AN: Today is my birthday, and in a lucky coincidence, I get to post one of my favourite chapters to date. Why do I love it? Protective!Doctor makes an appearance, there's just enough romance not to derail the story, and Martha is-as always-amazing. Now, if you're wishing you could give me a birthday present as good as the one I gave myself, comments are the best gift possible.

Chapter 11: Something Wicked This Way Comes

Rose looked around as they walked towards Bishopsgate. It's so weird, seeing places I know that are just enough different from what I'm used to.

This is London before the Great Fire, the Doctor said. Before Christopher Wren rebuilt it.

Rose glanced over at him. You're not going to claim you helped?

Welllll… The Doctor tugged on his ear. It's possible—just possible, mind—that I actually had something to do with the fire itself.

She chuckled, then laughed harder when she caught sight of the business on the next corner. Maybe it's not too different, after all, she said, pointing to a door with an apothecary sign hanging overhead. That's a Boots, in my time.

A bend in the road brought the city wall into view. Even with everything else that was different, seeing an actual gate where there hadn't been one in years brought Rose up short. Yeah, this is definitely weird.

When they reached the hospital, the Doctor flashed the psychic paper at the keeper, who immediately let them in. "Does my Lord Doctor wish some entertainment while he waits?" he asked as he led them through the hospital "I'd whip these madmen. They'll put on a good show for you. Mad dog in Bedlam."

"No, I don't!" the Doctor stated unequivocally.

The keeper blinked, but the Doctor's credentials kept him from questioning him. "Well, wait here, my lords, while I, ah… make him decent for the ladies."

Rose watched him walk down the long corridor of cells, disgust curling in her gut. Men were kept here, apparently naked, and under constant threat of a beating for someone's amusement.

"So this is what you call a hospital, yeah?" Martha said, quiet anger brewing beneath the calm words. "Where the patients are whipped to entertain the gentry? And you put your friend in here?"

Will shifted uncomfortably. "Oh, it's all so different in Freedonia," he said sarcastically.

Distant screaming echoed along the rough stone walls, and Martha's features hardened slightly. "But you're clever. Do you honestly think this place is any good?"

A stubborn light entered Will's eyes. "I've been mad. I've lost my mind. Fear of this place set me right again." He nodded. "It serves its purpose."

Rose put her hand on Martha's arm, then looked at Will. "What happened?" she asked, seeing the loss in his eyes.

But it was the Doctor who answered. "You lost your son."

Will nodded, and Rose finally saw the grief he tried to hide with his flamboyant personality and flirtatious behaviour. "My only boy. The Black Death took him. I wasn't even there."

Rose felt some of the tension ease out of Martha. "I'm sorry," she said compassionately, and Martha echoed her.

"It made me question everything," Will said. "The futility of this fleeting existence. To be or not to be." His eyes brightened. "Oh, that's quite good."

The Doctor's lips quirked up in a half smile. "You should write that down."

Will demurred. "Maybe not. A bit pretentious?"

The keeper interrupted the Doctor's answer. "This way, my lord!"

The momentary lightness was lost in the gloom again as they followed the keeper to Peter Streete's cell. "They can be dangerous, my lord," he said as he let them in. "Don't know their own strength."

Seeing the pathetic man sitting on a rope bed dressed in rags, the Doctor's patience expired. "I think it helps if you don't whip them. Now get out!"

The keeper rolled his eyes before he left the cell, but the Doctor didn't care what he thought about the lord with the strange notions of justice.

He walked slowly towards the cowering man. "Peter? Peter Streete?"

Peter didn't answer, and Will shook his head. "He's the same as he was. You'll get nothing out of him."

Rose crouched down on the floor and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Peter?"

Peter suddenly flung his head back and looked at them with wild eyes. He wasn't mad; he was terrified, and his mind had retreated from the fright. Rose, the Doctor said, I'm going to see if I can get past this madness.

She nodded and moved out of the way so he could get down on eye level with the architect. The Doctor placed his hands gently on Peter's temples and put up light memory blocks around the more recent events in his life.

"Peter, I'm the Doctor," he said as he worked. "Go into the past. One year ago. Let your mind go back. Back to when everything was fine and shining." Peter shook violently, and the Doctor continued to speak as he would to a skittish animal—slowly and softly. "Everything that happened in this year since happened to somebody else. It was just a story. A winter's tale. Let go." The fear finally loosened its hold on Peter's mind, and the Doctor lowered him to his bed. "That's it. That's it, just let go."

The Doctor stood up and looked down on the man, still wide-eyed with terror, even though it no longer had a hold of his sanity. "Tell me the story, Peter," he said, his anger at the man's condition seeping into his voice. "Tell me about the witches."

"Witches spoke to Peter," he began, his voice surprisingly clear. "In the night, they whispered. They whispered." Peter's hand twitched by his ear, visually representing the constant whispering. "Got Peter to build the Globe to their design. Their design! The fourteen walls. Always fourteen. When the work was done," he said, then laughed for a moment before he realised it wasn't funny, "they snapped poor Peter's wits."

"Where did Peter see the witches? Where in the city?" Peter panted in fear, and the Doctor crouched down next to him, needing to get the information before the temporary memory blocks failed. "Peter, tell me. You've got to tell me—where were they?"

Peter shuddered again, then a determined look crossed his face. "All Hallows Street," he said, with sudden conviction.

"Too many words," a voice suddenly hissed from behind the Doctor.

He spun away from the voice to stand next to Rose. A hag stood at the other end of the cell, her back hunched and her eyes gleaming with malice.

"What the hell?" Rose and Martha said together.

"Just one touch of the heart," she said, bending slowly over Peter.

"No!" the Doctor shouted, but it was too late to stop her from killing him.

The hag pressed her finger to Peter's heart and gasped in pleasure as the man died.

"Witch! I'm seeing a witch!" Will stammered, pointing at her.

"Now, who would be next, hmm?" she asked, waggling her fingers at them. "Just one touch. Oh, oh, I'll stop your frantic hearts. Poor, fragile mortals."

But seeing her true form verified the Doctor's earlier suspicion. "Oh, let's not be too hasty!" he said, stepping out in front of her. "I've got some magic of my own."

She scoffed at his threat. "No mortal has power over me."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Oh, but there's a power in words. Humanoid female, uses shapes and words to channel energy, with a fixation on the number fourteen?" He rattled the list off, enjoying her increasing unease. "Say, as in the fourteen stars of the Rexel planetary configuration? Creature, I name you Carrionite!"

The Carrionite shrieked and disappeared in a flash of light.

Rose, Martha, and Will stepped forward slowly. "What did you do?" Rose asked.

The Doctor stared at the empty space where the Carrionite had stood. "I named her. The power of a name. That's old magic."

Martha shook her head. "But there's no such thing as magic."

"Well, it's just a different sort of science," the Doctor explained. "You lot, you chose mathematics. Given the right string of numbers, the right equation, you can split the atom." Martha nodded, following along with what he was saying. "Carrionites use words instead," he concluded.

Will looked at Peter's body, then at the Doctor. "Use them for what?"

The Doctor set his jaw. "The end of the world."

oOoOoOoOo

It took forty-five minutes to get back to The Elephant. In Will's room, the Doctor paced the floor, sharing what he knew. "The Carrionites disappeared way back at the dawn of the universe. Nobody was sure if they were real or legend."

Will stood up from a basin of water, his face dripping. "Well, I'm going for real," he said as he towelled off.

"What do they want, though?" Rose asked.

The Doctor leaned against the table. "A new empire on Earth. A world of bones and blood and witchcraft."

"But how?" Martha asked.

"I'm looking at the man with the words," he said, staring at Will.

"Me?" he said, a dumbfounded expression on his face. "But I've done nothing."

"Hold on, though," Martha said. "What were you doing last night, when that Carrionite was in the room?"

Will frowned and spread his hand out over the table. "Finishing the play."

"Yeah?" Rose asked, catching on to what Martha was saying. "And how's it end, then?"

He shrugged. "The boys get the girls. They have a bit of a dance. It's all as funny and thought-provoking as usual." He stopped and looked at them, wide-eyed. "Except those last few lines. Funny thing is, I don't actually remember writing them."

The Doctor straightened up and walked towards Will. "That's it. They used you." It was obvious, now that he had all the pieces. "They gave you the final words like a spell, like a code. Love's Labour's Won. It's a weapon. The right combination of words, spoken at the right place, with the shape of the Globe as an energy converter! The play's the thing!" He spun around, then turned back to Will. "And yes, you can have that."

"What do we need, Doctor?" Shakespeare asked.

"Food first," Rose said before the Doctor could reply. He looked at her in surprise. "None of us have eaten since dinner last night."

Will nodded. "I'll go downstairs and see about getting some food sent up."

After he left the room, Rose looked at the Doctor and grinned. "So. Shakespeare and witches," she said irrepressibly.

He laughed. "I know! Although Macbeth was never my favourite."

"I thought you were supposed to call it 'The Scottish Play,'" Martha interjected.

The Doctor listed off his counterpoints on his fingers. "One, we aren't in a theatre, and two, I really don't believe in superstitions."

"And three, it hasn't even been written yet," Rose added.

Martha rolled her eyes. "All right, fine. Then what's so funny about Shakespeare and witches? Besides the obvious, I mean."

Rose crossed her left leg over her right knee. "When we met Dickens, there were ghosts."

"Oh that's… Your life is mad," Martha said, but she was smiling. "Next you're going to tell me you've solved a mystery with Agatha Christie."

Rose smirked at her. "Not yet we haven't, but might do someday."

Will returned then, interrupting any conversation of time travel. He set down a tray of drinks and passed them around. Rose took a sip of hers and managed not to cough this time. Elizabethan ale must be growing on me, she mused

They ate quickly, all of them keenly aware of the waning daylight. As soon as the platters were cleared away, the Doctor leaned across the table. "Do you have a map, Will? We need to find the witches' house."

Will opened a drawer and rummaged through some papers, pulling out a piece of parchment. The Doctor put his glasses on, snatched the map from Will's hand, and pored over it quickly.

"All Hallows Street." He pointed at a spot in the City, halfway between London Bridge and the Tower of London. "There it is. Rose, Martha, we'll track them down." He looked up at Will. "Will, you get to the Globe. Whatever you do, stop that play."

"I'll do it." Will shook his head. "All these years I've been the cleverest man around," he said, holding his hand out for the Doctor to shake. "Next to you, I know nothing."

"It's something new, isn't it?" Rose asked, seeing the admiration in his eyes.

He laughed. "It's marvellous. Good luck, Doctor."

"Good luck, Shakespeare." The Doctor put his glasses away, grabbed his coat, and jogged towards the door. "Once more unto the breach."

"I like that," Will called out. "Wait a minute, that's one of mine."

The Doctor stuck his head back into the room. "Oh, just shift!"

As they ran across London Bridge for the third time that day, Martha said, "You know, I never would have thought so much of alien hunting was just… running."

"Why d'you think I wear trainers?" Rose said.

Martha laughed. "I guess I'll need to learn to run in all kinds of footwear."

She's already counting on travelling with us for a while, Rose said to the Doctor.

I don't know if she even realises what she just said. Let's get this taken care of, and then we can talk about it.

They jogged down a narrow alley, then the Doctor slowed and looked around. "All Hallows Street, but which house?"

"The thing is though," Martha said, "am I missing something here? The world didn't end in 1599. It just didn't. Look at me. I'm living proof."

"Time isn't like that, Martha," Rose explained. "It's not static."

"What do you mean, time's not static?" Her eyes widened. "You mean things can change?"

"Yes," the Doctor said. "It's like Back to the Future."

Martha blinked. "The film?"

"No, the novelisation," he responded sarcastically. "Yes, the film. Marty McFly goes back and changes history."

"And he starts fading away." The penny dropped. "Oh my God, am I going to fade?"

"You and the entire future of the human race," he said seriously. "It ends right now in 1599 if we don't stop it. But which house?" he asked again.

The door in front of them creaked open. "Ah. Make that witch house."

Rose groaned. "I think your puns are getting worse," she told him as they stepped inside.

The main sitting room looked normal enough, but the Doctor pointed to a curtain hanging along one wall. He lifted it up and they saw another room behind it.

The young woman Rose had noticed in the courtyard the night before was waiting for them. "I take it we're expected," the Doctor said.

She looked at him speculatively. "Oh, I think death has been waiting for you a very long time."

Rose raised an eyebrow, but before she or the Doctor could ask how she knew that, Martha spoke up.

"Right then, it's my turn." She pointed a finger at the witch. "I know how to do this. I name thee Carrionite!"

Instead of fading away on a shriek, the witch gasped, then giggled.

"What did I do wrong?" Martha asked. "Was it the finger?"

"The power of a name works only once," the witch explained. Then she pointed at Martha. "Observe. I gaze upon this bag of bones and now I name thee Martha Jones."

Rose gasped when Martha fell back, unconscious, into the Doctor's arms. "What have you done?" he demanded as he laid their friend down on the floor.

The witch looked at her finger as if it had betrayed her. "Only sleeping, alas. It's curious. The name has less impact. She's somehow out of her time. And as for you, Sir Doctor." Rose was ready to step in front of the Doctor, but the witch paused and stared at him. "Fascinating. There is no name. Why would a man hide his title in such despair?" A smug smile crossed her face "Oh, but look. There's still one name burned into your soul."

The Doctor looked at her coldly. "The naming won't work on me."

The witch arched an eyebrow. "Sonnets doth your heart compose, all in the name of your fair Rose."

Her finger moved from him to Rose at the last minute, and the Doctor's vision greyed out as an echo of what passed through Rose reverberated over the bond. He blinked quickly and caught her as she fainted into his arms, then laid her down gently next to Martha before advancing on the creature.

"That was your last mistake," he said quietly. "Her name doesn't hurt me; it makes me stronger. And anyone who hurts her soon regrets it. The Carrionites vanished. Where did you go?"

She turned away in a huff. "The Eternals found the right word to banish us into deep darkness."

"And how did you escape?"

"New words. New and glittering, from a mind like no other."

So he'd been right. "Shakespeare."

The Doctor stared at the image of Shakespeare in the bubbling cauldron as she continued to explain. Behind him, Rose was starting to regain consciousness, and he quickly worked out half a dozen ways to stop the witch before she could do any more damage.

"His son perished," she explained. "The grief of a genius. Grief without measure. Madness enough to allow us entrance."

"How many of you?" asked the Doctor, needing the information so he could be certain later that none of the Carrionites escaped.

She tilted her head back and looked down her nose at the Doctor. "Just the three. But the play tonight shall restore the rest. Then the human race will be purged as pestilence. And from this world we will lead the universe back into the old ways of blood and magic."

The Doctor scratched his ear as he walked towards her. "Hmm. Busy schedule. But first you've got to get past me," he said, looking her straight in the eye.

To his amusement, her demeanour turned seductive. "Oh, that should be a pleasure—" She traced his sideburn and leaned in even closer. "—considering my enemy has such a handsome shape."

Her lips were practically brushing against his cheek, and he rolled his eyes. "Now, that's one form of magic that's definitely not going to work on me."

"Oh, we'll see."

The Doctor felt a sharp yank on the back of his head, then the Carrionite backed away to the window. "What did you do?"

"Souvenir." She held up a hank of his hair.

"Well, give it back."

He ran towards her, but she threw her arms out and the window opened up behind her, allowing her to fly out into the open. The Doctor looked down at the ground from the upper storey, then at his adversary.

"Well, that's just cheating."

"Behold, Doctor. Men to Carrionites are nothing but puppets."

She wrapped the hair around a small doll, and his eyes widened. Oh, this was not good. "Now, you might call that magic. I'd call that a DNA replication module."

"What use is your science now?" she asked and stabbed the doll.

The Doctor screamed and fell to the ground when one of his hearts stopped.

Right or left? Rose asked, crawling over to him as the Carrionite laughed and flew away.

Left.

Rose helped him get to his feet. "Ah!" he exclaimed. He was vaguely aware that Martha was stirring, but he couldn't focus on anything but his stopped heart. "How do you people cope with only one heart? I've got to get the other one started. Hit me! Hit me on the chest!"

She pounded her fist against the left side of his chest. "This seems familiar," she pointed out over his groaning.

"But at least this time it's only one, and I'm still conscious." He bent over. "Now, on the back, on the back." He groaned again when she hit him, hard. "Left a bit."

Finally, his left heart fell back into rhythm, and he leaned back, stretching his ribcage. "Dah, lovely. There we go." He jumped to his feet. "Badda boomba!" Apparently back to normal, he looked at Rose and Martha expectantly. "Well, what are you standing there for? Come on! The Globe!"

The Doctor ran back to the street and turned right. Rose and Martha ran after him, shouting, "We're going the wrong way!"

"No, we're not!" he said, changing directions a split second later. "We're going the wrong way!"

When they turned the corner towards the Globe, they all skidded to a halt. A red cloud glowed above the theatre; Will hadn't stopped the play.

"I told thee so!" crowed the preacher they'd seen the night before, clearly believing the end of the world was upon them. "I told thee!"

"Stage door!" the Doctor shouted over the shrieking and wailing wind.

They found Will backstage, just inside the door, looking like he'd just woken up. "Stop the play," the Doctor said breathlessly. "I think that was it. Yeah, I said, stop the play!"

Will groaned and put his hand on the back of his head. "I hit my head."

"Yeah, don't rub it, you'll go bald." Thunder crashed overhead and he turned and ran towards the stage. "I think that's my cue!"

The Doctor, Rose, Martha, and Will all ran out onto the stage. The frantic theatregoers were crowded around the doors, unable to get away from the imminent disaster.

As they stood there, wondering what to do next, a spiral of red light and swirling creatures rose into the air from the gallery, flying up towards the sky. The Carrionite who had tried to kill him earlier stood holding a crystal ball that functioned as one end of the portal, bringing her sisters to Earth.

Words. They came in by the power of words, and only words can send them away.

The Doctor turned and grabbed Will, pushing him to the front of the stage. "Come on, Will! History needs you!"

"But what can I do?" the playwright protested.

The wind blowing around them picked up strength. There wasn't much time left. "Reverse it!" the Doctor ordered.

Will gaped at him, then looked at the swarm of Carrionites hovering over his theatre. "How am I supposed to do that?"

"The shape of the Globe gives words power," the Doctor explained, "but you're the wordsmith, the one true genius. The only man clever enough to do it."

"But what words? I have none ready!"

"You're William Shakespeare!" the Doctor hollered, tapping him on the chest.

Will pointed up at the cackling witches. "But these Carrionite phrases, they need such precision."

The Doctor lowered his voice so he was just talking to Will. "Trust yourself. When you're locked away in your room, the words just come, don't they—like magic? Wordsof the right sound, the right shape, the right rhythm. Words that last forever." He put his hand on Will's shoulder, looking up at the sky with him. "That's what you do, Will. You choose perfect words. Do it. Improvise."

The Doctor stepped back to watch with Rose and Martha, his hearts in his throat. Will could do it, he knew he could, but only if he believed.

Will took a half step forward, and for a moment, he did nothing but stare up at the sky. Just when the Doctor was getting worried, he started talking.

"Close up this din of hateful, dire decay,

decomposition of your witches' plot.

You thieve my brains, consider me your toy.

My doting Doctor tells me I am not!

Foul Carrionite spectres, cease your show!

Between the points—"

He looked over at the Doctor, who rattled off the time-space coordinates. "Seven six one three nine oh!"

Will nodded. "Seven six one three nine oh!

Banished like a tinker's cuss,

I say to thee—"

He paused again. This was the crucial moment, and with all the words the Doctor knew, he couldn't think of the perfect one to steal power that rhymed with cuss. He looked from Rose to Martha, silently begging for help.

"Expelliarmus!" Martha shouted, pulling a piece of hair out of her mouth.

The Doctor nodded. "Expelliarmus!"

"Expelliarmus!" Will bellowed.

The tone of the shrieks changed from gleeful to angry, and a portal to the deep darkness opened, pulling the spiral of Carrionites into it.

"Good old JK!" the Doctor cheered, seeing the day was won. A powerful breeze swept through the backstage area of the theatre, pulling with it every copy of the play. "Love's Labour's Won. There it goes."

The sky cleared with a crack and a final burst of light. The audience looked stunned, but after a moment, they started clapping.

The Doctor took a quick bow with Will, then left the stage to go up to the box the three Carrionites had been sitting in. The crystal ball they'd been holding was sitting on the rough wooden bench, and when he picked it up, they were screaming at him from inside, where they were trapped.

oOoOoOoOo

Rose was waiting for the Doctor backstage. "All taken care of then?" she asked as he hugged her.

"Yep!" He tossed the crystal ball in the air. "I know just the place to keep them, too—there's a nice attic on the TARDIS where they can scream away for eternity."

"We have an attic?"

"Mmm," he affirmed. "More than one, actually. And a cellar or two."

Rose shook her head. "I don't know why I'm even surprised." She snatched the Carrionites out of the air and peered down at them. "So, Martha was brilliant."

"Yes, she was."

Before they could continue their conversation, the object of their discussion entered the room, along with Shakespeare. "So, what now?" Martha asked.

The Doctor rocked back on his heels. "I'll need to search the theatre, make sure there aren't any copies of the play left. It'd be easier when no one's around though, so unless you mind staying another night…"

"No!" Martha grinned brightly.

Before they could return to the inn, Will stuck his head into the room. "We always go back to the Elephant for a meal and a few pints after a performance. You were as much a part of tonight's success as any of us, so I insist you come along, as my guests."

"Well," the Doctor said, "it's hard to turn down an invitation to a cast party with William Shakespeare."

They stayed in the dining room with Will and his friends Burbage and Kempe into the wee hours of the morning, only leaving when Martha was almost asleep at the table.

Alone in their room, Rose finally broached the topic of Martha. "So, what do you think?" she asked, knowing he would follow her train of thought.

"She's definitely more than capable. Not afraid to call out customs that she doesn't think are right—much like someone I remember who scolded a gentleman for his wandering hands."

"Oh, he was asking for it," Rose said, wrinkling her nose at the reminder of the Victorian undertaker. "She stands up to you, too."

"Since when has that been a requirement for our companions?" the Doctor asked, miffed.

"Since always," she replied pertly. He pouted, and she shook her head. "You're amazing, Doctor, but you're not always right. It's important that people who travel with us aren't so in awe of you that they don't notice the times when you're wrong."

The Doctor sniffed, but he didn't argue.

"So, what do you think?"

"Not sure yet. Let's take her off-world; if she likes other planets, we can ask her to stay." He looked down at her. "You know she won't be a permanent addition, right? She'll want to leave eventually to take her exams."

Rose nodded. "Yeah, I know. But even then, once she's gone home we'll have someone to visit," she said, finally letting the Doctor know the complete reason why she was so interested in travelling with a companion for a while.

"Ah." The Doctor tugged her close and wrapped his arms around her. "You're feeling like you don't really have anyone left on Earth."

"Well, there's Jack and Sarah Jane, and now Alistair and Doris and Ian and Barbara, but… it would just be nice if we had a few more people we could visit."

The Doctor finally understood the TARDIS' strange behaviour. "That's why the old girl took us to visit some of my friends."

"I'm pretty sure she mostly wanted me to know all of your embarrassing stories," Rose teased.

oOoOoOoOo

After breakfast the next morning, Will escorted the Doctor, Rose, and Martha back to the Globe. "Dressing rooms are that way," he said, pointing to the backstage area, "and the props store is just beyond them." He turned to Martha. "Will you keep me company while they look for copies of the play?"

Rose suppressed a smile and nodded when Martha looked at her uncertainly. Martha then allowed herself to be led to a bench.

"First time out, and Martha's already made a conquest," the Doctor murmured as they walked away. "I should have known Shakespeare would be an incorrigible flirt."

Rose pushed open the door to the first dressing room and they did a quick search through the drawers and cupboards before moving on. "How come you're not warning her of the paradox she could cause if she stayed with him?" Rose asked, remembering the stern lecture her first Doctor had given her in Kyoto, when the emperor's son had tried to court her.

The Doctor peered behind a dressing table in the next dressing room. "One, the emperor's son was serious. Will is just playing. B—no, two—thirteenth century Japan had almost no contact with the western world. It would have caused a paradox for the next Empress to be English. And three…" He looked up at her. "You know what the third reason is."

She did. The Doctor's obvious jealousy had thrilled the 20-year-old Rose, who was desperately in love with the Time Lord and unsure of where their relationship stood. They'd been dancing around their feelings at the time, and any sign of interest had been more than welcome.

In the props room, Rose poked around in a cupboard and pulled out a skull. "Look familiar, Doctor?"

He glanced at it and grinned. "A Sycorax!" An odd expression crossed his face. "Let's take that and show Will," he suggested. "Along with this." He held up the stiff lace ruff he'd found and Rose started laughing.

"Here, put it on," she urged him, helping him tie the ribbon in the back. When it was fastened, she stepped back to take in the look. "Oh, very dashing Doctor—in a sixteenth century way."

She brushed off her jeans and look around the room. "I think the play is completely gone."

"Agreed. Let's go tell Will he doesn't have anything to worry about."

They reached the stage in time to hear Will say, "Are the rules of love really so strict in the land of Freedonia, where women can be whatever they like?"

He leaned in for a kiss, but Martha pulled back. "I don't know how to tell you this, oh great genius, but your breath doesn't half stink."

"Good props store back there," the Doctor said, interrupting the conversation. He looked down at the skull in his hand. "I'm not sure about this though. Reminds me of a Sycorax."

A contemplative look crossed Will's face. "Sycorax." Will leaned back and nodded. "Nice word. I'll have that off you as well."

"I should be on ten percent," the Doctor said, satisfied that Will would remember the name in a few years when he wrote The Tempest. "How's your head?"

A pinched expression crossed Will's face. "Still aching."

"Here, I got you this." The Doctor took the ruff off and put it around Will's neck. "Neck brace. Wear that for a few days till it's better, although… you might want to keep it. It suits you."

Martha grinned and touched the ruff. "What about the play?" she asked.

The Doctor stuck his hands in his coat pockets. "Gone. I looked all over. Every single copy of Love's Labour's Won went up in the sky."

"My lost masterpiece," Will said regretfully, and it was amazing how much more he looked like Shakespeare with the ruffed collar.

"You could write it up again," Martha suggested.

The Doctor and Rose exchanged a glance, then Rose shook her head. "Better not, Will," she said. "Even if you rewrote the last scene, the whole play was the Carrionites' tool. Probably better it if stays lost."

"Oh, but I've got new ideas," Will said, his eyes lighting up. "Perhaps it's time I wrote about fathers and sons, in memory of my boy, my precious Hamnet."

"Hamnet?" Martha repeated.

Will nodded. "That's him," he said quietly.

"Hamnet?" she questioned again, emphasising the last syllable.

Will looked at her through narrowed eyes."What's wrong with that?"

"Anyway," the Doctor said, breaking into the conversation before Martha could accidentally tell Will what he ended up naming the play, "time we were off." He leaned over and picked up the crystal ball. "I'll chuck this lot into the attic, and then I've got to take Martha back to Freedonia."

"You mean travel on through time and space," Will said with a half smile.

"You what?" the Doctor asked, dumbfounded.

"You're from another world like the Carrionites, and Martha is from the future. It's not hard to work out." He looked at Rose. "In fact, you're the hardest one to place. You're not of this time, like Martha, and though I feel like you are from this world, you seem more like your husband than any of us."

"That's… incredible," the Doctor said. "You are incredible."

"We're alike in many ways, Doctor." He turned back to Martha and took her hand. "Martha, let me say goodbye to you in a new verse. A sonnet for my Dark Lady."

All three time travellers started a little at that familiar phrase, and even more when he recited the opening lines of one of his more famous sonnets.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate."

Before he could get any further, Burbage and Kempe rushed into the theatre, panting for breath. "Will!" Burbage exclaimed.

"Will, you'll never believe it," Kempe said. "She's here! She's turned up!"

Burbage took over again. "We're the talk of the town. She heard about last night. She wants us to perform it again."

"The Queen?" Rose asked.

Burbage grinned. "Yes! She's here."

Fanfare played in the courtyard, and Rose craned her neck, trying to get a glimpse of the famous royal. She'd always loved Queen Elizabeth the First. The woman who entered the theatre was older than she'd expected, but she remembered after a moment that 1599 was near the end of her life.

"Queen Elizabeth the First!" the Doctor exclaimed.

"Doctor?" she said in disbelief.

"What?"

Her gaze shifted to Rose. "The Doctor and Rose Tyler. My sworn enemies."

Rose and the Doctor exchanged a startled glance. "What?" they said together.

"Off with their heads!"

"What?" he said a third time, indignant now.

"Oh, never mind what, just run!" Martha said. "See you, Will, and thanks."

They exited the theatre through the stage entrance and ran down the street towards the TARDIS. Heavy footsteps sounded behind them, and a guard called out, "Stop in the name of the Queen!"

Instead, they put on more speed. "What have you done to upset her?" Martha demanded.

"How should we know?" the Doctor said, turning to look behind them while Rose ran ahead to unlock the door. "Haven't even met her yet. That's time travel for you. Still, can't wait to find out."

Rose had the door open when the Doctor and Martha reached the TARDIS, and Martha ran down the ramp. She rolled her eyes when the Doctor stopped and looked back at the guards. "That's something to look forward to," he said enthusiastically, then shut the door suddenly. Rose heard something thwack into the wood as she hit the dematerialisation sequence that would take them into the Vortex.

"So, have you managed to alienate all of Britain's ruling queens?" Rose asked. "Only, that's two out of six and I'd just like to know if we're going to be in trouble if we ever meet Liz II."

The Doctor tossed his coat over a strut, then joined Rose at the console. "Nah…" He scratched at the back of his neck. "And I'd like to point out, Rose Tyler, that I didn't start getting on the bad side of your queens until you were travelling with me."

Rose pressed her lips together to hide a smirk, then caught the confused look on Martha's face. "Oh, we were banished by Queen Victoria once, that's all," she explained.

"Right." Martha looked at them and said, "So, I guess it's home then?"

"Well," the Doctor said, stretching the word out, "we were thinking… the TARDIS does travel through time and space." Martha's eyes widened. "Would you like to see another planet before going home?"

"No complaints from me," she said with a laugh.

"How about one of our favourite planets, Rose?" the Doctor asked as he put in the coordinates. "Year five billion and fifty-three, planet New Earth. Second hope of humankind."

"Apple grass," Rose said nostalgically.

I nearly kissed you, when we were stretched out on my coat looking up at the sky.

She smiled; little revelations like that into the months before their relationship changed always made her feel warm and loved.

"So? Are you ready, ladies?"

Rose looked at Martha, too excited to make any sort of protest, and made a quick decision. "Shower and a change of clothes first," she said firmly, knowing it was the right choice when she saw the look of relief on Martha's face. "Elizabethan England has a lot to recommend it, but its standards for personal hygiene aren't quite what I'm used to."

"You can say that again," Martha said fervently. She looked down at herself. "Only, I don't have anything else to wear."

"That's easily solved," Rose said. "Just wait until you see the wardrobe room, Martha Jones."