Yay, Shakespeare! Martha's confusion (and subsequent resentment) grows, and Shakespeare is too perceptive by half. Good times. For those of you who actually like Martha...just bear with me. She really will get better, promise.

oOoOo

After dinner, Martha was beginning to feel the day as the adrenaline finally wore off, but didn't want to say anything, afraid the Doctor would simply take her home and disappear again. Instead, she just asked for a place to freshen up, splashing cold water on her face and retouching her makeup. This done, she wandered around until she found the Doctor and his...companion dancing around the console, grooving to "Ballroom Blitz" as they each worked on different bits of it. The two seemed to have boundless energy. As she watched, she saw the Doctor look up and dart over to Rose, catching her by surprise as he picked her up by her waist and spun her around while she laughed, linking her hands behind his neck. He stopped spinning, but held her aloft, looking up at her for a moment. Martha coughed, clearing her throat and announcing her presence. The Doctor dropped Rose to her feet and spun around—but kept one hand on the small of the blonde's back as the music cut out abruptly.

"Martha!" he cried happily. "Brilliant! Ready for your trip?"

"Yeah, definitely," she said, stepping forward warily.

"Right! Let's go!"

He jumped for the console again.

"So whatcha think?" Rose asked. "Time or space?"

"Time, I think," the Doctor said, flicking and pressing and spinning his way around the console. "Bit easier to handle for the first trip."

"Oh, look who's all accommodating now," Rose said with a teasing grin.

"Oi!" the Doctor cried. "I was a different man back then!"

"Don't I know it," Rose said, and Martha saw the Doctor shoot her another look. She decided not to even bother asking about that one. She'd tried asking them more questions while they ate, but they seemed to have evasion down to an art form.

"But how do you travel in time?" she asked instead. "What makes it go?"

"Oh, let's take the fun and mystery out of everything," he replied, keeping his eyes on the console. "Martha, you don't wanna know. It just does. Hold on tight!"

The ship lurched, knocking Martha to the floor and the other two away from the console. She groaned and picked herself up gingerly as the Doctor grabbed his coat and shrugged into it.

"Blimey!" she said. "Do you have to pass a test to fly this thing?"

"Yes, and I failed it," he said, chucking her jacket at her and moving down the ramp to the door. "Now, make the most of it. I promised you one trip and one trip only. Outside this door…Brave new world."

"Where are we?"

"Take a look," he said with a smirk, opening the door. "Go on, ladies first."

She glanced at Rose, who simply smiled and nodded at the door. She took a deep breath and stepped out, Rose following closely behind. She stopped a few steps from the door, looking around in amazement. They were in...well, London, probably, but old...very old. Dirt streets and wood houses and...old.

"Oh, you are kidding me," she said. "You are so kidding me. Oh, my God! We did it. We travelled in time. Where are we? No, sorry. I gotta get used to this whole new language. When are we?"

Suddenly, Rose grabbed her by the arms and pulled her back just as someone shouted from an upper floor and a bucket was dumped on the spot she'd been standing in.

"Somewhere before the invention of the toilet," Rose noted.

"Yeah, sorry about that," the Doctor said, stepping around them and looking around.

"I've seen worse," Martha quickly assured him. "I've worked the late night shift at A&E."

He grinned back at her before taking Rose's hand and sauntering off with her.

"But are we safe?" Martha asked, fearfully rooted to the spot. "I mean, can we move around and stuff?"

"Of course we can," the Doctor said, turning to stare at her. "Why do you ask?"

"It's like in the films," she explained. "You step on a butterfly, you change the future of the human race."

"Well, tell you what then, don't step on any butterflies," he said, and Rose giggled. Martha shot her a dirty look. "What have butterflies ever done to you?"

"Really, it's not as complicated as the films make it," Rose said as they started walking again, Martha following this time. "Most of the time, history has ways of correcting itself, just compensating around time travelers. Aside from fixed events and paradoxes, so long as you keep out of big events, it's pretty straightforward."

"Oh, we're supposed to keep out of big events?" the Doctor asked, sounding completely surprised. "That's what I've been doing wrong all these years!"

"Oi!" Rose cried, nudging him with her shoulder. "I was just trying to help her."

Martha stared at Rose's back, resentment rising up. She doubted this girl had any real concept of time-travel, regardless of how long she'd spent with the Doctor, but if he thought it was fine, then it probably was. What could he possibly see in her? Oh, she might be brave, alright, and only mostly human, but still...he was a genius alien who could save her life and everyone else's at that hospital, memorized galactic law, knew insane things about apparently every piece of technology he touched…and she was just a chav from the Estates. Probably didn't even finish school.

"So this is London, yeah?" she said finally, shaking off her thoughts. After all, Rose was probably just as surprised at her luck as Martha was.

"I think so," the Doctor said. "Right about 1599."

"Oh, but hold on," she said. "Am I all right? I'm not gonna get carted off as a slave, am I?"

"Why would they do that?" he asked, turning to her again with a confused expression.

"Not exactly white, in case you haven't noticed," she said, gesturing to her face.

"I'm not even human," he said with a shrug. "Just walk about like you own the place. Works for me. Besides, you'd be surprised. Elizabethan England, not so different from your time. Look over there," he said, pointing. "They've got recycling." He nodded at two men conversing around a water barrel. "Water cooler moment."

"...and the world will be consumed by flame!" cried a preacher as they passed.

"Global warming," Rose said with a grin.

"Oh, yes," the Doctor said, then looked around. "And…entertainment! Popular entertainment for the masses. If I'm right, we're just down the river by Southwark right next to…" He trailed off and jogged away, pulling Rose away with him and forcing Martha to follow behind.

"Oh, yes!" he cried, rounding the corner and releasing Rose's hand to gesture expansively. "The Globe Theatre! Brand new. Just opened. Through, strictly speaking, it's not a globe; it's a tetradecagon—14 sides—containing the man himself."

"Whoa, you don't mean..." Martha started, looking at the happy grin on his face. "Is Shakespeare in there?"

"Oh, yes," he said, and Rose groaned.

"Problem?" Martha asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Several," Rose said, shaking her head and eyeing the Doctor, who giggled. "One, I'm not actually a fan of Shakespeare. Two, the Doctor is a huge fan of Shakespeare."

"What's wrong with that?" Martha asked. "Shakespeare is…well…a legend."

"Oh, I know," Rose said darkly, and the Doctor's grin widened. Martha couldn't help feeling like she was missing something, but she felt good knowing that she had something in common with the Doctor that Rose didn't.

"Miss Jones," he said, holding out his arm. "Will you accompany me to the theater?"

She giggled and linked her arm with his. "Yes, Mr Tyler, I will."

She glanced back at Rose, who rolled her eyes and shook her head before following them.

"When you get home," the Doctor was saying, "you can tell everyone you've seen Shakespeare."

"Then I could get sectioned!" she said with happy sarcasm, and the other two laughed.

They saw Love's Labor's Lost, standing in the yard. Martha was entranced at seeing the play done as it was originally intended, too much so to complain about the conditions. Not that she would have anyway. If Rose could put up with it without even liking Shakespeare, then so could she.

"That's amazing!" she cried as the actors took their bows, clapping heartily. "Just amazing. It's worth putting up with the smell. And those are men dressed as women, yeah?"

"London never changes," the Doctor quipped.

"Where's Shakespeare?" she asked. "I wanna see Shakespeare. Author! Author!" she started chanting, her fist in the air, and the other two stared at her. "Do people shout that? Do they shout 'Author'?"

A man behind them picked up the chant, and it soon spread through the crowd as they looked around.

"Well…they do now," the Doctor said.

Then he came out, the man himself, Shakespeare, taking an exaggerated bow and blowing kisses to the audience. They went wild, clapping and cheering even louder, though Martha looked at him a bit critically.

"He's a bit different from his portraits," she commented.

"Genius," the Doctor said, leaning closer so Martha could hear him above the din. "He's a genius – the genius. The most human Human that's ever been. Now we're gonna hear him speak. Always, he chooses the best words. New, beautiful, brilliant words."

"Shut your big fat mouths!" Shakespeare shouted at them.

Rose took one look at the Doctor's face and burst into laughter.

"Maybe he's not so bad after all," she said with a cheeky grin as the Doctor eyed her, arching an eyebrow.

"Oh, well," he said in a disappointed voice.

"You should never meet your heroes," Martha said sympathetically.

"You have excellent taste, I'll give you that," Shakespeare said to the crowd, then pointed at one man. "Oh, that's a wig!" he said, making the crowd laugh again. "I know what you're all saying. Love's Labor's Lost, that's a funny ending, isn't it? It just stops! Will the boys get the girls? Well, don't get your hose in a tangle, you'll find out soon. Yeah, yeah. All in good time. You don't rush a genius." He bowed graciously, but then jerked upright oddly. Martha saw both the Doctor and Rose stiffen out of the corner of her eye.

"When?" the playwright asked. "Tomorrow night. The premiere of my brand new play. A sequel, no less, and I call it Loves Labor's Won!"

"Doctor," Rose said quietly. "That's not right."

"I know," he replied, watching Shakespeare closely. "I felt it too. Where's it coming from, though?"

"What are you talking about?" Martha asked as the Doctor turned, craning his neck to look at the balcony. "I didn't feel anything."

"No, you wouldn't have," he said absently. "Humans don't. Too subtle."

"She's human," Martha pointed out, nodding at Rose.

"Only mostly," he said distractedly, then turned, taking Rose's hand and weaving out through the crowds. "C'mon."

"I thought Love's Labor's Won was some kind of huge mystery," Rose said as they made it outside.

"Exactly," the Doctor said. "The lost play. It doesn't exist — only in rumors. It's mentioned in lists of his plays but never ever turns up. No one knows why."

"Have you got a mini-disk or something?" Martha asked. "We could tape it. We can flog it. Sell it when we get home and make a mint."

The Doctor looked at her for a moment. "No."

"That would be bad?"

"Yeah," he said, arching an eyebrow. "Yeah."

"Well, how come it disappeared in the first place?" she asked.

"Trouble?" Rose asked, sounding almost pleased. The Doctor smirked and rolled his eyes, then looked at Martha critically, as if sizing her up.

"Well...I was just gonna give you a quick little trip in the TARDIS," he said slowly. "But...I suppose we could stay a bit longer."

They made their way to an inn, the Doctor explaining that this was where Shakespeare stayed while he was in town. He had a house and wife in the country, but he would spend weeks at a time in town working on plays...among other things.

They made their way inside and up to the room Shakespeare was in with two of the actors.

"Hello!" the Doctor called as he knocked on the open door. "Excuse me! I'm not interrupting, am I? Mr Shakespeare, isn't it?"

"Oh no, no, no, no," Shakespeare said, hiding his face in his hand. "Who let you in? No autographs. No, you can't have yourself sketched with me. And please don't ask where I get my ideas from. Thanks for the interest. Now be a good boy and shove—" he stopped as Rose and Martha stepped around the Doctor and into the room. "Hey, nonny nonny. Sit right down here next to me. You two get sewing on them costumes. Off you go," he finished, waving off the actors.

"Come on, lads," said the serving woman. "I think our William's found himself a couple of new muses."

"Sweet ladies," he said as Rose and Martha sat down, giving them both looks of open appreciation. "Such unusual clothes. So…fitted."

"Um, verily," Martha said as the Doctor frowned, hovering behind Rose. "Forsooth, egads."

"No…no," the Doctor said softly while Rose seemed to choke. "Don't do that. Don't." He turned back to Shakespeare, putting a hand on Rose's shoulder as he reached past her to show the playwright something written on a piece of paper in a leather wallet. "I'm Sir Doctor of TARDIS, my wife, Dame Rose, and our companion, Miss Martha Jones."

"Interesting, that bit of paper," Shakespeare said. "It's blank."

"Oh, that's...very clever," the Doctor said, an impressed smile coming across his face. "That proves it. Absolute genius."

"No, it says so right there," Martha said, peering at the paper. "Sir Doctor, Dame Rose, Martha Jones. It says so."

"And I say it's blank," Shakespeare insisted.

"Psychic paper," the Doctor said, putting it away. "Um, long story. Oh, I hate starting from scratch."

"Basically, it says whatever you want it to say," Rose said. "Only geniuses and people with psychic training will see blank paper."

"Psychic," Shakespeare repeated. "Never heard that before and words are my trade. Who are you exactly? More's the point, who are your lovely companions, the flaxen haired beauty and this delicious blackamoor lady?"

"What did you say?" Martha asked, stunned.

"Oops. Isn't that a word we use nowadays?" he asked. "An Ethiop girl? A swarth? A Queen of Afric..."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," Martha said while Rose snorted with laughter.

"It's political correctness gone mad," the Doctor said, rubbing at his eye. "Um, they're from a far-off land. Freedonia."

Shakespeare cast another look of appraisal at Rose, but then exchanged a look with the Doctor as the latter tightened his hand on Rose's shoulder with a frown and an arched brow. The playwright turned back to Martha with renewed interest, but was interrupted before he could say anything else.

"Excuse me! Hold hard a moment," said a voice from the door, and they turned. "This is abominable behaviour. A new play with no warning? I demand to see a script, Mr Shakespeare. As Master of the Revels, every new script must be registered at my office and examined by me before it can be performed. "

"Tomorrow morning," Shakespeare said. "First thing, I'll send it 'round."

"I don't work to your schedule," the man said. "You work to mine. The script, now!"

"I can't," Shakespeare said in a hard voice.

"Then tomorrow's performance is cancelled," the man said.

"It's all go, 'round here, isn't it?" Martha said quietly.

"I'm returning to my office for a banning order," the man continued. "If it's the last thing I do, 'Love's Labours Won' will never be played."

He turned on his heel and walked back out, and they turned back to Shakespeare, who was smirking.

"Lynley," Shakespeare sneered. "He has a far greater love of power than art."

"Well, then...mystery solved," Martha said. The Doctor and Rose might have a flair for the dramatics, but sometimes a cigar was just a cigar. Still, she couldn't help feeling a little disappointed after what had already happened that day. "That's Love's Labor's Won over and done with. Thought it might be something more, you know...more mysterious."

Rose stiffened again in her chair. "Wouldn't be too sure of that," she said, just before they heard a scream from outside. She and the Doctor immediately sprinted for the door, Martha and Shakespeare following close behind. Outside, they saw Lynley staggering through the street amongst onlookers, water gushing from his mouth.

"Lynley," Rose said stepping forward.

"What's wrong with him?" the Doctor asked, more to himself than anything. "Leave it to me— I'm a doctor."

"So am I–near enough," Martha said, following the Doctor to the man's side. Rose raced down the street, peering into the shadows for something.

They watched, helpless, as Lynley continued to spit up water before gasping and falling to the ground. The Doctor ran to Rose.

"Anything?" he asked quietly.

"No," she said. "I don't get it. I felt…something…but I can't tell where it's coming from. Almost like two places at once."

"This is bad," he said. "C'mon."

He took her arm and pulled her back over to where Lynley lay on the ground, Martha hovering over him. The Doctor knelt by him again as more water spewed from the dead man's mouth.

"What the hell is that?" Martha asked.

"I've never seen a death like it," the Doctor said. "His lungs are full of water — he drowned and then... I dunno, like a blow to the heart, an invisible blow." He stared for another moment before getting to his feet and turning to Dolly. "Good mistress, this poor fellow has died from a sudden imbalance of the humours. A natural if unfortunate demise. Call a constable and have him taken away."

"Yes, sir," the innkeeper said, and the Doctor crouched back down over Lynley.

"This isn't natural," Rose said.

"This lot still have got one foot in the Dark Ages," the Doctor muttered. "If I tell them the truth, they'll panic and think it was witchcraft."

"Okay, what was it then?" Martha asked.

He exchanged a dark look with Rose. "Witchcraft."

oOoOo

"I've got you a room, Sir Doctor," Dolly said as they returned to Shakespeare's room to regroup. "I'm sorry, but I've only got the one...your companion will have to share with you and your wife. It's just down the hall."

The Doctor simply nodded, looking thoughtful, his hand on Rose's neck stroking her skin lightly.

"Poor Lynley," Shakespeare said. "So many strange events. Not least of all, this land of Freedonia where a woman can be a doctor?"

"Where a woman can do what she likes," Martha said, arching a brow.

"And you, Sir Doctor," he said. "How can a man so young have eyes so old?"

"I do a lot of reading," the Doctor said evenly, and Martha turned to him. She had no idea how old he was. He didn't look more than thirty-five, but there were some moments...she shook herself.

"A trite reply," Shakespeare said. "Yeah, that's what I'd do. And your lovely wife…there is more to her than meets the eye as well. The light to your dark, but she seems as if she could at any moment throw her head back and howl at the moon."

"Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?" Rose asked with a smile, and the Doctor smirked and kissed her hair lightly as Martha stared.

"And you," Shakespeare said, turning back to Martha. "You look at them like you're surprised they exist. They are as much of a puzzle to you as they are to me."

"I think we should say good night," Martha said hurriedly. She left the other two to say their good nights and walked quickly to their assigned room. At least now she'd have an excuse to get some sleep. She didn't know what to make of this whole...everything. Witchcraft and Shakespeare, and a man who could kiss her and come back for her, even having the whole universe at his fingertips, but apparently was only interested in a blonde human that wasn't human from nowhere. She could only hope that something would make more sense after some sleep.

She was pulled from her thoughts when she heard the other two enter the room behind her.

"It's not exactly five-star, is it?" she commented.

"Trust me, we've seen worse," Rose said, looking around. "Although, those prison cells on Gravalion…oh…"

"Made me want to get arrested again just for a decent night's sleep," the Doctor agreed, looking out the window.

Martha glanced between them, then shook her head. "I haven't even got a toothbrush," she said.

"Oh," the Doctor said, turning to her and patting his pockets before pulling out a toothbrush. "Contains Venusian spearmint."

"So, who's going where?" Martha asked as she took the toothbrush gingerly. "I mean, there's only one bed."

"You can have it," the Doctor said lightly. "We…don't sleep much. We'll be fine."

"So, magic and stuff," Martha said awkwardly as she sat on the bed. "That's a surprise. It's a little bit 'Harry Potter'."

"Wait till you read Book Seven," the Doctor said, sitting down on a bench near the window. "Rose cried."

"Oi, so did you!" Rose shot back, poking him in the ribs as she sat next to him. "He was even worse than me!"

"But is it real, though?" Martha asked. "I mean, witches, black magic and all that, it's real?"

"'Course it isn't," the Doctor scoffed.

"Well, how am I supposed to know?" Martha demanded. "I've only just started believing in time travel. Give me a break."

"Ignore him," Rose said. "He thrives as being rude and generally insulting. So, it looks like witchcraft, but isn't?"

"Can't be," he said. "There's such a thing as psychic energy but a human couldn't channel it like that. Not without a generator the size of Taunton and I think we'd have spotted that. No. There's something I'm missing."

How about the fact that you're apparently mad about a girl with no hope of deserving you? Martha thought, but immediately felt bad. Rose was making it really difficult to actively dislike her. She'd been nothing but nice. What was it Shakespeare said? The light to his darkness? How? The man was one of the most cheerful people she'd ever met.

"Okay, so there must be something else here," Rose said. "You said a human couldn't channel it, but who says it's human? Is there a species you know of who have attributes like witches?"

"Mmm...maybe," he said, rubbing his eye. "Most of them are gone though. The ones that didn't disappear back in the Dark Times were...well...they're gone now. Still, something to think about," he said as Martha looked at him curiously. "Martha, get some sleep. I'll take you back home tomorrow."

"Great," she said, miffed as she leaned over to blow out the candle.