Chapter 18: The Case and the Verdict

A few hours after his conversation with Donna, the Doctor fidgeted in his seat. He was in the room in which he heard court cases, most of them appeals that had worked their way up from local judges because the petitioners believed justice had not been done. Often, they were right; try as he might, corruption still was a major problem in the local courts. This was usually one of his favorite tasks as king—trying to right wrongs, however minor. He tried to focus his mind on the pleas from the people appearing before him. They were often poor people in desperate straits, and they deserved his full attention, not to be brushed aside because of a personal crisis. But despite his best efforts, he barely heard them; his mind and heart were screaming two questions at him: what could he tell her? And having told her, how could he manage not to lose her? The first question he could not yet answer. The second provoked only the most visceral of reactions. He would not lose her. He could not.

Donna had been kind not to rub his nose in the fact that she had warned him about all of this. His lies and omissions were coming home to roost, and although she had been brusque and direct with him as always, Donna forbore to gloat. He knew she loved Rosalind too, and no doubt she was concerned about the effect of this on all three of them. He rubbed his brow. He had opened himself in unprecedented ways to Rosalind, he knew that, but somehow he had, without realizing it, allowed portions of his brain that he should have kept sealed to meld with hers. It had happened when they made love, Rosalind had apparently told Donna. He could not remember connecting with her mind during those moments, but then again, making love to her was so overwhelming a sensation, even after all these months, that he didn't doubt it could have happened without him noticing.

When the last case had been cleared away—happily, enough of his brain was functioning to offer judgments with the guidance of his clerks—he nodded to his ministers and left the courtroom. He needed to go to his own chamber and collect his thoughts. Then he needed to find his wife.

But she had already found him. She had clearly climbed onto his bed—the bed they had shared countless times—to sit and wait for him in comfort, but then she had fallen asleep. In spite of all the stress he felt, he could not help but smile at the sight of her. Her pregnancy made her tired, and he had teased her often about her propensity to nap wherever and whenever. Now she lay curled on her side, one hand pillowed under her head, the other resting protectively on her belly. She wore only a light linen dress with short cap sleeves but the heat was so intense in the room that there was a light sheen of sweat on her skin and the hair at her temples was plastered to her scalp. Looking down at her, he felt a wave of love and possessiveness so intense his knees weakened and he abruptly sat down on the bed beside her. She stirred as the mattress moved underneath her and opened her eyes. "Philip?" she murmured, yawning and stretching her legs.

"It's me, my love."

She rolled toward him. He helped her to sit up and she said, "I'm thirsty. Do you have any water?"

He moved to bring her a cup. When he returned, she was grimacing. He felt a stab of anxiety. "What is it?"

"Leg cramp," she gasped, rotating her left foot. "God, that hurts."

He took her leg and massaged her calf vigorously with the heel of one palm until she exhaled loudly. "Better. Thank you." He noticed the lack of an endearment. She rarely, in their private moments, allowed an exchange to go by without peppering her sentences with words of love. Their absence rang louder than any outright recrimination, and he closed his eyes, bracing himself for what was to come. After a moment he gathered his courage and raised his eyes to hers. She simply looked at him for several beats, that beloved amber gaze full of questioning and emotion, and then, when she realized that he would not speak first, she said, "You saw Donna."

"Yes."

"She showed you my drawing."

"Yes."

"Philip, I could tell she had seen it before—the box in the drawing. These things I'm seeing when we make love, I'm not imagining them. Somehow you're sending me images, and Donna has seen them too. What am I to think about that? You and Donna have both told me that you are not lovers, and I believe you, so I assume you haven't shown these things to her in that way. So does that mean that you have both seen them in reality? But that cannot be…" She pressed her fingers to her temples. "I don't know what to think. Help me, Philip. Help me to understand."

He didn't know where to begin. He had joked so often, in this incarnation, about his unstoppable gob, but it was silenced now, by fear and love and desperation. So he made a decision. He pulled the sonic screwdriver out of a specially-constructed pocket in the interior of his tunic, pointed it at the corner of his bedchamber, and pushed a button. With a soft whoosh, the perception filter was lifted and the TARDIS appeared. Rosalind had regarded the sonic screwdriver with surprise when he revealed it, but once the ship materialized, her attention was captured fully. She clapped her hand over her mouth and stared at it, transfixed. She then lowered her hand and whispered, "That's it." She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and approached it. She reached out a shaking hand and ran it over the wood of the machine. She whirled to face him, her hand still resting on the corner of the box. "Philip, this is what I saw."

He smiled sadly at her. "I know."

"But what is it?"

He snapped his fingers and the door swung open. He reached his hand out to her. "Will you come with me, Rosalind?"

She regarded him, standing there at the threshold of this machine from her visions. He met her solemn gaze unflinchingly, trying to fill his own eyes with all the love and reassurance he could muster. After what seemed like an eternity, she reached out and took his hand.

He led her into the TARDIS. Like every first-time visitor, she immediately noticed the unexpected size of the interior, but unlike many, who cried out and generally made much fuss about it, she merely gave a soft gasp and murmured something under her breath that he didn't catch. He guided her through the console room and into a corridor, forcibly slowing his step to match her somewhat ungainly gait. He led her deep into the ship and brought her into a room with low lighting. In it was a bed, and on the bed lay the prostrate form of a man. The Doctor motioned for her to approach and she did, slowly. Once she was close enough to see the face of the man on the bed she gave a whimper and stepped back unsteadily, her legs buckling under her. He caught her under the arms and guided her to the floor.

"Philip," she whispered faintly, "that's you."

"Yes and no. In fact, that is Philip II, the king of France."

Slowly she freed herself from his arms and turned her head to face him, reaching up to touch his cheek. "Then who are you?"

He said, "Let me take you somewhere more comfortable." She opened her mouth to object and he quickly added, "I promise I will tell you everything"

She nodded assent. He helped her up, led her back to the console room, and settled her in a seat. She crossed her arms over her belly and looked around her. "I have seen this room, too," she said. Then she turned her eyes back to him. "Who are you? What is all this?"

He took a deep breath. And he began to tell her.

She listened in absolute silence to his entire litany, which took quite a while to get through. When he stumbled to a halt, she remained quiet for so long, her eyes on her hands, that he whispered, "Please, Rosalind, talk to me."

She looked up at him. "I want to see your real face. Can you show it to me?"

Startled, he stammered for a moment, and then said, "I can't change back without a great deal of pain; plus there would also be the danger of someone coming to find the king and me not looking like him. I'd prefer not to do it until I'm going to do it permanently."

"But can you show me with your mind?"

"I can, but…"

She cut him off. "Then do it."

He sat on the arm of her chair and gently turned her head toward him. He fastened his fingers to her temples and closed his eyes. Determined not to inundate her with his roiling emotions or anything else that make her more upset than she already was, he focused on simply showing her the face of his tenth incarnation. She gasped when the connection was made, but when he tried to pull his hands away she held them to her, and so he relaxed and continued showing her the image until she dropped her hands. Leaning back, he removed his fingers and watched her face as she opened her eyes. "You look so different," she said. "But your eyes are the same. Different color, of course. But the same."

She shook her head and stood up slowly. She allowed him to help her, not flinching away from his touch. He took a modicum of comfort from this, but still felt sick with anxiety. He wanted her to scream at him, to beat at him with her fists, to rail against what he had done. Her anger he could take, but this… This quiet thoughtfulness was agony.

Once upright she said, "My baby. Is it normal? Human?"

"Yes. The…reproductive parts of me are human. He or she will be fully human, will be Philip's child."

She nodded. "I'm going back to my room. I need some time. Would you find me tomorrow morning?"

He swallowed. He desperately wanted her to stay with him, to talk to him. But how could he say no? "Yes, of course."

She turned to go, pausing at the door of the TARDIS to look back at the console room and at him. He said, "I love you, Rosalind. Whatever else you think of me, please believe that." She murmured assent, but she would not meet his eyes before she disappeared across the threshold.

The next morning he arrived at her door early but found her already awake, standing in her accustomed place at her window. He wondered if she had rested. She certainly looked tired. He probably looked even worse; he had not slept, but rather had spent a terrible night imagining worst-case scenarios, which basically consisted of having to leave her. When she heard his tap and the creak of the door opening, she turned to face him. Without preamble she said, "I have questions."

"Of course." Despite everything, he almost smiled. No hysterics, not from his girl. Just questions and analysis.

"First, let me make sure I understand what you told me. Donna is from the earth, but hundreds of years in the future. You, on the other hand, are from…" she gestured vaguely up toward the sky, "a star."

"Yes."

"And you came here in your time ship because another group of people from another star left something behind that caused the accident that killed Rob, stopped the marriage with Blanche, and changed the path of France's future. So you first tried to prevent that accident, but when that didn't work, you married me to preserve the alliance, produce an heir, and save France."

"Yes."

"And once all this was fixed your plan was to awaken Philip, switch places with him, and leave."

"Yes."

She thought for a moment. "After Rob's accident, why didn't you just get in the time ship and go back and pick up the thing that caused it? Once you knew what happened, why didn't you stop it?"

"I can't do that. Once I join a timeline, I can't replay it. It causes too many problems."

"What problems?"

He sighed. "It's hard to explain. It's called a paradox. If I loop back on myself in inappropriate ways, it can destroy the entire world."

Her gaze sharpened. "Has this happened to you before?"

"Yes. And I learned from it. I'm not going to let anything like that happen here, to you."

She nodded slowly. "So there are rules that even you have to follow? You, who seem like a god, with all your powers?"

"I'm not a god. And yes, there are rules." He paused and when she did not speak he said, "Do you believe me?"

She shrugged and turned her gaze back to the window. "I believe the evidence of my own eyes, my own senses. And as astonishing as your story is, it explains some things. Why Rob's horse behaved the way it did. And why…" She stopped.

"What?"

"Why you wanted to marry me so badly."

Suddenly he saw where her train of thought had led her: the idea that he had married her only as a way to move a piece on a chessboard, to achieve a goal. He had a vivid image of her torturing herself the previous night, questioning the genuineness of all the emotion that had passed between them. Abandoning his cautious hovering at the other side of the room, he strode to her, turned her forcibly in his arms, and kissed the surprised "oh" off of her lips. She pushed against his chest for a moment but then he felt her surrender to him, her fingers reaching up into his hair. After a long embrace, he released her but kept his forehead pressed to hers, his hands cupping her face.

"This is why I wanted to marry you. Because I fell in love with you. Because I can't stand to be away from you." She tried to look away but he held her still. "You told me yourself that there would have been so many other ways to accomplish what I needed to do, once Rob died. But that would have meant leaving you. I couldn't do that."

"Why me? I already thought it was strange, when you were just Philip, that you would pick me. But now… When you've traveled to so many places and times, seen so many people, why would you love me?"

He shook his head. "The absolute truth is that I don't know. You look like someone I cared for once, you know that. That is what drew my attention to you at first. After that…I don't know. It's like you were made to fill a part of me that was missing."

Tears filled her eyes at his words but she blinked them back and pushed him away, turning toward the window. "Part of me wants to ask why you didn't tell me sooner. But I suppose I know the answer to that."

"I couldn't."

"No."

"I thought you wouldn't understand, wouldn't believe me."

"I probably would not have believed you, without seeing these things myself."

"I didn't mean to do that, by the way. To show you those images. It's just…when I'm inside you, I don't remember where I am or what I am doing. I lose control in a way I should not." He paused, watching a blush creep across her cheeks. "And I also didn't tell you because I wanted to switch myself with Philip without you realizing it. To avoid causing you pain. You would not have known the difference, would have had the same husband, so only I would have been hurt."

She swung around to face him at that. "What?" She balled her hands into fists. "You thought what?"

"I…" His reply was cut off when she stepped forward and delivered a stinging slap to his right cheek. "What was that for?" he cried in dismay.

Her eyes blazed as she regarded him, unrepentant. "For thinking that I wouldn't have known if you changed. For thinking that I could be fooled like that, about the man I love." She raised her hand and pointed at him. "I know you. Even if I don't understand everything about you, I know you."

They regarded each other for a long moment, both breathing hard. Finally he whispered, "I'm sorry, love."

She was visibly trembling now, but tried to pull herself together. "So what now? You say you intended to return the real Philip to his life long before this, but you didn't. What will you do now?"

"I don't know. I've already broken so many rules…"

"Broken rules? You said you'd followed the rules. You couldn't save Rob because you followed your rules."

"I followed the rules that exist to avoid destruction in this timeline. But…" He sighed. "Time Lords—what I am—we are supposed to be caretakers. To oversee timelines and tweak things when necessary. Not immerse ourselves in them. Not interfere like this. I've been selfish. I've meddled more than I should have, to be with you."

She looked horrified. "I would never have asked you to do that. I would never have wanted you to risk yourself."

"I know."

She lifted her chin and said, "Doesn't that mean you should go now? Leave the real Philip with me and go? Not take any more risks?"

And, suddenly, there it was. The question that had to be answered. And he found he had no answer for her. He gazed at her hopelessly. "I don't know. I probably should go. But I don't…" He trailed off, his throat closing. Finally he asked, "What do you want me to do?"

She shook her head slowly. "The thing that would cause you the least danger would be to go?" A tear slid down one cheek, then the other. She wiped them away with her fingertips.

"In the long term, yes."

"Then you should go." More tears fell; it now required her whole palm to wipe them from her cheeks, but she refused to look away.

Now he smiled. His brave, beautiful girl. "I probably should."

Her face crumpled and she nodded.

"But I'm not going to."

"What? Why not?"

"I can't. I can't leave you. I love you too much." She put her hands over her face and began to cry in earnest. Gently, tenderly, he took her hands in his, kissing her wet knuckles.

Then she threw her arms around his neck and clung to him, sobbing anew.

"I don't want you to go," she cried. "But I don't want to hurt you or put you in danger."

Relieved laughter bubbled up in his throat. "Leaving you is the only thing that would hurt me." She burrowed further into his neck. "So you'll keep me then, for a while?" She nodded against his tunic and he held her while she wept. Paradoxically, as he held his sobbing wife he felt unreasonably happy. Donna had been right again. It had been right to tell her.

After a time, she lifted her head and looked at him again, calmer but still clearly troubled. "It is so much power that you have. To oversee the fate of so many. So much responsibility. Aren't there others you can share it with?"

"No. I'm the last of my kind."

"I see." She rubbed her eyes and yawned. "We have so much more to talk about. But I'm so tired. I didn't sleep last night."

He laughed wearily. "Nor I."

"Do you have time for a nap? With me?"

He dipped his head and kissed her gently. "For you, I have all the time in the world."

She led him to her bed and they curled up on it together, him curled behind her, one of his hands on her belly and the other holding her hand. He buried his face in her hair and fell asleep almost instantly, lulled by her warmth and the sound of her heartbeat, and the baby's.

He awoke several hours later, feeling groggy but well-rested. He reached for his wife and found an empty bed. His heart stilled. Had he only imagined their conversation and reconciliation? But no, he was in her room. Why else would he be there?

There came a tap on the door and Donna put her head inside. "Philip?"

"Donna? Where's Rosalind?"

"She didn't want to disturb you. She got up about an hour ago and came to find me. The baby's coming."