It's all AU.

Kathy was restless.

It wasn't often she got any extended time off without at least some paperwork to do. Though she had had some files in her hands when she stumbled into this place, she couldn't read over them any more without knowing them off by heart, and now she was definitely bored.

So she was wandering outside again, frown pretty much permanently etched on her face, wondering if there was actually anything to do around here or whether she'd be spending an indeterminate amount of time restless and desperate to get back to work.

Still, it was a nice enough day, so she wasn't frowning too deeply.

Susan had contented herself in this place. She'd almost forgotten that there was even somewhere that she needed to return to. Almost. She was starting to get a little homesick. Just enough that the idea of looking for an exit back was starting to strike her. Of course, she'd worry about that a bit later. Right now, there were much more important matters to attend to.

Carrying two cups of tea, Susan slid in next to the familiar individual and smiled up at him, offering him one of them, "You look like you need this."

( Cut for length and relevance. )

He ended up sitting on a nearby lobby couch, leaning over with his head in his hands as he tried to get his head into a place where he could even deal. Was he back because he'd dared wish he could come back? He'd nearly convinced himself it was all some elaborate dream, reaching for anything that could explain it.

At least he was dressed this time, if you also counted the armored suit under his street clothes.
He heard someone approach and stand in front of him, felt the pull of their presence, but didn't look up yet. He didn't want to know right now-he was still getting his mind around being back here.

Anne MacBeth was going to kill him.

In the beginning, the Doctor had been a novelty. Another eccentric foreigner at Amberleigh, acting strangely around Cousin Elizabeth like everything else male. Then, he'd been a hero, saving the little fluff-brained twit, from bullets, poison and a falling chandelier, while whisking Anne away from it all. Now, however, in a place of flashing lights, loud noise and crushing crowds, the Doctor was a dead man.

If she could find him, because, now she was trapped in a crowd of half-naked, thrashing individuals like cultists in India. The music was amazingly infectious. Anne might have tried dancing with them, if she weren't so angry. She fought her way to the bar and found herself staring at a small circular card, slightly damp and smelling of beer.

"Clockwerx," it read in gold ink, "Time has no meaning when you never close. Established ????"

Oh yes, the Doctor was going to die. Permanently, this time.