The Doctor checked the scanner and decided he'd better wear his coat. And, probably, see if he had anything to wrap the children in. A blanket would do, if the TARDIS couldn't come up with any proper clothes. He wasn't sure what he had anymore. Still, he would be better off giving them something to wear over top of their light autumn clothes. There were only a few lazy flakes of snow—real snow, which was a rather pleasant change—drifting down now, from the looks of it, but the farmyard had certainly received a good deal more snow than London generally did, and it would almost certainly be colder.

Deciding he was better to bring Patsy with him than leave her alone in the console room to do untold damage, he bid her to come along. He was tempted to leave Tommy asleep but thought it would keep Patsy occupied if she looked after him, so he woke the boy up and told Patsy to lead him along, warning her that they mustn't get separated.

He took one look at the grin on her face and the gleam in her eye and snatched her hand so she wouldn't wander off on purpose.

He had enough trouble with curious companions who did exactly that. Children were notoriously worse. He liked that sense of curiosity, for the most part, but—

"Is this all yours?"

"Yes," the Doctor replied, tugging Patsy gently past the doorway of the wardrobe room.

"Who do you play dress up with?"

The Doctor's mouth twitched into a small smile. His companions put on period dress far more than he ever did. He never had to push, just mention it, and off they'd go, delighted by the very prospect of it. Well, at least until they learned how hard it was to run in some of those costumes they'd selected, and that always seemed to happen sooner or later. They'd never do it again unless they happened to be in the right mood, or if he'd planned a trip that was meant to avoid running, if possible. But he did get it wrong, sometimes. More often than he'd care to admit, really. Although sometimes he had the right time and the wrong place, or the right place and the wrong time…or he was wrong on both counts—and he was sure his companions would say he was more often wrong than he was right. But if things went wrong, it was usually for a reason, and it never seemed to take him very long to find out what that reason was.

Patsy was still looking at him expectantly. He was rather surprised she hadn't run off already. Then he realized he still had a good grip on her hand and decided that that must be why. "People like you," he answered. "Beautiful, bright people like you who I meet. But we haven't time to look through everything; we need to find something very specific. You need a winter coat, young lady. And so does your brother. And it has to be of the right period. And if that fails, I've got a scarf or two around here that would be sufficient in wrapping you up, I'm sure."

It was curious that Patsy accepted his words without question. As soon as he'd said it, he almost regretted cautioning her about making sure whatever she found was of the right time period. All he would have had to do was tell her, 'no, that won't do; why don't they try looking over there?' and let that be that. She respected him enough to believe him, or at least that was the impression he'd gotten so far.

He hadn't really expected to find anything, but he had known he tended to accumulate things and then forget about them. He just hadn't expected to have accumulated quite that much. It hadn't taken Patsy ten minutes to find something for Tommy and little longer to unearth a coat for herself. The Doctor fetched a couple pairs of mittens, one a bit larger than necessary, and toques and scarves for both of them.

He would have liked to get them to wash up, but he thought Joan might be a tad more inclined to believe him if they didn't. As it was, Patsy's time in the TARDIS had healed her up right as rain without even needing him to find the zero room or sick bay.

He didn't fancy telling Joan everything—somehow, he seemed to leave on poorer terms than when he'd arrived, at least lately—but there were times, like now, when it was absolutely necessary. She'd had one odd experience already, which made her more likely to accept what he was saying, which made it easier, which made it worthwhile. Particularly if it ensured that she didn't allow her husband to tie him up and ring the police, since although telling the truth and displaying the TARDIS had helped to prove his innocence in crimes before, particularly when he'd found himself accused of murder, telling the truth and acting on it had also gotten him banished from England and started the Torchwood Institute, which always seemed to be giving him trouble these days. And that had happened a lot more recently. At least for him, if not chronologically.

"Can we keep all this?" Patsy asked once they were back in the console room.

The Doctor pulled on his coat. "Course you can."

"But why do we need it? It's nice outside."

"It's snowing," the Doctor said. "It's winter now." Hopefully of the same year, but he trusted the TARDIS to have gotten it right. He'd been too busy to double check and couldn't be bothered now. Instead, he flung open the doors, grinning as he watched the eyes of the children grow even larger. "See?" he asked. "Now, I've got to have a bit of a chat with your mother, so if you wouldn't mind just playing a bit first. I know you don't have any boots or snow pants, but…." The Doctor trailed off and Patsy rushed past him, Tommy in tow. "But I suppose that won't matter too much if you're only out for a few minutes. Blimey, I hope your mother will forgive me. She'll be saying I've let you catch your death of cold."

Closing the door of the TARDIS behind him, the Doctor trudged up the lane to the house. He hoped they were home. Bit hard to tell, since it looked like the middle of the day. But he knocked on the door anyhow, and when that didn't elicit an immediate response, he rang the bell.

He didn't recognize the man who opened the door, but he knew he was at the right house, so he assumed it was Joan's husband. "Hello," he said, grabbing the man's hand and giving it an enthusiastic shake. "I'm the Doctor. You'll be Harry Edwards, then?"

The man was clearly startled but managed to reply. "Yes, but I'm afraid I don't—"

"I'm a friend of Joan's," the Doctor cheerfully interrupted. "Haven't seen her in, oh, a few months now, I'd say." He craned his neck around to see inside. "Is she home?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I'm sorry, come in." The Doctor did so, and Harry added, "Did Joan know you were coming?"

"Hm? Oh, she knew I'd turn up eventually. Didn't know when."

"And you aren't spending the Christmas holidays with your family?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"Is it Christmas, then?" the Doctor exclaimed, grinning as he spun around to look at all the decorations, the snow drifting outside taking on a new meaning. "Brilliant." He took his hands out of his pockets and picked one of the ornaments up to examine it more closely. They weren't extravagant with their decorations, this family, at least not this year, but they'd put out enough to pretend to convey the Christmas spirit. And what he had now was something that he doubted would remain precisely where it was—within easy reach—once the family realized that their children were home again. "Ooh, it's old, this one," he said, referring to the ornament. "Family heirloom?"

"Yes, but—"

"Who's at the door?" Joan wandered into the room but stopped short at the sight of the Doctor.

"Hello," the Doctor greeted cheerfully. "I trust you remember me?" He replaced the ornament and went to shake her hand again.

She was gawking at him. No, not him—she was staring at his extended hand like it was something completely foreign to her. "Your hand," she managed, not taking her eyes off it.

"What about it?" the Doctor asked, glancing down. It twinged a bit, now and then, but didn't particularly hurt. He'd put on a bit of cream to speed up the healing process. No need for Sam to ask questions when he finally got back there.

"You've still got it bandaged."

"So I do," the Doctor said, realizing what she meant. Well, this was as good a way as any, he supposed.

"But it's been months," Joan protested. "Surely you didn't damage it again so quickly."

The Doctor gave her a quick smile. "Hasn't healed from the first time."

Her expression flickered into a frown. "Infection?" she asked, looking up at him. "I'd offer to look at it, but I would have thought, you being a doctor and all…."

The Doctor shook his head. "No. It hasn't had time. That's what I was trying to tell you. Before I left last time, I mean."

"Harry, be a dear and set the kettle boiling, won't you?" Joan asked hollowly, only sparing her husband a quick glance. Focusing on the Doctor, she said, "I think we'd better sit down."

"Oh, I'm not planning on being long. I was just…." The Doctor swallowed back the rest of his words. Perhaps a tiny explanation would be in order first. One slightly longer than the version he'd been planning to give her, that is.

Joan pulled him towards a chair in the living room before he had a chance to even wipe his shoes off, which were currently dripping over what looked like a recently cleaned carpet. "Are my children safe?" she asked quietly, as if she feared the worst.

"Well, they might be a bit chilled," the Doctor said, "seeing as I left them outside to get used to the time differential—the young are more sensitive to it, you see. Well, Tommy is. Patsy's old enough to withstand it. But he'll be fine. Just needs a moment or two of fresh air and will be right as rain. But I wasn't about to leave him out there alone, and I thought you would like to know that they were safe as soon as possible. It's only been a few months, right? I'm not over a year out, am I? I shouldn't be. I didn't think I was." And he really oughtn't to be. Joan was showing now, after all, confirming the suspicion he'd had ages back when he'd first seen her beneath Alia's aura in the Holding Chamber. So .either he had it right, or it had been much longer than he'd thought.

"Eleven weeks," Joan replied, looking relieved. "They weren't easy ones. I didn't think I'd see them again. No one did."

She still didn't, he'd guess, or she'd be on her feet and out the door to see them. Instead, she was sitting here with him, meaning she didn't trust that he was telling the truth yet and was too afraid to leave him alone while she looked. "But you—"

"I hoped," Joan cut in, "because it was all I could do." More quietly, she added, "And I'm glad you haven't come to dash them."

"But you want me to explain myself?"

"If you can have an explanation for tearing my family apart, yes."

"Do you remember any of what happened?" the Doctor asked carefully.

"As if it were a dream. Every day, it seems to slip away even more. Except for those horrid details. Pushing Tommy—"

"That wasn't you," the Doctor interrupted. "Do you remember what actually happened to you?"

"I was locked up." Joan took a deep breath. "And so were you. But that's just an impression, not a memory."

"It's enough," the Doctor said. "That's all I need, for you to know that something happened, that you weren't where you were before. As long as you believe that, you might hear me out." He took a careful breath and began, "You were caught in a time travel experiment. An evil one. They tried to change history by preventing it from ever happening. Or at least they did in this case. But that's not important. Thing is, Joan, I'm walking a fine line. I can't let them muck about in history, but they already have, and because of what I'm doing, I can't change what they've done. But in your case, they didn't succeed, originally, but I had to let them think they had, in case they checked, and—"

"You aren't making any sense."

"No, I never seem to, do I?" The Doctor pinched the bridge of his nose. So much for a brief explanation. "I'm a Time Lord. And one of the things I do is keep history from being meddled with to the point that the future changes. Now, this experiment that you were caught in is changing things. Little things, but they're still changes. But there's another experiment that counters the effects of the one you found yourself in, so under ordinary circumstances, I don't need to step in. A balance is established."

"So you're Father Time rather than a relative of Mary Poppins or an admirer of the Pied Piper?" Joan asked, smiling slightly. "It may have been months, Doctor, but I remember those last moments clearly. All too well. I should have stopped you."

"I would have had to do it anyway. Originally, Patsy was found and revived before it was too late. And then, when Alia—she's the woman who temporarily displaced you, and I should point out it's not entirely her fault before you start fancying her as an evil mastermind—leaped in, she was intended to make sure Patsy suffocated, at least from what I gather. To get rid of Tommy was to only sweeten the pot, I think. But that experiment, that project of theirs— I was at it, just like you were. Only, I was there by choice. I had to know what they were doing. And, yes, that did lead to me being locked up, as you remember, but the thing is, this first leap— It wasn't supposed to be successful. Alia was supposed to have balked at her task. Refused. Only, because I was there, changing things, she didn't. And so they declared it a success. And it can't be."

"Were you a bard in another life?" Joan laughed. "It's all fanciful nonsense."

"I'm not even finished yet," the Doctor said, looking offended. "Can't you at least let me finish?'

"I've hardly reason to," Joan answered, but she settled back into her chair. "Very well, then. Finish your tale. Why can't this task be declared a success?"

"Because, originally, it was supposed to have failed."

"I thought you said that, originally, this Alia had never displaced me."

"Well, yes, but in the revised original history, the mission, if you will, failed. And then, thanks to me, history was revised again and it was declared successful. Thing is, I couldn't let that happen, but if I had deliberately tried to change something when I was there, I would have risked creating a paradox. And that's bad. But, you see, I knew something had happened, because Zoey—that's another one of the Project people; she likes to order people about, but she's not really in charge—had said that the mission was successful even though, when I looked, the deaths were recorded as disappearances instead. Now, far as I can tell, they didn't do any more checking, so I ought to be safe. Whatever they intended to happen has, more or less, happened—except their expected outcome has been modified."

"So nothing is as it should be?"

"Well, not really, but it's acceptable. Sufficient, I suppose."

"For what?"

The Doctor shrugged. "A bit of splicing? Best to think of it that way, I'd say. I'm sure you've had to splice bits of rope together before. It's the same general idea with time. It's not really something you can describe in English very well."

"You think I'm ignorant, don't you? You'd be right. You haven't made a whit of sense, going on as you have. But tell me this in plain English if you can: where have you kept my children all these months?"

"That's my point. It hasn't been months, not for them. It hasn't even been an hour. They skipped over that time, and now they're here. Because I'm a time traveller, and I brought them. In my time machine. And I'm going to ask that you don't repeat that too loudly, because not everyone takes kindly to that." He saw her expression and let out an exasperated sigh. "You of all people ought to believe me. You've experienced time travel. But don't listen to me if you don't want to. Look at the evidence. My hand. Your children's appearances. Their clothing. Patsy's face is still dirty from the dust; I never had time to wash her up properly. Though I expect the snow might have done that." There was a very brief pause. "It's been long enough, now. They can come in. Everything's stabilized. But I expect you'll want to get them some warm, dry clothing, maybe something hot for Patsy to drink, and a blanket or two for both of them."

Harry returned before Joan could reply, saying, "I've made some tea. Is that all right for you, or would you prefer something else, Dr.—?"

"Just the Doctor, and tea is just fine, thanks," the Doctor said, taking the offered cup. "I'll have to drink and run though. Things to do. Isn't that always the way?" He grinned at Joan. "But we've had a lovely conversation in the meantime."

"The Doctor," Joan said carefully, rising to her feet, "says that he has found Patsy and Tommy. That they're outside. Playing." She set the two steaming cups on the coffee table and clutched Harry's hand. "He says they're fine—" here she shot the Doctor a quick glance "—but confused. They don't remember what happened. Any of it. But the Doctor tells me they've come to no lasting harm. He thought it best if they reacquaint themselves with things outside first, to get used to the fact that they've lost a few months of their lives. But children will be children, and I'm sure they will adapt well enough if we help them."

The Doctor had hardly touched his tea, but he thought it was high time to be going anyhow. He slipped out and headed towards the TARDIS, skirting the joyful reunion taking place. It had worked. He'd avoided inserting a null mutation, and now he was about ready to start the splicing. He hadn't missed anything, as far as he could tell. If he had, well, it wouldn't interfere with the splicing itself if it wasn't significant enough for him to detect.

Letting himself back into the TARDIS, the Doctor tossed his coat on one of the coral struts and started fiddling at the console, dematerializing from the temporal plane without setting coordinates. Once adrift in the Time Vortex, he started his final preparations. He'd be ready in time. He was still racing the clock, now, but soon, once he'd finished splicing the parallels, he'd be able to bend time back on itself, taking as little or as long as he liked in terms of how long he left Sam. Not that he could dally too long in case his other self was further along in the splintering process than he'd like, but considering it had been close there for a while, things were going quite well for him.

It was a different matter at the Project.

"Lothos, pull Alia out!" Zoey yelled. "Pull her out now!" She kept jabbing at the handlink, furious. "Thames! What's going on?"

"It's the retrieval system!" came the astonished response. "It's malfunctioning."

"Well, fix it."

"I'm trying!"

"Zoey, what's happening?" Alia asked, sounding worried. She had good reason to be. The leap was getting out of hand—it was supposed to be quick, in and out, a few clear shots with a gun.

The others weren't supposed to have guns, not according to the records.

"We're working on it, darling," Zoey replied swiftly. "Just a little glitch."

"Can't you work any faster?" Alia squeaked, plastering herself against the shadowed wall.

"Step on it, Thames," Zoey hissed as Alia dodged another bullet, taking cover behind a barrel.

"Zoey—"

"Hush, Alia, darling. It'll only be a minute more."

"I don't know if I have a minute!" Alia retorted, trying not to panic. "Get me out of here before you get me killed! It's all fine for you. You're a hologram. But those bullets will still kill me."

"Keep your voice down," was the only response Alia received.

"But—"

"Carry on like that," Zoey said sharply, "and you'll be dead before you can even blink."

"I think I've got something!" Thames's voice was clear, but Zoey didn't like the note in it. He wasn't certain, but he was willing to risk her skin anyway, destroying her reputation if this didn't work. "We're going to pull Alia out of there." She didn't trust him, but she knew Lothos would be approving whatever he did. Not that Lothos was particularly reliable after Dr. Smith had been at him.

But even if it didn't work, it wasn't her life on the line. "Hold on tightly, darling," Zoey said, smiling slightly. "You're coming home." In anticipation, Zoey left the Imaging Chamber, not bothering to look back to see the red light flood Alia's figure.

The thing is, when Zoey returned to the main control room, Thames was at a loss. He'd been jabbing away at any number of buttons, but when she came in, he just stopped and looked at her. "Alia didn't come back," he informed Zoey simply.

"She's still there?" Thames shook his head, so Zoey continued, in a disgusted voice, "So you lost her?" Zoey glared at Thames, demanding an excuse for his incompetence, however pitiful it may be.

"Not exactly. She leaped out of there, all right. But she didn't come back to the Project. She's in—" here he leaned over to double check the location on one of Lothos's screens "—Silverbrook, Maryland. 1974. As a Carla Wessler, according to Lothos."

"So what's happened, Thames?" Zoey snapped. "Can't you get her out of there?"

Thames shrugged. "I was trying before you came in. Nothing. Nada. Zip. She's stuck there. Lothos predicts that she has to do something before she can leap."

"And then she'll leap back here?"

"Hopefully."

"What do you mean, hopefully? Don't we have any control over this?"

"Not a lot," Thames admitted. "Zoey, sweetheart, you've got to understand, whatever Dr. Smith did, he made sure it would stick. I'm working on something so that we can pull her out of whatever leap she's in, but I can't guarantee that I can bring her home. We can try guiding her leaps, but it's going to be hit and miss."

"Lovely. No guarantees." Zoey frowned. "Very well. I don't care how long we have to play this game, but we'll catch up with that Dr. Smith. Mark my words. And when we do, oh, it'll be a simply delightful reunion."