Asleep atop the massive gold and white trimmed bed of Rassilon, in the white ceremonial robe of the President of Gallifrey was the little Doctor. On her head was an exact copy of the Coronet of Rassilon, and on her left index finger a ring identical to the ruby Ring of Rassilon.

Asleep too, but propped against the ornate, to the point of garish, Throne of Rassilon, also in the robe of the President of Gallifrey was the Doctor. Round his neck the gold Sash of Rassilon, and laying in his lap the ebony Rod of Rassilon. On his head was the Matrix Crown of Rassilon. Clasped tightly in his right hand the Great Key of Rassilon. And in no way unexpectedly, the Doctor was not a far distance from the silver Harp of ... Rassilon.

Batting at a fly he began to stir. "No, no, K9, lateral thinking. Van De Cort's theory was wrong, wrong, wrong! The Dynamics of the celestial interfacing is not trilateral ..." the Doctor continued his dream into his awakening. Clearing his throat, he muttered: "Now ... where was I?" He looked round warily. "Ah, actually; where am I?"

The Doctor held up the silver trimmed wand. "Hey! Who died and made me President ... again?" His eyes narrowed. "And I for sure have no earthly use for this Key!" Looking across the room he saw his reflection in the Great Mirror of (do I need say?) Rassilon. Standing he bowed humbly. Up righting himself he narrowed his eyes. "OK, what's going on?"

Looking round further he noticed someone else.

The little Doctor snoring softly, on the Bed of Rassilon. "Doctor?" he asked, squaring his shoulders.

Approaching closer he reverently sat the Rod, and the Great Key safely on the foot of the bed. Taking off the Crown and the Sash, the Doctor silently placed them beside the other relics.

Sitting down on the bed, he began to gently shake the little Doctor awake. "Doctor? You ... Who ... Doctor Whom?"

The little Doctor's eyes fluttered open, and a very sheepish grin crept onto her slender face, as if she'd just gotten caught with her hand in someone else's cookie jar. She shrugged. "Guess, I just popped off again, Doctor, sorry."

She began to yawn. "Good morning, Doctor." Realizing, she bolted upright. "Doctor!"

The Doctor laughed, then replied very solemnly. "Good morning, Madame President."

A most chagrinned look swept across her face. "Don't be ridiculous, Doctor. We was the President. Like in was. Past tense."

Noticing they were both dressed in coronation white, she arched a brow and softly "Ooh," ed in wonder.

The Doctor grinned toothily. Now she was sounding like K9.

Her eyes went to the over large ring on her finger, as her hand went to the heavy coronet on her head. "Hey! What's going on? What am I doing with these things?"

The Doctor smiled widely. "Don't know, both times."

The little Doctor cocked her head like a puzzled puppy. "Guess we are still playing The Game of Rassilon."

The Doctor nodded a solemn, ('could be').

The little Doctor smiled warmly.

"Wait a minute," she quickly reconsidered. "I was dead!"

"No, Doctor," he gently corrected, "I was the one who was dead." He pouted. Actually, I was dead first."

"Oh dear," she said lightly touching his chest, "you don't suppose we are both dead, do you Doctor?"

"Yuk! What a horribly ugly thought!" he retorted.

The little Doctor's face broke out into its wide toothy grin. "Well, I suppose Time will tell, Lord of Time."

The Doctor nodded. "Still ... we do seem to be very much alive, wherever ... whenever we are."

The little Doctor agreed zestfully. "Indeed!"

Warm smiles were exchanged.

A sudden gust of wind opened the double doors of the large bed chamber, causing the Doctors to wince.

Turning as one towards the sound, the two saw Rassilon slowly glide in!

Close behind him, in very humble obeisance was ... the Master.

"Good morning, Doctors," Rassilon said simply.

The Doctor gawked, in undignified silence.

Finally, shaking his head, gathering enough wits about him, the Doctor rose to his feet.

So too the little Doctor.

The Doctor took the little Doctor's hand into his, and slowly the two walked towards the duo, and bowed.

Overcoming their silence, they spoke as one. "Good morning, Lord Rassilon."

Rassilon laughed heartily. "I see both Doctors require an explanation. I will field your questions to me one at a time, Renegades."

To say the Doctors were in a state of shock, by several things, actually, would be drawing it mild. Yet, the most nerve shattering of all was the Master's wholly changed attitude as he fluttered about Rassilon, selflessly ministering to him.

The Master help seat Rassilon on his throne, and then continued to putter about him.

The Doctors followed his silent movements bugeyed, and mouths very undignified agape.

The Master, apparently oblivious to all, but Rassilon, bent down and replaced Rassilon's shoes with a pair of sumptuously embroidered Oriental slippers. Finishing that task, he stood and moved to a gold encrusted basin, proceeding to thoroughly wash his hands.

The next service was to bring Rassilon a crystal goblet of wine.

Sipping the crimson liquid, that refused to stay crimson and was slowly changing in turn in to a whole rainbow of colors, Rassilon began. "I did not intercede in the attack on you Doctor, initially, as I was, if you will forgive me, quite busy elsewhere." His eyes journeyed briefly to the Master, who was busy preparing a tray of sweets. "And it did happen so very fast. Even for me."

The Doctor nodded, conceding.

Rassilon's eyes turned towards the little Doctor. "But when you, Doctor, volunteered to serve me in gladness eternal in exchange for the Doctor's restoration ... I had to accept."

The Doctor looked downwards towards the companion at his side.

The little Doctor scuffed her white booted foot, shrugging as if to say, ('wasn't nuttin', Doc').

"But then," Rassilon continued, looking at the Doctor. "When you made me the same offer Doctor, I felt compelled to free the seventh persona, not wishing to see her bound as Foster-Eternal to one as old as I."

The Doctor shuffled his larger booted foot, shrugging, as if to say, ("twern't nuttin', lil' Doc").

Rassilon smiled coyly. "Though I did find the idea of a Forever Foster somewhat intriguing."

Beginning to blush, the little Doctor lowered her eyes. "Thank you, Lord Rassilon," she said softly.

Rassilon acknowledged her reply with a nod. "But then I decided. Why sacrifice either of you ... for all eternity ... when the Master could serve in your stead."

"I like that plan, very good plan," the little Doctor quickly chimed in, whispering to the Doctor.

"Oh, I agree, Doctor. Very good plan," the Doctor agreed zestfully.

"My eternal devoted Servitor, the Master," Rassilon concluded.

"But how much of his past does he recall, Lord Rassilon?" she asked.

"Why ... all of it my child. Otherwise there could be no element of punishment involved."

"Then how does he function as he does?" he puzzled.

"Through a lack of his free will and my will forced upon him."

"But how is it that you are no longer just a projection, Lord Rassilon?" the little Doctor asked, shaking her curly tresses.

"And who resides on Rassilon's bier?" the Doctor quickly added, with a rueful smile, tapping his lips with his forefingers.

Rassilon chuckled heartily. "I will answer those questions in reverse order, Doctors. First ... Rassilon. Second ... one day Doctor, when you and I are closer to the same age, I will explain to you how I have been, for more centuries than you have existed, something in addition to a hologram." Rassilon's eyebrow arched quizzically. "Sufficient?"

The little Doctor gestured with both hands opened upwards, as if to say, ('fine with me'). Then crossing her arms she sighed, much like Cricket (persona #5), as if to say then, ('like I really have a choice in the matter').

"But enough of me. How are the two of you?"

As the two considered just how they might answer, the Master brought Rassilon a tray piled high with sweets.

Rassilon helped himself to a very generous portion of the goodies.

"Oh, Doctors," Rassilon realized between mouthfuls. "You no longer wear the Inheritance of Rassilon."

"But, Lord Rassilon," the Doctor argued. "Gallifrey already has a very willing President."

"And a very capable one too," the little Doctor jumped in.

"Doctor ... Doctor ... something from Rassilon's tray?"

"Yes, ah, Master," the Doctor accepted, removing a mint chocolate chip cookie from the crystal serving platter.

"Doctor," the Master invited, encouraging the little Doctor.

"Ah .. I ... ah, no thank you. Us Time Ladies have to watch the weight, you know."

The Master laughed kindly. "Of course, my child." With a polite nod the Master returned to Rassilon's side.

"Oh Doctor," the little Doctor whispered, gently touching the Doctor's sleeve. "The Master is so much like Tremas now."

The Doctor nodded. "Yes, I know," he said very quietly.

"Do you think there is a chance ...", the little Doctor began.

The Doctor's shaking head interrupted her. "Don't see how, Doctor. After all this time ... I'm quite sure Tremas died as soon as the Master touched him. Some form of electrocution I would suppose, stolen from the Source."

The little Doctor nodded slowly in agreement.

Rassilon loudly cleared his throat, interrupting the two's thoughts, and conversation. No way did he enjoy not being the center of attention.

"The current President is not the President of my choosing!"

"We are honored Lord Rassilon, that you would wish ..." the Doctor began.

"Time Lord! You were born to this end!"

"So I've been told," he chuckled. "Several times."

"But still the Renegade?"

"I guess I'm just having too much fun. Should it ever cease to be ..." the Doctor offered Rassilon a glimmer of hope.

"But for the foreseeable future ...", Rassilon griped. He then turned to the little Doctor. "Then what about you, my child?"

"You noticed, he asked me second?" she griped.

The Doctor tugged on his ear. "I noticed that," he said snuffling.

"Not a bit of it, Doctor," Rassilon sought to soothe ruffled feathers of the female. "My first choice, for a long while now has been, the Doctor. The entire Inheritance of Rassilon is his, or hers, for the taking." Rassilon looked straight at the little Doctor. "Are you not the Doctor ... Doctor?"

"Well ... I can write my own hand ... besides, who would know better than you Lord Rassilon?"

Rassilon nodded.

Her expression sobered. "But as it was you who turned me into a female of our species, you also know why I can't serve Gallifrey as an elected sovereign."

"Ah yes, Doctor, this non direct access to even your own Autron energy. Are you females never to get it right?"

The little Doctor shrugged. "Something amiss in our genetic engineering, I suppose."

"A bit lower than Time Lords ... a tad higher than angels," the Doctor teased.

"Chauvinist," she griped right back.

"Utterly ... eternally ... perpetually," the Doctor agreed.

Rassilon sighed. "But as you are a female, you like President Flavia, would have to be appointed. But I can do that! So ... will you serve Gallifrey, Doctor?"

She pouted. "I thought I already was. In my own inimitable way." She lifted her chin proudly. "Still ... stay here and be President?" She shook her head soundly. "But I like it OUT THERE!"

"But you could like it here, if you would but give it a try, Doctor!"

The little Doctor curled her upper lip. "Did try it." She shook her head soundly. "Didn't like it," she replied, sounding very much like Scarecrow (persona #2).

"Didn't give it time," Rassilon insisted.

The little Doctor pressed her lips tightly together. Even though she knew she stood at a crucial crossroad in her lives, it would be unfair to keep Rassilon waiting, indefinitely.

The little Doctor's eyes journeyed to the Doctor. Surely the Doctor's wide, pale eyes, as express as they were, would tell her something. Help her out.

The Doctor stood silent and unmoving. As for his eyes, they were filled with the cool, detachment of the Prydonian. Borusa would be proud! So ... this decision was to be arrived at, without any undue influence from anyone ... even an earlier self.

The little Doctor's shoulders drooped. What a pal! she thought in annoyance. But she also knew in the heart of her hearts the Doctor was right. This was to be her decision and hers alone.

So in a nanosecond it was ... settled.

The little Doctor smiled warmly at the Doctor for just the briefest of a moment, then turned to Rassilon.

"The Doctor has gotten use to a shadow, Lord Rassilon," she began softly. "I'd like to think he'd miss me if I were to suddenly disappear."

"Beyond a shadow of a doubt," the Doctor concurred, his eyes once again their normal, lively animate.

It was then that Rassilon realized, once again he and Gallifrey had lost. The Universe with its subtle attraction had claimed victory yet again. The only thing left to him now was to save face.

"I suppose, it would be a mistake to have either the Renegade or his shadow on the throne of Gallifrey." Rassilon began to snort and grumble. "In time it could be an unbearable condition to my more compliant subjects. Not to mention ... what it might do to the Eye of Harmony." Sighing deeply, he surrendered to two pair of intense, velvet eyes. "All right, go on. Go back to that antique, rickety rackety, blue wart on my nose, if that is what it will take to make the two of you happy!" Rassilon waved them aside. "Go now! Before I reconsider, and take you free wills from you!"

The Doctors looked at each other for the time it took their twin hearts to complete a single beat each; then as one, bolted for the double doors.

"Hold!" Rassilon demanded.

The Doctors froze in their tracks.

"Turn," Rassilon commanded.

Turning back to face Rassilon, the Doctors stared attentively.

"Keep the Time Ring on either one of yourselves at all times. If I require your services, dubious as they are, I want to be able to tether you back."

"Yes, Lord Rassilon," they replied.

"RING us up anyTIME," the little Doctor appended.

"AnyTIME at all," the Doctor echoed.

Turning once again, each Doctor took a door in hand.

"One final thing ... Doctors."

The two looked over their shoulders.

"Keep the robes handy too. One day you might change your mind."

"Yes, Lord Rassilon," they promised.

Each Doctor then opened a door. Before them stood the TARDIS, same as ever, frozen in its exterior guise of a blue, English police box, patiently waiting.

"Well, in that case Doctor," the little Doctor contemplated, "I'd for sure better rub The Holy Alabaster Monolith for luck!"

"The what?" the Doctor mused.

A tiny fingered hand shot out to deftly stroke the Doctor's nose. Turning, with the grace of a will O' the wisp, the little Doctor charged towards the safety of the TARDIS, as peals of her gentle laughter bobbed softly on the air.

Realizing he had been had, royally, a resonate baritone growl gurgled deep in the Doctor's throat.

He quickly closed the gap between them, his total amassed sum of three hundred and fifty pounds not slowing him down in the least.

Grabbing the little Doctor's shoulders squarely, the Doctor spun her round, just as she inserted her cipher indent key into its lock and started to turn it.

"Aug!" she choked against the tightened key chain.

Glaring at her, the Doctor removed her TARDIS key from the lock, pushing the door inward. Grasping her forearms, in the most menacing tone imaginable, he chuckled sinisterly, glaring down at her.

"Uh, oh," the little Doctor winced, slowly looking up at the Doctor in total abeyance. "What happens now, dear Lord of Time?"

The muscles of the Doctor's face contorted horribly. "Why my dear Doctor of Teeth & Curls I. I., nothing less than breaking every bone in your frail, tiny body; two at a time, in pairs!"

She pouted. "That should squelch any further attempt at sacrilege on my part."

The Doctor shook his head sadly. "Somehow, I doubt very much that it would, Renegade." Sighing deeply he slowly released his grip. "Besides, a great waste of energy, for no guarantee." His intense, blue eyes began to sparkle animatedly, and his face broadened out into its wide, toothy grin.

Like an overjoyed school boy just let out on holiday, the Doctor bounded past the little Doctor into the TARDIS.

Calling back to her over his broad shoulder he implored: "Hurry along ol' girl, must dash, before Rassilon changes his mind!"

"Indeed, ol' boy!" she echoed. Sprouting a grin to match his own, and with a gleam in her own soft hazel eyes, the little Doctor removed from a fold in the Presidential gown, her cream colored, tasseled recorder. Starting to play a tune, she shadowed the companion into the T. T. capsule where K9 and Munchkin also were waiting ...

"About those seven shades of blue scarves, Doctor," a distinctively masculine voice interjected. "I've been giving it considerable thought. That particular scarf was a seven shade, earth tone one; and I wore it till it was threadbare and patchy. Not to mention ... it was metric on one side, and ..."

... And the battered old door slammed shut behind them.

Moments later the light on top of the police lock up box began flashing its white light. Straining and wheezing like a tired ol' grampus, the TARDIS slowly dematerialized, painstakingly slipping the two Doctors safely? into Vortex.