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The pair stood motionless a few dozen yards from the fence. The sun's passing was marked by the glowing, nearly cloudless sky to the west. Soon the cold October day would give way to an even colder October night. Not that Sam Jones' heart could get much colder than it was at this moment. She remained quiet, listening to the gentle breeze rustling the scattered plants, and to the slight but agitated breathing of her Time Lord friend, the Doctor. They had arrived a scant ten minutes ago and yet Sam could almost physically perceive the sense of loss in the air. She wondered if the Doctor felt the same thing.
It was odd, Sam thought, how she sometimes sensed as though the Doctor's passion for Truth and Justice — no, his enthusiasm — was "fake". Not fake as in "he doesn’t mean one whit of it", but fake as in "he tries too hard". Maybe it’s a response to being born and bred a Time Lord. They're taught to be dispassionate, to observe but not to interact. Perhaps the enthusiasm he exudes is his way of compensating for that ingrained teaching of his Academy days. Or perhaps it is his way of making up for what he can't change. "Prevention is the best cure" he would say in situations where it wasn't too late to do something. How like a doctor to say that.
But when it came down to it, how would the Doctor really feel if this had happened to someone close to him? What if this had happened to her? What if someone had beaten her near to death and crucified her on this surrogate cross, leaving her to die in the freezing cold of the Wyoming scrub? Would he feel the rage she was barely controlling now? Would he scream for revenge, as she felt compelled to do? Would he want to go back and change history, as she wanted to, but knew better than to even suggest to him?
Would he weep, as Sam now realized she was doing?
She didn't know the answers. Sam admonished herself for even asking the questions. She had seen the evidence of his convictions all throughout their travels. In San Francisco; and on Ha'olam. How could she doubt him now? But ... but in the face of something like this...
No, when you travel around the Universe for the vast majority of your 1015 years, you must see a lot of atrocities more hideous. If he's indignant about this, then Sam knew his passion was genuine.
She snapped out of her brooding when she felt the Doctor's hand steal into hers. Her face was stinging from the tears as the breeze washed over it. She felt him tug gently.
"It's time to go. Someone will be along in a few minutes..."
But Sam didn’t want to leave. Not just yet.
"Wait," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "I know we can't do anything to — to change this, but isn't there something we can do to make it — to make him — more comfortable?" Her eyes pleaded with him.
The Doctor sighed. "Sam, if I thought there was a way, I would. We can't risk leaving any traces closer than this. We shouldn't be here at all, but I wanted you to see..." He trailed off when Sam lowered her eyes to the ground in disappointment.
"If it's any consolation," he added suddenly, "he's going to be in a coma until — until the end. He won't suffer anymore." Sam seemed inconsolable. The Doctor tried again, this time burning with the energy she knew he saved only for the most important things he had to say.
"Over the next few days this country will be rocked by the news of what's happened here. There will be outraged protests, candlelight vigils, and many, sorrowful tears. Hearts will be moved, minds once entrenched in their thinking will be changed, lives will be irrevocably altered for the better. Social and political changes will be made. Awareness will be raised. The future will be shaped — because of him. There aren't many people in this poor planet's history of whom that can be said."
Sam looked at him, tear stains drying on her cheeks, taking in his eloquent words.
"I've seen this all before, Sam: a prayer ground in Delhi, a hilltop in Judea, a crowded street in Dallas. I know the extent of human evil, and the good that can come of it. Something good will come of this, Sam, I promise."
Suddenly she realized what he was saying. He had been to those places, seen those events for himself. He knew that things would be better because of them. He was, after a fashion, telling her the future. A tiny part of it, at least.
The Doctor tugged at her hand once more. "We'd better go before we're seen."
Reluctantly Sam followed along, led slowly and sadly away by the Doctor, towards the small blotch on the horizon that was the TARDIS. For one moment she gazed back over her shoulder at the section of wooden fence and the tragic figure of Matthew Shepard. She blinked back a final tear, then tightened her grip on the Doctor's hand and walked away.