Romana throws her head back and breathes in deep, smelling the crisp autumn air, decay overlain with the sickly-sweet perfume of crushed leaves.
"You seem terribly eager to resume your duties, Madame President," the Doctor says, and she thumps him lightly in the chest. There is a hard lump in the breast of his jacket, and Romana nimbly reaches in and plucks it out, it's a first edition of Radcliffe, and she gives him an exasperated once-over, flipping through the pages without looking at them.
"You do tend to do the thing thoroughly, don't you, Doctor?" she says, but she smiles.
He pulls his cravat straight and smoothes his cuffs.
"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about, Romana," he says with a haughty toss of curls, and she tucks the novel back into his pocket and takes his arm.
"Of course not, Doctor," she says, and the carpet of leaves crunches underfoot as they walk.
"Hello," he interrupts, and he stops short, frowning. "Hang on, this isn't right," and the world
echoes
They are sitting on a bench, Romana's hands folded primly in her lap, the Doctor's legs stretched out before him. A cool breeze rises.
The Doctor reads:
" 'You can never hope any thing from his pity,' said Morano, 'he has used me infamously, and my vengeance shall pursue him. And for you, Emily, for you, he has new plans more profitable than the last, no doubt.' The gleam of hope, which the Count's former speech had revived, was now nearly extinguished by the latter; and, while Emily's countenance betrayed the emotions of her mind, he endeavoured to take advantage of the discovery."
"Come now," Romana says, wrinkling her nose, "I know you're fond of the dramatic, but this is really all too much."
"Nonsense," the Doctor says, and he turns the page. " 'I lose time,' said he — "
That calls something up in the back of Romana's mind, déjà-vu or prejà-vu or some weird combination of the two, and she turns to the Doctor thoughtfully to ask him but as she does so the world turns with her and the feel of it reverberates through Romana's skull, her teeth aching with the strength of this strange chronal disturbance. "Doctor," she says, knowing she'll soon be sick, and she grabs his arm to steady herself —
They are walking down a narrow path in the trees this time, the skeletal, almost-bare branches reaching for them, snapping rudely in their faces as they go. Romana's skirts sweep and snag over the leaves.
"What's happening?" she says, and the Doctor's face is fearful, blue eyes wide.
"I have no idea," he says, and she remembers Paris and the café and an artist's sketch with a clock for her face —
He opens the book again, and his hands shake as they find his place.
" 'I say, I could give you other instances of my power and of my character, which it seems you do not understand, or you would not defy me. — I could tell you, that, when once my resolution is taken — but I am talking to a baby. Let me, however, repeat, that terrible as are the examples I could recite, the recital could not now benefit you; for, though your repentance would put an immediate end to opposition, it would not now appease my indignation.— I will have vengeance as well as justice.' "
"Doctor," Romana cries, spitting blood from between her teeth, and he puts a soothing hand through her hair.
"I know," he says.
The leaves fall.
