The hardest thing, the Doctor thought, was keeping hidden. And waiting. Well, the two sort of went together, because he wouldn't have so much trouble waiting if he could wander about, and he couldn't wander about when he needed to keep hidden. And he had to hide, because he knew Zoey would be about sometime, and the last thing he needed was for her to spot him.

He didn't fancy trying to explain that.

But he'd spent a good deal of time watching. Alia had broken the fence by the well and had opened the gate to let the cattle into the yard—and the nearby field. The Doctor wondered why she went to so much trouble to make everything look like a series of accidents. If she intended to murder the children, wouldn't it be simpler just to do that? Why keep Joan's reputation intact? If they were intending to play with her mental health, it would certainly be sufficient to make the poor woman think she'd murdered her children—or at least her youngest.

There was something here that he was missing.

That bothered him.

This was a targeted leap. Why was the Evil Leaper Project so interested in this family at this particular time? What had happened, or what was supposed to happen, that they specifically wanted to prevent? He must be overlooking something, some detail that he'd thought inconsequential. Something human.

Perhaps they were relatives of someone back at the Project? Nah. Even they ought to realize the danger in that.

A grudge, then? Possible, but he wouldn't call it likely.

He just had to fit the facts together. A disappearance was suitable instead of a death. They were making sure everything looked like an accident. Or, rather, in the case of Patsy, they just had to make sure she wasn't found. But that was passive. Tommy's intended death was active. That suited the characteristics of the Project. But, if he'd read the situation correctly, Tommy's death wasn't the main reason that Alia was here. Was someone trying to disguise the real reason for the leap beneath a surface excuse that would satisfy the others?

Who picked the destinations of the leaps, anyway? Not Thames. Probably not even Zoey, as much as he was sure she'd love to take the credit for it. And he wasn't sure he could attribute it to Lothos so easily. There was someone else, someone higher up in the food chain, who made the call.

Too late to find out who that was now. He had to stick with the guessing game where he didn't have all the pieces.

"Kill the children, end their lives, end their influence, right? That'd be their reasoning?" The Doctor frowned. "They'd be wrong, though. The dead still impact the living. Quite a lot, in some cases. So maybe Alia's right, and they want to break the will of the parents. That would explain making it look like a tragic accident, perhaps, but that wouldn't be essential. And if they wanted it to look like an accident so there wasn't a lengthy investigation, they wouldn't be calling a couple of disappearances successful. Oh, think, think, think! What am I missing?"

Talking aloud—speaking his thoughts—helped more often than not. But now was turning out to be a time that it didn't help, because he still couldn't come to any logical conclusion as to why they would call the leap a success.

Then again, it was the first leap. Standards could change.

He wasn't likely to know unless he could figure out the motives of whoever was controlling the leap destinations, and he couldn't determine the motive with what he knew about this one leap. He was clever, but even he needed something to go on.

Something small. Something human. Something that had the same impact, be it from death or disappearance. Something where it was important to make the circumstances look accidental. Something where the reputation of the family had to be kept intact for everything to have the right effect.

So perhaps it didn't have to do with the family at all.

Perhaps it had to do with their friends.

Who was Patsy's friend again? Andy? Annie? Annie. Anne. Anna. Or any of the variations from there, like Annabelle, Anne-Marie, Anna-Mae…. Humans had far too many names with the same diminutive. For all he knew, the girl's name could be Anneliese. Or something really obscure, time and culture considered. Look at Peri. It was no wonder that she'd gone by that and not Perpugilliam. That was a mouthful.

Where was he? Oh, yes, right. Annie. Bother all that. Without a name, without a description, he couldn't figure her importance into history, the role she'd played, probably in accordance with Patsy and Tommy, or the Project wouldn't have targeted them. And even if he had both her full name and description, Annie's accomplishments, whatever they were, may not have been memorable enough for him. Actually, they probably weren't, not if the Evil Leaper Project could change them so easily. Because if they turned out to be something he knew about, he'd have to change them back. And then the leap wouldn't have been a success.

Little, human things. Sometimes he wondered what he missed, and how much, because however much they showed him, so much more passed by.

He didn't have time to track the ripples now, tracing out what had changed and what hadn't. That was getting too far ahead of himself. By his calculations, it wouldn't be long until Alia took Tommy to the well. She'd be timing that, though, to make sure the deaths occurred at about the same time. Which made it curious why they hadn't questioned Patsy's disappearance, especially since they would have gone to check on her, just to be sure.

He couldn't be in two places at once. Well, yes, he could, but he'd done that a sight too often already, and he didn't dare cause more instability. He had enough trouble watching his back now; having to do that twice over would complicate matters more than necessary.

Well, if planning failed, there was always the option of improvisation. The Doctor started back up to the granaries, intent on finding out precisely where Patsy was playing. "Patricia," he called. "Patsy, where have you gone off to?"

He kept calling until he heard a giggle after he'd turned away. "Aw, I heard you," he said, adopting the sort of voice he generally reserved for the likes of K-9. "Where are you hiding, then, eh?" He tracked her down and resumed his normal tone of voice, saying, "Patsy, do you want to play a game with me?"

"If I can pick it."

Oh, right. That's generally how it went, wasn't it, with the children dictating the rules when they managed to convince someone who was older than themselves to play. Ah, well. Nothing he couldn't get around. "But then I wouldn't be able to teach you the wonderful game I've come up with."

"We can play it after we play hide-and-go-seek."

The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck. Blimey, he'd forgotten how itchy grain dust was. It was a wonder Patsy could stand it. "Wouldn't you like to hear what it is first?"

"You can tell me after. You be it."

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," the Doctor said, catching her arm. "Before you go rushing off, let me get a good look at you." He squinted at her, turning her face towards him. He brushed at a smudge on the side of her face. She looked like she was quite used to this and licked her fingers before trying to wipe it off.

"Better?" she asked. "It really doesn't matter. I'm going to be having a bath tonight anyway."

Unfortunately, she wouldn't. Well, at least not at home. "You've got a few more spots," the Doctor said, carefully lifting his hands to her temples. "Right on either side of your head. And I'm sorry, Patsy, but it's for the best." He closed his eyes and concentrated, catching her as she slumped down. He'd come back for her after he'd gotten Tommy. Her state should be sufficient to fool Zoey and the handlink she carried—he wasn't about to make everything perfect, after all—but Alia would know if she looked.

But he was fairly confident she wouldn't. She hadn't seemed all that keen on the idea of what she had to do, even if she was still willing to do it.

Now, if only he could come up with something better than actually climbing down the well and trying to catch Tommy when he fell, he'd be whistling. But, unfortunately, any other options that had crossed his mind—such as rigging up a net of sorts, either by modifying a short-term stasis field or simply doing it the old-fashioned, tried-and-true way with a hammock or a blanket—weren't exactly feasible, given the circumstances and the time he had and how much he was willing to risk, which wasn't a lot at the moment.

He could get into the well without too much trouble, but he was a bit more worried about getting out.

Not that getting in wouldn't be tricky enough, seeing as he'd have to rig up the cover of the well so that it would close up the hole again once he was down there—without the entire thing falling apart first. Given its state, that would be an accomplishment. He'd have to try strengthening the lignin strands in the wood, just so that it would hold to take all the movement.

He checked his pockets to make sure he had the essentials—sonic screwdriver, rope, torch, Rubik's cube—and set off to the well. He didn't have much time left now, not by his reckoning, so he wasn't going to waste a moment. With any luck, he'd be off in the TARDIS within ten minutes, children in tow.

Providing Zoey didn't spot him first.

Especially since things weren't set yet and would change if she did, potentially creating a paradox. And a paradox on a terminating parallel, with him providing a link to an unstable continuous enantiomeric pocket, would not be easy to sort. He couldn't guarantee that it was something he could fix in time to complete the splicing before the parallel terminated. Three point six hours, relative time. It had been less than three hours by the time he'd left, hadn't it? Bit hard to remember, what with all the beatings he'd taken. But he'd easily had two hours, probably two and a half. If he converted that, it meant he had roughly….

The Doctor stopped, double-checking the calculations in his head. "Oh, I always seem to be cutting it close, don't I?" he muttered. Giving his head a shake, he took off at a run.

He liked cutting it close, living on the edge, pushing the envelope, toeing the line—usually. He worked well under pressure.

But he wouldn't have minded having a little more time, just this once.

The Doctor had been in the bottom of the old well for precisely four point eight two minutes and had solved and subsequently scrambled the Rubik's cube no fewer than six times, when a chunk of rotting wood hit him on the head. He looked up at the pinprick of light visible. Well, at least he knew he wasn't alone anymore. That gave him a bit of time to prepare.

Not that he had to really prepare. He was betting that, given that the well was roughly three point two feet in diameter, he could catch Tommy when Alia threw him down, preferably before the boy hit his head on something or managed to otherwise damage himself. And then he'd just keep him quiet until the coast was clear and he could nip out. He'd tied his rope to the old pump, so he had a way out, and he was fairly certain it would hold his weight again—it hadn't seemed in danger of giving out when he was coming down, at least. And when Alia, or Zoey, or whoever, went to check on Patsy, they'd assume she was either dead or near death. Then, he could nab her and head to the TARDIS with the two children and figure out his plan from there.

The flaw in his plan was that, if either Alia or Zoey happened to glance down the well, they'd spot him.

He really ought to figure out a way around that. What if he ever faced a time where he couldn't just walk around like he belonged and knew exactly what he was doing? What if he ever had to actually hide from someone? That wasn't a dilemma he'd faced in this regeneration. Well, at least not for extended periods of time. Short periods, yes. That was frequent enough. But not extended periods.

Ah, well. He couldn't focus on that now. He'd keep it in the back of his mind, and then if the situation ever arose, he'd have a solution ready for him to call up when he needed it. Might still take a bit of thought to find it, but it would be there, and he was certain that it would be a brilliant idea.

Perhaps if he modified a perception filter—?

The Doctor heard a particularly loud wail and looked up just in time to see Tommy fall through the wooden covering. By some miracle—it was awfully bright down there now—he managed to catch Tommy and silence him without trouble, and what with him staying in the shadows as best he could, pressing up against the wall and keeping a vigilant watch, he didn't think that they'd seen him. And that probably meant that they hadn't even checked—undoubtedly unusual for them, but this was the first run through for them. They still had to perfect things.

Lucky for him.

When the coast looked clear, the Doctor settled the sleeping Tommy against him, slung up against his chest in a swath of cloth, and began his careful climb out of the well. He had the sonic screwdriver clenched between his teeth, just in case, but he figured he'd be able to break through the wood at the top without too much difficulty. Especially now that there was a great gaping hole in the other side of it.

He didn't think he had enough time to drop Tommy off in the TARDIS before picking up Patsy; they were searching for her now, and he had to move her before they found her—especially since they wouldn't be able to wake her when they found her. And if he came along just then, well, questions would be asked.

An awful lot of them.

Though, not as many as if he were caught carrying the children, both in an unconscious state that was just a little bit deeper than sleep.

The Doctor hesitated, weighing the probabilities against each other. He wouldn't be able to run when he had to carry both children, but he only had so much time. He needed to be in and out without being spotted—something that was becoming increasingly difficult to do, as there were an alarming number of people about now—but he needed to be quick. It all came down to time.

He always seemed to have a distinct lack of it when he followed the categories humans had divided it into.

He decided to drop Tommy off first anyway, since if he was stopped and questioned, he'd be able to effectively and efficiently terminate the conversation. And it also made sure he wouldn't get any more bruises; he was tender enough as it was, and that climb in and out of the well hadn't exactly been a walk in the park. Besides, he couldn't just drop Tommy off somewhere and pick him up on his way back to the TARDIS with Patsy; judging by the way the search was going, the searchers would find the boy before he was through. So, pressed for time or not, he was better off dropping the toddler off in the TARDIS, even if it was out of his way.

That done, the Doctor took off at a run for Patsy. By all rights, they should have found her by now. He'd been counting on Alia doing everything she could to keep them away, to keep them looking somewhere else first. From what he'd seen, she'd been doing that by insisting she'd last seen Patsy playing in another part of the yard, while pretending to double check the house before searching the area around the granaries herself, with a certain degree of imagined desperation. Only, he couldn't see her now.

The Doctor stuck his head into the granary where Patsy lay and realized that he hadn't been counting on the fact that, by the time he reached little Patricia Edwards, Alia wouldn't be there anymore.

He'd at least thought Lothos wouldn't pull her out before the disappearances or deaths of the children had been recorded.

Evidently, they'd been a bit more eager to test out the retrieval system than he'd thought.

Pity he hadn't destroyed it sooner.

Joan had noticed him enter. He approached her slowly. "How is she?" he asked, nodding down at Patsy.

"What concern is it of yours?" Joan asked, sound almost bitter. He could see tears running in dirty tracks down her cheeks, but she was too busy cradling her child to wipe them away.

"I'm the Doctor. I want to help." He produced his stethoscope. "May I?"

Joan shook her head. "It's too late."

"Let me check that," the Doctor said. "You're panicking; you might have missed something."

"I don't even know who—"

"Please," the Doctor interrupted. "Let me try. If you're feeling useless, sign up for CPR training in, oh, seven years from now. But let me see if I can help her." He saw hope win out in Joan's face, and she moved aside. He got his first good look at Patricia and decided Joan hadn't simply been jumping to conclusions; her colouring wasn't that good, even considering the poor light.

It didn't take him very long to realize that that was because she wasn't breathing, and her heart wasn't pumping.

No wonder Zoey had deemed the mission a success. They hadn't been all that hasty in pulling Alia out after all.

The Doctor sprang into action, babbling away to explain himself before Joan pulled him away from her daughter, and ended with a biting question, demanding, "When did you find her?"

Joan seemed understandably flustered. "A minute or two ago, maybe three; I'm not certain. But I still don't understand—"

"Then trust me," the Doctor cut in. He broke into a grin as his efforts paid off. Joan looked between him to her daughter, hugging the latter fiercely before sending her outside for some fresh air. Joan started to thank him, but the Doctor held up his hands, saying, "You're going to have to let her come with me. I need to check her over. And, I'm afraid it might take a while."

"But she's fine. I'm not going to—"

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice," the Doctor interrupted. "I'm sorry, but you don't." The Doctor was less than pleased with how this was unfolding. Even if he did bring the children back, he wouldn't exactly be popular.

Unless he could jog Joan's memory.

"Listen to me, Joan. And look at me. Take a good, long look. Do you recognize me?"

She studied him for a moment before shaking her head. "No. And that's all the more reason to thank you and bid you goodbye."

"I'm the Doctor, Joan Edwards. You helped me before, and now I need to help you. But there's only one way that I can do that without changing things, and I'm fairly sure you aren't going to like it."

"You have helped me. You saved Patsy's life, and I thank you for that, but if you think she needs to be checked over, I would prefer that Dr. Teller be the one to do that."

"You don't trust me."

"I hardly know you."

"Oh, but that's not why you don't trust me, is it?" the Doctor pressed. "A good reason, but not the main one, is it? You just have a feeling. Tell me, Joan, what were you doing this morning?"

"I…I was watching the children, preparing lunch, starting the stew—"

"But that seems like a dream, doesn't it?"

"I'd be a fool to spend my dreams dreaming of my everyday life."

The Doctor shook my head. "Oh, no, because you've got what some people don't: a normal life. Well, you did. But then something touched you, and you can't get rid of its mark, can you?"

"What are you implying?" Joan asked sharply.

"You weren't here Not this morning. Not the day before, or the day before that. You've been kept in a nightmare. And I was in it, don't you remember? Maybe not on the surface, but you do on some level, don't you? You can't trust the people from your nightmare. And that includes me, doesn't it?"

"Stop it." Joan shook her head. "Just…stop it. I need to check on my children."

"Where's Tommy?" the Doctor asked as she started to move away.

Joan didn't look at him when she answered. "In the house."

"The door's open."

"He's safe."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I know in my heart that he's safe," Joan cried, turning to look at the Doctor. "No matter what you would have me believe."

"If your heart tells you he's safe, what does your mind tell you?"

"That didn't happen," Joan said immediately. She started shaking her head, trying to deny its possibility. "It didn't. He's safe."

"You weren't the one to do it, you know. You were in the nightmare then." The Doctor went over to put a hand on Joan's arm. "Please. I know what you recall doesn't make any sense. It would hardly make much more sense if you recalled the entire thing, rather than just a vague impression of it all. But you have to trust me. Your nightmare was real. And the people in it were real. I only just escaped myself. Thing is, they think they've won, those people. And we have to let them think that, but I can't let them win, not really. That's why I need to take Patricia with me, just for a spell. I'll keep her safe. Only, you'll have to tell them—everyone else—that she's gone, Joan. That she ran off with Tommy. Though," the Doctor paused, reconsidering, "you'd never get through that, would you, telling a lie like that that's so against Patsy's nature. Tell the truth, then. That I took her. Just don't tell them that I intend to bring her back, with Tommy, safe and sound. Because I don't know how long I'll be gone yet."

"I can't let you do that."

"They'll win if you don't."

Joan shook her head. "It doesn't matter. You're not taking Patsy or Tommy."

"You don't understand. I have to. It's already been done. Their disappearances are recorded."

"What are you talking about?"

"History. Time. Look at me. Really look. How many years do you think I've seen, Joan Edwards? A few trifling decades? Not if you look below the surface. I know the future because I've been there. And so have you. Only you don't remember it. You don't want to, and they don't want you to, so you don't. So fight it. Fight against that. What do you remember?"

"It's—it's all the same," Joan insisted. "There's nothing that's…. There's no…." She kept shaking her head. "This is all…. It's nonsense. All of it."

"Then why aren't you crying out for help?" the Doctor challenged. "Your husband would be near enough to hear, wouldn't he, searching the yard for Patsy as he is? Or the hired hand? He might not understand what you're saying, but he'd hear you, wouldn't he, and come to check it out? And then you'd be able to apprehend me. Stop me." The Doctor levelled her with a steel gaze. "Tie me down." Very slowly, he finished with, "Lock me up," popping the 'p' as he did so.

Joan opened her mouth, but she couldn't find any words.

"I'd try to escape, of course," the Doctor continued at last. "Only, I might not succeed without help. I don't always manage on my own." Very carefully, he slipped out past Joan, half expecting her to stop him.

She didn't.

"How are you feeling, Patsy?" he asked gently.

"It hurts," she said without bothering to specify what hurt, though the Doctor could guess that easily enough. "And my head feels funny." She wrinkled her nose. "Why's it feel funny?"

"Oh, I expected there're a number of reasons for that." And it wasn't all due to him; he'd induced a coma, not…. But that didn't matter now. She was fine.

He hoped.

"Remember my game?" he asked. He pulled out his sonic screwdriver. "This is going to tell me a bit about you, all right?" He turned it on and started to scan her, making sure she was, as he'd judged, just fine now—or as fine as she could be, considering.

"Is that like Mary Poppins's measuring tape?" Patsy asked when he'd finished. "Annie and I saw the film, and Mommy's read me Mary Poppins and Mary Poppins Comes Back and we just finished Mary Poppins Opens the Door again."

The Doctor's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, so your mother's been reading you stories about Mary Poppins, has she? That's a stroke of luck. This isn't exactly like that, but I'd still guess that you're imaginative and mischievous and partial to lemon drops, am I right?"

Patsy giggled. "Do you know Mary Poppins, then?"

"Good ol' Mary Poppins?" the Doctor asked, grinning brightly at her. "Course I do. Bit stern. Tad vain. Likes being mysterious. But a good heart; always means well, even if she doesn't like to show it."

"Are you like she is?"

"Not entirely, but in some ways, I suppose, yes. Only I don't come and go with the wind, and I'm much more partial to nonsense than she. But if you'd like, I'll show you my blue box. I keep everything I need in it."

"Like Mary Poppins's carpet bag?"

"Quite like it," the Doctor agreed. He glanced up at Joan. "Mind if I show her?"

"I wish you wouldn't," Joan replied softly, "but I don't think I can stop you." She sighed. "I think you're more like the Pied Piper than Mary Poppins, getting all the children to follow you and leading them away."

"I haven't played the recorder in ages," the Doctor muttered, but he didn't deny her allegations—or point out that they might have been a tad more applicable with some of the things he'd worn in the past, most notably during his sixth regeneration. At least he'd gotten some fashion sense since then. Instead of making further comments and delaying his departure even more, though, he took Patsy's hand and led her in a roundabout way to the TARDIS.

It was easier to let her believe in magic than to explain it all to her, and children accepted that sort of thing in stride.

At least, Patsy certainly did. After a delighted gasp of astonishment, she ran up the ramp and circled around the console. She was thrilled to see Tommy dozing in the pilot's seat but seemed to be more curious about the console, enchanted by everything she saw. "Don't touch that!" the Doctor cried as she reached for the primary temporal regulator, which to her eyes must have looked all too much like a sparkling crystal ball to resist twirling and twisting and altogether twiddling with. She grinned at him but drew her hand back.

He was going to have to watch her like a hawk.

Come to think of it, he should perhaps produce a seat belt or something to strap her and her brother down; he certainly didn't need them tumbling all across the floor, getting bumped and bruised as they banged up against the grating and the supports. He would like to return them to Joan without any broken bones, considering how she'd felt about his leaving.

"Try to make this a smooth ride, ol' girl," the Doctor said, patting the console as he prepared for departure. "It's only a small hop. Just a few months, nothing too noticeable, but long enough for the impact to be felt. Let's show off, shall we, and get it right? Good." When he was finished, he turned back to Patsy, who was holding her sleeping brother and staring at him with an air of expectation, as if she expected him to leap into the air and invite her up for a tea party on the ceiling, even if it wasn't his birthday—or was that part just in the movie and not the books? He never could keep it all straight. But, as much as he liked a good cup, now was not the time. "Ready?" he asked her. She nodded. "Holding on tightly?" She shifted one hand to clutch the armrest as if it were a life preserver. "All right, then, allons-y!" He threw the lever and they took off, Patsy's delighted laughter echoing off the walls of the TARDIS.

"We can't recover anything," Thames repeated to a glowering Zoey, having checked Lothos over for the third time. "And we can't see how he did it. Our records are wiped. It's like he was never even here."

"The cameras went offline, you mean," Zoey asserted coldly. "And you never noticed."

"It's more than just that," Thames reminded her. "Somehow, he managed to override the system, and however he did that, he buried his trail too deeply for us to follow. The last couple of weeks are completely gone. Audio, video—even bio records. And the accounts of Alia's leaps. All he left was the tally and that they were marked successful."

"You can't call up information we found on him previously?"

"Zoey, sweetheart, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that's what I've been saying all along. I even ran his blood through the systems, trying to get a DNA match, and all I got was a bunch of garbled nonsense. I tried it with the chip, with the instruments from the Holding Chamber, even with what we'd swabbed off Alia—nothing. It's like he contaminated our systems. They don't recognize him as human. They don't recognize him as anything. It's not just contaminated; it's completely unidentifiable. That's how much he fooled with it all. It's as if he doesn't exist."

"But everything else is working perfectly?"

"As far as I can tell," Thames replied. "Lothos didn't flag anything."

"He didn't flag any of this, either," Zoey shot back, "after the wonderful Dr. Smith was through doing whatever he did to him."

"We've been checking things, but everything seems to be in order."

Zoey was silent for a moment. "We wouldn't happen to have enough information for a lock, would we?"

Thames shook his head. "We'd have to know where he was and set you in the general vicinity. He doesn't register himself. When he left here, he knew enough to make sure Lothos couldn't recognize him."

"So he tried to anticipate our actions," Zoey murmured. "Very well. Keep searching for anything unusual, any traces. Constantly. Even throughout all of Alia's leaps. We might just get lucky. Even if we fix on him at an earlier point, it will lead us to wherever he is now."

"Assuming we can trace it before the system crashes," mumbled Thames, looking as though he doubted the possibility.

Zoey shot him a warning look but let the comment slide. "Send Alia to the accelerator chamber and get her on her next assignment. I'm not going to waste any more of my time waiting around here."

"You're the boss," Thames muttered as he complied. But she wasn't, really. He knew that. He just didn't know where she got her orders from. Frankly, he figured he was safer if he was ignorant of that particular piece of knowledge.

A/N: Of course I had to make the reference to Mary Poppins. Mary Poppins knows most everyone….