He could hear Russell. And something in the back of his mind agreed. The part that still carried millennia of Gallifreyan culture, Rassilon's directive, ancient indoctrination, the result of a war whose scale reached proportions almost unimaginable.

But ....

He forced his eyes to focus on her. This was not the face of the undead scourge his people had pledged to fight until the very last. This was a hapless mutant, a haemovore, an isolated case. Could she have made a vampire of him? He had no idea.

"It's all right ... I'm ... fine...."

He quieted the indignant yammering of his memories, of his other selves.

"...I forgive you," he breathed.

He felt time shift.