Doctor Who: Series A [COMPLETE]

Episode Seven: Death in a Museum

To the residents of Trap Street - the Sontarans, the Judoon, the Slitheen, and all the other creatures whose warring races had, at some point, crossed paths with the Doctor - the sound of the TARDIS materialising had been a song of war. They feared that rasping, clawing noise, and had learnt to stand to attention, ready for a fight, whenever the dark day came when they would hear it for themselves.

But times were different. Now, these otherworldly refugees and asylum seekers listened keenly for the noise as a sign of salvation and hope. In the Time Lord's absence, the unnamed plague had continued to creep its way through Trap Street, forcing its residents to stay indoors, waiting for a cure.

They didn't expect one so soon - nor did they expect to hear the TARDIS' song as it phased into the same time and space, eventually coming to stand alone in the centre of the cobbled square. Alas, the Doctor had returned, and only Mayor Me met him in the centre of Trap Street.

"You look tired, Ashildr," the Doctor said, blinking in the uncharacteristic sunlight that had found its way between the crooked roofs and tightly packed buildings.

"And you look well-rested, Doctor. I hope this doesn't mean you gave up and went travelling instead."

Me folded her arms, her face stern, eyes sunken. She was tired, because she was the mayor. She had single-handedly cared for the sick, and coordinated efforts to quarantine Trap Street, only somewhat confident that the immune system she had built up over centuries of immortality would keep her safe.

"Not at all. A promise is a promise," the Doctor said, stepping out of the TARDIS to let Jade and Callum past. The latter held the waters of Lethe in his hand.

"And who is this? You've been collecting companions again," Me teased, taking the glass container from Callum, trying to contain her abundance of joy and relief.

"Hi, I'm Callum," he replied, offering his hand, which Me shook whilst awkwardly holding the container. "And, sorry, was it Ashildr?"

"No, not anymore. It's an old name. This one won't let me forget it," she said, glancing at the Doctor, before continuing "call me Me."

"Mimi?"

Jade sniggered and the Doctor tried to look away lest he join his companion in laughing.

"No, just Me," the immortal mayor responded, exasperated and not in any kind of mood for childishness.

"So, what have you brought me, Doctor?" she asked, holding the container up so she could watch the sun dance as it moved through the water.

"Healing waters. A cure-all. It's a good start."

"I'll take it. At this point, we're desperate."

The Doctor's face turned grave. He could sense eyes on him, curious creatures watching from the windows all around them. People were relying on him.

"It's gotten worse then?"

"Come and see."

***

Being hidden out of plain sight between the human streets outside, Trap Street wasn't big enough to contain a hospital. Instead, the sick had been crammed into different houses and, where possible, taverns and shops. 

Me led the Doctor and his companions into Trap Street's main tavern, asking them to cover their mouths as they did - no point in getting more infected, she had said. The Doctor buried his mouth in the crook of his arm and looked around in despair as the residents groaned and slept, their limbs withering, faces contorting.

Some of the patients, however, seemed to have shrunk altogether, and parts of their bodies now more closely resembled stubby tentacles. Whatever the plague was, it was clearly changing their DNA - and Dr Paris' words came back to haunt the Time Lord.