Author's Note: Here we go! The highly anticipated (mostly by me) first update of "The Shakespeare Code." This was truly a pleasure to write…because I LOVE messing with the Doctor. And who better to make the Doctor jealous than "the man himself."
…Don't worry, his Dark Lady will not be forgotten.
Thanks for all the positivity I've received and for all of your continued support; and a special thanks this week to the guest reviewer that made an exception to her rule to tell me what she thought—I'm so glad you're enjoying it! And it made me really happy to know that you wanted to take the time to tell me; I'll try not to let you down. :)
So, without further ado!
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When Rose walked into the galley the next morning, the table was free of all bits of cannibalized toaster, apart from the small pieces the Doctor was still fiddling with in his hand.
"Mornin,'" she grumbled, plopping down beside him and putting her head tiredly on the table. Rose was not a morning person, and the fifty foot trek from her warm bed, across the cold metal grating of the hallway, barefoot, to the table, had greatly depleted her energy. "Uhhhnnngg."
"Good morning-cycle," he chipperly replied, putting the toaster down on the table and getting up to start making them tea. "Hungry?"
"Oatmeal," she barked without lifting her head
He bit back laughter, and if her eyes were more bloodshot than usual this morning, he didn't notice.
Ten minutes later Rose was halfway through her tea, cutting up chunks of the blue apple-like fruit they'd picked up on the second moon of Poosh last week (coonitz, she thinks they're called), and stirring them into her oatmeal with brown sugar.
"Thanks," she says to him now that the last of the sleep had left her.
"'Course. You're up early this morning-cycle—it's only the equivalent of seven."
"Got a lot of sleep on the jump seat yesterday though," she laughed. "Where's Martha?"
"Gave her a room to rest in for the night. Soon as she comes out we'll be off!" He had that manic look in his eyes again, which Rose had long ago learned meant bring a change of clothes and a toothbrush. She made a mental note to have the TARDIS pack her a survival kit of some things they might need.
"Wha' is tha' thing that used-ta-be da toasta' anyway?" Rose asked him around a bit of food, her hand shielding her mouth from view.
Just then a sleepy Martha came hobbling into the room. Martha had never slept well the first night or two in a new place, and while the humming of the ship eventually became like white noise to her, the frequent changes in pitch and tone would quickly alert her to it again, prompting the cycle to begin anew. If anything, she was more tired now than she had been yesterday.
Luckily for her, she was a medical student; staying up late cramming for a test, just to wake up early to shadow one of the attending doctor's on rounds had made her an expert at casting her exhaustion.
"Morning, Martha," the Doctor said. Rose, too shy to talk with her mouth full now that Martha was in the room, gave her an enthusiastic wave.
"Good morning… How is there a morning in outer space anyway?"
"Holograms and lamps," said the Doctor simply, and Martha felt a bit silly for asking. "Also, the TARDIS makes a rooster noise until Rose wakes up when she feels she's slept long enough. Nothing says morning like a 'cock-a-doodle-doo.'"
"Roosters don't actually sound like you know," Rose said once she finished swallowing her bite. "It's more like 'ah, ah, ah, ah, ahh.'
"There's hot water on the stove, Martha. Tea's in the cupboard to the left, and there's cereal and bread right above it. If you want something else just open the cabinet closest to the window, or the refrigerator if it's eggs or something; it's where she puts the stuff she doesn't already have stocked in here so we find it quicker."
Martha blinked at Rose, before giving her a wan smile and a thanks. Not only had that been the most she had ever heard the blonde girl say at a time, it seemed the blonde was under the impression that the ship really was alive…and a she. Martha didn't mean to be uncharitable, but she didn't think the Doctor had really meant 'alive' literally when he'd said it last night—it was a piece of technology, after all—and she couldn't help but think it was daft of the girl to believe it (she's only three years younger than me, after all, she can't be that gullible).
However, Martha did as Rose instructed. She poured herself some tea and added lots of sugar. Then she opened up the cupboard nearest the window and there, on the lowest shelf, sat a blackberry pastry and a lone pare.
She took a large bite of the fruit as she walked over to join the other two at the breakfast table. She couldn't understand why, after a moment of sniffing the air disdainfully, the Doctor whipped his head around to glare at the pare in her hand.
The Doctor looked back at Rose, whose focus was centered self-consciously on the remains of her breakfast. "It's a tracking screen; I'll keep it, and you will have this," he showed her the tiny pod. "Somewhere on your person. Ideally just under your skin, but I could just as easily attach it to your key necklace or a bracelet…or those loopy earrings you like to wear," he joked.
Rose made a scowling face; he knew after having one ripped out of her ear by a tree branch while running from a hoix, she would never wear them again—in fact, she was pretty sure she and the TARDIS had destroyed them. But her scowl was short lived, and a moment later she was trying to hide her smile behind her hair as she looked into her empty bowl.
He saw her flush and quirk her lips up. "Jeopardy friendly, you are."
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The Doctor and Martha were already dressed when they'd reached the galley, so when breakfast was over the Doctor watched Rose walk off to her room to change, while he and Martha headed in the direction of the console, the Doctor attempting to keep an appropriate amount of distance between them, and Martha trying to bridge that distance. By the time Rose had returned, wearing the brown leather jacket he'd altered to have bigger-on-the-inside pockets, he was in the middle of piloting his ship, and Martha was hanging on for dear life.
"But how do you travel in time? What makes it go," the unsteady girl asked.
"Oh, let's take the fun and mystery out of everything. Martha, you don't wanna know. It just does. Hold on tight!"
He half climbs up upon the console and suddenly the TARDIS jerks to a stop, sending both himself and Martha to the floor. Rose, who had grabbed onto a coral strut at the last moment, begins laughing at his shocked face, wondering what he expected when he crawled up on her controls.
Martha tries to hide a scowl as she stands up and shakes non-existent dirt off her knees. She didn't think it was appropriate for Rose to be laughing, they could have been hurt if the ship had continued to malfunction as it just had.
"Blimey," she asked the Doctor. "Do you have to pass a test to fly this thing?"
"Yes, and I failed it," he tells her, grabbing his coat and ushering Rose forward to the spot beside him. "Now, make the most of it. I promised you one trip and one trip only. Outside this door—brave new world!"
"Where are we?" Martha leans in ever closer to his face, though she doesn't appear to be aware of what she's doing. He grabs Rose's hand and takes a half-step back, only partially to allow Martha the first look outside.
"Take a look. After you." To Rose, he says. "Don't you love watching their faces for the first time?"
She gives an eager nod, though she isn't insensible of the fact that Martha appears infatuated with the Doctor; she is assuaged, somewhat, that he doesn't seem entirely unaware of it either.
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Outside was a large street in Elizabethan England. Rose and the Doctor trailed out after Martha to see her gaping face taking in the past from all sides. They both had twin smiles on their faces as they watched on.
"Oh, you are kidding me. 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," she asked in rapid fire.
Rose and the Doctor grab onto Martha's right shoulder and pull her back as a man dumps a waste bucket out the window and onto the street just in front of where she'd stood.
"Mind the loo!" He shouts.
"Bit late for that, mate!" Rose replies, heatedly.
"Somewhere before the invention of the toilet. Sorry about that," the Doctor tells Martha.
"I've seen worse. I've worked the late night shift at A&E."
The Doctor gets a glean in his eye that Rose has learned to be frightened of. He turns to Martha, but by his cheeky expression, Rose knows his words are meant more for her.
"Well Martha, as this is your only chance to experience the wonder of time travel, what's say we make it more authentic. Rose can show you the way to the wardrobe room, can't you Rose?" Rose's eyes narrow dangerously, but he just smiles wider. "Rose is good with history; I'm sure she'll be able to find you plenty of Elizabethan era appropriate attire. The year is 1599, Rose—and before you ask, yes, I am sure. Cheeky."
"I didn't even say anything!" She protested, but her show of being indignant fell apart when she laughed.
"Don't act innocent," he wagged a playful finger at her; she crossed her eyes to see it. "You were going to."
The tip of her tongue poked out of her mouth as her smile widened. 'Minx!'
"Oh, that sounds great!" Exclaimed Martha, oblivious to Rose glaring at the Doctor. He was teasing her. He knew Rose hated to dress up unless absolutely necessary (especially if the clothing was as confining as the gown she would now have to don would be); it made running more difficult and she'd loss the ability to store her toothbrush in her jacket pocket.
He better hope he has a spare toothbrush in one of his pockets.
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Martha practically skipped beside Rose as they made their way into the depths of the TARDIS. She was so excited to dress up and explore. However, once they had reached the heavy double doors, a stray thought had Martha Jones hesitating. "Rose?"
"Yeah?" Asked the blonde, with her hand on the knob of the door to the most incredible closet in all of time and space.
"The Doctor said you know a lot about history. Do you think it'll be alright for me out there?" Seeing Rose's confused look, the black woman gave an exasperated half-laugh. "I mean, I won't get carted off as a slave or something?"
"Oh! OH! No, of course not. Actually, it's not so different from our time, you'll see. There may be a few morons out there, but aren't there always? Because you're black, or a woman, or gay (or on some planets, like matriarch societies, or planets where the inhabitants are blue, or something, people are ostracized for the opposite reasons) or because you're alien, there are always a few ugly people, wherever you go; but you and I, we'll be dressed as equals. No one will bother you," she concluded, but thought better of it; she couldn't promise Martha that. Rose herself had been imprisoned for her blonde hair, her pale skin, for being thin, for being fat, for blinking twice in a row, which was apparently an insult to the Duke of Thyyidr. Turning to Martha again, because she should know this for if they wound up somewhere where society didn't treat her with the respect she deserved. "And if anyone does, then they'll have to answer to me and to the Doctor."
Martha would be lying if she said she wasn't still unsure, but she saw something fierce in Rose's eyes when she turned back to her after her initial assurances, which did more than a little to help her cast aside any reservations. Aside from the fact that it was good to have someone on her side, that fierceness made her see for a moment what she thought maybe the Doctor saw.
With sincere smiles between them, they opened the heavy doors together and stepped into a clothing wonderland.
Rose still smiled every time she saw this room; and sometimes when the Doctor wasn't around or she wanted time alone, she would secret herself away to this palace-sized playroom, and play dress up. She looked over at Martha; maybe from now on, she wouldn't be sneaking off alone.
Martha, for her part, stood in awe of the colossal room before her. 'Colossal doesn't do it justice,' she thought as she allowed her neck to fall back to observe the height of the room. One metal spiral staircase, the widest and tallest that she had ever seen, stood erect as Jack's beanstalk, about thirty yards from where she still stood at the door's entrance; it was in the exact center of the room.
As it rose, it met with mezzanine after mezzanine at each level, alternately supported with pale pink coral struts to the left, then the right, then the left, of the staircase used to access each floor. The ceiling was so far above her, she thought she could only just make it out; and curiously, on a few of the lower levels were zip-line cables which led to the ground level, where huge piles of soft-looking clothing pillows were constructed for soft landings. 'I cannot wait to try those out!'
"What do you think?" Asked Rose, knowingly.
"This is incredible!"
"Yeah," she sighed, taking another moment before piping up again. "Wellll, I think we'd best get started, don't you? The Doctor's terribly impatient, and after all, it's going to take a while to get these things on after we pick'em out." Martha nodded in acquiescence. "S'pose we should start with shoes. Don't want you running in those." She pointed to the black, thick-heeled ankle-length boots poking out of Martha's flared designer jeans, and led the way to the back of the ground floor, where underneath the low-hanging mezzanine were thousands of pairs of shoes on racks, hanging from tacks in the walls, dangling from coral struts, and covering the floor.
"Here we are!" Rose pointed to a section of female running shoes in different makes and sizes.
"These aren't very period," Martha said, holding up a pair of beige puma's and frowning. 'I thought Rose was supposed to be a history expert.'
"If you really want, the right shoes for the period are in that pile, but they're no good for running."
Martha walked off in the direction Rose had pointed immediately, wondering why she'd want to run in Elizabethan England. Still, trying to appease Rose—who was nice enough to be helping her—as much as possible, she chose a simple pair of plain black flats in her size, earning her a reluctant nod of approval.
Next, Rose led her up the staircase…and up…and up, until Martha was dizzy and beginning to perspire, and Rose was becoming out of breath herself. "Here we are! Should be these two racks here for England fashion of the time; the rest are from some parts of Europe, so avoid those," she warned.
Rose found almost immediately a dress she'd deemed adequate. It was appropriate for a middle class maiden of the time. The skirt and bodice were both a pale gold, the skirt solid and the bodice's drawstrings were on either side of the waist, so she could get it on by herself. The bodice itself had a beautiful pink and green flower and leaf design and the square neckline would expose her clavicle while still preserving a sense of modesty. Even better, on the hanger with it were the necessary undergarments and corsets necessary. She left Martha to change.
Martha was still in search of the perfect dress. It had to be intricate and eye-catching—something to make the Doctor notice her. After ten minutes of searching she finally found the perfect one. The skirt was a silky cream with a brocade opening of white and cream, accented with pearls. The bodice was a similar cream color with gorgeous red, green, yellow, and blue leaf and flower embroidery painstakingly sewn unto it, and the shoulder sleeves as well. The arms of the sleeves were sheer to the wrists, where two gold cuffs would rest. The drawstrings tied down the back and a short train would trail behind her.
'It's beautiful. Perfect!' Martha thought as she observed it. It had a low neckline, but not anything more provocative than was common in the 21st century. It would make her glow, she just knew it would be perfect. The Doctor wouldn't be able to look away.
She took it off the hanger as Rose was walking back in, fully dressed in a simple, if elegant gown, her hair braided back simply and beautifully. She had apparently found extensions to match to her hair, but they looked remarkably natural. 'She really is beautiful,' thought Martha, with neither jealousy, nor pleasure.
"That's really pretty," Rose said to Martha when she saw the dress clutched tightly in her hands. "But I don't think it's a good idea to wear anything so high class out on the streets of London. That's a morning dress meant for someone wealthy or even in the aristocracy, we want to blend in. Something like…" she pulled out a dress with a solid plum skirt and taupe bodice with a plum flower pattern. The drawstrings tied in the front and the neckline was rounded, but like Rose's own gown, all the necessary undergarments had been hung with it, and they appeared to be of a modest fashion. "…this." Rose told Martha. "It's beautiful, and it's middle class so we won't get too much unwanted attention wherever we go. Oh! And look! There's a matching drawstring purse with it!" She showed Martha the taupe purse with beaded tassels which would dangle from her wrist.
"Yeah," said Martha, rather unhappily. She saw the logic in dressing inconspicuously and the dress was nice, really. Plum had always looked nice against her skin tone. But the high class dress she was now clutching to her chest possessively would make her stand out to the Doctor—she knew it. And though she didn't think she had to compete with Rose (they'd said they were just friends, after all, and she'd seen nothing to suggest otherwise), she also didn't think the Doctor had any romantic intentions for her…yet. She intended to change that.
Rose mistook Martha's silence and tight hold on the gown as determination to wear it, so though she frowned, she decided not to argue. "If you really love that one, I'll help you put it one—since it ties in the back."
"No. No, you're right; we should blend in," she said to Rose. She also didn't want the Doctor to think she was high maintenance. "And that dress is really nice, too."
Rose smiled. "Come on then. Let's get you changed and your hair fixed up before the Doctor gets impatient and comes to see what's taking us so long."
They both laugh, though Martha is wondering if he might grow patient as soon as Rose says, and whether she should take her time getting her gown on so he'll come find her—them. She decides against it though.
Once changed and in her shoes, Martha decides on a simple beaded cowl to put in her hair. She'd always thought they looked pretty, and since her dress was simple, she thought her hair ought to be as well. Then side-by-side, Rose and Martha made their way back to the console room, where there waited a pacing Time Lord (with Martha trying to measure her steps the entire walk back so her skirts didn't shuffle every time she kicked them; she was largely unsuccessful. Beside her, Rose's skirts barely moved at all as she and Martha made small talk).
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"Finally!" said the Doctor the moment he heard their footsteps, one set quick and light, one heavy and somewhat awkward. "What took you so long, I was beginning to think you found the pool by accident again, Rose, and you know that I—Rose?"
He knew he must look ridiculous, choking on the end of his sentence as he just had. It was probably rude to sound so surprised to see her, too, but he couldn't help it; just like he couldn't help his gaping jaw, or comically wide eyes, or the way they swept slowly down and even more slowly back up her curvaceous figure, before settling somewhere between her face and her bodice so he could observe all of her at once. 'Wow.'
"Doctor?" She repeated in the same mock surprised tone, amusement written on her face at his reaction, though he knew she wouldn't guess at the reason for it.
Standing directly in front of his Rose, looking very happy, and shooting him looks that he refused to describe as sultry, was Martha; she wore a very becoming cone shaped bodice, perfect for the time period. She was the picture of middle class beauty from hair, to shoes, in her purple gown…
…And she was currently in his way.
Taking a step to the side so he could see Rose better, he didn't notice the frown Martha shot him, then Rose, then the floor, when she finally realized he hadn't been staring at her, but at his best mate, whom he rarely saw out of blue jeans and hoodies 'Not that I don't like those as well.'
"You look beautiful," he said to her.
He kept his eyes on her at all times, systematically committing every cell of her current appearance to memory (…he tried not to think about the fact that he was leering, although he knew he was, and his past selves would be appalled). Her thin, curvy waste, the black-soled chucks poking out slightly from underneath her skirt, the smooth pale skin of her wrists where her three-quarter-length sleeves ended mid forearm…the nearly smothered décolletage, peeking out demurely from the sinfully tight bodice of her gown, the square neckline accenting her defined clavicle bone—more defined now from the weight she'd recently lost during her recovery—, and the long, creamy expanse of her bare neck.
Her hair was kept back with braids and pins, but 'baby hairs' as she called them, teased the back of her neck, and her temples in slight curls. She wore no make-up, and she smiled at him widely, sincerely. He looked into her eyes, expecting a nervous blush to spread over her face because of his open admiration, expecting hope to shine in her eyes…even if he didn't want to get her hopes up…
His heart sank in despair, and more than a little guilt, when from her bright eyes, her cheeky smile, she said. "For a human?"
His chuckle was hollow, but he couldn't bring himself to fake sincerity at the moment. She'd believed that all this time, and now she was laughing at herself; how could he laugh, too? 'For anyone. For anything. You and Sexy—the most beautiful things I have ever seen.'
"You look wonderful as well, Martha Jones!" She puffed up at his compliment.
"Thank-you Doctor! Why didn't you change?"
"Oh, he never does, because 'this outfit never goes out of style.'" Rose and the Doctor finished together.
"…right then. Shall we?"
They stepped back out into London in the early evening air, 1599.
"But are we safe? I mean, can we move around and stuff?"
"Of course. Why do you ask?"
"It's like in the films. You step on a butterfly; you change the future of the human race."
"Well, tell you what then, don't step on any butterflies. What have butterflies ever done to you?"
"Doctor, be serious," chastised Rose. "You'll be fine, Martha. For the most part, time can compensate around time travelers, like pebbles in a great, big river; we basically don't matter so long as we stay away from big events...which admittedly, we rarely do…" She trailed off for a moment before finding her voice again. "The boulders—those are fixed points in time—the Doctor can tell when we're approaching one of those, so we can steer clear of it."
Martha nodded in understanding, assuming that since the Doctor didn't correct her (and in fact, looked more than mildly surprised and impressed with the blonde at this side) Rose wasn't entirely incorrect; although how a twenty-one year old human from south London managed to gain a good enough sense of time travel to earn the Doctor's approval, Martha swore she'd never understand.
"What if, I dunno, what if I kill my grandfather?"
Her companions both stopped walking and gave her amused looks. "You planning to?"
"No," she laughed.
"Well, then," the Doctor said.
"This is London in 1599?"
"Yupp," he told Martha, popping the 'p' sound. "Elizabethan England, not so different from your time." He told them, unknowing repeating Rose's words from earlier. " Look over there—they've got recycling…water cooler moment…global warming," he says after a preacher shouts "And the world will be consumed by flame!"
"Oh, yes," he continues, almost forgetting his big finale. "And... entertainment! Popular entertainment for the masses. If I'm right, we're just down the river by Southwark, right next to...
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."
Rose practically squealed, squeezing his arm where her hand was resting. "Whoa, you don't mean... is Shakespeare in there?" Asked Martha.
"Oh, yes." He holds his other arm out to Martha. "Miss Jones, will you accompany us to the theatre?"
She links their arms. "Yes, Mr. Smith, Miss Tyler, I will," she ends on an excited squeal of her own.
"When you get home, you can tell everyone you've seen Shakespeare."
"Then I could get sectioned!"
Rose snorts.
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Rose, Martha, and the Doctor are cheering with the rest of the audience, which is packed back to stomach, and hip to hip, in order to accommodate the mass of people who'd come out for a night at the theatre. Onstage, the actors take their final bows.
"That's amazing! Just amazing. It's worth putting up with the smell. And those are men dressed as women, yeah."
"London never changes," the Doctor affectionately quips.
"Where's Shakespeare? I wanna see Shakespeare! Author! Author!" She chants.
The Doctor looks at her over Rose's head, the two girl's being of nearly identical height. Rose is also glancing Martha's way, where the woman now appears slightly self-conscious.
"Do people shout that? Do they shout "Author?"
"They do now," Rose tells her as she picks up the chant with a smile and mimics Martha's fist-shaking in the air. "Author! Author!"
A man behind them follows suit and soon the entire crowd is shouting it.
A young, handsome man takes the stage, giving an exaggerated bow and blowing air kisses at the audience, which goes wild. Rose feels her eyes bug out at the young Shakespeare on stage before her. 'Oh! He's alright!'
Beside her, Martha's expression is slowly beginning to show recognition as well.
"He's a bit different from his portraits," she tells the other two time travelers.
"Genius," says the Doctor in the voice Rose has come to coin as his 'creepy-fan-boy-stalker' voice. He'd used that same voice before asking Thomas Edison if he could come inside his house to see his electric lamps…then walking right place the man, and into the dining room where he sat himself amongst the party of people already there; and again that time during one of Bob Dylan's recording sessions, before he's been "escorted" out of the building. "He's a genius—THE genius. The most human human that's ever been, and now we're gonna hear him speak. Always, he chooses the best words. New, beautiful, brilliant words!"
"And he's nice to look at," Rose whispered loudly to Martha, who nodded. Unfortunately for the Doctor and his Time Lord hearing, he was able to hear her quite clearly, even over the roaring crowd, and did not think Shakespeare so very good-looking at all, thank you very much! He spent the rest of his time glaring at Shakespeare on the stage.
"Shut your big fat mouths!"
'What were you saying about the right words Doctor?' Rose thought as she laughed until her ribs ached in the confines of her tight bodice. She stopped, however, when she good a look up at the Doctor's face. It was a curious mixture between disappointment, and a scowl.
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"Shut your big fat mouths!" The bard had said, and the Doctor felt his face fall in disappointment…those were hardly the beautiful, brilliant words he'd expected.
All around them the audience laughed, but from the corner of his eye he saw Rose reign her amusement in and shoot him a sympathetic glance.
"Oh, well," he told her and Martha, who was also looking somewhat disillusioned.
"You should never meet your heroes," Martha said. 'Nor should Rose! Rose had thought Casanova handsome, too; and she'd kissed Charlie boy on the cheek! Maybe we should head back to the TARDIS now…'
"You have excellent taste! I'll give you that…Oh, that's a wig!" He said to a man near the stage. "I know what you're all saying. 'Love's Labour'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."
No one notices the beautiful woman in the balcony manipulating a little doll.
One person does, however, feel a heavy wave of psychic energy ripple through the air; and beside him, a pink and yellow girl lifts her head, suddenly feeling apprehensive—though she would be hard pressed to explain away her premonition. The Doctor notices this as well, but all the tests done by the TARDIS so far suggest Rose is entirely human. 'Maybe her psychic training has just strengthened her perception…'
Suddenly Shakespeare jerks out of his bow and stands rod straight; he's eyes are glazed over and looking into the middle distance. "When? Tomorrow night. The premiere of my brand new play. A sequel, no less, and I call it 'Loves Labour's Won'! " He ends to the loud cheering and applause from the crowds. The Doctor and his companions remain silent as they file out along with the crowd.
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"I'm not an expert, but I've never heard of 'Loves Labour's Won'."
"Exactly — 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? We could tape it. We can flog it. Sell it when we get home and make a mint."
"…Erm," Rose stutters nervously.
"No."
To her credit, Martha seems to realize the moment she says this that it's a terrible idea. "That would be bad?" She asks, but it sounds more like a statement.
"Yeah," they both tell her.
"Well, how come it disappeared in the first place?"
"I think we're about to find out," Rose tells her, practically hopping with excitement.
"Well, I was just gonna give you a quick little trip in the TARDIS but I suppose we could stay a bit longer," he says.
"How are we supposed to find Shakespeare though?" Martha asks him.
The Doctor looks to Rose, questioningly.
"What? I read a few history books and you think I know what pubs and inns Shakespeare frequented when he stayed in town? You're the fanatic, not me."
He sighs. "I guess we'll have to do this the hard way," he says, speaking to himself.
He has to ask six different people before he's told to make his way to the Elephant in.
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