Chapter Twelve

Henry Abington stood looking out the window toward the east. The conflagration they had ignited still raged. Fortunately, the precautions they had taken had limited the damage to the surrounding businesses and buildings. Still, it would take Fishkill harbor some time to recover.

And him as well.

After River's rousing speech, he had gone there expecting – no, if the truth were known – craving action. He had not realized just how angry he was, not only at himself, but at the villains who had begun this affair. Ruthless, merciless, without quarter, were the terms River Song had employed. He had wanted to wipe them out, to destroy the destroyers, to see them burn. And then, when the Doctor's lovely assistant had taken over and forced them into the shed, preventing him from doing anything of the kind, he had been furious. Really furious.

That frightened him more than anything the villains had done.

"War is hell," a gentle voice intruded.

Henry stiffened. He had been told, but he had not yet seen with his own eyes that the remarkable man who had affected his recovery did indeed live. He turned and looked toward the open door, to find a long, lanky man silhouetted there. The Doctor was leaning against the doorjamb. He was dressed in a loose linen shirt and breeches, which the apothecary thought he recognized as belonging to Jeremy, and did not seem so out of place as he had before. The amazing man was pallid and thinner than he had been – if such a thing was possible – and looked, to Henry's trained eye, as if he might be on the point of collapse.

"Sir! Please, take my seat," Henry offered, indicating the chair by the Marquis' bed which he had lately vacated.

The Doctor waved him off at first, but then relented a moment later and crossed the room to accept the proffered seat. He dropped into it and then looked at the feverish man in the bed.

"A remarkable man," he said, keeping his voice pitched low. "But then, you are all bloody well remarkable. Everything possible against you, not a hope in Hades of succeeding, but you don't give up. Won't ever give up. Not until you are free."

Henry watched him a moment and then asked, "Are you English, sir?"

"No. No. More of a man without a country. A free agent, you might say." The Doctor sniffed and finished without offering an explanation. "I think the old girl just has a fancy for London."

"I see," the apothecary replied, meaning of course that he did not but would let it drop. "Sir –"

"Nope. Not 'sir'. Makes me feel like I should be riding a charger and carrying a short lance." Those too wise green eyes, weary and worn by illness, fixed on his. "Just call me 'Doctor'."

"Doctor, I cannot begin to apologize for the – "

"Henry," the stranger interrupted. "Tell me what you felt tonight."

"When?"

The man shifted his chair so he was looking squarely at him. "When Amy locked you in the shed."

"I was dismayed..."

Those pale eyebrows lifted. "Dismayed."

"Yes, well, and a bit put out."

"Put out?"

Henry paused. He drew a deep breath and then it all poured out. "I was enraged! I have seldom felt such indignation, and never such a desire to – "

"Kill?"

His answer set him to trembling once again. "Yes."

The Doctor rose slowly and walked to his side. He stood looking out the window for a moment at the orange glow in the distance, and then ran a hand through his unruly hair, pushing it back from his eyes. "Don't be too hard on yourself, Henry. You and I, we're lucky. Did you know that?"

"Lucky?"

"This plague. I have seen it before. It has the potential to turn a man into a raving lunatic, and to set him at the throats of his fellow man. It can turn a man – a physician, a Doctor – into a murderer." He paused, gnawing his lip, and then cocked his head and looked at him sideways. "It's why I had Amy lock you in the shed along with your friends."

"You?" Henry exclaimed.

"Yes, well, I wanted you out of harm's way," the Doctor swayed a bit, but passed off Henry's offer of assistance. He made his way back to the chair and dropped onto it again. "And I wanted the Nestene out of your way. You're a healer, Henry. You'd never have forgiven yourself if you had killed out of a selfish need for revenge."

The apothecary paced the small space beside the sleeping man's bed. "But it is still there within me. The desire to strike out. The feeling that I must take what I need to survive. That I must...kill." He stopped and turned toward the other man. "And what of you, sir...Doctor. Do you feel the same need?"

"We ride through life on the beast within us," the Doctor quoted. "What distinguishes a man is whether or not that beast is contained." He paused and then looked up to once again meet Henry's gaze. "You and me, we'll just have to try a little harder than most."

"And the Marquis?" Henry asked, drawing closer to the sick man's bed. "If he survives, will it be the same?"

"He'll survive. I nipped in a while ago and gave him a...remedy. He'll be right as rain soon. Well, fairly soon. He's had quite a nasty dose." The Doctor paused. "Oh. I said it again." He frowned, slightly puzzled. "Why is rain right and not left?"

Henry masked his smile behind a hand. He could not help but think of what J. C. F. von Schiller had said. Every true genius was bound to be naive. In some ways, the Doctor was a child. But in the others? "And where did this remedy come from, Doctor? Can you tell me? If this plague should return..."

"It won't. It's an annual not a perennial." He paused and then added thoughtfully, "Did I tell you? No, I didn't. Lieutenant Montgomery gave his life in order that I could live and save the Marquis."

"Montgomery? I thought he was suspected of complicity in the administration of whatever agent brought the General to this pass. In fact, Jeremy – "

The Doctor rose slowly and walked to his side. Once there, he laid his hand on Henry's shoulder. "Innocent until proven guilty, Henry. When they write the Constitution, remind everyone of that."

"Spoilers," a voice chided softly from the corridor outside the room.

Henry turned to find River Song. She was attired in a simple linen gown of blue and gray in the style of Marie Antoinette's shepherdesses. Her mass of blonde curls was pulled back in a thick tail and held fast with a pale blue ribbon. She looked fresh as a day in spring – and stern as a mother who had just caught her son with his finger in the jam jar.

"Aren't you supposed to be in bed?" she asked the Doctor sharply.

He shrugged, and then favored her with a boyish smile. "You know me. One minute at death's door, and the next dancing at death's defeat."

River anchored her hands on her hips as she turned to Henry. Nodding toward the Doctor, she asked, "Does this man look capable of dancing to you?"

"Madame, I'm sure I can't say – "

"And why not? You're a healer, aren't you? Then give me your medical opinion of this man's condition. Should he, or should he not be on his feet?"

Henry tugged at his cravat. "Well, I..."

The Doctor was shaking his head. "When defeat is inevitable," he sighed, "it is wisest to yield."

The handsome blonde woman cocked her head and smiled. "You see, Doctor, you're never too old to learn."

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She led him back to his room like a baby.

River made him wait while she pulled back the coverlet, and then she walked him by the hand to the bed and made him sit. After that, she removed his borrowed boots and washed both his feet and hands, cooling them. Then she took hold of his shoulders and lowered him to the linen sheets. The room was warm. The fire had been rekindled and it crackled, throwing mad shadows about the chamber that, in his fatigue, took on the shape of his enemies. That one looked like a Dalek. There, the one by the door was a Cyberman. Or maybe a Silurian. And what were those, crawling on the sheets, trailing off the bed like ants, moving toward the window and leaving a trail of blood.

Time Lord's blood...

The Doctor thrashed from side to side trying to dislodge them. A cool pair of hands gripped his own, stopping him. He struggled vainly for a moment against them, and then fell back to the sheets exhausted.

And opened his eyes.

River sat there still, her fingers encircling his wrists. "They're gone," she said calmly. "The Bluhdouls can't hurt you anymore. You're safe."

A slow smile crept across his face, curling the corner of his lips. "Am I?" he asked, meaning it.

The blonde woman laughed. "Oh, so now I am to be numbered among your enemies?"

"I seem to be your captive." He indicated his wrists.

With a little shrug, she let him go. "Sorry," she smiled. "I forgot the handcuffs this time."

"River," he drew a breath, "who are –"

She placed a finger on his lips and shook her head. Then she said, "I am someone who should be very cross with you. While you've been sleeping, I've had time to think about it. It was you who brought the Tardis to the future, and you who staged that awful scene that led me to believe you were dead. Wasn't it?"

He winced slightly. "I thought it might peak your interest..."

"Peak my interest!" River shook her head. He watched her jaw grow tight and that little nerve he had noticed before that always jumped when she was mad fairly leap. "Peak my interest? How dare you put me through seventeen kinds of Hell – "

It wasn't easy for him to say, but he said it anyhow. "River, I needed you."

She froze in mid-threat. "What?"

"I knew I couldn't beat the Bluhdoul plague without you. I would have died. By going forward in time and showing you what might have been, I was able to bring you back to stop what was."

River blinked. Then she shook her head again. "It's really sad when that kind of talk makes sense," she sighed. The blonde woman gazed at him for a long time. Then she leaned back, crossed her arms and said, "Tell me what happened after you ran into the Tardis. I understand that Lieutenant Montgomery died, but what about the duplicate Doctor?"

"Yes, I understand you two were quite...close." Amy had come to visit him earlier. He watched River blush a bit about the ears. "No?"

"You're antagonizing your nurse, Doctor," she growled.

He pursed his lips. "Right-o. Not a good idea." He paused. "So, what happened to the ductile Doctor? My adaptable ami? My plastic pal?"

"Doctor," she warned.

What could he say? It was hard enough for him to understand. He remembered entering the Tardis, leaning on Lieutenant Montgomery's arm. He could recall falling to the clear glass floor, feeling the unforgiving coldness of it against his fatally feverish flesh. He felt death's approach and then, suddenly, felt it arrested – not stopped, but postponed. The ship had been trying to save him. The good old Tardis, she had tried her best to heal him, but the Bluhdoul plague had been too much for her and he had once again felt himself slipping away...

Then, he had awakened. He found he was still on the Tardis' floor, but he was no longer alone. Laying beside him was a mass of writhing flesh that had once been a man.

"Like Icarus...who had to pay...with melting wax...and feathers...brown," a familiar voice had said, each few words a short gasp. "Those of us...who fly to close to...the Time gods...must go down..."

Shifting, even turning to look had been sheer agony. What confronted him was a reflection of what he had escaped – himself, fading away, dying. The duplicate Doctor hung suspended from the Tardis' console; one hand still gripping the sonic where it was pressed up against the central column, and the other the dead man's hand.

The Doctor remembered feeling stupid. He had to ask what had happened. His Nestene duplicate had explained that each of them – him and Montgomery – had taken a part of the Time Lord into themselves. The soldier through his blood, and the Auton, through the psychic link that had created him. They had decided, in the end, it was best to give it back. He had felt the duplicate's fear as his systems shut down and had cradled him in his arms as he died. Then, he had removed the sonic from the Auton's hand, placed it in Montgomery's, dragged the duplicate down the stairs and thrown the Tardis forward into time to create the reality River had seen.

She was still staring at him. And it looked like she was losing patience – well, what little patience she had. Which wasn't much. Especially with him.

"I'm waiting."

"He was a plastic chip off the old block," he sighed. "He and Montgomery gave all they got, and got nothing in return."

River was silent a moment. "They died to save you, you mean? Sounds like they got what they deserved."

"Use every man after his desert, and who should 'scape a whipping?" he replied with a lop-sided smile. Then he grew sober. "And how about you, River? What do you deserve? How can I thank you for what you did for me?"

"You already have," she replied.

"I have? How?"

She reached out and touched his face, and then combed the brown hair hanging on his forehead with her fingers.

"You saved me from myself."

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Amy Pond hesitated in the passageway outside of the room where the Doctor was resting. She had come upon him and River unawares and, as usual, had no idea what to think or do about the two of them. It was rather hard to believe that in nine hundred odd years that any sort of a man could be, well – not a man, but she had no idea how a little cottage in some corner of Gallifrey with a wife and kiddies would fit into the Doctor's chosen life of adventure and constant danger.

But then River wasn't exactly a candidate for an appearance on Blue Peter. Or who was that lady from the States? Betty Crocker?

Amy gathered her skirts up and pivoted, ready to flee what she had seen, and ended up nose to nose with Jeremy Larkin. When he laughed and started to question her she shushed him, grabbed him by the arm, and hustled him down the nearby stair. As they descended she heard a soft rustle of fabric indicating that River had heard them, and then the door was closed.

The redhead felt a stab of jealousy. Then she shrugged it off. If the Doctor was River's guy, then they deserved some privacy, especially after such a close call. Amy huffed. She deserved a guy. Why didn't she have one? As she noted her reflection in a passing mirror Amy snorted. Looking like she did, she'd be lucky to hook a fish! Her hair resembled a nest for rats and no one had bothered to change her out of her tattered apricot silks. Oh well, she could always put them in the Tardis' wardrobe and pull them out for Mischief Night!

When Jeremy offered to buy her a drink she ordered a strong ale, snorted at his expression, and then plunked down in one of the surprisingly comfortable chairs tucked in a corner of the establishment. The ale was delivered before Jeremy arrived, and when he did, he found her sitting there staring at it.

"Is the brew not to your liking, Mistress Pond?" he asked with a wry smile.

Amy looked up at him. Tall. Really tall. Blond. Eighteenth century muscles. And those dimples! She had seldom seen so genuine a smile in her day. The redhead sighed, leaned back in her chair, and offered him a thumbs up. "What I'm seeing, rebel boy, suits me fine."

He laughed again, though less certain this time that she was joking. Jeremy inclined his head as he took the seat across from her. "The compliment is returned."

"What?" She picked at her rent and torn skirts. "This old thing? You should see me on a Saturday night in Soho."

"Any woman can appear beautiful at her best," he said softly as a barmaid delivered his drink. "A rose, though faded, is still more beguiling than a daisy in full splendor."

"Ohhhh." Amy melted. "I am so going to miss this century." At Jeremy's look, her hand shot to her mouth. "Oops. Did I say 'century', I meant this place, this town..." She drew a breath as she winced. "You."

Jeremy deliberately took a sip of ale, as if to brace himself, and then asked," Amelia Pond, who are you? Who is the Doctor? What of that strange device I saw him employ? And I have never heard of any contingent of His Majesty's army known as the Nestene." He glanced at the stair. "And River? I have never met – "

She reached across the table and put a finger to his lips to stop him. "So as far as River is concerned, no one ever has. As to the rest of it," Amy drew a breath, "you really don't want to know."

The handsome rebel stared at her for several heartbeats as if assessing everything that had transpired over the last few days. Finally, he nodded. "I understand the need for clandestine operations better than most. My own family – with the exception of my now deceased brother Robert – think I am a ne'er-do-well incapable of any thought that does not lead to my own pleasure."

For just a split second Amy considered how much more fun he would have been then. Then she shook that off as well. "Sorry. It's hard not to tell your family what you're doing. I know."

"Aye. And with the war moving south, I will soon have to face whether or not I admit to what I am."

Remembering something he had told her, she asked softly, "Does your girl, does Elizabeth know what you are?"

"Yes. She has been a part of it, in whatever way she can." He paused. "Though I fear for her."

Amy wished she could run to the Tardis, enter in the data, and see if she could find what happened to the pair. The Doctor had told her that Jeremy Larkin was a leader among men, and that – as he aged – his behind-the-scenes work continued and actually influenced the emergence of the young republic as a leader of nations.

How cool was that?

Jeremy took a sip of ale. "So what is next for you and the Doctor?" he asked over the lip of the mug.

"Oh, we'll be on our way soon. Off to the next...assignment. Once he's mended, that is."

As her face fell, the young man across the table leaned in. "What is it, Amy?"

"It's just funny. I've known the Doctor such a short time, and yet, in a way, most of my life. Until this, I've never seen anything stop him, if you know what I mean? Sure, he's been hurt. Knocked on his...head more than once. But, I don't think it ever really hit me that he could..." Her eyes flicked to his face. "Well, you know? Die."

"Everyone dies, Amy."

"Not the Doctor," a new voice intruded.

Amy recognized the speaker. She turned to find, as she expected, River Song standing close behind her. The older woman looked relaxed for the first time since she had seen her. This time at least.

"He's asked for you Amy. Don't let him talk long, and don't let him get up quite yet. The Doctor may be strong, but all it takes is a little extra water to shatter rock."

The redhead gathered her shattered silks and rose. "I'll sit on him if I have to," she promised.

River's lips quirked with a wry smile and her eyes sparked in that way they did when she was remembering the future. "Actually, I recommend handcuffs."

Amy threw up her hands. "Way too much information!" And with that, she headed for the stairs.

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The redhead arrived to find the door to the Doctor's room slightly ajar. She pushed it and went in, fully expecting to find him up and on his feet in defiance of River's orders. Instead, he was sitting up in the bed, with his head back and braced by the headboard. His eyes were closed and his breathing was very even. She thought he was asleep and started to retreat just as he spoke.

"Come in, Pond. Take a seat."

"Oh. You're awake."

"Yes."

"Shall I close it then?" she asked, regarding the door. As he nodded in response, she did as she was told and then went to sit beside him, not on the chair but on the bed itself. She hadn't been aware of what the Doctor had been through the last few days, but River had filled her in. And, well, she could see it in those ancient eyes. Daring, she reached out and laid her hand on his. "How are you then?"

He shifted and squeezed her fingers. She was startled by the lack of strength. "Weary," was all he said.

They sat for a minute or more, her waiting, and him saying nothing. Finally, being Amy Pond, she couldn't keep still. "So you're all right, eh? Cured, I mean. No more little pesky critters in the blood?"

"No more in me. No more in...anyone," he replied. "Your Marquis's blood is clean too, though it will take him a while to recover."

Like you? she thought, but said nothing. "How come?"

"Apparently the Nestene contacted Lieutenant Montgomery sometime earlier on this year. I am sure they had sent out Auton scouts to find a viable bigot who would be happy to introduce the Bluhdoul plague into this society."

"Why not just do it themselves?"

"The Nestene need agents. They create some. They recruit others." He stopped and his voice took on a sad, lonely note. "It seems there is always some human willing to sell out his fellows."

"So Montgomery decided to infect the Marquis de Lafayette? Why choose such a famous victim?"

"Rowland hated the French. They had killed his family. Like anything wounded, he wanted to strike back." The Doctor fell silent for a moment. "In the end, he chose the better path."

Amy stared at him. There was something wrong. "What is it?" she asked. "What's bothering you?"

He started. Almost as if guilty. "Me? Oh, you know me, Pond. Left as rain."

That made her laugh. But she sobered quickly. "No, really. Tell me."

"I destroyed the Nestene Consciousness. Well, this batch at least."

"You had to. You had to stop the plague, and them."

"I had to stop them, yes." He paused, and a shadow passed over his face. "But I didn't have to destroy them. Like the Bluhdouls, they were hungry. Hungry people will do anything for a gnosh. It doesn't mean they are evil. I just needed to pick up the blanket and move them to another picnic."

"No? Even when they decide to 'gnosh' on other people?"

"Well," he answered, "yes, there is that," and then his voice faded away.

She studied him a minute. "I bet River told you to stop feeling sorry for yourself, didn't she? Did you kick her out then? Did you think you would get more sympathy from me?"

His green eyes flicked to her face. "Just so," he admitted with a rueful smile. "Though the odds were decidedly not in my favor." The Doctor hesitated, and she felt another little squeeze on her hand. "I choose my friends too well."

She squeezed back and then waited. When he said nothing more, she prompted, "So?"

He looked puzzled. "So?"

"There's something more you haven't said. You've got that look."

"Look?" It changed to his most innocent. "What 'look'?"

"Like you don't like yourself."

"Oh. Well, one can't take the prize at the popularity contest every day, now can one?"

"Doctor..."

He hesitated, and then confessed. "It may have been necessary, but that isn't what matters. Whether I did the right thing or not, this time I wanted to kill."

"Who? The Nestene? So what's wrong with that?"

Those green eyes showed her something she wasn't sure she had ever seen – a real fear of his own power. "When I was a boy – and yes, I was once – I saw what the Bluhdouls could do. They attacked the Time Lords and I watched a whole city turn on itself and die. It was an...object lesson at school," he spat. "I am not human, Amy. In my blood the legacy of the Bluhdoul virus will rage for some time, making me more...bloodthirsty... and very very dangerous."

"So maybe that's when you and River get...together?" she quipped, hoping to lighten the mood. "She seems to be into...bloodthirsty."

"Amelia," he scolded.

"Sorry."

The Doctor leaned back again and closed his eyes. "I think I'll sleep now for a little bit. Then, it's time for us to go."

"Is the Tardis all right? What with the bombs and the whoosh! and the flames?"

"Since I knew what River was plotting, I set the old girl to warp out a split second before everything went off." He didn't open his eyes, and his words were winding down. "She's waiting for us where we first landed, keeping watch to make sure those chickens don't cross the road..."

After a moment, Amy realized he was asleep. She sat for a few mintues, simply looking at him. The Doctor looked so very young – younger than her even at times – that it was hard to really believe he was who he said he was. But then she didn't have to believe, she had seen.

Amy leaned forward and planted a kiss on his forehead.

"Nighty night."

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Lafayette was laying in his bed, his pallid face turned toward the rising sun, relishing the fact that he was alive. He had even gone so far as to ask for a priest, believing his days to be at an end. Today, Dr. Cochran had assured him that he would live, though his recovery would be slow. He had asked for a scribe to be sent so he could compose a letter to his wife. Adrienne would be expecting him. Also, there were rumors of his death, and he wished to get a letter to her before such dire news could reach her ears and cause her distress.

When a soft knock came at the door, he thought it was the scribe. Instead, it was Mistress Pond.

"Hey," she said, peeking her head in through the opening. "You up to company?"

He turned back. "Oui."

As the redhead entered, he attempted to shift his body into a seated position. The effort was almost too much. As he faltered, Lafayette felt a strong hand on his arm and looked up to see that Amy had crossed to the bed and was assisting him.

"Merci," he breathed as he settled against the board.

"More like 'mercy!'," she remarked. "You look awful."

He laughed weakly. "Once again, your honesty is refreshing."

Amy dropped in the chair at the side of the bed. "So what's the prognosis?" At his frown, she modified it to, "What'd Dr. Cochran tell you? I saw him leaving earlier."

"I will recover. Slowly." He sighed. "It will be the new year before I can sail for home." Lafayette's brown eyes grew distant for a moment, and then he seemed to wake to his breeding. "Forgive me, I did not ask why you had come?"

The redhead's mouth wrinkled with a frown. She thought a moment, and then began to explain. "You know how, when you're little, there are these people who mean so much to you? Maybe you've only read about them in a book, or seen them on the...seen them from a distance, but somehow you know they are so important to you. It's like there's this connection that can't really be there, but it is. And even though you never met them, you just know that you know them, and that somehow, a part of what they are is important to who you will be." She finally drew a breath and the frown turned into a chagrinned smile. "And you think I am crazy..."

"No," he paused, thinking of his earliest memories of His Excellency that came from newspaper accounts and the men who had met the great man. "I do not."

"Well, for me, you are one of those people."

He looked puzzled. "You cannot have heard of me when you were little."

"Well, littler. I just wanted to meet you, and to...thank you...for being a part of who I am."

Lafayette reached out and took her hand in his. He lifted it to his lips and kissed its top. "You are most welcome, Amelia Pond. And thank you, and your friend, for becoming a part of who I will be."

That night, while Fishkill slept, as the Marquis grew in strength, and the Yankee Doodle Society shared an ale, Amy Pond gathered up her Raggedy Doctor and the two of them returned to the bright blue box and flew away into time and space,

Frightening the chickens into crossing the road.