Mary jumped down the stairs in the courtyard, attempting to use the skipping-rope that Martha the maid had kindly donated.

"One, two, three…argh!" Mary sighed in frustration; she didn't like this skipping business. She kept tripping over her long skirt. Hoisting it up, she began again. One…two…three…four…five… oh no. she threw it aside with anger, and slumped onto the green grass.

Looking up into the sky above the moor, she saw that the weather, as usual, was as sour as her mood. The clouds reflected her feelings. Grey, rainy-looking and miserable. When her mother and father perished in the blaze back in India, she knew they were dead. Yet, Mary didn't cry. Not a single tear. She had never been able to cry, and even such a death couldn't cause it. Her mother and father, she presumed, had hated her. That's why they gave her an ayah (an Indian servant) to look after her; they couldn't be bothered with an ugly, sour little girl. Her mother was too busy attending grand parties, and her father was occupied with his work.

Mary sat in silence for a few moments, when she saw a small, red-breasted robin, twitting playfully on top of a rather dead bush. Intrigued, Mistress Mary picked herself up, brushing off the dead grass that had collected in her lap. Attempting to skip, she gave up, tossed it aside and followed the robin, flying through the fresh, country air.

"Doctor!" exclaimed Martha Jones for the umpteenth time. She shook the doctor hard. She slapped his face, she tried mouth-to-mouth, but nothing, nothing could awake him.

"Oh my gods, Doctor, for heaven's sake, get up!" cried Martha, tears welling in her scrunched eyes. He couldn't die on her. The doctor groaned. She opened her eyes and yelled out.

"What…what is it? Martha? What's the commotion?" he looked confused, a first for the doctor. She looked at him and mirrored his confusion, "Doctor, one of your hearts…"

"Weh?" muttered the doctor, sleepily, as if he had only just woken up after a long night's sleep.

He clutched one of his pale hands to his right heart. Then his left. His cock-eyes opened wide, and he slumped against the wall. For a moment, he just sat there, eyes open. Slowly, he looked up at Martha, who looked back.

"I—Martha… I don't think I'm a time lord, anymore!" he muttered, half to himself.

"Doctor… I don't understand!"

"One of my hearts is dead. If I don't replace it soon, I won't be able to regenerate, and I'd die. I'm basically human, now" he looked up at Martha, "wherever the TARDIS has taken us, is where I'll be able to find a replacement. From what I've heard, you have to pay a price for a new organ on some planets"

"What…like, money?" asked Martha, confused.

"I—I don't know, Martha, lets see where we are"

To be continued…