Three days, 23.6 hours.
--
He knew from the first thrown punch that he has failed. They'll get him.
He didn't mind.
"You…" Romana spluttered at him. "You… moron!"
"Four out of ten," the Doctor smiled, then he frowned. "When did I start channelling Borusa?"
"You did all this," Romana snarled, "for a stupid human child…"
"To save as many lives as possible," the Doctor snapped back. "Including hers. You once understood my motivations."
"You once made a modicum of sense," Romana snapped.
"Teeth and curls never once made sense," the Doctor snapped.
"I don't have time to argue with you, Doctor," Romana sighed, then she turned to the Captain of the guards. "Take him away, and put him in a comfortable cell. Then find the girl."
The guard saluted, and the Doctor was led away, smiling disconcertingly.
--
It was dusty out here. She didn't like the dust, or the dirt. There was no one else here, apart from the old man, who looked deadly serious. What was going to happen to her? The Doctor, the man who had saved her life, had brought her here, and directed her here – but why?
If she had asked him, he probably would have just said 'seemed like a good idea at the time' which would not have comforted her – so it was probably a good thing he wasn't there.
And then it ceased to matter whether he was there. She walked forward, and saw a spiral of beautiful light, leading everywhere and nowhere – and then she blinked.
She was alone, in a white place. No – no, not alone. There was another little girl there. Long black hair over her face, white gown, tattered and ripped.
What was this?
"Hello," she said. The other girl didn't seem to hear her. "Who are you?"
'Don't you know?' the other girl seemed to reply.
Images of a well, of death, of broke fingernails, swept back to Samara, and she stepped back – and the phantom was right in front of her in a blink.
'He messed with time. He always does. He's like that. Can't leave well enough alone. Can't let an injustice stand.'
"I don't understand."
'You're not here to understand, just to watch.'
"The Doctor saved me. I'm not going back to the well."
'But the Doctor doesn't know…'
Samara felt a chill up her spine – those words were her words, and with a final confirmation, she reached forward, brushed her counterparts hair away, and saw – that face. Dead eyes, dead skin. A ghostly, gruesome leer of a smile.
"Does he?"
--
Snap.
The dusty ground, the Time Lord smiling at her.
She understood.
She would go back. Oh, the Doctor would fight, the Doctor would rail, but his time was drawing to a close.
She smiled back at the Time Lord. And then, she stood up, and walked to meet the guard who were looking for her.
--
He hated trials. He always had hated trials. They were boring, uncouth affairs where every segment of his life was dragged up.
Here, it was a very specific thing. Samara was smiling, alone, and he knew that her time was up. He had failed her.
How long did he have? Two days, ten hours, his body clock said to him. Not long enough.
"You stand accused of the most grievous crime our Time Lord race has ever known," Romana said. "Interference that has caused an immense shift in the time lines."
"To hell with the time line," the Doctor snapped. "I did what was right."
"No, you didn't," Romana said. "You did what was wrong. Prosecution."
"Samara Morgan is a level six telepath, telekinetic, and evolved form of human," the prosecutor, Carnol, a small, pointed nosed Time Lord with a mop of fair hair, said snidely. "Upon her death, her mind and psychic essence continued to exist, and became a viral killing phenomenon. From the day of her physical death, to the day her curse was finally stopped, approximately five hundred and fifty five thousand years later, she threatened one hundred thousand million humans, Rigellians, Cybermen, Daleks, and Time Lords, killing one million of them, both directly and indirectly. Each of those lives has now been extended, with grievous effect – more harm than good," Carnol added, looking directly at the Doctor.
The Doctor looked up.
"But they were saved," he said.
"They were meant to die," Carnol snapped.
"They live," the Doctor said. "It is always, always better to live."
"No," Carnol smiled. "Samara Morgan only reached her full potential with her death."
"Oh yes, dying gave her a new leash of life," the Doctor said sarcastically.
"The judgement of this court," Romana intervened, "is that – quite frankly – it's pointless putting you on trial Doctor. Two administrations did neither lasted long afterwards. I won't commit political suicide. But Samara Morgan will go back to the well."
"When did you sell your soul, Romana?" the Doctor asked.
"What?" Romana snapped.
"Only I hope it caught a fair price," the Doctor said. "For what you got in exchange."
He smiled as he and Samara were led away.
"I got everything I ever wanted," Romana whispered.
--
Carnol grinned.
He had advised the judgement the Lady Romana had put forward. Wise, he had said. The Doctor was an annoying free radical, but he was one who worked for the benefit of Time Lord kind.
As research for this case, he had studied Samara Morgan's tape; but he had never watched it.
Curiosity was not one of the best known traits of a Time Lord. In fact, no Time Lord was curious. Why should they be? But Carnol wanted to see this tape. He was only in his third body – he was young, ambitious, and quite frankly, he hated his nose. And blonde was not his colour.
So let her come. Regeneration existed to counter death.
So he found a copy of the tape and watched, and wrote down what he saw, for comparison with the notes on the tape others had made – to check for temporal damage.
What he noted down troubled him.
--
The ring.
Static.
Blood in water.
A closed pocket watch.
An open pocket watch – no hands.
The Untempered Schism.
Time Vortex.
TARDIS console room, Victoriana theme.
The well.
Finger on nail.
A man in a dark jacket outside a window, raising his hat in greeting.
The same man, brooding on screen.
The man, morphing, obviously screaming, though there was no noise.
The Eighth Doctor, watch in hand – no hands, grim smile.
Gallifrey skyline.
Maggots, wriggling.
People, wriggling like maggots.
Plastic bag.
The well, fading around you.
Anna Morgan turning around, looking at you.
Lamb with three legs.
Screaming face.
A man regenerating.
Static.
The well – a nine foot tall dark box, visible in the background, a shadowy figure in its doorway.
Static.
--
That was not right, Carnol decided. He needed to speak with the President.
--
The Doctor was about to say goodbye to Samara. He knelt by her.
"I'm sorry I failed," he said.
"You couldn't stop them," she smiled.
"I could have tried," the Doctor sighed. "I should have known they wouldn't let you live. I should have run."
She hugged him, and he whispered into her ear.
"When the time comes, do it. I'll be waiting. Come a little early for a cup of tea."
He pressed something into her hand, and her fingers closed around it, and then she was gone.
--
In the well, three minutes after she had left, she looked up. Someone was closing the well over her again. In the last moments of limited light, she looked at the thing in her hand.
A pocket watch. The lid was open. No hands.
She looked up, and smiled.