Disclaimer: Doctor Who is the property of the BBC. I'm just borrowing...

Author's Note: Thanks, as always, to Sonic Jules for encouragement and support.


Rose walked into the console room with a grimace upon her face. Her fingers tugged at the fitted waist of her dress, but it seemed the fabric would not budge.

"I can barely breathe!" she complained.

The Doctor arched an unsympathetic eyebrow at her. "You're the one who wanted to visit the American South, pre-Civil War. One viewing of Gone with the Wind and you're enthralled with the era."

"Oi! It was romantic, an' men were mannered an'… genteel." She smiled a bit at finding the right word, then offered him an accusing little glare. "Which's more than I can say for you!"

"For me? I'm always a perfect gentleman!" the Doctor retorted.

"Don't think so. If you were, you wouldn't be laughin' behind my back at this torture device you call a dress!"

"Don't blame me. That's what women wore during that time period, at least the posh ones."

Rose considered the final phrase as she wriggled about in the confines of her corset. "Yeah? An' what did the other women wear? 'Cause if I can get away with somethin' that doesn't include this," she poked at the offending item, "then I will."

"I think you could find something a bit simpler. 'Course you won't be able to attend any balls, but if you just want to stroll along the Battery, maybe have a bowl of she-crab soup—ooh, that's really, really tasty—you should be fine in a more basic frock."

"Frock? Right. I'll just go an' see what else I can find."

"Check in the back," he advised as she left the room.

The Doctor returned his attention to the console. Charleston, South Carolina, spring 1860. That would give Rose a taste of the Old South. And he'd get a taste of that wonderful, rich, sherry-laced soup. Yep, this was one stop he was sure he'd enjoy.


Rose returned about half an hour later. She'd replaced the fitted, hoop-skirted gown with an unpretentious dress. He thought it suited her much better, really. The fabric was a dusty rose with a lavender and sage pattern—paisley, if he wasn't mistaken. Elbow-length sleeves flared slightly, adorned with just a touch of lace. The skirt was full, but not sufficiently to require a hoop skirt beneath it. She looked much more comfortable now.

He gave her a smile of approval, then asked, "Ready?"

"I am, but what about you?"

"Always."

"No, I mean your clothes. You're not gonna wear that, are you?"

He lifted his arm to glance at the brown, pin-striped fabric. "Of course I am. This is classic."

She shook her head. "Not according to the suits I saw in the wardrobe room. Cut's all wrong. You're gonna stand out like a sore thumb."

"No one'll notice me."

She chuckled with a shake of her head. "People always notice you!"

He lifted his chin a little. "With these looks, can you blame them?"

Rose burst into laughter. "You wish!" His semi-affronted expression, however, prompted her to add, "But y' know, a Rhett Butler look'd be good on you, and there's this gorgeous brown velvet jacket in the wardrobe room. It'd match your eyes." She dropped her voice just at touch with the final comment.

"Fine," he relented, definitely not swayed by her vague flattery. "But you're going to have to admit that I look devastatingly handsome when I'm done."

She grinned. "We'll see."


Nearly an hour later, the Doctor and Rose stepped from the TARDIS. Once he'd seen how flattering the cut of the jacket was on his slim frame, he'd donned a pair of sable trousers, a cream colored shirt, and a midnight blue cravat. The look on Rose's face when he re-entered the console room had made it all worthwhile.

"I've gotta admit it," she'd said. "You look good."

"Told you." He'd sashayed past her to complete the dematerialization sequence, then they'd left the ship together.

The weather was crisp and sunny. They'd landed in a small grove of thickly blossoming cherry trees, where their mode of transportation would be fairly unobtrusive to any but the most curious eye. Outside the grove, they found a pretty open area with low, grassy hills bisected by a single, winding dirt road. In the distance, perhaps two miles away, they could see a town.

"I thought Charleston was on the water," Rose commented, seeing no signs of the ocean.

"It is. We might be slightly off course."

Rose rolled her eyes. "How off?"

"I'm not entirely sure, but we're definitely in the South, and judging by that carriage, we're not too far off the mark time-wise."

He pointed at a horse-drawn carriage a short distance down the road. A driver sat in the front, and a passenger reclined in the seat behind. The horses trotted briskly along.

"Maybe we can ask them just where and when we are," Rose suggested.

"Yep, I think we—" Abruptly the Time Lord stopped speaking, his eyes drawn to the sudden change in the horses. They bolted forward, probably spooked by a snake or other animal near the road.

"Oh no," the Doctor muttered. "No, no, no…"

They watched in growing horror as the carriage careened around a bend in the road. The front wheels left the ground, and the conveyance was suddenly unbalanced. Rose gasped when the axle twisted then snapped, freeing the horses. The carriage thudded onto its side. Both the driver and the passenger were thrown onto the road.

The Doctor's feet were already pounding over the ground as he dashed toward the scene of the accident. Rose followed closely behind. The passenger was sprawled awkwardly with his right arm lying at an unnatural angle. He was not moving. The driver, however, was on his side, trying to push himself up.

"See to him," the Time Lord instructed curtly, heading for the more severely injured of the men.

Rose dropped to her knees beside the driver, resting a gently hand upon his shoulder. "It's all right," she said. "Try not to move. Can you tell me what hurts?"

The man shook his head. "I have to see to him." His eyes shot from her face to the other victim.

"Don't worry. The Doctor's takin' care of him; he's in good hands," she assured him.

"Doctor?" The driver exhaled slowly.

"Yeah. An' I'm Rose. What's your name?"

"Wilkins, miss."

Wilkins was insistent upon sitting, so Rose helped him with a hand against his back. She could see a deep scrape against his cheek, and he winced as he attempted to move his left leg. Yet his attention shifted quickly back to his passenger. She glanced back, too. The Doctor was running the sonic screwdriver over the man's inert form.

"Oh Lord, is he dead?" the driver asked, clearly distraught at the thought. He tried to rise, but his leg gave out, sending him back to the ground. He groaned in frustration then grasped Rose's wrist. "Find out, please."

She nodded as she got to her feet. "You stay here. Don't try to move."

The Doctor had tucked the sonic device back into his pocket by the time Rose reached him. He was examining the man's face, probing delicately over the right side.

"How is he?" she asked.

"Concussion—fairly serious," he reported succinctly, "and his jaw's broken in two places. Right humerus is fractured, too."

"Will he be all right?"

After a quick glance at Wilkins, the Doctor replied, "The concussion's the worst part, though this," he'd removed his hand from the man's face but gestured toward it again, "will take some time to heal. Medical science is still fairly primitive, so they won't be able to do much more than try to immobilize the bones."

"Is there anything you can do?"

"Yes, but I'm not sure that I should."

The driver had somehow managed to haul himself to his feet and was now hobbling heavily toward them, his left leg dragging oddly at his side.

"The Secretary," he panted. "How bad is it?"

"He should survive," the Doctor replied, running a quick yet appraising eye over the man's injured leg. "Looks like you've dislocated your knee."

"I'll be all right. But we need to get him back home."

The carriage was out of commission. Rose volunteered to walk up the road and try to find someone who might help. The driver assured her that once she explained who had been injured, securing assistance would be easy.

"Sorry," she replied, "I don't know his name."

Wilkins frowned for an instant then said, "You're both from England, aren't you?"

"We've only recently arrived," the Doctor acknowledged.

The driver nodded. "Just tell whoever you find that Secretary Seward has been hurt."

"Secretary?" the Doctor repeated. "Secretary of what?"

"Of State," Wilkins answered.

The Time Lord paused just a moment before asking, "Under whom?"

"Under President Lincoln, of course."

Rose's eyed widened slightly at the familiar name, but she didn't pause to question the driver further. She'd spotted another carriage coming along the road and, lifting her skirts, she hurried toward it.


To be continued...