or:

 "Trois Hommes et un Couffin"
by Becky Dowgiert (bb708@freenet.carleton.ca )

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 The Doctor blinked. *Brown* eyes?

 He squinted in the mirror. *That* wasn't right. Was it? During his last incarnation, his eyes had been blue. In fact, his eyes hadn't been brown since...

 ...Since his very *first* incarnation. He smiled slightly, then peered more closely at the details before him in the slightly dusty mirror. His brown curls more flamboyant, a little lighter than last time...

 ...More like the hair of his fourth incarnation. He grinned.

 Now that he was looking for them, he found the altered details more readily. His face a little rounder, like that of his sixth incarnation. A sartorial impulse that surely hailed from his third incarnation approved of the knap of his velvet frock coat, then, the next instant, frowned at the over-sized fit. An echo from his fifth lifetime noted with concern the lack of anything on the lapel to ward off gases of the Praxian range.

 "Oh, my word," he muttered mournfully, tugging at his lapels in a futile attempt to get the jacket to sit right. "I've been put back together every which way." He shook his head. "Ah, well. It could have been worse -- I could have not been put back together at *all*."

 With that philosophical reminder to console him, he turned away from the mirror, just as the door opened and a Chattermalian burst into the infirmary.

 ***

 "Doctor Holloway?"

 Grace blinked. Someone was calling her name. She opened her eyes fully to see the Abbot bending over her, a look of concern on his face.

 "I'm back, I'm back," she muttered, sitting up. "Sorry. I guess hearing that I might soon be responsible for the heat-death of the universe knocked me for a loop." She peered up at her Time Lord host as he helped her to her feet. "Explain it to me again, will you? How the TARDIS and I switched these 'vortex print' thingies, and 'time streams' and whatnot..."

 The Abbot was shaking his head. He began to wander away, muttering.

 "There I was, minding my own business, studying history. Then the Doctor, from light years of space and time away, manages to ruin everything."

 "Hey!"

 "Then again, this universe is going to end several million years ahead of schedule, so what does my humble desire to sift history for its secrets matter?"

 "*Hey*!" This time Grace abruptly appeared right in front of him. "I'm tired of listening to you putting down the Doctor! Do you know how many times he's saved the universe? Well, *do* you?"

 The Abbot regarded her with a look of infinite patience. "Doctor Holloway--" he began.

 "Everybody finds it so convenient to pick on him, while he--"

 "--it seems to me whatever good he may have done is rather beside the point, if it all ends here--"

 "--does the best he can--"

 They both stopped and stood, staring at each other.

 "It's *not* going to end here," Grace declared.

 The Abbot just looked at her.

 "Well, it's not," she muttered. "He and I have gotten out of tighter spots before. This is--"

 "Only the tearing and fraying of the very thing that has made your travels possible," he pointed out dryly.

 "And we didn't cause it," she said between clenched teeth. "It was that Givenchy woman. Some machine of hers -- *you* heard the Doctor." She threw up her hands in frustration. "How could this happen? You're all supposed to be the 'Lords of Time'; why didn't you know she'd mess around with the vortex? Don't you have safeguards to prevent that type of thing?"

 The Abbot's gaze took on a thoughtful cast, as he folded his arms and began to pace.

 "Accidents happen," he said softly. "But you're right; this *is* quite unusual." He looked up again. "We have to get through to the Doctor again and warn him not to attempt to activate his TARDIS until we've figured out how to switch the vortex prints back and what exactly is going on here. My specialty may be history, not temporal theory, but I'd very much like to compare notes." He strode over to the console and began to attempt to re-establish the audio-visual connection.

 Grace stood, her arms wrapped around herself. She'd grown used to her 'TARDIS withdrawal' symptoms; they were currently there at the back of her consciousness like a low-grade, constant headache.

 "And in the meantime, I should just avoid letting my mind get sucked into the TARDIS's vortex print, right? Any suggestions on how to do that?"

 The Abbot merely looked up at her for a moment, before resuming his task, this time working noticeably more quickly.

 ***

 "*You*! Who are you?" Folintarc demanded.

 The Doctor blinked. "Why, I'm the Doctor. And I don't know why you're taking such a tone with me, my boy," he scolded. "After all, this is my--"

 The warrior interrupted before he could finish. "Are you another of the sorcerer's captives?"

 "No. But *you* -- let me guess. You're a fierce warrior, who won't let something like a little technological progress get in the way of his world-view, eh? No, of course not," he decided, perambulating past the bemused Chattermalian. He suddenly spun around to face the warrior. "Have you seen several young people? When I last saw them, they were being attacked by..." His voice trailed off as he came up close and stared suspiciously at the warrior. "*You*!" The Doctor jumped back in alarm. "Oh, my giddy aunt!"

 Folintarc rolled his eyes. "You're cracked, like the other two. Come on," he commanded, taking hold of the madman's arm.

 "Ow! Unhand me; that's a good chap," the Doctor suggested. "Or I may be forced to demonstrate a few Venusian Karate moves on you. Haven't done that for the longest time..." However, he made no further protest as the Chattermalian pulled him along the TARDIS corridors back to the Console Room, since that was where he wanted to go anyway.

 They arrived to see Blastock pacing uneasily about, eyeing the console and instruments with suspicion. Anna and Stuart stopped to stare, their arms full of wooden debris from the TARDIS's new lab/lecture hall addition. Across the room, Tuncwart and Salistinog looked up from where they were sharpening their battle-axes.

 The Doctor smiled. "Hullo, Stuart, Anna. Glad to see you're all right."

 The two students looked at him blankly.

 "I found him wandering around, mumbling inanities. Must be another of the Keonwar wizard's victims," Folintarc announced.

 Blastock gave his underling a flinty look. "*I'll* be the judge of that," he proclaimed, striding over to stare at the new arrival, who was looking around at the warriors in disapproval.

 The Doctor peered at the war leader's rough leather and wool garb. "You really ought to start seeing a new tailor."

 Blastock glared dangerously at him. "And just what is *that* supposed to mean?"

 "You seriously expect to command respect in *that* get-up?" The Doctor tsked, gesturing at the smelly hides. "Come on -- I'll show you the wardrobe room. We ought to be able to find something there more suitable to a man of your obvious importance."

 Blastock started to follow the bizarre little man out of the console room. "You watch those two until I get back," Blastock told his underlings, pointing at Anna and Stuart.

 "Where are you going?"

 "We might as well liberate some of this sorcerer's ill-gotten treasures before we burn his wizardly trappings."

 ***

 Drax kneeled down next to Crispin, checking for a pulse. "Now where *is* the pulse on a human?" he muttered in concentration. "Ah! Here we go. Yup. He's alive," he told Dessia, looking up.

 She looked over from where she was holding the old woman at bay. Her prisoner's face twisted as she spat, "Do you know who I *am*?! Get out of my way -- I must find the Doctor!"

 Dessia glared at her captive and shook the large stick of wood she held menacingly. "Take a number, sister -- he's *mine*. You can have whatever's left after *I'm* done with him."

 "Glad I'm not in his shoes," Drax muttered to no one in particular. Both women glared at him. "Between you and me," he told the old woman candidly, "when Dessia gets through with the Doctor, there won't *be* anything left of him..."

 "Drax! Make yourself useful, instead of babbling!"

 He turned away to hide his smirk. "Of course, cousin." Ignoring her glare, he helped Crispin to his feet. Dessia was *so* easy to bait. The lad was blinking and coughing, but seemed to be recovering.

 They made their way out of the run-down building to the deserted late afternoon street.

 "Why do you seek the Doctor?" Dessia demanded of the old woman.

 The woman stared stonily ahead. "I was young, and he took it all away; made me what you see before you now." Her head whipped around to stare at her captors. "He destroyed me. I am going to find him and make him *pay* for what he did. But first, I'll make him put me back the way I was before. I know he can do it!"

 Dessia snorted. "Is *that* all? Right now, the whole of the space/time vortex has been disrupted, practically ripped apart, and you're obsessing about your own paltry looks?" She shook her head in disgust. "Such a typically limited *human* viewpoint."

 The old woman stopped and drew herself up. "I am Ysabelle Givenchy -- *nobody* talks to me that way!"

 "I just did," Dessia observed, unimpressed. Drax couldn't resist a smile. Fortunately, his cousin didn't notice. The boy leaning on his arm coughed a few times.

 "You two are looking for the Doctor?" he asked cautiously.

 "Yes," Drax said. "Are you traveling with him?"

 "Well...kind of, I guess," Crispin answered. "I'm Crispin, by the way."

 Drax nodded. "Drax. Pleased to meet you. That indubitable lady over there is the Lady Dessia," he said, pointing at the Time Lady as she marched along, brandishing her impromptu wooden club. "Do not," he stage-whispered, "get on her bad side."

 Dessia glanced over, annoyed.

 "Me and two of my friends, well, we got involved in a...kind of accident," Crispin explained.

 Dessia snorted. "I'll say. The Doctor's a one-man traveling accident."

 "D'you mean the vortex getting destroyed?" Crispin asked in a low voice.

 She turned quickly. "What do you know of that, boy?"

 Crispin looked back, pale. "I know that the Doctor had nothing to do with it."

 She eyed him skeptically. "And how do you know that?"

 "Because *I* caused it."

 ***

 "There! That's much better!"

 Blastock stood in front of a large standing mirror, and eyed his new sartorial splendor.

 "King Louis did *so* like this particular coat. I remember when he got it -- all the court nobles rushed to have copies made -- kept the tailors working night and day. Of course, by the time they got theirs, he'd moved on to the Next Thing. So he gave it to me."

 Blastock stood, marveling at the electric blue wool greatcoat. It had white embroidery and seed pearls strewn all over it, and was a magnificent work of craftmanship, truly worthy for a leader of the Chattermalians.

 The Doctor stood nearby, beaming.

 Blastock considered, and then, under the cover of the large coat, drew his dagger. Now that he'd lured the sorcerer away from the others and into a feeling of false confidence, it was time to strike, before he completed whatever nefarious spell he was surely casting.

 Grasping the dagger, he whirled in his best dramatic ettursant fashion, but the heaviness of the coat slowed his reactions enough so that by the time he completed his turn, the wizard had sidled back out of his immediate reach. So Blastock scowled, snarled "Die, sorcerer!" and attempted to follow through by leaping gracefully forward.

 Instead, he promptly tripped over a pile of discarded clothing and fell flat on his face.

 The Doctor winced sympathetically. "Sorry about that -- this wardrobe room *could* use a bit of straightening up. But ever since that cleaning lady found her way out again..."

 Blastock scrambled to his feet, working himself into as fine a fury as he ever had. Yes, this particular battle rage was a thing of uncommon beauty, an ettursant of true purity. He wriggled furiously, trying to shrug the heavy coat off. "Your evil spell won't hold *me*, wizard!"

 "Look, it's just a coat -- you can pick out another one more to your liking," the Doctor reassured him, backing quickly away as the warrior sputtered, thrashed, and finally succeeded in discarding the jacket. "Incidentally, how did you know it was me?"

 "It stood to reason. You didn't look the same, so it had to be you," Blastock sneered.

 The Doctor blinked at that bit of pre-logic.

 "And you're wearing the same clothes."

 The Doctor looked down at his own baggy outfit. "Oh."

 "You will *rue* the day you ever came to sully our fine land! I don't know what you've done to it, but it'll change back when I, Blastok, remove your head from your shoulders, as is my right!" He leaned forward, sneering. "And then we'll burn your enchanted palace to the ground!"

 The Doctor's face fell. "I don't think the TARDIS will take kindly to that at all."

 "Have at you, foul fiend!" Blastock drew his sword and charged. The Doctor turned and disappeared among the racks of hanging clothing.

 Snarling, Blastock began to toss racks in all directions.

 No more reasoning with him. The Doctor looked wildly around at the flying articles of clothing, wondering if he could make it to the door before Blastok found him. There was a blur of movement to his left, and he ducked barely in time as the edge of Blastok's sword *clanged* against the edge of the rack next to him.

 The Doctor back-pedaled frantically. The Chattermalian was not only berserk, but incredibly fast, the legacy of his less technological culture, where physical abilities were greatly prized and honed.

 Suddenly, the Time Lord fetched up hard against the wall. The next instant, Blastok leapt out right in front of the him and swung his sword back in a two-handed grip, about to deliver the death-blow--

 That was when another area of 'instability' swallowed them both up.

 ***

 Dessia halted and turned to pin Crispin with a glare. "You *what*?!" she snapped.

 He faced her, pale but resolute. "I said I caused the vortex to fall apart."

 Her eyes narrowed. "You seriously expect me to believe that? You, a mere human boy?" She shook her head. "No, you're covering for the Doctor. Take your mis-placed sense of loyalty, boy, and save it for another day. If there *is* another day."

 "Look, *I* smashed the machine! If I hadn't done that, none of this would have happened! But I didn't know!"

 "What machine?" Dessia asked, glaring at Givenchy as she tried to sidle away.

 Crispin jerked a thumb at the make-up magnate, whose haggard face had taken on a rather shifty expression, Drax noted. "She showed us this machine," Crispin explained, "said it had made animals young again. She was going to test it on us, so I smashed it."

 Dessia's attention was now firmly fixed on the uncomfortably- squirming Givenchy. "Is this true?" she asked the magnate with deceptive mildness.

 "He doesn't know what he's talking about!" Givenchy snapped. "This is all the Doctor's fault!"

 "Explicate, boy," Dessia snapped, her steely gaze never leaving Ysabelle.

 Crispin blinked.

 "She means," Drax said helpfully, "to explain. In detail."

 Crispin glared at him. "I *know* what it means," he snapped. "I'm at Uni; I'm not stupid!"

 So he began to explain.

 ***

 The Doctor groaned as he rolled over and put a hand to his head. He blinked and immediately wished he hadn't, as a shaft of late afternoon sunlight seemed to stab through his eye directly into his brain. It reminded him of the time he'd almost had the life drained out of him by the beam of energy from his TARDIS's link to the Eye of Harmony.

 "Aarghh," he complained, sitting up and putting his hands to his face, before opening both his eyes fully.

 He was sitting in the middle of a deserted city street. It looked as if he were still in Clacktown. Suddenly remembering what he'd been doing last, he looked quickly around for Blastock.

 No fierce Chattermalian warriors anywhere in sight. Then he heard a forlorn wail and glanced behind him.

 A pile of wool and leather was wriggling fiercely, emitting cries of infantile rage. A sword lay on the ground next to it.

 Scrambling over to it, he pulled gently at the pile of fabric and hides, unwrapping it to reveal a male humanoid baby who was working himself up into a fine lather as he waved his fists around and screamed his frustration to the world.

 The Time Lord reached forward and picked the baby up. "My goodness," he said. "Blastock?" He glanced at the pile of clothing. Well, that *had* been what the Chattermalian had been wearing.

 He held the baby up at arm's length and stared at it. Blastok stopped crying and stared back, a little thread of drool running out of his mouth.

 "For what it's worth, I'm sorry," the Doctor told the infant Chattermalian. "Still, we passed through the Time Winds. By all rights, both of us should have been destroyed." He shrugged. "Looks like we both get yet another chance." He stood up and rested the baby against his shoulder. "It looks as if you'll have to spend yours among all the comforts of technology, though."

 He winced as Blastok sucked in a lungful of air and resumed his screaming.

 ***

 "*You come back here*!" Dessia bellowed, as she, Drax and a still shaky Crispin sprinted after Ysabelle Givenchy.

 The make-up magnate had broken away from her companions and fled just as Crispin had launched solidly into his incriminating explanation. She was remarkably fleet for a human of such an advanced age, Drax reflected. Though it was probably adrenaline. From what Crispin had told them, she was apparently guilty enough for many lifetimes of atonement. Except that humans only had one go-around.

 "That a *human* could be capable of such destruction!" Dessia hissed, as she ran.

 "I thought you CIA lot were supposed to prevent this sort of thing," Drax reminded her pointedly.

 Dessia sent a megawatt glare his way, but forbore from further comment, intent on conserving her energy for pursuit.

 Crispin was falling behind. Drax glanced back, then slowed, falling back to the boy's side.

 "I--I can't run any more!" the student gasped, stumbling to a halt. "Go on without me!"

 Drax hesitated, glancing back at Dessia and her receding quarry. The CIA agent flung an angry look behind her. "You're not going anywhere, boy!" she shouted. "You're part of this, too!"

 Crispin's face twisted. "Oh, for-- I'm not!" he exclaimed, chest heaving. "Trying! To get out of it! I know it's partly my fault!"

 "I'll keep an eye on him!" Drax shouted. "You go get 'er!"

 Dessia hesitated, glaring suspiciously at her cousin.

 "Dooranor House Honor!"

 She turned and sprinted on after the figure of Ysabelle Givenchy, as the magnate disappeared around a street corner.

 "Well!" Drax said, catching his own breath as Crispin drew in great lungfuls of air, "for once, we can't pin it all on 'ole Thete."

 A voice came from behind them. "My ears are burning -- have you been talking about me behind my back again?"

 Crispin and Drax turned to see the Doctor making his way towards them, his tangle of light brown hair waving gently in the breeze.

 "Doctor! You're back!" Crispin said.

 The Doctor looked down at his now perfectly-fitting clothing, glanced momentarily aside at a plate-glass window. Bright blue eyes looked back "Yes," he agreed, smiling.

 "What's this?" Drax inquired, nodding his head at the squirming baby whose bottom had been wrapped in a scrap of wool fabric.

 "This," the Doctor informed them, shifting his burden, "is the great Chattermalian warrior Blastok. Much reduced."

 Crispin blinked. "What, are you saying *that's* one of the barbarians that attacked us?"

 "Being drawn unprotected through the odd tangle of timestrings will do that to you."

 Drax let out a low whistle and scratched his head. "Roving pockets of spatial instability... Is it that bad already?"

 The Doctor looked at him gravely.

 "Right; we'd better get going!" Drax said briskly. "So what's the plan?"

 The Doctor looked at him gravely.

 "Oh, come on, Thete. You *always* have a plan."

 "Right now the only plan I have," the Doctor said briskly, "is to find a proper diaper for this fellow. And stop calling me Thete -- we're not at the Academy anymore."

 Drax rolled his eyes. "Well, excuse me. Rassilon's Sash; you're as cranky as Dessia today."

 The Doctor looked up. "What about her--" He stopped suddenly at the sympathetic expression on Drax's face and winced. "Oh, no. Don't tell me."

 "DOCTOR!!" a familiar voice suddenly shouted in triumph from down the street. "I've found you at last!"

 To Be Continued...