Author Note: This is a short update, just to prove that I haven't abandoned you all, and my hiatus is over. Hope you enjoy it!

Rose and Martha followed the Doctor through the Elephant Inn, making their way through the narrow, dusty, and dimly lit halls to the back room where a barmaid had told them Mr. William Shakespeare could be found.

The Doctor knocked lightly upon the threshold of the open door before taking a few quick strides into the room as if he'd been welcomed most cordially. Outside the room, Martha looks questioning at Rose, unsure whether or not she should follow the enthusiastic man, or stay back with the embarrassed looking blonde.

"Hello!" The Doctor greets the room's occupants with an airy hand wave. "Excuse me! I'm not interrupting, am I? Mr. Shakespeare, isn't it?"

From just outside the door Rose can see the confused and irritated face of a bedraggled, yet still handsome William Shakespeare, and decides it's time she and Martha intervene.

"Oh no, no, no, no," Will says to the stranger in his doorway. "Who let you in? No autographs. No, you can't have yourself sketched with me. And please don't ask where I get my ideas from. Thanks for the interest. Now be a good boy and shove—"

But his sentence was to remain unfinished, for it was at that moment that he caught sight of the two beautiful women standing behind the lanky stranger. "Hey, nonny nonny. Sit right down here next to me, ladies. You two get sewing on them costumes. Off you go," he told the men previously occupying the two seats directly beside him.

"Come on, lads," chuckles Dolly, the owner of the Elephant Inn, as she ushers the men out. "I think our William's found himself a new muse, or two."

"Sweet ladies," Will begins, looking them both up and down in turn, resting his eyes on Martha for slightly longer than could be considered appropriate. "Such unusual clothes; so... fitted."

"Um, verily, forsooth, egads," Martha replies.

Beside her Rose places a hand over her mouth to stifle her unladylike snort, and the Doctor shakes his head in dismay at her attempt to converse. "No, no, don't." To Shakespeare, the Doctor produces his psychic paper. "I'm Sir Doctor of TARDIS and these are my companions, Dame Rose Tyler of the Powell Estate and Miss Martha Jones."

"Interesting, that bit of paper. It's blank."

Rose's mouth hangs open even as the Doctor's face crinkles in excitement.

"Oh, that's... very clever. That proves it; absolute genius!"

"No," points out Martha, confused. "It says so right there. Sir Doctor, Rose Tyler, Martha Jones. It says so."

"And I say it's blank."

"Psychic paper," the Doctor tells Martha. "Um, long story."

"Oh, I hate starting from scratch," he mumbles under his breath to Rose.

"Psychic. Never heard that before and words are my trade. Who are you exactly? More's the point, who is the pale beauty and your delicious blackamoor lady?"

"What did you say?"

"Oops. Isn't that a word we use nowadays? An Ethiop girl? A swarth? A Queen of Afric..." Replies William, all the while that perceptive part of his mind, which makes him a genius takes note of the stiffening of the Doctor's shoulders, the flickering of his eyes in the direction of the buxom blonde. The unconscious show of possession as the man takes two half steps closer to her side, angling himself between the playwright and the girl. 'Interesting' thinks the storyteller.

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," states Martha.

Beside her, Rose leans in and whispers, "William Shakespeare is hitting on you, I'm so jealous." And both girls laugh.

"It's political correctness gone mad," the Doctor says shortly, having once again heard Rose's whispered statement. "Um, Martha's from a far-off land. Freedonia."

Just then a large man called Lynley comes barreling through the door, demanding a script for tomorrow's show, as "Master of the Revels" and assuring Shakespeare that he will see to it that 'Love's Labours Won' is never played, before storming from the room in much the same manner as he had entered.

"Well, then... mystery solved," begins Martha, as the Doctor gives a slight tip of the head in acknowledgement and Rose continues to frown slightly at the empty doorway. "That's 'Love's Labours Won' over and done with. Thought it might be something more… you know... more mysterious."

Just as Martha's sentence winds to an end, a piercing scream reaches the quartets ears, bringing them to their feet and out of the cozy back room, into the chilly cobbled street, where they see a crowd forming around the body of Lynley and the man himself spitting up a great deal of water.

"It's that Lynley bloke," exclaims Martha.

"What's happening to him," Rose questions as the Doctor rushes forward through the crowd.

"Leave it to men— I'm a doctor," he tells the surrounding people.

"So am I – near enough." Martha joins the Doctor at Lynley's side, while Rose attempts to observe the surroundings, the people, look for anything out of place which may explain this happenstance. As she patrols the street, from the corner of her eye, she watches as Lynley finally goes down.

"Gotta get the heart going. Mr. Lynley, c'mon, can you hear me? You're gonna be all right," she tells the unresponsive man; before she can start mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, water pours from the dead man's mouth.

"What the hell is that?" Martha screeches.

Beside her, the Doctor shakes his head, dumbfounded. "I've never seen a death like it. His lungs are full of water — he drowned and then... I dunno… like a blow to the heart. An invisible blow." Turning away from Martha and Lynley and addressing Dolly, the Doctor reaches for a cause of death. "Good mistress, this poor fellow has died from a sudden imbalance of the humours. A natural, if unfortunate demise. Call a constable and have him taken away."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll do it, ma'am," offers the barmaid Lilith, before walking away with a satisfied smirk, unseen by anyone.

"And why are you telling them that?"

The Doctor looks patiently at Martha. "This lot still have got one foot in the Dark Ages. If I tell them the truth, they'll panic and think it was witchcraft."

"What was it anyway," asks Rose, as she joins their side again.

"…Witchcraft."

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"I got you a room, Sir Doctor. Yourself and the ladies are just down the hall," Dolly tells them, handing the Doctor a key with a number four attached to it, and excusing her herself from the room.

"Poor Lynley," mutters William. "So many strange events. Not least of all, this land of Freedonia where a woman can be a doctor?"

"Where a woman can do what she likes," Martha tells him.

"And you, Dame Rose," Shakespeare says, curving his lips into a flirtatious grin and lowering his voice a few octaves, while being sure not to let his gaze waver from the lady to the Doctor. "You run around like a lone wolf, taking no direction. Are you also from Freedonia?"

Rose's eyes widen slightly at his comment, but she manages a small, "I am."

"And you, Sir Doctor. How can a man so young have eyes so old?"

"I do a lot of reading," the Doctor replies, curtly, still looking from Rose's flushed, surprised face, to the playwrights playful smile as he ogles the blonde.

"A trite reply, yeah, that's what I'd do," replies Shakespeare, finally looking at the Doctor for the moment before his gaze lands on Martha again. "And you, you look at him like you're surprised he exists. He's as much of a puzzle to you as he is to me."

Unable to deny the truth of his statement, but feeling illogically bitter about his accuracy, Martha decides to say her goodnight's and wait for the others in the hall. "I think we should say good night."

"I must work," the playwright tells the remaining two. "I have a play to complete. But I'll get my answers tomorrow, Doctor, and I'll discover more about you and why this constant performance of yours.

"All the world's a stage," mumbles Rose in a voice too low for any but the Doctor to hear. She too says goodnight and excuses herself.

"All the world's a stage," repeats the Doctor, louder, an amused smirk firmly on his face and his eyes watching the blonde making her way down the hall to her companion.

"Hm, I might use that. Good night, Doctor."

"Nighty-night, Shakespeare."

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The first thing Rose thinks as she sees their room for the first time is that it's the nicest one she's stayed in, in perhaps two months. It's small, and a bit patchwork, with mismatched furniture, threadbare quilts and a fraying rug, but there are two beds, lots of candles to keep the room illuminated if they should wish, and it appears to have been recently dusted. 'Not bad' she thinks.

"It's not exactly five-star, is it," asks Martha, however, it's more of a statement; her words put a stop to the Doctor's thoughts, which had been similar to Rose's own.

"Oh, it'll do. I've seen worse."

"I haven't even got a toothbrush," Martha remembers.

"Nor have I, actually," says Rose.

"Ooh," the Doctor starts patting at his pockets before pulling out a toothbrush and handing it to Martha. "Contains Venusian spearmint." From another pocket he pulls out a pink toothbrush and tosses it to Rose, who catches it easily with a satisfied sigh.

"So, who's going where? I mean, there are only two beds."

"We'll manage," he says, flopping on the bed nearest him. Rose knows he means to stay awake all night.

"So, magic and stuff," Martha says quickly, trying to keep his attention as she lies down on the small bed beside him. "That's a surprise. It's a little bit 'Harry Potter'."

"Wait till you read Book Seven. Rose and I cried."

"Like a baby," Rose agrees.

"But is it real, though? I mean witches, black magic and all that, it's real?"

He scoffs. "'Course it isn't!"

Rose bats his upper arm with one hand, the other devotedly brushing her teeth. "Well, how am I supposed to know?" Asks Martha. "I've only just started believing in time travel. Give me a break."

"Looks like witchcraft, but it isn't. Can't be."

"Budge up a bit," she asks him. "Sorry, there's not much room. Us two here, same bed. Tongues will wag."

From her spot on the opposite bed, Rose rolls her eyes and lays down, staring at the ceiling and listening to the Doctor theorize, oblivious to Martha's obvious flirting.

"There's such a thing as psychic energy but a human couldn't channel it like that. Not without a generator the size of Taunton and I think we'd have spotted that."

Rose scoffs.

"Something you'd like to add, Dame Rose Tyler?"

"Two words, Doctor: London. Eye," she says, never taking her eyes off the ceiling above her.

"Touché."

After a moment of awkward silence, the Doctor realizes how close Martha is to him and stands up, relocating to a chair in between the two beds. Oh, well, let's try and get some sleep. I'll take you back home tomorrow, Martha."

"Great," she exclaims with false enthusiasm before turning her back on him and deciding to try to take his advice and sleep. She had really thought she'd been making progress…

##############################################################################

It's late into the night when suddenly a terrified scream rips through the silence and wakes up the two sleeping girls.

The Doctor is already on his feet and running across the room as Rose forces herself awake and jumps, fully clothed and still wearing her shoes, out of bed and as ever, right behind him. Martha fumbles momentarily for the flats she had taken off hours before, (grudgingly admitting that Rose had been right about having to run a lot) before following after the two.

##############################################################################

William Shakespeare is just shaking off sleep and standing when the Doctor and Rose stumble into the room, Martha following moments after. They stop to check the body of Dolly on the floor while William tries to put himself together and Martha drags Rose with her to the window.

"Her heart gave out. She died of fright!" the Doctor says in terrified awe.

"Doctor?" Martha calls.

He joins the girls at the window. "What did you see?"

"A witch," both say.