The Doctor followed Teresa across the landing to their designated room and he asked her quietly by the door: "Witches?"
"Close enough." Teresa replied quietly.
He sighed as he asked: "I suppose you can't say anything else?"
"Spoilers." Teresa answered apologetically.
He sighed but nodded as they walked into the room. Martha was examining the sparsely furnished room, holding a candle, and she pointed out to them: "It's not exactly five star, is it?"
Teresa smiled softly as she took in the two cabinets, a double bed and a single bed pushed into the corner of the room. The Doctor replied lightly: "Oh, it'll do. I've seen worse."
"I haven't even got a toothbrush." Martha retorted, and the Doctor quickly patted himself down as he muttered: "Oh. Er."
He proudly produced a toothbrush from his pocket, handing it to Martha as he added: "Contains Venusian spearmint."
Teresa chuckled at him as Martha took the toothbrush, looking rather amused.
But as the Doctor began to move towards the larger bed, Martha piped up: "So, who's going where? I mean, someone's going to have to share."
She nodded to the double, and Teresa blinked in surprise as the Doctor replied easily: "Oh, Terry and I can share. We've had to make do with less before."
The Doctor lay down, making himself comfortable as he propped himself up on the pillows. Martha raised a brow but moved to the single bed while Teresa stood torn. Martha should be with the Doctor, but it would be strange to insist they sleep together. And it only ended in pain for poor Martha so she didn't even particularly want to press the subject.
As Teresa dithered slightly, Martha asked as she got ready for bed: "So, magic and stuff. That's a surprise. It's all a little bit Harry Potter."
Teresa had to chuckle at that, while the Doctor smiled slyly and answered: "Wait till you read book seven. Oh, I cried."
"So did I." Teresa mused and the Doctor looked at her in surprise.
"You've read it too?" He asked and she rolled her eyes.
"I came from 2013 in my world. Of course I've read it. Finished the movies as well." She told him and he smiled, while Martha sighed: "Lucky."
"You'll love it." Teresa promised her, and Martha grinned.
She then returned to the original subject as she stopped by the end of the double bed beside Teresa, and asked her and the Doctor skeptically: "But is it real, though? I mean, witches, black magic and all that, it's real?"
"Course it isn't!" The Doctor retorted dismissively.
Teresa winced while Martha said, offended: "Well, how am I supposed to know? I've only just started believing in time travel. Give me a break."
"Don't worry, he's just naturally rude." Teresa told her, giving the Doctor a meaningful look.
He blinked and had the decency to look contrite as he explained in a much kinder tone: "Looks like witchcraft, but it isn't. Can't be." He murmured firmly and then glanced at the two girls.
"Are you going to stand there all night?" He asked bluntly.
Teresa rolled her eyes and sat down on the other side, smacking his arm chidingly as Martha made a face and moved to her bed. It wasn't that far anyway, given the small size of the room.
"What was that for?" The Doctor complained as he rubbed his arm and she told him, unimpressed: "Why can't you be a little nicer? Would it kill you to be kind?"
"Mm, yes." He replied bluntly, and she smacked him again as she rolled her eyes in exasperation.
He grinned and as she lay down, he remembered something and asked: "Forgot to ask, where are you in your time?"
Teresa replied thoughtfully: "I've been mostly in your future. Last time I saw this you was when we went back to the Renaissance." She mused.
The Doctor chuckled as he remembered: "You were so disappointed when you saw Mona Lisa in real life and found out the truth about her eyebrows."
She laughed a little as well, remembering. She'd been crestfallen, as had Rose- all those scholarly debates through history for nothing. The Doctor fell back into thought, when Martha asked curiously: "What happened?"
Teresa smiled, but the Doctor cut in: "Not important right now; right now we need to figure out what happened with Lynley."
Teresa and Martha frowned at him, and Teresa shot Martha an apologetic look over the Doctor's head as the other girl fumed. The Doctor went on obliviously: "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."
Teresa made a face at him as he muttered: "No, there's something I'm missing. And you aren't helping by just making faces at me." He added as he suddenly looked over at Teresa.
She blinked in surprise, startled by how close his face was to hers. He murmured quietly as he stared into her eyes: "Sometimes I really wish I knew what went on inside your head. But it's there, isn't it? I can see it in your expression. Something really close, staring me right in the face and I can't see it."
He stared at her, while she tried not to squirm uncomfortably.
He blinked suddenly, as though just realizing how close they were and he quickly pulled back a little as her face flamed with embarrassment. Neither of them noticed Martha's curious glance, as the Doctor murmured hastily: "Rose could tell what you were thinking easily. She'd know. Right now, she'd say exactly the right thing."
He sighed, and Teresa sighed too. She wasn't looking forward to that day at all, although she admitted she'd rather Doomsday than Journey's End. At least in the former she'd know she'd see Rose again sometime in the future- Journey's End was going to be it's own nightmare.
The trio stayed in silence, before Martha quietly blew out the candle and snuggled down to sleep. Teresa also snuggled down more comfortably, although she couldn't sleep. The Doctor's physical closeness was distracting and she was suddenly uncomfortably aware of every small movement. It wasn't helping that he wasn't asleep either.
Martha was breathing heavily by the time Terry finally almost started to fall asleep, when suddenly there was a scream from the next room. She sprang out of bed, the Doctor already sprinting out the door. She followed close behind as Martha sat up groggily.
They ran into Shakespeare's room, and the man woke up from his seat at his desk, mumbling: "What?"
The Doctor immediately crouched before the fallen woman by the door while Martha ran to the window behind Shakespeare. Teresa stood frozen in the doorway, staring down at poor Dolly and mentally berating herself. How could she forget about this, how? She'd been so caught up in the Doctor she'd forgotten about a woman's life.
She stood there, silently scolding herself as the Doctor murmured: "Her heart gave out. She died of fright."
Teresa knelt down gently beside the woman as Martha called from the window: "Doctor? Terry?"
The Doctor dashed over to join Martha while Teresa stayed where she was, mourning the woman's death. After all, she didn't need to go look, she knew what Martha had seen.
"What did you see?" The Doctor asked, and Martha replied, stunned: "A witch."
The Doctor turned back to look at Teresa and paused when he saw her. She was looking sadly down at the woman, and he could see in her expression that she was in deep self-loathing. He quickly walked over to her, ignoring Martha and Shakespeare's questioning glances and knelt beside her. He gently placed a finger under her chin and she slowly looked up at him.
He stared right into her grey eyes as he murmured: "You couldn't have stopped it."
"I could." She muttered, hating herself right now. It was true there were limits to what she could do- she was terrified of altering timelines and causing even more trouble than before- but saving Dolly couldn't have affected things too seriously. She'd just forgotten, and she loathed herself for it. No life was insignificant and yet she'd treated Dolly's as less important. True it was an accident, but it didn't change the facts.
But the Doctor, almost as though he'd read her mind, said sternly: "You can't be expected to remember every detail. You've told me countless times I can't save everyone all the time. Take your own advice, and stop blaming yourself."
She sighed mournfully but nodded. Slowly, she closed Dolly's eyes in a gentle farewell and the Doctor pulled her in for a hug. She rested her head against his shoulder sadly, both unaware of Martha's thoughtful gaze and Shakespeare's watchful one.
When morning came, the Doctor was sitting thoughtfully, barely registering anything else as he tried to figure out the mystery. Shakespeare murmured at last: "Oh, sweet Dolly Bailey. She sat out three bouts of the plague in this place when we all ran like rats."
The girls sighed, and the Doctor slowly ran his hands down his face, resurfacing from his thoughts as Shakespeare questioned: "But what could have scared her so? She had such enormous spirit."
"'Rage, rage against the dying of the light'." The Doctor quoted, and Shakespeare commented appreciatively: "I might use that."
"You can't. It's someone else's." The Doctor replied absently and Shakespeare looked surprised and disappointed. But Teresa caught a sharp gleam in his eyes and knew this was probably when he started to really figure out who the Doctor was.
Her attention turned to Martha as the young woman said thoughtfully: "But the thing is, Lynley drowned on dry land, Dolly died of fright, and they were both connected to you."
She nodded at Shakespeare, who asked in disbelief: "You're accusing me?"
"No," Martha replied, "but I saw a witch, big as you like, flying, cackling away, and you've written about witches."
Teresa winced as Shakespeare asked, puzzled: "I have? When was that?"
"Not," the Doctor muttered quickly as he sent Martha a warning look, "not quite yet."
Thankfully, Shakespeare didn't press the matter as he remembered something else.
"Peter Streete spoke of witches." He murmured and Martha asked immediately: "Who's Peter Streete?"
"Our builder." Shakespeare explained. "He sketched the plans to the Globe."
"The architect." The Doctor murmured thoughtfully and Teresa almost grinned. The Doctor continued thoughtfully: "Hold on. The architect. The architect! The Globe!" He shouted in realization.
The Doctor jumped up and ran out the room, shouting: "Come on!"
Teresa was already out the door with him as Martha and Shakespeare exchanged startled glances before hastily following.
As the Doctor ran with Teresa, he asked her quickly and quietly, before the others could catch up: "Am I right?"
"You're on the right track." Teresa confirmed, and he grinned slightly.
"Any other hints you can give me?" He asked and she hesitated, becoming thoughtful.
"Hint." Teresa said at last.
"There's power in words." She told him softly, and he frowned thoughtfully.
He didn't question or push it though, which she liked. The older the Doctor got, the less he pushed her about her foreknowledge and she also noticed he started to piece it together a little faster every time. Well, usually. Well... sometimes.
Inside the Globe Theatre, the Doctor stood in the centre of the pit area, staring at the theatre design thoughtfully. Teresa sat on the stage, dangling her legs over the edge, while Shakespeare and Martha stood behind her centre-stage.
"The columns there, right?" The Doctor muttered as he looked at them. "Fourteen sides. I've always wondered, but I never asked." He turned to the others, calling: "Tell me, Will. Why fourteen sides?"
Shakespeare shrugged as he replied: "It was the shape Peter Streete thought best, that's all. Said it carried the sound well."
"Fourteen." The Doctor muttered. "Why does that ring a bell? Fourteen."
"There's fourteen lines in a sonnet." Martha pointed out, and the Doctor nodded as he replied thoughtfully: "So there is. Good point."
Martha grinned, and the Doctor continued thoughtfully: "Words and shapes following the same design. Fourteen lines, fourteen sides, fourteen facets. Oh, my head." He gripped his head as he began to pace.
"Tetradecagon. Think, think, think!" He hit himself on the head as he listed off: "Words, letters, numbers, lines!"
"This is just a theatre." Shakespeare sighed, exasperated as he watched the Doctor uncomprehendingly.
The Doctor turned to him as he countered: "Oh yeah, but a theatre's magic, isn't it? You should know."
He leaned on the edge of the stage beside Teresa, staring up at Shakespeare as he continued: "Stand on this stage, say the right words with the right emphasis a the right time. Oh, you can make men weep, or cry with joy. Change them."
He stopped and his eyes lost focus as he said thoughtfully: "You can change people's minds just with words in this place. Powerful words."
He turned to stare at Teresa as he added slowly: "But if you exaggerate that."
She smiled at him, nodding. Martha added: "It's like your police box. Small wooden box with all that power inside."
Teresa chuckled as the Doctor said appreciatively: "Oh. Oh, Martha Jones, I like you."
Martha grinned again, and Teresa shot her a gleeful smile as well. The Doctor continued, returning to the subject at hand: "Tell you what, though. Peter Streete would know. Can I talk to him?"
Teresa's face fell, while Shakespeare told the Doctor: "You won't get an answer. A month after finishing this place, lost his mind."
The Doctor frowned, glancing at Teresa while Martha asked curiously: "Why? What happened?"
"Started raving about witches," Shakespeare explained, "hearing voices, babbling. His mind was addled."
"Where is he now?" The Doctor asked, his brows furrowing as he saw Teresa's crestfallen face.
"Bedlam." Shakespeare answered shortly.
The Doctor understood and his face darkened, glancing at Teresa who gave a minute nod. Martha didn't understand and she asked, confused: "What's Bedlam?"
"Bethlem Hospital." Shakespeare explained.
"If you can call it a hospital." Teresa muttered.
Martha glanced at the blonde girl, surprised and still confused, as Shakespeare added: "It's the madhouse."
"We're going to go there." The Doctor said firmly, holding out a hand for Teresa to hold. She took it, leaping down to join his side as he ordered: "Right now. Come on."
He walked out, not looking back as Shakespeare called: "Wait! I'm coming with you. I want to witness this at first hand."
The Doctor strode out with Teresa as the two young men from last night entered the theatre. Teresa briefly recognized them as Shakespeare's actors before the Doctor continued to drag her down the street.
"Bethlem." The Doctor muttered angrily, and Teresa nodded forlornly. He glanced at her and asked in an undertone: "Will you be all right?"
"I'll have to." She sighed back, and he frowned but nodded.
She did have a point- he wasn't going to leave her on her own even if she'd let him. And he highly doubted she would. This young Teresa wasn't as headstrong yet as the later hers, but she could still be stubborn. Especially when people's lives were at stake.
The pair glanced back as Martha cried: "Whoa, Nelly."
They glanced back to see Martha and Shakespeare had stopped, and Martha was saying to Shakespeare firmly: "I know for a fact you've got a wife in the country."
The Doctor made to stalk off without them, but Teresa pulled on his hand, hard. He sighed and they walked back to the other pair quickly as Shakespeare said to Martha flirtatiously: "But Martha, this is Town."
Martha suppressed a smile as the Doctor interjected, annoyed: "Come on. We can all have a good flirt later."
Teresa giggled as Shakespeare turned to the Doctor and asked just as flirtatiously: "Is that a promise, Doctor?"
The Doctor paused, staring at the man before he muttered: "Oh, fifty seven academics just punched the air."
Teresa laughed louder, holding her side and the Doctor rolled his eyes playfully at her. He pulled her along again as he ordered the other two: "Now move!"
"You knew." He accused, and she chortled: "Well, duh. I've seen this before. Loved that moment, and your face was too priceless."
She laughed and he pointed a finger at her as he said in a jokingly stern tone: "You, young lady, are in trouble."
"Trouble's my middle name. And your first name." Teresa replied teasingly. He narrowed his eyes at her playfully, before they laughed together, although their mood dampened as they arrived at Bethlam Hospital.
Teresa's face was white before they even entered, and Martha's eyes were wide as they could hear the screaming inside, even from outside. The Keeper led them in after the Doctor introduced himself with his psychic paper, carrying a whip, and Teresa felt ill seeing the coiled leather rope. The Doctor held her hand tight and she clung to his coat with her other hand as well as the patients reached through the bars of their cells towards the group as they walked passed.
The Keeper asked as he led them further in: "Does my Lord Doctor wish some entertainment while he waits? I'd whip these madmen. They'll put on a good show for you. Mad dog in Bedlam."
Teresa's face had lost all of its colour, and the Doctor snapped: "No, I don't!"
The Keeper stopped them quickly as he said: "Well, wait here, my lords, while I make him decent for the ladies."
They stood waiting as the Keeper walked off towards one of the cells in the back. The Doctor shifted so that he was hugging Teresa to his chest as she stared wide-eyed at the horrors around them.
She'd known it would be bad, of course, but it was always so much worse when she was faced with it in reality. And the smell. The whole place smelt of stale human sweat, blood and human excretions. She shook slightly and the Doctor tightened his hold around her, making her feel safe as she felt his two hearts beating against her.
Martha was also looking horrified as she asked Shakespeare: "So this is what you call a hospital, yeah? Where the patients are whipped to entertain the gentry? And you put your friend in here?"
"Oh, it's all so different in Freedonia." Shakespeare retorted.
The Doctor was already watching the pair as Teresa glanced over and Martha protested: "But you're clever. Do you honestly think this place is any good?"
"I've been mad." Shakespeare replied shortly. "I've lost my mind. Fear of this place set me right again. It serves its purpose."
"Mad in what way?" Martha demanded, almost scoffing.
The Doctor interjected quietly: "You lost your son."
Martha looked at him in surprise, and then glanced at Shakespeare more sympathetically as Shakespeare said stiffly: "My only boy. The Black Death took him. I wasn't even there."
Teresa's eyes also filled with sympathy, while Martha murmured apologetically: "I didn't know. I'm sorry."
Teresa however turned to the Doctor. She knew he'd lost a child or children before, although it was always questionable how. The show had never specifically stated what had happened exactly, but she knew it haunted him still. A wound like that could never really heal, and for a man who'd lost so much…
The Doctor glanced down at her, noticing her sorrowful stare. He blinked, becoming lost in those grey eyes that could look like storm clouds when she was angry, or clear stars when she was laughing, or more often the misty fog that hid her thoughts. What he wouldn't give to hear her thoughts right now.
"Terry?" He asked quietly, and she blinked, coming out of her thoughts.
As she did, he saw a flash of some deep sorrow and sympathy and he froze. Did she know?
He looked at her questioningly but she shifted uncertainly. They were distracted as Shakespeare sighed, saying mournfully: "It made me question everything. The futility of this fleeting existence. To be or not to be."
He paused, and said thoughtfully: "Oh, that's quite good."
"You should write that down." The Doctor commented, his face still thoughtful as he glanced at Teresa, but he turned his full attention back to Shakespeare as the man murmured: "Maybe not. A bit pretentious?"
The Doctor shrugged as Teresa laughed quietly, although it sounded rather watery. He glanced down at her, when the Keeper called: "This way, my lord!"
They made their way inside, and the Keeper opened the cell for them. Teresa walked in slowly, watching the cowering man in the centre of the cell; his back was to them as he hunched over, shaking lightly.
As they made their way further in, the Keeper warned the Doctor: "They can be dangerous, my lord. Don't know their own strength."
"I think it helps if you don't whip them." The Doctor snapped at the man. "Now get out!"
The Keeper looked startled but left, locking the cell door behind them. The Doctor didn't even watch him leave, instead slowly walking closer to the madman, moving Teresa so that she was behind him. It was precautionary, and she complied easily, not wanting to get in the way.
She peered around him as the Doctor called carefully: "Peter? Peter Streete?"
There was no response and the Doctor slowly bent down, sitting on his heels before the hunched man. Shakespeare sighed: "He's the same as he was. You'll get nothing out of him."
Teresa shot him a look as she stood behind the Doctor, shutting him up, while the Doctor just continued to call softly: "Peter?"
The Doctor touched Peter's shoulder, and Teresa flinched slightly as the man lifted his head sharply, staring at the Doctor with wide, almost colourless eyes. The man was shaking, almost violently as the Doctor slowly lifted his fingers to Peter's temples.
The Doctor closed his eyes and murmured softly: "Peter, I'm the Doctor."
He opened his eyes again, successfully beginning the mind meld as he ordered gently: "Go into the past. One year ago. Let your mind go back."
Peter shook like a leaf, but the Doctor went on softly: "Back to when everything was fine and shining. Everything that happened in this year since happened to somebody else. It was just a story. A Winter's Tale."
Peter shook harder, and the Doctor urged encouragingly: "Let go."
Peter's face slowly became blanker and the Doctor murmured: "That's it."
Shakespeare and Martha watched incredulously as the Doctor slowly lay Peter down on his cot, murmuring: "That's it, just let go."
Peter was still shaking but his face now held a blank look. The Doctor's face was grim as he stood up once more, taking Teresa's hand again as he ordered: "Tell me the story, Peter. Tell me about the witches."