"I don't know what I was thinking, pining over you like that. Bloody hell, don't know how I'll face meself in the mirror after that silliness."

"Well, I am very impressive and wonderful," said the Doctor, who was nothing if not modest.

Iris knocked back another brandy and leered at him. The Doctor felt sure he would never get used to seeing that expression on Martha's face.

"You're a crap shag anyway."

"I've never shagged you!" If he said it enough it was bound to get through eventually.

Of all the Time Lords who could have survived disguised as Martha Jones, it'd have to be Iris bloody Wildthyme, wouldn't it?

"Oh, that's right," said Iris, cruelly, "you couldn't get it up. Any improvement in that department or are you still impotent? No wonder you've got all that energy. Anyway," she said, pouring herself another drink, "we'd best get started if we want to repopulate Gallifrey. We've got a civilisation to think about, so get your trousers off and think about that evil boyfriend of yours. That'll perk you up in no time."

Gallifrey was, yet again, doomed.


The thing about Rassilon that no one ever mentioned was that he was a complete bastard. A resourceful bastard, though, which was why he wasn't dead.

Rassilon admired himself - or herself, if you were the sort to take appearances seriously - in the mirror. "Not bad. Nice arse."

"You should never meet your heroes," said the Doctor, trying not to look at the aforementioned rear.

"Hush, lad! I'm the father of your civilisation, show a bit of respect!" Rassilon inspected his own breasts. "These are nice too."

"Look, I don't want to be rude, but you're supposed to be dead. Several times over, in fact. You're about as dead as it's possible to be."

Rassilon slapped him on the back and laughed like a deranged and drunken Father Christmas. "You made sure of that, didn't you? I never thought Gallifrey would be brought down by a weedy little halfling bastard like yourself. Good thing you killed your entire family or they'd never live it down."

The Doctor wasn't too keen on being insulted by the founder of Time Lord civilisation. "Too bad you didn't think far enough ahead to get rid of the Daleks while you had the chance."

"Those things?" He waved a dismissive hand. "Never mind the Daleks, let's go get pissed. And then we can kidnap some human women and get a civilisation going. We can probably manage a basic agricultural society by the end of the week if we put our minds to it." Rassilon turned a bit in front of the mirror. "Now, find a chair for the Arse of Rassilon. The Legs of Rassilon are getting a bit tired."


"You forgot where you left me?"

The Doctor scratched the back of his neck and shrugged. "I had a lot on my mind at the time, what with the war and everything."

"And then you spent an entire year with me without once having the slightest notion that I might be your own granddaughter?"

"...okay, it sounds bad when you put it like that."

"It's not much worse than having left me in a post-apocalyptic hell with a man I hardly knew, is it?"

"I think we should just put all that behind us and get on with the future, shall we?"

"Well," said Susan, "it's a bloody good thing we're related, because I'd hate to have to trust you with childcare."


It started in her dreams. Tap-tap-taptap, tap-tap, taptap. Memories of the year that never was, things that had happened that she'd never seen. She remembered fighting the Doctor on an old planet that was about to fall apart, dressing up in mad disguises and chasing him across the galaxies.

She found that when she studied she didn't want to heal people, she wanted to know how best to take them apart. How slowly she could kill them and how much it would hurt.

She started wearing a lot of black and manipulating people just because she could. It was so easy, so much fun. She liked how powerful it made her feel when she made someone walk in front of a car or jump off a building.

She didn't dare call the Doctor, erased his number from her mobile in case he killed her. Or cured her.

She'd find him anyway, when Martha Jones was gone and the drums had taken her place.


"Martha mentioned a pocketwatch..."

Francine had told him that she trusted him. She'd handed the choice to him because of everything that had happened in that missing year, because he'd saved the world and she didn't want to tell Martha the truth. Typical human, placing far too much trust in the alien.

It should be Martha making the decision. Hers was the life in question, she was the one who might be...

She might be a friend, she might be family. She could be a revered President, a great scientist, or the mother of his children. As long as the watch remained sealed there was no way to know, no reason to rule anything out.

So he'd tell her, as kindly as he could. Her whole life had been a lie and here, in this watch, was reality. All those memories, another of Gallifrey's lost souls.

And then Martha Jones would be no more. Martha Jones who had saved the world, saved him, been his best friend for over a year. But there'd be one more Time Lord. He wouldn't be alone. He'd be with her to get her through whatever had happened to her in the war, they'd be the last Time Lords in the universe but they'd have each other and that'd be enough. It was what he wanted most, what he wanted more than anything.

He threw the watch into the vortex and made himself forget.