose semi circle around the waiting ship as the Doctor slowly trudged up behind them.

Sam, still holding Martha's hand, felt silly and increasingly anxious. Martha wasn't one for pranks, and the grimness of her expression was making his palms sweaty. He was sure she was unaware of how tightly she was holding his hand or of the tiny looks she kept shooting at him, as if any moment she expected him to vanish right before her eyes.

And it wasn't just Martha. The very sight of the police box, this so-called Tardis, caused nausea to bubble and roll in his stomach. Just looking at it was hard, his subconscious screaming itself hoarse to look away, go back home, forget the name Doctor before it's too late. His free hand began to subtly tap that soothing four beat pattern on the outside of his thigh, and that was the only thing keeping him standing. That and Martha's hand in his.

The Doctor finally reached them, walking between Martha and Donna to the door, whistling tunelessly and jangling keys in his pocket as he passed them. Annoyance lanced Sam. As if he had all the time in the world.

"When you're ready, Doctor. But before my daughter graduates college." Sam drawled, ignoring Martha's sharp elbow in his side.

The Doctor twisted the key in the lock, pausing to say, "No, no, you're a couple of centuries too early for toddler higher education. Come back in 2705, that's when the first child university gets founded," before swinging the door wide. From where he was standing, Sam had the perfect view of the inside, and his jaw dropped. What he was seeing…was not possible.

"Wha…?" Around the screaming and drumming in his head, he found himself irresistibly drawn in. Now he was the one tugging Martha along behind him as he followed the Doctor into the impossible space inside the police box, his sense of wonder briefly overwhelming him.

"Martha, love," he said, looking at her with wide eyes. She gave him a small, commiserating smile.

"It's bigger on the inside, yeah." She said, a bit of her old cheek in the almost flippant way she finished his sentence. And suddenly his sense of wonder was cut through by a cocktail of dread shot with suspicion.

He saw the Doctor leaning against what he assumed was some kind of (antiquated) console. He was just standing there, silently watching, the expression on the tall man's face unreadable and intense. A feeling of dislike not entirely his own settled at the base of Sam's spine.

"You said you needed my help," Sam said slowly, pausing to let the deep, rolling, knell of a bell tolling pass, his keen eyes catching the pinched expression that briefly crinkled the Doctor's face, "was it with that?"

The bell rang again. The Doctor shifted, choosing his words carefully. He needed to impress the importance of what he needed on both Sam and Martha. And really just Martha. Sam, he could see, would do whatever she wanted. That's how deep his love for her ran.

He wouldn't examine why that bothered him.

"Yes," the Doctor reluctantly answered. It wasn't that he didn't need that cloister bell fixed, it was just…now that he was in the thick of it, he didn't much fancy the heartache fixing it would absolutely cause Martha, who was dear to him and deserved better. Had he really explored every logic tree? Was there truly no other way?

And yet he kept talking. "I'm sure you'd have figured it out on your own, but I'm not human. I'm a Time Lord, me. One of the last two in existence. Sad story; you wouldn't be interested in the details. What's important to know is that the other Time Lord was a bit of a ne'er do well, dangerous to himself and others. Humans in particular. So I had to lock him away, as it were. Just until I could figure out how to shake him of his taste for murder and world domination. Trouble is, he's always been a better mechanic than me, and I've run into a problem that I can't fix without his help."

Sam shrugged, deciding that the Doctor's story wasn't so insane considering where he was standing, and asked, "What's that got to do with me? Why're you wasting time bothering us when you could be getting your evil mate?"

The Doctor grimaced. Had he been this obtuse as John Smith? He would have to ask Martha. "That's exactly why I need you, Sam Tyler."

Eyes widening with sudden understanding, Sam scoffed, shaking his head in denial. "What're you saying? That I'm this…this…"

"Master," Martha softly interjected, her tone heavy enough to sink a planet, "he called himself the Master." The feeling of dread began to solidify around a core of fear.

"…." Sam tried and failed to repeat the name. It was like a mental block or a fist closing around his throat. Instead, "You can't be serious. It's not even a proper name!"

"Anything is a proper name once someone starts using it." The Doctor returned with no small amount of pique. Sam ignored him. He enfolded both of Martha's hands in his, looking at her pleadingly. Can it really have been just this morning that they were making love? It seemed so far away now.

"Martha, c'mon…tell me the truth. I'm not this…Master, guy, am I?" He asked, begged. Martha bit her lip, lovely eyes becoming shiny. "Martha, please, we've known each other for ten years. Met right after you started at the hospital as a student, remember? Tried to sit in the same seat on the underground, and I offered to sit in your lap. That happened, didn't it?" She refused to look at him, her breathing shaky and her eyes trained on the grating below them. Sam barely refrained from grabbing her shoulder and giving her a good shake. "Well, didn't it?!"

"No it didn't," the Doctor's voice cut through the air, as sharp as a scalpel and as cold as an alpine breeze. Sam's shoulders hunched, his posture defensive as if he could fend off the Doctor's words through physicality alone. "None of your memories before you woke up in that hospital are real. They're fabrications created by my Tardis in the chameleon arch when she was creating you. The Master needed a life to step into and a reason to live with Martha. The Tardis gave him that. That's you."

Nausea buffeted the insides of his stomach. A fabrication…that's you. If the Doctor wasn't lying (and why would he when the truth was more devastating) then, "You're saying I'm just a mask for this…Master?"

"Yes." The answer was resolute and brooked no argument. A pause, "I'm sorry, Sam."

"What was he…what was I like if I was really him?" Sam tucked their clasped hands beneath Martha's chin, gently tilted her head up until she couldn't help but meet his eyes. "You know, don't you, love? Tell me."

Oh yes, she knew all about the Master, Martha thought. The Year had schooled her well on the depths of his malice, his cruelty, his rage and madness, his persistence and cunning. She knew the Master.

"Martha…" the Doctor said, as if he sensed the train of her thoughts and wanted to order her to be silent.

"He deserves to know, Doctor." Martha said, and, taking a deep breath, she told Sam about the Master and the Year That Never Was. In many ways, she fell back into the same habit she'd developed when telling her story about the Doctor during the Year. Just the highlights, keeping as much of herself out of the telling as possible. But Sam knew her better than she knew herself, and by the time she came to a halting stop, he was squeezing her hands so tightly that the tips of her fingers had gone white.

"Was he the one," Sam said after a long, horrible silence, "was he the one who hurt you?" The memory of that conversation was his guiding star all these years. The idea that he could hurt this incredible woman who loved him and not remember. It boggled his fucking mind. He lay awake countless nights wondering what he had said or done, probing his soul to find the one part of him capable of hurting her, wanting to claw his chest open when he couldn't find it. Terrified that he might hurt her again without warning. And all this time…Martha's large dark eyes swam with tears, her nearly silent, "Yes," as loud as a gunshot.

"And you want me to turn back into that maniac?! Why? Because he says so?" He spat, suddenly so angry he could hardly think. Who was this Doctor to her that she should defer so easily to him?? "And we don't even know if it's possible! Just because he's an alien doesn't mean he can do anything."

"Sam -"

"Show him the watch, Martha." The Doctor cut in. It was not a request. Though he was still casually leaning against the console, the nonchalance was clearly a facade. He was a coiled spring, full of anger and impatience. This Sam Tyler was worse than John Smith, and just how often was he going to let a humanized Time Lord take advantage of Martha's tender heart? The poor girl was clearly as in love with Sam as he was with her. She'd had a child with him for Rassilon's sake!

Something that shouldn't have been possible with Sam's physical make up. The Tardis had had her hands full both with wrestling the Master's consciousness beneath the Sam mask and muffling the sound of the drums; she hadn't had the energy or time left to do more than make Sam ignore the beating of his second heart and dull his senses. That was another reason he needed to work for UNIT: they were familiar with Sam's Gallifreyan physiology and would be under strict orders not to reveal it to him.

But the Master was always full of surprises, even as this diminished version. He'd been surprising him all day.

Sam sneered even as Martha freed one of her hands and reached into the pocket of her slacks. "What the hell is seeing some stupid watch going to…do…" Sam trailed off, immediately entranced by the delicate etchings on the watch cover.

The Doctor replied anyway. "Open the watch, and it will allow the Master to return a, hopefully, help me fix the Tardis."

"And what? This Master fellow will just pop back in the watch when he's done?" Donna asked, her expression severe as she watched Sam gently tracing the burnished edges of the watch still cradled in his wife's hand. The Doctor's nose wrinkled, wishing she hadn't asked.

"Well…no. Once the fob watch is opened, that'll be the end of Sam Tyler."

"He'll die??" Donna gasped, looking at him as if seeing him for the first time. The Doctor rubbed the back of his head. Oh, how he hated these sorts of conversations. And the humans always insisted on having them. "Does Martha know that?"

"She knows. This isn't the first time she's dealt with a chameleon arched Time Lord. Though the last one wasn't in love with her." He added as an afterthought, frowning.

"Then I'm shocked she didn't run us off. You're making her a widow."

"Don't be ridiculous, Donna. None of this was real. Martha knows that."

"Seemed real enough to me." Donna said, and he found he had nothing to say to that.

With effort, Sam dragged his eyes away from the watch and pinned down the Doctor. "If I open this, will I be able to come back?"

"Sorry, no." The Doctor said contritely. Sam nodded once, as if he'd suspected as much.

"And…and this is really that important?"

The Doctor nodded. "Fate of at least six planets are currently in balance. And that's just today."

"Six planets. Right. Right, you're a time traveling alien." Sam ran his fingers through his hair then reached out to fuss with the end of one of Martha's braids. "Alright. I'll do it. But I don't want Martha here. I don't want the last image you have of me to be one of me turning into the man who hurt you, love," he said to her when Martha opened her mouth to protest. "Besides, Missy'll be waking up soon. You've got to look after our girl."

"That's not fair," Martha sighed, "but you've always loved to hit below the belt."

Sam grinned. "It's the only way to win an argument with you, my dear Martha Jones." He drew her in for a hug even as she was drawing him down for a deep, lingering kiss. When they finally parted, she breathily said, "I love you, Sam Tyler."

"I love you, Martha Jones Tyler," he said back, voiced rough, "and I'll never stop. Even when I'm him again, there'll be a part of him that loves you. That's me. Now go." For the first time since she'd come home, Sam spun Martha out of his arms, his hands two hard fists as he watched her exit.

"Sam -"

"Shut up. Let's just do this before I change my mind," Sam growled. The Doctor nodded.

"Right. Er, Donna, you'd better step out of the console room for this. Your room will be very safe." For once, she didn't argue, only pausing in her own exit to quietly murmur, "I'm sorry," to Sam before disappearing into the depths of the Tardis.

The Doctor clapped his hands. "Right then! There's nothing to it: you just open the watch, and that's it."

Sam fingered the watch. "Listen: about Martha -"

""Don't you worry about Martha. I'll take good care of her." The Doctor rushed to assure Sam. The other man snorted, darkly amused. The fate of six planets rested on this bloke? Poor them.

"I figured you'd say that. Stay away from my wife."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I'm dying to help you. The least you can do is keep your mitts off my wife."

The Doctor, having absolutely no intention of keeping his word, said, "Alright, Sam. I'll stay away from her."

Sam chuckled, "Sure you will," and flipped open the watch with his thumb.

Immediately a brilliant golden light engulfed Sam and filled the entire console room with heat and pulsing waves of pressure. The Doctor braced against the console, shielding his eyes with his forearm. The clanging of the cloister bell seemed to briefly intensify as the light reached a crescendo, returning to its now normal rhythmic tolling as the light slowly faded.

The Doctor dropped his arm as the last few golden motes swirled out of existence, coming face to face with the Master standing in Sam's place.

The reversal of the chameleon arch was not a regeneration, but the energies still left one looking and feeling a few years younger. The Master now looked as he had the first day on the Valiant, all traces of the aging his body had undergone as Sam Tyler completely wiped away.

There was hardly enough time for the Doctor to notice the look of deep suffering on the Master's face before the other Time Lord was striding past him to the console, popping open and panel, and jabbing a series of buttons. The cloister bell fell silent. The Tardis's discordant humming regained its melody.

"You fix -" the Master's fist slammed into the side of his head. Pain was a brilliant constellation of stars across his vision, but even so, the Doctor managed to twist away from the second blow aimed at his head and counter with his own strike.

Now the last of the Time Lords were trading kicks and blows, shots to the face and body and they rolled across the console and grappled for control. A set of elbows imputed on the navigational control at the same time as one of their feet kicked the hand brake release. The Tardis groaned unhappily as she dematerialized. In the cozy cottage, Martha watched the police box disappear, taking with it any chance of ever seeing her Sam again.