"Hello, son," Morehouse said mockingly. "I am pleased to see you've finally gotten your skin in the game as they say, though the team you chose is most disappointing."
"Hello, Father," Robert said haltingly. "I am honored to finally be included in your plans, though the methods of execution as they say are most sickening."
"Oh, he's good," the Doctor murmured to Corcoran.
"Enough of this verbal banter," Morehouse declared. "I suppose if my hired hands are incompetent, I guess I'll just have to leave execution to my 'business partners.'" He turned away from his prisoners. "Exterminate all of them."
"Now hold on a moment!" Robert cried. "I just want to know why!" That got his father to turn back around. "Why did you torture these men? Why are you in league with these…things?! Why do you have a dungeon beneath our home in the first place? And why would you execute your own son?"
"Fair questions," Morehouse conceded. "Stand down, gents. If my son wants to die with closure, then he may."
The Daleks shifted eagerly, but remained where they were.
"I did it for our family, Robert," Morehouse began. "There is no possible way to win the race of life without taking a few shortcuts and maybe getting a little dirty in the process. I was only securing our place in history, Robert. While you go out drinking and whoring with the Detective here, I have been busy accumulating enough wealth to last our family generations. And the dungeon? Well, every king has an executioner, and every castle has a dungeon. Now then, Dalek-Caan, you may give the order."
"No, no, no, no, no!" the Doctor said, stepping forward and waving his arms. "Now hold on a minute, Dalek-Caan. Can't you see what he is doing? He is turning on his own son."
"The human offspring is weak. He is not like Dalek."
"True as that may be-" And here the Doctor glanced back just long enough to see Robert's expression. "-it is the actions of the father that worry me. He was perfectly content to let his son continue to drink and…chase girls, as long as he was blissfully ignorant of what went on here. But now that he knows – and does not approve, mind you – he is quite willing to let him die. And what about you, Dalek-Caan? What happens when he decides he doesn't need you around anymore?"
"Our plans are already in motion; the human is already like Dalek."
"Oh, yes, he is now. But unlike Daleks, humans are not single-minded. They have those things called emotions. What happens when one day he – and he will do this! – starts having second thoughts? If he were to start and have a son on some woman now, would he have time to really instill such murderous thoughts? Could he? And then where will you be?"
"It won't work, Doctor," Morehouse interrupted. "I am the most powerful man on the planet right now, greater even than Lincoln or Davis."
"Ha! You see? And power drives men to their knees even faster. Think of Hitler. I know his file is in there somewhere. The most powerful man in all of Europe once. And he ended up taking his own life."
"His plans failed; they were inadequate."
"And Morehouse's plans are? One mistake or miscalculation, and the whole thing could fall apart. One stray moment of guilt could turn into an obsession or depression. Are you willing to stake your victory on the leadership of such a flawed creature? I've spent most of my life protecting them, and you know where that has put me at times."
"Enough of this! Exterminate them!" Morehouse ordered.
But the Daleks did not move. They twitched and made small movements, but made no move to attack. The Doctor gave a small motion for Corcoran and Robert to come closer, which they picked up on and did.
"I gave you an order!"
Dalek-Caan moved forward and turned to Morehouse. "All records are correct. Humans cannot be relied upon. They are too emotional."
"Emotional?!" Morehouse cried. "Fine! I'll show you emotional!"
In a fit of rage, the old man moved surprisingly fast, grabbing the modified gun and pointing it directly at the Doctor.
"First to kill the poisoner, and then his victims," he breathed angrily.
Only the Doctor's fast reflexes saved them, as he hit the floor and separated from the group, narrowly dodging a bullet, quite literally. As he did so, he got out his sonic and, setting it to maximum, blew open all the doors and windows.
"Time to go!" he shouted, scrambling for the door.
Corcoran and Robert needed no encouragement and all three made for the double doors. Behind them, Morehouse roared in pure fury and gave chase, half a dozen Daleks behind him. There was another shot but it went wide, killing instead the butler who had just opened the door. Robert skidded to a stop and knelt beside him.
"Oh, no. Poor fellow, an honest man until the end," he murmured, oddly stricken with grief.
"Come on!" Corcoran screeched, grabbing his arm and dragging him away.
The Doctor was waiting in the street, still shirtless and drawing not a few stares.
"Your father wouldn't shoot his own son in broad daylight, would he?" the Doctor panted.
"I don't want to find out right now, thanks," Robert said, a panicked grin on his face.
"Is there anywhere safe we can go? He'll search my home first, the taverns and brothels. And I don't want to put anyone else in danger of that madman."
"Ha! That's it!" the Doctor cried, taking off down the street. "Come on, Corky! How would you like to see the mad man's box?!"
Corcoran couldn't deny the desire to see the box, but his desire to live another day was currently winning over. They were soon running down the street three abreast with the Doctor in the middle. Behind them, Morehouse shouted angrily. If they'd turned, they might have noticed he was foaming at the mouth.
The Doctor did not feel quite right, this running, but it was the same not-quite-right feeling he got whenever he was forced to flee. Warmth filled him as he realized he even had companions running with him. Oh, just like old times.
One moment he was running, and the next, he suddenly found himself flying forward into the cobblestone. His back was burning and, as he caught himself, he noticed his hands had that odd, familiar glow about them.
"No!" he cried, struggling to stand. "No, no, no, not now!"
He did not have time to say more than that before Corcoran and Robert scooped him up, one to an arm, and kept going.
"What happened?" the Doctor demanded, though he could probably guess.
"He shot you!" Corcoran reported. "The bastard shot you!"
The Doctor balled his fists, willing away the urge to let go and, for all intents and purposes, die. "We have to get back to the TARDIS, to my box."
"Well then, where is it?"
The Doctor was trying to focus more on staying together, but managed to give directions to the proper alleys where the trio finally slowed, all breathing heavily.
"I don't think he followed far on foot," Corcoran gasped.
"And it would take a few moments for the carriage to be ready," Robert agreed. "And given the nature of Five Points, he would never come here. And he would have had a hell of a time trying to get around if he did." He took a breath and looked around. "Good God, man!"
The Doctor was still tense, trying to ward off regeneration, yet he could not completely disguise the glow and mild disintegration. He put a hand to the back of his right shoulder and it came back bloody.
"We have to get him to a doctor," Corcoran said bluntly.
"I am a Doctor," the Doctor informed him.
"Aye, but even a Doctor needs a doctor sometimes. Can you hold on? I can send word to Freeman-"
"Too long to wait. If we reach the TARDIS, we can go straight to Freeman."
Corcoran cast a doubting glance at Robert, but they gave in and, with one arm around him, briskly walked through the alleys.
"Here, turn left."
They did so and, about halfway down, came upon a magnificent blue box.
"But it's so small," Corcoran observed.
"Robert, in my jacket, right outside pocket, is the key."
The psychopath's son quickly produced the key and unlocked the door. For all their urgency, they couldn't help but stop and stare at what they found inside.
"Yes, yes, bigger on the inside and all that. Oh my goodness! But if you don't mind, I'm just struggling to stay together," the Doctor told them irritably, taking a step or two away from them. "Take me up there to the controls."
But, as Corcoran had been when faced with the Daleks, the men were almost frozen, taking in everything they saw. Their movements were slow. The Doctor leaned heavily on the stair railing and nearly collapsed on the controls.
"Hello, old girl," he murmured.
The TARDIS wheezed in reply, a mixture of joy and concern.
"Don't worry; we're not undergoing any sort of remodel just yet. After all, we just got done redecorating the entertainment room." He grinned and rubbed the controls lovingly.
A sudden pain seized him and brought him to his knees. He gritted his teeth. Not much time. He could stop it. He could, he could, he knew he could.
"Doctor!" Corcoran said, leaping up the steps with amazing dexterity. "Robert, see to that wound."
Robert pulled the Doctor from where he knelt and sat him against the railing. He did not bother to ask before tearing the Doctor's shirt into strips, trying to somehow bind the wound, and the Doctor protested.
"Why do my companions never like my choice of clothing and see the need to destroy it?" he whined.
"Doctor, you're going to tell me how to use this thing!" Corcoran said as he wandered around the main control unit, his jaw open in fear and wonder.
"Only a Time Lord can fly the TARDIS," the Doctor informed him. He took a breath. "Come on, old girl, you can do it. They're looking for a man named Freeman. He's…he's a doctor. And I need him. What do you say?" No response. "Or would you rather we redecorated the entertainment room again?"
That put a fire in the old girl. Corcoran jumped back as lights suddenly flashed, buttons were pushed by invisible fingers, knobs twisted and turned, and the final handle pulled down with no outside help. The TARDIS wheezed and roared, as if trying to fight for the Doctor who was seized by another pain and let off a good cloud of glowing dust, frightening Robert.
"What's happening to you?" Robert asked warily.
Corcoran joined them, kneeling beside Robert.
"I'm regenerating," the Doctor told them.
"So, you're healing yourself?" Corcoran tried to guess.
"In a manner of speaking, I suppose. But with regeneration, I will have a whole new body and the TARDIS will have a grand new interior." The Doctor sighed. "But it's too soon. I can't regenerate yet. I won't!"
"Why wouldn't you want to?" Robert inquired. "Sounds pretty good to me."
"Aye, but with each new body…" The Doctor shook his head, unwilling to finish the sentence. With each new body come new pains. His thoughts wandered to Amy and Rory and River.
The TARDIS' roar died down to a weak whisper.
"We're here," the Doctor said, his voice as weak as the TARDIS'. When he tried to stand, a third pain, greater than the others, gripped him and he dropped back to his knees.
"I'll get the Doctor," Robert said to Corcoran. "You tell Freeman to be ready."
