Two days, three hours.

--

He watched her go, and closed his eyes.

"You are of course," Romana's voice came from behind him, "welcome to stay for a while."

He considered shouting at her, swearing at her, and leaving her here and going off to wait, but… no. Best to die at home. He had told Samara to kill him quickly when the time came. Let it happen if it was going to. Die at home.

"Might as well," the Doctor said. "After all, I am a dead man."

"What?" Romana asked.

"Didn't I mention?" the Doctor said. "I watched the tape. I have about two days left."

Romana blanched, but the Doctor ignored her and walked away, seeking solace. He doubted he would find it. He had, after all, left this place because there was no solace. No hope for adventure, no hope for change.

The Time Lords never change. They stay exactly the same, always and forever, dull, dreary, doddery fools. That was why he hated Gallifrey. He should never have brought her here. She had died anyway, and worse, she had died after the hope of new life.

You want to be my daddy?

Why-ever not?

My daddy didn't want to be my daddy.

His loss.

And now it was the Doctors loss. At times he still panged for his family, for his child, and his beloved Susan. How was Susan? Was she alright? Had she suffered the pangs of loss? Had she had children? Perhaps she was on her second form?

Bah, no sense thinking about such things.

--

He was asleep when he heard it.

"Doctor," a voice called. "Doctor, help me."

He recognised it a moment later. Samara's voice. What was it doing? He wasn't entirely certain he wanted to know. Still, he had heard the two words in tandem he never refused, so he got up, slipped his frock coat over his stripy pyjama's and walked along, waiting for the moment when doubtless his adrenaline would be shot through the roof.

There she was.

"Alright, I'm here," he said. She turned around, and it was the dead girl he saw. She reached out with her hand, and he reached out with his – and she grabbed his arm, and it burned…

And she was gone. He clinically checked his arm, and he noted that the damage was… not too bad. Not too bad at all. Merely a hand print.

Certainly not as bad as it would be.

--

"Madam president!"

Romana was not in the mood for Carnol, now. She doubted she ever would be.

"What is it?" she asked wearily.

"I watched the tape," he said, breathless from exertion, and she snapped her eyes to look at him.

"You did what?" she said.

"I watched the little girls tape," he said, "and it is not what it should be! The Doctor's interference has altered things already! The tape does not contain the content it should…"

"You're saying he messed up the timeline, even with her death?" Romana sighed.

"I'm saying there is no way of predicting what else might have changed!" Carnol said. "For all we know…"

"Practically, what has changed?" Romana asked.

"Well…" Carnol said. "Nothing. I got the message."

"So she still kills people after seven days," Romana asked.

"Yes," Carnol admitted.

"So you've committed suicide," Romana said.

"No," Carnol protested. "I planned on regenerating through the death."

"I have no idea if you thought about this," Romana told him, leaning in close, "but what if you can't regenerate out of it?!"

The pained look on his face told her that he had not considered this idea. In fact he looked scared.

"We have to…" he said.

"You dug your own grave," Romana said, sharply. "Like the Doctor did. Sorry, but you are dead. Goodbye."

She turned around, walked away, and left him spluttering. She couldn't deal with this.

--

Knock, knock, the door went, and the Doctor ignored it. He even ignored it when, to no one's great surprise, the Seventh Doctor walked in. Dark And bloody Manipulative him-spacking-self.

"You seem to have learned your lesson," he said.

The Eighth Doctor said nothing.

"You know," D&M said, "you seem remarkably calm, given the fact that your death is only a day or so away."

"One day, twelve hours," Eight said. Seven nodded.

"You know," he said, "I took the tape from Rachel Keller for a reason. Her son would have died."

"Why didn't you watch it?" Eight asked.

"I imagine you will understand, very soon…" Seven smiled, turning to leave. Faster than the eye could see, Eight got up, and slammed his younger self into a wall.

"You manipulated me into a position where I would break a promise to that girl, where she is going to die a horrid painful death," Eight said. "You… monster."

"If I am," the Seventh Doctor said, grinning, "then what does that make you?"

Eight sneered.

"The better man," he said. "Remind me to go to San Fran and give the gangsters who kill you a medal. And I'm really glad I kissed Grace."

"Is that the best insult you can come up with?" Seven asked.

"No," Eight smiled. "I want you to know – when you died, I locked you up, in a strong, strong box, and you'll never come out. Never while the Doctor is my name."

Seven blanched, then his expression hardened.

"I did what I had to," he said.

"Like hell," Eight said, letting him go. "You are scum. I'm ashamed I was ever you."

Seven snarled, then walked out, but turned around in the corridor.

"I'm not as bad as you imagine," Seven said. "You will see, if you only look."

Eight didn't want to know, and looked away. He glanced at his arm, then went to find Romana.

--

When he did, she looked up.

"You're leaving," she said.

"Rather die on the run," he smiled. "You know me."

"You know, I'm sorry," Romana said. "If I'd had a choice…"

"I know," the Doctor said. "The job's a bitch. Why do you think I never took it?"

Romana smiled.

"If you regenerate, come back," she said. "I'll want to meet Nine."

He smiled, bowed, and then headed down the corridor where his TARDIS was waiting. Adventure waited.

The end waited.