Chapter Text

PROLOGUE

A man was trudging through a forest of deep green trees, pushing through the foliage, stumbling occasionally on tree roots. He felt duck-footed, misstepping in every direction, as he pushed the branches aside. 

He had been hiking as part of a camping expedition and had gotten lost from his troupe. He had no way of finding them, no means of communication, and he was miles from the next checkpoint. Given that it was a survivors-type mission, he was supposed to find his way back on his own and there wouldn’t be search teams out looking for him. The words of the camp counsellor — Roberta — drummed in his head, ‘Move it! This is not for the faint of heart. You get lost, you find your way back! No room or time for losers or cowards!’ 

Well, the man, dressed only in a beige camper outfit, scratched and bleeding from running into branches, stumbling aimlessly through the woods, and with no more water to drink certainly felt like both a loser and a coward. It didn’t help that he was caked in sweat, dirt, and grime, which had come from tripping over a particularly snaggly root, twisting his ankle in some wrong way, and falling face first into the muddy pile. 

Dehydration and exhaustion were pummelling at him. His chest felt like it was being crushed by powerful tree roots, and his ankle kept sending sharp shooting stabs of pain up the back of his leg. He gritted his teeth. He needed somewhere to rest and get refreshments — fast. 

The man half-limped, half-stumbled forwards, convincing himself that the next checkpoint would come sooner if he continued than if he sat and moped about his situation. And then, miraculously, he heard a voice echo through the trees ahead of him. 

‘I thought you said you could fly this thing,’ a sharp and direct voice reached his ears. It was a woman’s voice, he guessed. He couldn’t be sure. Maybe the forest was playing tricks on him. After all — flying? Why would anyone fly or land in the woods? Perhaps they had a landing platform for aeroplanes but even if they did, it would have been many more miles out even past the next checkpoint. And the woman certainly didn’t sound as exhausted as he was — and she ought to have been if she’d walked for more miles than he. 

‘I can. I wanted to come to the woods,’ another woman spoke, her voice clear and confident filled with the edge of adrenaline and challenge.  

The man blinked, leaning on a nearby tree, straining to hear and inching forwards so as not to draw attention to himself, still unsure if he was hallucinating the voices. 

‘Was this a test? Or some joke from Roberta?’

'Why? There’s nothing special about these woods.'  

'I’ve been here before. And don’t worry —' the other woman must have provided a nonverbal cue to warrant an explanation — 'It’s just a necessary pit stop,' the second woman sounded firm.  

'Necessary?' the woman who’d accused the other of improper ‘flying’ pressed on. 'How many are you planning to stop at? When are we going to Gallifrey?' the other woman spoke, and the man was positively certain he was going mad.  

‘Gallifrey? Did she mean Galway?’

'Don’t worry me. This is our first stop. You don’t need a countdown. And these stops? Oh, ab-so-lute-ly they’re necessary,' the other woman enunciated. 'We need to stretch our legs from time-to-time. Explore and learn, maybe help out, gain some things in return. And then we will.' 

Gain some things in return? Like trading? The man pondered, continuing to stumble forwards with more attention to his gait and volume so as not to disturb the flora around him as much. 

'And what exactly do we need from a forest in twenty-first century England?'

The man hesitated as he neared the voices. These women sounded like foreigners who clearly were lost, or mad — or both. He wasn’t sure if they were entirely credible if they had to mention the century and country they were in. But still, he desperately needed somewhere to rest his leg and freshen up, and these ladies seemed in good health even if they were a bit mental. 

It didn’t take long for him to decide. He needed hydration and rest, and even if there were some confused women, he didn’t see the harm. And if the camp scouts asked, he’d say he found his way just fine on his own, thank you very much. 

The man pushed through the thick brush of woods, closer to where he’d heard the women speaking and came across a gallow, wiping sweat off his brow. When his vision focused on the sight in front of him, his jaw dropped in disbelief. 

Residing in the middle of a glade that was unmarked on any map with no trace of forestry destruction stood a grey-walled shack that looked as though it had been dropped out of time from the fifties. Making sure to stay to the periphery, he edged closer and he spotted two women near the entrance doors. 

He was surprised at the sight of their clothing. The closer one wore what looked like a blue server outfit, and the other wore a black leather jacket and black trousers. 

'‘Scuse me,' he croaked, approaching them with as much dignity as he could muster. 

Both turned sharply, and he was struck at how round the closer woman’s face was and the intensity in the second woman’s eyes. 

'How did you find us?' The woman in all black stepped forwards with a surprisingly commanding, but cool and strict, presence. The man was strongly reminded of Roberta. 

'I — er —' he spluttered, his throat tightening at the sudden attention and use of his vocal cords. 

'Cup of tea?' The round-faced woman asked in a much gentler tone. 

'Are you certain?' The second woman’s eyes narrowed, not taking her eyes off of him. He got the impression she was sizing him up, and he wasn’t meeting whatever standards she had. Typical. 

'Come on then,' the round-faced woman jerked her head towards the diner in what he assumed was an offer to help him. 

He hesitated for a moment under the gaze of the steely gaze of the other woman, but this was honestly more than he could have hoped for. 

Eager to take this chance and before they could change their minds, he half-limped closer to them so he was standing directly in line with the entrance of the diner. 

It definitely looked like it came from the fifties. It was basically a grey shack with a beige sign reading 'SNACKS AND GAS.' That made no sense to him given there was no petrol, but he didn’t need any at the moment so he dismissed it and made a beeline for the doors. 

He entered and collapsed on a swinging barstool with a red leather seat at the counter. With considerably less weight on his leg, he was free to look around as he heard the door open and close behind him. His eyebrows furrowed in silent questions as he took in the completely deserted diner. And not just no customers, mine, but no other servers. It seemed that the woman outside was the only server. 

That’s odd, he thought. 

The round-faced server made him a cup of tea and settled the cup and saucer before him. He was relieved that she didn’t make small talk but he could tell she wanted to by the way she bit her lip as her dark brown eyes flickered upwards from her notepad occasionally. 

He gulped down the hot liquid and felt his face flare with heat. Perhaps tea wasn’t a good idea when he was sweating like mad, but as he opened his mouth to request an iced coffee, one was pushed in front of him. 

'Oh, blimey. Bloody good service,' he remarked. 

After he drank, his vision and impatience cleared allowing him to look around casually once more at the diner. In front of him, there was a grill for burgers and shake makers with red-leathered and black-rail spinning barstools lining the counter. Looking round, the other end of the diner was crowded in red-leathered booths. The ground was designed with black-and-white checkerboards and to his right was a door. 

He was suddenly aware of how he had trodden mud over the previously pristine and unblemished floor. That was odd, too, even for a diner in the middle of nowhere… It would be the most popular diner especially for their monthly hiking trips.

'Have you seen Susie or Carol?' He asked, thinking of some of his fellow hikers on the trip. Those ladies had definitely been ahead of him and would have made quicker work with directions and food than he. They’d have certainly run into these ladies, probably stopped for a cuppa, burgers, and chips. 

'Sorry, who?' The server looked up from her notepad wearing a puzzled expression. 

'Er, never mind,' he backtracked, quickly, and remembered his state of being covered in dirt, grime, and mud, among other things. He could have sworn he had a few leaves in his hair. 

'Blimey, I’m makin’ a mess. Let me get freshened up,' he made towards the door at the end of the diner. 

'I can’t let you do that.' 

The man blinked, and found his path blocked by the more antagonistic woman. Getting a better look, swivelling his head between them, he saw that the woman reminding him of Roberta was indeed wearing a black leather jacket and black trousers and nice black shoes. Behind him, the other was wearing a blue short-sleeved button-up shirt and matching skirt, both with white hems. A white hanky hung from the hem of her skirt and she wore white converse. 

'‘Scuse me. I just wanna wash up-' 

'We can’t let you do that. You’ve outstayed your welcome,' the woman in black stared stonily at him. 

'Let’s try this again,' the waitress spoke, and he looked back at the counter. He was surprised to see her smiling at him, given her partner’s less-than-hospitable attitude. He found that he was entranced by her round brown eyes and kindness, and they convinced him enough not to run out of this unsettling diner. 'My name’s Clara, this is — never mind—' she indicated her partner, and he looked around to see that she had disappeared to God knows where, ' — well, this is our diner. Unfortunately, our rooms are under renovation and are unavailable to the public.' 

'Should’ve put a bloody sign on the door,' the man grumbled, nodding at the out-of-order door and limping back to the stool. He looked around curiously. 'Weird, though. You two in a fifties diner in the middle o’ nowhere and not marked on any maps. Could’ve sworn you just appeared out of nowhere.'

'You think?' Clara asked, her eyebrows lifting in amusement. 

'Well, that would be absolutely mad, wouldn’t it?' He realised with a jolt how deranged he must look. 

'Maybe, but who said madness was a bad thing? A little bit of imagination never killed anybody. Well, except the King of Would Be men, I suppose,' the woman tilted her head to the side, nodding in some sort of admission to herself. 

'Eh?' The man queried. 

'Oh, don’t worry about it. So, tell me. What’s your name? What brings you out this far? Are you lost?' Clara asked, refilling his coffee. 

Unfortunately, he didn’t have money, but what these ladies didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. He just needed some rest and nourishment and he’d be off. 

'What’s it to you?' The man grunted, feeling suspicious of her inquisitiveness. 

He felt very private, feeling he was in a sacred, out of time area. This wasn’t any regular diner, and although he was grateful, he wasn’t particularly loquacious. They could be spies after all… 

'Just curious. We don’t see many people here. You mentioned a  Susie and Carol?' Clara leaned both arms on the counter, eyeing him as curiously as he did her. 

'Well, that can’t be. They would have passed by here about an hour ago,' the man replied fiercely. 

'You’re sure? You look like you’re hiking. But isn’t this area unsanctioned… No trails? How could you know they came here?' 

The man let out an impatient snort and said, 'Those ladies can smell food miles away. They would have found this diner, but it’s clean as a whistle,' he eyed her suspiciously. 'Are you cleared by the government to be here?' 

'Of course,' Clara smiled. 

'So, are you goin’ to tell me why you’re not on any map, then?' The man demanded, a fire edging up within him, determined to win. 

'We’re newly established,' Clara explained. 

The man shook his head, 'We have scouts every month who map out the areas for hikers like me. They cover every square inch of these woods. No diner was spotted last month, and there’s been no reports about construction.' 

'Well, maybe you’re onto something about us appearing out of nowhere,' Clara shrugged her shoulders, a smile growing on her face. 

The man felt a rush of heat swell into his face that had nothing to do with the tea he’d drunk. His hand curled into a fist. She was mocking him! So much for good manners… 

'Now, listen here,' he growled. 'I just came for some refreshments and a rest. I’m not here to have a chinwag.' 

'No? Looks like you could do with one. How long have you been wandering the wilderness?' Clara continued. 

The man snapped. He slammed his fist on the table counter and was shocked to see that the woman didn’t move an inch and merely wiped down his cup of tea and set it aside with a guarded expression. 

'I’m out of here,' he growled. 

He turned and yelped as he felt a sharp jab of pain, worse than ever shooting up his shin. 

'You need to rest. I can tend to your leg,' Clara pointed at the injured appendage. 

'Don’t be ridiculous. The whole point of this exercise is endurance,' the man snorted in derision, gritting his teeth. He was feeling like he made a big mistake coming here. 

'You don’t be ridiculous,' Clara admonished him. 'You’re not in any condition to travel. Besides, you’re part of the August scouting team. If you, say, stopped at a diner for a bit of a refreshment and then carried on and made it to settlement first, then there’s no one to tell on you. No one would ever know,' she smirked mischievously at him. 'Not bad. Now, come on. Sit, eat, drink, rest. What’s your name? Tell me what happened.' 

The man stared at her, bewildered. He could have sworn these women had been talking about flying and a Gallifrey and had, in fact, blended the fifties and twenty-first century. How on earth did they know all of this? 

'I don’t have to answer the likes of you,' he growled. 

'Sure,' Clara raised an eyebrow, unperturbed. 'Thought it was customary to introduce ourselves here on Earth, but maybe you’re not from this planet at all.' 

The man frowned. Was he being accused of being an alien? 

'Are you mocking me?' He snapped, taking a long draught of iced coffee, feeling the caffeine spark nerves and giving him energy like electricity flowing through him. 

'No.' 

He gave her an exasperated look. She clearly was, and was now lying to him. But she smiled at him, neutral and completely nonplussed with no sign that she was going to give up on her lie. And it was frustrating him immensely. What gave her the right to probe into his life? How had she known him being part of the August scouting team? Was she a spy? Was he about to get his license taken from him? Or was it just a lucky guess? 

'You all right?' 

Something about her kindness made him snap. 

'Why the hell should I trust you?' The man demanded. 

'Well, that’s a very good question, but I have a better one for you,' Clara smiled, leaning her elbows on the counter. 

'Which is?' He snapped, growing frustrated at her lack of cooperation or providing him any meaningful information without making him look like a total and complete dunce. 

'What were you running from?' Clara asked. 

The man gaped at her in astonishment. He’d thought she was going to ask about the woods, ask him to turn over a mobile that he didn’t have to call the camp headquarters, ask his name again — anything other than that. 

'The wilderness,' he replied blankly. 'That’s the whole point of the challenge, innit, which you would know if you were such an expert?' He glared at her.  

'Well, yes,' Clara nodded thoughtfully, completely unaffected by his hostility, which only annoyed him more. 'Except…'

'Except what?' The man demanded, too curious for his own good. 

'Well, you know the terms and conditions of your hiking expedition. And I know the customs of these events. And I know you’re off-track, out-of-bounds, which means you’re running from something,' she nodded confidently. 

The man chuckled loudly, sounding hoarse but there was a certain kind of strength to the sound as well. He felt an excitement rise up within him. Finally, he could beat this woman at her own game — arrogance, 'No, that’s not how that works. Camping for all monthly teams, including the August scouting team, has always been without boundaries. Only one checkpoint and that’s the end. No security, no protection, no tracking, no supplies. Everything’s free game.' 

Clara let out a laugh, and suddenly he felt a sharp jab of pain in his leg. He looked round and saw that she was using a cloth to wipe the grime and sweat off his leg and was tending it with a bandage. He’d been so focused on trying to not feel useless he hadn’t even noticed he’d laid out his leg and she was tending to it. 

'What are you? — Some kind of doctor?' He grumbled, unwilling to hide the fact that he was secretly pleased with the stubborn woman. 

'Don’t say that,' the other woman’s voice came from his right. She had returned. 

The man, despite his annoyances and many confusions about the duo, gulped. There was something about the way the other woman was looking at him that made him feel as though he were being X-rayed with precision. His joke felt attacked, laid bare and ripped into with derision, and he felt very unwelcome. 

The man had a sudden wary feeling that he shouldn’t turn his back on her, but it was far too late for that anyway and he kept his eyes glued on Clara. 

'Of a sort,' Clara smiled warmly at him in reply, and released the cloth, letting him wrap the bandage around his own leg. 

'Thanks,' he tested his leg on the ground and was relieved that the pain was lessened now. 'What did you do to it?' 

'Oh, you know, the old ‘turn it off, turn it on’ again,' Clara grinned at him. 

He frowned at her, puzzled. 

'I cleaned it out and added a bandage. Don’t put too much pressure on it. Definitely don’t run,’ she answered seriously, though she was still smiling for some reason. ‘What happened for you to be covered in all this dirt and grime? You’re completely drenched. Did you swim in mud?' She asked, jokingly. 

'Fell down a ravine,' he grunted. 

'There aren’t any ravines in this part of England,' Clara cut in immediately, as though she were a teacher lecturing him in class. It made him feel stupid, just as Roberta always had a way of making him feel. 'It’s just dense forest. So, what really happened?' 

The man looked up, bewildered. 'I fell down a ravine,' he repeated. 

'No, you didn’t. There’s no ravine. I’ve been here before, camping and hiking — obviously not in heels or converse — and I’ve also got maps of the terrain. It’s all trees and roots. Nothing to make you be covered in grime like that,' Clara replied sharply. 

'I’m not lying,' the man grit his teeth, feeling his temper rising again. 'I fell down a ravine! I remember it! I was walking, stepped in a bear trap, and —' 

'Bear trap?' Clara interrupted. 'For what? Trapping bears?' 

'Obviously,' the man sneered, unable to hold back his derision. 'Anyway, I stepped on it, and fell face-first into mud, which I can’t even clean because you haven’t got a bloody loo working' — though he accepted the towel from Clara and wiped himself off as cleanly as he could.  

'And you haven’t come across any streams or any water?' Clara asked. 

The man rolled his eyes. 

'I’m a trained hiker and scout. I think I know how to track down water. And don’t you dare tell me anything I said was off,' he added sharply as the waitresses’ mouth jaw twitched in anticipation of speaking. 'Look. I appreciate the drinks and the bandaging but I really should be off.' 

'But aren’t you the least bit curious why you don’t even remember falsely falling into a ravine?' Clara asked, straightening up. 

'No, he’s not,' the other woman cut in sharply, making the man jump. He’d forgotten she was there. 

'Yeah, what she said,' he tossed them both a disgusted look. 

Damn menaces, he thought. Trappin’ and trickin’ hikers and trying to play tricks on ‘em. A call to the Forestry Commission would set ‘em straight. 

And then he was off, limping away, muttering under his breath. 

'Clara!' The woman — Me — turned to her. 'What was that about?' 

Clara was only half-listening, her gaze on the back of the stranger. He seemed to really believe what he was saying even if all of the evidence pointed against his claims. Then again, he’d figured out that a fifties American diner couldn’t logically be in the middle of England without being on any maps, even surmising they’d appeared out of nowhere. He was clearly in denial… or false memories were in play was her guess. 

Clara hadn’t known about the changes to the hiking expeditions. No limits? No checkpoints? Just the start and end for a whole month? That wasn't hiking. That was impractical, reckless, and unwise. It sounded like a way for a lot of hiking accidents to happen and if they signed a contract with no limits and fatalities occurred, no one would be blamed or investigated. Something reeked of trouble and mystery here. 

Still, despite his occasional insight, he was still remarkably in denial. And from her experience, people in denial were holding secrets and secrets led to trouble and trouble meant adventure. 

'No,' Me spoke coldly. 

'No, what?' Clara looked over at her, innocently, eyes widening. 

'I’m not the Doctor. That won’t work on me,' Me sniffed half-derisively, half-sympathetically. 'I know you intend to help that man, or figure out what mystery is abroad.' 

Clara grinned, 'So you admit there’s a mystery.' 

Me sighed, 'What did you pick up on exactly?' 

'That man’s lying. He’s got to be,' Clara said at once, her brain firing into teacher analysis mode. 

'Yes, I noticed that too. What did I miss that makes you so intrigued about this?' Me asked. 

Clara smirked, and sat Me down at a nearby red booth, laying her palms against the table excitedly, 'Okay, many things. First, why have the policies changed? Normally there’s tons of checkpoints, maps given, compasses, water, food. Loads of provisional stuff to get them through and make sure they survive. He said there’s only the next checkpoint, which I think is the end. He’s got no supplies, and no idea where to go.' 

'Well, it is an expedition trip, is it not?' Me asked logically. 

'Yes,' Clara pointed at her excitedly. 'Exactly my point. Things have changed. He’s trained to find water, but he can’t. So…' She beamed at Me, thrilled at the mystery brewing before them. 

'So, what?' Me queried. 

'So, why’s he covered in mud? What is mud if not wet dirt?' Clara grinned. 'If there’s not water anywhere, no traces of it, essentially a drought, then how did he fall into mud? Why’s he covered in it? And you scanned the terrain, didn’t you?' She jerked her head back towards the TARDIS console. 

Me nodded, reluctantly, 'There are no ravines, no checkpoints for miles. I’m not even sure there is a checkpoint, only the start location.' 

Those words chilled Clara to the bone. 

'Someone or something’s hunting them,' she said. 

Me looked warily at her. 

'Hunting humans is barbaric and is not something to be joked about in a vain effort for adventure and distraction from returning to — ' 

'Oh, but hasn’t it?' Clara felt sparks rise up within her gut in excitement, adrenaline pumping through her veins. 'We had gladiators —' 

'Terrible dinner guests.' 

'— witch trials -'

'One of my least favourite time periods,' Me sniffed. 

'- police,' Clara finished, not minding the interruptions. 

'But not like this. Not in the wild,' Me finished, eyeing Clara as though trying to read her mind. 

'Trafficking,' Clara looked at Me seriously. 'Taking humans, displacing them to a place where they can’t speak the language, and then extorted for life. Don’t you tell me that humans aren’t capable of being barbaric.’

Something in Me’s eyes flashed, which Clara had learned to be recognition. Given that Me had finite memory, she didn’t remember all time periods equally, but she had done her best studying some Earth history since their trip from the end of the universe. Clara truly didn’t know why she’d chosen twenty-first century England but something about it felt right… or wrong… depending on your point of view. 

'And where has The Doctor been for that?' Me asked sharply. 

Clara stifled a small sad smile and replied, 'He helps where and when he can. He breathes our air, calls our planet home, but he can’t be everywhere, every time, all at once. Besides, you don’t really think if we stopped doing it once, we’d stop forever, do you?' She asked, thinking of a million tragedies that humans repeated. 

Me didn’t answer. Clara suspected Me had witnessed it firsthand and her body somehow remembered even if she hadn’t refreshed her diary entries. And the truth of the matter was that The Doctor had protected Earth several times, saved them from aliens and themselves. And it was complicated. It had made all the difference in the world to some, and to others, they hadn’t even known it had happened. 

And Clara was certain that if the world knew everything the Doctor had done for them that it would open its heart full of love, see the nature of embracing diversity rather than shunning it, and ridiculing and outlawing cruel and corrupt forms of government. That all of humanity could stand together against a greater evil: fear. They needed The Doctor to teach them to be brave, a new way of living, just like Clara aspired to do right here in this TARDIS. Her journey wasn’t over yet… That leaf still hadn’t touched the ground… Not yet. 

'What are you thinking?' Me asked, and Clara knew she was referring to the new events on Earth they’d stumbled onto. 

'I think he did fall into a ravine,' Clara replied thoughtfully. 

'But there’s no —' 

'Ravine, I know,' Clara finished knowledgably. 'But what if he did? Somehow. What if he fell into a ravine and there was mud and then he was returned with his memories gone or altered or something?' 

Me studied Clara with a mix of intrigue and apprehension. 

'Is this what travelling with the Doctor is like?' Me asked. 

A sharp pang of longing weighed on Clara’s heart — still stone cold and silent — no heartbeat, but if she had one, then it would beat for the Doctor, always. 

'Yes.' 

Her voice sounded so unfamiliar, like it wasn’t her own. 

'You miss it. You miss him.' 

It wasn’t a question. 

Clara bit her lip, and distracted herself by getting up and examining the dirt trekked on the floor and the mud on the towel she’d given him, hiding her face crumpling in despair — 'There’s one thing I know about her. Just one thing. If I met her again, I would absolutely know' — her eyes welling with tears, only to be blinked away like a windshield wiper swiping snowflakes or rain or memories. 

'Do you want me to clean it?' 

Clara blinked and looked up to see Me grabbing a mop and making way to get rid of the trekked muddy footsteps that the man left behind. 

'Wait,' Clara held up a hand to stop her. 'If something’s wrong in time, we should do something about it.' 

'Should we?' Me asked stubbornly. 'You haven’t forgotten what happened last time someone tried to change something they believed was wrong?' 

Clara half-smiled in exasperation, 'Yes, Me. I remember about two minutes ago when The Doctor nearly destroyed all of Time and Space because he missed me. This isn’t that. Time is done with its temper tantrum, The Doctor’s forgotten my face, and now we’re here. This is our fresh start, Me. We can still help. More than one Doctor in the universe.' 

'That’s not ideal,' Me replied. 

Clara smiled. She admired Me’s bluntness. It was her usual directness and logic that greatly helped and that Clara valued as a companion. 

'No, it isn’t,' Clara agreed. 'But that’s why I have you, right? You’ll keep me in check,' she grinned mischievously at Me. 

'You are not easy to reason with,' Me voiced warily. 

'No, I’m not,' Clara crossed her arms with a sly smile. 'That won’t be a problem, will it?' 

'No,' Me answered. 'But I will act as your companion as someone who cares for you, and does not want to see you shatter your own timeline.' 

'Already done that once, and I survived,' Clara remarked. 

'That was chance. You may not be so lucky next time,' Me warned. 

'Yeah, that’s my point. I survived by chance. I was impossible. So now, I better use that chance for something good, right? Something meaningful, because I’m not going to waste it, not when we have a TARDIS and the universe cries out for help. Look where we landed. This is no coincidence,' Clara declared. 

She could see the doubt mingled with strong amounts of curiosity in Me’s face. 

'I can’t just stand by and do nothing,' Clara insisted, feeling determination well up within her. 

'If you die —' Me started in that familiar cautionary nagging tone. 

'I won’t. I know where I end up,' Clara replied. 

Clara looked sharply at Me, making sure to keep her gaze level and certain. She knew that she wasn’t afraid. But she could do so much more — and she wasn’t going to let death stop her. 

She had stepped forwards and said, 'Let me be brave' - the fact that it had been less than a day was mind boggling to her — but now that she had all of time and space at her fingertips… Tomorrow wasn’t always promised, and she knew that for sure as she knew she was standing in her TARDIS. And tomorrow was ages from now, because as The Doctor had said the day that they had gone to Skaro, she may die tomorrow but it was still today. Today wasn’t owed to her either and certainly not with a Chronolock on the back of her neck. But with a TARDIS, she was still the impossible girl, not born to save the doctor, but born to die to save Time and the universe… to save the Doctor from himself… to remind him to be The Doctor… 

And her eyes welled at the thought of him once more — 'There’s one thing I know about her. Just one thing. If I met her again, I would absolutely know.' 

'Run, you clever boy, and remember me.' 

'Remember yourself,' she whispered, inaudible. 

Doctor, oh, Doctor. I hope you are well and being kind and not being a warrior. I hope you’ve found someone who has helped you and reminded you to heal yourself and be a Doctor. 

But she stared as resolutely as possible into the eyes of her doubtful companion. 

'Fine,' Me nodded stiffly, setting aside the mop against the counter. 'But we will discuss this later.' 

Clara did not pursue the matter and knelt to the diner floor, examining the dirt and mud. Her and Me gathered samples and brought them to the TARDIS main control room with its white sloping hexagonal control console. They inserted the samples, initialising analysis tests based on everything Clara had learned from the Doctor as well as Me reading and double-checking the control panel and twiddling switches and buttons. While Me grabbed a few historically relevant journals, Clara took a lap around the middle console and engine, eyeing the vertical-lined strips of light and the white round things — apparently called roundels that led access to wiring circuitry or storage units, according to Me and her handbook — unable to believe it. 

She had died just moments ago. It seemed an eternity that she was watching the raven dive at her, the Doctor reaching his hand out to save her, and his eyes… God, his eyes… He was so lost, so hurt, so relieved and scared to see her at the same time. He’d told her all about the Hybrid, the confession dial, the torture, the madness, the loneliness… The wrath of the Time Lords. The anger and hatred she’d felt boiling through her, threatening to topple her when she confronted them in the Cloisters. The fear and defiance at having her memory wiped against her will… 

She would have accepted it, if the device had chosen her, erased her memory of the Doctor, as long as they did it together. They had both gone too far, violating each other’s words, their trust — and they had fallen together too. But seeing the Doctor collapsing, fighting consciousness and memory because she had been so reckless and defiant…

Her guilt had thundered in the sound of the Doctor playing Clara and the engines of the TARDIS from the end of universe. She knew what it was: It was a warning. A reminder that her death was fixed. A constant reminder why the two of them couldn’t be together: for her to die, and for him to forget. Because selfishness was never kind, Clara knew. Not when anger and fear or even other emotions were behind it… Because selfishness meant the Doctor had become the Hybrid — and Clara Oswald made him so very selfish. 

Clara led the way out of the diner, looking for the man. He had been gravely injured and hadn’t bothered to mention his name, so unfortunately, she didn’t have a name to call out to. He couldn’t have gone far… His leg was still strained, and she’d only helped by cleaning the wound. He had miles to go. He had to be around here somewhere. 

Once Me walked out the diner, Clara flipped the sign to read  ‘CLOSED’ on the window front. 

'Not sure if that’s necessary,' Clara remarked, more to herself than anyone. 'People don’t really like fifties American diners, do they?' 

'I never underestimate the human need for food that decreases their arterial width,' Me replied matter-of-factly. 'And they are quite nostalgic of what they believe are the old times.' 

'Best keep the sign up,' Clara decided. 

'I still think it’s an inconvenient design,' Me remarked conversationally. 

'What would you prefer? Sixties blue police box?' Clara grinned, pocketing the key. 

'At least there’s the perception filter,' Me sighed. 

'Speaking of which, if there was a perception filter and even if the sign did say closed before, then how did that man see the diner for what it really was? Shouldn’t it be as inconspicuous as possible?' Clara asked, raising a finger to her chin, and scanning the trees for any sign of motion. 

'If you wanted the TARDIS to take the form of a tree, you’d have to repair the chameleon circuit,' Me responded logically. 

'No fun,' Clara grinned, her eyes landing on some pushed aside foliage — exactly the type a stumbling man with leg pain might leave behind. 'There.' 

Clara and Me made their way through the thicket of branches and bushes, pushing them aside. Clara stepped over roots and ducked under leaves making sure to keep her eyes forward, studying their path forwards and the disturbed forestry. As they kept walking, a terrible stench filled the air. Her nose wrinkled, but she pushed on forwards. He had to be somewhere close. 

'Clara,' Me spoke, and she felt a tug on her arm. 

Clara turned and her eyes widened. To their right was an entirely devastated ecosystem. A small area of forest was drained of colour and vibrancy, looking grey and dull like concrete against the rest of the luscious green trees. Dead rabbits lay at the base of a few stumps, their eyes wide and horrified and mouths gaping at the sight of whatever had killed them. 

Clara swallowed in horror, looking around wildly for any sign of danger. 

'Are there any historical records of this? Do you have any memories of this?' Clara asked Me, her eyes scanning their surroundings. 

She knew the man was out there somewhere and that these animals were dead, but they also needed information. 

Me took out her journal, scanning to the twenty-first century. As she read, her brows furrowed, twitched, and lifted as though watching a stop-motion film through time. 

'No,' was the reply, confirming Clara’s suspicion, and that only made her more worried. 

'Me, if something’s wrong, then we have to help,' Clara insisted, though her heart was soft and beating with anger as she stared at the animals. They had clearly suffered. 

Who would do such a thing? She thought, angrily. 

'I don’t understand,' Me looked around at the scene. 'There’s nothing important here —' 

'All life is important,' Clara cut in. 'It’s important because they were killed.' 

'Clara — '

'And don’t you dare tell me otherwise,' she continued, getting a bit heated at Me’s argumentative practicality. 'Just because they’re not human doesn’t mean their lives aren’t worth something.' 

'You don’t need to tell me that,' Me cut in sharply. 'Now, if you’re done, I have something to tell you.' 

Clara turned her full attention to the woman, 'What is it?' She asked, pushing aside some branches as Me gestured her a bit closer to the rotting smell. 'They’re not zombies, are they?' She joked. 

'I will never understand human propensity for the concept of the undead,' Me replied in her vaguely irritated tone. 

Clara guessed for an immortal human-Mire hybrid, Me didn’t exactly care for jokes involving humans living beyond their normal age. 

Understandable, she thought. 

'Okay, so what is it then?' She asked seriously. 

'It is funny that you mention zombies though. I’d almost think they were, but…' 

'But?' Clara echoed. 

'For zombies they’d have to be dead,' Me replied. 

Cogs turned in Clara’s brain, slowly comprehending and she turned her head towards Me, 'Wait, you’re saying…' 

'They’re still alive,' Me whispered. 

Both women stared in the eyes of the horrified animals, mouths wide open agape as though screaming in pain. Knowing they were alive made it worse — they probably were screaming in pain, frozen, suffering, and unable to do anything about it. Clara’s face crumpled, a mix of empathy and sickness swirling in her gut. 

'Who could do such a thing?' Clara whispered. 

But instead of Me, an answer came from feeling the unmistakable round cold metal of a gun being pushed against the back of her head and a cold voice, saying —  

'Funny, I was just about to ask you two the same thing.'

Chapter Text

ONE

CLARA OSWALD 

Clara Oswald woke up in sky-blue jammies decorated with white clouds and a brilliant smile that spread across her face as light and easy as a soufflé rising in the oven. 

She yawned, pushing her covers back, and hopping into the shower, soon rushing out, brushing her hair. Taking a look in the mirror, she saw a petite woman with what most would call an unusually round face, dark brown eyes, and wavy brown hair parted to the right travelling just past her shoulders. Today, she’d decided to wear a white blouse complemented by black blazer, trousers, and six-inch heels. Clara made sure to dress nice and put on her best attire given she looked good and she wanted others to know it too. 

Others would say she had a mediocre job as an astrophysicist, and, well, who cares what other people think?, she would retort back with a derisive snort. She was Clara Oswald, one of a kind, and not just anybody could be an astrophysicist. 

Besides, Clara had always dreamed of the celestial bodies up and beyond them, thinking of the world beyond Earth. She had always seen the stars and dreamed of travelling amongst them faster than the speed of light. So, really, what did the opinions of a few downers matter in the infinite expanse of space and time? 

Clara’s lips curled upwards with a mischievous, uplifting, and untempered spirit. One way — guaranteed — to make her excited for her job was daydreaming productively while also ensuring that she knew everything that was going on, which would allow her to predict and react accordingly. 

Nothing ever happened without Clara Oswald hearing about it, and that was just the way she liked it. 

In a way, as an astrophysicist and monitoring top secret satellite projects, she was in command of the entirety of humanity’s perception of the universe and it was maddening. Thinking of the impossibilities of the universe and how she, among every event of space and time, was here today… It was a privilege, and she wanted nothing more than to delve into every impossibility and embrace them. 

She raced downstairs and grabbed some breakfast and stuffing a bagel in her mouth as her phone rang. She removed the bagel in order to answer, 'Clara.' 

'Ms Oswald, your limo awaits.' 

'Right, thank you, Steven.' 

Clara locked the door behind her and finished her bagel as she took the lift down. She pushed open the double doors of the building, pulling on a long shawl around her shoulders and a pair of black shades over her eyes, shielding them from the creeping rising sun. 

Tap, tap, tap, tap. 

Clara looked around. A frequent bus occupant, a college professor from Mexico wearing a red backpack, tapped his foot while listening to an iPod at a bus stop. She waved at him and he smiled in return. About the same time she’d started her work, she’d seen him also always out by 0735 as they both waited for their rides. He was part of her routine, but they’d never had a chance to talk given they were both in a rush and didn’t want to be late. 

Buses blurred by in a flash of red in front of her — VOTE.

'No, Leo, I can’t come right now. Call Martha. I have that pre-interview with Lazarus Laboratories. I gotta go. No, Leo!' a Black woman in all black was saying, her demeanor cross before hanging up. 

Siblings, Clara thought. 

'Good luck,' Clara remarked vaguely after her, earning a partially confused but grateful smile from the woman before she scurried off in a rush. 

Feeling spontaneous, Clara waved across the street at the bus stop bloke, ‘Hey, bus boy! My name’s Clara!’ 

His mouth fell open, stunned, clearly not expecting that, but didn’t have time to warrant a response when his bus pulled up and he was forced to board. 

Grinning, happy to cause miniscule amounts of confusion and chaos in people’s daily lives — but nothing remarkably inconvenient — Clara enjoyed it because they were proof of her existence. Her touching the web of space and time, plucking at the web, vibrations cascading down, affecting the future. Even now Clara as she walked across the road, with all the black cabs, the red buses, and the red telephone boxes, she could be changing the future. It was so small and little compared to space, which was so vast, but why should that mean that Earth or Clara or humanity were lesser or not important?  

It was all so very exciting and maddening and thrilling. After all, no one really cared about every little moment. And yet — every little moment led to right here right now. None of it was little, if you really thought about it. 

Honk, honk! 

Turning, Clara spotted the limousine waiting for her, and entered, smiling to herself. It never got old. 

'Hello, Marvin,' Clara called as she settled onto the black leather seats. 

'Ms Owald,' the unseen driver replied from behind the screen divider. 

'It’s Clara. Seriously, how many times do I have to tell you?' Clara rolled her eyes exasperatedly behind her shades. 

'As you wish, Ms Clara.' 

Clara let out a cheeky huff, lying down on the elongated seats leaving her sunglasses on. She stared up at the roof of the vehicle through the tinted lens, imagining this was what space felt like. And, for good measure, she crossed her legs, finding her usual comfortable position for travel. 

In case it wasn’t clear, Clara Oswald was an enigma of importance in modern day London. Though no one would ever know it with her 'menial' job, she hadn’t missed the pointing and gasps of the onlookers at the sight of the limo and its mysterious occupant whom no one seemed to know anything about — The Mystery Girl, they’d come to call her. 

'What do you think of that then?' Admiral Bernard Wright had asked when he’d read about it in the paper. He was a geriatric and had been none the wiser to the online blogs about her until it had come up in the paper beneath the ridiculous election. 

'Bit lame, unoriginal,' Clara had shrugged, blunt as always. 

Bernard Wright was an elderly former soldier who had fought in both World War I and II, who stubbornly clung to tradition and would not follow the propaganda of change. It had been by chance that they’d met. Wright had been speaking at an event at the British National Museum and had required CPR, while Clara was a teacher at Gayhurst Primary School supervising the students for a field trip. Clara had jumped into action, calming down and calling upon her students to assist her while she administered chest compressions and saved his life. And, furthermore, while he recovered on the sidelines, she continued his presentation to the concerned audience without a beat, earning thundering applause from her class and the crowd. 

Astrophysicist major, history minor… It paid off, just as she knew it would. They were, of course, her two favourite subjects. Space: the biggest and most expansive area of research, and history: events of the past selectively recorded which meant that anything could have happened given humans’ inherent tendency for bias and justification when recounting their actions on record. Infinite space and time. What a dream. What an impossible dream … fitting then, for an impossible girl. 

Wright’s political views were fairly Tory-leaning but he still showed remarkable scepticism of all parties and critiquing them appropriately. But the thing that stood out most to Clara about him was his stance against the one that all parties had turned to like some ominous prophet — 

Harold Saxon. 

Clara didn’t know why, but she didn’t trust him. She just didn’t. She saw the crowds corralling and calling, 'Vote for Saxon.' She heard the sound in the way people walked, their fingers tapping, the cadence of their voices — tap, tap, tap, tap. 

And it drove her mad, like a fly that she couldn’t swat, buzzing incessantly without a moment’s peace. But there was something hypnotic about it even, like a fly on a painting — incessant madness but unable to swat it for fear of damaging the peeling oil painting of… Well, Clara didn’t know. Something awesome though, for sure. 

And maybe all this made her sound even more barmy, but she could have sworn that they sounded like drums, beating a rhythm into London, unshakable like an ear worm or a really good song that you couldn’t get out of your head. But truth be told, she didn’t care what people thought about her. 

And the sound did not affect Clara Oswald. She heard it, sure, but she didn’t listen to it. And she wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but it almost sounded like a heartbeat, like something she learned in some biology lessons… She knew fish had two-chambered hearts and that octopi — no, not octopuses — had three hearts, but it was almost combining those concepts… The sound of two hearts beating… Nothing in nature but not impossible. 

Either way, she found the sound incredibly annoying and pulled on ear plugs. She heard it from devices, every telly she’d come across, phones, the people… It was maddening and deafening, only growing louder. She’d learned to tune it out, but sometimes it was overwhelming. 

She’d asked some people like Sharon — Wright’s schoolmarm stubborn argumentative Tory assistant who’d stayed loyally with him when everyone else had left for Saxon — but the woman had just insisted that Clara was barking mad and needed to have children with a nice young man. Clara had responded in kind by saying that Sharon needed to read more and get off her bloody phone and realize that women could make their own choices independent of men. Clara may have also shared that she had a girlfriend and that Sharon should stop being so small-minded and conservative and that identities beyond heterosexuality were not only possible but spectacularly alive and thriving. Clara had then promptly ducked at the coffee mug chucked at her from across the room. That woman had arms and a temper if nothing else. 

Back in the limousine, Clara smirked as she remembered that Sharon had gotten suspended, who whined and begged with Wright, but Clara was his favourite so he had suspended her. Today, Sharon was permitted to return to work, but knowing her, she’d be stuffing her grey-haired head into her pillow and covers, moping, and not showing her face. Sharon hated Clara a bit too much to be paid. Not to mention, Sharon was a complete arse to Clara’s friends and girlfriend, so really… No complaints from Clara Oswald. 

'You should let her go,' Clara had told him for the hundredth time. 

'And tell me why I shouldn’t do that with you?' Wright asked, disgruntled and peeved. 

Clara replied loftily, 'Because I’m irreplaceable.' 

'That so?' Wright pulled out a pipe from his tweed suit out of habit. 

Clara was quick as lightning and stole it between his fingers, tossing it into the rubbish bin, and replied without missing a beat, 'Damn right.' 

In short, Clara had no idea why Wright kept her around given she was exceptionally annoying to him. A complete drag, criticizing him constantly, and never letting him have an inch: Clara Oswald always had to win. She didn’t even like him that much, but something allowed her to tolerate him… and likely, his military access to London’s greatest observatory, telescopes, and meteorological facilities probably had a little something to do with that. 

Clara sat up, hearing the gate outside the car swing open, and saw the car pull up to the dullest grey building you could imagine. 

The first time they’d come across it, Clara had questioned it — 'Seriously? A grey box?' 

'Secrets underground, miss,' Steven had told her. 

'Ah,' Clara smiled, catching on. 'Secret space bunker. But how do the telescopes work, then? Aren’t those better pointing towards the sky?' 

'You’re mouthy,' the driver had noted dryly. 

'Inquisitive,' Clara corrected him. 

'You won’t last a month…' 

Well, three months later, Clara was deeply entwined with the program and was dating one of her coworkers which somehow hadn’t gotten her sacked — not that Clara was complaining. Being at such a high-ranking isolated position, she heard about all adjustments made, the coordinates telescopes were pointed to, all the air traffic, space programs, everything. And all she had to do was sign a piece of paper saying she wouldn’t tell a soul? No problem. 

But The Mystery Girl blogger had her ways. 

'Did you see this? She’s posted again, saying aliens exist and nonsense,' Steven exclaimed now. 

'Who could that be, then?' Clara asked, departing from the limo and leaning down into the passenger seat to speak directly to him. 

Steven was an Irish middle-aged man with cropped ginger hair, freckles, and a round doughy face. He always wore distinguished navy suits with frog cufflinks. 

She’d questioned the frogs with raised eyebrows, not judging, just curious, and he’d told her a story about how he and his brothers had caught frogs in the lake, trying to see who could catch the most. She hadn’t quite known how to respond to that, and merely nodded with a puzzled frown. 

'You’re one of the only women on staff,' Steven repeated his usual sentiment. ‘You could be the Mystery Girl blogger.’

'Me?' Clara laughed like she always did when he brought it up. 'I’m working here full-time. I don’t have time to manage a blog. Who knows? Maybe it’s Sharon.' 

'Sharon Hart couldn’t work a computer if she had step-by-step instructions next to her,' Steven snorted derisively. 

'Hey,' Clara arched an eyebrow at him with a warning look, tilting her head. 'I made her that step-by-step manual and trust me, she doesn’t even know how to turn the bloody thing on. I think she only stays for Qananii’s coffee. That, or she fancies Andrew. With her technological skillset' — or lack thereof — 'it’s a good thing Wright’s so old-fashioned. For her, I mean.' 

'Admiral Wright,' Steven corrected automatically. 

Clara shrugged. 

'So you think Sharon’s writing it down on paper and what? Getting someone else to type it out on a blog?' Steven asked keenly. 

'What a conspiracy theorist, you are, Steven. Who would have known?' Clara leaned out of the limo with a sly smile and made for the building. 

She pulled out her key card, swiping it, a light going green green, and completing her eye scan. 

Clara entered and took several complicated twists and turns and headed to the front desk. Easy place to get lost, designed like that to prevent infiltration. 

'Morning, Andrew,' she called to the front desk worker. 

'Morning, Clara. Still think people voting for Saxon are mad, do you?' 

'Always,' she smiled wryly at him. 

Andrew was an Asian-British bloke with Thai roots, in his thirties was providing for his family. He had a springy figure to him and an energy that Clara found endearing. His hair was short and parted unevenly to the left and he wore a black suit for work. Even though his and Wright’s political ideals differed, him being more LibDem, he enjoyed the modest well-paid work. Clara and Andrew got along fairly well, especially with his capacity for imagination, and they regularly ate lunch together along with Qananii. 

Clara waved farewell at him and proceeded into a subsequent lift, providing her card swipe, finger scan, and eye scan this time. She went downwards to the café — 'Morning, Qananii!' She greeted the woman at the counter. 

Qananii was a lesbian Oromo woman from Ethiopia with high cheekbones. Her hair was styled in long raven twists that travelled below her waist, and she was wearing a long red dress rippling down to the floor and tall black boots that went up to her calves. Clara positively adored her, having  dated her for two months, and stood on her tip toes to hug her. 

They had met when Clara had joined the program and bonded over their love of coffee, space, and sharing their hobbies. Qananii had an incredible knowledge of history and biochemistry, while Clara taught English. Not to mention, Qananii was the only person who knew that Clara also worked another job teaching kids. And most importantly, she, like Clara, had an extreme love for adventure and risk-taking, and they were both control freaks. 

'Morning, Clara!' Qananii beamed at her, untangling herself from her short girlfriend and gesturing towards the coffee maker behind her. 'Usual?'

'You know me,' Clara grinned, handing her a five pound note. 

'Did you hear that Professor Lazarus is coming in a few days?' Qananii asked as she prepared Clara’s cappuccino. 

'Yeah, on the streets,' Clara nodded, leaning against the counter, looking around at the small cafe and the assorted baked goods on the racks in front of her, taking in the smells. 

'Oh, look at you. Is noble Clara Oswald able to walk the streets of humanity now?' Qananii grinned, turning around and handing her the black round mug. 

'Yeah, I suppose I can afford it,’ Clara giggled offhandedly with a small chuckle. ‘Thank you!’ She added, taking the mug and cupping it between her hands to warm them up. 'What’s the deal with Lazarus, anyway? Based on the Bible?' 

'I don’t know. He’s invented something, I’ve heard. Something about reversing age,' Qananii explained. She eyed Clara’s hands. ‘Sweetheart, if you wanted to warm up your hands, I could hold them all day.’ 

‘Oh, I wish, but trust me. You don’t want to see Sharon… if she chances work today, you never know with her.’ 

They shared a grimace, despising Sharon’s attitude and general ineptitude as Clara took a sip of her coffee. She let out an affirming humming noise. 

'Good?' Qananii smirked, leaning on the table against her hands. 

'Brilliant,' Clara corrected. 'Right,' she grinned at her girlfriend, gave her a small smooch on the lips, and waved. 'I should be off.' 

'Give Sharon flack for me,' Qananii called after her. 

'If I see her, you got it,' Clara grinned as she twirled around and carried on through the labyrinthine passages down to air control. 

By the time Clara reached the room, she had finished her coffee, leaving the mug on the used dishes tray at 0800 — the same as every day she’d worked here. 

Clara headed into the room full of dark consoles and lights, and flight trajectories of all spacecraft, aircraft and recent starcharts. She sat in the big wheely leather chair and got to work, relieving Ian — a shy, awkward Welsh bloke — from duty, pressing buttons and dialing in, monitoring the skies. 

She’d learned that the bunker held high resolution telescopes, snapping shots of the skies at all times, hence the consistent need for monitoring. The bunker had telescopes a few miles from here taking clear 4K shots of the sky among the ones from space probes, like Voyager. 

Clara set off to work, checking the aeroplanes, ensuring they were on flight and not set to crash into one another. Next, she observed the space probe data — she knew it would take years and any data she was seeing now was from a while ago, but marvelled at the emptiness and the occasional streaks of brilliant colours. Third, she looked up star charts, working on mapping areas of the galaxy, wheeling around and gathering massive sheets of paper like wallpaper, rules, her favourite black fine-tip pen — the more precise the better — and her favourite protractor to measure angles and distances between stars. 

By 1100, she was kneeling on the ground, drawing celestial objects keeping all appropriate in relation to one another, and of course, they weren’t to scale. 

'Clara,' Andrew knocked on the door and she looked up, her long brown hair whipping upwards. 'Ready for lunch?' 

'It’s not 1205, give me a second,' Clara checked the clock on the wall, and went back to work, Andrew standing at the door. 

'You and Qananii are so alike,' Andrew shook his head in disbelief. 

'What can I say? We both love our jobs. And I love hers too. Qananii has an import license, so we get some of the best coffee in the world.' 

'You keep saying that, and I keep not getting it,' Andrew sounded in disbelief. 

'Dedication to cacao beans,' Clara answered easily. 

Her watch beeped, signalling it was 1205. 

'Okay, let’s —' 

But she was cut off by something she spotted on the screens. 

'What?' Andrew asked from behind, cluelessly. 

Clara side-stepped and pointed at the meteorological screens, showing orange and yellow swirling build-up readings. 

'What’s that mean?' Andrew asked, bewildered, stepping into the room. 

'Electrical storm,' Clara explained. 

'I thought today was sunny,' Andrew frowned. 

'It is. It’s still sunny, and the area’s gathering electric charge, but…' Clara frowned. 

'What? But — what?'

'That’s impossible…' Clara muttered under her breath. 

Clara ran a few diagnostic tests on cloud formation, precipitation, and electrical readings, her fingers flying across the buttons. She ran the results against past historical weather updates. 

'So… what does that mean?' Andrew queried into the silence and Clara’s racing mind. 

'Thunderstorms or electrical storms are based on electrons, negatively-charged particles, building up in clouds and then they create lightning within clouds and the ground because of the protons, positively-charged particles, there,' Clara informed him, her mind racing with the impossiblities. 

'Opposites attract and it creates lightning, then thunder, basically,' Andrew summarised. 

'Yeah, basically.' 

'Did that hurt to say?' 

'Little bit,' Clara’s mouth twitched in inauthentic irritation. 

'So, what’s the problem?' 

'Well, an electrical storm means it should be generating mini-thunderstorms or at least low pressure systems causing clouds and precipitation but it’s still sunny and there’s no changes in pressure…' 

'Then, how are we seeing it on the screens?' 

'Well, you know Wright —'

'Admiral Wright.' 

‘Yeah, that’s the one. He values his pre-technology times and traditional customs. Won’t stand for anything that involves digital code, within reason.' 

Some higher authority had permitted Wright military access to this site. It was for the most part abandoned due to his distaste of technology, but because he kept Clara around and she wanted access to this site, she came here as a hobby that she deemed 'full-time work.' Either way, they did need computers for analysis, no matter how much Wright shook his fist and complained, but it was all off-grid on a separate network. 

In short, Clara wanted a technological hub to monitor space activity, and for some reason, Wright allowed her to use it for some downtime. 

Clara continued, 'So, we use telescopes that take photos, old-fashioned. Weather companies use technologically-assisted telescopes with artificial magnification, programming, and summaries. Just a bunch of humans pressing buttons to run algorithms and predict weather and they put a pretty face on the news so humans feel more relevant.’  

'Cynical,' Andrew was frowning, she could sense it. 

She turned and saw that she was right, and shrugged, 'Realistic humour.' 

'Don’t you also press a bunch of buttons on a computer too?' 

'Well, yeah,' Clara laughed. 

'I don’t understand. If it can’t be picked up by satellites, then how are we picking it up?'

'That’s the mystery,' Clara grinned at him, swaying slightly on the spot. 

'What’s that?' Andrew pointed at something behind her. 

Clara turned and frowned. She rushed forwards, spotting a black object above, not immediately marked with a country’s flag designating human property. 

'Hmm,' she mused. 

'What is that?' Andrew repeated, voicing her thoughts. 

'I dunno. Give me a sec,' Clara tapped a complicated series of buttons in succession, turning a few dials, and enhancing the image on the screens. 

The shape was odd… rounded… almost like a ship. 

Clara ran it against international aircraft models. A few seconds of beeping later — 

ZERO MATCHES FOUND. 

'Clara?' He asked, for a big smile had spread across her face. 'What is it?' 

'Something awesome.' 

∘ — ∘⟡∘ — ∘

MARTHA JONES

Martha Jones leaned against the wall next to her brother’s flat, taking a few deep breaths. 

Don’t get her wrong, she loved Mum, Dad, Tish, and Leo, but they really got on her nerves sometimes. Always complaining to her, expecting her to solve their problems, listening to them ranting without a care about her. And she knew they loved her, but she felt so… well… invisible. Like she didn’t matter. But she knew that she did, in her heart. 

She spent a few more moments to herself before knocking on Leo’s flat. 

The door opened and her younger brother’s stressed face appeared, 'Martha, thank God!' 

'What’s wrong, Leo? Couldn’t you have called or something?' Martha asked begrudgingly, but she entered all the same. 

She waved loftily at Leo’s girlfriend and their six-month old baby on an armchair. Looking around, the flat was messy as always, as it often was with a baby present. Toys scattered, a crib, door to their bedroom, and the bathroom. Her reflection caught in the mirror, seeing a slightly-disguised bitter smile across her face and she found that she didn’t have the heart to change it. She also saw her favourite red leather jacket wrapped around her shoulders with glimpses of her burgundy blouse underneath, blue jeans, and black elevated boots. 

'No, I need your help,' Leo said quickly. 'And it’s not like you have anything else to do.' 

The words stung Martha as she recalled that Mr Stoker, the high and almighty Medical Training Lead at Royal Hope Hospital had sent a very scathing voicemail saying she was no longer qualified to study as a medical student. Martha had protested and fought back, calling to see if Julie Swales — her good mate — had been terminated, but there hadn’t been a response. Needless to say, her efforts had been like rain bouncing off an umbrella. 

A few moments later, when Leo had called, Martha hadn’t had any reason not to answer… She could work on applying to other hospitals, but she felt disheartened and readily answered her brothers’ summons, aimless and lost. He didn’t even know she’d had her position terminated… He was just assuming that she had nothing better to do than help him, and that stung a bit.  

Martha had always wanted to be a doctor, having seen people in pain, wanting to help people and make them better. It was her duty, and true, she was a medical student, so she wasn’t really a doctor yet… And yet, she couldn’t think of any other path. She reassured herself this was a temporary setback, but it didn’t stop her from feeling lost, stranded and floundering for shore. 

'So, what’s going on?' Martha asked, quickly changing the subject, stuffing her hands in her jacket. Normally, she’d be at Royal Hope Hospital right now in her white doctor’s coat, but not anymore… 

They were supposed to be a group of medical students that Mr Stoker would be personally teaching in a supply room for a few days, and then they’d move on to test their knowledge against real patients. Martha was hoping that she could get both in, if she could convince the right people. 

'Mum and Dad want to throw me a party in a few days for my birthday!' Leo exclaimed, throwing his arms up in sheer exasperation. He was wearing a loose red tee and blue jeans and a look of positive distress. 

'Well, yeah, it’s your birthday!' Martha frowned in confusion. Her family never remembered her birthday. She’d have loved for someone to care what day she was born… 

'But Dad’s bringing Annalise and he wants to pay for half of it!' Leo complained. 

A chord of dread struck through Martha. Mum and Dad had divorced, and Dad had gotten himself a younger 'prettier' girlfriend to make him feel like he was living. Either way, bringing Annalise would make Mum look bad, because everyone would be there, and they would look down on Mum for hosting the party. But Martha knew that Dad loved spoiling Annalise, giving her anything she ever wanted like some princess because it made him feel important. She wasn’t even sure if Annalise was all sparklers and fireworks, or if it was all an act to cosy up to Dad and his money. And Leo was turning twenty-two, just trying to work and provide for his girlfriend and baby. Plus, Mum was always wondering if Leo would marry her to which he would wave her off saying he would when he was ready. Mum also nagged Martha, but she generally let Martha do whatever she wanted and rather, in Martha’s opinion, had given up when Martha had shared her dreams of becoming a doctor. 

'Doctor Martha Jones?' Mum had asked, raising an eyebrow. 'And with your fancy degree, you’ll still come home to us, will you?' 

'What?' Martha had frowned. 'Yes, of course I will, Mum. Being a doctor doesn’t mean I’m better than anyone else. I just want to help people, people who need help.' 

And Tish was working on joining Lazarus Laboratories, which, in Martha’s opinion, her sister was not qualified for. Tish was constantly on the move, rushing, always late, never able to keep a steady job and not good at remembering dates, which made her a less than ideal assistant. But Martha would always be there for and support her sister. 

That reminded Martha, pulling open her phone and calling Tish — 

'Martha! I told you I have my interview in ten minutes!' 

'I know — Hang on, it’s ten. Didn’t your interview start at nine?' Martha asked worriedly. 

'Yeah, but they haven’t cancelled on me yet!' 

'Hey!' Martha exclaimed as Leo snatched her mobile. 

'Get off the phone, Tish. I’m talking to Martha,' Leo sniped. 

'Oh, that’s nice,' Tish shrieked and Martha heard cars honk in the background. 

'This is ridiculous,' Martha darted forwards, snatching the phone. 'Tish, I wanted to remind you that your electric bill is due tomorrow.' 

Tish cursed, 'Why didn’t you tell me earlier?' 

'It’s not my responsibility to remember all your deadlines! I’m only trying to help,' Martha argued. 

'Okay, now that you’ve helped her, help me now,' Leo argued. 

Tish called Leo something that Mum would have chastised her for. 

'Okay, byeeee. Good luck,' Martha called and hung up quickly in order to mitigate the conflict. 

'What did she say?' Leo demanded. 

'Never you mind,' Martha sighed, pocketing her cell. 'Tell me what’s going on. 

'Can you watch our baby?' Leo gestured at the six-month old. 

'What? Why?' Martha frowned. 

'We’re going out to celebrate my birthday,' Leo explained, gesturing to his girlfriend. 

'I thought you brought me here about Annalise!' Martha exclaimed, utterly bewildered. 

'Well, yeah. Multiple things. Tell Dad I don’t want Annalise there, tell Mum I don’t want anyone to fight, tell Tish she’s double whatever inappropriate name she just called me,' Leo nodded. 

Real mature, Martha thought exasperatedly. 

Martha sighed. Martha Jones, bossed around middle child, did not sound appealing as a title. She would much rather be Doctor Martha Jones. 

'Okay, fine,' she relented. 'But I’m going shopping.'

'Shopping. Why?' Leo stared at her bewildered as he grabbed his things and his girlfriend dumped the baby into Martha’s arms. 

Martha nearly squeaked as the bundle of blankets and baby was dropped into her arms, but she held her close instinctively. But as she looked up, she felt overwhelmingly unseen. 

The fact that her own brother couldn’t even fathom why she would go shopping since it didn’t pertain to his agenda… 

'Never mind,' they said simultaneously. 

'Okay, ring me if anything happens. Thanks so much, Martha! Keisha loves you!' He pointed at the baby. 

'Yeah, I know what her name is, thanks,' Martha called as the couple slammed the door and departed.

Martha looked down at the baby and smiled at the small round face snoozing with her puckered lips and soft breathing noises. 

She spent the rest of the morning cleaning some of Leo’s flat, and rocking baby Keisha in her crib. After she was able to see the floor again, Martha grabbed the baby harness and carefully put baby Keisha into it and headed out to shop. She was perusing down the aisle for dish soap when a voice called out to her. 

'Beautiful baby.' 

Martha looked up to see a young British woman with a blonde bob wearing a posh black suit — far too poised to be in an ordinary shop. 

'Thanks,' Martha smiled still, and looked back at the dish soap, thinking in anticipation for the party and knowing Mum or Dad wouldn’t have thought that far. But she still felt the woman’s presence and looked at her pointedly. 'Can I help you?' She asked. 

'Are you, by any chance, Martha Jones?' The woman asked. 

Martha looked up, taken aback. 

'That’s right. Sorry, who are you?' Martha asked. 

The woman seemed to take that as a ‘yes,’ smiling, turning swiftly and departing the aisle, heels clicking. Confusion and curiosity overtaking her, Martha followed stealthily through alleys and politely excusing herself as she rushed past other people. But when she reached the dairy aisle, she knew that she’d lost her. 

'Wah,' baby Keisha sounded. 

'Tell me about it,' Martha frowned. 'Who was that woman?' 

And at the teller, she saw a man in a posh black suit with very short dark brown hair — nearly black — parted unequally with most of his hair swept to the right. It stood out because his hair looked ridiculous, and he, too, wore a suit. He was watching her from another aisle. 

Martha kept her head down, shushing baby Keisha who was starting to fuss, probably overstimulated by all the light and noise. Martha bought her dish soap and a cassette tape she thought Leo would like, and headed back into the busy London streets. 

Martha felt her breath quicken, as she felt the presence of the lady and bloke following her at a distance. 

What’s going on? She wondered. 

She took an experimental turn right, intentionally off-route from her route back to Leo’s flat, and saw the woman follow. Then, she took another right, picking up a bus route schedule and talked to a man about theatre productions. Out of the corner of her eye while discussing current shows playing, she saw the bloke tailing her speaking to a nearby shopowner. At that, Martha thanked the theatre manager and she took another right and towards Covent Gardens and bought a pair of earrings for Mum — she could do with a gift especially if she had to deal with Dad and Annalise showing her up, even if it was mostly unintentional. And then Martha turned right one last time. 

Martha kept pace for a few seconds and then as she turned left she saw the woman dart around the corner, still following her. A few minutes later, the man strolled into the alley pretending to speak on his cell. 

Right, she thought to herself. Four right turns means you’re being followed. So what now? She went through several different options. What do those people on telly say? Hunted people go somewhere familiar? I don’t want to endanger Mum, Dad, Tish, or Leo. Or Annalise. But how can I get baby Keisha back to Leo without leaving him all alone? 

Martha kept walking without looking, only stopping for a quick sandwich and lemonade, and made her way to The Globe. She sat in the crowd with sleeping Keisha and watched Hamlet, applauding the masterful performance, and leaving. She looked around and was relieved to see that she wasn’t being followed. 

Martha took a very complicated zig-zagged route home and was relieved to see that no one seemed to be following her. And yet, those two hadn’t been a coincidence. Why had they spoken to her? 

Martha returned to Leo’s flat, still pondering and tucked baby Keisha in for her nap, and sat, reading some of Leo’s magazines. She missed being a medical student, but she couldn’t leave Keisha, not when Leo was depending on her. 

I wish someone would depend on me that much, she thought. 

But speak of the Devil as her cell rang —

'Martha!' Mum exclaimed. 

'Mum, what —?' Marth started with a frown, hurrying away from the baby so as to not wake her. 

'I want to bring Leo to a musical on his birthday and then have a party at the Metropolis Club,' Mum announced. 

'Yeah, his favourite musical is Les Miserables, and I heard that it was playing this week as I walked round. And I think Metropolis Club is closed on weekends —' 

Beep. 

'Hang on, that’s Dad — Hello?' 

'Martha! Tell Leo he can accept my donation of half his party. I think we can definitely afford it.' 

'But Dad, if you keep throwing your money around, you won’t have any at some point.' 

'Coming from Miss Doctor Martha Jones, is that?' Dad asked with a huff. 'You need to have more fun. Find someone you love and let them treasure you like my baby Annalise.' 

Martha’s nose wrinkled, 'I don’t want to be babied. I want to be an equal, a partner — or nothing at all.' 

'Oooeuuuhgh!' 

Martha held the cell away as she heard Annalise’s signature screech. 

'Martha? Is that Martha? Hiii Martha!' 

'Hiii Annalise,' Martha fake-smiled with an audible tone of false excitement. Luckily, Annalise didn’t catch on her true attitude. 

'You know your dad’s right, girl! You gotta go out and find life! Can’t expect it to come to you. You gotta stand up for yourself. Ooooh, baby, can you buy me that dress?' Annalise trilled. 'Stop the car!' 

'Wait, Dad! Are you driving and talking to me at the same time?' Martha hissed, urgency spiking within her. 

'Find yourself a nice man with a good job and let him treat you —' 

Or not, Martha thought. 

Beep. 

'Hang on, that’s Tish,' Martha informed them, very relieved to depart the conversation. 'And don’t drive and snog or anything! — Hello?' 

'Martha,' sobs came from the end of the line. 

'Tish, what’s wrong?' Martha’s heart sank at the sound of her distressed sister. 

'They — they wouldn’t hire me,' Tish sobbed. 'They said I — I was too late and disorganised…' 

Given your flat is worse than Leo’s I can see why, Martha thought stonily, though she didn’t mean any harm. She was just tired of never being first in anyone’s life or any universe. But she knew better than to snap at her family for her own problems of not being good enough… They wouldn’t even notice or simply dismiss it. She was the peacekeeper in the family, holding it together, invisible and fragile like a spider web

'Tish, I’m sorry,' Martha empathised with her, and she meant it. 'It’s their loss.' 

'My thoughts exactly,' a muffled but familiar voice came from the line. 

A thrill of shock ran down Martha’s spine. The woman! The British blonde bob woman who’d been following her! 

'Tish!' She cried, panic rising within her. 

'Wait, not now, Martha!' Tish hissed, and Martha prayed that she kept the line on so she could hear everything. 'You’ll — you’ll speak to Mr Lazarus for me?' 

'What?' Martha exclaimed. Tish had been rejected… There was no way that they could change a world-renowned professor’s mind. But she knew for certain, from the stalking, to now following Tish, that this was no coincidence. 'Tish, don’t listen to them!' She yelled with as much urgency as she could without waking up the baby. 

'Oh, don’t be silly, Martha,' Tish laughed, sounding genuinely delighted. 'You will? Oh, thank you! Thank you so much! Oh, Martha — they want to talk to you!' 

Martha waited and the moment she heard her sister’s breath away from the line, she stormed to the bathroom and hissed, 'Don’t you dare hurt my sister! Don’t you dare!' 

'Quiet. Don’t tell her anything,' the woman’s clipped tone echoed through the line, clearly speaking to Tish. 

'You must not know me if you think I won’t do everything to protect my family!' Martha bit out furiously, feeling anger and concern rising up within her. 

'Let’s meet face-to-face then,' the British woman’s voice sounded closer to the receiver — she had taken Tish’s mobile. 

'You leave my sister and my whole family alone!' Martha screeched. She was burning with concern and anger for her sister — she knew she was risking letting the stranger decide the place and time for the meeting, but her family was the most important thing to her. In the distance, she heard baby Keisha start to cry. 

'Your family will be unharmed,' the woman spoke, unruffled. 'Charing Cross, one hour' —

Martha glanced at her watch: 1205. 

'Further contact will not be made with you or your family members until your meeting. You have my word.'

Martha opened her mouth to argue and ensure her sister was safe, but she didn’t have much time with a wailing infant and the line went dead. 

Martha hung up, her breath faltering, and the lights above her flickered on and off ominously. 

'What the hell is going on?' She muttered, anxiety and questions swirling in a tumultuous storm within her as she went to go soothe baby Keisha. 

∘ — ∘⟡∘ — ∘

CLARA OSWALD

'I’m not following,' Andrew said. 

Clara and he were lying on the ground of Clara’s working station with pictures of colourful graphs, stars, and space vessels as she tried to explain what was happening. Their phones open on the ground informed them that today and the week ahead would be sunny with a five percent chance of rain. 

'Okay, so see this?' Clara pointed at the red, orange, and yellow waves of colour in concentric circles. 'These represent electrical storms where there’s thunderstorm activity. Then weather reporters tell us the percentage likelihood of a storm based on past weather patterns and location in the city. For example, a ten percent chance of rain means that ten percent of London’s area has a match with a past record.'

'Blimey, I thought that meant there was a ten percent chance anywhere you are,' Andrew scratched the side of his head. 

'Well, yes,' Clara nodded, ever the teacher. 'Depending on where you are, there is a ten percent chance. Okay, so what we’re seeing are electrical storm readings but no formation of clouds and rain.' 

Andrew looked profoundly bewildered. 

'Exactly,' Clara nodded, tilting her head with apparent satisfaction. 

'I didn’t say anything,' he frowned. 

'Exactly. Now, tell me, why do you think that could be?' Clara leaned forwards eagerly, leaning towards him. 

'Er.'

She watched Andrew’s eyes dart over the profile of the ship. 

'No…' he uttered.

'Yup,' Clara grinned. 'That’s what I think too. Aliens. Something’s affecting normal weather satellites. Either they’re picking up something wrong and there’s no storm or they’re being prevented from picking up on the real signs. My bet’s on the latter.' 

'Because otherwise there’d be a national investigation by now, and we wouldn’t have access because they’d want to have all the control,' Andrew voiced aloud. 

'My thoughts exactly,' Clara nodded. 'Either this mysterious sponsor has superior access and is overriding this technological glitch, or I really am just an exception to the entire world.' 

'But… what kind of aliens? Friendly aliens?' Andrew asked hopefully. 

'Are you recalling an army of Cybermen and Daleks invading our city a bit ago?' Clara asked with a light smile. 

'Okay, fair point,' he relented, grimacing. 'So, how could we identify that ship, then? Isn’t that something we should take to the government?' Andrew asked. 

Clara raised her eyebrows, 'Bring an alien conspiracy to the government running amok about how Harold Saxon is like the coming of Christ when we have no proof? Come on, Andrew, it’s like you don’t know me at all,' she paused, eyeing all her work on the ground. 'We should investigate. You, me, Qananii.' 

'What?' Andrew gaped at her. 'Are you mad? Use government and military secure resources to conduct our own search? Clara, that’s — that’s —' he spluttered. ' — illegal.' 

'Okay, but no one’s going to believe you, me and Qananii have access to some secret satellite that’s telling us there are electrical storms forming. But something is happening, and we may be the only ones who are aware and can do something about it. Come on. Old-fashioned legwork. Wright can’t say no to that,' Clara argued. 

Andrew hesitated, looking deeply remorseful. 

'I know you have a lot at stake. You, Marcia, and Eddie. But this is something. If something’s hacking our weather satellite reports — what next? The Internet? Nuclear missiles? We have to do something,' Clara insisted. 

'And you’re sure this won’t be some wild goose chase to chase your love of adventure?' Andrew asked, frowning still. 

'Well, no. But it is weird our phones aren’t picking up anything but our somewhat off-the-grid technology is. It’s definitely not location-based,' Clara pointed out, sensing victory as she watched Andrew slowly start to give in to her logic. 

'Okay, what do we do?' Andrew agreed rather regretfully. 

'Question one and two,' Clara stood up authoritatively and Andrew stood as well. He was taller than her, but they both knew who was in charge. 'Why this satellite? What's the difference between our technology and the ones used by weather reporting channels? Question three. What could be affecting everything besides our technology specifically? And another. What aliens are responsible for this? Is it the same as in that ship?' She pointed at the black ship orbiting distantly above Earth. 'What’s the intel on that ship? What kind of aliens are they? What are their intentions? What’s their target? And are they working with the aliens that are affecting our satellites or are they two separate events? If they are separate, what’s the thing connecting the two?' Clara was pacing back and forth in deep thought. 

'That’s a lot of questions,' Andrew sounded torn between excitement and being overwhelmed. 

'Care to add anything?' Clara spun around to face him. 

'It can’t be a coincidence,' Andrew voiced at once, reaffirming his ability for imagination. It was only his fear of authority that held him back. 'Whatever’s blocking our satellites must not want us to find and identify that alien ship. They must want something with Earth.' 

'Okay,' Clara nodded. 'You get Qananii and catch her up on your way back here.' 

'What are you going to do?' Andrew asked. 

Clara gave him a pointed look, and replied, 'I need to learn all I can about that place.' 

'How?' Andrew blinked, astonished. 

'I have my sources,' Clara smirked. 

'Is that… Is that wise?' Andrew asked hesitantly. 

'Listen. I have friends and contacts who are aware of alien threats,' Clara placed her hands on her hips authoritatively, taking charge. 'They’re the only ones that might be able to help us without arresting us.' 

'Or maybe they’ll arrest us too,' Andrew muttered mournfully. 

'Think on the bright side. This could be an alien plot to destroy the world, and we’re not sitting by and letting it happen,' Clara told him. 

Andrew sighed, 'If only The Doctor were here.' 

Something rang through all of time and space, like a chime that resonated with Clara. 

'The Doctor?' She asked, turning slowly, her large brown eyes widening. 

Andrew frowned, 'You know. The Doctor from the Battle of Canary Wharf. He defeated the Daleks and Cybermen.' 

Something chimed again but it echoed in a dissonant way like it was descending. 

'The Doctor,' she whispered, trying out the words. 

'Clara? You all right?' Andrew asked with a frown. 

Clara didn’t know. She felt something inside her — her heart, maybe — pulling her towards the name, as though she’d made some sort of promise. But she knew that it was important and she was not going to ignore it. 

'Yes,' she stared blankly at Andrew as though trying to see if his face would morph into something familiar like a bowl of batter falling into a soufflé mould. 

Clara stood rooted to the ground, her eyebrows furrowing as she tried to figure out what was happening, trying to wrap her head around it. Think, think, think, think. The Doctor… The Doctor… tap, tap, tap, tap… 

She didn’t know what it meant, but she knew — She knew what she had to do. 

'Andrew, get Qananii and keep this strictly between us three. I’m going to get us some help — trustworthy help,' she added at Andrew who balked at her words. She knew and appreciated how much he was risking to help her.  

Andrew obeyed, running out of the room, and Clara set off to work, no longer hiding her true knowledge. 

She moved aside her papers, and took a seat at the computer, ensuring she was using a high-profile security channel. She messaged three separate numbers:  

'I have a top priority case that I need top clearance access to your resources. Code word: Doctor.' 

Three beeps were returned: Case confirmed. 

∘ — ∘⟡∘ — ∘

MARTHA JONES

Martha sat at a local coffee shop at Charing Cross Road, keeping her head down but eyes alert to everything and everyone around her. She recognised ordinary people by the way they walked, clutching bags, on the phone, and calling cabs. She checked her watch and saw it was nearly 1305. Martha hugged herself around the middle. 

Martha had hurried to call a grumpy Leo to come home to his baby explaining she had an emergency. She couldn’t believe that Leo had actually acquiesced but maybe it had been something about her tone and the way she was yelling. Martha rarely yelled when it came to her family, except when it came to defending them. 

Either way, she couldn’t believe that she was here right now. The day had started with Mr Stoker informing her she couldn’t be a medical student followed by a bombardment of calls from her family, babysitting her niece, and now she was being followed. What on earth was happening? 

A few minutes passed, and then it was several. Martha checked her watch uneasily, and saw that it was now 1310 and they still hadn’t arrived. Martha started to grow nervous. What if they weren’t coming? Had they harmed Tish? But Martha was so worried that if she tried leaving that they’d be watching her and Tish could end up being hurt. 

Maybe answers would come as she saw a large black vehicle drive over. Fancy and posh — must be them, she reckoned. She tried not to look too worried or antsy at the sight of them and watched as two men strode towards her, one carrying a briefcase.

With a jolt, Martha realised it was the same bloke that had been following her earlier that day.  

Both sat across from Martha at the table, and she was not amiss some civilians standing nearby, watching. 

Spies, or agents, Martha guessed. 

'Doctor Martha Jones,' the man on the left spoke in a hefty British accent. He was elderly with white stretched skin and short grey hair that made his head look well-rounded, almost like a crown. 

'Who the hell are you? And what did you do to my sister?' Martha demanded, crossing her arms. She had been told to meet here and she wasn’t going to cooperate until she knew her sister was safe. 

The man studied her scrupulously and informed her, 'I have not made contact with your sister.' 

'But one of your agents told me to meet here at 1305!' Martha snapped, anger rising within her. 'Otherwise, you wouldn’t know where to find me.' 

'Ah, allow me to explain. My name is Grant Avery, Head of UNIT Central Control. We tracked your line and we’re here to protect you from whomever is helping your sister,' she explained easily. 

Unit? she thought. Some type of weight-lifting program for men? Tracking my line? Spying on me? What do they even care about my sister? What the hell is going on? Are they lying?

Martha looked between her and the man in disgust. Was this some kind of joke? 

'And who’s he?' She jerked her head towards the other man. 'Your personal trainer, then?' 

The second man looked furious and opened his mouth to speak, but Avery held up a hand to silence him and said, 'Doctor Jones —' 

'Martha,' she interrupted, stingily, very aware that she wasn’t a doctor — that, and she wanted to have some control in this situation. 

'Ms Jones, this is US Army Lieutenant General Sanchez, a high-ranking member of UNIT.' 

Martha eyed him suspiciously. He was definitely the same bloke who’d been watching her from another aisle in the shop. And he did look like he’d sound American. He had a round, red doughy face and a cut that looked as though he was a teenage lad. She didn’t know if she could tolerate any stupid Americans when her sister’s life was being threatened. 

She turned abruptly back to Avery, 'And where’s my sister, then? And what’s Unit?’ 

‘UNIT is the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce.’ 

Martha nearly scoffed at the name. Brits and Americans alike really knew how to make it all about themselves. 

'Ms. Jones, please try to calm down. Your sister is safe. We’re keeping surveillance on her,' Avery nodded sharply, and Sanchez — looking as though he’d swallowed expired milk — opened his briefcase and placed a file onto the table. 

Martha raised an eyebrow, doubtful of all the spies watching her. She was outnumbered and she didn’t have any options, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to leave without making sure she knew the truth and that her family was safe. 

'These are our surveillance images of her, and the people who have been tracking her,' Avery replied sharply, his tone full of urgency. 

Martha eyed Sanchez, feeling pieces in her mind fitting together the way she could read her siblings and Mum and Dad, that he and the other woman hadn’t actually been tracking her together per say… Rather they could have been playing a three-way game: a game to track down Martha Jones first… Perhaps, this Grant Avery was telling the truth… 

Thinking of her family, she leaned forwards, pulling the files towards her, and examining them. Pictures of Tish were there, in her messy flat, walking on the street on the phone, speaking with Professor Lazarus — an old bloke. Even at first glance, she could see that he had the arrogant privileged exterior of so many that she had to deal with on her career path. 

Well… former career path, she thought despondently.

Martha moved her hands over the images — 

Traditional paper emulsion layer. Definitely authentic, she concluded. Though she did shiver at the thought of such precise photographs of her sister without Tish or anyone knowing. She wondered how long this had been going on, and if UNIT was taking photos of her too. And — if this UNIT was her supposed ally, then what did the people who were messing with Tish have on her? Martha barely concealed a shudder of disgust. But she had to move on. 

Leaning closer, amidst the dates and exact times of photography, Martha quickly noted that the blonde woman or stony-looking agents had several photos with clear vantage points of Tish, such as across the street. Other photos showed these agents in the photo directly, two men sipping coffee two tables away, a man wearing a red backpack and listening to an iPod standing at a bus stop, or a car tailing from a distance. 

Martha’s hands clenched with worry, her stomach flipping with anxiety. 

'Who are they?' Martha demanded, looking upwards at the UNIT agents. 'Why didn’t they come to meet me at the time they suggested?' 

'We believe they had no intention to meet you. Their mission, we believe, was to recruit Letitia Jones to Professor Lazarus’s reanimation program,' Avery explained. 

'Why?' Martha demanded. 

'We’re not sure,' Avery’s eyebrow twitched — imperceptible to most, but Martha had learned to read every silent cue of her family members and she wasn’t fooled. 

Martha leaned back, anger surging through her, crossing her arms, 'You’re lying. You know why.' 

Avery and Sanchez glanced at one another warily, while Martha scowled at them, hunching in her chair. Another day of two higher-ranking men deciding her fate based on what was convenient for them… They reminded her strongly of Mr Stoker, who had dismissed her, despite her competence and skill as a medical student, on a whim… Bitter coils sprung from within her stomach. She would definitely give him a call and see why he had terminated her position suddenly. But what Avery had to say shocked her, disarming her of her bitter jealousy — 

'We believe it has to do with Harold Saxon,' Avery finally spoke. 

Martha scoffed, hugging her sides with her arms. A to-be Prime Minister wanted something to do with her? 

'Oh, come on,' Martha snorted. 'Seriously, that isn’t funny.' 

'Normally, we would not intercede, but it was brought to our intention that something is very wrong and the absence of … well, an old ally, is quite concerning. I cannot reach him and neither can any of our friends and networks.' 

'Maybe he’s sick. Taking a day off,' Martha snapped, stonily. Why not humour them? This was the cruelest joke she’d ever faced. She’d much rather just carry on trying to regain her medical degree. But she still stayed, because the fact these people had surveillance on her family concerned her. She decided sometime in the last few moments to play along and interrogate them in kind. 

'He doesn’t take days off,' Avery replied with such strong conviction that it made Martha’s stature falter. 

She’d never been more certain of anything in her life… except the fact that she wanted to be a doctor… to help people. Maybe this bloke felt the same way, and these UNIT blokes knew that too. 

'Okay,' Martha frowned, still not getting it. 'And why the hell would a Prime Minister care about my sister?' 

'Future Prime Minister,' Sanchez corrected. 

‘Blimey, he really sounds American.’ 

Martha rolled her eyes and said, 'I think when all three political parties abandon their own and unite under one man, then it’s pretty guaranteed Harold Saxon will win.' 

'Did you vote for him?' Avery asked. 

Tap, tap, tap, tap. Her fingers moved without thought. 

'Of course,' Martha frowned. 'Didn’t you?' 

'Of course. As has the entirety of England, including some parties of Scotland,' Avery smiled coldly. 'Other than a few dissonants.' 

'Like who?' Martha asked in disbelief. 

Avery smiled wryly, and Martha could tell that he was going to change the subject. 

'As you can see, your sister is being monitored by agents of Harold Saxon,' he nodded towards the files curtly. 

'But that makes no sense!' Martha exclaimed again. 'My sister, my family is not important. There’s no reason for a future Prime Minister to benefit my family! It won’t get him anywhere!' 

The words stung, but they were true, and she would rather be left out of it. She didn’t understand at all. Was this some sick twisted game at play? To offer her sister a good job only to snatch it away, just like Mr Stoker? 

'Yes, I quite agree,' Avery nodded, and Martha felt like a barb pierced and stung her insides at the admission. Just because it was true didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Avery continued, 'And based on their absence now, I do believe they never intended to come.' 

'But my sister —' Martha protested again. 

'Your sister is safe. She is currently doing a reinitialising celebration as the assistant Professor Lazarus,' Avery informed Martha, beckoning a hand at his side. 

Martha’s eyes darted to the agents at the perimeter, expecting guns being withdrawn, but instead Sanchez revealed an iPad playing moving images. Martha leaned forward and saw the live footage of her sister dining and chatting with a group of people, looking happier than ever. 

She felt relieved, but her instincts were telling her that something was off. Still, she wanted to know what UNIT had against her sister and why they were so interested Tish had missed many job opportunities. Why intervene now? 

'And why is it bad that my sister has a high-paying job? Is that such a bad thing?' Martha demanded. 

'No, but would you pick your sister as the assistant of a revolutionary scientist?' Avery asked. 

His words stung. 

'Yes, of course,' Martha lied. 

'I’m sure, but not out of qualifications,' Avery smiled, and Martha felt angry. She was being pitied — her and her family. 

'So what? You’re tracking me because you’re upset my sister got lucky?' Martha snapped, waspishly. 

'No, we’re tracking you because of some irregularities brought to our attention,' Avery explained, nodding at Sanchez. 

The American looked just as upset as Martha (though she firmly doubted that was possible) and he pulled out more files, laying them on the table. Martha almost laughed at the idea of agents giving her files of intelligence on her and her sister — her, Martha Jones, invisible and insignificant. 

'Look, if my sister is safe, I don’t have to listen to any of this. You’re just stalking us, and I’m politely asking you to leave us the hell alone!' Martha snapped, standing up, her arms crossing angrily. 

'Doctor Martha Jones. This is important, and I think you know that,' Avery gestured at the chair. 'Once we’ve shared what we know, you are welcome to do whatever you wish with this information.' 

Martha stood, fuming. Beneath her sceptical and angry exterior, Grant Avery’s words rang true with her. She’d known it wasn’t the same people who had been on the phone with Tish but she’d still lashed out, in fear of her sister’s safety. She knew it was weird, but nothing had ever been weird or slightly remarkable in her life. It didn’t make sense, but Martha didn’t know if it was comforting or terrifying that a United Nations organisation had tapped the line and was telling her that she was so unremarkable and remarkable at the same time. Then, she nodded and sat down, uncrossing her arms, willing to listen if nothing else. 

'Thank you,' Avery smiled and this time Martha could see he was being sincere. Sanchez, rather, looked as though he’d swallowed something bitter and was fighting not to spit it up. 

Martha nodded slightly, feeling a bit more warmer towards Avery. 

'Now, it’s come to our attention that Mr Stoker of Royal Hope Hospital terminated your position of interim medical student there,' Avery pointed out the files and Martha felt her heart drop into icy water. She had thought they were going to talk about Tish and Harold Saxon, not her recent unemployment. She felt her blood chill, travelling like petrol into an engine, from her heart up into her fingers — they were going numb — at the sight of his signature: ‘Dr Bryan Stoker’ on the dotted line.  

'That’s not —' she began, but Avery was already on top of it. 

He opened another file and it revealed a collection of previous Mr Stoker’s signatures: Mr Bryan Stoker on other documents: shopping deals, memberships, approvals and dismissals, and the like. 

'It was falsified?' Martha gasped, leaning forwards, hope darting forwards in her chest and mind. 

'We have no doubts that Mr Stoker signed it given his unique handwriting style, studied by our very own expert forensic handwriting analyst,' Avery explained. 

Martha slumped down in her chair. Well, there was nothing that could be done about that then. 

'But, based on the title discrepancies, he was clearly not in his right mind,' Avery continued. 

Martha didn’t feel much better, 'What? You mean he was pissed?' 

'No,’ Sanchez couldn’t help but sneer, and she shot him a look. ‘We mean that he was possessed.'  

Martha’s jaw dropped. 

No. That couldn’t be true… It just  couldn’t… 

Even with aliens having invaded Earth, like the Sycorax, Martha had trouble believing it. 

'What? No, no, no way…' Martha spluttered shakily. 

Beep. 

'Sir, call incoming,' Sanchez gestured at the iPad, clearly angling it away from Martha. 

She scoffed. She was used to being ignored. 

'Ah, excellent. Doctor Martha Jones, I’d like to meet the group of colleagues who you will be working with,' Avery took the device from Sanchez, showing it to Martha. Sanchez scowled. 

She saw four rectangular boxes, with a line splitting two screens at the top and two at the bottom, all equal sizes. At first she thought it would be camera footage of Mum, Dad, Leo, and herself. But as Avery pointed from above, Martha leaned forward and saw that fuzzy images like silhouettes or outlines were appearing, and he introduced them from left to right, top to bottom — 

‘Captain Jack Harkness of Torchwood, O from MI6, myself with the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce, and Clara Oswald with the Archangel Network Surveillance System.'

Chapter Text

TWO

TENTH DOCTOR

The Doctor had been travelling on his own for a while now. He was currently fidgeting with the TARDIS, twiddling knobs and staring blankly at the walls. Its concave shell with extending beigeish-golden arms and blue lights beneath the console let out reassuring beeps and tones. The TARDIS was truly the Doctor’s home, and a place he relied on for comfort and return to if danger ever befell him, which, let’s be honest, was quite a lot. But in the Doctor’s defence, he was quite remarkable and excellent at dealing with situations, quick and clever, to the marvel of so many others.  

His current form had come from his last thoughts of his last incarnation, his tenth regeneration… 

Rose…

What must she think of him? But what else could he have done? Let her die, let the TARDIS consume and eat her alive? She’d risked everything to save him, and it nearly cost her her life. She’d be dead if he hadn’t killed himself, taking the TARDIS into him. He’d felt the soul of the TARDIS burning every cell of his alive, each one filled with a light too bright for him, but worst of all, he’d felt every cell fighting to live. 

Life was a cunning enemy as the Fatality Index had said as he’d monitored some of their execution processes when it had started affecting off-world species. Rose would have asked what their names were, he thought. 

The Doctor had failed her in so many ways. He’d nearly let a Dalek kill her… more than once. He’d fallen in love with Madame De Pompadour right in front of her. He’d fought to send her away for the Battle of Canary Wharf, and she’d insisted to stay by him. And that was it… That had been the day that he died. 

He’d clung onto the idea that she’d be safe with her mother, father, and Mickey the Mick Mickster, even if it was an alternate universe. She had her family. But then he’d let himself dream and hope, and those were terrible things as a scaffold. He’d reached out to her telepathically, just calling her name, pleading. He didn’t believe in gods or demigods, but he believed in her — he knew she would hear him. 

He’d used the energy of a burning star to say goodbye, and he’d meant to say it. The words were at the tip of his tongue. There — like a sun, burning, ready to be spoken. And then, it had all disappeared. 

Except hope. 

Hope was cruel. Hope clung to him. He had seen her again. Rose Tyler. A beautiful, brave young woman who had saved him from himself. And she told him that she loved him. Him. The Doctor. The man who had failed to be the Doctor at the most pivotal moment in history. Anguish and despair crushed his lungs at the thought, even just standing in the TARDIS alone. 

Never be cruel, never be cowardly. 

And he’d failed on so many levels. And Rose Tyler had reminded him of it, indirectly, just existing, and that was beautiful. And then she was gone. 

And he told himself he might be okay. Because she was lost, and he could find people. But he knew he couldn’t go looking for her. He couldn’t travel to visit her, the same way he couldn’t save his people, and so his selflessness won. But did it really, when his selfishness was so strong? Why didn’t it feel like a win? He had saved the universe from an army of Daleks and Cybermen, after all! He’d won and survived against all odds and the Earth was still standing. 

But he always lost. 

And when he lost, he was always alone. 

Alone. And afraid. Always. 

The Doctor let out a shaky breath, running his hands through his hair. 

Enough thinking about Rose, he thought, his gaze landing on her blue-purple jacket and New Earth medical kit and moving to the console. 

He set course for anywhere, a random location, really. What did it matter? He was the Doctor. He ran away. He ran to help people. He listened to the psychic network of people’s cries across the universe and he went on his way. That was his duty, wasn’t it? His promise. 

And the universe never went silent. There was always someone who needed help. But over nine-hundred years of living, and it was a lot. Immortality wasn’t a gift as silly humans thought it was… It was a curse… A curse especially such a selfless predisposition as him to help the universe. He wished he could turn away from it sometimes, but he heard the children crying, and he felt empathy coursing through him. He couldn’t leave crying children behind. He couldn’t leave corrupt humans to die either. He was cursed to care, forced to live, begotten with the terrible price of watching everything wither and die around him. 

And Donna Noble had seen it. 

He’d lashed out at her, terrible and wrathful, furious at her interceding his mourning. She wasn’t special, she wasn’t important, not as important as him. He was the Doctor; she was a whiny and loud human who would be dead in maybe sixty years. He was the one who had to keep on going when it all died away. 

But something about her yelling reminded him vaguely of himself. His academy days, so determined to be heard, convinced that people didn’t believe he was clever. And he’d warmed up to her, defended her from the Racnoss Empress, and saved her and the Earth. 

And more so — she’d saved him. 

Unimportant, loud, opinionated Donna Noble, screeching and sobbing in a wedding dress, wanting to marry a man after barely knowing him, had saved the Doctor. 

Her life, one life, had changed perhaps the trajectory of the universe. 

She humbled him. Made him remember that just because humans and Earth were small meant that they weren’t lesser. Not that he thought they were. They were lesser in lifespan, but they weren’t unintelligent. The Doctor was clever; he knew a lot, had gained a lot of experience from his many lifetimes, and he could apply that knowledge in ways that many species marvelled out, including the Time Lords and the Daleks. And humans were brilliant in their own way. Their finite lifespans, their limited nature, made them unlimited, and they would always propel between exceptional and diabolical. But wasn’t that life? 

The Doctor smiled vaguely at the thought. Humans really were his favourite species. 

But he’d lost himself on Christmas Eve, drowning himself in the torrent of water, killing every Racnoss infant. 

Never be cruel, never be cowardly. 

No, that hadn’t been the Doctor. But the Doctor, now, could make amends. (He never could, but he would always try, because that was what it meant to be the Doctor. Keep going, because he had to.) 

The Doctor had been mindlessly travelling across time and space, often thinking of Rose and Donna, wondering where they were. He wasn’t offended that Donna had rejected him. She’d seen a side of him that he feared and hated above all… It reminded him of the time he’d failed to be the Doctor more than any other time. That is to say, he didn’t blame her in the slightest or push her. 

He’d wanted so badly for her to join him, because here alone, he relived every moment of his life and there were good times, but so many bad ones too. And the bad ones hollowed him out, made him feel older and worn out than ever. Was there no end to that darkness? 

And yet, the Doctor refused to give up. He loved to try. He loved to try to even that tally. Every mark was a counter to the death he’d caused, astronomical and littering his grave beyond belief like twinkling stars of blood and bone, but he could make up for it. He had to try because he could never give this up. He had never tried to give it up, really. 

The universe needed help. And he was the Doctor. He had a blue police box that read —

Police Telephone

Free for Use of Public

Advice and Assistance Obtainable Immediately

Officers and Cars Respond to Urgent Calls

Pull to Open 

He could fix the Chameleon Circuit and blend in better, but he was the last of the Time Lords, and … He shuddered. The wrath of the Time Lords, their cruelty, their cerebral arrogance in thinking they were better than everyone… The Great Time War… Oh, they’d ruined everything… They’d made everything worse… As much as the Doctor hated Davros and the Emperor of the Daleks and the Daleks, the Time Lords were a different kind of evil. 

This was not a war or even a single genocide. This was not one side attacking and the other defending. This was two great empires of terrible amounts of power over space-time, destroying everything. This was a universal genocide, while killing each other endlessly, forever and ever, to make sure either side of them were still standing throughout Time. 

Both sides were wrong. Both were so full of ruthlessness and hatred. Trillions of planets caught in the crossfire, technology that destroyed planets’ atmospheres, purging them of resources to assist Time Lord war means, and the Daleks’ incredible fiery hatred and xenophobia for anything that wasn’t Dalek… 

The Doctor’s eyes closed. Arcadia. He’d been there. He couldn’t believe he’d actually spoken its name aloud in front of Rose. He was so afraid of explaining what had happened, but it had helped, feigning confidence and superiority to Daleks. A kind of attitude that put people off from questioning him. It made him feel powerful and safe. And moreover, he regretted being at Arcadia deeply. 

He hated being the last of his kind, not because he’d ended the Great Time War. But because he was selfish, he was alone, and he’d killed 2.47 billion children. He’d killed his wife, his thirteen children, his best friend… 

The Doctor blinked. Salty tears ran down his lanky cheeks and he wiped them away irritably. 

Donna was right. He did need someone to stop him. With all his grief and rage, the power of a TARDIS, there was no one to stop him. But he wasn’t unwilling to listen. He’d listened to Donna — her voice shaky but strong, 'Doctor. You can stop now.' 

For a moment, it had been foggy, as he’d watched the Empress screeching for her children as he killed them all as though travelling through a hazy mist. And then it had reached him, and he jumped to it, getting himself and her safely out of there. 

He did need someone — though he’d rarely admit it. He liked to think he was very capable and clever on his own. After all, all companions did was bring him sorrow, but there was something so good about them that he couldn’t ignore. 

The Doctor smoothed out his blue suit, inhaling violently, hearing the beeps of the TARDIS again as they drifted through the Time Vortex aimlessly. He’d been in the middle of calibrating for distress calls when he’d gotten sidetracked by some average despairing thoughts. 

It was times like these that he really needed companions in his very own selfish way. He did truly enjoy travelling with others as well, showing them the universe and seeing their reactions. He’d loved travelling with Rose and he’d promised for it to last forever, just as he wanted everything to. But it never turned out that way. Because companions weren’t forever. He lost them. He always did. And he needed them. His desire wasn’t remotely selfless, not that he’d admit that to anyone. And he did like it most when they listened to him — which Rose and Donna both tended to not do — but they had both had other reasons that kept him tied to them. 

The Doctor shook his head free of thoughts and finished his complex set of calculations and console movements to search for distress signals. He ventured towards Earth, a bit hopeful and curious. After all, humans were his favourite species in the universe. They were exceptionally creative and brilliant, and he marvelled at how much they advanced. Sometimes it was too much, but there were always those that had critical minds or were open-minded — even better if they were both. And… 

Nothing. 

There was nothing. 

The Doctor’s brows furrowed. 

'That doesn’t make sense,' he muttered aloud. 'Humans always need help, crying out for warmth and food the moment they’re born. They always need help and I can always help.' 

He looked over the readings, disappointed. He really wanted to help Earth. It was his favourite planet, and yet, it was almost like they had grown past him and didn’t need his help. 

The Doctor felt a pang of loneliness and longing. And of course there was deep guilt. He felt bad for wanting Earth to be in danger, but he always felt an antsy need to be doing something at all times to be useful. Otherwise, what was the point of him? 

'Right!' He declared aloud to the empty TARDIS. 'Right, right, right, right, right. Moving onnnn! Always more places to go!' He yelled with bravado, his voice echoing loudly, slamming the handle on the console down. ‘I don’t need anyone!’ He added with a false smile that made his face hurt, but he ignored it. 

The Doctor left the brakes on, the TARDIS engines emitting their usual groaning sounds as he felt the ship land. The Doctor let a smile creep onto his face, probably looking like a disgruntled smirk like one might give while dealing with an unpleasant negotiator. The sound brought him so much comfort and he loved it deeply. The TARDIS was far more home than any other place. 

The Doctor landed on a planet called — 

'Freensl, water planet with purple skies,' he strolled out of the TARDIS. 

He stood on metal-ringed and yellow wood water rafts, looking back around at the massive sea expanse all around him and then back up at the violet purple skies above where he could spot the dust, rock, and ice rings surrounding the planet. 

'Welcome, welcome,' a cheery voice said to his left. 

The Doctor looked around to see a trio of blue aliens with three antennae and glowing orbs at the ends. The aliens themselves were about four feet in height, humanoid forms, and had six finger- and toe-like appendages. 

'Hallo,' the Doctor’s face split into a wide smile, strutting forwards and putting his hands in his pockets in greeting. 

'Welcome, welcome,' they cried in unison. 

'So lovely to meet you,' the Doctor bowed to each of them, clasping his hands together in a praying position, and the Doctor mimicked the gesture.  

'Who are you?' The little blue aliens squeaked. 

'I’m the Doctor,' he smiled, kindly. 'I am honoured to be here on Freensl. How can I help?' 

'We have a problem. Our water is being stolen,' one alien replied. 

'Show me,' the Doctor ordered. 

The aliens jumped up and down in an odd sort of sequence of jumps, the Doctor imitating the series of limb movements in a sort of ritualistic dance. 

At their command, the aliens dived into the water, and the Doctor followed suit, diving headfirst. 

As a Time Lord, he had extensive abilities to survive conditions beyond regular human capacity, and one of these was better adaptation to pressure changes and superior vision in darkness. 

The Doctor swam downwards, following their glowing yellow antennae, undulating his body like a worm to best follow the currents. Freensl was essentially an entirely underwater world only made of water, but there were oxygen-based shelters below for guests. 

The environment was beautiful. The Doctor’s brown eyes viewed the array of sea creatures, some with seven wings or three tails. Some looked like giant underwater brachiosaurs with extended fins that looked like frying pans. The water was very blue, entirely known to be completely nontoxic — 

Oh, the Doctor’s eyes bulged at the thought that he should have checked his pockets for anything toxic. The Freenslians had very compromised immune systems, especially since their source of breathing was, in fact, water. Just like fish and most underwater inhabitants, they were able to intake water and use that for life sustenance. Unlike fish, they didn’t need to extract oxygen from it, and they relied directly on water. The Doctor, on the other hand, required oxygen. 

Luckily, they were approaching the underwater shelters and he could see their bubbled forms underground, interconnected in a hive. Instantly, he could see a problem, golden lights flashing in communication — 

Contamination. 

Help. 

Problem. 

The Doctor swam faster, concerned. He landed in the middle of the air bubble and inhaled large gulps of air, and ran full throttle, only weighed down by the weight of his wet clothes. He reached the aliens and made similar greeting gestures. 

'Hello, I’m the Doctor. How can I help?' He asked urgently.

At once, several lights flashed in his direction. 

Death. 

The aliens took his hands and pulled him through the relay tracks, circular and made of metal and wood just like the platform above, and into a circular den. 

The Doctor’s mouth opened in surprise. There were ten aliens lying in front of him, their mouths open in shock as well, completely greyed, their antennae flicking feebly, frozen and in pain. 

He worked quickly, grabbing his sonic, holding it in his right hand, pressing the button, listening to the readings. He held it to his ear. 

'What is the problem, Doctor?' A Freenslian squeaked, sounding concerned. 

'Accelerated absorptive transportation,' the Doctor murmured. 

The crowd exchanged glances of worry, and the Doctor knelt to their height, and asked, gentle but urgent, 'What happened?' 

'We were hunting, as hibernation season is upon us. We cannot go too much above ground when trees are more abundant,' one squeaked. 'And then, the trees and our hunters were trapped in a beam of light. We managed to bring them here for better comfort, but they’re in pain, aren’t they?' 

The Doctor knew better than to ask what colour the light was; Freenslians were only attuned to the ultraviolet spectrum. The only reason they detected him was because of Time Lords’ inherent regeneration energy signature which ranged across the electromagnetic spectrum. 

'What are their names?' The Doctor asked quietly, sombre. A memory of Rose asking the Ood what their name was flashed to mind. 

'They are Freenslians,' they replied, clearly confused by the question. 

'Okay, never mind. I’ll call you Bob,' he gestured at the one who’d answered his question. 'Is that okay, Bob?' 

The Freenslian nodded enthusiastically. 

'Brilliant. Tell me, Bob. When did this happen?' The Doctor pulled out his glasses and circled the affected aliens. 

'It was last thorunt,' Bob explained nervously. 

'That long?' The Doctor lifted his glasses, astonished. A thorunt was equivalent to three Earth months. 'They’ve been in pain this long?' Empathy shot through him, and he closed his eyes, hearing their pleas —

No, please! 

So tired… 

Don’t take it all… 

The Doctor jerked his head backwards, standing and stumbling backwards in an incredibly fluid single motion nearly bumping into Bob. 

'Mx, are you alright?' Another alien squeaked. 

'I — I —' The Doctor inhaled. He felt their loneliness, their pain, their desire to give into the pain. 'Okay, accelerated absorptive transportation. It means every single cell of theirs is being absorbed and transported at the same time. Think of an electron. Negative charge. BUT — Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle: You can never know the location and its speed at the same time. That’s exactly what this is. It’s being absorbed in terms of energy, like a scan, but it’s also being transported. Accelerated because it’s entirely random — a random number of cells being absorbed or transported. But I can’t get a lock…' he growled, aiming the sonic in frustration, the Freenslians’ psychic pleading only getting louder. 'I don’t know where they’re being absorbed to.' 

The Doctor stood up, pacing around them in a circle, running  a hand through his hair, incredibly stressed, 'Okay, so. Freenslians. Deprived of water, start suffocating. Why’s that valuable? Why does that matter? Why would someone want that? What could they possibly gain?' He stopped abruptly, looking back at the nervous huddle of Freenslians. 'What did you say about trees?' 

'There were a lot of trees. The oxygen disrupts our ability to breathe, Doctor. The hunters go to cut the trees so we have less oxygen in the water, especially for hibernation.' 

'When does that start?' The Doctor asked. 

Bob looked nervous, 'In about a unx.' 

Unx — equivalent to one human hour.

'Why didn’t you call for help before?' The Doctor hissed, stress building up in him. 'Why? Why only now?' 

They looked at one another confused, 'We have hibernated since the last thorunt. This is the only time we have before our next.' 

'What?' The Doctor yelped, and they leapt back, afraid. 'No, no, no, no, no. That can’t be right. Are you sure?' 

The aliens nodded, looking thoroughly perplexed. 

'Well, you can’t be right about that. Who even keeps time, anyway? Time is subjective. You must have counted wrong,' the Doctor whirled around at the bodies. 

His ears drowned out the sounds of the aliens defending their precise time-keeping records. 

A thorunt… ninety-three days being absorbed and transported at the same time, existing in both places at the same time, gaining and losing energy every moment of their lives. Infinite energy, infinite hell. They’d suffered for ninety-three days without their own kind knowing the pain they were in. 

And the Doctor regretted very much saying that he knew exactly how that felt… except he would never find another of his own kind. 

A loud shake and rumble shook the ground and they all stumbled with the shaking circular den. 

'What was that?' The Doctor practically yelled, panic rising within him. 

'It is happening again,' Bob whimpered, covering his antennae with his hand-like appendages. 

'Where?' The Doctor demanded. 

And then he looked up, a long spotlight shifting between green, blue, gold, and red illuminated the very den they were in. The Doctor, feeling horror jumbling through him, ran outside and saw beams of light covering the other dens. 

'No…' he uttered. 

Not an entire civilisation. Not an entire species. Not an entire planet. Not on his watch. 

The Doctor looked upwards through the water and saw a pinprick of light up above. There — the source of all the beams of light to put the Freenslians through eternal hell. He kicked off the ground hard. 

'Doctor? What are you doing? Where are you going?' The natives called behind him. 

'I’m the Doctor. I’m going to save you. And I’m telling them Freensl is off limits,' he snapped, waving his arms and legs with a furious snap. 

His head broke surface and he bobbed in the water, completely drenched and soaking, yelling, 'Hey! Hey! None of this! You think because the Freensl are smaller than you — and they are quite short — that you can absorb their energy? No! I am the Doctor, and I say no! You cannot get away with bullying species that are lesser than you.' 

The beams of light froze, and a long red one fell on the Doctor. He didn’t feel it in his rage and protectiveness of this planet. They were just living their lives. They were innocent, just trying to survive their water world. It wasn’t fair, and the Doctor was going to save him. 

And then he felt himself being lifted out of the water as the beam pulled him upwards. As he got closer to the beam, it did something to his eyes, making them unfocused. He tried to keep his eyes open, but his eyelids drooped, unable to fight the notion of sleep, and the last thing he saw was the tunnel of never-ending red light encompassing him. 

∘ — ∘⟡∘ — ∘

CLARA OSWALD

'Where will you go?' Me asked. 

Her and Clara were standing around in the main console room of their TARDIS with all the roundels. The TARDIS was beeping faintly as they loitered in the vast expanse of space, as Clara was still trying to decide where she wanted to go. 

Clara had changed into a leather jacket with a cloak to put over her head in anticipation. She had a few places she wanted to travel in which she’d have to be inconspicuous. 

‘You’re certain you’re okay with it?’ Me asked. 

Clara stood at the console, a ghost of a smile flickering on her features like a candle. This had to have been about the tenth time Me had asked in some way or another whether she had accepted her fate, was okay with dying, where they were going to stop, when they would get to Gallifrey, and what Clara and her were going to do. 

She looked up at Me who was pressing a few controls with some trepidation, but still meeting Clara’s gaze. 

“Yes, the same as the last time you asked,” Clara replied. 

“Then, have you considered where we’re going?” Me asked once again. 

“Gallifrey, of course,” Clara repeated. 

She knew where she was going, and she knew she wanted to explore time and space with somewhat reckless abandon, but the missing heartbeat was so unnerving to her still. To know that she was between one beat and the last… It was thrilling almost, she was effectively immortal with her physical processes looped — she wouldn’t age, wouldn’t grow old, ill, any of that. She was Clara Oswald forever until she returned to Gallifrey. 

She was still dying on her own terms. 

She took a breath, and set the navigation to a familiar set of coordinates, slamming down the handle. The TARDIS hummed to life, engines whirring to life, rocking about and Clara and Me both held onto the consoles, grinning as they felt themselves flying. 

A few seconds later, the TARDIS settled, the engines emitting the familiar groaning sounds as they landed. 

‘You left the brakes on,’ Me commented, eyeing the TARDIS manual. 

‘I know,’ Clara grinned, making towards the exit. 

‘Are we going to make a habit of that?’ Me asked from behind, sounding sceptical. 

‘I like the sound,’ Clara turned her head over her right shoulder towards Me with a smile. 

‘It’s loud,’ Me commented offhandedly. 

‘Good,’ Clara corrected lightly. ‘The more people who hear it around the universe, the better.’ 

Me said nothing and they headed out the door, where Me gasped loudly at their location. 

They had arrived on the asteroid Tiaanamet, full of striped tents and shops everywhere, aliens that Clara could vaguely remember the Doctor naming, such as the Pan-Babylonians. They were humanoid creatures with large black, glittering bug-like eyes. They had some sort of skeletal projections up along their skull into forming ridges and tusks, and flattened mouths. 

Clara looked over to Me, who was wearing an expression of wonderment and near child-like awe on her face. She couldn’t help but smile at it. Despite Me’s insistent reminders on Clara returning home, she enjoyed adventures just as much as Clara did. 

Clara introduced Me to an Ultramanta, a metal humanoid with cords connecting from the grey visor and helm to a pack on his back. 

‘How do you know all this?’ Me whispered as they strode through the busy streets. 

‘Oh, you know, read up on alien planets,’ Clara grinned at Me, keeping her eyes glued on her surroundings. Sometimes it would really help to have some of Me’s journals to ensure that her memories were exact. Then again, Clara was a teacher. She knew how to deal with unexpected events and follow a schedule. She was great like that. 

‘Did you — did you travel to alien planets often, then?’ Me asked, her tone a bit subdued. 

‘You all right?’ Clara asked, frowning, keeping her head down, eyes darting around beneath her hood. 

‘Yes, of course,’ Me said, her eyes wide and casting around, absorbing it all in, taking notes in her journal. ‘So, did you?’ 

‘Oh, yeah. All the time. The Doctor and I, we —’ Clara stopped abruptly, her insides jolting. 

She felt a hand touch hers, and she looked up to see Me reaching out. 

‘I am sorry, Clara,’ she said gently. 

Clara’s eyes shone with joy and grief, ‘Don’t be. Really, stop it. No more apologies. None of this treading on eggshells around me. I’m fine, really. Besides…’ she forced herself to smile. 

‘Smile for me. Go on, Clara Oswald — give me that smile, one last time.’

‘If anything, I should thank you,’ Clara nodded, turning away and putting her hands on her hips striding around aimlessly. 

‘Thank me?’ Me joined her as they continued moving through the bustling alleys. 

‘Yeah, you helped me bring the Doctor back to Earth and procure his TARDIS,’ Clara gave her a side-glance and a genuine smile. 

‘I did what any friend would have,’ Me replied earnestly. 

‘’Course,’ Clara nodded. 

‘She’s my friend.’ 

‘Don’t take anything,’ she added as Me reached out for a glass-like container full of bubbling red liquid. 

‘I wasn’t going to buy it,’ Me frowned. 

‘It’s different here. You have to give an object — something — in return. It’s the Festival of Offerings,’ Clara explained. 

Me raised an eyebrow, ‘You must have studied a very detailed book to fly a TARDIS and to know the traditions of an alien planet you’ve never been to before.’ 

‘The best,’ Clara smiled, thinking of the Doctor. 

The windswept brown hair, hazel-green eyes, a long coat, and a bow-tie. 

‘Come on then,’ Clara grabbed Me’s hand and took her exploring, pointing out all the different tents and learning from the aliens. This was proper travelling with a TARDIS, a bite of time and space for eternity, and returning back home thirty seconds after she left. He’d gotten good at the piloting too. She’d doubted him a bit, this first time, this first trip. 

‘No. We don't walk away. But when we're holding on to something precious, we run. We run and run as fast as we can and we don't stop running until we're out from under the shadow.’ 

He tried his best. And he needed saving too. Just because he was the Doctor didn’t mean that he didn’t need saving. And in Clara Oswald’s expert opinion, she was very good at saving the Doctor. A little too good, in fact. The smile on her face dropped a bit. 

‘Come on,’ Clara jerked her head, taking Me’s hand and running towards the temple. 

‘What’s going on?’ Me asked, their feet hitting the ground lightly in their boots on the sandy ground into a large amphitheatre. 

Clara tugged Me’s hand onto a spot on the bleachers, near the top and as far from Akhaten as possible. 

‘Hello,’ she smiled, waving at the Pan-Babylonians who bowed their head in greeting. 

‘Hello,’ Me smiled as well, then turned to Clara who was making sure to especially hide her face. 

‘This is the Festival of Offerings,’ Clara whispered back. ‘The Queen of Years sings The Long Song to keep the god, Akhaten, asleep before being sacrificed.’ 

‘Ah, yes, sacrificing women for the “good of the people.” Where have I heard that before?’ Me remarked dryly. 

Clara turned towards her, hesitant. 

‘You think I don’t remember how humans look down upon other humans to make themselves feel adequate and, in their eyes, superior?’ Me raised an eyebrow. 

‘I don’t know what you remember at all times,’ Clara replied. 

‘It is a constant plight, Clara, being treated like a girl who knows nothing, and yet it isn’t even a lie,’ Me replied, her voice vibrating like glass — strong, but breakable. 

Clara frowned, trying to imagine what that would be like: to be treated as naive and innocent while knowing more than most, and yet, needing to record memories over the millenia just to remember. 

‘Run, you clever boy, and remember me.’ 

And, so he did. And he’d saved her, too. 

‘Don’t do that,’ Me’s voice cut through her mind. 

‘Sorry?’ Clara frowned, startled, looking up at her. 

‘Don’t pity me.’ 

‘I’m not,’ Clara replied, surprised at the suggestion. 

Me held her gaze with an accusatory laser precision, no doubt calculating her candor like a set of scales. Finally, she nodded and articulated, ‘I will not pity you, if only you extend the same courtesy towards me.’ 

‘Of course,’ Clara agreed at once. It had never occurred to her not to respect Me in any way. 

‘What were you saying?’ Me asked, and both women turned back before the open-faced amphitheater. 

Clara found it very odd, the fiery “god” destroyed and basically a temple of darkness now. It actually helped her that they could not see her face then. The lives of those on Tiaanamet and the seven systems had been indefinitely changed by the Doctor and Clara Oswald. 

‘The Queen of Years sings the Long Song in religious tradition to appease the god Akhaten,’ Clara explained and turned to Me. 

Me was gazing at her with careful scrutiny, ‘You speak as though this were past-tense.’ 

‘Well, you know, religious customs change over time,’ Clara replied offhandedly. ‘Look, there’s the Queen!’ She pointed eagerly at the small figure approaching the centre of the amphitheatre. 

They both turned to peer over the cheering and clapping crowd as the girl approached the platform with a bright smile in red regalia with long straight blonde hair. 

‘Hail Merry Gejelh, the Queen of Years,’ a voice announced. 

Clara and Me clapped loudly along with everyone else. 

‘She is quite young for a queen,’ Me whispered. 

‘Probably makes more competent decisions,’ Clara replied. 

‘Welcome, systems of Akhaten and thank you all for gathering here on Tiaanamet,’ Merry spoke loudly and confidently. ‘I understand our ceremonies have changed since the coming of the Doctor and his faithful kind companion —’ 

Here, Me shot Clara a suspicious look. 

‘ — but I ask us to celebrate in honour of them just one year later. I could not have asked for a kinder duo and who saved my life. I will never forget them,’ Merry declared. 

Clara smiled, making sure to keep her face hidden from her neighbours. It was so worth it, seeing Merry’s confidence and assured leadership. Clara hoped that her words had an impact, inspiring the young queen to never be afraid of being lost and that fear wasn’t a bad thing. From what she could see, one year later, Merry Gejelh was doing just fine. 

‘Did you perhaps read a book that I might find in the travelling history of a nineteen-sixties police box?’ Me whispered, predictably, in Clara’s ear. 

Clara was a bit confused at her specifying 1960s before she remembered that Me had lived through several “sixties” periods. 

‘No idea what you’re talking about,’ Clara looked around at her companion with a grin. ‘This is our first stop to Gallifrey. Our TARDIS won’t have any records of visits to Akhaten until now.’ 

She turned back towards Merry, feeling Me’s judgmental gaze from her right. 

‘And now, in honour of the Doctor and his faithful companion, we will sing The Long Song,’ Merry beamed, spreading her arms. 

‘A choir? Awesome,’ Clara remarked. 

‘As opposed to?’ Me asked. 

Clara’s mouth twitched upwards in amusement. As much as Me was used to living through time and didn’t approve of Clara wholeheartedly, she was still curious and open-minded. That was all Clara wanted in a companion, really. 

‘A solo,’ Clara turned to look at Me with earnest. ‘Everything’s better with someone else.’ 

Me’s face registered confusion and a flicker of something else, but Merry’s song had started so Clara turned back to the audience. 

Rest now, my warrior

Rest now, your hardship is oh, oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-over

Way-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay, wake up, wake up

And let the cloak of life cling to your bones

‘I do not know the lyrics,’ Me said, worriedly. 

‘Don’t worry. It happens when you explore alien planets. You get used to it,’ Clara whispered back, before continuing. 

Cling to your bones

Wake up, wake up

Way-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay, wake up, wake up

Wake up, wake up

And let the cloak of life cling to your bones

Cling to your bones

Wake up, wake up

Way-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay, wake up, wake up

Wake up, wake up

And let the cloak of life cling to your bones

Cling to your bones

Wake up, wake up

Wake up, wake up

Applause rent the air, Merry finishing her song and Clara joining the others in a standing ovation. 

‘I am forever grateful to the Doctor and his companion for saving us,’ Merry bowed her head and the audience did the same, Clara and Me joining in to avoid being conspicuous. ‘I wish I knew her name. She told me a story, a story of her mother, and how she would always find her and never be afraid of being lost again. And I promise to all of you to never be afraid of losing my beliefs to a liar, a false-proclaimed god who takes advantage of someone who knows no better. There is only one Merry Gejelh and there is only one of each of you. You are special, each and every one of you — all of us are impossible.’ 

Clara listened to Merry’s speech with rapt attention, unconsciously blocking out some of Me’s sidelong glances at certain details that were inferably Clara. It was odd. While she was incredibly proud of what she’d done, she was most proud of the seven systems for rebuilding and creating their own beliefs in the universe. Clara knew she was special, but not in a god-like way, not in a way that she genuinely thought she was superior. She knew her importance, uniqueness, and her worth, but she accepted her limits too. She unconsciously reached to hear the ringing emptiness within her chest. She knew. Some might call it arrogance, but Clara thought that to know yourself was the most terrifying and brave honest thing in the universe, something that few dared to discover and even fewer ever realised. 

‘Hail Queen Merry! Hail Queen Merry!’ The crowd roared in approval. 

‘And now, we feast!’ Queen Merry declared. 

‘I think that’s our cue to leave,’ Clara nudged Me. 

‘Really?’ Me asked. ‘Why? Are you scared of being remembered?’ 

‘It’s only been a year,’ Clara gave her a side-long glance. 

‘And they worship you like a god,’ Me noted. 

A twist of discomfort filled Clara’s insides, ‘No,’ she insisted firmly. ‘They remember me. That’s it.’ 

‘I don’t see the difference, the same way people worship the Doctor,’ Me replied as they embarked on their journey down the steps. 

‘They remember me through story and song,’ Clara replied. ‘Odd, isn’t it?’ 

‘Odd?’ Me echoed. 

‘Odd. I always hated history. Load of dates and events, always got them jumbled up. And look at me right in the thick of it,’ Clara shook her head in disbelief, covering her head with her hood. 

‘And you enjoy it?’ Me asked, a hint of jealousy in her voice. 

‘Hey,’ Clara pulled Me aside, behind an unused shop. ‘I enjoy travelling, exploring, learning about the universe because all of it matters. The entire universe. Caring for it because no one else will. It’s not about me. It’s never about me. It’s always about them. That’s the same as you and your Trap Street. And don’t pretend like we’re not the same. We both live across time and help others.’ 

‘The only difference is I don’t leave collateral damage,’ Me lifted her chin, stepping towards Clara, their faces inches apart. 

Clara tilted her head, inhaling a breath — she suddenly remembered that breathing was just habit — and responded with a modicum of irritation, ‘Okay, you can be upset at me for revisiting a place, even though I haven’t interfered with the timeline at all. You can tell me I’m going to die. But I will not have you act like you don’t cause any harm,’ Me opened her mouth but Clara didn’t afford her the chance. ‘Trap Street. You killed that man for stealing medicine for his wife because they couldn’t afford it. You didn’t have to — you said it yourself. Now, I get it. Time is a luxury and tomorrow isn’t promised. But don’t act like you don’t have any collateral. Don’t tell me that his wife didn’t grieve for him.’ 

Me said nothing, her eyes stonily meeting Clara’s defiance. 

‘You help people. So did the Doctor and I. We just had different rules. But people get hurt around people like us, and that’s why we help who we can. Got it?’ Clara clarified. 

Me looked up, eyes flashing with defiance and conceded, ‘Indeed, but I hope we can agree on another matter.’ 

‘Being?’ Clara raised her eyebrows. 

‘You are too much like the Doctor, perhaps for your own good,’ Me replied stubbornly. 

Clara shrugged. She wanted to be more like him, but she never lost track of herself on the way: confident, loving, caring, angry, defiant, adventurous, ambitious. In a universe where you could travel the universe in a blue box and then an American Diner and still pop home for tea, anything was possible. Even in the vast expanse of infinite space and time, Clara would not lose herself or the Doctor, especially when he lost himself. 

The two returned to the TARDIS in silence, both apparently deep in thought. 

‘I enjoyed that visit,’ Me spoke as they started twiddling the dials and buttons on the console. ‘Why did you choose it?’

‘I wanted to see something awesome,’ Clara smiled at her. 

Me looked at her. Clara knew “awesome” wasn’t really in the hybrid’s vocabulary, but the woman still nodded and conceded, ‘It was.’ 

There was a pause. 

‘But you have to be careful. You can’t mess with the timeline. Our very presence creates ripples, but we cannot stir waves. You do understand that, right?’ 

‘Alright,’ Clara nodded, removing her hood, tired of hiding her face. ‘Something old, how about something new now?’ She asked, slamming the handle down, laughing as the TARDIS whirred to life for a new journey in space and time.

Chapter Text

THREE

MARTHA JONES

Martha was absolutely flabbergasted at the credentials these people had, involved in alien threats and invasions, saving the universe, being on the frontlines against Daleks and Cybermen, briefly described by Grant Avery. It was incredible, really, really incredible. Meanwhile, she was a terminated medical student. Her face burned with shame when it was time for her introduction. 

‘Um, hello, I’m Martha Jones. I’m — er — studying to be a medical student,’ she smiled, feeling her chest weigh down with inadequacy. 

‘Hello Martha Jones, nice to meet you,’ the man in the top left grinned at her with white pearly teeth. He was a British bloke with a better haircut than the American and he seemed to be wearing a long grey overcoat. 

‘Hey,’ another bloke with a rounded jaw, shorter hair, and wearing a pout on his face entered the frame of the screen. 

‘Just saying “hi,” promise,’ he told his partner before kissing him on the lips. ‘Go tell Gwen to set the coordinates, yeah?” 

The other bloke nodded and disappeared from view. 

‘Coordinates?’ Martha echoed. 

‘We need you to come with us, Ms Jones,’ Avery declared. 

Martha looked up at him, her chin raising, ‘Me? I have my medical training.’ 

‘About that,’ Avery gave her a stony look. ‘We could put in… ah… a convincing word with Mr Stoker provided you meet with us.’ 

Martha bristled at that, ‘You mean bribery? That’s not very legal, is it? Besides, I’m not part of this.’ 

‘On the contrary,’ the bloke named O at the top-right corner interjected. ‘Harold Saxon has a landslide vote and will very likely be elected as Prime Minister in about six days. If he has an interest in your sister, your entire family is of note.’ 

‘How is my family “of note” to MI6 exactly… or is that classified?’ Martha demanded, folding her arms glaring at him. 

An easy smile came across the agent’s face. Martha could see he had smooth, black, slicked-back hair along with a goatee. It looked as though he were outside on a porch in the middle of a grassy wasteland, almost like he was on vacation. 

‘We believe Harold Saxon is conducting illegal activity,’ the woman in the fourth picture declared confidently. 

Martha looked past the tiny image of her own face on the screen and observed the woman. She had an unusually round face, bright brown eyes, shoulder-length wavy brown hair. Behind her, Martha could see a woman with long passion twists and a bloke working on something out of sight. 

Martha felt her heart pang with loneliness. All these people had teams, except maybe the bloke called O. She was all alone. She’d been tracked down by a woman who got her sister the job and a bloke who hated her, and she still had no idea what was going on. She had tried denying the problem, for what was the big deal of her sister getting a good job? But she couldn’t ignore her gut feeling that something was very wrong with both parties, especially since both were spying and stalking the Jones family. It felt ironic that the party who was actively helping her sister and getting her the job were the same ones she was being told (by the party she was currently with, mind you) were less than savoury. 

But at the mention of illegal activity, Martha’s concern for her sister grew exponentially, her concern for herself dissipating like tea left on the table for a day. Not to mention, one party hadn’t attended and that was the one apparently acting under Saxon’s future regime. Disgust coiled up within her. She couldn’t believe she’d voted for him. 

‘Trust me, you’re not the only one,’ the woman remarked. 

Martha jumped. She hadn’t realised she’d said that aloud. 

‘I’m Clara, Clara Oswald, nice to meet you. This is Qananii and Andrew,’ she pointed at her companions in the background without looking back at them. ‘Martha Jones, we need to ask you questions about your sister, Professor Lazarus, and Harold Saxon.’ 

‘I don’t know anything about them. They’re just a couple of blokes,’ Martha frowned, and quite frankly she didn’t care. The main name she was concerned with was the first one at the moment. Besides, she hadn’t even seen Harold Saxon, really, properly. The peculiar nature of voting for him was starting to strike in. Why had she done it? 

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ O cut in smoothly. ‘Who knows? In their positions of power, they could be the leading future of the human race. With your medical standing, well, let’s just say Britain could very well use a doctor.’ 

‘Either way, you are a necessary link between Saxon, Lazarus, Stoker, and our findings,’ Clara declared. 

‘Clara,’ Avery warned. 

‘That’s Director Oswald to you,’ Clara tilted her head towards Avery off-screen, but she was smiling at Martha. ‘The Archangel Network is a fifteen-satellite program designed to map out space anomalies. Top secret, you understand.’ 

‘You found something, then?’ Martha asked, learning forwards towards the monitor. ‘Something linking Stoker, my sister, and Saxon’s illegal activity?’ 

‘Yeah,’ Clara grinned, and Martha wasn’t sure why she was smiling a bit too. ‘Everyone in a secure location?’ 

‘No,’ Grant Avery declared sharply. ‘We’ll move to —’ 

‘Tower of London work for everyone?’ Clara interrupted, and Martha couldn’t help but smile at Avery and Sanchez’ jaws working in fury at being interrupted. ‘Everyone got their own teleport?’ 

‘No,’ Martha and O said at the same time. 

‘Doctor Jones, you’ll come with us,’ Avery appeared behind Martha and informed O next, ‘We’ll dispatch a plane for you.’

‘Thank you kindly. I wouldn’t want to miss this,’ O grinned and rubbed his hands together eagerly. ‘Been a while since I’ve done legwork.’ 

‘What kind of work do you do?’ Martha asked before she could stop herself. 

‘Oh, you know, spy stuff. Infiltrating spy organisations, reporting to MI6 and secret cabinets of the British government. But mostly, trying to find every group’s spy master… you know, the root for everything to infiltrate and dismantle them from within,’ O replied. ‘I could show you sometime, Martha Jones?’

Martha frowned, intrigued. She had seen shows with Mum, Dad, Leo, and Tish, especially since Leo enjoyed them so much. But she didn’t think she’d be a great actor because she wasn’t a great liar. 

‘Oi, stop flirting,’ the first man — Jack, Martha thought he was called — protested. 

‘You have a partner,’ Clara scoffed. 

‘Yeah, but I’m standing up for women's rights. Unsolicited flirting is disrespectful,’ Jack nodded proudly. 

Martha nearly giggled at the hypocrisy. Clara actually did, and remarked, ‘Ooh, Qananii covers the coffee and you’re not going to beat that.’ 

‘Ladies, please,’ Jack held up a hand to his chest, looking wounded. ‘One at a time. I can’t take this all at once.’ 

‘Get over yourself, Mr Harkness,’ Avery interjected stonily. 

‘Captain,’ Jack interjected, sounding annoyed. 

This went ignored. 

‘I will meet all of you at the Tower of London at 1800 to account for O’s travel time.’ 

The group nodded, Jack mock-saluting in response. 

‘Sorry everyone, but I can’t just travel in time or space, you know,’ O fake-grimaced, breaking into another winning smile. 

Martha, Clara, and O chuckled, while Jack remarked with a note of prideful envy, ‘Boy, are you missing out,’ and left Martha wondering what he meant. 

∘ — ∘⟡∘ — ∘

TENTH DOCTOR

The Doctor opened his eyes, finding his back strapped to a long rectangular sheet of metal, his arms and legs tightly tied. He could tell by the smell, it was silver. He wriggled his toes and scrunched his nose. Well, at least those were working. No problem if those were working, right? No worries. None at all. After all, he was the Doctor. He was great at getting into things, and even better at getting out of them. Even better if there were no companions to worry about. They just ran off and he was always chasing after them, concerned about their safety, and he had to go rescue them like they were some damsels in distress. Without them, he was free. He could save everyone freely, yes, he was doing so much better than before. He found, most unfortunately, that he could not convey this aloud to his captors given his mouth was gagged and his hands tied. Unfortunately, the Doctor was not as great at undoing handcuffs as his former childhood best friend so he would use patience and time as his ally because why were handcuffs so unreasonably hard to undo? 

He blinked and the sight that befell his eyes was utter darkness, which wasn’t all that pleasant to him, but he didn’t want to show his fear. Or maybe that would be a good tactical strategy… Show your fear to let down the enemy’s guard. Arrogance always bred mistakes, unless you were as brilliant as the Doctor, who believed he could always survive. He was quite good at it too, after all, since he’d been doing it for nine-hundred three years. He’d be a bit of  a rubbish Doctor if he couldn’t help himself, although, he considered, he’d much rather save others than himself. He was far too gone to be saved. 

Eugh. Look what isolation was doing to him… Making him think… Well, not that thinking was bad. Thinking was very good if one wanted to think and think about many things and be productive, but there were also times where thinking could be disadvantageous because thinking could be a lot of thinking and it could be too many thoughts about things. For instance, he really ought to start thinking of relevant variables on how to escape. 

The Doctor let out a loud inhale through his nose. Sea salt, infrared, silver, wood, oxygen, cellulose — oh, interesting. Trees were made of cellulose, bad for human digestion. Time Lords, on the other hand, had additional enzymes that could break down β-glucose bonds whereas it was just good fibre for humans. Another fact, Time Lords also had enhanced sensory perception. That was why he could smell those things and why he could taste them too. It was all to gain information. Time Lords were just more enhanced, able to sense more than the average human: see better, hear more, taste history, touch memories, smell loads more. 

There were the old days — the Doctor swallowed a lump that appeared in his throat, his eyes watering — when he could smell other Time Lords. Hear them, too. He could hear their melodies. Their names in Gallifreyan, not just what looked like circles to non-Time Lords, but music. The Doctor loved music — huge fan, in fact. Some species were wiser to view music as a means of harmony — literally — bringing people together, and it was something that the Time Lords, despite the many things they’d gotten wrong, had quite perfected. There had been different types of Gallifreyan too, spoken, symbolic, ancient Gallifreyan, and music was inclusive too. 

The Doctor’s name, for instance. It could be heard sometimes by children. Just out there, waiting to fall upon the ears of the curious, open-minded, and perhaps the lost too. It was something that was out there at all times, and not everyone could hear it. 

And he would never speak it again. 

Because, well, he was the last of his kind, and he had a legacy to maintain. He didn’t have time to think about his birth name. But why bring up Gallifrey? Well, because he was the last of his kind. 

He’d only spoken the place when asked by the Empress of the Racnoss —

‘Gallifrey.’ 

He’d never dared to before, as though he was worried the deceased Time Lords would enact vengeance summoning his TARDIS, and killing him — and if anyone thought that was an exaggeration, then they clearly weren’t familiar with the Doctor’s past regenerations. But that was fine with him. He didn’t need to be reminded of who he used to be. He knew his code: Never be cruel, never be cowardly. 

The odd thing was, he didn’t know where it came from. Not from the Academy, not from his best friend, not from the The Moment… but it had been there… the barn… 

The Doctor let out a loud exhale, feeling hot tears run down his face. This was ridiculous. He really needed to get himself together. 

You just miss Rose and your people, he told himself sternly. Come on, Doctor. You need to learn more information. 

He looked around. Even with his enhanced sensing abilities, he couldn’t grasp anything entirely around him, as though his brain refused to form any conclusions. That was new. The Doctor was exceptionally clever, if he did say so himself, able to take in disparate pieces of information and synthesize them into a cohesive conclusion that wow-ed people. 

The loud clunking of boots drew his attention forwards to see an eight-foot tall metallic humanoid made entirely of silver staring at him. 

‘Erase his memory,’ a neutral metallic voice rang out. 

No, that’s not necessary. That really isn’t — the Doctor tried to protest – a blue light shone at him — 

The Doctor’s eyes snapped open, staring up at the ceiling of his room of the TARDIS where he slept. Or, well, rather, he laid down to rest. But he didn’t dream often. He closed off dreaming telepathically because he had no need for it. Dreams were the things of other species. So, what had all that been then? Did he remember? 

The Doctor got up and headed to the console, scanning the systems. No… They didn’t have a record of any planet called Freensl or any indication he’d gone, and yet… his mind and body knew he had. His clothes, for instance, were no longer soaking but — he licked the fabric — he could taste the salt beneath the fabricating cleanser scan still. Salt. Terrible to get out of anything. 

But that dream… that meant something… After all, dreams were the unconscious way of telling their hosts messages from across the stars or perhaps their greatest wishes and fears. The Doctor didn’t need dreams to tell him any of that; he ran away from it all anyway. But this one had come unbidden and he couldn’t shake it off, stretching like a cat, feeling as though his back was plastered to the silver sheet of metal. 

What had they done to him? 

‘Well,’ he said aloud to the main console room of the TARDIS, its golden lights flickering. ‘Time to get some answers,’ he decided and plotted a course back to Freensl. 

The engines groaned loudly as he landed, and stepped out onto the metal and wood docks. He felt a twinge of pain and the Doctor traced his hand over a bite mark just over his shoulder blade: memory worm. His face scrunched as lightning cast about in the purple sky, and he looked around. Still, there was miles and miles of water. He sniffed the air: far less salt, way more cellulose. Definitely an excavation of water, and far more trees. 

‘Doctor!’ A cry drew his attention. 

He turned at once to see a Freenslian. 

‘Hey. Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, he rushed forwards, grabbing the stumbling alien and holding it in his arms. ‘What happened here?’ 

‘You —’ 

There was a terrifying moment where the Doctor feared for himself. What had he done? Had he done all this? 

‘ — said for us…  to flee… because the oxygen… would poison us…’

Visions of light implanting trees, crashing into colonies and screaming aliens erupted in the Doctor’s mind. The alien’s memory. 

‘No…’ he whispered. 

‘You said you would save us,’ the alien’s golden lights flickered. 

‘No, no, no, no, no,’ he whispered, rigid, his hands clenching tightly on the body of the alien. ‘No, no, no, there must be some of you that got away.’ 

‘They are all gone, Doctor,’ the alien smiled feebly at him. 

‘Why are you smiling?’ the Doctor cried, tears running down his cheeks. ‘I failed you! Why are you smiling?’ 

‘Because,’ the alien smiled, and the Doctor recognised it with a jolt. ‘The Doctor gave me the name Bob. Allow me to die.’ 

His breath faltered and he laid impossibly still. 

‘NOOOO!’ The Doctor yelled, leaning downwards, and resting his head on the alien’s head. ‘No, no, no, no, no!’ 

He left the body on the raft and dived into the ocean, ignoring the currents and water fighting against him. His throat was tight, and his heart heavy with grief and rage as he swam to the depths. Trees were there, growing roots, and all the little Freenslians… their golden lights flickering unsteadily… All dead… oxygen in their systems… 

‘No…’ he choked out, forgetting he was underwater and accidentally swallowing a mouth of seawater. 

The Doctor threw himself back on the docks next to the TARDIS, coughing and spluttering, salt burning his throat and cheeks. 

An entire planet. An entire species. An entire civilisation. 

‘WHY?” He yelled, looking up at the purple thundering skies. ‘Why would you do that? You didn’t have to do that! You didn’t have to kill them all!’ 

He lurched forwards in ungainly uneven steps, pressing his hands against the sides of the Freenslian’s small head. The body was so fragile and light, and the Doctor’s hands were numb from the chilly icy water. 

He closed his eyes, linking telepathically with the alien’s memories. 

Flashes of blue light, capturing trios of Freenslians, their mouths open and horrified, screaming in pain. Bob had run away, and the duo had forsaken him, for he had broken their code of three: never go anywhere without your trio. He had run to warn the Doctor… 

The images went blank. 

‘What?’ The Doctor exclaimed, opening an eye. ‘Come on! Warn me of what? TELL ME!’ He yelled suddenly, to no avail. 

The telepathic connection had gone dry. The body had slumped lifelessly in his arms. The Doctor dropped the body, his hands numb, and stood on the docks looking upwards into the endless sky. 

He wanted to scream, yell, throw something, blame someone. He wanted revenge. He wanted to die. He was the Doctor and he’d failed them. He’d failed to save them, and now there were millions more tallies racking up against him. It was an endless counter of everyone the Doctor had failed. He couldn’t save them, and he’d killed them. All of them. What were a few million more? 

He looked down, through pouring rain and flashing purple lightning, at Bob. Bob had risked oxygenation poisoning and not going to the Freenslian afterlife for breaking their sacred code to try to warn him. His face scrunched up with maddening grief. 

It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair. 

‘I promise you I’ll find you,’ he looked back up at the sky, despite no one being there. ‘I will.’ 

And I don’t know if I can be the Doctor when I do. 

∘ — ∘⟡∘ — ∘

MARTHA JONES

Martha couldn’t decide where she’d want to go first if she could travel in all of time and space. She supposed it didn’t really matter. Just being with someone who wanted her around meant everything to her, to explore and investigate, learn about new things, expand her scientific mind… Maybe she’d discover a new medical marvel and be renowned and famous on another planet. It was surreal to think about, just a daydream, but the thought had lingered since Jack Harkness’s off-hand comment. 

She was sitting in a briefing room in the Tower of London, swaying side-to-side on her rolling chair, waiting for everyone else to arrive. Maybe it was just her lack of knowledge, but Martha had always thought that using a teleporter meant instant transportation. That, or she was just being excluded. It was probably the latter, she realised. She really wasn’t part of this conversation, but she was a key player connecting a few things so they needed her. And then after this, they'd probably send her away. 

Well, that’s good, she thought. I don’t know how much more of this weirdness I can take. 

The briefing room had mostly opaque-translucent filmy glass in a large rectangular box only detailing foggy silhouettes on the exterior. It made Martha feel boxed in with only a set of double doors at one end. It had a long black table and ten wheely chairs, four on each longer side and two at the ends. Martha had taken a seat at where a gold nameplate read: 

DOCTOR MARTHA JONES

She didn’t know why they kept insisting she was a doctor, but who was she to complain? Besides, there may be a whole thing that Mr Stoker had been possessed? And honestly, why not? Martha was beside herself. This day could not possibly get any weirder. 

Though it was certainly trying to tempt her as the doors opened and the entire entourage arrived as though they’d planned a surprise party, walking in at the same time. 

Martha recognised them all from their online interaction: Jack Harkness with his swagger and confident charming smile and dark hair, O with his black hair and goatee, and Clara Oswald with her dark hair and round face. Her friends, Qananii and Andrew were present too. 

Martha was exceptionally glad to see Grant Avery wave Sanchez away, who merely scowled at her in reply. 

They all took their seats, Jack across from her, Clara to her left, and Avery at the head of the table to her right. O sat next to Jack, his eyes flickering between Clara and Martha. All of them wore long posh coats and Martha felt silly in her red leather jacket, lowering herself in the chair as much as possible without being too obvious. 

‘Right, welcome to the Tower of London,’ Avery announced in a monotone voice. ‘Doctor Martha Jones, this is where UNIT meets. We are a militaristic organisation —’ Martha’s nose wrinkled in disgust, to which Clara handed her a cup of coffee with a smile, ‘ — and we are designed to protect our country and the planet from alien threats and invasion.’ 

‘Why would aliens want to invade Earth?’ Martha frowned after taking a sip. 

‘Maybe because you have a horror-based parasitic film called “Alien” and they find it offensive,’ O suggested off-handedly. 

Martha directed her frown at him. She was being serious. 

‘Ignore him, that’s what I do,’ Jack told her with a smirk in O’s direction. 

‘You two met on the same call Martha did,’ Clara cut in sharply from Martha’s left. 

‘Hey,’ Jack gave her a disheartened and annoyed look. 

‘Enough. We need to collaborate our resources to get through the problem here,’ Avery interrupted. ‘Ms Oswald?’ 

‘I think you mean Director Oswald,’ Clara replied loftily, tossing her hair back but she pulled out a set of files all the same. ‘The Archangel Network has detected —’ 

‘What’s an Archangel Network?’ Martha interrupted, bursting to ask the question. ‘You mentioned satellites?’ 

Everyone looked at her, and then over at Clara. 

‘That’s classified,’ Clara raised an eyebrow. 

Of course it is, Martha thought. 

‘However, I can tell you that it was funded by Harold Saxon.’ 

‘A satellite system was already funded by a person not even fully in office for Prime Minister?’ Martha echoed. 

That did not sound good. Like some conspiracy that Leo turned his nose down on. 

‘Blimey, why’d we vote for him?’ Martha sat back in her chair, dumbfounded. 

‘I didn’t,’ Clara said. 

Martha looked over at her, Liz, and Andrew with a jolt of realisation that these three must have been some of the dissenters who didn’t vote for Saxon. She didn’t judge, of course, already questioning her own sanity, but only wanting to ask, ‘Then why are you working for him?’ 

‘We’re not,’ Clara turned to look at Martha and spoke in a confident bossy tone. ‘We’re under the funding of UNIT which has a right to monitor all Prime Ministers, Presidents, and leaders of the world, should any alien intelligence be relevant.’ 

‘In case the Prime Minister is an alien?’ Martha tilted her head doubtfully. 

‘Madder things have happened, believe me,’ Jack snorted. 

‘The point is…’ Clara pulled out a series of images detailing weather system anomalies, a black mass in the sky, and regular weather reports on every other device. 

‘Something’s affected all of Earth’s technology,’ Clara continued. ‘Everyone on Earth is affected except —’ 

‘You,’ O finished. 

Clara hesitated but then nodded, ‘I updated my phone, using UNIT Wi-Fi, and my phone gives the same reports as these anomalies. It’s as though someone or something in the universe wants me to know that something is wrong.’ 

‘Well, aren’t you a special gal?’ Jack grinned at her. 

‘She is, and stop flirting with her, you ignoramus,’ Qananii interrupted from next to Clara. 

Jack made motions to defend himself but Avery interrupted, “Doctor Jones, what do you think?’ 

Every face in the room swivelled towards her. 

Martha picked up the images. Despite learning to be a medical student, she’d gotten training in the sciences, like biology, chemistry, and all that. One couldn’t be too picky in this economy, but she wasn’t going to give up on her dreams of becoming a doctor either. 

‘The ship creates lightning storms but they’re not being detected by Earth’s satellites,’ Martha deduced. ‘So, something’s blocking the signal to the satellites? Or something’s letting your signal catch it?’ 

‘Any thoughts?’ Avery addressed the table. 

‘Could be both. Someone or something with the ability to target certain technological systems but not others. Especially one off-the-grid. That shouldn’t be possible,’ O shrugged. ‘I haven’t come across anything like this before. The most reasonable conclusion I have is a computer or artificial intelligence above the ones we currently have operating… some great intelligence.’ 

‘I like that. Good name,’ Jack approved. 

‘And what does this have to do with my sister?’ Martha asked, unable to hold herself back. 

‘Harold Saxon is in control of a satellite network out of UNIT’s control, despite our funding, and he’s the reason your sister is gaining a high position cosying up to Professor Lazarus —’ 

Martha’s face wrinkled in disgust at the sentiment. 

‘He is undoubtedly involved.’ 

‘Okay, but no one’s ever seen him. We’ve only heard of him and the “Vote for Saxon” stuff,’ Martha protested. 

‘That’s not true,’ O jumped in, showing them his laptop and images of Harold Saxon’s birth date, parents, house, taxes, graduation, wedding. ‘He definitely exists.’ 

‘All right, so he exists. So what? What does he want with my sister?’ Martha asked, and a new thought dawned on her, turning to Avery. ‘You think he was involved with the possession of Mr Stoker to terminate my medical position?’ 

‘If she’s not a real doctor, why do we need her?’ O asked, looking pointedly at her. 

‘She’s a doctor in training. She’d be training at Royal Hope Hospital if it weren’t for that fake excuse for a signature, as we discussed,’ Clara looked haughtily at him and then towards Martha. ‘The thunderstorms are called plasma coils and they’re right above Royal Hope Hospital. Where you should be right now, but you’re not. This is going to sound a bit mad, but bear with me. Martha… I think someone is trying to stop you from getting to that hospital.’ 

Martha folded her arms, her brows furrowing, thinking hard. No one had ever cared about her this much in her entire life, and yet, here she was at the Tower of London with secret organisations. It was a bit easier to believe now, but still, it didn’t make sense. 

‘And what else aren’t you telling me?’ She demanded. 

All of them exchanged glances. 

‘Have you heard of an alien called the Doctor?’ Clara asked. 

Martha frowned. She’d had a cousin who’d died at the Battle of Canary Wharf with the Daleks and Cybermen. He’d been there, hadn’t he? 

‘Maybe,’ Martha stated vaguely, not wanting to give her hand away. ‘What about him?’ 

‘He’s missing -’ Jack inputted. 

‘ — and he doesn’t take days off —’ Avery added. 

‘ — and we think the hospital is the key,’ Clara finished. 

‘So, we need your help to get us access to the Hospital,’ O finished, giving Martha a pointed look. 

Martha froze. 

‘Me?’ She clarified. ‘You need my help to bring the Doctor to Earth because you can’t detect storm clouds?’

‘There’s something bigger here at work, and the Doctor is our greatest ally when alien threats are present. There is nothing human that could have done this,’ Avery affirmed. 

Martha took a deep breath. She needed to be sure, ‘And my family?’ 

‘When we bring the Doctor to Earth, your family will be safe from any alien that threatens it,’ Avery reassured her. 

‘And what about Saxon?’ Martha queried. 

‘Oh, don’t worry about him, Martha Jones,’ O leaned forwards, meeting her eyes. ‘I told you. What we need is a doctor and you’re the key to bringing the Doctor back to Earth. Something’s deflecting his signals, and if the Doctor doesn’t save Earth —’ 

‘Millions of people could die,’ Jack finished with such a heavy tone that it startled Martha. She hadn’t thought he could be that sentimental or emotionally layered. ‘We need him.’ And the way he said that too… like he knew this Doctor personally… 

Martha blinked rapidly a few times. 

‘I know this is a lot,’ Clara touched her left arm gently as Martha let out a few inhales and exhales to calm her stressed mind at this new information. She continued, ‘But the best way to help your family and this planet is to call the Doctor. Doctor Martha Jones and the Doctor, and you’re the key.’ 

Martha glanced around at the table. Qananii and Andrew looked about as clueless as her, but they stood firmly by their friend’s side. Captain Jack gave her a very serious nod, and Martha had the odd impression that he was being honest and had indeed known the Doctor. Travelling in space and time? Maybe not as impossible now. O was giving her a look that she didn’t know how to interpret, almost like he was weighing on her every move like an injured animal waiting for a predator to strike. It unsettled her, and she moved her gaze to Avery who gave her a sharp nod which she took to mean: Your family will be protected and under surveillance if you help us, as promised. 

Martha took another deep breath. 

Well, I was going to go visit Mr Stoker to get my medical license back anyway. Guess this saves me a trip. 

‘Okay, I’ll do it,’ Martha agreed. ‘But one condition.’ 

‘Being?’ Clara asked. 

‘I don’t need any of your help getting my medical internship back. If I’m going to become a doctor, I’m doing it the right way. No cheating, no shortcuts. I’m getting back into the Royal Hope Hospital program on my terms.’

Captain Jack saluted her while Qananii and Andrew applauded. Clara gave her a wide smile, and Avery gave a stiff nod. 

‘Great,’ Martha grinned cheerily.

‘Time to save the Doctor, Martha Jones,’ O gave her a reassuring smile and nod. ‘Who knows? It might not be the last time in your life.’

Chapter Text

FOUR

CLARA OSWALD 

‘What d’you reckon?’ Clara stood, swaying on the spot back and forth from left to right. 

She was wearing a thin long white lace-styled dress with draping sleeves, black gloves, and Dune Astor black lace up wingtip block-heeled shoes. Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders, free and slightly wavy, bouncing about her shoulders. 

‘Do you add cosmetics often?’ Me asked from the side, wrinkling her nose, tilting her head speculatively. 

Clara glanced at her. Me was wearing a long black gothic-style Chinese dress with silver embellishments and black boots, and was looking around with scepticism. 

‘Why? You think I look different?’ Clara asked. 

‘You have purple lip balm on,’ Me observed. 

‘Hm,’ Clara’s lips twitched upwards in amusement. ‘Didn’t think you noticed.’ 

‘I’m not the Doctor. I notice you,’ Me replied. 

Irritation and disagreement rose up within Clara, ‘He does notice me, and he knew me.’ 

‘That was part of the problem if I recall correctly,’ Me replied sharply. 

‘Are you going to bring this up every time we travel?’ Clara asked, turning towards her with an air of irritation. 

‘Yes,’ Me replied bluntly. ‘Because you are like him. And I don’t desire you trying to chase your way back into his life on a whim at the cost of all of space and time.’ 

Anger lit up in Clara, turning to face Me, raising her eyebrows, ‘Don’t insult me by assuming that I’ll go back on my word. I said I’m going to Gallifrey, and I will.’ 

Me didn’t say anything for a long moment and then replied, ‘We’ll see. Where are we?’ 

‘No, hold on. Why don’t you trust me? What do you mean by that?’ Clara asked, a bit curious and a bit insulted. 

Me stared away into the distance, but Clara was focused on getting answers. She enjoyed Me’s presence, but she wanted to be clear what kind of relationship they were going to have as companions. Because if Me didn’t trust her, then Clara wouldn’t in return. She needed a show of faith, or at least her word. 

Me turned to look around at Clara, and said, ‘You were going to erase his memory if he tried to use the device on you. A moment of spontaneous passion on a whim of defiance and emotionality.’ 

‘And I regretted it,’ Clara bit back. 

‘Because of how it affected you, not because you felt guilty. And that’s the problem,’ Me’s eyebrows raised as a challenge. ‘You two change together or act against one another on a whim, leaving chaos. And while you both are capable of compassion, your last few moments together involved deceit, passion, lies, forgiveness, loss, and love. I believed you when you said that you’d accepted your death, but the same way you can’t say good-bye to the Doctor nor space and time, I have to wonder… How long before something changes and you believe you can keep running towards sunset when nightfall has already happened?’ 

‘Stop treating me like I’m the Hybrid or the Doctor,’ Clara retorted. ‘I am Clara Oswald. I am responsible for my own decisions, the same as you. And I have accepted my death, but tell me, if you had the chance and a TARDIS, wouldn’t you take it for a spin around the universe?’ 

Me said nothing. Her presence, travelling with Clara, was evidence enough and they both knew it. 

‘I will keep you at your word, then. The word of Clara Oswald,’ Me bowed her head, her eyes not leaving Clara’s for a second. 

‘Good,’ Clara broke their eye contact, looking around at the planet, ‘What d’you think, then?’ Clara asked, brightly, tilting her head to the right. 

They both looked about. They were strolling on the surface of some planet, where three golden stars shone upon them from above in the shape of an equilateral triangle. The ground was like gold and their footsteps left ripples that cascaded outwards in concentric circles. But the ground was made of something magical, because it repaired itself like smoothing over batter, and making sure the surface was smooth and clean. Pink, golden, and white streaks made up the endless sky above them, moving continuously like the famed Aurora Borealis on Earth, but not in a way that made you dizzy. It was sort of like what being frozen in a painting would make you feel. Everytime, you blinked or registered the sky, it looked different and was frozen. 

The sky itself was an endless pink and gold canvas, like a type of heaven, if you believed in that sort of thing. The golden stars seemed to give off spiralling golden rays and glitter that streamed from the air in valleys and sheets that travelled through Clara and Me in the endless empty expanse of space around them. 

Clara looked up, smiling widely, marvelling at it all. This was a large reason why travelling would never get old… After all, Clara had tried — barely tried, at that — to give it up, and the Doctor never had. Me was right… They were far too alike… 

‘It’s beautiful,’ Me commented. 

Those words struck a cord in Clara’s empty chest where there should have been a beating, thrumming live heart. And yet, there was nothing but the silence between a beat and her last. The music echoed through it, and to Clara, it stretched out the space in between the beats. There was eternity between the beats of the heart and the clock when you listened to music… and when you ran… Always the running… 

Time was the space where everyone lived their lives. Time didn’t pass; Clara was living proof of that. People lived through time, and their memories were what made up their past. Without that, they simply lived in time and space at one moment and died the next. Clara thought of Me, who had infinite life but finite memory, needing to write down everything she encountered. She supposed it would be a story. 

‘Stories are where memories go when they’re forgotten.’ 

A story was a series of memories, summarised with highlights and glamour, neglecting the mundane. After all, people didn’t like boring things. They wanted to make their lives interesting, but Clara knew her life was interesting. She didn’t need to lie or exaggerate to make herself more important. There was not a single person in the universe who Clara had met who wasn’t important. They only needed to share their voices and for people to listen, and the universe would be a better place. Clara had always known what her story was, and that gave her a sense of confidence. Sure, she had to adapt, grow, and learn based on everything around here, but she did. And now… now, it was like all those rules had frozen… Maybe Me had a point. 

Clara’s eyelids quivered in thought, swallowing, and then she spoke to Me, gazing up at the endless sky and land, ‘I heard what you said. At the end of Gallifrey. That my death was beautiful… and sad.’ 

There was a moment of silence, and Clara felt her breathing, her chest expanding and it was so weird to know that she could breathe oxygen without her heart pumping blood. 

Time Lords, she thought. So very capable and so very terrible. 

‘It was,’ Me replied. ‘You died with honour. You died for who you were and…’ 

Clara waited, hearing thunder pounding in her head, ‘And? And what?’ 

She knew the answer already. 

‘She died for who she was, and who she loved.’

She felt Me turn to look at her and Clara looked at Me’s face, with her sharp eyebrows, round deceptively youthful cheeks, and firm jawline. 

‘You know,’ Me replied softly. ‘You were there.’ 

Clara swallowed, turning and nodding. It almost made her wish she hadn’t known. She would have yearned to hear Me admit it. 

I died for who I was, and who I loved. 

I died for the Doctor, ordering him to not be a warrior and to be a doctor. To make a choice to be a doctor. To save himself. 

But what about now? Clara wondered. In the bridge of life and death, with eternity and immortality, infinite time and space… 

It was weird. She’d died billions of years ago and yet she was right here on a mysterious planet with an American diner for a TARDIS, not aging, not able to be ill, not able to die until she returned to her time of death. 

Clara always valued her past, using it to grow and change as a person, going from believing only one person could use the Wi-Fi at a time to piloting a TARDIS across time and space without a manual. And she still believed she was entitled to it; her past was what made her who she was today, just like everybody else. 

Hearing Me affirm that made her feel powerful and validated, but at the same time, she was free. Yes, she was attached to a tether at the end of a line, as everyone was. Tomorrow was never promised, but today was eternity, and here with the music and the sky, it could just be infinite time and space. 

Am I cheating death? Clara couldn’t help but wonder. 

In a small, small way, she was. And she could understand Me’s perspective that she, Clara, could get carried away. 

Well, but no, she couldn’t be. She still died all that time ago. She was just taking the long way round. And as the Doctor tried to explain the lake and ghost paradox: Clara seeing the ghost of the Doctor, giving him the knowledge of the ghost and her name, and then creating the ghost. Now, Clara had died, leading to the Doctor saving her, and then she would die. It was circular, and circles had no beginning. It was the thread before the circle that could break it, but once inside the circle, it had to be finished, or it wouldn't be a circle. 

It reminded Clara of the concept of the mean. Danny Pink had explained it once, the two of them lying on the sofa, just chatting. Being a maths teacher, he explained what he’d taught his students some days and she did the same for English. The arithmetic average, he’d said, was the sum of a series of numbers divided by the number of numbers. The limiting part was the last number. Any number could make up the average until that last number, he’d said. 

‘Because that last number is fixed based on your other numbers.’ 

‘Give me an example,’ Clara had implored out of curiosity. 

‘Okay, say your mean is three. Your first number is one. What does your second number have to be?’ Danny had offered. 

‘Five,’ Clara replied easily. 

Oh. 

She saw it now. Because she’d died at the hands of the raven on Trap Street, she could do an infinite number of journeys, but there would have to be a final journey that would take her back. 

And Clara wasn’t afraid of dying. She didn’t want to be pitied or anything like that. Dying was natural. Dying was human. But now she was wondering… What about that trip before that last fixed number? And so, not wanting to cheat Time or Death, Clara decided, right then and there, that she would choose when she was ready. 

She scanned her memories. What did she want her last meaningful trip to be before heading back to Gallifrey? And it came to her nearly instantly, but she would never say it aloud. Not until the moment arrived, and maybe not even then. But she wanted a say. She was owed that at least, walking to her death slowly in infinity. 

‘Ready?’ Me gestured through the pink, orange, and gold sky. 

‘Yeah, always,’ Clara chuckled, and the two strode through the rippling waves of light. 

She didn’t know where they were going, but that didn’t matter. They were travelling, and that was all that mattered. The two continued walking, admiring the lights and glitter. 

Clara stopped dead and Me did the same. 

‘Okay,’ Clara looked around. ‘Not complaining and all, but I did set the setting to distress calls. Who’s calling for help from here?’ 

‘Why did you set it to distress calls?’ Me asked. 

‘Not the time, Me,’ Clara interjected. 

‘We really should have more conversations about what we're going to do, you and me,’ Me voiced. 

‘Agreed,’ Clara stated. 

She knew that Me was giving her quite a lot of control in piloting the TARDIS, and she appreciated it, but she was tiring of Me’s assumptions. 

We’ll settle that later, she thought. 

Me pulled out a journal — one of the few she’d taken, and scanned through it. 

‘There are theories that this planet called Vacemia, said to be made of pink and gold clouds that create dreams,’ Me explained. 

‘Dreams?’ Clara turned at the word. ‘The Doctor and I came — no, this isn’t an excuse to talk about him. You do realise I have a life outside him, right?’ She added at Me’s slightly tilted head and impassive expression. ‘Right, so the Doctor and I both came across these dream crabs. They eat at people’s brains and trap their victims in a paradise.’ 

‘Well, I wouldn’t know if I was in one. I don’t remember any paradise or moments where I was happy,’ Me replied. 

Clara looked at her, really looked at her. A space where her heart should have been sunk. 

‘I’m sorry, Me,’ Clara frowned. 

Me kept her chin downwards, only her eyes moving upwards at Clara, ‘Don’t be. I’m not the only victim of the Doctor,’ she strolled forwards, keeping her eyes trained on Clara. ‘You are too.’ 

Clara stood for a few beats, frowning at the thought. A victim. 

Then, she turned and ran after Me, inquiring, ‘What else does your journal say?’ 

Me gave her a probing look, but glancing down at her journal, replied, ‘There’s been no evidence of any unfortunate events with this planet. We must be here by mistake.’ 

‘Oh, come on,’ Clara scoffed, her boots soundlessly moving against the ground. Normally, it would have unnerved her, but given she didn’t have a beating heart, that took top prize easily. ‘You know humans. We have a tendency to hide and deny our fears and distress, don’t we? Like a defence mechanism. That could be blocking it.’ 

‘Then how could the TARDIS pick it up?’ Me queried. 

‘It’s telepathic. It can pick up telepathic distress calls, just like the Doctor. Piloting the TARDIS is more like a negotiation. Diplomacy. When I set the heading, it must have picked up something unconscious. There anything like that in your journal?’ Clara asked, looking around. The planet was still covered in pink and gold streaks and trails of glitter. 

‘There’s a common psychological belief of the collective unconscious developed by psychologist Carl Jung — he was amusing from what I can tell — that posits that humans have a shared collective being with similar archetypes. Examples include music, religion, hierarchies, sports, games, stories. All of these surface across the world without groups of people never meeting. It’s simply an inherent part of being human,’ Me summarised aloud. 

‘Could be, then. Humans and a lot of species have a lot of fear of death,’ Clara reasoned. ‘Someone hurting or multiple people hurting could be hiding their pain with defence mechanisms.’ 

‘You mean with their dreams?’ Me asked. 

‘Yeah, sorta,’ Clara replied. 

‘What happened with the dream crabs?’ 

‘They ate my brains a bit, the Doctor's too. He sacrificed his own life to enter my dream to save me. My dream and the dream crabs defended themselves by simple answers — It’s a long story. But our subconscious fought back, using Santa Claus —Father Christmas — to tell us that was a dream,’ Clara recounted. 

It somehow felt less painful knowing she didn’t have a heart, and that she was telling a story. The way she told it, anyone else could have told it, anyone of those other people on the base. 

‘I have never understood the propensity of religion,’ Me said. 

‘Didn’t Scandinavians follow Norse Mythology with Thor and Loki and then Christianity?’ Clara asked. 

‘Some,’ Me turned and nodded, ‘But I don’t remember if I ever did. I don’t now. Too much happens, so much suffering. But part of me thinks that even if there was a god or several gods, it wouldn’t matter.’ 

Clara turned, eyes narrowing in confusion, ‘How do you mean?’ 

‘None of it matters,’ Me shrugged despondently. ‘Because the Doctor has killed countless of them. I have several entries based on testimonies through the centuries.’ 

Dread rippled through Clara’s body. The Doctor could so easily become a warrior, on a whim. She fought for him, she always would, especially when he gave up and didn’t fight for himself. 

‘Okay, so is there anything about how we can enter this collective unconscious world? Or detect defence mechanisms in dreams?’ Clara questioned. 

Me took another flip through of her book, and Clara took notice of how her eyes read the words as though for the very first time. Her mouth moved, her eyebrows, and eyes too, expressing traces of sadness, happiness, and annoyance. It made Clara feel a rush of empathy for her.

‘Don’t look at me like that, Clara Oswald. I thought we had an understanding not to lie to one another,’ Me chastised. 

‘I’m not pitying you,’ Clara responded. ‘I’m your friend.’ 

‘Is that what we call it now?’ 

‘You feel bad for me. It’s the same thing,’ Clara frowned. 

‘No, it’s not. You don’t understand,’ Me replied sharply. 

‘Then help me to understand,’ Clara implored. 

‘There are several stages to the unconscious. Inattention and reduced wakefulness, disorientation, lethargy and drowsiness, obtundation, and stupor. There are medical ways to induce it —’ 

‘Wait, hang on, can’t we just daydream?’ Clara inquired. ‘I mean, that’s a type of unconsciousness.’ 

‘What do we dream of?’ 

Clara thought for a moment. 

Okay, people are in trouble, dreaming and their dreams and collective unconscious defends them. Oh, simple. 

‘We need to dream of a story with every single archetype. How many are there? More than ten, yeah?’ 

Me grimaced, ‘Twelve.’ 

Clara nodded stiffly. No time to think about him. 

‘You read them out, and we’ll create a dream to help these people,’ she instructed. 

Me nodded, lowering her journal, ‘And what about if we become so engrossed in the collective unconsciousness, if we get swept into the lies, how will we escape?’ 

‘Easy. Imagine something impossible. Imagine an impossible scenario right now, so impossible and mind-boggling that if you saw it anywhere, you’d know it wasn’t true,’ Clara advised her. 

Me nodded. Clara shut her eyes, thinking. She knew exactly what was impossible for her, despite every impossibility of her life. 

She opened her eyes at the same time as Me. 

‘I have a condition,’ Me declared. 

‘We’re making a list when we get back,’ Clara assured her. 

‘No, I need you to know this condition now,’ Me replied sharply and Clara looked at her, fully engrossed. ‘No matter what happens, you cannot die. And if it comes to a choice between your life or anyone else, no matter how many, no matter how innocent, I will always choose you.’ 

A small smile curled up on Clara’s face. 

‘Now, listen to the one who scorns the Doctor for the same thing,’ she smiled playfully at Me. 

Me gave her a near smile, ‘Ready?’ 

‘Hit me,’ Clara tilted her head in acknowledgement, her eyes fluttering shut. 

‘The Innocent wanting everyone to be free to be themselves, the romantic, the dreamer -’ 

Ashildr, a girl who wanted nothing more than to protect her village against aliens from the sky. 

‘The Everyman believing everyone created equal, the silent majority, the person next door -’ 

Artie, the ordinary boy who Clara nannied and gave Summer Falls.

‘The Hero believing where there’s a will there’s a way, the warrior, the soldier —’ 

Danny, the man who died saving the world to make sure there was a safe tomorrow for all of us. 

‘The Caregiver loving all as yourself, the parent, the helper -’ 

Psi, who loved and cared about the mission above his own life, erasing his memories of his loved ones to protect them from himself. 

‘The Explorer to explore the world, the seeker, the wanderer -’ 

Maebh, the sweet curious girl who got lost in the woods, and seeing more than anyone could ever dream or understand. 

‘The Rebel believing rules are meant to be broken, the rebel, the misfit -’ 

Robin Hood, breaking laws, stealing from the rich to help the poor. 

‘The Lover believing in only one other, the partner, the sensualist -’ 

River Song, the woman who loved the Doctor. 

‘The Creator or Artist imagining it makes it done, the artist, the inventor -’ 

Rigsy, no question. A man with talent and a baby. He can do anything he sets his mind to. 

‘The Jester living fully at all times, the fool, the trickster -’ 

Adrian Davies, funny man. We once had a very confusing conversation about South American authors. 

‘The Sage who believed in the truth setting people free, the planner, the professional —’ 

Rassilon, the Time Lord who trapped the Doctor in his own confession dial for four and a half billion years with only the truth to set him free. 

‘The Magician who makes things happen, the charismatic leader, the healer -’

The Doctor. 

‘The Ruler who believes power isn’t everything but the only thing, the politician, the aristocrat -’

Missy. 

Clara held her eyes shut, and then she felt someone take her hand. 

‘Clara.’ 

Her eyes opened, falling upon someone she never thought she’d see again. 

∘ — ∘⟡∘ — ∘

ME

All of Me’s life she’d been afraid, with stories in her brain, thinking she brought bad luck to her village. She’d grown up, learning about legends of Odin, Thor, Loki, Jormungandr… She’d made puppets, telling stories, giving raiding parties good endings so they could come home safe… She’d been Ashildr, a proud Viking girl, daughter of Einarr and she’d loved her people. They were kind, strong, and brave, fighting for what they believed in. What she had believed in… 

It seemed so long ago now that Ashildr had existed. A girl who the girls thought was a boy, and the boys who thought she was just a girl. She told her stories, and she never fit in, but she was loved by everyone in their village. She really was, and she thought that had been enough. 

Running around in the village, creating her puppets, hugging Chuckles around the neck. Listening to the crying babies and the crackling of the electric eels. Hearing the songs and the winds on the land, and the marching of radiation parties, worrying… always worrying. 

And then she’d met the Doctor — and he’d scared her more than anything she’d ever met. 

He spoke fluent Old Norse, but told tales of dreams and things she could have only imagined in her stories. She saw his tendency to run, hearing how he enjoyed sights but couldn’t wait to see more. She reread that journal entry so many times.

Journal Entry: 

I have forgotten many things. I do not age. As promised, I watched over my village. I upheld my Viking vow, and I watched them grow old, wither, become ill, and die. They treated me like a child still, a little girl, who was unfit to hold a sword much less a pen. I have been forced to leave my village, but I still remember the day I met the one who did this to us. 

The Doctor. The most fearsome warrior of all. Eyes blazing with righteousness and pain, guarded and fleeing at all times, leaving residual chaos in his wake. And instead of facing it, he runs, he always runs away. I remember when he told me that he enjoyed the sights of the world, but he always wanted to keep running and see the next one. And I remember how I pitied him, I remember thinking it was the most ridiculous thing. 

When you see a beautiful place, fall in love with its people and their love and kindness and bravery, how could you ever leave? Even if you were different and mocked, it was home or at least a beautiful place. Is it not valued to stay where your heart lies? 

But no, the Doctor had told her that it was good, but it would not save her, and that she could run. But what good was running? Just her? Ashildr, eighteen years old, alone in the world? The whole world, but the whole world alone was nothing without her loved ones. The Doctor had been cruel and frightening to suggest it, that she was better than everything else and could run away to survive, leaving her people to be killed. 

The Doctor scared her deeply. 

And now, he repulsed her. 

Now, as Me, everyone dying around Me, left behind, watching everyone die around Me, no matter how many lives I tried to save and help guided by my kindness, a death count rose and rose. Death always came in the end, and some died more painfully and some quickly and tenderly, its cold hands claiming lives while they slept. And I quickly learned that Death did not believe in karma. It did not matter if it was my father, Chuckles, a good and brave and noble Viking, or a criminal who stole medicine or murdered and took the lives of others. Death was always there, except for Me. 

I am always alone. I am Me. I have even heard rumours that at the end of the universe, there is a woman waiting to play chess and I know that woman is Me. When everything rots away, everything dies, everybody leaves, there is Me, listening and waiting. 

I pity the Doctor still. Even with all his immortality, grief, and pain, he still cannot say good-bye. This is because of one simple reason: He does not live through Time. Time lives through him. It makes him arrogant and selfish, his wrath or kindness temperamental and situational based on his solitude or his companions. The Doctor sees beauty and sadness, but he does not comprehend the two. He runs away from pain, never facing it, for fear it will always catch up, and when it does, it will break him. The universe will be in danger. 

But this is not the fault of the companions he leaves behind, nor those he leaves behind, or fails to save. The Doctor has no one to blame but himself. His kindness, his name, his promise holds him true — Where there is kindness, there is wrath… Where there is the Doctor, there is cruelty… Where there is a promise, there is treachery. And the day that the Doctor is wrathful, cruel, and treacherous, it will be the end of everything. 

I, Me, will watch over Earth, the only planet I can effectively live, stranded here without a ship of any kind. I will watch over those he leaves behind, running to the next scene because he can’t face himself, running away from the endless but growing fear and pain. Such companions are not at fault for the Doctor’s cruelty and selfishness; they are victims of the Doctor. 

The Doctor is the most terrible and greatest creature I have ever met. No alien or human I have come across has been such a terrifying opponent. He has died several times, regenerating into new incarnations and I have seen them, yet I have never died once. 

Perhaps, the universe means to tell me that I am wrong to be envious. Living forever through Time, forced to live every second without the ability to change anything on a whim, without future knowledge, only relying on myself — Me, has taught me the most valuable lesson… 

Immortality is the greatest enemy of all. The Doctor runs and dies, while I stay and live. Death is afraid of Me, while it hunts the Doctor and his companions. I think he is afraid, and he has good reason to be. And worst of all, I understand him. I think, if I also had a time-travelling machine, I would prefer to travel the universe too. I would rather run from all this death and suffering, but instead, I live through every tragedy of humankind, and yet I do not despise them. They live, they try their best, and if I become cynical and leave them to fare on their own out of fear, then I am no better than the Doctor. I am not a soldier, but I will protect who I can. 

I hope I never meet him again. After all, how can I look a friend in the eye with such hate? I would never forgive myself. 

Me’s eyes closed. How so much had changed from that journal entry. Now, here she was with Clara Oswald, half of the Hybrid to destroy the universe, in a TARDIS, invited by Clara herself. 

Why? Me thought desperately. It was by my Quantum Shade that you died, even if you violated the contract, Clara. Why would you forgive me? How can you be so kind? Why bring me along? You could have abandoned me to die at the end of the universe. Why bring me on a journey of all of time and space? Is it some kind of trick? — That would be so very Doctor-Hybrid of you. 

But now, she was seeing Clara for who she was on her own. Me had never known Clara without the Doctor at her side. Seeing Clara’s defiance at the Doctor trying to trick her with the justification of protecting her, Me was not surprised. It was so very the Doctor. But the way Clara made him see he had gone too far made Me realise that Clara was not just half of the Hybrid. 

Clara Oswald was in control of her own story. She didn’t want the Doctor to save her. She had begged the Doctor not to hurt Me or the rest of their hidden so-called Trap Street — ordered him, so he had no choice, so long as he truly loved her. Me had even witnessed Clara’s horror firsthand about what the Time Lords had done to him. Me had not asked her about the details. Me knew and feared the Time Lords deeply… or she wouldn’t have set the plot to lure Doctor to her. She would not have wished her enemy or even her friend to face the wrath of that species. 

Me had always liked Clara, but she had never known quite how much until she had seen the Doctor and Clara hold the neural block together. And Me knew, then, just how much the Doctor loved Clara Oswald — seeing him terrified, giving up on being a warrior to do what was right while being kind, not running, and side-by-side with her as equals. 

But Me couldn’t help the flashes of suspicion, resentment, and pity towards Clara after the Doctor had lost his memories. After all, she was still half of the Hybrid, brave, angry, and passionate… 

Me had only intended to observe Clara, and then return to her chess game at the end of the universe. 

‘Help me bring him back to Earth?’ Clara had risen, turning to Me, raising her eyebrows. 

Me had blinked, startled, but she spoke without a beat, ‘Yes, of course.’ 

She helped Clara bring the Doctor back to Earth, the TARDIS floating above it as a large cylinder in space. 

‘We need a more conspicuous disguise,’ Clara frowned, staring at the consoles. ‘And fast, or Earth satellites might detect us and shoot us down or something. Never can be too careful, right?’ She smiled in Me’s direction. 

Me found a TARDIS instruction manual in a compartment and remarked, ‘The chameleon circuit should take the form of an appropriate destination.’ 

‘What about somewhere safe?’ Clara spoke distantly, looking towards the unconscious form of the Doctor lying so defenceless on the ground, now in a more comfortable and cushioned position thanks to the two women — two Hybrids. 

‘Safe?’ Me echoed. 

Did the Doctor have somewhere ‘safe’ he went? 

‘Is that not his TARDIS or you?’ Me queried. 

Clara gave her a quizzical look. 

‘His companions are his safe place, are they not?’ She clarified. 

Clara nodded, her eyes sparkling and she replied, ‘The whole universe is. He runs away and away from the pain of everyone he’s lost. Every victim, every innocent, every companion.’ 

Me swallowed, thinking, ‘No where sounds safe for him, then.’ 

‘It isn’t,’ Clara replied. ‘But fear is not wrong. Fear is the thing that keeps you alive and alert. It’s terrible, but it doesn’t have to make people cruel or cowardly.’ 

‘But he did have you.’ 

‘Well, I guess we’ll see about that,’ Clara said determinedly, twiddling and spinning the controls. 

‘You know how to fly a TARDIS?’ Me asked, surprised. 

‘Yeah, ‘course,’ Clara grinned at her, teeth shining in the white light of the TARDIS. 

Me hadn’t questioned it, and helped Clara retrieve the Doctor’s blue police box TARDIS. She’d stared at the painting Rigsy had made of Clara’s face and looked at the same face, widening into a tearful smile. 

‘Thanks, Rigsy. Hope the wife and baby are doing well,’ Clara kissed her index and middle fingers, and pressed them against the mural in gratitude. ‘Come on,’ she pulled out a silver key that shone brighter than anything Me had ever seen. ‘I’ll fly her into our TARDIS.’ 

‘Our?’ Me couldn’t help but repeat. 

Clara gave her a look, full of confused whimsy, ‘Yeah, of course. Our TARDIS.’ And then she disappeared, leaving Me standing and wondering what she’d done to deserve this.

Me headed into their cylindrical TARDIS and saw the blue box appear, engines groaning, golden light spilling out from within. A few moments later, Clara popped her head out of the doors, grinning. 

Clara decided to use a diner that the Doctor had met with Amy and Rory — nothing too obvious. The chameleon circuit groaned and showed complications. 

Clara ordered Me to help them bring the Doctor outside. 

‘You don’t want him waking up in the TARDIS?’ Me queried. 

‘He’s the Doctor. He likes a mystery,’ Clara said, and they laid the Doctor down tenderly. ‘Besides… if he’s forgotten me, he should feel safe, with his guitar and soon he’ll have his TARDIS.’ 

A sharp of panic jolted through Me, ‘You’re going to talk to him?’ 

‘Well, I’m not leaving him here alone without his memories or his TARDIS, just like I’m not leaving you to die at the end of the universe,’ Clara looked up, her voice confident and unwavering. 

Me knew she couldn’t exactly argue. 

‘He hasn’t lost his memories,’ Me replied. ‘He’s only lost his memory of you.’ 

Pain flashed in Clara’s hide behind a steely gaze of steady anger as she stood up, her hand leaving the Doctor’s hand as she faced Me, ‘Don’t you dare insinuate that the Doctor and I meeting was a mistake.’ 

‘Oh, but it was,’ Me argued — no injury intended, just simple fact. ‘You two never should have met.’ 

‘But we did,’ Clara stepped forwards. ‘And now he doesn’t even remember.’ 

‘Yes, we’ll see, won’t we?’ Me looked down at him. ‘Clara, if you talk to him and he remembers —’ 

‘I know,’ Clara nodded, the motion looking stiff and unnatural. ‘I’ll erase his memory again.’ 

‘Will you give him a choice?’ Me asked. 

Clara frowned at Me, ‘Of course I will. He did give me one. It’s the least I can do.’

‘You would risk losing your memory of him?’ 

‘To save all of space and time? To stop the Doctor from being a warrior?’ Clara asked incredulously. ‘Of course. I never asked for this, Me.’ 

‘And yet, you’re not exactly running back to Gallifrey,’ Me noted. 

‘Come on. Oh, hello!’ 

Me turned around to see a truck driver. Clara and the driver conversed and Clara gestured towards the Doctor and the American diner, hand gesticulating to express her intent. Clara gave him a winning smile and started walking backwards toward the diner, facing Me, and tilting her head towards the TARDIS — an invitation. 

Me smiled and joined her. Clara got dressed into a fifties diner outfit, blue and white and got out a notepad and pen. 

‘How do I look?’ Clara grinned, twirling around in a circle, hands on her hips, her ponytail swinging about with her motion. 

‘Good,’ Me nodded. 

Clara grinned, ‘My thoughts exactly.’ 

‘You seem well-adjusted,’ Me remarked watching Clara set up the diner as though making sure everything looked normal. 

‘I am,’ Clara turned with a nod. ‘I just want to know if there’s any part of him that remembers me.’ 

‘He can’t,’ Me said. 

‘But you won’t stop me.’ It wasn’t a question. 

Me didn’t argue. She was quite sure the neural block was effective and the Doctor wouldn’t remember, but she respected Clara’s curiosity to just see if the Doctor remembered. If he did, Me would do whatever it took to make sure they weren’t brought back together again. And if nothing else, to make sure that he was all right. If he didn’t remember, well, she supposed she’d go back to the end of the universe and watch all the stars dying. The colours and her reality bubble, it was side and lonely, but then again, her entire life had been. 

‘I won’t, but you two can’t travel together again,’ Me stipulated. 

Clara nodded, a small smile gracing her lips. 

‘Wouldn’t you rather just leave him to be safe and not risk pain if he doesn’t remember you?’ Me had to ask. 

Clara frowned, ‘I need to know he’s okay. I don’t trust the Time Lords. I want to know that only I was erased. The night I died, I ordered him not to be a warrior and he did become one after the confession dial. He broke every rule of being a Doctor —’ she paused, her eyes filled with the past ‘— and whether he does or doesn’t remember me, he needs to remember to be a Doctor.'

Me felt scepticism creeping up within her.

Clara gave her a judgmental look, and said, ‘Don’t look at me like that. You and I both know while the Doctor is capable of being wrathful, he is incredibly kind. Yes, people die around him, but he does what he can. And the universe needs the Doctor, flying around in his blue box, saving people and scaring away the bullies, laughing with children. You and I know that.’ 

Me didn’t have an argument for that so she went to check on the TARDIS consoles. 

‘Yeah, take a look. You’re going to need it later,’ Clara called from behind. 

‘What?’ Me turned around with an incredulous smile. 

‘Well, I am going to need a co-pilot,’ Clara grinned. 

Me blinked, astonished, ‘You — you want —’ 

She'd thought it was just a laugh.

‘Yeah, of course. Travelling is really lonely by yourself. The Doctor’s terrible at it, and you’ve never known it,’ Clara smiled, her kindness washing in waves over Me. ‘You’re what? Billions of years old? I think you’re qualified,’ she grinned fully at Me. 

Me felt her chest tighten in incredulous shock and glee. 

Me, although not entirely at blame for killing Clara, had played an undeniable role. She had contracted the Quantum Shade to kill Rigsy and only Rigsy. She had underestimated how reckless and kind Clara Oswald was, and regretted it deeply in accordance with her plan. But unlike the Doctor, she did not have a time machine. And even with one, he couldn’t save her anyway. So why was Clara allowing Me to travel with her? It made no sense… 

It was cruel and ironic, really, that Me, after orchestrating the means at which Clara died, that Me would achieve her greatest dream of travelling all of time and space. Only at the end of the universe was she given the opportunity, to skip the parts she didn’t like, to run away when she didn’t like the period, facing prejudice usually in terms of her age, gender, and identification with Me. It was only really aliens that found comfort in Me’s presence and identity, hence, Trap Street. And yet, here was human Clara Oswald being so kind after it all… 

Me returned to the TARDIS, her mind reeling. She had seen plagues, wars, genocides, medicine, technology, marriage, artificial intelligence, all of it. She’d seen it all play out, every invention, and watched as history recorded things incorrectly based on the tellings of the victors. It was another thing that had inspired her journals, and another reason that she felt angry at the Doctor. After all, he was a time traveller. He already knew plenty about human inventions, bikes, the Internet, artificial intelligence… and he could leave time behind if he didn’t like it. Oh, she’d hated the Doctor for so long. Hated him for leaving her behind, while he did everything and breaking his own rules for Clara, but not for her or Earth. 

Me looked up at the white interior of the TARDIS and up at the monitor. She could easily ask the TARDIS to ‘display monitor’ and see the entire conversation. Then again, Clara was letting her travel with her — something she hadn’t even known she’d wanted until she’d been forced to live through time, only able to imagine running from it. 

Instead, Me leafed through the manual, deciphering and determining that the chameleon circuit was defunct. It had been damaged, and struggled to change its appearance now stuck as an American diner. 

Inconvenient, she thought. 

Clara returned, eyes shining with memories full of beauty and sadness, the vibrating warbles of electric guitar filling the console room. 

Me informed her of the deficits with the chameleon circuit and wasn’t entirely surprised when Clara declared — “Awesome.” 

The TARDIS took off and Clara had picked the first destination: a stop off to grab Me’s journals. 

‘I’m entitled to my past and so are you,’ Clara said, a smile gracing her round face. 

Me had collected them and then she had leafed through them while Clara decided on a new destination: twenty-first century England. 

Me had found the TARDIS trip rather surreal, enjoying the way that wheels with Gallifreyan circuits and symbols spinning above them, the engine emitting metallic grinding sounds, and she felt them land. 

Clara gave her a grin. 

Together, they headed out from the main TARDIS console room into the diner portion. With more time, Me saw its red-cushioned seats, counter, and red booths. 

Me had not understood the point of the journey and suggested they run diagnostics. Clara had ignored this and pointedly ran outside, laughing animatedly in circles, spinning around without a care in the world, and Me had followed with some reluctance. 

Based on her journals, Me had been to the twenty-first century before and she wasn’t particularly enthused to return. 

Me had not trusted or liked the man they came across. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was covered in grime and spoke ineloquently, but much more the fact that Clara was helping someone who could and would abandon her as soon as possible. 

Me had gone to the console room, twiddling switches, consulting her manual, and determined that the terrain indeed was only full of forestry and possessed no traces of ravines or water nearby. They sat at the diner and discussed their options, Clara wearing down Me with morals and good reasoning. 

Me thought it would be most practical to be observers, after all, going backwards into time could cause ripples and splashes that could affect the future. Time had healed when Clara couldn’t order the Doctor to save her, and the Doctor chose to give up all his principles for a chance to save her. But Clara still had her madness for adventure and it scared Me. What could she do to stop that? But at the same time, Me reached up touching her neck, feeling the smooth black tendrils interlocked with her flesh. She had a guarantee. 

And she had gone outside with Clara to look for the man and had come across the frozen rabbits, only for a gun to be pressed against Clara’s head. 

Me had met several victims of the Doctor who were simply left behind, not even hated or his actions weren’t even calculated with malicious intent. They were left behind, cold, abandoned, horrified by alien events. Most of that was simply the Doctor being the Doctor. Not a warrior, but a saviour. And Me knew she was right to care for the Doctor’s fallen toys, broken, and harmed. She had created Trap Street, a place for everyone to be safe and without violence. 

She had spoken with the crows of the Devil’s Cairn. They had told her about Kar, a girl who sacrificed herself for the Doctor and the Earth to live. Me admired their memory for the troupe, fighting forever. She heard their music and was warmed by it. She asked about any creature that required assistance as a consequence of the Doctor, or in general. They spoke of an adversarial raven as black as night with leathers as light and weighted as space itself and a caw that spread through time. 

Me had travelled through dense forests of Scotland for months and came across an injured mass of smoke and she had bound it to her, allowing it to feast on her soul. Because Me was immortal, she wouldn’t suffer any consequences. 

‘You did,’ Chuckles’ voice sounded in her ear. 

‘No, Father,’ Me turned away from the Quantum Shade to look at him with cold steely eyes. 

‘My dear Ashildr,’ Chuckles’ face scrunched in grief. 

‘Me. My name is Me,’ Me insisted. 

‘Then, Me, tell me this. If you have an immortal soul to be feasted on, what is left of you?’ He asked. 

Me’s mouth opened, logical and experienced answers forming, and she realised, looking at him how much she had changed. She used to be Ashildr, a brave and noble girl who was the best sword-fighter in their village. And now she was Me, because time was cold and ruthless but not evil. Time allowed events to happen and everything had its time and its end. Except for her, of course. 

Me ignored her father’s voice, but she could feel the difference the more time they spent together. The Quantum Shade asked for souls, demanded it, and Me allowed more and more citizens into the hidden street. She relied on the inadequacies of all species alike to release the Quantum Shade on criminals for it to claim their souls. She could feel the power surging through her, and she watched, listlessly. She had seen so many people die, and she felt sorry, but she needed order to remain. The Quantum Shade needed to feed, and it wanted more than her. An immortal soul wasn’t enough… it wanted a tangible finite soul. 

Me didn’t ask it any questions, relieved to have safety under her generous rule. Even asylums had rules. In the end, people may pretend they wanted love, money, housing, security, but all that amounted to the same thing. 

Control. 

People had an inherent desire to control. It was what created nations, religions, governments, education, and organisations to enforce that control. 

The Doctor was right. Love was good but it didn’t save anyone. Control was what won. He ran away because he couldn’t control death. She never wanted to be like that, so she controlled death. 

She had seen the Earth become swarmed with aliens with gas masks, keeping her Trap Street safe, knowing the Doctor was responsible. She kept them out of harm’s way and she’d seen the Earth being saved. 

Even the Doctor is capable of miracles, she had considered. An exception, not a rule. Her heart hadn’t changed. The word was cold and cruel, everyone would die, and all that was left was Me. It didn’t mean their lives were worthless and she would protect them, as long as they didn’t harm anyone. 

Me had seen the five hundred million Cybermen at the Battle of Canary Wharf, while slipping in and out of the known streets of London. 

Several years later, she would ask, ‘You're looking for someone, aren’t you? Someone who would leave you behind to protect you,’ to a blonde girl with shoulder-length hair and a blue-purple jacket carrying a big gun. 

The girl looked at Me with a quizzical expression. She couldn’t see past Me’s disguise: a top hat and a cowl, and her disguised voice. 

‘Sorry. I don’t know what you mean. And in case you haven’t noticed, the Earth’s sorta being invaded by some murderous alien things called Daleks,’ the young woman said, sounding flustered and surprised, gesturing upwards with her free hand. 

Must be quite a shock, Me agreed privately. Twenty-seven planets in the sky, Daleks again, and I’m asking about the Doctor… and she doesn’t think I know… 

‘He may be able to save you all, but at a terrible cost,’ Me told her sternly. ‘He will leave you again. Abandon you, again, even though he could ask you again.’ 

‘Okay, cheers, mate,’ the young woman gave an awkward wave towards Me, clearly thinking Me was drunk. ‘Stay indoors and get others to safety if you can,’ the woman added, before running with futility towards the man who would send her away again. 

Me turned her head at the Cyberman and Sontaran flanking her. 

‘Such a shame,’ Me replied coldly in their direction. 

‘Hullo.’ 

She turned to see the Doctor — floppy brown hair, eyes crinkled in concern, long purple tailcoat, and a bowtie, standing in the darkened street. The sky and roads were darker and ominous with the planets in the sky. Me and the Doctor, however, seemed entirely unphased. 

‘Do I know you?’ she replied coldly. 

‘Oh, come on. That’s no way to talk to an old friend,’ the Doctor grinned, giving her a double thumbs-up, approaching from the dark alley. 

‘How do you know about me?’ Me asked, curious what time-travelling laws he’d broken now. 

‘I’m looking for River Song, and the Silence said you could help me,’ the Doctor explained. 

Me scoffed. The Silence were forbidden from Trap Street because the Quantum Shade had difficulty locking in on their existence. 

‘And why would you trust an alien that desecrates your memory?’ Me asked, half-insulted, half-curious. 

‘Do I know you?’ The Doctor inched forwards, curiously, fingers moving as though trying to drum an answer from within the air itself. 

‘No, but you will,’ Me answered, giving him a false smile. 

‘Ah, are we enemies?’ The Doctor’s eyebrows rose excitedly. 

‘No. Far worse than that,’ Me chuckled humourlessly, enjoying holding the information over him. 

‘Friends?’ The Doctor looked intrigued. ‘Really?’

‘You don’t have many, do you?’ Me noted, already knowing the answer. 

‘Well, I never try to make enemies,’ the Doctor countered reasonably. 

‘You have more enemies than friends certainly,’ Me nodded. ‘Both your friends and your enemies know that.

‘Are we friends, then?’ The Doctor stepped forwards, intrigued. 

The disguised Cyberman and Sonataran moved forwards protectively, but Me held up her right hand, allowing the Doctor to approach. 

‘Problem, Doctor?’ Me queried, for his eyes moving relentlessly and searching over hers. 

‘Yes, your face. What’s wrong with your face?’ 

Me smiled blankly to no one. No tact, as usual. 

‘You’re hiding your face and your voice,’ he deduced. 

Me removed her cowl and said, ‘There are things beyond even your control, Doctor.’ 

‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’

‘The sooner you accept it, the better. It’s impossible,’ Me argued. 

‘Oh, I don’t know. I like impossible. I eat impossible for breakfast. Not apples or grain. That’s the whole point of me — the Doctor. But you already knew that, didn’t you?’ 

Me tilted her head in acknowledgement, and then clarified, ‘Do you really expect me to believe that the Silence told you to come to me to help you find River Song?’ 

‘Yes. Maybe. Could have been the Silurians. Or the Atraxi. I get ever so confused sometimes. So, do you? — Know anything?’ 

Me paused, relishing the silence. 

‘Why are you so determined to find her?’ She asked, folding her arms. 

‘Oh, you know. Just helping out. I am the Doctor and all that,’ the Doctor smiled brightly. 

‘Liar,’ she accused him. 

‘Yes. I am. I am the Doctor,’ he crept closer still. Me could see his eyebrows furrowed and eyes cautious and guarded, lit by a nearby streetlamp. 

‘And for the Doctor, you are a terrible liar.’ 

The Doctor gave her a look, stating, quite confidently and convincingly, ‘I don’t lie.’ 

‘Liar,’ Me repeated, for she knew better. 

The Doctor’s forehead twisted into valleys of confusion, intrigue, anger, and fear. Me enjoyed being able to read him. A side glance at her accompanying party told her that they couldn’t read him at all. They thought he was enigmatic and untouchable, and she felt her hostility brewing. 

‘Leave me,’ she ordered her guards and they did so with some reluctance, turning to patrol the area so as not to give away the Trap Street. 

‘Why do you need guards?’ The Doctor asked. 

‘I like the company. Don’t you have guards?’ Me invited him towards a nearby table and two chairs amidst the littered street. 

‘I don’t care for them as a singular function, no. Anyone can be a guard,’ the two sat down. ‘Anyone can protect something. But you humans seem to think that being a guard means to carry a gun and kill others with some abstract futile belief that your group is distinct and better than another. Not just another group, mind you, every other. Total control and domination,’ the Doctor replied, picking up both tea cups and juggling them casually. 

Me crossed her legs beneath the table and glared at him, observing, ‘You seem very comfortable given the universe is being threatened by, you know, twenty-six planets in the sky.’ 

‘Oh yes, that happens, but —’ the Doctor caught both cups and their saucers with his right hand, his fingers coiled in a complicated formation. ‘ — I already know how this story ends.’ 

Me raised an eyebrow. Now was her chance to dig into the wound, to make him hurt. 

‘Just like River Song.’ 

The Doctor stared at her, apparently nonplussed. 

‘What makes you say that?’ He asked, setting the cups and saucers down, frowning. 

‘I heard she died at the Library,’ Me said. 

‘Really?’ The Doctor asked, nonplussed. 

‘That’s what rumours have told me.’ 

‘Oh, never believe rumours. They’re nasty, dirty, little —’ 

‘Aren’t you?’ Me interrupted. 

‘Aren’t I what?’ The Doctor replied, fast as a bullet, rising to meet her challenge. 

‘Following rumours?’

‘About what?’

Me grimaced at him, tiring of his fake naivety, ‘River Song. Your wife.’ 

There was a silence that extended and wafted throughout the panicked and deserted streets. A silence of heartbreak. 

‘Who said we were married?’ 

‘You did,’ Me uncrossed her legs and leaned forwards. ‘Just now.’ 

‘I didn’t,’ the Doctor clarified in a final sort of way. 

Me smirked. The Doctor on edge, on the defensive. But that wasn’t what she wanted. 

‘I did hear about a young-looking woman with brilliant blonde bouncy curls and a remarkable physique for someone about to murder her husband, now that you mention it,’ Me nodded. 

‘River would never murder her husband,’ the Doctor intoned, leaning forwards to address Me, setting the cups back on their saucers. 

‘Oh, I think she would. If she were controlled by the Silence to do so. I know their kind and I know who they work for,’ she tapped out a signal while speaking: - . ... . .-.. . -.-. - .-

Me noted the Doctor’s flicker to her fingers with intrigue but returning to her face with rapid yet subtle intrigue. Her cue to change the subject, ‘But it is insignificant if I tell you. Doesn't it hurt to know that none of it matters?’ 

‘Of course it matters. All of it matters,’ he spoke at an incredibly fast pace. 

‘But not for River. Not when she’s already dead,’ Me propped her elbows on the table to stare dead into the eyes of the Doctor. 

He didn’t shy away, but a strange smile broke across his face and he replied, his voice quiet and subdued, ‘She is alive. And she needs the Doctor.’ 

‘The Doctor is the reason she is being manipulated and leveraged by assassins,’ Me corrected. 

‘No, she was manipulated and now I’m going to save her.’ 

‘You can’t save everyone, Doctor.’ 

A long pause. The Doctor reading Me — trying to. She smirked at his inability to read her mind. 

‘Who are you?’ He asked again. 

‘Me. But you already knew that, didn’t you?’ Me smiled sweetly at him. 

Another long pause. 

‘Where is she?’ The Doctor insisted, voice low and eyes flickering up at her, imitating bashful. 

Me straightened her face, ‘It must hurt.’ 

‘Nothing hurts if you don’t let it.’ 

‘One day all that pain will catch up to you and it will hurt you!’ Me insisted. 

A beat. Me realised what she’d done and recomposed herself, but the Doctor was clever and quicker. 

‘What did I do to you?’ The Doctor asked slowly, and carefully. Much more tactful than the Doctor who had hurt her, but somehow worse. 

‘Nothing,’ Me’s eyes flickered to the teacups and then back up to him, despising herself for being weak and emotional. 

‘I never do nothing,’ the Doctor returned with a small, tired smile. ‘Nothing is boring. Always better to do something, and sooner. The sooner, the better,’ he gave her a wide child-like grin as though nothing had changed.  

Me felt a bit of rage ebb away. She recognised that tiredness in herself. And while she forgot, needing to write it down, he had to live with it forever. But she pushed away the empathy. He didn’t deserve it and he needed to be alert. 

‘Now, tell me where River Song is,’ the Doctor implored. 

Me sat, debating. 

‘Tea,’ she decided, pushing herself up from the table, and marching into the nearby shop. 

It was full of teabags and was astonishingly empty for an apparent apocalypse and the end of the world. That young woman holding the gun, perhaps there was a point to be made that nicking was common in times of catastrophe. The shop was full of shelves of cans containing tea bags, and at the sample table. In the backroom, there was a small kitchen that was thankfully well-kept and Me moved to put the kettle on. 

‘Is someone upset?’ The Doctor popped his head into the back storeroom. 

‘No, why?’ Me asked, puzzled. 

‘Something I learned in 1969 from an old friend.’ 

‘Martha Jones,’ Me noted. 

In the corner of her eye, the Doctor’s eyes and face move sharply towards her for a fraction of a second as she put the kettle on the stove. When she looked up, it was impossible to have known if he’d even heard her under his charming boyish smile and false debutant stance with his hands clasped in behind his back. 

‘Who?’ he asked vaguely. 

Convincing, Me thought. 

‘Oh, no one,’ she replied airily. 

‘No one is no one. I’ve never met a single person who wasn’t important,’ the Doctor interjected. 

‘And what was Martha Jones to you?’ Me asked. ‘The same or different from Rose Tyler, who, by the way, just walked by. They were both important to you too, at one point, weren't they? And where are they now?’ 

The Doctor’s eyes flashed with something that she couldn’t label and he enunciated, ‘You seem to have a particular proclivity to people I care about.’ 

“Care about,” present tense, Me noted. ‘Cups?’ she asked. 

The Doctor produced the two tea cups and saucers from  behind his back, and she poured them some tea into them.  

‘Sugar?’ She asked. 

‘No, thank you.’ 

She ignored him and dropped two sugar cubes in each, and offered him a saucer. He reached forwards, ignoring the one she offered him, and then took the one she hadn't directly offered him. 

‘I take particular note of everyone’s weaknesses,’ Me replied, taking a sip of her tea. 

‘Of your friends, too?’ 

‘You do the same. Don’t pretend.’ 

‘I never said I didn’t, but you have a very callous way of describing friendship. Is everything so transactional for you?’ The Doctor’s free hand moved with his fingers rippling them in rapid wave succession as though massaging a stress ball. 

‘Everything is transactional, and it often isn’t fair,’ Me replied. 

‘Heh,’ the Doctor grinned, sniffing his tea before dumping some on the floor. 

‘Don’t you have any etiquette?’ Me asked, slightly peeved, lowering her saucer. 

‘No, not with friends. It’s only enemies I save etiquette for,’ the Doctor replied. 

‘Why?’ Me asked, genuinely curious. 

‘Because enemies are just friends you haven’t made yet. Etiquette and politeness go a long way. But once you’re friends, well, anything is possible.’ 

‘And?’ 

‘And they’re the ones you really need to keep your eye on.’ 

‘Why?’ Me asked keenly. 

She may not be the Doctor’s largest fan, but she did always learn from him and she enjoyed it, she was ashamed to say. 

‘Anyone can hide from an enemy. It’s hiding from a friend that’s the real trouble.’ 

They sat together in the shop, looking out the dusted, tinted windows, flyers littered everywhere. Glass had shattered and was lying inside the shop. 

‘What friend are you hiding from?’ Me asked, but the question was lost to silence. 

Me sipped her tea, and the Doctor imitated the gesture, watching her closely the entire time. 

‘Are you worried I poisoned it?’ Me asked. 

‘Interesting,’ he replied immediately, his lips pursing and taking another sip. 

Me grit her teeth. He was forcing her to make the next move. 

‘What is?’ 

‘You.’ 

‘Elaborate,’ she ordered, very well aware she couldn’t force him to do anything. She was no Clara Oswald. 

‘You automatically think I would assume that you poisoned it,’ he mused with a mischievous smile.  

Me frowned, ‘How is that interesting?’ 

The Doctor met her eyes, ‘It says more about you than me.’ 

Me straightened her posture in a dignified manner, trying to reclaim the conversation and continued her rebuttal, ‘River Song will die. Everything you are doing now is pointless. Oh, I know —’ she started at his chin lift, ‘I know you don’t think it is. You think her life is worth saving and you love her. But love won’t save her.’ 

‘Oh, I don’t know. Love has a funny way of doing that to people,’ the Doctor frowned calculatingly. 

Me felt a burst of irritation at his optimism. He was so different from the Doctor who had doomed her. 

‘Doing what?’ 

‘Saving people.’ 

‘Well, you wouldn’t know,’ Me bit out. ‘Funny how the people you love always end up dead.’ 

She was thinking of Clara, and he hadn’t even met her yet. 

And still, the Doctor’s eyes flashed with anger and his voice was cold with fury and irritability, ‘I don’t know who you are, and at this point, I don’t really care. If you think I don’t know how love can both doom and save people, then you don’t really know me at all.’ 

Me smiled, sitting back in her chair, satisfied. That was more like it. 

‘Besides… everything dies,’ the Doctor retorted, though his stance was incredibly fatigued. ‘I just don’t dwell on it. No point.’ 

‘You have no idea how privileged you are to actually remember every single one of your companions,’ Me snapped. 

‘Really?’ The Doctor stared at her incredulously. ‘I don’t remember them all. They all fade from memory and time. Everything does.’ 

‘No, not for you,’ Me insisted, feeling furious. He had no right to lecture her about forgetting when he genuinely didn’t forget. 

‘You seem to think you know a lot about me,’ the Doctor grinned cockily at her. 

‘I do,’ Me snapped. ‘I know your many faces.’ 

‘Yeah, well, so do I,’ the Doctor replied. ‘And if I have another face, that means River doesn’t kill me.’ 

Me’s expression went blank with surprise. She hadn’t thought that she’d revealed anything about the Doctor’s future…

‘I win,’ the Doctor replied with a cheeky grin. 

Me was stunned, horrified, but she recomposed herself. 

‘When you win, people die,’ Me responded. 

‘People die anyway, without or without me.’ 

‘But they die at an accelerated time frame around you.’ 

The Doctor gave an odd sort of shrug, ‘I’m a traveller.’ 

‘You bring death everywhere you go.’ 

‘As do you,’ the Doctor said, looking at her sternly. 

Me drained her tea, feeling upset. 

‘You could come with me,’ he said. 

Me felt all the blood drain from her face. Travelling with the Doctor — all of time and space. Her greatest wish… Her heart pounded with glee, but then a painful moment sunk in. Something recent. She’d met the Doctor at the end of the universe. Me had indeed met the former face of the Doctor and guided him back to Amy and Rory Pond’s crop circle where he would meet Mels and then River Song, as she recalled in her journal. She had Retconned him into forgetting her existence (ironic given that she forgot him, given enough time and not reading her journals). That meant that she knew that the offer had never happened. That wasn’t and couldn’t be — 

‘Real,’ Me whispered. 

The Doctor gave her a sad smile and the tea shop melted into nothing, revealing the pink and gold endless seas and skies. She looked up to see the equilateral golden stars above her. Me could still taste the tea, sprouts of apple and elderflower dancing on her tongue. She reached out, and was amazed to find that her fingers brushed the arms of the Doctor’s coat. 

‘Are you…?’ Me asked shakily. 

‘I am a figment of your imagination, yes,’ the Doctor smiled in a very jolly attitude. 

‘So, this… you… you’re a projection of my memories?’ Me clarified. 

‘That’s right. We read and see all of you, and create a paradise for you,’ the Doctor confirmed. 

Thinking about what Clara said, that there were distress calls emanating from the planet, Me asked, ‘And you have other … clients?’

‘Yes, indeed. Visitors come from all across the universe to experience their best memories and their dreams.’ 

‘And do people realise the difference between the two?’ Me asked, dreading the answer. 

‘Rarely,’ the projection stated, very Doctor-like. ‘Their dreams become reality and we take care of them.’ 

‘Where?’ Me asked. 

The Doctor’s face slackened, looking as though he’d swallowed something bitter, and stated robotically, ‘All visitors are taken care of.’

‘Do you regularly interact with customers like this?’ Me continued. 

‘Certainly not. Our customers are engrossed in their own realities.’ 

Me thought about what Clara had said about Akhaten and the Tiaanamat and that any purchases including food and beverages came with the exchange of something personal. 

‘How do your customers pay?’ Me asked. 

‘Their psychic energy,’ the Doctor replied. 

Me felt her heart give a lurch, her blood going cold. 

‘And,’ she added, observing the program which smiled at her with his bowtie, apparently oblivious that he’d said anything to set her off. ‘How long is their psychic energy required exactly?’ 

The program looked at her incredulously, ‘How long? Well, how long until each species passes away? Each species thinks of their own species, most often, as a source of comfort. It creates links for us to draw on their psychic energy as well.’ 

Me’s jaw worked furiously. As Mayor Me, she abhorred this behaviour and she was about to enact her vengeance and authority when she remembered. 

You’re not at Trap Street. They’re not under your jurisdiction, she told herself firmly. They cannot be. We would Retcon any travesty such as this. 

Her fingers pressed against her shirt, feeling the Quantum Shade bindings threaten to uncoil and loosen like a black snake. 

‘You kill them?’ She needed to clarify. 

‘What?’ The Doctor looked baffled. ‘No! No, of course not. We keep them alive. We make them immortal.’ 

That’s worse. Far, far worse, Me recognised at once, being immortal herself. You’re killing them while they dream, you absorb their psychic energy, but the dream energy itself is an energy source. Then, they must be taking care of them somewhere. The bodies. There must be bodies… 

‘Who absorbs the energy exactly? You? Or do you work for someone?’ Me asked. 

‘Oh, come on, Me. You’re cleverer than that,’ the Doctor grinned, miming juggling again. 

‘Tell me,’ she implored. 

The Doctor studied her, and then stated, ‘You already know.’ 

She most certainly didn’t, but she didn’t want to sound unintelligent and clarify further. She changed tact. 

‘If no one gets this far in interrogating you, then I’m the first one,’ Me stated and the Doctor inclined his head in agreement. ‘So, why are you answering my questions? We both know I’m interrogating you for unlawful activity.’ 

The Doctor frowned at her, and murmured, ‘Immortals get lonely. You were lonely. You want to travel with him. You’re inquisitive and lonely, and so is he, at least in your mind. You two had a conversation at the end of the universe, both friends and enemies at the same time. Isn’t that what we’re doing right now?’ 

Me frowned, ‘What — what are you?’ 

‘Your imagination.’ 

‘Right, but what are you made of?’ Me inquired. 

The Doctor’s eyebrows furrowed with confusion. 

‘I am your imagination.’ 

Me didn’t know how to reply to that. 

‘Do you get more energy from certain visitors than others?’ She asked instead. 

‘Yes.’ 

‘Such as?’ 

‘The Time Lords,’ the Doctor looked up with a bright smile. 

Their telepathy and psychic links, Me realised. 

‘And you.’ 

Me felt herself go cold, her arms chilling at the declaration. 

‘Longer longevity. Your limited memory makes your dreams more realistic and harder for you to be conscious.’ 

‘And yet, here I am,’ Me tilted her head, defiant and proud. 

The Doctor’s face twitched with guilt as though realising he was oversharing. 

‘Yes. You were able to deduce I wasn’t the Doctor,’ he admitted.  

‘You offered me a chance to travel all of time and space. I’ve lived through almost all of time and space, and never gotten a single offer. Not even once.’ 

‘Your situation is unique. All of your past, present, and future is laid out and no dreams can be construed as real, where reality and imagination are blended together.’ 

It made sense, that she could only dream of a world where she could travel as an immortal, but the fact that Me had everything written out for her made her feel both devastated and brave. 

‘How did you know, then?’ He asked. 

‘Clara gave me my journals. She said I was entitled to my past,’ Me said, her heart thrumming in gladness for the kindness of Clara Oswald. Without Clara, she’d be stuck in that dream forever, naive to the fact that the Doctor had never offered her an invitation to travel time and space with him… And most visitors were lost in their dreams, things they desired but were still realistic and so valuable they couldn’t break free of the dream. 

‘Clara!’ she realised suddenly, looking around, realising the young woman was gone and no longer at her side. ‘I have to find Clara! Where is Clara?’ 

Looking back, the mirage of the Doctor had faded, leaving her utterly alone. 

Chapter Text

FIVE, PART ONE

CLARA OSWALD

‘Clara.’ 

She turned, hair turning in the windless endless plane of gold and pink, like the sheen of a pearl. 

There, standing alive and well was Danny Pink in his dark black overcoat and shoes. 

Clara’s face twisted in a befuddled wave of confusion, longing, and shock. She felt as though she’d been caught in a lie — a feeling, which was unfortunately very familiar when it came to him. 

‘What is this?’ She asked, inching forwards in speculation, stepping into her flat. 

It was nighttime, she was in her pyjamas and she could see the portal and somewhere behind it, she knew Danny was there too. 

‘Clara, I’m coming home,’ Danny’s voice echoed. 

Her heart beat ferociously in her chest. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. She let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. 

‘Danny? Come here. Come home to me,’ she whispered, holding out her hand. 

There was so much she needed to say and so much she needed to explain. Most of all, she needed to apologise. 

And then she saw a familiar pair of boots step through, black overcoat, red tie with diagonal strips of green and yellow, and Danny Pink emerged from the portal with a lopsided smile. 

‘Danny!’ Clara rushed forwards, her voice choking up. 

Memories flashed through her mind. All the lying, the cover-ups, the half-truths, Danny’s resignation and accepted disappointment. It had been killing her slowly, and she felt herself crumple like a flower whose stalk had suddenly lost its water pressure. She ran into his arms, and she felt his wrap around her, hearing his heart beat in his chest — just like it was supposed to. 

When Missy had turned her boyfriend into a Cyberman, Clara hadn’t been able to feel his heart. He was flesh and bone, overrun and aware of the programming taking over his body. He had made a sacrifice to learn Missy’s plans and save the human race. It was terribly ironic then, that with Missy’s power bracelet, he was home. He had made it. He had come home to her. 

‘Clara…’ his voice was strained. 

Clara frowned, wrapping her arms around him tighter.

Just a little bit longer, she thought.

‘Clara,’ his voice was firm. 

Clara pulled away and bit her lip visibly, staring into Danny Pink’s patient but tortured expression. He had a way of being enigmatic and contradictory like that, cool and collected like that soldier he was. Effective at removing emotions and being clever.  

‘Come on,’ Clara took him into her flat, bringing him to the couch. 

‘Can I get you anything? Something to eat?’ She asked, breaking the silence like a pin breaking a bubble. 

‘No, Clara. I need to know everything. If this is going to work, I need to know,’ Danny insisted. 

Clara’s eyes lingered on his hands, wanting more than nothing to reach out, and hold them. She could feel herself holding back tears and she was unable to look him in the eye. 

‘I —’ 

Her mind went back two weeks ago. God. Two weeks. Who knew so much could happen in one day? Clara had mourned Danny properly, not expecting him to walk into her flat again, but had dreamed of it for so long. And now that the moment had come, it was like all the courage had been sucked out of her. 

Fear is a superpower. Fear doesn’t have to make you cruel or cowardly. 

Clara looked up slowly, steadily, into her boyfriend’s eyes. 

‘What d’you want to know, then?’ She asked. 

‘The truth?’ Danny raised an eyebrow, his face sceptical. 

‘Yes,’ Clara promised to herself. 

‘Really?’ His voice was riddled with doubt. 

Guilt plunged at Clara’s insides, but she deserved that. 

‘Yes.’ 

‘Okay. Tell me.’ 

Clara’s mind went blank, and she voiced hesitantly, ‘Tell — tell you what?’ 

Everything had changed. She’d had all her post-it notes as prompts on where to start, everything to cover, and to explain everything. But she’d been caught in a lie and she’d had to erase his emotions using the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver. He’d died to save her and the human race, and it was all the Doctor and Missy’s fault. How could she explain, though, her own role in the divide in their relationship? It was never supposed to come this far. 

Danny shifted on the couch and Clara was afraid that he was going to leave. Her stomach gave a terrible lurch of fear. 

‘I want to know everything,’ Danny insisted. ‘I know… I know it was two weeks ago —’

‘Sorry, you actually process all that time?’ Clara asked, intrigued. 

A flicker of worry and doubt crossed over Danny’s face like a shadow, and she bit her lip. Had she blown it, despite having hardly started? 

Danny finally nodded and responded, ‘It’s worse. No time needed to sleep, eat —’ 

‘Boring being dead, is it then? Good thing you came back to me,’ Clara grinned cheerfully, but her smile dropped at Danny’s serious demeanour. ‘Sorry, joking.’ 

‘You still do those, do you?’ Danny asked, his expression unreadable. 

‘Well, yeah. Humour’s a great way of coping and looking at the world,’ Clara shrugged awkwardly with a small smile. 

Danny looked at her, and then a small smile crossed his face, ‘Good.’ 

‘Good?’ Clara clarified, wanting to be sure. 

‘Yeah. Good. I'm glad you can still smile and joke,’ Danny’s smile widened. 

Clara’s lips turned upwards, her smile spreading. 

They sat there for a few moments, just smiling at the irony of their situation and then Clara started. She didn’t know where in the universe she found the strength to break the comfortable silence, but she supposed it came from a sense of control. Far better for her to have the autonomy to tell that story than be locked into the biased and limited questions he could ask, riddled with assumptions, contempt, and doubt. 

A story, not an interrogation. 

She talked about calling the Doctor for help, how she’d gone on his anti-gravity bike, alien planets, different worlds, robbing a bank, diving in the sea, going on the moon, facing a mummy on a train, and, of course, the adventures concerning Coal Hill School that Danny was all too aware of. 

When she finished, Clara waited, impatiently picking under her fingernails and straightening her pj’s. She had thought it would be easier after saying it all, but somehow, it left a hollow pit with her insides dancing nervously like a bee deciding which flower to land on. 

‘That’s everything, then?’ Danny asked finally. 

Clara swallowed, and then forced out — it felt like her throat was closing against her will, ‘Yes.’ 

‘So, you know who turned me into a Cyberman?’ Danny replied. 

Oh. That sounded bad. 

‘Not — not personally, no,’ Clara said hastily.

‘You were going to kill her?’ Danny stressed. 

Worry and defensiveness filled Clara, ‘She killed you. I had to —’

  ‘No, you didn’t. This wasn’t war, Clara. It was the whim of a lunatic and I ended it.’ 

‘Well, it doesn’t matter, Danny! She’s dead now! And I didn’t kill her.’ 

‘But he was going to, then?’ 

‘He wanted to spare me… my soul…’ Clara forced a grim smile. 

Danny let out a disparaging scoff, ‘Well, at least there’s that, then.’ 

A flash of annoyance rose within Clara, and she wouldn’t be Clara Oswald if she didn’t address it, ‘What’s that supposed to mean, Danny?’ 

‘What do I have against him, you mean?’ Danny raised his eyebrows, and he shifted on the couch, Clara changing her position to face him. ‘Because he reminds me of the officers I served under. People who gave orders, turned people into soldiers who didn’t want to be, who inspired people to sacrifice themselves and others for the greater good.’ 

Memories flashed through Clara’s mind, of her echoes when she’d shattered her timeline… Doctor Martha Jones ready to destroy the Earth with the Osterhagen Key to destroy Davros’ reality bomb… Captain Jack Harkness and Sarah Jane Smith with a warp star threatening to kill them all… even the Metacrisis Doctor destroying all the Dalek ships in a fiery sky-inspiring blaze of hatred… 

She couldn’t deny it, and Danny seemed to know. He always did. 

‘Look, Clara. I saw what your life was like. I saw the way he used you to distract that crazy alien that came to our school. I was part of it then, but I could never be a part of that any longer.’ 

Clara opened her mouth. 

‘I know you couldn’t give it up,’ Danny interrupted. 

‘Danny —’

‘You lied to me.’ 

‘I just … didn’t tell you the full truth,’ Clara defended herself, but she knew he was right. 

‘No, Clara. You lied to me. You let me believe that you had given up the Doctor. Meanwhile, you went behind my back on adventure after adventure, lying to face every day. No,’ he said, for she had opened her mouth. ‘Don’t apologise. Don’t deny it. Just — tell me if I’m wrong.’ 

Clara’s mouth twisted into a sad smile. 

Danny nodded, accepting it. 

‘And what about what you said in the graveyard? You said the Doctor was the only man you’d never lie to.’ 

Clara blinked in rapid succession. She knew what conversation he was trying to have with her, and she didn’t know if she was ready. 

‘Did you mean that?’ Danny asked. 

Clara opened her mouth, ready to explain, but he shook his head. 

‘One word answers. Yes or no,’ he said, and she was strongly reminded of Madame Vastra. He repeated, ‘You said the Doctor was the only man you’d never lie to. Did you mean that?’ 

A simple but loaded question. 

‘Yes,’ Clara said, her breath caught in her lungs. 

‘You’ve lied to me, then?’ 

Clara swallowed. 

‘Yes,’ she admitted. 

She thought the truth would hurt less or it would make the pressure in her chest go away, but it didn’t. She felt like she was drowning, gulping for air, her chest closing in on her heart. But she’d caused all of this — she had it coming. 

‘Do you love him?’ Danny asked. 

Her heart pounded in her head. One word. One word. One word. Sure. Maybe. Sometimes. No. Yes. Complicated. Sure. But no. Not in the way Danny meant. 

The more the silence went on, the more Clara didn’t know if she was going to say anything. Danny saved her the trouble — 

‘Do you love me?’ 

‘Yes,’ Clara answered at once. 

Danny gave her a look. 

‘Could you ever give him up?’ He asked. 

Clara was ready. She was going to say “yes” — ‘No,’ her lips said instead. 

‘Could you give me up?’ Danny asked. 

Clara’s mouth twisted uncomfortably, and whispered, ‘No.’ 

‘No?’ Danny questioned. 

Clara’s face wilted, unable to answer with more than one word. 

‘Look, Danny, I never gave you up. He was the one who pushed me away, not you. And he forced me to make a decision that I wasn’t comfortable with. I was angry, but…’ 

‘You couldn’t say goodbye,’ Danny said. 

Clara gnawed on her lip, and asked tentatively, ‘You mentioned a boy?’ 

Danny let out a loud sigh, ‘I suppose while we’re being honest… There was a boy who I killed as a sergeant before I moved here. I changed my name. I wish I could change it all. I was a soldier, willing to lay down my life. But killing boys? No. It wasn’t something I had signed up for or prepared to do.’ 

Clara stared at him, her eyes pooling with grief. 

‘I nearly killed a creature who had just been born,’ she was saying. She knew he’d heard it before, but she wanted to show him that she’d heard what he’d said too. ‘He threw a temper tantrum and left me there on the moon. I could have died, exploded myself and Courtney too. We didn’t know the risks, if the shell would crash onto the surface of the Earth and create tsunami and destroy it. It seemed like kill or be killed.’ 

‘But you didn’t,’ Danny finished. 

‘No, I — I couldn’t,’ Clara shook her head in disbelief. ‘I just… I didn’t want my legacy to be cruel. I watched every light go out as the entirety of Earth voted to kill the moon, and it made me feel lost. I didn’t have the Doctor, and I didn’t have you, and I didn’t even have Earth. I had to do something impossible, going against everyone else… alone. I didn’t know what was right, I just followed what I thought was best.’ 

‘That’s what the Doctor does every day, isn’t it?’ Danny asked speculatively. 

‘Yes, but I’m not the Doctor!’ Clara cried. ‘I’m not an alien who has a massive big blue box that can teleport anywhere in space and time and change history because I’m positively popping for joy or miffed for murder. And he loves Earth and humans. He can damn well show up when we need him too!’ 

Danny gave her an obscure look and questioned, ‘Murder?’  

‘Murder like a group of crows?’ Clara smiled teasingly at him. 

His frown deepened. 

‘Okay, not in a joking mood. Got it,’ Clara sobered up quickly. ‘Look, I don’t know what you want me to tell you.’ 

‘I know you love me, but I need you to trust me enough to tell me the truth,’ Danny answered solemnly. 

‘I am,’ Clara insisted. 

‘Well, you certainly didn’t have a problem with it until I caught you.’ 

‘Danny…’ 

‘Clara, if that’s true. If you really do love me and you trust me, then why are you being so defensive?’ Danny asked. 

Clara’s mouth fell open, feeling shocked and insulted, ‘I’m not!’ She exclaimed. ‘I have told you everything. I am telling you now. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?’ 

‘Okay, but what about in the future? Is this how it’s going to be then? You and me dating and working at Coal Hill School and you running off with the Doctor on dates?’ 

‘They’re not dates,’ Clara rebuked, brushing her hair behind her ear. 

‘Come on,’ Danny scoffed. 

‘What?’ Clara asked, clueless. 

‘Clara, we just talked about not lying.’ 

‘I’m not. And if you think I am then maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do,’ Clara frowned. 

‘Clara, you’re a terrible liar…’ 

‘Exactly —’ 

‘ — Except when it comes to him.’ 

Clara’s eyebrows twitched and she searched Danny’s face, ‘What are you saying? Danny, just tell me.’ 

‘I will never ask this of you because I respect you to make your own choices. But yes or no: If the only way to be with me was to give up all these adventures, would you give him up?’ 

Clara repeated the question close to eleven times, rapid and lightning quick, in her head. 

Come on, Clara. Simple yes or no. 

But she’d taken too long — 

‘And see, that’s why I don’t ask. Because I already know. I’m disposable.’ 

‘No! No, Danny, don’t say that!’ Clara interrupted harshly, reaching out to hold his hand. ‘Danny, I loved you! I love you! I grieved for you!’ 

‘Hear that? The past tense. You’ve already moved on.’ 

Clara felt a tear falling down her cheek. 

‘What? No. No, that’s not true. Why would you even say that?’ Clara cried, her head shaking in horror at the words she was hearing. 

‘Clara, I heard you loud and clear at the graveyard. He’s the one man you’d never lie to.’ 

‘I lied to protect you.’ 

‘And now you’re lying again. Because we both know that’s not true. You lied to me. Do you even know why?’ 

‘I…’ Clara racked her brain for a good answer or at least a good explanation. ‘I wanted to live two separate lives. Adventures in time and space, and adventures with you and our kids.’ 

‘But then our worlds collided with that mechanic spider thing —’ 

‘Skovox Blitzer,’ Clara supplied. 

‘Tell me, Clara. Honestly. If I hadn’t met the Doctor then, would you have ever told me about him?’ 

‘No,’ Clara answered easily. ‘And I never would have told him about you.’ 

‘But you just said you would never lie to him.’ 

‘It’s not a lie. He never had to know about you, and you never had to know about him. It was my decision.’ 

Danny squeezed her hand, and he spoke, his voice grated and heavy as though he’d been waiting forever to say it, ‘Sometimes I can’t tell if you were dating me because you couldn’t be with him all the time. Maybe you were afraid of his reaction if you moved in with him, or maybe he pushed you away and you found me.’ 

‘No, don’t talk rubbish, Danny. I would have found you either way,’ tears ran down Clara’s face. 

‘Could you have done it? Kept us separate if you had a choice?’ 

‘God, yeah. Living two lives, brilliant and full,’ Clara smiled, wistfully. 

‘But not full enough,’ Danny remarked. ‘You needed both of us to keep your heart full.’ 

‘Danny —’

‘But the truth is, I was just a gap that completed the Doctor for you. A soldier who changed their name, hated war, and ran away. He pushed you away and you came home to someone just like him: a warrior.’ 

‘He’s not a warrior, Danny. He’s the Doctor,’ Clara corrected. 

‘And what am I?’ 

Clara gave him a soft smile, ‘You’re a teacher,’ 

Danny returned the smile, but there were cracks there, similar to the ones that disfigured his face when he’d removed his Cyberman plating. 

For eternity, they just held hands and smiled at one another. Then, one second passed, and Clara took a shuddering exhale. 

‘So, where does that leave us?’ Clara asked. 

Danny took a moment, looking as though he were trying to compose himself and then he replied, ‘Will you continue your adventures with the Doctor?’ 

‘I don’t know,’ Clara replied honestly. 

‘Did something happen?’ Danny asked. 

Clara shook her head wordlessly at him. How could he not see it? 

‘Yeah. Something happened. You died. I was going to share my other life with you because I didn’t want us to end. I was going to fight for us —’

‘And what did he think about that?’ 

‘Who gives a damn what the Doctor thinks?’ Clara cried out. ‘I love you, Danny Pink. I was going to tell you everything, and then you were killed, and I ran to find you. I threatened the Doctor. I was going to strand him by a volcano without his precious box and I was going to force him to bring you back. I thought I was going mad with grief and with a time machine at my disposal, why the bloody hell shouldn’t I? I would have died at that volcano just for the chance to save you. I would have done it all over again. And the Doctor chose to help me anyway. He took me to you. I called you. Do you remember?’ 

‘Yeah,’ Danny smiled through a haze of emotion. ‘You asked me questions to prove my identity.’ 

‘So, why didn’t you answer truthfully then?’ Clara asked, her tone more lecturing than she’d intended. 

‘Because I didn’t want you coming to the Nethersphere,’ Danny said. 

‘The Doctor wouldn’t have —’ 

‘What? Allowed it?’ Danny finished, sounding stony. ‘If I proved my identity, how would we meet exactly? You being turned into a metal woman alongside me?’ 

‘Could work out. Heart of steel and all that,’ Clara offered, tears shining in her eyes. 

‘I wasn’t going to let you die just to see me again.’ 

‘I would have.’ 

‘Yeah. I can tell by your volcano story,’ Danny snorted. 

‘The Doctor owed me, and he would take me to you even though you’d died.’ 

‘Clara, don’t you hear yourself? You asking him — threatening him — to bring you to me even though I’d died? I am dead, Clara, in a way. I’ve found a way to cheat death, but I am.’ 

‘No, no, no, you’re right in front of me —’ 

‘Clara,’ Danny interrupted. ‘I don’t want to be the reason you turn into someone that you aren’t.’ 

‘I didn’t!’ Clara fired up. ‘I would have done anything to save you —’

‘And that’s my point!’ 

‘ — Including threatening and stranding us both, destroying my own timeline!’ 

‘You just don’t get it, Clara!’ Danny’s voice rose. 

‘Then tell me!’ 

‘You are so kind and brave, you laugh and make jokes to amuse yourself, and you’re confident and inquisitive,’ Danny began. 

Clara felt another tear trickle down her cheek, aware of how warm it felt, the other streaks plastered to her cheeks like paint on a canvas. This sounded like a goodbye. 

‘Knowing that you would break all of that, destroy all that goodness inside of you for me… I don’t want that,’ Danny replied simply. 

‘But that’s how I found you!’ Clara insisted, holding his hands tighter. ‘I found you again and you’re back home with me because the Doctor took me to you! I’m not proud of what I did, but I’m not sorry for it either. I did it because I love you, and I wanted you back.’ 

Danny shook his head, ‘What makes you so entitled?’ 

‘Because I was one of trillions across all of time and space invited to travel in the TARDIS with the Doctor. He had the power to save you, and he did. I couldn’t ask him. I lied to him, I deceived him, I drugged him, I threatened him, I would have prevented him from getting off into that stupid box of his for once and for all if he didn’t bring you back. I didn’t care about any bloody paradoxes, not after I’d seen him break the laws of time just because he was feeling fanciful or daring or angry. He does it all the bloody time, and I had every single key. I was entitled because I’m Clara Oswald, and I had every damn right to ask him to bring me back someone I love,’ Clara enunciated, her vision blurring with tears of passion. 

There was a moment of silence as Danny took in his words and he pulled her in for a hug. 

‘I’m so sorry,’ Clara wrapped her arms around him, resting her chin on his shoulder, speaking to the wall. ‘I know I became something you didn’t want from me —’ 

‘Why didn’t you just ask him to save me?’ 

Clara let out a hollow laugh. 

‘What?’ Danny pulled away, their faces inches apart. 

‘He said the same thing,’ Clara gave him an amused half-grimace. 

‘And what did he say, then?’ 

‘He said I had to threaten him because I knew he’d say no if I just asked,’ Clara smiled wistfully. 

‘So you did all that — all that drama and deceit and essentially killing yourself and him… for a chance to save me?’ Danny clarified. 

‘I would do anything for you, Danny. I meant what I said. I love you,’ Clara smiled tearfully at him, pleading with him to see. ‘I wasn’t very good at it. I lied to both of you. But all I wanted was to bring you back, and I was going to make sure that he did — everything and everyone else be damned.’ 

‘That’s very vengeful of you, Clara,’ Danny noted and Clara felt her heart thrum with foreboding. ‘I’ve always admired your passion, but that was too far. But you said that the Doctor still helped you.’

‘Yeah, I dunno why, but —’

‘Really?’ 

Something in Danny’s voice made her look directly into his dark eyes. There was something brewing there, full of what could be love and grief. 

‘You really don’t know why he did what he did?’ Danny asked. 

‘Well,’ Clara frowned, not entirely sure where this was going. ‘He’s my friend —’

‘What did he say?’ Danny pressed. 

‘I — I don’t remember,’ Clara dismissed it. 

‘No more lying, Clara,’ Danny reminded her, and his tone was surprisingly neutral, like he’d expected it. 

‘He said, “Do you think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?”’ Clara recited. 

The words held space between them and then Danny nodded, proclaiming, ‘I know that he loves you, and that you love him.’ 

‘Danny…’ 

‘Clara, I’m basically dead. Don’t disrespect my memory by denying it.’ 

‘You’re not dead,’ Clara insisted. ‘You’re back. You used the bracelet device. You’re fine —’

‘But you’re not,’ Danny interrupted, which she was starting to get really sick of. 

‘What’s that supposed to mean, exactly?’ Clara demanded. 

‘You’ve become so enamoured with grief that you’re threatening and betraying your friends, me, and most importantly, yourself. And he loves you too much to say no to you,’ Danny said simply, and Clara hated how emotionless he sounded. 

‘I am so sick of people saying that I’m betraying myself,’ Clara snarled. ‘I don’t need you or the Doctor protect me. I make my own choices and I am held accountable. I am reckless and a liar and kind. I can be all those things at once, and I don’t need either of you trying to protect me from yourselves or myself.’ 

Danny sat with a pensive look and then he asked, ‘Do me a favour, Clara?’ 

‘Anything,’ she vowed at once. 

‘Be kind. Just keep being kind no matter what,’ he looked at her, his eyes shining with tears. 

‘I promise,’ Clara heard herself say. 

‘And another thing. Suppose I died and you weren’t travelling with the Doctor. What would you do?’ He asked. 

Clara took a moment, kneading her lip between her teeth, thinking hard and taking a deep breath before she answered, ‘I’d grieve you. I’d leave flowers at your gravestone. I’d visit you every day. I wouldn’t want to go to work every day and if I did, I would pretend that everything was fine even though it couldn’t be more than the opposite.’ 

‘And then?’ 

Clara swallowed. She didn’t want to imagine the time passing, ‘I suppose it would hurt a bit less every day.’ 

‘And don’t you see how much healthier that is?’ Danny pressed.

Clara stared at him, her head tilting and her eyebrows furrowed in concern. Wasn’t he glad that he was back and they were together? She’d imagined a long meaningful conversation and she would have to be painfully honest, but she hadn’t expected a psychological examination and profile made on her by her boyfriend. 

‘This entitlement to travel all of space and time makes you forget everyday life.’ 

‘No, it doesn’t. I have lived every day alongside you,’ Clara insisted. ‘I haven’t abandoned my teacher's life just because he showed up at my front door.’ 

‘No. You live two lives, and one of them makes you feel superior and better than the rest of us —’ 

‘Oh, that is so not fair!’ Clara fired up. ‘I go on adventures to have fun, to explore, to see it all alongside my friend. You could come with us, but you don’t want to, so you can’t possibly be jealous of me going on trips with him.’ 

‘You know, I had a mate while in the Army,’ Danny told her. ‘He was married young, like most blokes did in wartime. But he got close to a nurse in our battalion. They snuck off during events and came back acting like nothing had happened. Not many even knew they were together, except me, because I was the lucky guy who heard about her as his bunk mate.’

‘Lucky you,’ Clara joked, trying to hide her discomfort in anticipation about the moral of the story. 

Danny smiled slightly but his expression quickly morphed into seriousness. 

‘Whenever his wife sent letters about their baby, he hid them from his mistress. He lived two separate lives, swearing he loved both of them, hiding secrets from both of them. And I asked if he loved them both, and he said he did. That he would do anything for both of them. But you know what, Clara? His wife fell ill and their baby too. He got the letter and he was real shaken up. He was so angry at first, getting into fights and even threatening the nurse —’

Clara felt her smile freeze, unable to hide her uneasiness, anger brewing inside her. 

‘ — to go back home and take care of her. She refused, stating her duty was with her battalion and sisters on the lines taking care of us.’ 

‘What happened?’ Clara couldn’t help but ask. 

‘His wife and baby died. His committed relationship and future descendants' lives gone. He was mad with grief and he spent more and more time publicly with the nurse. They never declared their relationship officially, but oh, they had the time of their lives. They went on risky crusades. They stole food from enemy soldiers. They went on expeditions to enemy camps. The works.’ 

‘And then?’

‘And then, he died.’ 

Clara felt a stone sink heavy in her stomach. 

‘I’m sorry. Was he a friend of yours?’ She asked. 

‘I knew him. The point is, Clara, he grieved his wife by spending time with someone else he loved. Even though he never said it, and insisted they were just friends, he did love her. Perhaps more than anyone else in the universe. It didn’t mean, of course, that he didn’t love his wife and baby. But they were dead and he had to move on. And he moved on pretty quickly too. He got lost in their adventures and he became more and more reckless until he got killed.’

‘What happened?’ Clara asked, feeling an odd numbing sensation filling her body, starting with her fingers. 

‘He mixed up coded messages and tried entering a building. He tried running, and standing up to the enemy, but they gunned him down. I saw it. He was running, his back to us, staring down the enemy as he died. He died bravely, he died right. He died for his country, his family, and for both women he loved,’ Danny finished. ‘But my point, Clara, is that that secret he kept, never telling the nurse that he loved her and lying to his wife, it got him killed.’ 

Clara sat, thinking hard. 

Caw! 

Clara jumped, spinning towards the window. 

‘What?’ Danny looked puzzled as Clara jumped to her feet in alarm. ‘It’s just a raven.’ 

‘Yeah, yeah, silly,’ Clara shook her head. Weird. What was that? She looked back at Danny, ‘So what you’re saying is a control freak who loves adventure and risk-taking and I’m a little too passionate?’ 

‘I’m not criticising you, Clara —’

‘Really? Because that’s what it feels like. What would you do?’ Clara asked, pacing back and forth in front of him. 

‘I wouldn’t date two men at once,’ Danny replied simply. 

Clara whirled around to face him and repeated, ‘Oh, that is so not fair. He’s my friend. He’s just my friend. He’s my hobby, but I have a full-time job and a boyfriend.’ 

Danny nodded slowly, ‘Okay. So, what now?’ 

‘I dunno. Tea?’ Clara asked, wringing the hem of her nightshirt. 

Clara prepared them tea in silence before they retired to bed. 

The next morning, Clara woke and got dressed. Today was the day she was planning to talk to the Doctor. He hadn’t come by, but he’d hinted to meet at a restaurant to talk about the future. 

‘What will you tell him?’ Danny asked, sipping coffee and reading the paper across from her. 

‘Oh, you know,’ Clara shrugged, eating a bagel, flipping through her students’ homework and grading it. 

‘You’ll tell the truth?’ Danny asked. 

‘Yeah, ‘course,’ Clara marked down a critique. 

‘Which is?’ 

‘That you came back. That I’m happy with you. I don’t need more adventures. I lost you, and I got you back. It’s because of the Doctor that I put your life in danger.’ 

‘And you really think you can say good-bye to him?’ Danny asked. 

Clara smiled, ‘Maybe he could come over for dinner.’ 

Danny’s forehead wrinkled with doubt. 

‘He’s my friend. He eats. He can come over for dinner,’ Clara chastised him. 

‘Does he do that?’ Danny asked. 

‘I dunno. I said it wouldn’t be weird.’ 

‘Was that a lie?’

‘No, but I’m not cutting him out of my life.’ 

‘Great, so I’m going to be living with my girlfriend and her boyfriend,’ Danny deadpanned. 

‘No, it’s not like that,’ Clara laughed. 

‘Yes, it is.’ 

Clara dismissed it, ‘Well, there’s nothing wrong with being in a polycule anyway. Besides, we could start a band.’ 

‘A band?’ Danny raised an eyebrow. 

‘He can play guitar, I’ll play piano, you can play drums. What d’you reckon then?’ Clara grinned. 

‘No,’ Danny replied. 

Clara’s grin widened and made a call. 

Clara entered the restaurant, wondering how this would play out. It had been fourteen days and the Doctor still hadn’t appeared at the most ordinary cafe in the world that she’d asked to meet him at. She was wondering when he would show, examining her watch. The shop staff were bound to think she was tired of their tea and biscuits by now. 

The sound of a chair alerted her and she saw the Doctor — her Doctor — sitting across from her. He didn’t look any different, grey and white hair, darker roots, and in all black. Sombre if she didn’t know any better. 

‘Hey,’ he said. 

‘Hey,’ she replied. 

‘Got your message.’ 

‘Two weeks late,’ she remarked. 

‘Not bad,’ he thought aloud. 

‘Improving,’ she acquiesced. 

The way he filled in all the blanks rattled her to her core, and suddenly she wasn’t sure if she could do this anymore, her voice shaky, ‘Why can’t I have both?’

The Doctor gave her a very sad smile and replied, ‘These two lives. They don’t go together.’ 

‘But you can visit, right?’ Clara asked, smiling through the tears, her insides coiling in poisonous longing. 

‘Maybe,’ the Doctor remarked. 

‘Maybe?’ Clara asked eagerly. 

‘I found Gallifrey!’ He leaned forward with a cheery smile. 

‘You what?’ Clara’s face was being resistant into forming into a smile. 

‘I entered the coordinates, just like she said. For once, she wasn’t lying.’ 

Clara felt sadness and happiness well upon within her, colliding into some kind of tumultuous grief. 

‘So what are you going to do now?’ she asked with as bright a smile she could muster. 

‘Go home,’ the Doctor replied. 

Now, Clara felt concern for the Doctor rising up within her. She’d seen what Missy was capable of and she had seen them summon his TARDIS and execute him on a technicality in the past. But most of all, she felt the selfish need to cling on to him and never say goodbye. 

‘Okay,’ she said instead. 

‘Gallifrey can be a good place. I can help make it that,’ the Doctor continued as though she hadn’t said anything. 

‘You?’ Clara teased, her eyes drifting out the window to the TARDIS. 

‘Shut up!’ The Doctor exclaimed indignantly, but they both knew there was no heart to it. 

‘You won’t just steal a TARDIS and run away?’ Clara teased. 

‘Not this time,’ he paused. ‘Never again.’ 

An image flashed in her mind — a silver cylinder, her fingers pressed to her wrist, an echoing ringing silence, an American Diner, the song Clara playing in its speakers. 

‘Never again…’ she murmured. 

‘And, you know, it’s a long commute, so I thought, with you and Danny —’

‘Yeah. Me and Danny,’ a tendril of regret tickled her, wondering if Danny hadn’t come back. ‘Well, me and Danny will be just fine, don’t you worry. Go home. Go and be King, or something.’ 

‘Yeah,’ the Doctor nodded, looking a bit disgruntled. ‘King. I might do that.’ 

‘Or Queen. Whatever,’ Clara added. 

She thought he would make a good Queen too. 

‘Yeah,’ the Doctor looked exceptionally enlightened and she smiled widely at that. ‘Queen would be good, too.’ 

‘Yeah.’ 

They grinned at one another. 

‘Tell you what. Seeing as it’s goodbye, shell we break a habit?’ Clara asked. 

‘What habit?’ 

‘Hug?’ Clara smiled at him. 

‘Why not?’ The Doctor replied gently, but his face became stricken holding up his index finger, loaded with sternness, ‘Within reason.’  

He stood up and she looked up at him, willing this moment to never come. 

‘You’re on the clock.’ 

‘Fair enough.’ 

She stood up, his arms inching up hesitantly, but she rushed forwards, and wrapped her arms around his neck. She breathed his scent in and, free from sight, she felt her eyes water. A hug farewell to her precious Doctor… She had never thought this day had come — that she could keep running forever. And then, she felt his arms wrap around her, and she felt her insides wilt again. 

‘Why don’t you like hugging, Doctor?’ She figured she could at least ask. 

‘Never trust a hug — it’s just a way of hiding your face,’ he spoke so tenderly in her ear that it made her entire form shudder. 

Clara felt her soul, if there was such a thing, ignite and burn with grief, so stricken and sad. She couldn’t believe she was finally losing her friend. Her Doctor. 

‘Yeah,’ she murmured. 

They parted and Clara put on a brave face, smiling for him. He looked dreadfully normal, his mouth a stricken line, no sign of grief or upset, a twist of happiness even. Well, why should he be? He was going home. 

Then, without a word, he turned and left the shop. Clara took a few moments before she realised she had something else she wanted to say. She ran out of the ordinary cafe that had no idea it witnessed one of the most emotional events in Clara’s life. 

‘Doctor?’ She called. 

He had just reached the blue police box, and turned at his name. 

‘Travelling with you made me feel really special,’ a small pause and the Doctor said nothing so she continued. ‘Thank you for that. Thank you for making me feel special,’ Clara declared, true and open and honest, the candor of it all striking her just right. The same way the guitar melody that seemed to come from within her did. 

‘Thank you, for exactly the same,’ the Doctor replied, his voice and face impassive. But they both knew better. 

He went into the box and the engines ground, the box disappearing, the golden light and her Doctor. 

Clara stared for a bit at the spot where the box faded, every ounce that she had once felt that she was special now gone. She turned and walked off with the thought that the Doctor felt special to be travelling with her, as if it was a privilege. 

Clara returned to her life at Coal Hill School alongside Danny, teaching. Clara refused to answer any questions about the Doctor from Courtney and the other kids like Maebh who he’d had a good impression on. Danny had once even seen her as he popped his head in the middle of English class.

 ‘He’s gone. Travelling the stars as usual,’ she lied. ‘Come on, Maebh. It’s time to go to Mr Davies’ class,’ she patted the girl’s shoulders. 

‘Is that the truth?’ Danny asked, as Clara wiped the blackboard clean. 

‘No,’ Clara grimaced at him. ‘But I can’t exactly tell her that he’s never coming back and he’s gone back home, now can I?’ 

Danny made a noise of affirmation. 

‘What d’you suppose it’s like? Gallifrey, I mean. A planet full of Time Lords?’ Clara wondered aloud. 

‘I hadn’t really given it much thought,’ Danny remarked. ‘What do you think?’ 

‘I imagine the pretentiousness is off the charts,’ Clara smirked to herself. 

‘I don’t doubt that,’ Danny agreed, leaning down and they shared a smooch. ‘Lunch?’ 

‘Lunch,’ she agreed. 

They had a peaceful time but after the bell rang, the afternoon proved to be a challenge. Clara was teaching English as always, the classics, and they were discussing Jane Austen, one of Clara’s favourite people to have met on her journeys with the Doctor. Amazing writer, brilliant comic observer, and phenomenal kisser. 

But something caught her notice. A plane in the ordinary London sky, and although the plane itself was normal, something about it was not. 

Clara was surveying the footage on the phones that the kids had taken out, quite enthusiastically, and saw that every single plane around the world had frozen. Mid-air, no movement. New York, London, Paris, Rome, Bucharest, Alexandria, Toronto, Salem, Antipolo City. The kids chattered excitedly. Understandably, they’d never had a class where Miss had told them to take out their phones and look at social media. 

No, no, no, Clara actively thought. I’m trying to avoid him. 

‘Miss, I think your phone is ringing, and you’re getting lots of texts,’ Alison said. 

Mr Dunlap rushed in, looking out of breath and frazzled, Danny at his heels. 

‘Miss Oswald, there’s a call at the office —’ 

Clara felt a rush of adrenaline and excitement, unable to resist, interrupting, ‘Yeah, that’s probably UNIT.’ 

‘They’re telling me you’re needed. They were going to put me through to the Prime Minister,’ Mr Dunlap looked positively overwhelmed and aghast at the thought. 

‘I’ll come with you,’ Danny said at once. 

Clara raised her eyebrows at him in surprise. 

‘Can I stop you?’ He asked. 

‘Not a chance,’ Clara said at once. 

They both knew UNIT calling meant her expertise was needed and even without being an active companion of the Doctor, her knowledge was valued. Planes all around the world stopped. No time for a pissing match. 

‘Sure?’ Clara asked, grabbing her jacket. 

‘Absolutely,’ he held her hand and the kids awww’d. 

‘Mr Dunlap, owing to personal crises, Mr Pink and I will be taking the rest of the day off,’ Clara pulled him with her breaking into a run, leaving the astonished class behind. 

‘What’s going on?’ Danny asked as they ran for the school car park. 

‘No idea. Exciting, isn’t it? Hello?’ Clara answered the phone.

‘Clara Oswald, we require your presence at the Tower of —’ 

‘Well, don’t go about telling people the entrance of your secret underground vault. Never know who’s listening,’ Clara chided. 

‘Ms Oswald, your presence is greatly needed —’ 

‘Yes, yes, I’m coming!’ She said, leading Danny through a line of cars. 

She jumped on the motorbike that the Doctor had given her, and Danny clambered on behind her. She handed Clara her phone and a bike helmet to put on hers as well. She took back her phone as Danny jammed his helmet on.

‘We’ll send a helicopter for your immediate arrival —’  

‘No, don’t send a helicopter. Think it through!’ Clara hushed the agent, hanging up and putting her phone away. ‘Hold on!’ She told Danny. 

Clara revved the engine and they zoomed back around to the school, Danny’s arms tight around her waist. 

‘Where are we—? Oh, homework?’ He asked knowingly. 

Clara turned her head backwards, flashing him a grin, and beeping like bad. The window opened. 

‘Homework! Page twenty-seven to thirty. Due in tomorrow!’ She called upwards. 

Without waiting for a response, Clara turned and made for the Tower of London. With a motorbike, they had access to faster lanes irrespective of traffic, moving faster than the average automobile. 

Clara stopped, screeching to a halt at the shadow of a frozen plane. Clara glanced over and saw a girl and boy bunking off, and grinned, helping to rouse them, ‘Exciting, isn’t it?’ 

‘I’m frightened,’ the girl replied. 

‘Same thing, different word,’ Clara commented. 

‘No, it isn’t,’ Danny muttered in her ear. 

‘Shouldn’t you two be at school?’ Clara gave the kids a reprimanding look. 

Her and Danny zoomed through the entrance of the Tower of London and headed into a room loaded with highly technological, sleek, fancy, and beeping machines. Kate Stewart was moving between console to console, UNIT agents working at them meticulously, keyboards and mouses tapping and clicking. Clara noticed she was wearing a long black velvet jacket as she and Danny strode into the room. 

She strained to listen as Kate was reporting on her phone, ‘The planes are not responding. None of them. Radio silence —’ 

Kate glanced up as Clara and Danny removed their bike helmets. 

‘Gotta go. Clara, Danny!’ Kate called, hanging up on the phone. 

Clara and Danny reached Kate. She was the Chief Scientific Officer of UNIT and Clara got along with her quite well. Kate had reached out on occasional cases that Danny monitored at a guarded distance but Clara never left him out of it — no more lying. Something struck the air with a kind of urgency that no one could dispute, even Danny Pink who rejected the life of the Doctor. 

‘He’s not answering his phone. Have you tried?’ Kate asked, eyes sweeping across the sleek computers as scientists rushed to run tests and run diagnostic tests. 

‘We don’t know enough yet. He doesn’t appreciate gossip,’ Clara replied. 

‘Gossip?’ Kate and Danny echoed. 

‘Clara,’ Danny pulled Clara aside, who frowned at him. ‘I know you said you’re done travelling with him —’ 

‘I am,’ Clara affirmed. 

‘But if Earth was at stake, he’s probably off commanding others not putting himself in danger or —’ 

‘Shut up!’ Clara burst out. 

Danny stared at her with a resigned but slightly alarmed expression. 

‘Just shut up,’ Clara whispered. ‘He does do things himself.’ 

‘That’s not what happened last time,’ Danny reminded her. 

Clara swallowed a lump in her throat, crossing her arms defensively. 

‘It won't be like last time,’ she said. 

‘How do you know that?’ Danny asked. 

‘It won’t,’ Clara affirmed. 

‘You’re not telling me how you know that,’ Danny pressed, gentle but it felt like a large weight was pressed onto Clara’s chest. 

‘It just won’t.’ 

Clara side-stepped him and returned to Jac in front of a large glass display showing a transparent layout of the Earth. 

‘Four thousand one hundred forty-five aircraft currently airborne,’ she was reporting. 

‘That’s a lot of passengers,’ Kate noted. 

‘It’s a lot of fuel,’ Clara remarked and felt Danny join her at her side. 

Kate gave her an alarmed look, ‘Oh dear God, yes it is.’

Clara stood, Danny’s silence at her side blaring into her ears. She hadn’t meant to snap — well, she had, but not like that. She had just wanted Danny to stop speaking ill about her friend. She loved Danny completely, but that didn’t mean that she was entirely her happiest. She did feel a hole in her chest as though she was missing her heart, a resounding emptiness without him. 

‘Last time it worked out, didn’t it?’ Clara asked of him finally, staring blankly as Kate and Jac continued discussing terrorist options. 

‘I died twice, Clara,’ Danny reminded her. 

‘I know,’ Clara felt her stomach drop. ‘This can’t be an attack,’ she added to the ladies of UNIT. ‘No attack advertises. And don’t call the Doctor. He’ll just go Scottish and that’s not what we need now. Someone wants our attention and they’ve got it. Holding a gun to our head, because that’s the only way we’ll listen…’ 

‘Ma’am, we’ve got incoming from the Doctor channel,’ a bloke in his mid-fifties gestured towards a keyboard. 

Clara side-stepped Danny and joined Kate, ‘What’s that?’ She asked. 

‘Private channel. He hardly uses it… don’t think he knows it even exists,’ Kate informed her. 

‘What? So, he doesn’t even answer calls for help from an organisation he works for?’ Danny snorted dismissively. 

‘We pay him nonetheless,’ Kate shrugged indifferently. 

‘You pay him to sacrifice yourselves for Earth then, is that it?’ Danny asked. 

‘How’s the army any different?’ Jac asked. 

‘It’s not,’ Danny gave her a look. ‘I’m saying the Doctor is a soldier and a general. He orders sacrifices for him to win.’

‘Don’t mind him,’ Clara glanced at Kate, Jac, and the guy. ‘He’s cynical, just like the Doctor. Is that texting? Definitely not the Doctor.’ 

YOU SO FINE

The group exchanged puzzled expressions. What? 

YOU BLOW MY MIND 

Clara felt an ominous gnawing building in her stomach like that terrible existential dread as though she had forgotten something incredibly important. 

HEY MISSY, YOU SO FINE —

Clara felt fear set in, casting anchors down to her gut. No… it couldn’t be… 

— YOU BLOW MY MIND HEY

MISSY ! ! !

Clara felt her heart stop, and her gaze flitted to Danny. He was rigid as a pole, eyes locked on the message, a sort of cold disappointment set. 

‘How — how is that possible?’ Kate faltered. 

Clara heard the worry and grief and, with a jolt, she remembered that Petronella Osgood had been killed by Missy. A stab of fury and grief, inclusive with a blinding white shock rippling through her chest, everything she’d felt when she’d learned and processed Danny’s death. The knee-wobbly grief that made her betray the Doctor… Seeing Missy set that into her again, but she clenched her jaw and crossed her arms, inching forwards towards the screen. It was as the Doctor said — she needed to be smart, not mopey. The Doctor was missing and Missy wanted UNIT, more specifically, Clara’s attention… She had to be smart here. 

No more. 

Clara swore it had to be a nightmare as the image of Missy, with her hair up and wearing some sort of purple Victorian nanny outfit with idyllic scenery in the background appeared. 

‘Today, I shall be talking to you out of —’ 

Missy’s face jumped out of the projection, looming out of the monitor like some sort of balloon, making the room jump back, startled. 

‘ — the square window!’ Missy finished, her face resorting back to the flat screen with an unruffled dignified smile. 

‘What the hell was that? How did she do that?’ Kate cried, as Jac worked furiously at her console. 

‘Some sort of psychic projection, I dunno…’ she mused. 

‘Great, thanks,’ Kate frowned, sarcasm littering her tone. 

Clara glanced at Danny who was staring at Missy, his face set like stone. She looked back at Missy who was sipping an espresso, smiling, clearly enjoying herself. 

‘Okay, cutting to the chase — not dead, back, big surprise never mind,’ Missy declared, her Scottish accent ringing through the air and Clara felt her heart pang eerily at the thought of the Doctor. Something was wrong. ‘I’m in a lovely little square in, I don’t know, one of your hot countries. There’s a light breeze from the east, this coffee is a buzz-monster in my brain, and I'm going to need eight snipers!’ 

Everyone in the room looked at one another, positively bewildered. 

Kate voiced what they were all wondering; Clara was too proud to ask — ‘Eight what?’ 

‘Three for each heart, and two for my brain stem. You’ll have to switch me off fast, because I regenerate. How fast can you get here? Ohh, I better arrange a flight corridor,’ Missy picked up the weapon — Clara and Danny glanced at one another, recognising it — and scrolled on it. 

They looked about to see planes moving, but there were no signs of reanimation or life. Did they just have to assume that everyone was okay? It was clearly a trap, but people’s lives were in danger and so was the Doctor’s. And either way, Clara wasn’t going to back down from Missy’s challenge. 

‘Why do you need snipers?’ Kate asked. 

‘It’s the only way she’ll feel safe enough to talk to me,’ Missy simpered. 

Yeah, right, Clara thought dismissively. She would meet Missy if they were the last people in the universe. She was not going to back down. Not to the creature that had killed the man she loved. 

Clara felt Danny’s eyes on her. He knew. 

‘Who?’ Kate was asking, clearly not understanding. 

‘Shall we say four o’clock?’ Missy smiled and the image vanished into static, plunging into dark. 

‘She means me,’ Clara spoke. 

‘What? Absolutely not,’ Kate frowned. 

‘Why not?’ Clara asked. 

‘Because she’s a bloody lunatic,’ Danny inputted. 

‘She’s doing this because she feels she has no other choice,’ Clara argued. ‘She’s doing all this for my attention.’ 

‘And if you give her that attention, you’re giving her what she wants,’ Danny argued. 

‘No, we’re being smart,’ Clara reasoned. ‘I go meet her, learn what she’s up to, if she knows anything about the Doctor, and then we save him.’ 

‘What — you and her?’ Danny asked, her gaze frowning scrupulously. 

Clara felt a flash of impatience. Seeing Danny in front of her reminded her of what Missy had done. She’d taken Danny from her, left the Doctor unable to do anything, and now Clara was terribly worried about the Doctor and TARDIS. 

‘If the Doctor’s in danger —’ she started. 

‘What? You’ll do anything for him? Because he’s the only man you’d never betray or lie to?’ Danny challenged. 

Clara felt a billowing siege of fiery smoke fill her insides. She remembered being on the volcano, the silver keys dropping, melting, and the Doctor’s cold resound rejection. 

‘It’s not like that,’ she said. ‘And we already discussed that!’ 

‘Really? Then, tell me. Because it seems an awful lot like that,’ Danny argued. 

Clara glanced at Kate, who was mercifully ordering the rest of the team around, and turned back to Danny, in their private bubble. 

‘I know you don’t get on with the Doctor, but he has saved people’s lives. We need the Doctor,’ Clara said, checking her watch. 1230. It would take at least two hours to fly to Italy. And unless Missy spared a few planes, they’d be going by car. She didn’t have time for this. 

‘I’m going,’ Clara turned and marched up to Kate. 

‘Wha — Clara, I can’t allow that. I can’t guarantee your protection,’ Kate spluttered. 

‘That’s fine,’ Clara said. ‘But we need to go. Come on. This is Missy we’re talking about. This isn’t some vague alien we’ve never met before. All those things about terrorism and global attacks? Nuclear? Earthquakes? Tsunami? She can do all that. And the Doctor is missing. This isn’t a coincidence. We have to go meet her.’ 

There was a moment of silence. 

‘Fine, but I want a detail of security officers and eight snipers, now,’ Kate signalled to a man. 

Clara set off towards the sleek black vans and felt Danny’s presence next to her. 

‘No,’ she said. 

She would have stopped walking and turned to face him if not for the severity of the situation. 

‘If I can’t stop you, I’m coming with you,’ he told her. 

‘She killed you,’ Clara entered the vehicle door opened by one of the security guards. 

‘And she could kill you,’ Danny argued sitting next to her. 

‘No,’ Clara voiced and was surprised how certain and cold she sounded. 

‘No?’ Danny echoed. 

‘No,’ she repeated. ‘She needs me. And if she needs me, I’m not going to let her do anything. She will not have any control over me.’ 

Clara watched the city fade into picturesque hills and valleys, full of green and sheep. 

Finally, Danny spoke again, ‘She’ll provoke you.’ 

‘I won’t let her,’ Clara answered, turning to look at him. 

‘But she will. She’ll talk about me and the Doctor —’ 

‘And I won’t let her get to me,’ Clara insisted. ‘This is about the Doctor and Earth. This is more important.’ 

‘I’d say I was proud if I wasn’t so damn scared for you,’ Danny’s forehead wrinkled in concern. 

Clara felt a ghost of a smile flicker on her face. 

They were both debriefed, Danny arguing that anyone else could be doing this, but Clara won that argument by stating: ‘I’m the one who travelled with the Doctor. She wants me. I’m the only one that could remotely matter to her,’ though he wasn’t particularly enamoured with the idea either. 

The security guards further debriefed her, instructing her to stay neutral, keep Missy talking, don’t set her off, learn as much information as possible. Talk about the planes, neutralise her if possible, and learn what she was doing here. They were given earpieces connected to London that were fitted with some alien technology that prevented any transmission blockage. It seemed incontrovertible that the Time Lord wasn’t here for a visit to see the sights. 

They rolled into the square and Clara and Danny exited. Clara’s eyes laid on Missy who was sitting in the centre, red laser points pointed at her chest, a lazy smile trained on her face. The security guards jumped out in their black suits and shades, pointing guns at Missy. 

Clara was surprised the amount of iciness radiating off of her didn’t freeze Missy and cause her to disintegrate at the force of hatred she was spewing out in energy. If Missy was in any way responsible for the Doctor’s disappearance or death… Oh, Clara was going to kill her. 

Chapter Text

FIVE, PART TWO

CLARA OSWALD

Clara and Danny set off towards Missy who was smirking at them while sipping her espresso. 

‘Stay neutral. Learn. Don’t get emotional,’ Danny muttered as a quiet reminder in her ear. 

Clara nodded and they stood just in front of two seats above Missy. It was hard to believe that someone so tangible and evil looked so small. Clara felt cold, pushing away all her anger and hatred. She had to compartmentalise. Missy was just a part of the job. She wasn’t important. She’d hurt Clara deeply, but that wasn’t the point. Not now. 

Missy gestured at the seats, her eyes flickering from green to blue to grey in the light, and the two took their seats. 

‘We read you. We have you on camera,’ Kate chirped in Clara’s ear. 

‘How’s your boyfriend? Have you asked him how tremendous and exciting it was, being dead?’ Missy smiled at Clara, completely ignoring Danny. ‘I wouldn’t know, after all.’ 

Clara really didn’t know how it was possible Missy was smiling so warmly and evilly at them when they had matching gazes that could freeze the Atlantic Ocean. 

‘He’s alive. And no, I haven’t. What about you? How come you’re alive?’ Clara answered as brief and neutral as she could muster. 

‘Death is for other people, my dear,’ Missy smiled at her. ‘Would you prefer to sit in the shade? I know how you humans burn.’ 

She picked up the device, and Clara noted the squiggling of red lasers pointed at Missy’s chest in trepidation. Clara didn’t even look up as she felt the sun frozen through the shadow of a plane. It only added to her chilly demeanour. She had nothing to say to Missy, but she was here for the Doctor and here for Earth. 

‘Better?’ Missy tilted her head with a smile. 

Clara kept her face stony and resolutely unimpressed. She knew Missy was showing off and trying to gauge a reaction out of her. 

‘Why’d you bring him?’ Missy jerked her head towards Danny. 

‘Excuse me, I can —’ Danny started but Clara shook her head stiffly at him. 

‘Ah, yeah, bringing a man around to sit there and look important? Been there. Public image and all that. How’s your image then?’ Missy swayed her head from side to side, teasingly. 

Clara said nothing, staring coldly at Missy. She wasn’t going to rise to the bait. 

‘You know, you’re allowed to be upset. I know you’re only human and you pop like balloons and have temper tantrums and stress your little bodies out, but after hearing my boyfriend talk about being killed three times, I’d be a little emotionally giddy,’ Missy mused, putting down the device. 

Three times? Clara frowned, and looked over at Danny. 

‘Oh, he didn’t tell you?’ Missy’s eyes flickered upwards in mischievous restrained glee. ‘Well, why should he? Men don’t share anything, am I right?’ She lowered her voice and covered her hand, blocking Danny from the conversation. 

‘What are we here for?’ Clara interrupted. 

Missy sat back, lowering her hand, pouting and looking thoroughly put out, ‘I invited you, not him. I’m not sharing anything until he goes back to your silly little vehicle.’ 

‘No,’ Danny and Clara said at the same time. 

‘Wow, synchronised couples. That was cute. Did you rehearse that?’ Missy smiled. 

‘Danny stays,’ Clara affirmed. 

Missy looked over at Danny for a moment whose face was cold and proud. 

‘You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you?’ Missy mused, her lips curling like a predator sensing its prey. ‘We’ve both killed people, you know. That boy you met in the Nethersphere is dead because of you.’ 

Clara felt a strong desire to slap Missy but refrained for the sake of the negotiation. In the corner of her eye, she saw Danny’s eyes fill with tears. 

No, no, no, please don’t cry, she willed. Though she couldn’t help but wonder… Danny had the opportunity to save that boy, so why hadn’t he? Why choose himself? She was grateful, but… it wasn’t Danny at all. Her vision rippled in front of her, deep in thought, and she shoved her mind back to the present. 

Missy caught it. How could she not? 

‘You killed an innocent child,’ Missy pouted towards Danny. 

‘So have you,’ Clara jumped in to defend Danny. 

‘Oh, have I?’ Missy looked over at Clara, her eyes strangely blank. ‘Yeah, I might have. It all blurs together.’ 

‘That’s what happens when you make terrible decisions,’ Danny informed her. 

‘No,’ Missy’s head snapped to him. ‘That’s how humans work. You all blur together, irrelevant, the same shade, and you don’t remember anything. One hundred years and you’re already fading into dust.’ 

Clara and Danny looked at one another stonily in silent agreement that they were angry but it was a cold anger like ice that burned at the touch. 

‘I mean, look at you two, right here in front of me. Rotting, decaying, your cells bored to death trying to keep you alive. Very unlike the Doctor and I,’ she sniffed, raising her chin, all superior-like. 

Clara met her gaze stonily. She wasn’t going to ask, but she was still curious. Missy seemed to understand, which Clara found repulsive. 

‘Your cells are born to die, our cells are born to live,’ Missy clarified. 

Whatever, Clara thought, shaking her head dismissively. 

‘You’re really going to keep your human pet here?’ Missy looked between Clara and Danny as though they were petri dishes of bacteria. 

‘He’s my boyfriend,’ Clara clarified. 

‘Ah, yeah. Fancy word for someone you might marry or murder,’ Missy nodded. 

‘Or not,’ Clara input. 

‘Oh, is something wrong? Are you two going to break-up?’ Missy nodded interestedly. 

‘Enough,’ Clara admonished. ‘Why are you here?’

Missy shifted in her chair and Clara watched the red dots dance on her chest nervously. 

‘I expect you’ve tried to contact him by now. You should know, I can’t find him either. No one can.’ 

A flash of worry went through Clara, but she didn’t let it show. Missy was probably lying, and the Doctor had times where he didn’t visit Earth. Plus, he was on Gallifrey. 

‘That happens now and then,’ she said. 

‘Not like this,’ Missy’s eyebrows lifted, betraying her concern, as she reached into her jacket. ‘Oi, calm down!’ She whined as the security guards surged forwards carrying handguns. 

Clara didn’t even flinch. She merely watched Missy toss a huge brass coin on the table. She barely looked at it, and stared hard at Missy. 

‘It’s a Confession Dial,’ Missy continued. 

Clara hid her surprise at Missy’s openness with that information, sure that she was going to be forced to ask what it was. She looked down at it. It had strange circular engravings that reminded Clara vaguely of some memories of her echoes that were born to save the Doctor. 

Gallifreyan, she recognised. But she’d never heard of that particular device before. 

‘A what?’ She asked, testing to see if Missy would change her story. 

‘In your terms, a will. The last Will and Testament of the Time Lord known as the Doctor, to be delivered, according to ancient tradition, to his closest friend on the eve of his final day,’ Missy explained, staring Clara dead in the eye. 

Clara looked back at the coin, and then met Missy’s gaze coldly without blinking. If the Doctor was dying, why would Missy care? But more importantly —

‘Why would the Doctor make a will?’ Clara asked, not daring to believe. 

A will was so human. It meant the end. Nothing was the end when it came to the Doctor, no good-byes, just new beginnings. 

‘Why would anyone? Wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, the Doctor clearly believes he’s about to die,’ Missy’s words range true in Clara’s body. 

She felt, rather than saw, Danny glance at her with a look of warning. She’s lying, she knew he was trying to tell her. That, or Don’t get involved. 

Too late. 

Clara reached forwards to touch the coin, and it sparked at the touch and Clara jumped back, alarmed. 

‘What the hell did you do?’ Danny demanded, leaning forwards and glaring at Missy. 

‘Never mind me, what the hell are you doing?’ Missy frowned at Clara as though she were something bitter she’d spit out. 

‘Wh — you said — I thought —’ Clara stammered. 

‘No, no, no,’ Missy whittled, looking disgusted. ‘It was delivered to me.’ 

‘You?’ Clara replied, genuinely surprised. But the Cyberman had killed her… How had the Doctor known she was alive…? 

‘Of course, me. What have you got to do with it? I’m his friend — you’re just —’ her nose wrinkled at the sight of Clara. 

‘I’m just what?’ Clara demanded, entirely peeved. 

The Doctor had lied to her. 

‘You see that couple over there?’ 

Clara and Danny looked over at an elderly couple pottering about the edge of the square out of sight, walking a bouncy little puppy. 

‘You’re the puppy.’ 

Clara whipped around to give Missy a cold glare, not even bothering to merit that with a response. 

Stay neutral, gain information. 

‘So, the Doctor gave you this?’ Clara asked, trying not to feel angry at him and focus on the task at hand. 

‘Of course not. He isn’t vulgar. The sisterhood of Karn were his chosen messengers —’ that name meant vaguely something to Clara if she focused on the memories of her echoes ‘— If he’s relying on that demented knitting circle, he’s in a lot of trouble.’ 

‘Since when do you care about the Doctor?’ Clara asked, memories of Missy creating a Cyberman army to destroy Earth coming to mind. 

‘Since always. Since the Academy, since the Cloister Wars, since the night he stole the moon and the President’s wife. Since he was a little girl,’ Missy smirked. ‘One of those was a lie… Can you guess which?’ 

Clara’s mind was quick and she could have worked on it but she wasn’t going to give Missy the satisfaction. There were more important things, but she still had to be sure… Had to test her and learn Missy’s real intentions. Was this really about murder or saving the Doctor? Then again, one didn’t have to be exclusive of the other. But for Missy, the latter would be appreciated, no matter how unlikely. 

‘You’re not his friend,’ she countered with the smallest disbelieving smile. ‘You keep trying to kill him.’ 

‘He keeps trying to kill me,’ Missy rested her chin on her hand. 

An image of the Doctor raising the device at Missy flitted to the forefront of Clara’s mind. 

‘It’s sort of our texting. We’ve been at it for ages,’ Missy’s eyes cast about the square, still unbothered by the guns and snipers.  

‘Oh, it must be love,’ Clara countered sarcastically. 

‘Oh, don’t be disgusting,’ Missy gave her a repugnant look. ‘We’re Time Lords, not animals. Try, nanobrain, to rise above the reproductive frenzy of your noisy little food chain and contemplate friendship,’ she paused, a flicker of ancient need and longing within her. ‘A friendship older than your civilisation and infinitely more complex.’ 

‘Okay,’ Clara continued, still disbelieving. ‘So the Doctor’s your bessie mate and I’m supposed to believe you’ve turned good?’ 

‘Good?’ Missy gave her a wry smile. 

Missy lifted her gadget and fired at the nearest security man, blasting him into nothingness. 

Clara and Danny jumped to their feet. Clara’s heart was racing, staring at what had just been a man. 

‘No, don’t! Why did you —?’ Clara broke off, horror filling her. 

‘Don’t shoot her! Do not shoot her!’ Kate yelled in her ear as the frenzy of red dots circled on Missy restlessly. 

Missy stretched out her arms, lackadaisical, leaning back in her chair. 

‘By the ring of his finger, he was married, and I think I detected some baby leakage on his jacket, so…’ she grimaced, and Clara felt incensed. ‘He had a family,’ she smiled, but it dropped quickly and snapped, ‘No! I haven’t turned good!’ She fired at another security guard. ‘Oooh, I’m on a roll, thanks for bringing spares!’ 

Clara heard Kate yelling not to fire once more, but she rushed forwards, frantically working to neutralise and placate Missy. She had to take control. No more. 

‘Stop it — just stop it! Don’t shoot anybody else,’ Clara stood, insisting. 

‘Clara —’ Danny began. 

Clara looked around, nearly having forgotten he was there. She recognised that look. It was the same one that he wore whenever he interacted with him or if she mentioned him. 

‘Sweaty one, on your knees, take a goodbye selfie for your kids!’ Missy waved the device towards another security guard who obediently placed his gun down and went on his knees. 

‘Missy! Nobody else!’ Clara shouted. 

‘Say something nice!’ Missy crowed, clearly relishing herself. 

‘No,’ Clara spoke firmly, not at all a shout. 

She was not going to let Missy do anything she wouldn’t do normally. Just like the Doctor. When it came down to it, The Doctor nor Missy would ever take control from her. She didn’t want to say something nice, so she would not. She wouldn’t. 

‘I’ll kill everyone in this square,’ Missy threatened. 

‘Not if I kill you first,’ Danny stood, pointing a gun at her. 

Panic shot through Clara. 

‘No!’ Clara held up a hand, stopping him. 

Both Missy and Danny looked at her, Missy with a devilish smile and Danny with a focused but slightly confused look. Clara knew the snipers were there for show, and quite frankly, she didn’t give a damn about them or Missy. She was here for the Doctor. She owed him that. 

‘You told me the story,’ Danny insisted, the gun trained at Missy’s head. ‘The Doctor was going to kill her so you didn’t have to. Let me do that for you.’ 

‘No!’ Clara exclaimed. 

‘Must be terrible, having two boyfriends who won’t let you do anything for yourself,’ Missy wheedled from Clara’s left. ‘Like dying. I can help you with that, by the way.’ 

‘Shut up!’ Clara snarled at her, and looked back at Danny, ignoring Missy’s whining ‘Did you just tell me to shut up?’

‘Put that down,’ Clara ordered Danny. 

‘What are you doing, Clara? You’re talking to her, believing her… You’re going to work with her... She’s not going to help you, and she’s going to get you killed. I’m here to protect you and keep you safe,’ Danny argued. 

‘I never asked you too! Either of you! I don’t need protection. If I killed Missy myself right here and right now, I would take the blame for that and any consequences. I don’t want either of you protecting me, and I’m not letting you kill her, Danny!’ Clara snapped. 

‘Why not? I’m a former soldier. Soldiers have to kill in times of war,’ Danny argued. 

‘We aren’t at war,’ Clara rebutted. 

‘Sure, we are. You said that he went home, right? You’ve met him. You’ve met her,’ he jerked his head at Missy, giving her a long cold stare. 

‘Oi, I’m right here!’ The Time Lord piped up in protest. 

‘So, what do you think the rest of their kind is like?’ Danny demanded of Clara. 

‘I — I don’t know,’ Clara half-lied. 

‘Clara,’ Danny gave her a sombre look. ‘No more lies.’ 

‘Oooh, what a commanding boyfriend you have, Clara. Too bad he’s going to die soon,’ Missy pointed a long red fingernail at the brass coin where a sliver of it clicked open. 

‘What does that mean?’ Clara demanded, turning her attention back to Missy. 

‘The Doctor is in danger,’ Missy nodded at the coin. 

‘And you need my help. You brought me here because you need my help to find him and save him,’ Clara pieced it together fully. ‘So make me believe you.’ 

Missy’s chin lifted, her eyes narrowing, so very cat-like, ‘How?’ 

‘Release the planes,’ Clara ordered. 

Missy gave the square a sceptical glance, ‘The planes are keeping me alive. There are one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight little naughty snipers here to kill me,’ her eyes darted around at each origin point of all the red laser points.  

‘Yeah. On my command,’ Clara raised her hand as if to give a signal. 

‘Clara, no! Let me —’ Danny interrupted. 

‘Your best friend is in danger. Show me how you care! Make me believe,’ Clara cut him off, staring hard at Missy. 

Missy’s eyes were something of an enigma to Clara, always changing shades depending on the lighting. But now, as they stared into one another’s eyes, Clara found themselves at an understanding. 

More than anything, they both cared for and wanted to protect the Doctor. 

Missy released the planes, but Clara found her heart beating faster than normal. She had just won against the person who had killed Danny two times — she had no idea what Missy meant by a third time, but she wasn’t going to ask. Clara had maintained control over Missy and actually gotten her to release the planes, hearing the sigh of relief over the comms. She didn’t want to push her luck. 

‘Sit down,’ Clara turned, commanding Danny. 

Danny hesitantly sat alongside Clara, his gun still in his hand. 

Clara looked over at Missy who was stretching her arms wide in a large wingspan as if to provide a better target. 

Okay, you can do this, Clara thought. 

‘What does it say?’ Clara asked finally. 

‘What does what say?’ Missy asked in a nearly bored tone, settling back in her chair. 

‘His confession.’ 

Clara had accepted that Missy was given the dial. Okay, so the Sisterhood of Karn knitting group had given the Doctor the Confession Dial to Missy. At first Clara had wondered if it was a lie, but Missy didn’t give any tells. No pauses, no extraneous details, and if she was lying, her explanation of the Last Will and Testament made sense. At first, it didn’t make sense why Missy cared, and now, what could have possibly happened that made the Doctor believe he was going to die? 

Clara knew the Doctor well. She knew the Doctor survived. He got a bit difficult and Scottish, bleating and complaining, but once he got his head on straight, he always found a way. He was clever, just mad, really. He just needed to be reminded to focus, grow a conscience, and win. But she, as the Doctor’s friend, had a right to know what it said at least, even if it wasn’t sent to her. 

And what happened? What happened that made him believe there was no way out — no winning? So what was wrong? 

‘It will only open once he’s dead,’ Missy replied. 

Clara met her gaze. Missy wasn’t lying. 

They both looked down examining the dial, a click sounding as the wedge opened a fraction more. 

Determination set into Clara. They were both on a mission now. 

‘Then it won’t open. Will it?’ Clara asked. 

Missy’s gaze was steady, scrupulous and a mutual agreement passed between them without words. 

‘Question. If the Doctor had one night to live, if he knew for certain he was facing the end of his life… where, in all of space and time, would he go?’ Missy asked. 

‘Here,’ Clara replied at once. 

She was aware of Danny’s gaze on her. 

‘Wait a minute, hold on,’ Danny held up his hand, ignoring Missy’s exasperated noise. ‘Clara, about their kind. How can you be sure that you’ll be safe?’ 

‘I will be,’ Clara assured him. 

‘I’m coming with you,’ Danny insisted. 

‘Absolutely not,’ Clara admonished. 

‘Why?’

‘Why what?’

‘You let me come here because we’re partners… equals.’ 

‘You’ll see the Doctor again,’ Clara replied hesitantly. 

‘I don’t care. As long as you’re safe,’ Danny insisted. 

‘But you say that me being around the Doctor isn’t safe,’ Clara countered. 

‘I can’t stop you from meeting him?’ Danny clarified. 

‘No,’ Clara replied at once. 

‘Then I’m coming,’ Danny concluded. ‘You chose me, I came back for you, and now I’m going to fight for us to be together. I don’t care if you want to travel with him… I just want you to be safe. And I don’t think he keeps you safe. I think he makes you more reckless, and the whim of a lunatic isn’t any better.’ 

‘Oi, language,’ Missy said sharply from the side. 

‘Are you sure? You don’t like the Doctor’s life…’ Clara looked at Danny. 

‘I may not like it, but you want to be part of his life. That doesn’t bother me as long as you keep yourself safe, because he won’t. With him and her, I think you need someone else to balance you three out.’ 

‘Three of us?’ Clara questioned. 

‘Well, admit it. You, The Doctor, her. You’re all a bunch of unbridled chaos, pushing one another to do reckless things. All three of you are going to end up dead —’

‘Time Lords don’t die,’ Missy interrupted with a sneer, and Clara looked over to see her smirking. 

‘ — Which really means you are going to end up dead,’ Danny continued without pause. 

‘Why are we doing this now?’ Clara asked, a bit miffed. 

‘Because I thought you came here to save the planes, and now you’re here off searching for the Doctor. Clara, I have to ask… Where does this end?’ Danny asked. 

‘I’m going to save the Doctor,’ Clara affirmed. 

Missy let out a loud clearing of her throat. 

‘We’re going to save the Doctor,’ Clara jerked her head briefly towards her in acknowledgement, not even sparing a glance. 

‘Clara, she killed me!’ Danny stressed. 

‘True,’ Missy inputted unhelpfully. 

‘And I don’t care about that. But you’ve got to think rationally here. She won’t hesitate to kill you!’ Danny continued.

‘Also true.’ 

Clara ignored her, ‘She’s the Doctor’s best friend. All we want to do is to save him.’ 

‘Where does this end, Clara?’ Danny repeated. 

Thoughts raced through Clara’s mind. She’d nearly just gone running off with Missy to go save the Doctor, and he was so right. The Doctor and Missy pushed one another, past their own boundaries, and Clara would inevitably be — and was — caught up between them. The Cybermen, all the people Missy had killed, and taken memories from… There was always collateral between those two, and Clara really couldn’t care less. She cared about the Doctor most of all, completely and entirely. But she loved Danny, and she didn’t want to lie or betray him either. 

‘Danny’s coming, or none of us at all,’ Clara turned to Missy in a final sort of way. 

‘Ugh,’ Missy rolled her eyes. 

‘I’m serious. Either kill me, or both of us help you find the Doctor,’ Clara stressed, leaning forwards as a final sort of deal. She wasn’t going to suggest not killing either of them; that was like trying to get Maisie Maitland to stop being a brat. 

Missy regarded her with a cool expression. Clara was fairly certain that while she couldn’t exactly force Missy to do anything, she did know that she was important to helping Missy find the Doctor. 

‘Fine,’ Missy shrugged offhandedly. ‘But don’t blame me if you two end up dead.’ 

‘I don’t understand. Isn’t the Doctor on Gallifrey?’ Clara queried. 

‘Oh, is that what he told you?’ Missy yawned in a very bored demeanour. 

‘Clara, this is a trap,’ Danny warned her. 

‘Obviously,’ Clara looked over at him.

In the corner of her eye, she noticed Missy’s eyes trained on her. She didn’t look surprised. 

‘Clara…’ Danny frowned in concern. 

‘I appreciate you coming with me. I do. You don’t agree with the Doctor, and that’s okay. I’ve chosen you —’ 

‘Have you? Have you, really?’ 

‘He’s going to die,’ Clara emphasised. ‘And if he’s not going to save himself, then we have to.’ 

‘What? Because the mad Scottish lunatic said so?’ Danny argued. 

‘Oi, don’t objectify me,’ Missy huffed. 

‘Do you even know what this Confession Dial is, Clara?’ 

Clara chewed on her lip. No, not really. But I know it’s different. And a kind of different that hasn’t happened before. 

‘So, how can you be sure that it’s real? What if it’s just a trap to lure you in?’ 

‘Why would I want to lure her in?’ Missy’s eyes flickered over to Danny. 

‘All she cares about is the Doctor,’ Clara told Danny. 

‘And what about you?’ He inquired.

‘You and the Doctor are who matter to me most of all,’ Clara promised Danny. 

‘How falsely illuminating. I think the Doctor matters more to you than your boyfriend,’ Missy claimed. 

‘Stay out of this!’ Clara whipped around, glaring at her. 

‘Clara…’ 

Dread swooped into Clara’s gut, ‘Don’t…’ 

‘I was going to say the same thing as her,’ Danny replied in a sombre tone. 

She hated how sad he sounded. 

‘No,’ Clara responded firmly. ‘I’m helping the Doctor because he’s my friend. You’re my boyfriend and I love you.’ 

Missy made a noise reminiscent of a cat hacking up fur balls. 

‘So,’ Clara turned to Missy. ‘Why did he leave Gallifrey?’ 

‘Oh, trust me, he didn’t go there,’ Missy snorted. 

‘Why not?’ Clara asked. 

‘Are you all a bunch of pretentious soldiers who sacrifice people at their own whims?’ Danny asked on a whim. 

Missy looked over at him coldly but an excited glint in her eye, ‘I’m most wanted on Gallifrey, you know.’ 

‘Of course you are,’ Clara smiled coldly at her. 

‘What about the Doctor?’ Danny asked. 

‘What about the Doctor?’ Missy volleyed at once. 

‘Is he wanted by your kind?’ Danny asked. 

‘You know what? Now that you mention it, I’m sure they would love to kill him,’ Missy pretended to nod thoughtfully. ‘Though I’d never want that to happen.’ 

‘No?’ Clara fired up. Missy had seemed pretty determined to destroy all of Earth and kill the Doctor the last time they met. 

‘No. If someone’s going to kill the Doctor, it better be me. In fact, I’m very insulted he thinks someone else will kill him and not me,’ Missy scowled, looking genuinely put out. 

Clara had given up trying to understand their relationship. She wasn’t going to pry. 

‘Okay,’ Clara continued. ‘But he had his confession dial sent to you. That means he knows you’re alive. Is he expecting you to save him?’ 

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Missy rolled her eyes. ‘He’s obviously hiding.’ 

‘Okay, where?’ Clara leaned forwards. 

She signalled an officer to give them a laptop detailing the Earth. Missy explained that Time Lords were supposed to die under circumstances of quiet and meditation. 

Okay, go opposite, Clara thought. 

They narrowed the location down to Essex, 1138, Middle Ages. 

‘You go, girl!’ 

Clara felt something wrap on her wrist and ZAP! 

Clara felt a swell of nausea rise within her and she leaned back, trying to breathe, but found the urge quell as Missy cackled something next to her. Whatever. Clara got up and reached out, surprised that Missy had taken Danny with them, seeing him heaving on the ground. She wasn’t even going to bother trying to reach Kate or UNIT, clearly having time travelled. She checked her wrist at the thing Missy had attached to it, almost like a watch.

‘Vortex manipulator. Cheap and nasty time travel. Yours is slaved to mine,’ Missy giggled wildly, standing up over the ledge into a large circular arena, Clara and Danny joining her. ‘According to you, this is where the Doctor is.’ 

‘Okay, where? How do we find him?’ Clara asked. 

‘Anachronisms, the slightest tiniest —’ Missy began patronisingly.

She was cut off abruptly by a large whirring electric guitar sound, the arena bursting into noise and applause. 

‘A — nach — ron — isms,’ Missy enunciated while Clara grinned at the entrance of the arena. 

A loud, booming, energetic tune with four rushed beats played and Clara felt a sigh of relief at the sight of him. She felt a smile creep to her face, momentarily forgetting why she was here. He looked surprisingly wry and springy, his attitude controlled but light, as he commanded the arena with every note.

Clara smiled. Her Doctor.

He looked absolutely ridiculous standing on top of a tank, in sunglasses, in the Middle Ages, playing electric guitar, mind. But something was wrong. The energy, the desperate need for attention. Of course he loved an audience because he was nothing without one. He couldn't save people if there weren't people to save, and he couldn't show off and starting bleating Scottish if no one was listening. But listening to him talk about what he'd done for them, pointless small tasks that definitely broke some laws of time… He looked so happy… and that's exactly how Clara knew something was wrong, but she didn't know what.

'Why's he like this? He's never like this…' Clara voiced.

'Oh, you must be new,' Missy's eyebrows lifted, unimpressed.

'He's ridiculous,' Danny muttered.

A stab of irritation shot through Clara, 'No, he's not. Well, he is, obviously, but something's wrong.'

'And you can tell just by him playing some tunes on a guitar, can you?' Danny asked, sounding a bit sceptical.

Clara looked back down and saw the Doctor strolling towards them, and lifting his shades. She looked over at Missy, 'Did he just hear that?'

Missy's gaze was focused on The Doctor and Clara turned to look at him as well, the Doctor's fingers racing across the fingerboard, playing Pretty Woman. Clara blushed, half-annoyed, half-flattered at the display and turned her full attention to him as he began announcing his death as though it were some long-awaited noble event. To be fair, it probably was to him. Not waiting one more second, Clara headed down to the stairs to the main level, seeing him standing in front of her.

'But first, I'd like you to meet some friends of mine,' the Doctor glanced at the rafters, raising his shades and raising his eyebrows as the audience cheered.

He quickly pushed them back over his face and turned, smiling at Clara. She rushed forwards in the applause, shy but waving in appreciation as she approached him in the middle of the arena.

'How did you know I was here? Did you see me?' Clara asked, incredulously.

'When do I not see you?' The Doctor corrected.

Disbelief still marred Clara's face, 'One face in all that crowd?'

The Doctor's lips quirked, head tilting abruptly, his attention undeniably focused on her, 'There was a crowd, too?'

'Wow!' Clara lit up with a smile. 'We're doing charm now, are we? Which one of us is dying?'

Their smiles dropped a notch as one. She was doing it again. Insensitive jokes that were funny, laughing at things that weren't funny. And then, unexpectedly, the Doctor surged forwards, throwing his arms around her.

Clara felt her heart beating hard in her chest, feeling the Doctor's soft hair against her cheek and she wrapped her arms around his middle automatically. What was going on?

'Oh, and now you're doing hugging… I can't keep up,' she frowned, not in complain but concern.

'Well, you know what they say. Hugging is a great way to hide your face!' The Doctor uttered in her ear.

Discomfort rocked her back to the present and she pulled away, still in shock, 'I guessed a party, but not like this. This isn't you,' she lifted his sunglasses, staring into his stormy grey eyes, trying to read the signs.

'I spent yesterday in a bow tie. Day before in a long scarf. It's my party — and all of me is invited,' the Doctor jerked the shades lightly back onto the bridge of his nose, and played a few bars of Hey Mickey and Clara turned to see Missy and Danny entering the arena.

'What the hell are you up to?' Missy drawled loudly, clearly enjoying the attention of the crowd.

Two of a kind, Clara thought, exasperated.

'Look! It's the wicked stepmother! Everyone hiss!' The Doctor announced to the crowd, and Clara's nose wrinkled at the cheesy dramatic chords as Missy bowed and embraced it.

'Apparently, you think you're going to die tomorrow,' Missy held up the Confession Dial, the bronze catching the torch lights.

'Well, I've got some good news about that,' the Doctor grinned.

'Oh, yeah?' Missy countered.

'It's still today!' The Doctor grinned cheerily, playing the wah-wah-wah-wah punchline.

'Oh, that's right,' Missy shrugged.

'PE?' The Doctor's face landed on Danny, swivelling around to look between Clara and Missy. 'What's he doing here?'

'I know, honey. You only want important people attending your party, but he's Clara's plus one,' Missy replied soothingly.

'Everyone in this arena is important,' the Doctor looked around at the arena, which cheered on cue. 'They're my friends.'

'And yet, you tried to die without telling her or me!' Clara folded her arms.

'Well, you're here, aren't you?' The Doctor's eyebrows raised.

Clara scowled. That was not good enough for her.

The Doctor looked over at her, eyebrows stern as ever, 'Do not think for a second I'm not glad to see you, but not today.'

'And what if you die today? What then?' Clara wasn't even entertaining the thought, but she wanted to know.

'Then, I would remember you. Your never giving up, your questions, your teaching, your anger, your kindness, your smile,' the Doctor explained.

Clara frowned in disbelief. If she was so important to him, why would she keep him in the dark? That was not how she worked — or how they worked.

'What happened on Gallifrey, Doctor? Why are you back on Earth? Why are you going to die?' Clara had so many questions.

'You can't be here,' the Doctor looked at Danny.

'I invited him, actually,' Clara inputted.

The Doctor looked around, his face wrinkling in undisguised disgust, 'Well, what'd you do that for?'

'You know I think I get it,' Danny spoke up.

'Oh, really?' The Doctor scoffed. 'PE gets it? Maybe I am dying…'

'I think you don't want me here because you know I'll stop Clara from whatever crazy thing you're going to make her do,' Danny said.

'Have you been listening —?' The Doctor began.

'He's not making me do anything — ever!' Clara fired up.

' — I don't even want her here. She shouldn't be here! Neither of you should be!' The Doctor waved a hand at both her and Missy.

'Neither of us could have found you alone, but we found you together,' Clara deduced. 'The two most unlikely people working together to save you. You didn't even consider it, did you?'

'You should leave,' the Doctor faced Danny.

'No, I want to make sure Clara is safe,' Danny insisted.

The Doctor's face shrivelled behind his shades and Clara knew he was rolling his eyes, 'You're a PE teacher. We're not doing much endurance here. I'm celebrating, saying good-bye, and then I'm dying. Alone.'

'No,' Clara said at once.

'Yes,' the Doctor whirled around to look at her, his teeth showing. 'Clara, no. Listen to me —'

'Yeah, well, you should know by now that I don't do that,' Clara jutted her chin upwards in defiance.

'Clara…'

'How are you going to win? How are you going to survive?' Clara pressed.

'I can't. I won't,' the Doctor said.

'No,' Clara repeated. She didn't accept that. 'There's always a way with you.'

'Not this time,' the Doctor sounded so grave, it broke her heart.

'No, you just haven't found it yet,' Clara insisted.

'No, this isn't like every other time,' the Doctor replied, so evenly.

'I don't believe you,' Clara shook her eyes, her eyebrows scrunching in disbelief.

'I've never sent my Confession Dial out before. I know this time. I can see it. I can see the end,' the Doctor answered quietly.

'Oh, yeah? Doctor… you sent Missy your Confession Dial,' Clara demanded, jerking her head at Missy who was examining her fingernails.

There was a moment of silence. Then, 'We've known each other for a long time, she's one of my own people —'

Clara cut him off. That wasn't the kind of explanation she wanted, 'My point is, we both saw her die on earth, ages ago. But obviously, you knew it wasn't real. Or worse, you hoped it wasn't. I think, one way or another, you've been lying.'

The Doctor's face remained impassive, 'I'm sorry.'

'Don't apologise. Make it up to me,' Clara smiled. 'There — now you have to come back.'

The Doctor stared at her, and then a smile graced his face and he gave a single nod. It warmed Clara to know that he still cared after all this time to do what she wanted. She knew that she wasn't important, but the Doctor wanting to do what she wanted, helping her, even being willing to break his own rules for her… It made her feel special, and she valued that greatly, more than anything. Her eyes landed on Danny, who seemed to be making the same connections.

'I have a question,' Danny piped up.

A flicker of worry rose up in Clara. Uh oh, that couldn't be good. She tried to preemptively arrange damage control and started, 'Doctor —'

'Well, maybe the universe isn't ending after all. PE asking me a question? I've been waiting centuries to die, and you're here to ask me a question. Well, do please stick around. I can't fathom the world without you,' the Doctor jibed.

'Doctor!' Clara sniped. The memory of Danny's death — being run over by a car and his sacrifice to prevent the entire human race being turned to Cybermen — was still fresh.

'If you would give your Last Will and Testament to her and not Clara, then why would you let her come here?' Danny asked.

'Let me?' Clara retorted.

'Did you never learn how to listen at stupid school?' the Doctor scoffed. 'I didn't want Clara or Missy or you here!'

'But you seem pretty happy to see her,' Danny countered.

'Well, yeah! Clara Oswald has entered the Middle Ages! It’s about time!' The Doctor looked around the arena and playing another guitar riff, exploding alongside cheers. 'So, PE, what exactly is your role here?'

'I'm here to make sure Clara survives all this, but I don't trust you to do it,' Danny raised his chin at the Doctor. 'You failed last time. You went off running with her,' he looked at Missy. 'Clara had to deal with Cybermen and I protected her.'

The Doctor looked around at the arena with mock scrutinisation.

'Great job!' the Doctor retorted sarcastically, his accent increasingly more Scottish. ‘On a school night too!’

'Do you know why I chose to come back?' Danny asked and Clara felt her attention focus on him. He'd never told her… and here he was telling the Doctor.’

'No.'

'Because of you,' Danny stared at the Doctor.

'Me?' the Doctor gave him a disgusted look.

'Yes, because you're the reason Clara's going to die,' Danny replied simply.

Clara rolled her eyes. Not this again.

'I can speak for myself, thanks,' Clara interjected impatiently.

'Yeah, she can speak for herself,' the Doctor pointed at Clara supportively. 'Shut up, PE.'

'Doctor,' Clara gave him a warning glance, her arms settling at her sides before looking at Danny. 'What do you mean by that?' She asked.

'I mean, if you two keep travelling, Clara is going to end up dead,' Danny explained to the Doctor.

'What a tragedy that would be.'

Clara startled, having nearly forgotten that Missy was there.

'Excuse me? I think I have some autonomy here,' Clara insisted.

'She stops you from making stupid decisions,' Danny looked at the Doctor.

'Go back to school, PE. It's a school night. Your kids need you. Local Knowledge… No, Disruptive Influence? Maebh?' the Doctor argued.

'But you don't stop her,’ Danny insisted. ‘I heard her. She was talking about how you have four wives and children and grandchildren.’

'Ughhh,' the Doctor groaned in exasperation. ‘People say anything these days. Lies threading into your beliefs and it makes your minds so tiny.’

'She didn't tell me any of that,' Danny looked around at Clara and back at the Doctor. 'I'm not an idiot.'

'Well, you make a very convincing case,' the Doctor bit back.

'I know you love her.'

'Time Lords don't love,' Missy cut in coldly, and they all looked at her. 'Too long a lifespan. What you humans call blends with lies, betrayal, torture, death. Love doesn't last, not even for you humans. Time destroys everything.'

'I pity you, because I think you really believe that,' Danny looked at her.

'Well, I don't need your pity,' Missy rolled her eyes. 'I could do with you being dead, though.'

'Why? What do you have against me?' Danny asked, stepping towards her.

Clara felt a terrible thrill of foreboding and she stepped towards Danny.

'Absolutely nothing,' Missy shrugged, eyes trained on him like she was sizing up her prey.

'My point is —'

'Oh, we're actually getting to that? Good, I thought I was going to die of old age waiting. No, wait, why do I care? I don't care. Shut up!' The Doctor stared hard at him.

'I know that —'

'No, shut up! Hush!' The Doctor raised his lips to his mouth, eyebrows furrowed at Danny. 'This is my death day. I don't think PE deserves a say.'

'I do,' Clara input.

The Doctor and Missy looked over at her, annoyed.

'Fine,' the Doctor gestured towards Danny dismissively. 'But be quick. I'm dying soon, and I don't want the last thing I hear to be something about how Clara Oswald was a mistake.'

'I know you two love each other,' Danny said simply.

'Danny —' Clara tried to say.

'No, Clara, just let me talk,' Danny interrupted firmly, his tone neutral. Meanwhile, Clara's heart was hammering hard in her chest.

'I know you two love each other. I can see it. I'm not blind, or an idiot,' Danny continued. 'And I'm not upset either. But you've lied to me about it,' he now looked directly at Clara.

She shook her head instinctively, 'No, no, Danny, no,' her lips tracing the words over and over.

'Just tell me the truth now,' Danny insisted.

'I have!' Clara cried.

'No, you haven't,' Danny interrupted. 'Not about this. Tell me now. Tell me right now. Do you love him? Yes or no.'

Clara felt her mouth work furiously. Tell the truth. Just say it. Just say it.

'We've been through this before,' was what came out instead.

Missy giggled at the side and Clara would have slapped her if she wasn't so far away.

'And we're going through it again. Problem?' Danny challenged.

'No,' Clara said at once. Her need to control and never back down.

'Okay, good. Do you love him — The Doctor?' Danny looked over at him.

'Yes,' Clara answered, keeping her eyes trained on Danny.

'Ooooooooo,' Missy and the crowd voiced, but Clara understood what the Doctor had meant by being able to drown out the entire group.

Her eyes were on Danny, but she was ultimately and presently aware of the presence of the Doctor. He was standing between them, his guitar in his hands, fingers absentmindedly strumming chords, and his head bowed, as though pretending he wasn't paying attention.

'But not like that,' Clara said hastily, the words tumbling out of her.

'Why did we meet, Clara?' Danny asked.

'What?' Clara frowned. 'Because we were both teaching at Coal Hill School! Because I fancy you! Because I love you!'

The Doctor chewed on his lip, eyes flickering downwards. Clara felt a stone sink in her stomach. What was happening?

'No,' Danny fixed a stare at her. 'You met me and took interest in me after the Doctor told you he wasn't your boyfriend. That you needed a new hobby.'

'What?' Clara scoffed, disbelievingly. 'No, that's not —'

'And now, look at you! Trying to lie to me!' Danny scowled for the first time.

'Who told you that, PE?' The Doctor asked, defensive on Clara’s behalf.

'You already know,' Danny's voice was filled with impatience.

Clara followed the Doctor's gaze, trained on Missy.

'What can I say? I like drama,' Missy smiled sweetly.

'Okay, so what?' Clara whirled around at Danny.

'So what?' Danny echoed. 'You only took an interest in me because the Doctor rejected you first, and now you're hugging and saying good-bye, and you're willing to do anything and everything for him, just for a chance to save him on the day he's supposed to die? You're willing to meet with her, bargain with her, be killed by her, and now travel here. I asked you where this ends, and I'm telling you, right here right now, Clara. If you keep doing this, your life will end with the Doctor.'

Silence rang through the arena.

There was an an odd numbness in Clara's arms and she crossed her arms.

'That's my choice,' Clara insisted.

'No, you're tempting time and fate itself!' Danny cried. 'I mean, what if you got killed here in the Middle Ages! Would I never meet you?'

'Not how it works,' the Doctor inputted. ‘Do you not learn nonlinear physics in school?’

'What?' Danny looked at him, impatiently.

‘It’s an elementary school,’ Clara added in, helpfully.

‘Well, I learned nonlinear physics in early childhood,’ the Doctor retorted.

‘Yeah, a class below mine,’ Missy muttered.

‘Hush,’ the Doctor frowned at her.

‘What do you mean Clara can die in the Middle Ages and still be born?’ Danny asked loudly.

'Entirely possible to die before you're born,' the Doctor clarified.

Danny looked even more confused, 'Thanks, but I don't want my girlfriend to die here.'

'Yeah, me neither. Speaking of, Clara, take your boyfriend and you both leave now. Missy, you too,' the Doctor ordered.

'No,' Clara insisted. 'You owe me. You lied to me about Missy. You have to make it up to me. You're coming back to me. And you will not die, or I will hold that over you for forever.'

'Never,' the Doctor promised.

'You'll always come back to me?' Clara whispered, taking a step towards him.

'Always,' the Doctor promised. 'As long as I remember you.'

'What if you forget about me?' Clara joked, feeling relief split through her chest.

'Never. I could never forget you,' the Doctor reached out taking her hand, the crowd vanishing from view, Missy and Danny too.

'You said, one day I would die and you'd remember every part of me and that pain would hurt you so bad that you would forget to breathe,' Clara whispered, her heart heavy.

'Yes,' the Doctor replied simply.

'… What about you? I can't live without you,' Clara whispered.

'Oh, Clara. My Clara,' the Doctor leaned forwards, his forehead brushing against hers, tenderly holding her hands. 'Of course you can. I'm nothing without you.'

'No, I'm nothing without you,' Clara felt tears falling down her face against her will, gasping for breath, her chest suddenly empty.

'No, not at all. You made me feel special, Clara Oswald. I was your hero,' the Doctor smiled fondly, pressing his lips to her forehead.

'No, Doctor, don't talk like that,' Clara cried. 'You still are. And even without me, you'll always be a hero.'

'I wouldn't be a hero without you. I'd be lost without you. You with your righteousness, your anger, your kindness,' the Doctor murmured.

'How could you leave me behind?' Clara whispered, tears streaming from her face, wishing she could just shut it all off.

'That was not my intent.'

'You left me,'

'You were happy.'

Clara thought about it. Her life with Danny back, teaching, all the kids.

'No,' she whispered. 'Not without you.'

'Oh, but we all have to move on, don't we?' the Doctor kissed her forehead.

'No,' Clara whimpered, her breath releasing in gasps, her chest squeezing and compressing her heart and lungs to impossible degrees. 'Not you and me. Never you and me. I told you. You die with the next one — not me. Not me. You promised. If you love me in any way, you'll come back to me.'

They stood for a few moments, their breaths released like steam from an engine, their heats beating as one.

'I will,' the Doctor whispered against her head.

'You cannot break that promise,' Clara pulled away, looking up at him, eyes wide and noses inches apart.

'I won't,' the Doctor vowed.

'Why did you leave me?' Clara asked. 'Really?'

The Doctor frowned as though she may laugh at him, and confessed, 'I was afraid.'

'Of what?'

'I was afraid of what you'd see me become on Gallifrey,' the Doctor said slowly.

'Oh? What happened?' Clara asked, a small smile gracing her features.

'I couldn't find it,' the Doctor murmured.

A heavy weight fell on Clara.

'What? But — you said —' she whispered, fresh tears falling down her face.

'I lied. Missy lied. I tried putting in the coordinates and it wasn't there,' bitterness filled his voice.

Clara felt a flash of anger towards Missy. Clara had been happy for him, insisting he go, listening to him think he was second in her life because she had Danny. She could have travelled with the Doctor, but then what about Danny?

'Doctor,' a new thought occurred to her.

'Yes?'

'Did Danny come back?' she asked, her voice small like a child confessing they'd broken a valuable object.

The silence seemed to stretch on forever.

'No,' he said finally.

Tears fell freely and Clara stumbled backwards, covering her hand with her mouth as she cried. Danny. Her Danny. Gone, too. First him, now the Doctor.

'I'm so sorry,' she sobbed, and she felt his arms wrap around her in another hug. She threw her around around him, pushing her nose into his jacket. 'I'm so, so sorry.'

'Don't be,' he whispered in her ear, like the wind rustling a leaf.

'I made you forget me. How could I ever make up for that?' Clara's entire body racked with sobs, holding onto her Doctor as long as she could.

'There is nothing to make up for.'

'Forgive me, at least?' She pulled away, needing to see his face.

The Doctor removed his shades, eyes shining with grief, 'There is nothing to forgive.'

'But…' she uttered.

'I went too far, Clara. It was my fault. Danny Pink was right. I got you killed, and then I went too far. This is right,' the Doctor insisted, holding her hands now.

Clara stood, numb to herself.

'But… but what about the pain I have to live with now?' She asked, feeling selfish and childish.

The Doctor smiled at her sadly and spoke, 'Doctor Clara Oswald. Heal yourself.'

Clara blinked, hearing her own words echoed back at her.

'You are complete. So kind, so beautiful, so young, so angry, so righteous, so brave, so reckless. Take all of that, heal yourself, and be better.'

Clara inhaled sharply. Why did this sound like another good-bye? Why were there so many?

'As for your pain, there isn't anything I could do about that,' the Doctor smiled, his eyes watering more.

Clara wiped several tears, hiccoughing and covering her mouth with her hand.

They stood, Clara crying and the Doctor letting her.

Then, she removed her hand, returning it to the Doctor. She felt hot tear tracks on her cheeks, but she smiled bravely at him.

'What's that for?' he asked.

Clara scoffed. For someone so brilliant, he really was an idiot.

'I'm smiling so you forget me,' she hated the way her voice cracked, her insides vibrating with grief. But why? Grief was a symbol of a strong love that existed. She shouldn't grieve someone she hadn't really lost yet…

'I would never forget you of my own will,' the Doctor promised.

'You have to let me go, Doctor,' Clara whispered.

'Why? How is that fair?' The Doctor snapped — his temper cracking like a whip.

'Because I can't move on if you still want to remember me,' Clara swallowed a lump in her throat.

The Doctor frowned at her sadly.

'You have years beyond me, all of time and space in front of you. Don't stop on my accord,' Clara smiled, forced, but she had to try.

The Doctor just stared at her as though she were a complex puzzle he was trying to solve.

'Try not to be alone... Never fail to be kind... Never eat pears... Always be a doctor…' Clara listed between emphatic pauses. 'Oh, and run you clever boy and be a Doctor.'

'Is that all?' The Doctor asked, his face impassive.

Clara frowned. Not quite. She leaned up on her shoes, teetering, eyes fluttering shut, and pressing her lips against his.

She pulled away nearly immediately, and whispered, 'Doctor, I let you go.'

'Clara!'

She turned to see Me running towards her from one of the branches of the arena. Clara let out an exhale of relief. Me hadn't been there that day. Seeing Me and knowing she wasn't going mad was reassuring to say the least. Glancing around, the arena and all the people were frozen just like Missy had done to the planes — the axe-man, Danny, Missy, the Doctor, all frozen as though a stage producer had called 'cut.' As Me ran over, Clara felt a rush of gratitude towards Me and her critical thinking.

'Me!' Clara exclaimed, running over. 'Are you okay?'

Me's eyes narrowed moving past Clara, and asked, 'Is he part of your imagination?'

Clara turned to see Danny Pink walking over.

'Danny?' She queried, eyebrows scrunching.

'Clara? What's happening?' Danny asked.

Clara whirled about. She was no expert traveller, but she knew enough to know something was wrong.

'How do we get back to the TARDIS?' Clara asked.

'You have to say good-bye. You have to acknowledge it's an illusion,' Me explained.

'I did!' Clara said frantically as Bors started revealing his Dalek stalk and Missy and the Doctor unfroze, starting to step towards them.

'Well, try again!' Me argued.

This is not real. This is just my imagination, Clara tried, frantically closing her eyes.

'Clara!' Me yelled.

Her eyes flew open to see the stands unpacking, ready to circle them. Bors with the Dalek stalk surged forwards and fired a blast of blue light. One moment Clara was standing and the next, she spat out a bit of dirt, the wind knocked out of her.

'Danny!' She gasped, looking up to see him having shoved her out of the way.

She looked about to see a human behind her, caught in the crossfire. He was completely frozen, eyes bulging with fear and shocked silence.

'Told you I'd protect you, didn't I?' Danny smiled.

Clara beamed up at him, springing to her feet, 'Well, come on, then! Let's go!'

One last adventure.

She grabbed Danny and Me's hands, and they sprinted out of the arena. They dodged the humans running at them and soon the arena faded into the setting of liquid gold ground (or whatever it was) and the endless pink, gold, and white streaks in the endless sky.

'There!' Me cried, pointing at the American diner in the distance.

Clara ran easily, her feet thundering soundlessly against the ground, her hands interlocked tightly with Danny and Me's as they ran for the TARDIS. She looked around, and saw that the Doctor, Missy, the Dalek, and the humans were moving slowly. Relief shot through her. They would have time. She fumbled into her dress and pulled out the key, and the three ran inside the diner, barrelling into the console room.

'Is it — is it safe?' Danny gasped.

'Yeah, they need to key to enter,' Clara said, looking at him, feeling her chest compact like a weight on her chest. 'I suppose this is good-bye.'

Danny gave her a confused look, 'How do you mean?'

'Santa Claus,' Clara smiled mournfully.

'What?' Me asked, clueless and clutching a stitch in her side.

'You're my Santa Claus,' Clara told Danny.

'Clara, you're not making any sense,' Danny frowned.

'You're not real,' Clara felt her heart split open again.

'Clara, I am real,' Danny reached out and held her hands.

But all Clara could think about was another good-bye.

No, not another one. Not again.

I'm sorry, she said to the universe. I never asked to be saved. Don't you dare take this out of me.

She knew it was selfish to ask. But after everything, she thought she was entitled.

Knock, knock, knock, knock.

Clara looked up at the monitor, displaying the utopian outdoors.

The Doctor.

'Clara…' Me warned.

'I know,' Clara took a deep breath. 'Four knocks, right? End of the universe?'

And she walked out.

But she heard them. She turned around at the entrance of the diner, The Doctor and Missy standing together in front of her… and Danny and Me at her side.

'We're in this together, Clara. I'm sorry for doubting you,' Me promised.

Clara smiled and looked at Danny, nodding and saying, 'Thank you for loving me.'

Danny smiled, 'It wasn't hard,' he took her hand.

Clara looked back at the Doctor and Missy and said, 'I know you're not real.'

'Clara —' the Doctor protested.

'No!' Clara snapped, her temper flaring, whirling around at him. 'Do not try that with me. Do not manipulate me with fake memories ever again. Do not insult his memory or mine like that ever again. Do you understand?' Her voice was loaded with such controlling teacher strictness and stress that the Doctor looked taken aback.

'How does this end, then?' Clara asked.

'We will always be a part of you. We can track your psychic signature across the universe,' the Doctor explained.

'No,' Clara snarled, adamant.

'Yes. You will allow us to psychically connect with every single species you've met across space and time, and we will feast endlessly until the end of the universe,' Missy smiled airily.

'No,' Me agreed.

'There's nothing you two can do about that. Unless you kill yourselves and end your psychic transmission from your brains,' the Doctor said matter-of-factly.

Clara couldn't help but snicker.

'That's amusing to you?' The Doctor frowned.

'Well, yeah, because I've travelled with the Doctor. I've met every face, and you know what?' Clara took a daring step forwards against Me's urgent warnings against it.

'What?' The Doctor asked.

'I learned a lot from an old friend. But more importantly, I taught him a lot. I reminded him to be the Doctor, and to grow a conscience. But what I learned from him, is to never ever give up,' Clara enunciated, stepping forward still, both Time Lords eyeing her.

'That will not save you,' Missy said, stepping forwards, pulling out the same device she'd used to freeze the planes.

'Wait, Clara, I have something to show you. To prove to you that I would do anything for you, and that I'm trying to help,' Danny pulled her backwards out of the line of fire.

Before Clara could protest, he lunged forwards and slammed his fist into the ground, a gold concentric circle emanating out. Clara gasped at the blood splattering on the ground.

'Danny, Danny stop!' She shouted, rushing forwards, but something pulled her back.

She looked around to see Me tugging her back. There were a few seconds where Clara wondered if it had done anything, but then the entire sky and ground disappeared.

Clara and Me gasped.

The paradise was gone, replaced by a grey and dull endless ground full of a number of species. They were completely immobile, some sitting, many standing, frozen in conversation or actions like eating. In common, their eyes were bulging, they looked afraid, and their mouths were open as though screaming in pain. No longer utopia, but dystopia.

'What?' Clara gasped, taking a step back, looking over at Danny.

The images of the Doctor and Missy flickered.

'You're not real!' Clara shouted at them. 'You're not! You're not real! You're just — you're just holograms of memories! You lure them here to a paradise only to steal all their energy!'

The Doctor gave her a stony cold look, head tilted, lips slightly pursed. He aimed his sonic screwdriver at her, it glowed blue, and he fired a beam directly at her chest.

Chapter Text

SIX

TENTH DOCTOR

The Doctor had continued running away, his mind heavy with the thought of Rose. He had promised her that they could travel forever, and he had failed. He'd lost her. It was his fault. And now she was trapped in a world where she didn't belong. At least she had her mum, dad, and Mickey. At least she wasn't alone. It was the least he could have done.

And worse now, he'd failed the Freenslians, now frozen and remote.

And of course he'd failed Earth. He might have sent the Daleks and the Cybermen to the Void space between universes, but he'd almost been the reason Rose was sent there too. He'd burnt up a dying star to say good-bye, aware of the energy it took to reach out to her psychically, and of course she'd heard. Of course she'd heard. She was Rose Tyler. She was amazing, beautiful, smart, witty, and she was like a sun, radiating and reminding the Doctor of so much light in the world.

It wasn't all dark. Nothing went dark forever. There was always light, and he was starting to see it. Donna had helped him see it a bit, even if they had clashed at first. The entire universe since dust, before Time, had made loud and unimportant Donna Noble — everything leading to that moment — save him. It reminded him of how small everyone was, not just humans, but him as well. One day he would blot out of existence, but until then, he would run away.

He had tried tracking the energy signatures, trying to figure out who was zapping Freenslian energy, but he'd had no luck. He'd wandered onto a world that used colours as their entire language and he'd skilfully brought out his linguistic abilities to communicate to them that he could help. The world used a colour code that went far beyond visible light and human vision, but he'd recognised the universal colour call for help: mauve. They'd come across a colour pigment they'd never encountered before and the Doctor worked to help them translate, building trade between the two. Then, he'd gone to another world and helped a planet with the ground above the oceans to prevent their species from suffocating. Another world involved a species that only spoke in riddles which put the Doctor to the test. He hadn't formed riddles in ages. Of course, he mostly spoke in riddles to those who couldn't keep up with his brain, but he hadn't actually had to craft riddles in ages. He likes riddles and puzzles, and he suggested they have a little shop for riddles. A dissenter had refused, and used their linguistic ability to create riddles to trick and kill the residents. Needless to say, the residents were incredibly frightened, being a sophisticated and advanced cerebral group who relied on riddles to communicate and challenge one another, never as a means of deceit or violence … or action in general, they needed the Doctor’s help. It reminded the Doctor of the Time Lords, which he quickly pushed aside, and remarked vaguely that Rose would have realised the obvious: that a species relying on riddles to communicate spent too much time thinking and speaking, giving the dissenter the advantage. After nine people had been killed, the Doctor had taken the bait of the dissenter and outsmarted him like he always did: talking a lot and staying by the exit to run.

But every time, after each adventure, he went back to his TARDIS, and the Doctor was sorely reminded of how alone he was. He watched families and species group together and even if some of them hated other members of their species, they still weren't alone. He left without a reward, without a word of thanks or gratitude — and he didn't mind because he knew he didn't deserve it anyway.

No matter how many people he saved, there were always those he had failed. Saving new lives wouldn't erase the dead.

In a way, he missed his old face where he'd been willing to let things die because everything died and had its time to die. He wondered, now, when his time would be. There would be Moments where the Doctor tried to sacrifice himself, to end it all, to let the tally of death judge him but it never worked. He was too cruel, too cowardly, too manipulative, too clever… he tricked people into sacrificing themselves to save him. And then he was responsible for those lives too. He had tried to give his own life to save others, trying to be selfless, but then he couldn't save the real heroes. He practically flung himself off cliffs trying to save others, and they somehow ended up saving him. How? Why? Why? Why?

He hated that he did this to himself. He hated that he couldn't walk away from people in need. After all, he was the Doctor. He helped people. He wandered around aimlessly and helped people. Rose had said it too.

'Help her,' she'd uttered.

He'd been ready to launch the Delta wave, killing all Daleks and humans alike — never Rose, but what was the point? He'd done that, and it had been the worst decision in his entire life. Coward, never killer. Doctor. Never cruel.

But he was. He was a killer and he was cruel and he was cowardly. And he would spend however long the universe was punishing him to make up for it. He would do it until it killed him. Maybe all of it was pointless. Who cared about Bob, the little Freenslian? No one would notice or care. What did it matter? No one would notice if he'd saved Bob or let him die. It was all so small, but all the same, the Doctor couldn't just walk away. What if he had walked away from Rose Tyler? Or Donna Noble? He would have died if he hadn't saved them. And what was his reward? To live? To watch more people die?

He wished he could walk away, but at the same time he knew he would abhor himself for it. Because that was cowardly. Letting them die when he could save them. Wasn't that a violation to his oath as the Doctor? And if there was anything the Doctor loved (and hated) to do, it was to try. Because maybe it would be worth it. Maybe it would even the score. Maybe the people's lives he saved that time would help balance the infinite scratches of the Time War counted against him. And if he didn't save them, then they would be added to the infinite.

At any rate, the Doctor was tired.

But he couldn't think like that. He had to move on. So he did.

He circled back to the Milky Way Galaxy and towards Earth, hopeful. If there was one thing he could count on, it was someone in the universe calling out for the help. And quite frankly, humans were his favourite species. He wanted to help them and be useful, because a day where Earth didn't need the Doctor, besides selfish reasons, would be the day he would hate himself. If people didn't need help, then he was nothing.

His mind flashed to the thought of his childhood best friend. He had taken care of the Doctor, watched over him, defended him… he had protected the Doctor when he was alone and needed him most.

The Doctor's two hearts beat voraciously in his chest at the thought, his entire body aching, thinking of the family and his best friend he'd left to die.

I had no choice.

He wouldn't be the Doctor without his friend. He'd be nothing without his friend. He wouldn't know how to protect so fiercely, argue so confidently, laugh so loudly, and love so deeply.

You did have a choice, and you made the wrong one. And you can never take it back.

Wet hot tears fell down the Doctor's cheek as he leaned over the console, thinking of his granddaughter. What would she say?

No, he told himself sternly.

This was exactly why he hated being alone. He was nothing without an audience. He needed people to impress, to laugh with him, to teach, to guide, to save. The thought made him feel sick. Rose flitted to his mind again.

Just like you saved her? His mind offered nastily.

Shut up, he thought angrily.

He ran the distress call detector again and was disappointed that nothing seemed wrong with Earth. It was a horrible thought. He supposed he could save the polar bears, but he knew that humans had to work on their own too. If he saved everything they needed, they would never learn to do things themselves. Mostly, the Doctor knew if he tried saving humanity as a whole, his job would never be done, and he would really rather not open that can of beans.

To distract himself, the Doctor ran around the greenish-blue console room, past his coat slung on the dark golden coral branches anchoring the console, flicking switches and pulling knobs.

'Right,' he declared. 'New destination!'

The Doctor found a distress call — the universe was always calling for help. He landed on a planet that the TARDIS detected was 97% water.

'Ooh, again,' he chirped, happily, skipping to the TARDIS doors, throwing his coat on.

He pulled open the doors and then promptly stuffed his hands in pockets. String, yo-yo, Japanese bus schedule, Kraken biscuits.

He stepped out onto a beach and shielded his eyes from the burning white sun up in the sky.

'Eugh, bit bright,' he remarked, wondering why he'd decided to go with his blue suit.

He looked around curiously, seeing the endless ocean spread out around him. He knelt and picked up a rock in the sand, licking it.

Water, hydrogen, oxygen, sodium, nitrogen, silicone, copper, iron, wait, was that —?

'Hello!' A voice called.

The Doctor looked up to see a middle-aged, dark-haired human male running over in a white chiton, gripping a sort of spear looking worried.

'Hallo!' He grinned cheerily, rising from his crouched position and striding towards the man. 'Lovely day!'

'Is it?' The man looked at him as though he was mad.

He was probably was, in context.

'Sorry, not from around here,' the Doctor smiled in a friendly approachable manner. 'Where am I?'

'You're not permitted to be here! No visitors allowed!'

'Well, that's not very welcoming, is it? And not permitted? What does that even mean? And how is anyone else supposed to know? Could do with a sign that reads: "No visitors allowed. You're not permitted to be here!" if you feel that strongly about it,' the Doctor tilted his head to the side, pondering the matter.

BOOM!

The Doctor's stance froze, images flashing in his mind, adults and children running, taking cover, rubble flying.

'What's going on?' He asked urgently, his smile dropping at once.

'Who are you?' The man asked, his chin trembling, betraying his fear. 'Why should we trust you?'

'I'm the Doctor, here to help,' the Doctor promised quickly.

The man hesitated, swinging about his spear and led the Doctor away from the large body of water and into a small cave entrance. Even with his enhanced vision, the darkness plunged on further than he could see. The man approached a large metal trolley that looked like an ore cart.

'Get in, then. But you may not make it back here,' he grunted.

The Doctor didn't hesitate, rushing to clamber inside it, and they set off into the darkness. The cart gave a lurch and made creaky metal sounds, but the Doctor wasn't fooled. Rusty tracks, old cart, but there was an unmistakable hum of flowing energy and electrons.

He pulled on his square-framed glasses and peered into the caves of chiselled rock, revealing stalactites and stalagmites. They were pretty, but the deeper they went, the more barren and carved out the caves became. The cuts in the rock were more precise, but the loud creaking of the cart hinted otherwise.

'I'm Lars,' the man offered his hand, turning round.

The Doctor shook it, noting the coarse and rough hands of the human, 'I'm the Doctor,' he said.

'Thanks the Gods for that,' Lars smiled, like a crack in wood.

'What's going on here?' the Doctor asked.

'Mining colony,' Lars grunted, turning back through the cave. 'What brings you here?'

'Oh, you know,' the Doctor drawled. 'Just travelling.'

'Didn't see your ship land.'

'It's not that kind of ship.'

'What kind of ship doesn't come from the sky or the sea?'

The Doctor could hear the cart creaking and whining on the rails, but the way they had passed so quickly from jagged rocks to clean cuts and now different types of rocks, it was evident to him how fast they were moving.

'A relative ship. Mining what, exactly?' The Doctor asked.

Lars didn't answer as the cart lurched terribly and muttered, 'Don't ask any more questions. I might be sick,' he grumbled.

The Doctor glanced around at the cave, his hair rustling in the breeze and acceleration deeper into the caves. He looked down and caught sight of the vast ocean world beneath them.

Soon after, the cart screeched to an ear-splitting halt — very unpleasant, unlike the TARDIS engines. Lars and the Doctor jumped out and he led him to the surface in yet another island covered in quartz sand. Humans were working hard, shovelling and carrying barrels. Another shout rent the air and a group of injured humans were stumbling from where the mines must be, and the Doctor's eyes picked up the burns on their skin. They were wearing white chitons and their skin looked wilted and aged.

The Doctor rushed forwards to stop a human from following, and bellowed, 'Out of the way! I'm the Doctor! Hey, give me a hand!'

He grabbed some of the injured humans along with Lars.

'The healer is this way,' Lars said urgently.

They rushed into a tent and another man in a toga rushed over, waving his hands over the body as though performing a spell on the body.

'Ah, his soul is detached from his body!'

I don't have time for this, the Doctor thought furiously, and he leaned forwards, reaching out to touch the skin of the human.

Images of a bright light, explosion, cries of pain, and cells splitting filled his mind.

He removed his hand just as the physician yelled and marched over, 'What do you think you're doing?'

'Sorry about that,' the Doctor said hastily. 'There's still time to repair the body! I just need —'

'No!' The physician argued fervently. 'The soul and body are detached. It is too late.'

'No, no, really! His heart is still beating!' The Doctor shouted.

Most of the men in the room were actively pulling him back, while a few stared at him as though he was mad.

'He's dying! I can still save him!' The Doctor insisted, fighting against them.

'No, sir. It is far too late for that. Please step aside,' another man prodded the spear at him.

'No! No, no, no! No, no!' The Doctor cried vehemently. 'He's still —'

He stopped speaking abruptly, seeing the life drain from the man's eyes, his body slackening.

'Ah, there you are, Lysander!'

The Doctor whipped around and saw another middle-aged man enter through the tent flap.

'Who's this?' His eyes landed on the Doctor.

'I'm the Doctor. Here to help. You should have a little shop,' he nodded at the corner of the medical tent. 'And more respect for your workers.'

'For what reason?'

The Doctor frowned, 'To, you know, shop. A shop for people to shop to own shopped goods. And basic decency.'

The man frowned in deep concern.

'Hyacinthus, he is convinced he can stop the splitting of the soul and the body,' the physician informed him.

'Hyacinthus, eh?' The Doctor echoed. Greek legend, type of flower?'

'Come.'

The Doctor followed Hyacinthus to a clearly wealthy tent full of trinkets, treasures, maps, and blueprints. The Doctor's eyes raked over them before they were shoved aside quickly by the man. They both sat at a small wooden table on stools, Hyacinthus' face full of distrust.

'Who are you, really?' He asked.

'I'm the Doctor,' the Doctor answered.

'We already have a physician,' Hyacinthus replied.

'Not like me.'

Hyacinthus raised his chin, with his scrubby beard, thoughtfully.

'You think you're better than our physician?' He questioned.

'I didn't say that. I said I could help,' the Doctor argued. 'And I very well could have without your men trying to restrain me. There was still —'

'And what could you do to prevent the splitting of a soul from a body?' Hyacinthus sneered. 'Our research tells us that the soul and body are one, and cannot be reintegrated.'

'Hyacinthus, isn't it? Supposedly what hyacinths were named after your namesake died and the Greek God Apollo —'

'Blasphemy! Speak not the Gods' names!' Hyacinthus cried.

The Doctor's eyebrows dropped in surprise.

'You don't believe in Gods, do you?' The man asked shrewdly.

'Honestly, no. I've met gods and they're not any different from humanity,' the Doctor replied. 'But I don't have anything against those that do. Unless you harm people because of that.'

The man's chest flared in terrible rage, 'Your lack of faith would have Zeus sending thunderbolts on you!'

'Wait, hold on. Why do you get to speak the names of gods, then?' The Doctor asked.

Hyacinthus gave him a look of venom, and spat, 'They are our Gods, and we worship them. Besides, do you not do the same?'

'Me? No. I don't believe in gods,' the Doctor replied.

'Then why do you call yourself an enigmatic title as "The Doctor?" Is that not what a God would do?' Hyacinthus argued.

'Listen, we're getting off-topic. I don’t have time for this. You are welcome to your religion and your faith —'

'Do you have one? A faith, at least?' Hyacinthus asked, his face etched with doubt and mistrust.

The Doctor paused, and said, his voice strained, a lump in his throat, 'Yes. Her name was Rose.'

A look of surprise and disgust crossed the human's face, 'A mortal? A human? Why would you have faith in them?'

'Because humanity is more capable than any god ever was, is, or will be,' the Doctor articulated.

A few moments passed, the two staring at one another, slightly disgusted but also curious.

'Now, Hyacinthus, was it? Can you —?' The Doctor began.

'You will address me as Aesymnetes Hyacinthus the Fifth of the House of Hephaestus,' the tyrant interrupted.

The Doctor paused, his mouth hanging open, trying to process this new information, 'Oh, but that's really long. Do you mind if I call you Cin or Thus or This?'

'No,' Cin glared at him.

'Great!' The Doctor plunged on before Cin had a chance to realise his mistake. 'Now, here's what's going to happen. You're going to tell me what that explosion came from and why you're pretending to be Ancient Greeks and what's really going on. I mean, I have a theory, and my theories are always right, but I'm giving you a chance to explain here, because from where I'm standing, it does not look good. Plus, I hate being wrong in front of an audience, although that’s exceptionally rare for me.’

Cin's mouth fell open — undisguised shock and disgust. He quickly closed it but the Doctor wasn't fooled, of course.

'I — I have no idea what you mean,' he cleared his throat loudly.

'Come on. Your colony is dying. I can tell… I'm the Doctor,' he added at Cin opening his mouth open. 'Now, tell me. I want to help.'

'Why would you do that?' Cin asked coldly.

'Because it's what I do. I'm the Doctor,' the Time Lord repeated.

'Do you ever get tired of using that as an explanation?' Cin demanded, clearly annoyed.

'No, do you get tired of referring to yourself as Aesymnetes Hyacinthus the Fifth of the House of Hephaestus?' The Doctor queried.

'Never,' Cin pushed out his chest proudly. 'My rank is my life, and I will serve the Gods by ruling over my fellow humans.'

The Doctor let out a noise of disgust. He was so tired of humans thinking they were better than others and using exploitation as some sort of trophy, goal, or milestone of achievement or rank.

'You look down upon us,' Cin glowered at him.

'No, I look down on the way you treat others with less dignity because you think a god wanted you think that way. What gives you the right to think of others as lesser simply because one of you is supposedly better?' The Doctor retorted.

'And how many lives have you lived?' Cin lifted his chin, proudly, in what he thought was a moment of victory.

The Doctor's eyes darkened, 'Too many.'

' … Now tell me,' the Doctor ordered.

'I will do no such thing. Doctor or not, you have no right to challenge the authority of —'

'With my name, The Doctor, I have the knowledge of Apollo, Asclepius, Chiron, and Hippocrates, and with that, you owe me an explanation no matter your title!' The Doctor insisted.

Cin gave him a very ugly look indeed.

'Come,' he stood abruptly.

The Doctor followed and Cin led him outside the tent towards the dull grey mines littered in ash and dust covering the dark rocks, smoke and workers pouring out at every moment.

'These are our mines,' Cin replied shortly. 'We mine ore here. We burn the rock to find precious gems. That's it.'

The Doctor crouched, scooping up a handful of the quartz sand, licking it, his face scrunching up.

'Why are you licking sand?' Cin asked, sounding very exasperated.

'Oh, don't you? It’s quite nutritious once you get past the coarse texture and dryness,' the Doctor mused, flicking his tongue around, sensing the molecules and their history.

He stood, looking at Cin, and asked, 'What do you do when you've finished mining an area, then? Move on, keep building your fancy railway and mining cart to go from island to island?'

'We have an industry to uphold,' Cin declared.

The Doctor's eyebrows knit in confusion. This society had essentially rid itself of technology, taking on the lives of Ancient Greek humans, and yet, they were concerned with economy. Not that Ancient Greeks hadn't been concerned with economy, but they didn't have to depend on an industry to pay for things when they had everything at their disposable. They lived on an ocean planet. Why fixate on the rocks when ninety-seven percent of it was water? Why turn it into a rock planet? It didn't make any sense.

'Oh, you humans,' the Doctor snorted.

'You say that like you're not…' Cin glared at the Doctor, eyes narrowing in deeper suspicion.

'You take and take and take until there's nothing left and then once there's nothing left because you think the reward outweighs the loss,' the Doctor scoffed.

'I see no losses,' Cin glared at him.

'Really?' The Doctor stepped forwards, baring his teeth in frustration, hissing, 'You don't see how disrupting the ecosystem and sending workers into hazardous conditions when you could be living on a lovely planet with marine creatures and building your own colony without trying to displace the entire ocean is a bad idea?'

'The planet is empty. We can do with it what we wish,' Cin argued.

'Planets are never empty. They were created of trillions and trillions of elements, and you're ignoring other lifeforms and your own needs for some selfish, pointless —'

'And you think you're better than us?' Cin growled.

'I didn't say that,' the Doctor articulated, tilting his head imperiously.

'But you did. You stand there, the Doctor or whatever you're really called, and you criticise us. But you've shown no indicators that you're actually here to help us! All you are doing is looking down on our way of life, and I abhor it! Guards!' Cin bellowed.

Armoured guards rushed over, grabbing the Doctor by the forearms.

'I'm trying to help you!' He told them angrily.

'Arrest him for trespassing and acting as a criminal. May his soul be sent to Tartarus where he will be tortured for eons,' Cin declared.

The Doctor groaned, allowing himself to be dragged and detained in a iron bar cell. Based on the smell, he was in an entirely metal cell and he couldn't see anything, save for the own cell and a small glimpse of the jail entrance. The only light came from a few torches on the wall.

Well, that would be where the scent of iron comes from, he thought despondently.

He paced around in his cell, counting down the hours.

It must be protected because iron this old should have oxidised, he deduced. And why a metal jail in a colony that uses tents and mining and wooden chairs? And no shop? It doesn't make any sense...

It must be night by now, he mused. He was unable to tell the time of day, but based on the faint sounds of a fire popping and smoke wafting into his cell, and being a Time Lord conscious of every second, he had a good guess it was dinnertime. He sat up suddenly, spotting a flash of white clothing at the end of the jail entrance, realising he must have a visitor.

'Hey,' he called out gently and he felt the movement still as he knelt in front of the bars. 'It's okay. I won't hurt you. I mean, how could I? Stuck in a cell? What could I do? Starve? Die faster? Come on, then! Speak to the mad criminal prisoner!'

'You are not very inspiring,' a young woman's voice spoke clearly in the near dark.

'No? Well, you haven't given me the chance yet!' he grinned through the bars. ‘Come on then!’

Squinting, he saw three young women step forwards in long white dresses, and long brown hair. They stood in a line front of his cell. The rest of the jail was empty except for an old man snivelling in the corner at the far end, furthest from the door.

'Apollo says you said you could heal the soul and body,' the girl on the left said tentatively.

'The physician?' The Doctor asked, and she nodded. 'Well, I could have if they'd given me the chance.' He paused. 'Why? Lose someone? Boyfriend?'

The woman looked scandalised, 'What? No! How dare you?' She shrieked.

'Okay, never mind, ignore that,' the Doctor said hastily, not wanting to scare them off. 'Those people who died in the mines today. They're not the first, are they? It's something to do with the mining, right? You've mined and moved as you go, and there's something … or someone who keeps attacking you?'

'Who are you, that says such strange things, questions our way of life ,and thinks he knows such things?' The young woman on the left scoffed, insulted. 'Come on,' she told the other two.

No! A thrill of panic ran through the Doctor. At least, as a prisoner he could learn more.

The second girl turned to follow, but the third stayed, crossing her arms and said, 'I want to know what he says.'

'What?' The first woman whipped around. 'He's a servant of Thanatos!'

They think I'm a servant of death… the Doctor grimaced. He could see why they were so resistant, but he had an idea to pique their interest.

'Then, why talk to me?' He challenged. 'You're not supposed to, are you?' He was guessing based on their strict no visitor policy.

'I wanted to see if it was true,' the third woman said, eyeing him curiously.

The Doctor stared at her, and asked casually, 'If what was true?'

'If you could heal the body and soul, bring them together,' she said. 'And if you were mad.'

'I'm definitely mad,' the Doctor acquiesced.

'No, Phoebe!' The woman on the left snapped, marching back and trying to yank both women away from the cell. 'We already know it's not possible. If that happens, a person dies and their soul is carried to the Underworld. And he will pay for his blasphemous claims,' she glared at the Doctor.

'Wait,' a realisation was setting in. 'You're going to sacrifice me to Hades?'

The first woman raised her hand, but the third woman surged forwards and was quicker.

Smack!

He gasped as the third woman's hand left a stinging mark against his cheek.

'Ow!' He yelped, clapping his hand to his cheek and springing away from the cell, his limbs flailing but never falling on the ground. 'What was that for?'

'You will not speak the names of our Gods!' the first woman spat.

'You do realise worshipping someone only subjects you to their control, right, whether they’re real or not?' the Doctor argued, petulantly, rubbing his cheek.

'We were told your name is the Doctor,' the second woman interceded, her tone more calm and collected than the first.

'Yup, that’s me!’ He beamed cheerfully.

'Surely you have another name?'

'Nope,' the Doctor shook his head.

'Your name is the Doctor?' the second woman clarified.

'Yeah,' the Doctor flashed her a brief smile.

'And people call you Doctor?'

'Yeah.'

'I don't believe you,' the first woman crossed her arms. 'You must have born with another name. No one would name their child "Doctor." No one in their right mind, anyway.'

'Wait til you get to the twenty-first century,' the Doctor grumbled petulantly, then he frowned, a bit indignant. 'And what do you mean born with another name? I'm telling you my name is the Doctor. And even if you did hypothetically change your name to fit your identity, that name is your name. It's valid. It's who you are. It's not anyone's business what their birth name was.'

'Do people ever call you by your former name, then?' the second woman asked.

'Don't ask that,' the third woman frowned, her eyebrows creasing with empathy. 'If he doesn't have another name or if he does and doesn't want us to call him that, then that's his right.'

'He can't do anything to stop us,' the first woman sniffed.

'No,' the Doctor answered abruptly.

He felt the stares of the three women snap towards him, now trained on him entirely.

'No. People don't call me by my former name… because I don't have one,' the Doctor insisted. ‘My name is the Doctor.’

The first woman stepped forwards, her long hair glowing bronze in the light of the nearby torch. 'Or you have no one to call you by your former name,' she deduced.

The Doctor gave her a look and stressed, his jaw tight, 'Names are more important than you could ever imagine. They symbolise who and what you are. It doesn't matter what someone is born, but what they grow to be. Oh, that's the Pokémon movie, isn't it? Mewtwo?' His eyes caught expressions of recognition in their faces. ‘Sorry… confused, but my point still stands!’

Got you, definitely twenty-first century earliest, he thought, his eyes studying the metal container he was encased in for more clues.

But he continued without pause to deter suspicion. Never let anyone know how much you know or don't know, but pretend to be stupid and clueless so they give up more than they should.

'Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah. Names are their own kind of power. I look at you, I say your name, and that means everything that you've done, but more importantly, everything that you are and will do. Never be ashamed of who you are, unless you're hurting yourself or others. Be honoured to have a name that distinguishes you from everyone else. Because out of an insurmountable number of coincidences, you are here today. And what matters is what you do right here right now. So, tell me, what was the name of the man who died in front of me?' The Doctor asked.

The first woman's eyes narrowed, 'You care, do you?'

'I do. I care about this whole colony and I think you're all in danger because you're burying your heads under the sand, literally, and you will all die if you keep this up!' He argued ferociously.

'Liar,' the first woman sneered.

'Atlas,' the woman in the middle spoke up.

'Calliope!' The first woman shrieked in anger.

'His name was Atlas. He was supposed to be mining ore for us. It's highly reactive and unstable,' she explained.

'Why are you telling him this?' the woman on the left exploded, now digging her heels into the sandy ground and trying to pull the other two women away from the cell.

'Iris, quiet!' A man barked from outside — Lars. 'I can't ward off nosy folks if they hear you yelling.'

The women's jaws all snapped shut synchronously, but the Doctor noted the way their jaws trembled with emotion.

'Is it difficult?' The Doctor asked.

All three women exchanged glances in united question.

'Is what difficult?' The young woman on the left, Iris, asked.

'Is it difficult changing your tradition, your language, your clothing, just to hide? Is it worth it? Changing who you are so you can pretend to be less afraid?' The Doctor asked.

'How dare you?' Iris bellowed, and turned, storming and running out of the cellar.

'Don't mind her,' Calliope turned to him. 'But you have a very active imagination. What do I call you?'

'Just the Doctor,' he smiled brightly at them.

'The Doctor?' She echoed.

'That's right.'

'Doctor Who?'

'That is the question of the universe, isn't it?' The Doctor smiled mysteriously at them, enjoying the confused stares between the two women. 'No, but really. Just the Doctor.'

'Well, tell me then, Doctor. How did you plan to save him?' Calliope asked.

'I dunno, but I know I could have if I hadn't been yelled at and escorted out.'

They gave him very unimpressed looks now.

'Okay,' he realised he would have to prove himself. 'You live on an ocean planet, but you have miles of mining done here. Centuries worth. The mining cart is made of metal bolted with other metal with marks on it that only ships do, meaning you crashed here. In a spaceship. The lines are way too fast for Ancient Greek culture — there, even the fact you don't react all questioning about that term, that's proof you're not from Ancient Greek times. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah, the lines are too fast, running on electricity in a pre-electricity time. You started out mining by hand, hence the jagged and real cave-like caves at the start and now they're all smooth because you've been cheating, haven't you? Using lasers and technology, despite pretending to revert to an ancient culture. And now, the reason you're reverting to Ancient Greek civilisation is for some reason that I will figure out by the way, so you may as well tell me. But either way, you're mining something so highly reactive and dangerous that it nearly kills people instantly, which is why I have to imagine Ancient Greek. Men in charge. All three of you are pregnant. Probably not enthusiastic about that, but you need more workers. You've found things to resist damage, but you never know when the ore will explode, snap, and call your bluff. That man, Atlas, his wounds suggested, the state of his skin… he's been in that mine for years. Poorly healed intentionally, for the record, in my professional medical opinion. So tell me something. This ore. No, wait. First of all, why would you intentionally leave someone to suffer when they're in pain? Why let that happen? Second. Why especially since you come from at least the twenty-first century so you must know about more advanced medicine? Where was I? Third? Why let humans do the mining when you clearly have the technology to do it? Makes no sense. And then going back to my original question. Which is technically question four. Or question one, but I really don’t want to rename all my questions. Either way, what is it and why do you want it so badly that you're willing to kill yourselves for it?' He rambled without pause, only taking a break at the end.

The women stared, flabbergasted, their mouths hanging open.

Phoebe was the first to react smile, curious, crossing her arms tentatively and asking, 'What kind of Doctor are you?'

'Oh, you know,' he grinned at her. 'One of a kind, Doctor of everything.'

'Where did you learn all that then?' Phoebe asked, interestedly.

'School,' the Doctor shrugged.

'Where? I've never heard of a place that teaches you all that. Were you a good student?' Calliope asked, intrigued.

'I was fantastic! Punctual, hard-working, loved, top of the class,' the Doctor grinned.

'Liar,' Phoebe tilted her head. 'Not the top.'

'No,' the Doctor's smile felt very strained and forced all of a sudden. 'Well!' He stood up, clapping his hands together loudly. 'Can I get an audience with someone who can let me out of here?'

'No,' Calliope intoned. 'You have been condemned to Tartarus.'

'Yes, but none of you believe in gods or goddesses! Your ship comes from the twenty-fifth century. I can tell by the modelling… and the smell. Why are you pretending?' The Doctor hissed, his hands wrapping around the bars, bringing himself as close as possible to the women. He noted their shock at the century he had guessed based on the composition of the ship he'd been stuck in.

'Why are you acting like it's a regression?' Phoebe asked coldly.

'Why?' The Doctor looked at her, his hearts breaking. 'Because when I see you two — you three…' he added as Iris marched in, a furious look plastered on her face. 'I see three young women who have been restricted to only bear children to men they don't even love. You used to be scientists, pilots, engineers, writers, teachers! Where is all that going? What happened to make you lose all those opportunities?'

Iris snorted, stepping forwards haughtily, and snapped, 'We are exactly where we want to be. Now, come with me, or rot like him,' he pointed at the old man.

'What did he do exactly?' The Doctor asked, casting a look at his kneeling and sobbing form.

'Not going to try to save him, are you?' Iris sneered, her eyes squinting cruelly.

'Why wouldn't I?' The Doctor pouted at her, indulging himself and her. 'It’s what I do.'

'You'll be executed,' Iris threatened.

'Oooh, I thought I was already here to be executed. Have I been upgraded?' The Doctor lit up excitedly. 'I didn't think saving people was wrong. No, but seriously, what happened to make you all think healing and caring for people was so wrong?'

'Why are you smiling?' Calliope demanded.

'You know what they say. People threatening to kill you. It means you're doing something right,' the Doctor laughed, spinning around in a delighted circle in his cell and turning back to the women. 'Well, not always. But in my case, it's because I'm right.' He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets.

'Are you always so arrogant?' Iris scoffed.

The Doctor looked towards her with a twisted smile, clarifying, 'I would never presume to be better than anyone else. I've lived through too much to be so comparative.'

'He says arrogantly,' Phoebe mused, putting her hands on her hips.

The Doctor laughed, forcing the sound through a cage of guilt.

'You're absolutely crazy,' Iris decided.

'Oh, you're only getting that now, are you?' The Doctor smiled cheerfully, slumping down against the back of the cell and repeatedly tossing and catching his bag of Kraken treats up in one hand. Testing gravity, resistance, electromagnetic field of the planet.

'What are those?' Calliope demanded.

'Dog treats,' he replied offhandedly.

'You're coming with me!' Iris demanded.

'Okay, off you go,' he waved at all three of them.

'Doctor, you will come with me!' Iris clarified.

He beamed widely up at her, stuffing the treats in back in his pocket and unwinding his yo-yo with one hand.

'You called me Doctor,' he grinned at her, cheerful of the small victory. 'And no, the Doctor will not!' He beamed cheerfully up at them.

'Then, you're going to rot in this cage for the rest of your life?' Iris scowled.

'Whatever you say,' the Doctor shrugged. 'I don't have anything better to do.'

The group of women left, muttering amongst themselves.

He sat in his square cell, thinking. Quartz, iron spaceship, ocean planet. Was he missing something? Of course he was. He was always missing something. He hated not knowing.

Rose. She would know.

She would know what was missing, so intuitive, bright, and creative. A bright light in the vast emptiness of the universe.

'Think, think, think, think, think,' he muttered quietly to himself.

Quartz, burning? Sand? But then the caves. The rocky caves and then the clean bits. Cut with different tools. Cheating with spaceship materials maybe? Okay, but why? Why? Did they crash? Forced to salvage materials and make do with what they could? Licking rocks? Eating rocks? The Doctor had licked rocks before. Great way of telling what was inside them, and plenty nutritious, but from his experience, humans didn't really like eating rocks. So, what else then? What was he missing?

He closed his eyes, trying to imagine Rose with her golden long hair, beautiful smile, and her kindness.

'Doctor. We're surrounded by water. You said an ocean planet, right? So, what about the sand? There's gotta be a reason, right?'

Oh!

His eyes shot open.

Oh.

He was good. He was very good. Yes, very good. Brilliant, in fact. Superbly brilliant.

The Doctor jumped to his feet, ready to alert them of his newfound discovery, cut off by a violent explosion and screams.

'Ughhh!' He half-growled, half-frowned, his hearts tugging him in their direction.

The Doctor pulled out his yo-yo chiselled Kraken biscuit of his pocket. He reached his arm through the bars, thankfully thin as a rake, and slotted the makeshift biscuit key and turning it. The door opened and the Doctor raced out towards the commotion. Best purchase ever. The Kraken biscuits.

He quickly skidded to the halt, switching directions, and raced to the end of the cell to the old man.

'Come on, I can get you out of here!' He said desperately, grasping at the bars.

The old man looked up blearily, his eyes bloodshot and looking very weak.

'No point,' he croaked.

'Come on, don't say that!' The Doctor snapped. 'I can save you!'

Why do humans have to make my life so hard?

'Come on!' He used the Kraken biscuit key to turn the door, holding out his hand. 'Come on! Whatever you did, it doesn't matter. If you're here for any reason like I am, I promise it doesn't matter. Let me help you!'

'I must suffer the consequences of my actions,' the man coughed, his breath wheezy and light.

Pneumonia. Maybe. Or bronchitis. Or chronic obstructive pulmonary disease.

'Oh, come on. You've done that. You're ill and dying. Let me save you!' The Doctor insisted.

Another loud bang sounded from outside and the Doctor's head snapped towards it abruptly like a rabbit detecting a fox. He felt himself being torn between saving the old man and whoever else was in danger at the moment. He looked back and forth between them.

'You can't save either of us,' the old man wheezed, glaring at the Doctor's hand, turning away and curling into a ball.

'You're wrong,' the Doctor told him. 'Or could be asthma,' he added as a last thought.

Then, he turned, leaving the door open and ran towards the sound of the screaming, and spotted a nearby barrel. He grabbed it and ran for the mines, ignoring cries in recognition of his appearance — prisoner loose. He ran straight in through the rocks towards the screaming workers. The Doctor looked around, inhaled violently, and he seized bits of sand and stuffed them in the bucket and then rather forcefully stuffed the closest man's face in the barrel. The man spluttered, yelping, 'Gerroff me!' his voice muffled by the sand.

'What in the name of Hephaestus are you doing?' A voice roared behind him.

The Doctor leapt back, his work done, and a series of guards surrounded him pulling his arms off the man and pinned them behind his back.

'Oof!' He groaned as they punched their fists into his chest, hard.

'All right, Adonis?' The crowd chorused looking at the worker with their spears pointed at the Doctor.

The Doctor doubled over in pain, wincing, his eyes not leaving the man with his head in the barrel of sand. A few moments later, the man surfaced, still looking terribly tired and in pain, but he also looked more relieved.

'How —?' Cin started to demand, arriving with an extra flanking of guards.

'Silicone,' the Doctor replied grimly. 'Low thermal conductivity, low chemical reactivity, low toxicity, hydrophobic, appropriate insulator or conductor, used medically for its higher oxygen permeability. Oh, stop looking confused! Just admit that I'm right! It'll save time,' he snapped at Cin. 'I just saved his life, just as I said I would. Has anyone ever done that before?'

He looked around at the now crowding colony, full of men, women, and children murmuring.

'You're surrounded by silicone, entirely nonreactive and protecting you against one of the rarest and most reactive elements in the universe, but you won't use it to save yourselves because you think you're guilty?' The Doctor bellowed.

The crowd was silent.

'You think I've forgotten?' The Doctor's chest heaved. 'You think I've forgotten the colony on Hellas? The taranium the Daleks manipulated you to mine for them?'

The silence was louder than ever, beating in the Doctor's ears.

He shoved himself free of the guards and spun around them, declaring to them, 'This is the village of Athenios on the island Athenos. You mined taranium to power their time travel spaceships. You worshipped the Daleks as gods, and they used you. So, tell me, who is behind it this time?'

Cin's mouth worked furiously as though trying to physically keep his mouth sealed.

'I'm the Doctor, I'm here to help —' the Time Lord started.

'Help,' Cin sneered. 'Yes, we've heard it all before. The mighty Doctor trying to help people, but all you did was destroy the Dalek time machine and leave us with nothing. Less than nothing.'

The Doctor swallowed. It was rare, very rare, that he actually had to be held accountable by the people he hurt.

'I'm sorry. I never meant —' he began.

'No,' Cin snapped. 'You don't get to be sorry. You saved us and then you left us with nothing. At least before we had our technology. We had our simpler life as Ancient Greeks, and we even had the Daleks as Gods. But you took all of that away from us, Doctor. We were used as slaves, we trapped you, and you left without a care in the world. We had to rebuild ourselves from being servants to being resilient and better.'

A sudden chill ran down the Doctor's spine.

'The taranium…'

'We did it. We saw Daleks time travel. And we wanted it. We rebuilt our system, we made sure men were at the top commanding, and women would give birth as early and as much as possible. We wanted not only to gain the taranium for ourselves, but to use it too. We could trade it, become one of the most valuable and powerful providers in the galaxy,' Cin's face lit with a smile that chilled the Doctor to his core. 'We used the ship’s medical supplies to prolong our health. We're essentially free of illness, with only the mines and ore to kill us.'

'Listen to yourselves!' The Doctor cried. 'You want to tame taranium? You can't. You can't.'

'Why? — Because we are weak?' Lars demanded.

'No!' The Doctor shouted, frustrated. 'Because it is very unstable and it stores vast amounts of energy. You've been causing explosions intentionally. I felt it, travelling through your little mine system. You didn't accidentally trigger them. You caused explosions, sending your entire colony back in time. You're living in Ancient Greece, at least on this planet. But what makes you think you can get more?'

'It's done everything we've asked of it!' Cin shouted.

The Doctor whirled towards him, teeth bared, hackles raised, 'Really?' He bellowed back, looking at the entire colony. 'It's killed generations of you humans! Your ancestors made this project and now you're carrying it out and they're long gone. Do you not see how —'

'— beautiful that is?' Calliope finished, stepping forwards.

What?

The Doctor felt his left eyebrow raise unconsciously, alert, rattled.

'Calliope?' He asked.

'That's Queen Calliope to you,' she smiled. 'And my husband, King Lysander.'

The Doctor's nose wrinkled, whirling around to look between the two. What was wrong with humans?

'You're in charge?' He stared disbelievingly at her.

'I thought visiting you in your cell would reveal your true intentions to us,' Calliope smiled faintly at him, her entire poise changed now.

'Did it work?' The Doctor asked airily.

'No, you're an idiot. You really are here to try to save us from ourselves,' she laughed and the colony joined in, echoing in the mines.

'Yeah, pretty much,' the Doctor grinned happily. His eyes examined the position and distance between himself, the others, the amount of sand, remembering the layout of the colony, the maps, the blueprints…

'You seem disappointed,' she noted.

'Do I?' He asked innocently. 'I mean, yeah, you're all very much like Daleks… if they hated themselves,' the Doctor scoffed. 'Using, exploiting and hurting yourselves to make yourselves better… How did it come to this? What happened?'

'You did,' Iris spoke, her voice hardened. 'You turned us into this, Doctor.'

'No,' the Doctor replied. 'You had a tragedy happen to you, and instead of rebuilding peacefully, trying to be better… You caused tragedy in kind. And worse, you didn't even question it.'

'Doctor, we are not your canvas. You cannot litter us with paint, tell us to change, and expect us to still mould at your command if ever you were to come back,' Queen Calliope criticised.

'I'm not asking you to. But you've been through the cruelty of the Daleks. Why legitimise that? Why make yourselves like the very people who manipulated and extorted you?' The Doctor asked, his voice a plea, soft and begging.

'Wouldn't you like to know?' Calliope smiled.

An explosion of fire burst above him, rocks pummelling down on them. The entire cavern was shaking like a volcano brewing and spewing all its contents. The Doctor saw it happen almost in slow motion. The smug smile of Queen Calliope fading to an expression of terror, fear, and horror.

'Get out of here! Go!' The Doctor yelled.

'What? What's happening?' She whispered, her voice fragile and tentative.

'Everyone out of the mines! Come on! Go, go, go!' The Doctor yelled, taking charge as he beckoned and gestured the group away from the mines.

The support was falling, rocks grumbling, the earth moaning as it began swallowing the mines.

He stayed as far behind as he could, gesturing men, woman, and children out, yelling himself hoarse. He saw the last few run towards them, but he could see the toxic sweeping gas first and he was tempted, thinking of running into it. It would be over. Toxic gas, crumbling debris, broken bones.

Run!

Hands grabbed his shoulders and practically hauled him out.

The Doctor spluttered, coughing up ash, and spinning around on the quartz sand beach, shaking off the arms of Iris and Apollo. Finally, the Doctor heard the inevitable crash of taranium falling into the ocean. He had done it. It was all gone. Though, now the aftermath. That always went well…

The Doctor glared at Apollo, 'You let that man, Atlas, die because you wanted to fulfil a fantasy of your great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather! Do you know how ridiculous that is? You've let all these people die because of some fantasy of your ancestors? You're choosing to be cruel, than live in harmony and peace with the ocean! You're intentionally disrupting the balance of this system!'

'He's proud of me,' Apollo nodded.

'No, he isn't,' the Doctor snarled.

'Yes, he is,' a new voice declared.

The Doctor frowned and whirled round to see the snivelling old man in jail standing proudly before him.

'What?!' He whirled between the man and Apollo. 'You put your own father in jail? Why?'

'I told you, Doctor,' Calliope approached in her white dress, smiling, her cool and professional demeanour returned. 'Imprisoned people have more secrets than you think.'

'You would know, wouldn't you?' The Doctor growled at her. 'Hiding behind fascism, capitalism, and human trafficking. You really took everything the Daleks gave you and decided how you would make it your own human brand, didn't you? Like the Olympics. You really think that came from your species?'

'And look at you saving us. The man who tries to run away, but never can,' Calliope smiled pityingly at him.

'Stop it,' the Doctor warned, feeling lava burning up through him. 'I just detonated your mines. All the taranium reacted with the silicone — mix one of the most reactive elements and a nonreactive one, and it will still go off but the silicone protected us. But the taranium’s all gone. There's no more in the universe. Your ship is far beyond repair. And I am giving you a chance to make the right decision here, which, quite frankly, is more than you deserve.'

'You're trying to control our lives!' Adonis protested, his face still marred with burns.

'You took away our economy!' Several humans cried.

'Sounds like dictatorship,' Iris snorted.

'No! Listen!' The Doctor bellowed to the onlookers and they fell into furious silence.

He turned to Iris, coldly, his voice heated, 'Brainwashing yourselves into thinking that your only worth is to kill yourselves for the future, imprisoning your elders who rightfully complain, sending descendants to have children, mine, and die. It's capitalism, ageism, fascism, trafficking, and cruelty above all towards your own kind and your own family. Can't you see how wrong that is?'

'Oh, gather round, Athenios village,' Queen Calliope declared. 'Look at the man who judges us. The Doctor. The killer of his own kind.'

Icy and frostbitten fire thundered through the Doctor's hearts at those words.

'The Last of the Time Lords.'

The Moment — pressing the button. The whisper… A haunting promise that he would live if he did it.

'The oncoming storm.'

The endless raging fire that ended the Time War, killing every single Time Lord and Dalek.

'The man who makes people better.'

And it didn't even work. All of it and there's still Daleks terrorising the universe.

An endless counter, ticking and ticking, representing not only the number of people he'd killed… But, in his mind, at least, the number of years he'd have to live. His penance.

Coward.

'The man who ended the Time War.'

Killer.

'No,' the Doctor interrupted both her speech and his own thoughts. 'You know who ended the Time War?' He asked.

'Who?' Iris sneered, clearly not believing him.

'The Bad Wolf. She ended the Time War to save me.'

'Selfish,' Queen Calliope sniffed.

'Coming from you?' The Doctor whirled towards her. 'She saved me because she —' his voice broke. 'She saved me because she cared. You don't care about anything. None of this matters to you. You just want power.'

'Perhaps, you are right,' Calliope declared. 'Perhaps, you do mean well to help us and we became far too power-hungry in our journey to try and fail to lead a simpler life away from technology and violence.'

The audience muttered amongst themselves, confused. Why the sudden change of heart?

'We were wrong to worship the Daleks. They, after all, made us mine for a mineral that killed us. But now, look who saved us again. Perhaps, we should worship you — Doctor.'

The Doctor stared, horrified, as the entire colony knelt, bowing to him, murmuring prayers of gratitude.

'No,' the Doctor uttered, stumbling backwards. A terrible shock of power thrummed through him like the humming of the mine. He hated the satisfaction rising within him. He hated being right. He hated being clever.

Power, soldiers, weapons to do what you need them to do.

'No!' He repeated, louder, as if that would drown it out.

Humans willing to see the light. Humans who can become what you want them to be.

'NO!' The Doctor yelled, blinking rapidly, tears splattering out on his coat. 'Get up! Get up! This is not who I am! Get up! Stand up! Stop kneeling! I am not a god!'

'Coming from someone with quite a god complex…' Iris muttered.

The Doctor shot her a look of pure hatred. He hated that. He hated it so much. He hated how much he knew it was true.

‘Shut up! Stop it! Really, really stop! Stand up!’ The Doctor shouted, his voice cracking with grief.

'Is that an order, Master?' Calliope asked, looking up innocently.

'NO! I am not him! I'm not! That's not who I am! I will never be that. I'm not trying to control your lives!' The Doctor shouted, a moment of madness overtaking him.

'Yes, you are,' Calliope argued, her logic precise and cold. 'You despise our society, and you're trying to fix us. If we obey, we will build a society in your name and based upon your tenets. After all, you know better...'

'No,' the Doctor repeatedly vehemently, shaking his head.

Focus. Focus. Focus.

'Build a society in your name,' he instructed.

'It's much too late for that, Doctor. We've lost our sense of who we are. We need guidance.'

'No, you don't,' the Doctor insisted. 'You can find your own path. All — all your mistakes, all your pain, all your grief. Turn it into something good. Something worthwhile. Something you can be proud of that doesn't involve killing or hurting people. Don't be so eager to give judgment to people by how they die. Judge people by how they live.'

The crowd murmured, most of them clearly resistant.

'I don't know if we know how to do that,' the old man, Apollo's father, wheezed, standing up.

The Doctor looked out at the crowd of humans, stripped of their rights, their autonomy, their creativity, their own strengths used against them, left to a fate worse than death.

'I'm so, so sorry,' he whispered.

'Don't be. You made us what we are right now. Perhaps, knowing you again will change us again,' Calliope suggested.

The Doctor frowned. He wasn't sure what he thought of that.

'Could you stay?' Phoebe asked.

The Doctor looked at her, smiling apologetically.

'He doesn't do that,' the old man grouched.

'You're going to leave?' Lars asked, eyes wide.

The Doctor directed his smile to him, 'You have everything ahead. I am truly so sorry of everything I've done, but me staying won't help you. I know it seems cruel, but you need to do this on your own.'

'I will never forgive you for this. Now, we are stranded and alone and we have nothing. Again,' Iris spat. 'How did you do it?'

'Easily,' the Doctor smiled.

'How?'

'Well, like any other thing. I wait.'

He received a sea of puzzled faces.

'Taranium cannot be maintained by humans. You cannot. No matter your technological abilities,' the Doctor gazed at them all sternly. 'All this mass mining, miles across Hellas, it was bound to cause of chain reaction. But! — All your quartz sand. It burns, blows up, combines with sulphur dioxide, creates silicone. Every explosion you were actually creating more of the substance that could hinder the explosive effects. This last explosion collapsed the entire mining system into the ocean. Only three percent land. Unintentionally creating artificial land out of silicone by intentionally mining and increasing the potential energy stored within the taranium was never going to work. Do not mess with nature. Do not ever underestimate a planet and time.'

'So, all the silicone has traces of taranium now?' Adonis asked eagerly.

'No, what part of "entirely unstable" do you not understand?' The Doctor snorted. 'Radioactive decay? Half-lives? Ice cubes melting? Anything? No?' He moved on, not bothering. 'Now, tell me: how long have you really been doing this?'

Lars glanced at his queen who shrugged dismissively. It was pitying to see. They'd gone through terrible loss and tragedy, and the moment they were free, they became worse. And now, they were lost again.

'Bout a year,' Lars shrugged.

'A year?' The Doctor raised an eyebrow doubtfully. 'One single human year? Three hundred-sixty five days?'

'Problem?" Iris snapped.

The Doctor shrugged, not believing it, and he turned to leave.

'I pity you, Doctor,' Calliope's nose flared.

'Oh, yeah, why's that?' The Doctor turned back. He grinned cheerfully stuffing his hands into his pockets.

'Because you are alone. You have no one, so you ruin other people's lives. You change their lives unpredictably and then you leave them to rebuild on their own. And in our case, we are far worse than when we worshipped the Daleks. Do you know why?'

The Doctor said nothing.

'Because you give us hope. With the Daleks, there was no hope. We knew not to fight, and life was miserable, but we had a purpose. With hope and freedom, we were more alone than ever and that unlimited potential sent us down another path. And now, without that path, what happens now?'

'That's up to you,' the Doctor answered, quietly. 'Don't make the wrong decision, or I very well may pay you a visit again.'

And without another word, he turned and headed back towards the mine cart and back to his TARDIS.

'Running away again?'

He turned to see Lars and Phoebe running to catch up with him from the mine cart, his precious blue box in sight.

'Thanks for your help,' the Doctor shook Lars' hand. 'Don't let Calliope tell you what to believe in.'

'I never should have even brought you in,' the man stared at him in wonderment.

'Why did you?' The Doctor asked, subdued, a small smile gracing his lips.

'I dunno. A feeling, I suppose,' Lars frowned.

'Speaking of names, you might want to try getting rid of the whole Ancient Greek thingy if you want to make your own stories and generations,' The Doctor suggested. He looked over Lars, and added, 'Not you, though. Lysander. Good name.'

'What does it mean?' Lars asked.

The Doctor paused, a smile flitting across his face, 'Liberator.'

He could see purpose dawn over the man's face.

'But why me?'

'Honestly? I don't know,' the Doctor answered.

'Really, you? Not knowing something?' Phoebe smiled a bit.

'Heh,' the Doctor chuckled. 'I don't know a lot of things. I just travel and learn. Always learning,' he changed topic. 'But one man bringing a stranger to a secluded colony, changing the future. Seems like a perfect opportunity to share some ideas about to shape it.'

'But — but Queen Calliope —' Lars frowned, struggling to comprehend.

'She appointed herself. She's hardly creditable. But you disobeyed her orders by bringing me in because you knew you needed help. Somehow. And that makes you fit to be a liberator,' the Doctor smiled.

'You're a good man,' Lars shook his hand again.

'Well,' the Doctor grinned widely, tilting his head in feigned modesty.

His insides twisted with barbs of guilt and regret, washed in the poisonous sludge of rage, far dirtier and worse than anything that had taken place on Hellas.

Lars turned and saluted before marching off back to the mining cart, waiting for Phoebe.

'I think you did the right thing, blowing up all the taranium,' Phoebe declared in confidence.

'Oh, I really didn't do anything with that,' the Doctor smiled at her. 'All I did was get jailed and waited for the right moment.' He paused. 'I'm really sorry to hear about Atlas and the others.'

'Doctor,' Phoebe murmured in a low voice, so as not to be overheard. 'Doctor, they're lying. We've been doing this for millions of years.'

The words chilled the Doctor to his core. Millions of years of forcing young women to have children and killing all the boys and men endlessly just for microscopic amounts of ore…

It made sense though. Those mining carts, the smooth humming, that technology and the miles they'd travelled. It wasn't enough to be done in a year... Not when it took Mavic Chen fifty years to acquire a single emm of taranium…

'Oh, and Doctor?' Phoebe asked.

'Yeah?' The Doctor looked at her, finding it hard to focus on her as though she wasn't really there. That, or he was tired of everything and just needed a little nap.

'What was your name again?' The Doctor asked.

She smiled, 'Phoebe. Greek for radiant or shining.'

'You know, you were one decision away from being an Eleanor,' the Doctor jested, giving her a small smile.

Phoebe laughed.

'Thank you for saving me, twice,' the Doctor dipped his head, reaching out and kissing her hand — the same hand she'd slapped him with.

'I hoped you'd be clever enough to feel where I'd laid the key in my palm,' Phoebe smiled. 'Or you'd have died.'

'Nah, I’d have found my way out,' the Doctor argued.

‘Using dog biscuits based on the key imprint on your face? You had a plan better than that?’

‘Yes. Waiting.’

‘You would have collapsed in the mine explosion.’

‘Nah,’ the Doctor grinned, but pausing, thinking, ‘Was that you — telling me to run?'

'I think so. Somehow, I had a feeling that you wouldn't run if someone didn't tell you not to,' Phoebe shrugged. 'Try to remember to save yourself, won't you?'

The Doctor's grin widened.

'Oh, that's good. I've got a saying for you, Doctor,' Phoebe positively smirked, looking very jolly and proud.

'Oh, yeah? What's that, then?' He asked, pushing the door of the TARDIS open.

She smiled, radiant and bright, 'Run, you clever boy, and remember.'

The Doctor gave her a confused expression as though he remembered something about her, but smiled and stepped into the double doors of the TARDIS. What a peculiar thing to say.

He couldn't help but wonder some other names she could be if they hadn't chosen an Ancient Greek civilisation.

Lucy, Nora, Lucian, Ayla, Ellie… Those all have to do with brightness or light.

One stood out and he had no idea why —

Latin. Clear, bright. Clara.

∘ — ∘⟡∘ — ∘

CLARA OSWALD

Clara was incredibly impressed by Martha Jones.

Sitting in different briefing room, full of materials for medical training to make-up for the education she was missing to approach Mr Stoker for shadowing at Royal Hope Hospital, Clara was watching her girlfriend, Andrew, a UNIT agent named Rachel Taveres, Captain Jack Harkness, and O quiz her.

The space had no windows, but was covered in colourful posters and flow charts with arrows about biological, biochemistry, anatomical, and physiological processes all around it. Clara, personally, was more into astrophysics and history, but she'd listened to Qananii talk about biochemistry in her spare time and the subject had grown on her a little. Not to mention, the medical degree would require some knowledge of physics, which Clara could definitely instruct Martha in, if needed.

From what she'd seen, Martha Jones was an incredibly capable and bright individual, competent and efficient while retaining logic and humanity. Martha had an incredibly sophisticated and nuanced set of knowledge regarding chemistry and biology, evidenced by Qananii's body language and enthusiasm. Jack Harkness and Rachel were to be testing her on her verbal reasoning, decision making, quantitative reasoning, and situational judgment. O was supposed to be helping specifically with situational and practical responses, given his expertise as an MI6 agent. And finally, Clara would help with physics and really, whatever else she was needed for.

She was sitting at a long rectangular table on a chair, monitoring her phone, only a short distance away from Martha and the group on the floor with their charts. On the little device, Clara scrolled and was alarmed to continue reading the electrical surges growing around Royal Hope Hospital. She was certain it had to do with Saxon, Martha, and the Doctor, but she didn't know how. It did seem a bit odd, in retrospect, that she hadn't voted for him but was actively in charge of maintaining his satellite system.

How large of an ego do you need to call it the Archangel Network? She scoffed, thinking to herself. She knew all Prime Ministers were a bit posh, but investing in an entire satellite system before being elected into office was a bit much.

Clara wasn't entirely sure as to why she'd reached out to UNIT, Torchwood, or MI6, but something was telling her that she could do something about this. She intuitively knew, somehow, that Martha Jones had to be involved and was important. Very important. And, of course, a very easy answer as to why she'd called them: the Doctor.

'Hey, Clara!'

She looked up at her name.

'I'm going to get some dinner. Want anything?' Qananii asked.

'Uh, chicken salad, thanks!' Clara called back, as Jack settled down next to Clara at the table.

Clara watched as Rachel was deep in conversation with Martha, poring over papers involving multiple-choice questions.

'Aren't you supposed to be with them?' Clara asked Jack.

'Well, yeah, but cut a guy some slack,' Jack grinned.

'If we cut you any more slack, you'd be the epitome of sloth,' Clara raised her eyebrows at him.

Jack's eyebrows lifted and his mouth dropped open in surprise, 'Okay, ouch,' he gave her a semi-offended look. 'What'd I do to deserve that?'

'You're my friend, and you can be incredibly annoying,' Clara gave him a wry side-eye, keeping her gaze on Martha.

'I think you mean incredibly charming,' Jack's mouth twisted into a flirtatious smile.

'No, I really don't. And aren't you dating Ianto Jones?' Clara clarified, taking a sip of her cappuccino she'd gotten on the trip before arriving.

'Well, yeah.'

'Then, why are you trying to argue that you're charming?' Clara inquired.

'Well, I want you to know it's okay to admit that, while you have a girlfriend and I have a boyfriend, that I'm a charming and good-looking guy,' Jack grinned in her periphery vision.

'Yeah, no, I'm good, thanks,' Clara gave him a withering side-eye, then called out, 'Martha, you should really take a break. Dinner!'

Martha ran a hand through her raven black hair in frustration, crouching on the floor in her red jacket and black trousers, muttering, 'I know I can do better, and impress Mr Stoker tomorrow.'

'Well, if not, there's always blackmail,' Jack grinned. 'We have the records of the forged signature —'

'That MI6 found,' O interjected, sliding into a chair across from Clara.

' — if all else fails.'

'No,' Martha pushed herself off the polished black floor and joined them, sitting in the chair next to O and across from Jack. 'If I'm going to be a medical doctor, I want to do it based on my own merits and skills. If I cheat my way into the system, I'm no different than the people getting in because of nepotism or buying their way in. That's not right.'

'Too bad there's no ethics part of the exam. You'll kill that,' Jack said conversationally, then held out his hand with a grin. 'We haven't met formally. Captain Jack Harkness at your service.'

Clara and O shared an exasperated eye roll.

'I'm Martha Jones,' the young woman shook his hand.

'Oh, yeah, believe me, I know. You're our crowning jewel,' Jack grinned at her, pearly white teeth shining. 'You're the key to saving the Doctor.'

'Okay, you guys keep mentioning a Doctor or whatever, but I don't get it. Doctor who?' Martha asked, confused.

O snickered. Martha looked at him, a bit of confusion and hurt flickering across her face.

'Ignore him,' Clara interjected helpfully. 'He's met the Doctor, so he thinks he knows more than us.'

'Well, you can know of the Doctor. Plenty of people at UNIT have been saved, right?' Jack interjected, glancing at Rachel who nodded and joined them at the table. 'And I used to travel with the Doctor. And you've only met him, what, once?' He smirked superiorly at O.

'I think I learned quite a bit about the Doctor. I have a collection of all his movements across time and space,' O responded evenly with a friendly smile, glancing at Martha. 'You can call me an expert on the Doctor.'

'Unofficially,' Jack argued back.

Clara didn't know if it was her imagination, but O's eyes flashed towards him, almost angrily, like lightning. She blinked and he was back to sitting patiently with a small smile, and starting peeling an orange.

'Okay, so who is he? The Doctor?' Martha asked. 'I've never really heard of him.'

'Better that way, really,' O nodded.

Clara, Martha, and Jack all looked at him in surprise. O must have caught sight of their expressions, because he waved a hand dismissively, and explained, 'I don't mean it like that. Just that meeting the Doctor can be, well, addicting. Leaving his way of life behind is hard, and really, he does leave a trail of destruction in his wake.'

'Yeah, I agree. And that's why we have Torchwood,' Jack jumped in, importantly. Seeing Martha's confused expression, he added, 'Created by Queen Victoria in 1879 to investigate and fight alien threats. Spread throughout the British Empire. We're actually working on the decolonisation and decreasing the military bit of it all. Making it better.'

'If he causes so much destruction, why do we want him to come to Earth?' Martha asked tentatively.

'Something's going on with Royal Hope Hospital, and that's where you should be if Mr Stoker's signature hadn't been falsified through illegal and alien means —'

'Which we're unofficially calling the Great Intelligence,' O interjected.

' — and through the Archangel Network, I've gotten two signals of the Doctor's TARDIS orbiting Earth, but he hasn't landed,' Clara explained.

'Sorry, his what?' Martha asked, blinking with a pertinent air of cluelessness.

'His TARDIS. Acronym. Time and relative dimension in space,' Jack explained. 'His spaceship, basically. He can travel anywhere in time and space. She's a real beauty, just like the two I travelled with.'

Clara cleared her throat loudly.

'I've never heard of that kind of model,' Martha frowned as Qananii returned and brought them dinner, which consisted of an assortment of salads, wraps, and chips.

Clara dug into her corn salad, and continued discussing with her colleagues.

'So, he's the Doctor and he helps people, but he also tends to leave destruction in his wake?' Martha summarised.

'He can ruin people's lives,' O confirmed.

'You have no right to say that,' Jack fired up, pointing at him angrily. 'I'm immortal just like him and I was still left for dead by him. Just because he missed Rose,' he paused abruptly. 'The Doctor just picks people based on a whim, and no one can do a damn thing about it. But what would you know about that?'

O's eyes flickered downwards as though unable to look Jack in the eye, and he mused, 'You're right.'

'What?' Jack looked up, baffled, apparently having forgotten his temporary anger.

'I have no idea what it feels like to be abandoned by the Doctor,' O admitted.

'Or being immortal,' Clara chuckled, swallowing a forkful of lettuce.

'Wait, sorry, you're immortal? Like, unable to die, immortal?' Martha gaped at Jack.

Clara could see why that news would comes as a big shock.

'Yup. Well, sort of. I die and then I come back to life,' Jack explained.

'And this Doctor is immortal too?'

'Different kind of immortality,' Jack nodded.

'What kind's that then? Is he like a lizard and can regrow a tail or something?' Martha asked, smiling in disbelief.

'Well, not quite, but —'

'The point is,' Clara interrupted. 'The Doctor and Captain Jack Harkness are both immortal. Immortality is not a prerequisite to travel with the Doctor.'

'So, he just picks random people?' Martha asked, her eyebrow furrowing in confusion, taking a bite of her wrap.

'Sort of,' Jack said.

'Well, how were you picked?'

'Like I am for everything else. I wear people down with my charming attitude and they accept me,' Jack grinned and winked at her, Martha smiling sheepishly back.

O grinned as well, 'Would you take the chance, then? Immortality? TARDIS? Travelling with the Doctor forever?' He asked Jack.

'Man, I don't know,' Jack grimaced. 'The battle at Satellite Five… I wouldn't have hesitated then, and honestly, I'm still furious he abandoned me. But, I don't know. I have a boyfriend, a job I don't suck at, friends.'

'But if you're immortal, won't they all become dust anyway?' O asked.

There was a small awkward pause as the dinner group glanced at O, who didn't seem to recognise that his comment was a bit unusual.

'That's not the point,' Jack frowned at him. 'We enjoy the time we have with people while we can.'

'I'd do it,' Clara inputted, nodding, stealing a chip from Qananii. 'Immortality and a TARDIS. More time, forever.'

'But what would you do with a TARDIS? With all that power?' Martha asked, her eyebrows creasing into a frown.

'Easy. I'd explore the universe. All of time and space at my fingertips,' Clara grinned.

'But what about your … real life?' Martha frowned.

'I'd bring my girlfriend and friends with me. We could do it together. And if not, I'd come back thirty seconds right after I left, and live my other life too,' Clara answered easily and Qananii grinned enthusiastically.

She'd given it quite a bit of thought.

'But… you'd be living two lives at once,' Martha voiced questioningly.

'I wouldn't want the Archangel Network to be supervised by people like Wright, Sharon, or Steven. And I enjoy my work. Wouldn't you want to also be a doctor in your daily life? Save people on alien worlds and then come home and save more?' Clara asked.

Martha looked stunned and a bit horrified, 'I mean, yeah, that'd be brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. But my family… and I bet I'd be knackered. When would I have time to sleep?'

'The TARDIS can bring you back to the second you left so it's as though no time at all has passed,' Rachel explained. 'If you planned it right, you could go on an adventure after breakfast, and come back right after back to the hospital.'

'How does that all work then? It's alien technology, right?' Martha asked slowly.

'Yeah, Time Lord technology,' Jack informed her.

'Time Lords?' Martha asked.

'It's the species of the Doctor,' O explained. 'He explained it to me when we weren't running away and being shot at.'

'There's more than one of him?' Martha asked, eager, and surprised.

An uncomfortable silence filled the room.

'Sorry, did I say something?' Martha glanced at them each, her eyebrows furrowed in concern.

'No…' Jack muttered. 'It's just…'

'Just what?'

Another sickening silence.

'They're all dead,' Clara replied, feeling a heavy weight in her chest. 'Every single Time Lord is dead, save the Doctor.'

'Oh,' Martha swallowed, looking down at her food, then looked up her voice concerned. 'Does he have anyone he can talk to about it?'

'He doesn't talk to any of us,' Jack snorted. 'I asked him where the loo was and he had me walking in circles in hopes I'd make a fool out of myself! I said, "Big waste of your TARDIS floors," and then I was miraculously given the correct directions to the loo.'

'And then?' Clara asked, knowingly.

'He pushed me into the pool,' Jack shook his head disbelievingly, and the room laughed, except Martha who was staring them in wonderment.

'He has a pool in his ship? That's mad. Brilliant, but mad. Really, properly mad,' she stammered.

'The Doctor always is.'

The group spent the rest of their time discussing some of their lives. Jack opened up about select projects of Torchwood and what he and his friends were up to and threatened to Retcon them after. Qananii explained how she'd gotten her biochemistry degree but mainly joined Admiral Wright because she hadn't voted for Harold Saxon. Andrew told them briefly that he needed money to provide for his family but he'd worked on a lot of mazes and problem-solving as a kid. Rachel explained how she was recruited into UNIT by Avery and out of desire to meet the Doctor. She claimed how it had always been a dream of hers, wanting to learn more about him and to even see his TARDIS. She was an agent who worked on camerawork and had helped O polish the evidence to determine that Mr Stoker had been possessed by the Great Intelligence, as O continued to suggest.

Clara then shared that she was working for the Archangel Network surveillance team and that her had double degrees in astrophysics and history. Martha congratulated her and then explained that she was trying to become a medical student because she was a middle child, and Mum and Dad fell apart, with Annalise dividing them further. And then there was Leo who was a bit of spoilt nerd and Tish who couldn't hold a job. Being the middle child, Martha did her best to keep them together, mediating between them, everyone sharing their problems with her: the carer. Given she'd seen it in her own family, she wanted to be a doctor to fix multiple people's families.

'That's sweet. Bless your soul, Martha Jones,' Jack Harkness nodded, swallowing the rest of his wrap.

Clara supervised the group, ordering them around, instructing Jack and Rachel to continue training Martha, and for Qananii and O to work on problem-solving and situational testing. She had a brief discussion with Martha who showed an aptitude for maths and physics, leaving Clara confident that she wouldn't need much of her help.

'No, I definitely did. Thank you,' Martha smiled, and Clara was warmed by the kindness and strength the woman possessed.

Knock, knock.

'Ms Oswald? Can I have a word with you?'

Clara glanced round to see Avery standing at the double translucent doors. She set her coffee cup down and followed him out into the hallway. He was wearing a polished black suit and grim expression as they headed outdoors.

Clara gazed around at Central London, the sun setting its gleaming orange and yellow rays through the familiar Tower Bridge looming over the Thames. The dark was already blotting out the sky, bit by bit, casting shadows over the city gradually. Even from here, Clara could see the line of traffic as people got on with their lives. There were black cabs and red buses zooming across the bridge people walking their dogs under the light of the bridge and London Eye.

'Ever wonder what it's like? Not knowing the Doctor?' Clara asked.

'I've never met him,' Avery replied as they strolled through the darkening twilight streets.

'Do you want to?' Clara asked.

'Of course,' Avery turned slightly, giving her a small smile. 'He inspired me to join UNIT as a General and Head of UNIT Central Control and help others. You?'

Clara smiled, turning her head as they headed towards Tower Bridge Piazza: a small area of green space for a nice evening chat.

'Never met him, but I have dreams that I have,' she mused, the nearest streetlamp striking her eyes amber and gold.

'Don't we all?' Avery chuckled, but Clara privately thought that her dreams were a bit different.

They sat together on a bench and Avery turned to her.

'What's the bad news?' Clara asked at once.

Avery raised an eyebrow and asked in return, 'What makes you think there's bad news?'

Clara laughed and remarked, 'I know you, Avery. And I know you wouldn't bring me out of the Tower of London for a nice chat or because you like me. That's not your style.'

Avery let out a deflated sigh, 'You know me too well, Clara.'

'Director Oswald, please,' she gave him a playful smile.

He smiled in return before his face reverted to a solemn, stiff travesty of a mourning piece of wood. He looked at the park, avoiding Clara's eyes as he said, 'While I have the highest faith in Dr Jones in returning to Royal Hope Hospital, she will be taking a detour to one of our more, ah, select locations.'

Clara's head snapped over, alert, concerned, 'The Black Archives, you mean?'

Avery bit his lip, which she took for a yes.

'You're going to erase her memory?' Clara asked, disgusted. 'After everything she's doing for us?'

'She'll never remember meeting any of us, and it's better that way,' Avery said.

'And with all due respect, how the hell did you reach that conclusion?' Clara turned towards him, head tilted and frowning. She was not holding back on her disdain, and she hadn't really meant 'with all due respect' genuinely.

Avery grimaced, clearly anticipating her reaction, still staring straight ahead. He remarked, 'Although we value Dr Jones —'

'Well, clearly you don't if you're going to erase her memory,' Clara cut in, sharply.

' — but this is for her own protection,' Avery continued, a little louder. 'I've met with a potential head of our science division —'

'Who?' Clara demanded.

Avery took a breath as though trying to stop himself from exploding at her, and said, 'Kate Stewart. I think you'd like her.'

'And she voted for Martha to be mind wiped, did she?'

'Director Oswald,' Avery turned towards her, his face hardening. 'You know our protocols. She cannot know the conspiracy between her family and Harold Saxon, and most especially that we are aware of it.'

Clara let out a disbelieving scoff, her eyebrows raising in surprise and anger for Martha. She swung her head back around at the park, her evening dimmer than a few seconds before.

'So, you used her family to get her to cooperate and now you're erasing her memory to protect your dirty little secrets?' Clara asked, but she already knew she was right.

'No —'

'Do not lie to me!' Clara whirled towards him. 'We have a deal. I give you information the Archangel Network and you tell me everything. I will not help you if you betray her like this.'

Avery turned away from her again. Clara felt her stomach flip.

No. No, no, no.

'You're going to monitor her and use her?' Clara asked, disgusted.

'She is our best lead into him. He has an extensive background and history, and yet, no one knows anything about him, and he's bound to be Prime Minister in less than a week. We need to know more, and UNIT has a right to do that. We have records on all Prime Ministers. The fact he's gathering intel on her and her family concerns me.'

'You have a funny way of showing it,' Clara bit out, scowling at him, her head shaking from side to side in a muddled suspension of disbelief and denial in her head. 'And have you ever thought to think about how she feels that Harold Saxon is imposing on her life?'

Avery spoke coldly, 'If she is aware of it, that will only make our job more difficult. I am welcome to the Doctor returning, but I do not want her alerting him of our suspicions. As a show of leniency, she must be prepared for her interview in three days. I want her out of the equation and give UNIT three full days of preparation before the election and he is inevitably announced.'

'And what about me?' Clara demanded. 'Aren't you concerned I'll tell Saxon everything?'

'You are not a problem. You would no sooner betray us to Harold Saxon than you would give up your job at the Archangel Network facility. I know how much you enjoy looking at stars,' Avery replied matter-of-factly. 'And if you are unwilling to stand by this decision, then perhaps our association is terminated.'

'Do not undermine what I've contributed to your effort,' Clara fired up. 'You may have all of UNIT and your soldiers everywhere, but we have highly-powered and more thorough satellites than you could ever dream of,' Clara leaned towards him with a smug confidence.

Avery's jaw twitched in irritation.

'It is true that your contribution has been invaluable to our efforts,' he began slowly.

'And it still is. It's the foundation of your satellite data, and it's the only set that can actually read that electrical activity above Royal Hope Hospital at the moment. Without me, and my choice to report that to you, you wouldn't even know that Harold Saxon has interest in Doctor Martha Jones,' Clara insisted.

Avery bit his lip, gnawing on it slightly.

Guilt, Clara detected.

'You must have known that I would oppose you. So. Your plan. Bring Martha here to get the Doctor's help, erase her memory, and you and Torchwood keep doing your little investigations about Harold Saxon. Sound about right?'

Avery gave a stiff nod.

'Well, that's a terrible plan,' Clara admonished him. 'I know you don't exactly believe in it, but there's something far more deeply connecting Martha Jones, her family, Harold Saxon, and Richard Lazarus. Torchwood, too. And the Archangel Network. In fact,' she turned, smiling to him. 'I think UNIT is the only thing not relevant to this.'

Avery's mouth opened and closed in surprise, clearly not expecting such a remark.

'Director Oswald —' he started, annoyed.

'I will be watching you very closely, Avery,' Clara stood up, and glowered down at him. 'You're a coward.'

'Excuse —?'

'Has it ever occurred to you that maybe Martha Jones would be a useful addition to UNIT?'

'We have no need for scientists, but I am aware of Kate Stewart's intentions to turn our organisation less militaristic and she vocally protested against Black Archive memory wipes on Doctor Jones —'

'I like her already,' Clara smirked.

' — but we cannot defend Earth from aliens with science,' Avery argued.

'So, what's your solution? Blow up anything that isn't human?' Clara scoffed. 'And you wonder why aliens fear us and attack...'

'Not all of them are innocent,' Avery snapped, standing up and following her.

'Of course, but running in with guns blazing and missiles firing… not exactly going to make any friends, are you?' Clara snorted, walking faster, crossing her arms.

'I suppose you agree with the Doctor that Former Prime Minister Harriet Jones was wrong to blow up the Sycorax?' Avery asked, his voice loaded with resentment.

'Yeah, I do,' Clara turned towards him, approaching the Tower of London now. 'Because what you all did was mass murder. Sure, I get it. You're scared. But if you all could stop blowing up everything you're afraid of, maybe you could actually sit down and actually get to learn what's in the universe rather than conquer it,' a thought occurred to her. 'It's a privilege for us to have advanced this far to explore the stars. We don't need to conquer it or destroy it. And science brought us this far… not violence.'

Furious, nothing more to say, Clara turned and nearly bowled O over.

'Oh, sorry!' She exclaimed, and he caught her forearms.

'Oh, no worries, Clara. In a rush, then? Avery say something that set you off, then?' O asked, removing his grip, and Clara turned to see Avery taking a detour and pulling out his phone.

'Hm. Wonder who he's ringing,' Clara murmured.

She turned back towards O and frowned, 'Is something wrong? Why are you here? Is Martha okay?'

O gave her an upturned smile, 'Oh, yes. She's doing well. I came out because I noticed you were taking a while. Do you want to talk about it?' He asked.

The corner of Clara's lip twitched despondently. She supposed since he was a friend, and because he knew the plan it could be okay.

'Come on,' O reached out, putting an arm on her right shoulder and guiding her away from the Tower of London and the opposite direction Avery had been heading in. 'What happened?'

They headed into a private area, and Clara told him all about Avery's plans and suspected connections. He listened intently, keeping quiet and nodding at times to show he was listening. She told him all about her anger at his ability to use Martha like a tool to get to the Doctor and how it was reprehensible.

'I agree,' O frowned, sympathetically. 'It's brilliant you found that connection between the Archangel Network, Saxon, and Martha.'

'I couldn't have done it without you,' Clara smiled halfheartedly at him, honestly. 'You helped inform us about Dexter reaching out to Martha. I suppose UNIT did help track her down and her movements to help Leticia Jones obtain a position with Professor Lazarus,' she frowned, stopping abruptly. 'What made you think Martha was so important?'

O stopped as well, and raised his chin thoughtfully, asking, 'What do you mean?'

'Well, obviously Martha is a medical student and was unfairly kicked out of her program because of this Great Intelligence and we know she was supposed to be at Royal Hope Hospital… But how did you know? Hundreds of people walk past that hospital. And why her, and not other members of her family? Or any other medical student? How did you know to look into her?'

'What are you really asking me, Clara?' O asked, a hint of a smile.

'I'm asking you if you somehow knew Martha Jones was the person connecting all of this.'

'It doesn't really sound like you're asking me anything,' O pointed out.

'Okay, fine,' Clara relented. 'I think you knew it was Martha all along. I reached out for help and you had the perfect answer ready. You gave us the information about Dexter spying on Martha and her family, and that brought us to Martha. The moment I reached out about electrical storms in the sky, it's like you knew to look into Bryan Stoker. Plus, you got the false signature terminating Martha's position and comparative documents to prove it. It's too perfect. That's not how the world works.'

'And?' O asked, rather calmly.

Clara was a bit surprised he wasn't acting defensive or denying any of it, but she ploughed on, eager to test her theory.

'It's like you were waiting for me to message you. Or at least when I did message you, you were very helpful. Which isn't a bad thing. But it would have taken UNIT and Torchwood ages to come up with you did.'

'Well, I am MI6,' O flashed her a grin.

But Clara shook her heads, crossing her arms, 'No. This was something beyond it. Like you knew it already. Connecting Martha Jones, Bryan Stoker, the Jones family, Dexter, Professor Lazarus, and me… to Harold Saxon. It was brilliant. Still is,' she added as O opened his mouth. 'But it's impossible.'

'I thought you liked impossible,' O's eyes flicked up and down questioningly.

Clara felt a sense of unease creep up her spine and uttered, 'I do. But what you did isn't impossible because it was planned. It had to be. There are too many moving pieces and you guessed their outcomes to one-hundred percent probability. But it's like you really are a master at spying. Like you know everything. It's weird. That's not human. Or at least, like Doctor-level time traveller knowledge.'

O stared at her, his dark eyes boring into her. Clara let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding, and suddenly she heard it in her head — Thump, thump, thump, thump.

What was that? She startled, jumping back, looking away from his eyes onto the street with cars and light pinpricks in her eyes.

Clara looked back at O and was unsettled to see an incredibly haunted and almost gleefully maddening look in his eyes. They were pitch black, almost like holes — no, more like tunnels, shining like carved obsidian. The reflection made Clara blink and look away from them. She'd taught her kids that eyes were the window to the soul and such metaphors, but she'd never actually believed it until now.

'Clara?'

She jumped, looking upwards in surprise.

O was smiling cheerfully at her, and her vision seemed a lot brighter all of a sudden. She looked into his eyes and they seemed like regular, warm, dark brown eyes. Clara let out a sigh of relief.

'Sorry, what?' She asked, not remembering what had last been said.

'I just said that I think you're right to support and defend Martha's memories,' O clarified. 'Memories are what determine a person's past, present, and future. It's a terrible tragedy when they're just… gone…' he looked at her meaningfully.

'I don't know how to stop them,' Clara frowned, referring to UNIT and he seemed to understand.

'I can help with that,' O offered.

'How?' Clara tilted her head, curious but suspicious.

How much does O know about UNIT? She wondered.

'I don't think that's the question you want to ask me,' O interjected, his tone firm yet respectful.

It wasn't — 'Why?' she asked.

'Because, like you, I believe that Martha Jones will become a doctor, and when she does, the Doctor will return to Earth.'

'You think he won't return unless she's here?' Clara asked, astounded.

That didn't sound like the Time Lord at all.

'Not at all. He'll always come back to Earth,' O waved a careless hand, as they resumed their walk. 'But if there's weird activity he's not detecting, then that can't be good.'

'I guess I just don't understand how the Doctor chooses where to go and who to save,' Clara shook her head, puzzled, wrapping her arms around her sides.

'He doesn't. The TARDIS does,' O replied.

Clara looked up at him sharply, 'You seem to know a lot about the Doctor and the TARDIS for someone who's met him once.'

'We had a very eventful time, what can I say?' O replied, his voice deep and velvety with sincerity. 'What about you? Do you know the Doctor personally?'

She paused. Should she tell him? 'No. But I have dreams sometimes. As though I'm flying in a box bigger on the inside, and I can see an English man with a bowtie and a Scotsman with cross eyebrows. Impossible, eh?'

'Completely, but maybe those dreams are telling you something,' O offered. 'A future… hope… some alternate possibility.'

'I suppose, yeah,' Clara grinned at him. 'You have quite the imagination.'

And then he turned to her again, them nearly upon the Tower of London for they had walked in a circle. His eyes bored into hers, black, cold, steely… Thump, thump, thump, thump.

'Clara?' O's voice broke through her trance.

'I really don't know what's come over me,' Clara muttered distractedly, forcing her hands to her sides and focusing on walking next to O.

'Of course. It's understandable given Avery is putting unnecessary strain on you and the pressure to find the Doctor. Best to let it rest for the night,' O assured her.

The two retired back to the Tower of London, staying with accommodations reserved for them for their stay. Clara got washed up, changed into striped blue-and-white pyjamas and snuggled beneath the covers, accepting a late night cup of tea from Qananii who joined her.

'What's wrong?' Qananii asked, pulling the covers over them.

They were sharing a small room with a double bed, a bathroom complete with shower and loo, and a small kitchen with, all with dark wood-panelled floors. Clara couldn't sleep and Qananii must have picked up on some nervousness from her.

'I just don't know where any of this ends,' Clara frowned, blowing over the cup. 'I don't know.'

'Hey,' Qananii leaned forwards, pulling Clara's head onto her shoulder.

Clara felt her shoulder muscles relax, and let herself fall, making sure to keep her hands steady so as not to spill her tea.

'You know Avery's wrong about Martha. But you're smart. You also know you can't tell him that. But that's no reason to give up. We'll help Martha as best we can, and that's all we can do.'

Clara felt Qananii press her lips to her forehead.

'It's not just that,' Clara frowned.

'What is it, love?'

'O. I don't know if I trust him,' she confessed.

'I told you he has a weird energy about him,' Qananii murmured against Clara's forehead.

'I should have listened to you,' Clara scowled, blaming herself. 'I shouldn't have called him here at all.'

'Don't blame yourself. Avery would have reached out to him either way,' Qananii replied reasonably. ‘Avery loves O.’

'I just don't understand why he has to be here. You can cover the medical exam preparation with Martha —'

'Hardly. She's amazing. I'm not sure why we're all needed here,' Qananii inputted.

Clara lifted her head and looked at at her girlfriend, 'You mean like a conspiracy to bring us all together to erase our memories?'

Qananii looked at her warily, 'You have a very large imagination.'

'I know,' Clara replied confidently. 'I sound like Andrew,' she added thoughtfully.

'No, you sound like Clara Oswald. Besides, out of everyone here, I trust you the most with Martha. You should be the one to accompany her to her interview with Stoker,' Qananii advised.

Clara looked up, surprised, 'Is that up to me?'

'No, when you left, we were told that Rachel is taking her.'

'And that's a bad thing?' Clara asked.

'Oh, you mean Ms Works-For-Avery?' Qananii scoffed. 'Please. If you're really concerned about Martha, you should stay as close to her as possible.'

'I don't do that though,' Clara frowned. 'My whole job is research. I do surveillance away from people. I read history. I don't make it.'

'Not true. Not with that teaching you do. You're preparing the minds of the next generation,' Qananii reminded her. 'And that doesn't mean you can't. Just this once. Go with Martha.'

'But what about Avery, Rachel… O, and Jack?' Clara asked, nervously.

Qananii laughed lightly. She took Clara's cup from her, setting it on the small wooden table next to their bed. She took Clara's hands into her and declared, 'I can handle them. I'll keep them busy. All in one spot too. I'll report to you.'

'I'm not your boss,' Clara frowned.

'No, you're my friend, my girlfriend, my lover, my soulmate, my coworker, my confidant. And I do things for you because I want to,' Qananii replied proudly.

Clara leaned forwards, and wrapped her arms around Qananii in a close hug. Her eyes closed, allowing herself to be calmed and warmed.

'I've never done that kind of field work before though. I'm not exactly qualified.'

'Clara Oswald,' they pulled apart. 'You are the most brilliant, gifted, determined, and passionate people I've ever met. If anyone can work on the briefing and training, I know it's you.'

Clara felt warmed at the sentiment, but a substantially large part of her still felt afraid. She was most comfortable with computers and satellites, closed-off and secure locations and not interacting with several networks. She was used to being able to share confidences with Qananii and Andrew, Steven too occasionally, but here she would have to hold that all back.

'I know you think you're a terrible liar,' Qananii said.

'I am,' Clara moaned.

'Well, then bit of advice from someone who lied to get the job?' Qananii asked.

Clara gave her a half-hearted look, 'What's that?'

'Be confident. And tell the truth. Best liars always tell the truth,' Qananii smiled.

'Okay,' Clara said, not really knowing what she was going to do. 'So, my plan is to go through months worth of training in two days to watch over Martha?'

'If anyone can do it, you can,' Qananii kissed her.

Clara was incredibly busy and moody over the next few days. She woke up and grumpily showered, dressing into her usual black blazer and trousers. She bossed several people around, mostly Jack, Andrew, O, Rachel, Sanchez, and Avery to help Martha train for her medical exam at 1100. Mr Stoker had confirmed that if she passed, then their interview would be in two days — the same day Avery was going to wipe Martha's memory. Clara assisted Martha with studying some more physics and historical knowledge about the history of medicine. But before she went to teach her kids at school, she asked Andrew and Qananii for help keeping her updated every hour, thirty minutes apart, on Avery, Rachel, and Sanchez.

'Ms Oswald!' Steven called, as he arrived at the Tower of London.

'Clara,' she corrected him, getting into the limousine.

'Where to?' He asked politely.

She directed him about and got out a few blocks away from Gayhurst Primary School, not wanting to be tracked. She was just thanking him when he let out a little sigh.

'Problem?' She asked.

'No news from the Mystery Girl Blogger,' he said.

Clara hid a smile and remarked, 'You sound disappointed.'

'Well, I heard Sharon got the sack,' Steven whispered dramatically.

Clara's jaw dropped, turning towards him, 'No…?' She murmured doubtfully.

'Yes! Admiral Wright sacked her yesterday. Apparently, she threw a tantrum and had to be let go.'

'Well, finally,' Clara grimaced. 'Was that too rude?'

'Bit, yeah. But I've gotta say I'm bloody glad to get rid of her,' Steven grinned.

'Alright. Catch you later,' Clara waved him off and headed off to meet her kids with a newfound energy in her step. Maybe there was hope in Admiral Wright's political views after all.

She was let off for lunch where Jenny was substituting and Clara gave her a list of orders about cleanliness, reading, writing, and all sorts.

'Yes, Clara! I know!' Jenny finally exploded before apologising meekly.

Clara walked back to where Steven should have been waiting for her. Looking around, all she could see were regular cars and vehicles. She checked her text messages while she waited, glancing up every once and a while.

QANANII (0800): Avery absent- meeting. Sanchez present- offering to be security for MJ. Rachel - present- preparing training materials with O.

ANDREW (0830): Avery absent. Sanchez absent. Rachel present.

QANANII (0900): Avery absent- another meeting. Sanchez- absent with Jack. Rachel present- helping Martha study for her medical exam. Andrew's helping her with interview skills and problem-solving too.

Clara was both relieved and a bit disappointed that nothing stood out even until 1200 when the messages ended.

'Ms Oswald!'

She looked around to see that Sanchez was standing and waiting with her next to a UNIT security car.

'I can walk, thanks,' she smiled.

'No, please. The drive is much too far,' Sanchez stepped forwards, blocking her path.

Clara smiled, coldly, up at him, 'Fresh air and exercise. Really not a problem.'

'I insist. Besides, I have some updates about Martha Jones and her future I've been ordered to tell you about.'

Way to show your enthusiasm for your job, Clara thought sarcastically.

Still, she begrudgingly went to go sit with him, checking her latest text message.

QANANII (1200): Avery present- lecturing us about vital importance of training Martha. Sanchez absent- says he's going to call his wife. Rachel- present- eating lunch, bit close with Martha.

'I hope I'm not interrupting,' Sanchez spoke in an annoyed tone sitting next to her on the leather-seated cushions, nodding at the driver and the car set off.

'No, not at all. Thanks for checking,' Clara put her phone away and gave him a winning smile. 'So, what's the news about Martha?'

Sanchez gave her a bitter look, and Clara suddenly realised she was alone in a car with a stranger. She tried the door, only to find that it was locked. She turned towards him, 'What's going on?'

'You mind your language, girl! I'm a General of UNIT,' Sanchez snapped.

'I'm not a girl. I'm a woman. And I'm Director of the Archangel Network which is Earth's greatest resource at the moment,' Clara fired back. 'I have more knowledge at my fingertips than you'll have in your entire lifetime.'

'Oh, I know you and Avery are close,' Sanchez gave her a repugnant look. 'But I'm not falling for that.'

'Excuse me?' Clara raised her eyebrows.

'I know you're working for Harold Saxon,' he leaned forwards, his breath wafting towards her.

Clara grimaced. Some men's incapability to have proper boundaries never ceased to amaze her.

'I'm not,' Clara replied, her tone cool and professional.

'Why? Because you're working with his satellites? And I know you keep saying you didn't vote for him, but why should I believe that? I mean, that satellite system was funded by us and why would Harold Saxon let the few people who didn't vote for him control the most powerful intelligence system in the world?'

Clara scoffed, 'You Americans. Always comparing and wanting to have the biggest toys, right?'

'Don't deny that's what you English people want too,' Sanchez snapped.

'British,' Clara corrected. 'And, no. Well, not me personally. And I think Martha Jones will be a brilliant doctor.'

'I don't give a damn about her,' Sanchez growled. 'You're the one that puts me off?'

'Me?' Clara couldn't help but laugh at that.

'You with your bossy and controlling attitude, acting like you know everything. I'm sick of it!' Sanchez exploded.

Clara shrugged, 'There's really not that much I can do about that. No — you sit and listen,' she added at him opening his mouth. 'I have worked hard to get where I am, putting in effort and gaining confidence that I have earned. Sorry I'm not a bloke who got in on minimal requirements and didn't have to prove anything to get where I am, because that really is low of you. I'm here to do my job, and you're here to do yours. I've been respectful and professional; you're the one being a total arse about it. Now, is there anything you want to tell me that came from Avery?'

Sanchez gave her a disgusted look and replied, 'I have been ordered to inform you that UNIT has begun engineering prototypes for two different projects.'

Clara said nothing. She could tell there was more, but he wanted this to hurt her. She didn't let it, staring evenly up at him, waiting.

He made an annoyed noise and continued, 'One of which is "Project Indigo," an instant teleport of an independent channel of any other type of travel. It's planned to be used in militaristic settings.'

'Ah, of course,' Clara nodded knowingly. 'And the other?'

Sanchez gave her the look of someone who had swallowed a lemon and continued, 'The other is a last-minute effort to save the world. If ever there is an alien threat detrimental to us, we require the right to destroy the planet in order to limit human suffering.'

Clara's head snapped towards him, horror building up in her like magma rising in a chamber, 'You're… you're talking about killing billions of people! Would any of us survive?'

'The point is that this is a last-minute effort. No one is eager to attempt it. However, the idea was put forth by our very own Minister of Defence, Harold Saxon,' Sanchez explained.

Why? She wanted to ask, but that was the wrong question. She'd learned not to question world leaders who sat back in comfy chairs and watched the world suffer.

'By what means, exactly?' She asked.

'We haven't reached a definitive conclusion yet. Likely something nuclear,' Sanchez informed her.

Of course. That's all we've got. Bombs, guns, and missiles. Our only hope, Clara thought sarcastically.

'When will production begin?' Clara asked, thinking of another project Harold Saxon had authorised, wondering if the two were connected.

Behind Sanchez's back, she slipped out her phone and texted Qananii and Andrew: Saxon's authorised a project for global destruction as a last resort for Earth's "defence."

'Project Indigo has begun theoretical background research. General Avery would like your assistance to work on its coordinate work. And he would like me to stress that this must remain top secret. No informing MI6 or Torchwood or even the Doctor.'

Clara nodded, wondering what good that would do. The Doctor seemed to have a knack for getting into trouble.

'Is there anything you wish to tell us?' Sanchez asked, staring at her with beady dark eyes.

Clara would have normally shared, but the way Sanchez was staring at her like she was an imposter and remembering Avery planning on erasing Martha's memories that Harold Saxon was looking into her family and Professor Lazarus like a mongoose preying on a cobra.

Her girlfriend's advice came to her in the back of the car: 'Be confident. And tell the truth. Best liars always tell the truth.'

'No, no projects or findings from the Archangel Network,' Clara lied, shaking her head from side to side. 'Thanks for the intel. I'll be sure to inform you any developments on our front.'

Sanchez nodded curtly as the car stopped outside the Tower of London.

Clara rushed inside and made a beeline for the briefing room. The entire crowd, except Avery, were huddled around Martha, chattering.

'Clara!' Andrew called, spotting her enter the room. 'Look what Martha got on her medical exam!'

Clara headed forwards, her breathing heavy.

Please be good, please be good… Clara begged.

Martha stepped forwards, a shy meek smile on her face, and presented her medical exam cleared.

'Awesome!' Clara leaned forwards and hugged her tightly, feeling Martha wrap her arms around her. 'I knew you'd do it,' she added, pulling away after a few seconds.

Martha was excitedly chattering, thanking her for her help and offering her friends' knowledge, but all Clara could think about was how Martha wouldn't even remember any of this afterwards. Her eyes caught Avery, who raised a warning eyebrow, and then her gaze flitted towards Qananii, who nodded. Clara felt a surge of strength return to her, and she smiled at Martha, 'Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I didn't have any doubts.'

'Thanks!' Martha beamed. 'I'm getting ready to deal with the interview. Andrew's been a big help. He's also inspired me to go straight into being Mr Stoker's understudy and pushing for myself.'

Clara looked at her incredulously, 'You weren't going to originally?'

'Well, I wasn't sure,' Martha shrugged. 'I don't know if I've been kicked out because I'm unqualified or there is an actual error. I was just happy to be there.'

'Well, Andrew's right. You deserve to go right back to the spot where you left off,' Clara nodded supportively.

'Thanks,' Martha smiled at her again.

Clara watched as the rest of them played card, ate food, and celebrated while she worked in the corner, pulling out her phone and laptop. Using private remote access, she monitored the satellites and found that the signal had faded but there was a suspected non-human DNA alien who has accessed Royal Hope Hospital. And worse yet, the electrical activity was building, not yet noticeable, but the atmospheric disturbance was swelling like a bird ruffling his feathers. It was almost like a storm system, the electrical activity growing, centred around the hospital, and yet, it was like it hadn't actually arrived yet.

'Andrew, can I borrow your phone?' Clara called.

He came over and handed it over, asking, 'Did I do something illegal?' in a teasing tone.

'No, not that I know of,' Clara said, logging into his user account for the Network.

'I actually have. Hacking is just problem solving beyond the designed structure. Thinking outside the box,' Andrew beamed cheerfully, bobbing and sitting down in the chair next to her.

'Been helping Martha with that, have you?' Clara asked.

'Oh, she's brilliant. I made her a ton of mazes and scenarios and she was able to think through them. When she was confused she asked questions and she wasn't resentful or defensive at all,' Andrew nodded enthusiastically.

'Your phone says there's no electrical activity,' Clara showed him.

'Well, that can't be right. Yours does,' Andrew peered between the two. 'Here.'

He took hers and went between the two, searching and speculating, but a few minutes later he shook his head. No luck.

'Someone really wants you on this case, Clara,' Andrew mused, handing her phone back to her.

And it's not Avery, Clara thought.

Clara spent the rest of the day holed in a corner, Qananii bringing her food and coffee, and helping her study for accompanying protocol.

'Unbelievable,' Clara sighed, shuffling through papers. 'What a bureaucratic way to restrict people to certain occupations.'

'How's it going?' Qananii asked.

'What? Cramming sixteen weeks into less than two days? I'm doing great,' Clara grinned confidently, but she could feel her heart beating rapidly. Her muscles were tiring, and her brain was getting fuzzy.

Qananii looked down at her for a moment and then tapped Clara's shoulder

'Come on,' she said.

'What for?' Clara asked slowly.

'Come on.'

Clara got up, closing all her materials, and followed Qananii to a little cafe with cushions tied to their wooden bottoms. She was a bit surprised when Andrew joined them a few seconds later.

'Really?' She asked, partly amused.

'Come on. A meal between the three of us,' Qananii grinned.

Clara ordered chicken pesto, Qananii got spicy chicken wings and chips, and Andrew got udon teriyaki noodles and tacos. They spent the first part of their dinner, eating, and chatting, laughing about things they found funny. Both, for instance, viewed Sanchez as an incredibly annoying person. They also chuckled about Jack flirting with anything that walked, and Martha's refreshing naivety and curiosity.

'It's so rare to find a doctor that's educated, creative, humorous, and has a great bedside manner,' Andrew commented, using chopsticks and nibbling on his noodles.

Clara reached over and forked one, admiring the spicy teriyaki flare, and remarked, 'Role play?'

'Some,' Andrew blushed, his ears turning red. 'I pretended to have certain diagnoses for her to test out.' He didn't like acting. It felt like lying to him.

'She'll be doing that while at Royal Hope Hospital, right?' Qananii asked.

'That's right,' Andrew confirmed. 'But O and I reckon it's better to have some extra knowledge.'

If Avery lets her keep it, Clara thought despondently.

They had a lovely rest of their evening before Clara and Qananii retired to their room and continued working on training her to supervise Martha. Early next day, Clara went to Rachel and asked her if she could be the one to do it.

'I'm specially trained in this matter,' Rachel replied slowly, passing Clara a cup of coffee.

'I did my training,' Clara said quickly.

'Sixteen weeks-worth? Did you sleep?' Rachel raised an eyebrow.

'It's no bother. I want to be there for Martha,' Clara said, racking her brains for a way to get an in without revealing her spy intentions. 'She reminds me of myself before I got this job. A bit lost, but knowing she was capable of more. Wanting to help people. And she brings people together, just like I did with UNIT, Torchwood, and MI6. I want to see her succeed. I understand I don't have the specialisation the same as you, but it's really important to me that she succeeds.'

Rachel studied her carefully, 'Does General Avery know about your training?'

'No,' Clara replied honestly. She hoped Rachel wouldn't snitch, and that she had been persuasive enough.

'I'm sorry, Clara, but I have to be the one to do this,' Rachel shook her head regretfully.

Disappointment weighed deeply on Clara, but mostly fear, 'Please. Rachel, I know about Avery's plan to erase her memory.'

Concern crossed Rachel's expression, 'You — what — how? He what?'

A sudden ripple of numb electric shock sparked Clara. Rachel hadn't known…

'I'm sorry,' Clara replied at once. 'I thought you knew. I want to keep an eye on her. I can keep an eye on her and check satellite readings. Besides, if O is right and Martha Jones is the key to bring the Doctor here, the Archangel Network is the best bet we have.'

'Are the results connected to your phone? I could use that while monitoring Martha,' Rachel suggested, but her voice sounded less forceful.

Clara shook her head and confirmed, 'The knowledge follows me. I connected to UNIT Wi-Fi and my phone updated with the knowledge. It didn't have that before. It's definitely me, not just my devices. If I give it to you, there’ll be nothing.’

There was a small pause, then —

'Very well,' Rachel nodded.

Clara's heart leapt with glee. She was really being given the chance to prepare Martha?

'Train her how to answer an interview. We won't have another opportunity,' Rachel gave her a stiff nod and marched off.

'Rachel Taveres,' Clara muttered to Andrew later when they met up early.

He typed rapidly in his phone and reported, 'Rachel Taveres. Parents killed by Daleks in the Battle of Canary Wharf. Ran away into a shelter —' Clara's heart clenched at the photograph of the young girl, hiding, her face pale and terrified '— saw them being shot down. Attended primary, secondary, tertiary school. Joined UNIT. Ah. Found her request form. She wanted to join to help spare people from the same fate she did. Plus…' his voice quietened. 'She was harassed by all her classmates about that event every day, asking about what it was like watching the Dalek kill her parents. She wants to make sure Earth can be defended from aliens, and she knows the Doctor is the best chance.'

Clara felt her stomach turn.

That's why she's letting me do this, she realised. She knows how much it means to me. And she's been betrayed and deceived by Avery.

She thanked Andrew for his help and went with Qananii and Jack to go practise interview skills.

'I don't know why I'm here,' Jack said, sitting down next to Clara lazily in the small square grey room.

'Neither do I. You just came and sat down like you were entitled,' Qananii replied, irritated.

'No need to be rattled, ladies,' Jack grinned smoothly at all of them. 'Now, Martha Jones. Tip one. Charisma. Pretend you're flirting with someone —'

'No,' Clara and Qananii interrupted at the same time.

Jack looked hurt, 'You didn't let me finish.'

'Get out,' Clara ordered.

'Oh, come on. It's a way to get the job!'

'I'm not flirting my way in,' Martha crossed her arms, raising her eyebrows defiantly.

'There. That's that. Out,' Clara pointed at the door next to the mirror. They were using a UNIT interrogation room, LED lights above them.

'Oi, ma'am, have we considered that I have other interview strategies other than flirting with the interviewer?' Jack puffed his chest indignantly.

'Do you?' Clara scoffed.

'Well…' Jack frowned.

'Out!' Clara thundered, pointing again.

Jack rolled his eyes, winking at Martha as he left.

'Is he your friend?' Martha asked.

'That's one word for it,' Clara laughed, turning back to her. 'He is right, though. You need to have charisma, show off how learned you are, be accessible and open to multiple different clients, think and be rational, and always ensure that you are physically and mentally able to cater to others.'

Martha nodded, her hair bobbing up and down with the motion.

'I know I'm qualified to be a doctor and everything, but I really don't get it. Why me?' She wondered.

Clara and Qananii exchanged a glance.

'We may never know that,' Clara shrugged. 'But I can tell you that you're going to be a wonderful addition to our medical system and be incredible at everything you do.'

Martha blushed and she smiled happily, her white gleaming under the bright lights. Clara didn't know if she'd ever seen someone look so bashful and excited at the same time, and it made her heart smile endearingly. She, too, grinned, and in the interrogation glass reflection, saw her own teeth shining brightly.

'Well, you may be one of the greatest astrophysicists of all time!' Martha returned with a bright smile. 'I may not like what Harold Saxon is doing with my family, but he made a brilliant choice hiring you.'

Although Clara was honoured by the praise from Martha, she also felt like her body was a magnet repulsing like charges. What kind of a horrible person was she to encourage Martha? And how much was Avery going to erase? As though they'd never met or even more?

It was lucky, really, that Mr Stoker had agreed to review Martha's re-application — and suspicious all the same. There was still no explanation as to why he'd terminated her position or why the Great Intelligence (Clara liked the name as much as she liked the sound of Spy Master, that is to say that she didn't but she didn't have a better word for an alien possessing a human) had targeted Martha. But it did help suggest that Martha Jones was indeed important to the Doctor if an unexplained electrical storm was coming, the Doctor wasn't here, and Harold Saxon's brilliant Network was the only thing that could detect the phenomena.

But all to say it made Clara feel like she was using Martha in some way and she hated it.

'I passed training. I'm going to bring you to the interview. I hope that's okay,' Clara forced her face muscles to smile.

'Oh, that's okay! I'm sure I can manage. I have done this before, you know,' Martha grinned sheepishly.

''Course,' Clara smiled. 'But maybe just to have a friend. For support.'

'I'd like that,' Martha declared.

She pulled out her phone and squealed excitedly. Clara and Qananii leaned forwards in anticipation.

'I got it! Interview tomorrow at Royal Hope Hospital at 0830!'

'I'll be there,' Clara promised.

Martha jumped up and down in her cute red leather jacket, positively and radiantly beaming, before running off to call her family.

Clara and Qananii smiled at one another.

'You gonna tell me 'bout what you're hiding from Avery?' Qananii asked quietly.

Clara bit her lip.

'Saxon. He's invested in a new project. Ever the inventor. His eyes only, but he's asked for my help with aerodynamics.'

'Aerodynamics? Something flying?'

'It's called the Valiant. And I don't think anyone knows about it, but me.'

'And you're worried?' Qananii asked, knowingly.

Clara felt a surge of relief sweep through her. She wasn't afraid of expressing any worries per say but she hated bringing it up. It very much helped that Qananii simply knew her that well.

'Avery told me his plan to erase Martha's memory. O connected Martha, Stoker, the Great Intelligence, Dexter, Leticia, Saxon, and me,' Clara voiced, her doubts swirling within her. 'I just can't help but think that someone's wrong. Really wrong.'

She raised her eyes to the sky, wondering when they would ever see the swirling black clouds that her phone told her they should be seeing.

'How could O know all of this? And what does Saxon want with Martha and her family? Why an aircraft carrier?' Clara shook her head. 'Even Torchwood and UNIT and the Archangel Network… It's all so secretive. Everything’s in the dark.'

'Well, not everyone is like you,' Qananii offered as an attempt to console her.

Clara shook her head, sombrely, 'I think the world is too like me. People who are terrible at lying, but they do it all the time. If Saxon is preying on Martha…' her worried eyes met Qananii's, 'then what's he doing with a whole global fifteen-satellite system that only the British armed forces know about? What's he doing with everyone's phones?'

Chapter Text

SEVEN

MARTHA JONES

Martha was inspired by the amount of people corralling around her in her efforts to help them. She'd always wanted to be a doctor, always wanted to help people, particularly when her own family was so broken and disconnected. They really did just live their own disparate lives, expecting the others to be fine with their life choices, and not recognising the discordant impact they had on one another. Naturally, Martha was left to pick up the pieces. She tried so hard to hold them together like an ever-shifting puzzle, and she was the one who moulded their ends so they could still fit. She loved her family to death and she wasn't going to let them fall apart, but she wished they were more adhesive naturally.

Still, there was nothing she could do about that. She'd rung Tish several times over the next few days, asking about the job and informing her about Stoker's reconsideration. She'd rung Leo, Mum, and Dad too… No luck. They were probably busy. Leo's birthday was coming up and he was probably with his girlfriend, celebrating. Tish was probably being ingratiated into the Lazarus Laboratories as his assistant, and was too busy partying. Mum was probably working, and Dad was too busy spoiling Annalise.

Martha remembered as a kid she'd had a mate who'd fractured her wrist. Martha had remembered seeing the sling and wanting to help her mate, and take away the pain. She also remembered that the fracture had healed nearly perfectly, and she was left envious that she couldn't heal her family like that. How was it then that broken bones could be remedied and not people?

There were definite moments when Martha viewed the world in the lens of "medical student Martha Jones" where she knew that every single person's cells on the planet were fighting for their own survival. She thought about the irony that she could have a greater impact helping people's physical injuries than their mental ones. The brain and mind was a powerful thing, and Martha's favourite thing to indulge in was hope. Hope and humanity.

She couldn't help but hope that things would be fixed, that people could be happy, and it would all get better. Her parents were a bit questioning of her career choice, but Martha wouldn't have had it any other way. This is what she was supposed to do.

'Any plans before the big interview?' Jack asked, wheeling up to her.

She was sitting in the boardroom, rolling from side-to-side on her wheely chair kicking her feet gently as the rest of the room chatted amongst themselves.

'Not really. Quiet night in, I suppose,' Martha half-shrugged, half-grimaced.

'Oh, we can't have that now. What do we say?' Jack turned, his voice rising at the rest of them. 'Celebration for Doctor Martha Jones?'

Martha blushed, not used to the attention, 'I wouldn't want to be a bother. And we don't know if I'll actually get the position.'

'I have the highest confidence in you, Martha Jones,' Jack grinned at her, his pearly white teeth shining at her.

She felt her stomach twist gleefully, not used to the attention being on her and only her.

'Well, still, I'm sure you all have work to do,' Martha tried to be modest.

'We can work any day,' Jack waved a hand dismissively. 'Come on. Party for a day. Live life at its fullest. And then you can have your doctor job for the rest of your life in the days ahead.'

Martha suddenly remembered that while Jack was human, he was also immortal. He couldn't die. He had forever to spend his life. A pang of empathy rung through her.

'I'm sorry you're immortal,' her forehead crinkled at the thought. 'Is there anything I can do to help?'

Martha saw pain and surprise flash in Jack's eyes for the briefest of moments before his smile melted it away. She knew better. She knew it wasn't really gone.

'Yeah, you as a gorgeous lady can take me out to a party to celebrate yourself,' Jack nodded, taking her hand and kissing it. Martha tried not to smile as his lips touched her hand.

'Jack,' Clara spoke up sharply.

'God, you're worse than the Doctor,' Jack rolled his eyes, but released Martha's hand obediently.

'Okay,' Martha let a small smile creep up on her face, dimples showing.

'Now that's what I'm talking about!' Jack spun around on his chair to face the rest of the room, and embarrassingly loudly asking. 'Who else is in? Clara? Qananii? Andrew? O? Rachel? Avery?'

'I don't think so,' Clara said at the same time that Avery said, 'I don't see why not.'

Martha looked between the two, recognising some tension. She hated fighting. Trying to mediate, she jumped in and said, 'We really don't need to. Again, we don't even know if I'll pass the interview. I can celebrate quietly by myself.'

'Yeah, that's what the most brilliant people say. Appreciate yourself, Martha Jones,' Jack declared. 'And let us celebrate you!'

With encouraging nods and a bit of discussion of shifts and replacement workers, Martha finally agreed to a celebration.

She got dressed into a knee-length black satin dress with three-finger width straps and a small black sash around her waist. Martha did a twirl in front of the mirror and put on her block heel black boots that went up along to her calves. She glanced back at the mirror and smiled, unable to believe it.

She was really going to get another chance at medical school!

She didn't think Mr Stoker would have accepted her to have another interview. And truth be told, in retrospect, Martha wasn't sure if she had even planned on demanding for her position back. The termination had been very abrupt and final sounding, and she didn't know how she was going to look him in the eye. She hadn't even known what she'd done wrong, and now he was miraculously giving her another chance. And knowing him, he was a bit conceited, and he was insufferably arrogant. He would undoubtedly look down on her and not appreciate her. Then again, it was nothing she couldn't handle; she was used to it.

Martha took a few shaky deep breaths and headed through her UNIT quarters through towards the outside of the Tower of London.

Jack was waiting in a black suit, posh and dressed nicely.

'Martha Jones,' he whistled. 'You clean up nicely.

'Not so bad yourself,' she smiled shyly, her hands clasping in front of her.

'Don't encourage him.'

Martha and Jack turned to see Clara, Qananii, and Andrew heading over. All three were wearing all black, Clara in a black pantsuit and sunglasses, Qananii in a long sequinned and long-sleeved dress, and Andrew in a black jacket and trousers.

'Nice,' Jack nodded, his tone sarcastic.

Avery and Rachel joined a few moments later, both wearing black as well.

'Where are we headed?'

'I have a membership to Annabel's in Mayfair. One of the finest exclusive and private clubs for the wealthiest of London,' Avery declared.

Martha felt inadequacy rise up within her.

Clara noticed, 'Don't you dare,' she said firmly, linking her arm with Martha's. 'We're going.'

The moment Martha stepped in, her jaw dropped. They were in a four-storey Georgian townhouse full of gold-tinted walls, intricate and ornate paintings, and several calm smoky leather seats and coral lampshades.

Avery and Clara both had memberships as it turned out, and they invited the rest of them as guests. They headed for the restaurant and Martha found herself worried that she didn't belong. Her clothes weren't fancy enough, she was unemployed, she wasn't remarkably special… her heart weighed with guilt that she wasn't good enough to be here, but she was distracted by her peers.

Rachel started talking to her about her family, which Martha was happy to join in on, sharing that she had a niece now.

'Ooh, lovely!' O popped up behind her and sat down next to her. 'Sorry I'm late. Complications.' He was dressed in a fresh jacket and trousers.

Martha ate some of the most exquisite food she'd ever tasted, including steak, caviar, and fresh champagne. She laughed and smiled, she talked to them about their personal lives, and she was also interested to hear more about the Doctor. The rest of them were ready to comply, sharing about their lives and what they knew about the Doctor.

Afterwards, they went to the bar, and Martha had a few shots of whisky, grimacing at the taste.

'Ooooh,' Andrew giggled.

And then they danced for the rest of the night, in dim lights with sweating bodies, loud off-key singing, and the smell of wine in the air. Martha had never partied much, but she had mates who were definitely more into it. She felt free and happy, but something in her head was pounding and making her vision blurry so she excused herself. She left Avery and Rachel doing a square dance, which they thought was funny since the club was located in Berkeley Square, Andrew telling jokes to Jack who was grinning nonstop, and O talking with Clara.

Martha headed up to the garden terrace and shivered lightly at the cool draught chilling her body. She rubbed her arms, and stared out at the lush green leaves, vibrant red, orange, yellow, and purple flowers tucked into soil-packed golden pots and decorations on the walls. There were several fountains and waterfalls, and there were entire large stone paths spread out like a maze. The air was humid and a bit chilly and it reminded Martha of a stone-path through a rain forest where she might find a jaguar or fireflies.

'Hey.'

Martha turned to see Qananii leaning against the glass railing looking down at the ever-continuing stone path.

'Hi,' Martha smiled, her nerves fluttering within her.

'Imposter syndrome?' Qananii asked.

Martha's eyebrows twitched, air coming through her nose, 'No. No, no, I just sorta —'

'Feel like you're not good enough? That you do not belong?' Qananii finished knowingly.

Martha hesitated, but felt that she could open up. After all, they were doing all of this to help her.

'It's just… They're expecting me to help them. To save them. To bring this Doctor back to Earth. And I'm used to taking care of people. That's what I've done my whole life… But this is about the safety of the world… I don't know if I can do that… You know?' Martha rambled, releasing her anxieties like a flood.

Qananii joined her and spoke gently, 'You're Doctor Martha Jones. You can do anything.'

'But…' Martha shook her head in disbelief. 'But those are just words, and they're not even true.'

Qananii was silent for a moment.

'Let me tell you a story,' she said. 'The Oromo believe that Waaqa Tokkicha created the world, heaven, and all living and non-living things. Waaqa created the sky, earth, dry land, and bakkalcha — a star, which gave us connections between spirits and sunlight. The light from this star was used to create all other stars, animals, and plants,' Qananii explained, and Martha listened intently. 'We believe when we die that we join spirits when we die and that these spirits may take the form of a flying animal. Maybe…' she considered Martha. 'Maybe you are that spirit of bakkalcha, flying through the world, and you will connect every single spirit and bring us light.'

Martha was stunned, feeling honoured but scared, 'But why me?' She voiced.

'There's no way to know,' Qananii's eyes flickered downwards. 'But I think you should embrace that advice. Be a star, Martha Jones. Connect everyone and guide everyone with your light.'

'But how?' Martha said desperately. 'I feel like even if I do pass my interview tomorrow, what else can I do to help? Is that where my story ends? I become a doctor to bring the Doctor to Earth?'

'Would you want to do more?' Qananii leaned forwards.

Martha shook her head despondently, 'I don't know. It's just… You've been telling me all about the Doctor and what he does, and he sounds inspiring and good. He tries to do good… I guess I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to meet him.'

'Maybe you can,' Qananii suggested.

But Martha shook her head.

'I'm not special. I'm just Martha Jones.'

'No one's just anything,' Qananii frowned. 'You're Doctor Martha Jones. Be proud of that.'

Martha smiled blindly to herself. She'd never been told to be proud to be herself before. It was refreshing, and she still had doubt nagging at her insides like hooks pulling on her stomach. She'd always been looked down on, dismissed, ignored, and underestimated her entire life. She still couldn't believe that she was going to be the most important person on Earth if she passed her interview tomorrow.

Martha returned to the party, smiling and dancing her worries away if only for a night.

She danced with her coworkers, she supposed she could call them, and let her thoughts drift away. For one night, she was Martha Jones, and not the middle child trying to keep her family together, not a doctor trying to save lives, and not unimportant.

The next morning, the seriousness of it all came rushing back to her the moment her eyes opened and she took her first breath. Breakfast was tense, trying to run through the list of things in her mind, interview tips given to her, and how to deal with unpredictable questions to throw her off. She just couldn't believe it was all coming down to her.

Avery and Rachel could afford a high-end club but not immediately make her enrolled in medical training again. Part of her was terrified, but another part of her was relieved. Martha knew she was skilled, but she also wanted to work hard and prove it not only to others but also herself. Even if everyone else cheated their way to the top or did it fair and square, she would do it fairly.

Clara accompanied her to the UNIT car, debriefing her on last minute tips. There were far too many points and the amount of detail Clara was going into only made Martha's heart stutter with fear. She took to half-listening, sitting at the back of the car, hugging her middle nervously, trying to take deep breaths.

'Are you all right?' Clara asked finally after bringing up interview tip ninety-four.

Martha stared at the back of the seat in front of her, 'Yeah. I'll be fine, of course.' She hoped she sounded convincing.

'You'll do great,' Clara encouraged her.

Martha didn't know what it was, but she could almost detect a tinge of something off about the woman. She turned to look at Clara and was worried to find something haunting in her eyes: fear.

Martha didn't know what to make of that. Clara Oswald did not seem like someone who was afraid. Or showed it. She turned back towards the back of the seat, inhaling sharply.

Everything will be fine, everything will be fine, Martha told herself, taking deep breaths.

She headed out of the building and into Royal Hope Hospital along with Clara. The building was ever so familiar and Martha was praying she wouldn't run into her mate. That would be so awkward.

She headed up to Mr Stoker's office, and was asked to wait in the hallway. Martha and Clara sat in some uncomfortable chairs and Martha felt her fingers curl with anticipation in her lap.

'Are you sure you don't want me to come in?' Clara asked softly.

Martha turned towards her, nodding and smiling, 'Yeah. Thank you, though. I really owe you.'

There it was again. That flash of pain in those dark brown round eyes.

Martha swallowed, 'Is… Is something bad going to happen?'

Clara's face twitched, looking genuinely surprised, 'No. What makes you say that?'

'You look nervous,' Martha smiled, trying to hide her own nerves.

'No, just… nervous for you,' Clara smiled uneasily in return.

Martha felt her stomach flip and looked back at her lap. She was wearing her favourite red leather jacket for good luck, a purple lace top, and jeans. It was really setting in that if she failed at this interview, she'd have nothing. Well, she'd have her family and that was everything, but she'd be nothing. But she was used to that… so why was she so scared?

'Ms Jones?' Mr Stoker's grating voice echoed through the wooden door.

Martha stood up and stood it, her heart beating so loudly in her chest and her ears that she was surprised that Clara couldn't hear it.

'Be brave,' Clara whispered.

Martha turned to her and smiled, nodding, 'Thank you.'

There was that flash of pain and fear dancing across Clara's eyes as though looking across the night sky. Martha couldn't bear to see it. She turned away and headed into the office, standing by the door awkwardly.

Mr Stoker was a balding man and he wore a distinguished suit. He was sitting behind his desk, signing documents with haste, his eyes barely reading the materials in front of him. Martha's lip curled in guarded disgust. It was things like this that led to unchecked health care violations and bureaucracy.

'Ms Jones,' Mr Stoker drawled without looking up at her, scrawling his name on a particularly long document.

Martha blanched, very aware he was taunting her for having been thrown out of the program.

'I think you mean "Yes, sir,"' he said loudly, now looking up at her sharply.

'Yes, sir,' Martha forced her scowl into a respectable smile, sitting down in front of his desk.

'Please tell me why you're wasting my time,' Mr Stoker drawled, returning to his papers.

'I want to be a doctor —'

'As do thousands of other people,' Mr Stoker interrupted.

' — and I want to help people —'

'And that could be a lie because you think you should get the job.'

' — I think doctors heal the world and keep us safe —'

'A five-year-old could have told me as much.'

A flare of anger shot through Martha.

'I'm qualified, I passed the medical exam. I'm knowledgeable, I'm willing to learn, and I want to heal people and make their lives better,' Martha rattled off with determination.

There was an awkward moment of silence while Mr Stoker's pen scratched across the surface of the paper.

'Is that all?' He looked up with a sneer. 'You basically repeated your letter of intent. Why should I accept you?'

Martha's mouth opened, stung by his remark. She wanted to tell him about the electrical surges and how she had to become a doctor because she had to save the Doctor. Then, her eye caught sight of a reflection. She didn't know if it was off of a magnet or a picture frame or the phone, but it reminded her of Qananii's words inspiring her to be bakkalcha and to be proud of being Doctor Martha Jones.

She closed her mouth, readjusting her words and perspective.

'Because you need me. I'm Martha Jones and I'm born to be a doctor. And I don't need you or anyone to tell me that. I'll always care about people and want to help them whether I get this position or not. Now, I want to be trained here, and I've passed my medical exam. I'm more than qualified and I'm willing to learn,' Martha rattled off.

'And do you know why I terminated your position?' Mr Stoker asked coldly.

Martha blanched. Really? We're talking about that now?

'No, sir,' she said respectfully.

'And that's part of the problem. You claim you're willing to learn, but I see no evidence that you have —'

'Excuse me?' Martha fired up. 'I’ve redone the exam. I’ve come to this interview despite I know I have every right and best interest to be here.'

'Really?' Mr Stoker asked in a bored tone, scrawling his name again on parchment.

'Yeah, because see that there?' Martha snatched the paper away and pointed at the black ink signature. 'It says "Mr Stoker," see?'

'Congratulations. You can read,' Mr Stoker drawled.

'Yeah, I can. I read that you wrote "Dr Stoker" on my termination form,' Martha declared.

'You don't have access to that,' Mr Stoker's eyes widened slightly, betraying his surprise and fear.

'Yes, I do,' Martha countered proudly.

'You don't have proof.'

'I do. It's my word against yours.'

'You do realise that would lose you a court case, not win it?' Mr Stoker snorted dismissively.

'Well, I could bring this to the Royal Hope Hospital board and ask if they approved my termination. If there was a valid reason?' Martha crossed her arms, and tilted her head.

Mr Stoker's mouth opened and closed in a complicated series of shapes, but then closed. Martha then noticed that his eyes were wide with trepidation.

A thought reoccurred to Martha.

'Sir, did something happen?' Martha asked.

A cold look came across his face, freezing the room.

'You're hired again. I will remove your entire termination record. You will return as of now as though you've never been fired. We will never speak about it. You will not ask me any questions and you will be treated equally as every other medical intern. Understood?' Mr Stoker barked.

Martha tried to fight the corners of her mouth turning upwards in glee, 'Understood.'

'Did you do it? You did, didn't you?' Clara asked the moment she stepped out of the office.

Martha's face must have shown the answer because Clara laughed and surged forwards to hug her. Martha wrapped her arms around Clara, grinning on Clara's shoulder, and then pulled back.

'And no blackmail needed?' Clara asked.

'He said he'd act like nothing happened.'

'And will you?'

Martha hesitated. She knew Mr Stoker wasn't the fairest fellow. He was arrogant and intolerant, but he was technically her boss again. And she didn't want to dwell on causing people pain, because as a doctor, her job was to heal people.

'Yeah, I will. But I don't think I can forget it,' Martha said.

There it was again. Such a glimmer, a wateriness in Clara's eyes that made them inflate, and even harder to look at.

'Is that a thing at UNIT? Forced memory loss?' Martha asked, imagining some weird alien science fiction technology.

Clara startled, 'What? No. That's not a thing.'

She's lying, Martha's brain informed her.

Martha smiled nervously.

Is Clara trying to deceive me? Pretending to be my friend?

She watched as Clara pulled out her phone, apprehensively. Were there radio waves that could trigger memory loss? Or unconscious hypnosis? Anything by song or words? A pattern of light sequence? Or was she just out of her mind and running on adrenaline?

Yeah, that's probably it, Martha told herself sternly. Clara would tell me. She would tell me if UNIT was going to erase my memory. She's my friend.

'Any news?' Martha asked, feeling falsely bright given the circumstances. 'I'll walk you down,' she added.

'I think… there's a thunderstorm coming,' Clara smiled at her phone.

Martha checked on her phone. Frowning, she saw there was still nothing and all sunshine.

'Oh, don't worry about it,' Clara said quickly as they headed down the stairs and to the entrance of the Hospital. 'It's fully sunny. The thunderstorm will be unexpected. That's the point. That's the alien part. The Archangel Network can detect it though. Qananii and Andrew just confirmed they can see it. Oh, no…' she groaned under her breath.

Martha turned to see an irate blonde-haired woman with grey streaks marching over.

'Clara Oswald!'

'Sharon,' Clara commented dryly.

'You little witch! You got me fired!' The lady screeched and Martha flinched at the volume, strongly reminded of Annalise. Sharon looked at Martha, 'Did she tell you she could help you? She's a liar! She will not keep her word!'

'Okay, I'll see you later,' Clara waved Martha off, and turned to deal with the screaming lady.

'Are you sure?' Martha called over Sharon's yells.

'Yeah, go be a doctor,' Clara smiled.

Martha back up the stairs and saw her mate coming from the floor with Mr Stoker's office.

'Julie!' She called.

The woman turned around, her smile lighting up. The two ladies ran at one another and hugged.

'Mate, I missed you! Where've you been? Are you okay?' Julie asked, her ponytail lightly slapping Martha in the face.

The question caught Martha off guard, 'Wait, am I okay?'

Julie gave her a weird glance and said, 'Mr Stoker said you'd fallen ill.'

Realisation set in that Mr Stoker must have covered his tracks. But then what was the point of doing a termination of her job if he'd just told everyone she was ill? It seemed contradictory.

'Oh, yeah, bit ill. When did he say that?' Martha asked tentatively.

'Oh, I just ran into him. He called the rest of the interns and informed us you were ill.'

Martha frowned, 'What did he say before?'

'Nothing! We just thought you were ill, but he didn't say anything. He looked a bit ill, too, mind. Like he wasn't himself. Looked terrified,' Julie confirmed.

'Oh, right. Um, I'm going to go get my coat,' Martha gestured towards the locker room.

'Absolutely. See you,' Julie waved.

Martha reached the lockers with no trouble. She was always good at directions. She didn't get lost often. She knew who and where she was. Martha opened the door and pulled on her white doctor's coat, feeling the cotton wrap around her, smirking. It felt so good to be recognised as a doctor again. She was about to close the note when she saw a sticky note at the back of the locker.

She unstuck it, pulling it into the light:

Congratulations, medical student Martha Jones. So sorry to hear about your illness. I hope your family are doing well and your brother has a lovely birthday celebration.

Martha blinked. She hadn't told anyone she'd been reinstated at the hospital yet, and Clara was undoubtedly still dealing with Sharon. Even still, only Martha and the medical students knew that Martha's official absence excuse was being ill.

'Hey, did you see anyone enter hear recently? Or up to Mr Stoker's office?' Martha asked a nearby janitor — someone who could monitor and cover multiple areas.

'No, ma'am,' he said.

'Oh,' Martha's heart sank. 'Well, was anyone here this morning?'

'No, ma'am. I was the first in and out,' the bloke denied. 'Though, there was an Indian bloke that came round last night. Said he was security and came in here. Nice note?'

'Yeah,' Martha smiled. 'Thanks.'

Her heart was pounding, turning away from the janitor. O? Had O come last night? He said he'd had business? Was his business writing a note? But then … how could he know she'd get the medical position back? Mr Stoker had seemed most determined to reject her until she'd brought up the signature difference, the Royal Hope Hospital board, and if something had happened. Martha was convinced she had said just the right things at the right time, all based on her instinct, but Clara's tips to be direct as well as Rachel and O's training had greatly helped. But the point stood… If O had delivered the note last night before he'd arrived at the party, then had he already met with Mr Stoker to discuss illness as a possible excuse?

No, Martha frowned. Illness is such a broad term. It's nothing.

She dismissed it, meeting up with the other interns, going over an official tour of the hospital as well as further sanitation and emergency protocols. During her explorations, Martha found another sticky note reading:

SORRY TO HEAR ABOUT YOUR MOTHER PASSING —

Wait, what? Martha snatched the note and flipped it around.

— STREPTOCOCCAL PHARYNGITIS TO YOU.

'What type of illness did Mr Stoker say I had?' She asked Julie.

'Uh, Streptococcal pharyngitis. He said your mother had it and it passed it down to you. You were given an undetermined extended leave of absence. We had no idea if or when you were coming back,' Julie replied, grabbing her lunch box.

What on earth is going on? Martha's mind raced with concern.

One sticky note the night before could have been chance, but two planted and even before Martha knew. Something was going on.

She spent the rest of the day on tenterhooks, jumpy at any sudden movements. She reacquainted herself with the other medical students and caught up with her mate Julie. Apparently, Mr Stoker was in a particularly foul mood, and was on a certain warpath to test them all tomorrow. Martha felt her stomach flip with anxiety at the thought that she had not been here for about a week. Still, she had been well-refreshed by the UNIT, Torchwood, and Archangel Network team and that helped her competence and confidence in her medical knowledge. Knowing she was playing a greater worldly role helped, but it also inspired her to take the steps to make sure she was fulfilling her own dreams.

A reminder of who she is: a doctor, who cares for people and helps them.

Martha left Royal Hope Hospital waving Julie and shouting that she'd see her tomorrow. Her mobile phone rung.

'Hello?' She asked.

'Hi Martha!' Tish squealed on the other hand.

'Hi, Tish! How are you? How was your pre-interview?' Martha asked excitedly.

'It was great! Professor Lazarus is so impressed with my previous work —' which involved working a couple of shops' — and I've passed the pre-interview stage to meet Professor Lazarus after the interview!' Tish trilled excitedly.

Martha frowned, remembering something and asked, 'Didn't you just say he's impressed with your work so far?'

'Yeah, his assistant's said he's impressed with me!' Tish could be heard practically beaming through the line.

Martha half-grimaced, half-smiled, and congratulated her, 'I'm happy for you.'

'Thanks!' Tish went on to describe the party in great detail, about how fancy it was and how excited for her job.

With a jolt, Martha suddenly remembered the blonde bob woman and her assistance in getting Tish this interview.

'Tish! That woman who helped get you the job —'

'Oh, yeah, she's super nice. She went to Mum and gave her funds for Leo's party!'

Martha's heart dropped and she stopped dead.

'What?' She demanded.

'Yeah, it was so sweet! She's reaching out to Mum and Dad to help us out as a representative of Harold Saxon!'

Martha felt her mouth dry, her phone like a brick in her hand by her ear. The world whirled around her like a blurring canvas of colours as she tried to process those words.

No, no, no, no, no. This could not be happening…

Any other day, without knowing what UNIT and Torchwood had told her, she wouldn't have minded. But because she knew, she knew something was deeply wrong.

Martha switched direction abruptly, having made up her mind. She knew she was supposed to report to UNIT at the Tower of London on her progress, but she was really worried about her family. And to her, family was the most important thing. After all, why was she qualified to be a doctor and help other people if she couldn't even help her own family?

She made her way towards her mum's place at a fast pace, lightly jogging in order to make streetlamps before they hit zero. Her eyes and mind were set on her destination so she didn't notice the hand that reached out and grabbed her wrist.

The pressure made Martha flail backwards and she nearly tripped backwards on to the curb. She spun around, ready to strike, but stopped at the sight of Clara.

'What are you —?' Martha began, but Clara held a finger to her lips and dragged her away into a small darkened alley swaying from the slanted sunlight and pedestrian-filled sidewalks.

Clara raised her right hand and her large dark brown eyes widened in a sort of question. Martha hesitated. She knew that Clara had been acting a bit suspicious, but Clara was her friend. Not to mention, Clara hadn't actually done anything wrong… yet, at least. It was worrisome that Clara had delayed Martha's return to check on Mum, but at the same time, Clara had taken the time to track Martha down and was clearly trying to warn her about something.

May as well hear her out, Martha considered and nodded her assent.

Clara reached into Martha's red leather jacket and pulled out a wire attached to a small black box.

Martha's mouth dropped open. UNIT had been tracking her?

Clara dropped it and crushed it with her heel.

'Okay,' Clara whispered. 'I'm sure you have a lot of questions.'

'What the hell —?' Martha snapped.

'I know. I'm sorry. It wasn't me or Avery or Rachel, I swear,' Clara looked so regretful that Martha felt some of her anger subside. 'Please just let me explain.'

Martha glared at her. This better be worth it, but she nodded. She reckoned Mum was probably at work and going back to her place right now wouldn't be worthwhile, but she still wanted to check.

'It was Andrew,' Clara said. 'He wanted to install spy ware on you to determine if you were linked to the Archangel Network and any atmospheric phone readings.'

Martha felt betrayed and upset. She hadn't been told this at all! Then again, both had spied on her initially.

'Well, did he find anything?' She demanded.

'It seems that the Great Intelligence possessed Mr Stoker to release you of your medical internship, and then possessed the atmospheric satellites to mask the plasma coils growing near the hospital.'

'Plasma coils?' Martha echoed.

'The thunderstorm warnings,' Clara explained. 'But because the Archangel Network is separate and massively funded by UNIT and designed by our very own to-be Prime Minister, currently Minister of Defence, it has added data capabilities. We're engaging in a private-public contract, beyond just British armed forces.'

Martha scowled. Clara could, at least, have the audacity to look ashamed.

'So, if you didn't vote for him, why the hell do you work for him?' She demanded.

'Oh, I don't. It's my hobby,' Clara smiled.

'Your —?' Martha's mouth fell open.

'I'm really just spying for UNIT,' Clara clarified.

'But… you just destroyed their spyware,' Martha glanced down at the shattered black box.

'Yes, because you're my friend, and what they're doing isn't right,' Clara's eyes intensified. 'Listen to me, Martha —'

But Martha shook her head abruptly, 'I have to find my family. Mum, Dad —'

'Martha!' Clara shouted.

Too late — Martha was already running through the streets towards Mum's house. Thank God she wasn't wearing heels or anything that would damage her forefoot at the risk of developing metatarsalgia. She ran in, looking through the rooms, and was both relieved and worried when she saw her Mum wasn't there. She rung her Mum and said, 'Hey, Mum! Call me back. I'm worried,' just as Clara barged through the door wincing.

'Heels,' Martha noted empathetically.

'Do not start running again,' Clara raised a finger and Martha had to giggle at their height difference. 'Now, please listen to me. Your family are safe —'

'No, they aren't! Not when Saxon's out there! I need to check on Tish and Leo —'

'No, what you need to do is leave,' Clara interrupted.

Martha stared at her, mouth dropping open and eyebrows raising in doubt, 'No, I don't think so. My family need me —'

'Exactly. You value your family more than anything —'

'UNIT can't do anything about it, or Torchwood!'

'Yes, you're right —'

'Then, why should I leave? My family need me!'

'Doctor Martha Jones! Listen to me!' Clara exploded, and the title 'doctor' caught Martha's attention like a dog reacting to a bell. 'Your family is definitely being targeted by Saxon. I'm sorry. I don't know why, but I can work on it. But you have to leave. Avery's going to —'

Martha's vision went blurry and her Mum's living room blurred, the chairs, table, the telly, all turning into an impressionist piece that maybe Monet could have painted. She felt herself fall forwards, expecting her to hit the floor but a pair of arms grabbed her. Her body went limp and she felt her head thudding against the ground and lolling to the side. Barely conscious and aware of herself and her surroundings, Martha’s hand reached up to the dart in her neck. She could see Clara falling next to her, her brown eyes wide with surprise. Martha could feel her head supported by a pair of gloved hands, trying to will herself to keep her eyelids open, twisting her body to force her eyes to look upon the the upside-down face of the blonde woman with a bob… before they fluttered shut into darkness.

Chapter Text

EIGHT

CLARA OSWALD

The first thing Clara noticed was that her mouth was dry. Her lips were parted and she waited for the beam to hit her, to burn, to steal all her energy. She thought she would have sagged to the ground by now, limbs weak, and unable to support herself. Her eyes were tightly shut, waiting in anticipation for the energy absorption, but instead — nothing.

Nothing, except some flashes of forestry… trees… mud… an irritable man… the inside of the diner… a guitar… a gun… green leaves…

Clara opened her eyes to see the Doctor firing his sonic screwdriver out at her, a blue stream of light streaming in her direction. She looked down, just to check — yes, it was hitting her chest, and yet, it seemed to have no effect on her.

The Doctor's eyebrows furrowed and Missy circled around him, eyeing Clara apprehensively as though she had an irksome thought and was about to test it.

'Clara?' Danny asked, urgently from behind her.

Clara blinked and realised she'd stepped forwards to defend any fire towards her companions.

'I'm fine,' Clara said in a voice that sounded far too high to be hers. She shook her head, 'No, forget that,' she whirled around to smile at Me and Danny who looked simultaneously relieved and scared. 'I'm great. Greater than I've ever been. Travelling around time and space with reckless abandon. What could possibly go wrong?'

Me and Danny both frowned. Clara knew what they were thinking.

Don't take your eyes off of the evil Time Lords, Clara.

Don't you realise how close to death you were, Clara?

Don't be like the Doctor, Clara.

'Honestly, at this rate, you two should start a support club,' Clara scoffed lightly, turning back to the Doctor and Missy.

Neither had struck, just like Clara knew they wouldn't. Because they were replicas of the Doctor and Missy from her memories, she knew that although it was dangerous to turn her back on either of them — it could be a matter of life or death — she could tell they had questions. Besides, both of them were unpredictable in a way that made them predictable to Clara. Like the way honeybees could find just the right wavelength of honey to pollinate in a world filled with other stimuli. And just then, the moment she'd turned her back to them, she knew it wasn't the right wavelength. Not the right moment.

She also knew that they were too proud to ask questions because they were Time Lords, which made them beings of low conscience and worthy of moral interrogation at times. Both looked unwilling to ask, and Clara could see that they didn't know why she had survived.

Advantage, she thought with a smirk.

'Okay,' she stepped forwards. 'You can probably lower the sonic now,' she looked at the Doctor who had not moved an inch, the stream of light still emanating at Clara.

She had thought it would be cold or warm, and the concentric bright blue circles fired at her in a cone-shaped funnel. She wondered if she would miss it when it vanished.

The Doctor obeyed, keeping his eyes fixed on her, as though expecting her to strike.

'Right,' she looked between the Time Lord holograms, declaring, 'So you're blue death ray just failed and I'm guessing that's never happened before.'

'Clara,' Me said from behind her. 'We should go. We don't need to bother them.'

Clara looked around incredulously, 'What? So they can just keep zapping energy from everyone else?' She gestured at the bodies all frozen around them, greying with every passing second, wilting in front of them. She shook her head defiantly, 'I am not letting them get away with this. Because who's going to stop this if not us?'

'The Doctor will,' Danny offered, though it sounded like he forced the words to come out.

'Will he?' Clara frowned at him, tilting her head, her lips slightly pursed. 'He's kind, he's brilliant. He's the Doctor. But he can't be everywhere all at once,' she looked at Me, who frowned back at her. 'How many more civilisations are going to be drained until the Doctor arrives here for vacation and then stops them?'

'Well, that's his job. That's his life,' Danny insisted. 'He will get to it when he can.'

'How can you say that?' Clara lashed out at him, angrily. 'You died for me, for Earth —'

'I died to protect you, Clara, from both of them,' Danny nodded his head at the Doctor and Missy. 'And now I see that was in vain.'

Clara shrugged indifferently. This wasn't her Danny anyway. Danny had sacrificed himself, bravely and nobly, and sent back a boy instead. She wasn't going to waste her time by arguing with him.

'Clara —'

But she turned, ignoring him, and looked at Me, 'What do you think, then?'

Me frowned, her arms crossed and her expression pensive, 'He's a Time Lord. They will absorb more energy from him than from everyone already here. And Me.'

Clara's brows furrowed.

'I — I met the Doctor. A past face. Long coat, brown hair, bow tie.'

Clara smiled at the thought of him. Her Doctor. They were all her Doctor.

'What did he say?' she asked.

Me frowned, 'He said that they get more energy from Time Lords and Me. Entities with memories of multiple lifetimes more than any given individual or even species.'

'If that's true, then we need to prevent them from getting their hands on the real Doctor,' Clara reasoned, logically.

Me hesitated.

'We're causing waves and that's okay,' Clara stepped towards her. 'Ripples aren't enough here.'

'You're talking about destroying everything… You're talking about the kind of damage that leaves people suffering,' Me took a half-step back.

'No, I am talking about saving lives. If you have a way to save all these people and everyone in the future, then tell me and I'll do it, but as far as I can tell, this is the least worst option!' Clara argued.

'You're talking about destroying our entire planet?' The Doctor asked, his voice jaded with hurt.

Clara shoved aside the wave of empathy that rose within her and looked at him sternly, 'You don't have a planet. You just take it all from other creatures. You lost your right to have your own when you started taking from others. It's one thing to colonise your own planet, never mind others. Leave people alone.'

'We can't. We need the energy to survive,' Missy frowned, as though scolding Clara like a schoolgirl.

Knowing it wasn't Missy allowed Clara to be angry… Really properly angry, 'You don't need to hurt or kill anyone. You don't need to exploit people! That's just a rubbish way of saying you're lacking something meaningful. And all this? The Doctor and the Master? What a load of compensatory crap. Your guilt complex —' she nodded at the Doctor ' — and your inadequacy complex —’ she scoffed at Missy. ‘God, you two are so —'

Clara closed her eyes, not wanting to finish that sentence.

She opened them and stared resolutely, defined and proud to the Time Lords, and spoke coldly, 'You are both responsible for the death of the man I love,' she looked round at Danny. 'Twice.'

'Three times,' Missy corrected.

'What third time?' Clara snorted. 'He sacrificed his emotions to gain access to the Cybermen network and then sacrificed himself again to get rid of the clouds to turn everyone into Cybermen. As far as I'm concerned, you didn't even kill him. He's just a far better person than you!' She burst out.

It felt good to say, without having any real repercussions in the real world. She wondered, fleetingly, if this was what it was like being in a virtual reality simulation.

Missy's eyebrows flicked upwards in mock surprise and feigned boredom, examining her nails and leaning on her purple umbrella and towards the Doctor, asking him, 'What do you think, then? Kill them? I could go for a fourth time killing Clara's boyfriend.'

The Doctor tilted his head towards her, his eyes still fixed on Clara, 'Wait,’ he instructed.

Missy let out a giant exasperated sigh and wilted against her umbrella, sulking, her eyes locked onto Danny.

Clara instinctively blocked her route towards him.

'Clara, I don't need you to protect me,' Danny said.

Clara didn't dare turn her back on Missy now, who was like a cobra ready to strike, no longer playing with its prey but genuinely planning on attacking now.

'Yes, of course you do. That's what I love you means,' Clara insisted. 'We protect one another.'

There was a beat of silence, Clara staring into Missy's stormy blue-grey eyes.

'Like you and the Doctor,' Danny said.

'Oh my God! Why can't you let that go? I have!' Clara yelled, tears falling down her face in exasperation.

Danny muttered something that sounded along the lines of 'Well, clearly you haven't.' Clara was going to demand he repeat that louder, but it was Me who spoke instead —

'Clara. While I do believe you are a separate entity from the Doctor…'

Clara's nonexistent heart beat silence into the air, sickeningly heavy.

'… you're grieving him in a new way now. And these holograms prove that. The Doctor and the Master. Here. It's because you're not over them. You're missing something from them because Danny and Me aren't good enough.'

'No,' Clara burst out, angry that Me could ever reach that conclusion.

'Maybe not consciously, but subconsciously. You miss their chaos. And you destroying them… Clara, is that your way of saving the universe? Or are you trying to say that the only way you can live with yourself is if you destroy them?' Me sounded halfway to cautious and tentative, as opposed to her usual assertive and confident self, and that only irritated Clara more.

'Well, you did say that even the farewell between the Doctor and I was full of betrayal, passion, and love, right? Why shouldn't it be like that every time?' Clara forced the words out, like sticking a hand into an icy flow of streaming water.

'I'm so sorry,' Me said.

'Don't apologise. It's not your fault,' Clara snapped. 'It's not even theirs,' she jerked her head at the Doctor and Missy. 'All of this has been my fault. I was determined to save Danny after the car crash. I was the one who did reckless things, addicted to adventure and adrenaline. I was the one who got myself killed in that alley against the raven,' she swallowed.

Before her, the images of the Doctor and Missy were flickering, unstable and volatile.

'Doctor, Missy…' she paused, deciding if she would do it. 'I release you.'

Their images vanished and Clara felt wet hot tears roll down her cheeks. She felt Danny turn her around and pull her into hug. Clara let her head rest on his chest for a moment, before she remembered —

Clara wrenched away and rushed for the images of the all the captive species. There were many of them, some humanoid, some crustacean, some metal. All of them were frozen in positions as though they were talking to one another, frozen, mid-way in conversation.

Something flashed in her mind — trees, green foliage, the diner.

Clara shook her head and the images away, and she heard Danny and Me approach behind her.

She reached out to touch a nearby alien and as her fingers went beyond its exterior shell and passed through, the matrix glitched and the alien screamed loudly, high-pitched and deafening to every cell in Clara's body. She cried out and Danny's hands surged forwards and pulled Clara away. The moment her hand left, the alien reverted to its frozen form, mouth parted from the screaming, and completely immobile again.

'Me, help me check the others. Maybe there's someone who can tell us something. Danny, tell me what you knows about this place and check the wiring,' Clara ordered.

Clara and Me checked out more and more, each body giving off the same reaction as Danny read the specs on the place and informed them of what he could of the place.

'It's all based on psychic energy. They absorb it and use it to power their telepathy, and then they attack and invade the minds of the people they're attacking,' Danny said.

'It doesn't make sense,' Clara muttered. 'It's like they're here and missing at the same time…'

'Woah!' Me exclaimed suddenly.

Clara looked up. Me had been walking towards the TARDIS and more rooms of frozen bodies had appeared.

'What are they doing?' Clara asked Danny urgently.

'Protocol when they have a desirable prisoner,' Danny looked at the two of them. 'They're increasing their siphoning of energy in order to attack you both.'

'Will that work on Me or me?' Clara demanded.

'I — I don't know. They've never encountered people like you two!' Danny reported, looking worried. 'Clara, I want you to be safe.'

'I am safe,' Clara assured him. 'I have you and Me. Now, which direction will they attack from?'

She glanced around at the amassing bodies appearing all around them. Clara felt a rush of horror at the sight of what were once clearly vibrant fish with golden scales, now sinking into a murky yellow grey like mixing yellow and lots of black paint.

'Where they came from before,' Danny explained. 'Or…' he sounded worried.

'Or? Or what?' Clara asked urgently.

'Well, it's unlikely —'

'Danny, tell me right now!' She snapped.

He sighed, heavily, 'They may used the prisoners to attack you.'

Me sprung back from the nearest alien, hand jumping to her collarbones.

'Don't you dare!' Clara shouted, fiercely.

'It would work,' Me turned, eyes cold and full of the surviving heart of a Viking.

'I don't care! If you regret playing any role in my death, then you will not release that thing.'

'Why? Because you despise me?' Me challenged, her voice cool and confident once more.

'No, because you won't forgive yourself,' Clara bit back. 'And if you kill them, we have no way of knowing who's doing this to them and no way to stop them.'

She expected some sort of retort or challenge, but the young Viking girl said nothing. That was suspicious.

'What?' Clara asked, whipping towards her while checking on a woman covered in black bandages. 'What is it?'

'Nothing, I… well, I got the impression that the Doctor wanted to tell me who he — the holograms, I mean — are working for,' Me said. ‘He told me I already knew though.’

'Do you?' Clara asked gentle but urgent.

'No,' Me frowned. 'I mean, I'd have to consult my diaries —'

'So let's leave so you can still do that,' Danny inputted urgently.

Clara felt a swooping feeling in her gut as she turned to Danny, mournfully, 'I'm sorry. You can't come with us.'

Danny frowned, 'Why not?'

Clara shook her head and looked at Me, 'Do you have any empty notebooks?'

Me gave her a strange look, 'Yes, of course.'

Clara smirked at her, 'How do you feel about putting the stories of all these people in them?'

Me looked horrified, 'What are you talking about?'

'Stasis cubes. Time Lord technology. We can put them in your diaries like art. It will save them all,' Clara nodded confidently.

Me looked disgruntled and argued, 'We'd be travelling targets!'

'Like we aren't already. I'm already going to die. I've already died. And I'm not just going to stand by and let these people die,' Clara insisted vehemently.

'I have a street to return to as Mayor Me, you know —'

'I appreciate your loyalty to them, even if it means you'll kill them,' Clara interrupted. 'But you really don't. You were at the end of the universe. Everything is gone. All you have is a TARDIS and a woman who really wants to see the universe and help out if she can.'

Me's jaw clamped shut, looking furious, 'And if I refuse?'

Clara smiled, a bit sad, 'We haven't had that chat about "what we're going to do, you and me," remember?' She quoted.

'Yes. We should have that,' Me nodded after a moment.

'And we'll do that with a bunch of lovely paintings around us,' Clara nodded at the frozen bodies all around them.

'My notebook won't be able to hold them,' Me argued doubtfully.

'All we need is one paper,' Clara promised. 'Time Lord technology. Bigger on the inside.'

'How does this work exactly?' Me asked, crossing her arms.

'Easy. We can activate the cubes and transfer them into it like a 3D oil painting,' Clara replied.

'Clara,' Danny said from behind her.

'Then, once we figure out how to save them, we can release them and they can go back to their normal lives,' Clara finished.

'Clara,' Danny repeated, more forceful this time.

Clara slowly turned towards him, her hope cracking at the base of her core, 'Don't say that,' she said.

'Say what?' He asked, but his tone was dull.

'Don't tell me what I can and can't do,' Clara shook her head in denial.

'I'm sorry, Clara, but it won't work. If we disrupt them, it will only cause them pain,' Danny said.

'And how do you know that, then?' Clara demanded. 'What makes you such an expert? My Danny taught maths, but he didn't know how alien technology worked. So, how is it that you do, then? How'd you know to break the controls and where they were?'

'When the Doctor came to me, he knew everything of this planet as well as my memories of him,' Me inputted.

'You never met his face!' Clara spun round to the Hybrid, angrily. 'They're using our memories of people we love against us!'

'You don't know that,' Me regarded her coolly. 'I have met faces of the Doctor.'

'Yeah, well, I've met more,' Clara's eyebrows crinkled. 'And they're all the Doctor. And if you think —'

'Clara, I know you're upset, but Danny is trying to help us. We can let him do that,' Me offered.

'Clara, you froze when the beam hit you. What happened?' Danny asked.

Clara took a deep breath, still finding that the alien species thrashed and writhed in pain whenever she got near them. She sullenly moved away, her chest heavier than normal — a hollow emptiness, weighing incomprehensibly on her.

'I saw a forest and a man. He was really grumpy,' Clara frowned in deep thought.

'Yeah, I remember. Maebh had psychic visions,' Danny spoke with as much conviction that he believed Father Christmas's elves were real.

'No, no. Just Me and I,' Clara shook her head, still rattled by the tinny emptiness and no heartbeat. 'It was… before…'

'It was a dream?' Me asked.

'No… No, it was before. Right after we dropped the Doctor off on Earth,' Clara recalled slowly.

Me frowned, 'I do not remember that.'

'Did you write something down somewhere?' Clara asked.

Me's lips pursed, 'I have finite memory and I can remember up to eighty years of information. I think I could have remembered something if it happened in less than a week ago.'

'That's not what I meant. I've been through this before,' Clara frowned.

She tried pushing harder at the thoughts and the more she did, the more her head exerted pressure on her.

'I've done this before. The tomb of the Doctor. When I shattered myself into pieces to save the Doctor across his timeline,' Clara tilted her head, eyes closing in pain and struggling to remember. 'We went to the forest second. We got your journals and then we went to the forest. Then, Akhaten…' She opened her eyes.

Me looked apprehensive.

A rush of incredulousness rushed through Clara like a river, 'I'm right, aren't I? You remember the forest, don't you?' She advanced on the Viking girl.

Me didn't move, merely lowering her arms and looking away.

'Why didn't you tell me?' Clara demanded. 'What else you do remember?'

'Nothing else, I swear. But I know that we stopped there,' Me said.

'Well, how can I believe that? You didn't think to tell me about an entire adventure we missed?' Clara snapped.

'My memory of it is gone. I was only just reading up on it. I thought it was a dream!' Me returned with equal forcefulness. 'And now you know what's like to know you've lived through something but not to remember anything about it! That grief and anger, you feel right now? I've lived through that my entire life!'

Clara still felt angry, but she felt a rush of empathy towards Me, who had to live through time and forget it all up and until the end of the universe.

'So, you didn't tell me for what reason? Revenge? Teaching me a lesson?' Clara asked, half-defensively, half-curiously.

'No, I didn't tell you because I didn't remember until we got to this planet. I remembered us going to a forest and then a gun being pointed at your head —'

'What?' Danny exclaimed, looking wildly from Me to Clara. 'Someone pointed a gun at your head?'

'Well, I don't remember, do I?' Clara asked angrily. 'And how am I supposed to remember when my companion doesn't tell me anything?'

'That was not my intention,' Me stared at her, hardened.

'Yeah, just like the Quantum Shade, right?' Clara stared back, furious.

Me raised her chin and smiled, 'I knew you were upset about that.'

'I'm not talking about myself!' Clara erupted, but still controlled. 'I'm talking about the alien who died in that street to get his sick and dying wife medicine!'

'They knew the rules. They broke them. They faced the consequences,' Me countered.

'You can regret it all you want, but it doesn't mean anything unless you do something to change it,' Clara retorted. 'You can't regret it if you're going to keep enforcing it. That's just lying. Not taking accountability for your own actions.'

There was an ugly silence as the three of them stood among the frozen bodies around them, next to the diner TARDIS.

Then, Danny spoke, 'They knew it was a problem, then. The psychic aliens here. They must have known you two were getting close to something.'

'What, so they psychically diverted her attention somewhere else so she wouldn't remember?' Clara asked, hypothetically.

Danny glanced between Clara and Me, 'Yes? I'm not the expert here.'

Clara folded her arms and looked at Me, 'What do you think?'

A flicker of surprise dawned on Me's face, as though she hadn't expected a say in the matter, 'It was like a dream. The focus changed. I wasn't in control. Like I said, I thought it was a dream. When I realised it wasn't, my priority was finding you. My question is, why did you start remembering it when you were hit with the blue light? If it serves as memory deletion —'

'No,' Clara said, aloud, her thoughts weaving together into a tapestry. 'That's the light trying to absorb my energy for eternity like them,' she nodded at the bodies around them. 'It didn't work on me…’ the answer dawned on her like a light, ‘… because my physical processes are looped! I can't have energy taken from me, because I don't age. I have a constant amount of energy at all times, enough to keep me alive, but … Oh, I'm like the painting!'

Gallifrey Falls, No More! Danny and Me looked truly lost as Clara began pacing around excitedly. Was this how the Doctor felt when he figured things out? God, it was exhilarating. Clara almost forgave him for never shutting up.

'I'm basically frozen in time! They don't take memories! They're taking time. The energy spent over time over the lifespan, freezing their victims to one point in time. And because I'm already frozen in time, they can't do it twice. Then, they can feed over endless thoughts in the form of dreams…' she pointed at Me. 'And then they directed your thoughts away because you were close to figuring it out!' She now looked at Danny, feeling delighted.

'But if they're taking time, why can't we touch them?' Me asked.

Clara struggled to answer that, 'Maybe because they're out of phase? Absorbing them over time means they don't actually exist at any given time?'

'That doesn't make sense,' Me shook her head.

'They're like inverse Weeping Angels,' Clara said, thinking of the stone angels. 'They exist in non-being until looked upon and then they freeze. When they touch victims, they take all their potential temporal energy and their victims are transported back in time. Whereas, these creatures have a new way of attack. They freeze their victims and absorb all the potential temporal energy.'

Her words sunk into the air around them.

'So, where's all that energy going?' She wondered.

'Let's not find out!' Me grabbed Clara's arm and pointed in the distance.

Clara rushed forwards, despite Me trying to drag her backwards. In the distance, which was turning into a vault, security measures turning on, blinking red, the form of seven eight-foot-tall metallic humanoids were walking over. They stomped loudly over the frozen bodies and Me practically dragged Clara into the TARDIS.

'Wait,' Clara yanked herself free as Me went to the controls. She looked at Danny. 'I'm so sorry, but you can't come with us.'

'I understand,' Danny nodded.

'I mean, you don't really want to…' Clara frowned, oblivious to the silver humanoids approaching, and blue lights charging at the ends of their long silver octopus-like appendages.

'I understand everything. You love us. And that's okay. Just be safe,' Danny held her hands.

Clara threw herself forward in a final hug.

'Go! I'll hold them off!' He ordered.

Clara couldn't help but smile. Her Danny.

She turned and ran inside to the control room. Me had been preparing the TARDIS for flight, and she glanced at Clara, 'I'm sorry. We can't save them.'

'I know,' Clara replied, her voice sounding most unlike her own. 'We'll save everyone else though.'

She watched on the monitor as Danny advanced, firing his pistol at the silver humanoids whose surfaces reflected the bullets.

'He was a good man,' Me offered as consolation to the side.

'He is,' Clara agreed.

She put her hand over the switch, looking at Me and nodded. Me put her hand on top of Clara's and they pulled the handle down, making the engines groan, whirring to life as they dematerialised safely above the planet. Still, Clara kept her eyes on the monitor, watching as the silver-haired and dark bun Scottish Time Lords headed forwards, aiming their screwdriver and umbrella at Danny.

Clara blinked quickly, determined not to miss it. The two as well as the seven silver structures fired the concentric funnelling stream of blue light at him. Clara knew Danny would be frozen, but she couldn't not watch. She hadn't seen him get hit on the street. She'd erased his emotions. She'd seen him fly up into the sky, but not the way he forced away the pain as the Cyberpollen inferno burned him into billions of pieces along with rest of the deceased. In a way, it was almost like he’d never died, or she’d never gotten the closure of seeing him die.

She watched the sixteen streams of blue light aimed at Danny, holding her breath (sort of) — and then Danny was gone.

The combined blue rays of light struck another body behind Danny and it screamed, wilting and disintegrating into nothing. The Doctor and Missy lowered their sonic devices on the monitor, glancing at one another, confusion registering on their faces.

'That's not possible,' Me voiced the thought they were all thinking.

Clara, however, stumbled backwards until she hit the wall with the roundels.

'Oh my God, I left him there… I left him there to die…' she whispered, grief welling up in her. 'I thought… I thought he was a dream. That he was fake. He came out of that portal, and I know he didn't. I know he sent that boy back instead. How can he be real? Why couldn’t I believe the impossible? What have I done?' Clara reached for the wall, desperate for something solid.

Me approached and crouched in front of her, sympathy on her face, 'There's no way you could have known, Clara. It's not your fault.'

'I should have at least let him come into the TARDIS again. We were almost on our way…'

He'd stepped foot into the console room. He had made it. Clara didn't even know if dreams could do that. Something about Time Lord technology screamed there would be a safeguard against holographic psychic projections within and the dream would cut out like static interference and fade. Why hadn't she just accepted it? Poor Danny. But he'd died… How could he be alive? Without the bracelet that he'd used so selflessly — because he was better than Clara and the Doctor? What had happened?

Clara wished she could ask, but now she did have some things in mind. She needed to make sure these aliens didn't spread their abilities too far into the universe. She needed to find Danny.

It was settling in again, hitting her like a second wave, rushing in with debris, shells, seaweed, and a number of disorganised oceanic life.

He was there… And she just left him there… And why did she have memories of being in a forest? Her first trip with Me had been to get Me’s journals… and then to Akhaten… What was that? Why had the time freezing blue light reactivated them similar to when she'd remembered the lives of her past echoes at the Doctor's grave? What was happening?

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Clara looked up. Me had left and had returned to steering the TARDIS, drifting along time and space. She, too, looked surprised at the sound.

'What is it?' Clara asked, standing up and examining the screen before them.

'I'm not sure,' Me said.

They both flicked switched and spun dials. The screen sputtered and protested.

'Come on,' Clara lightly whacked the screen. 'In English, preferably.'

The screen sputtered to life, showing a diagram of Earth with its continents and oceans, and a message that read:

AUGUST 10TH, 2031, ENGLAND

MUD ANALYSIS… 100% COMPLETE

ANALYSIS REPORT

Excitement rushed through Clara. She looked up to see Me staring impassively at her.

To lighten the mood, and ask consent, she asked, 'What do you say? Time to get some answers? Travelling and lending a hand?'

Me looked back at the screen and down at the TARDIS controls, then back up at Clara. She nodded.

Like clockwork, Me set in the temporal-spatial coordinate parameters for the analysis and Clara activated the analysis report request in a series of movements around the console. The screen started releasing phrases of Gallifreyan in complex circles, growing longer and longer, new symbols appearing rapidly and scrolling down. At the same time, the screen started buffering and began translating the information to twenty-first century English.

While the TARDIS processed and translated for them, Clara and Me glanced at one another, smiling, both exceptionally glad that they could lend a hand to the universe in the company of the other.

∘ — ∘⟡∘ — ∘

MARTHA JONES

The first thing Martha noticed was that she had a splitting headache. She winced, her head rising off of a smooth black floor. Her vision blurred, images cementing into her vision, sleek black box machines, several computers, and odd alien artefacts throughout the spaced-out area.

Martha sat up, wincing, as she spotted Clara, Andrew, Qananii, Jack, Rachel, and Avery lying on the ground next to her on their stomachs. Looking up, she saw the blonde woman with her hair styled in a stylish bob, wearing a black suit and tall heels, observing them on the ground.

Clara looked just as rattled, and her head twisted so quickly towards Avery and Rachel that Martha was surprised she didn’t get whiplash. The newly appointed doctor tried getting up but there was a force too heavy in his legs like the fuzz after she’d just woken up, and she could only right herself proudly and speak to her captors.

‘Who the hell are you? What have you done to my sister? Where are we?’ Martha spoke up, looking up at the woman.

‘The Black Archives,’ the woman clarified.

‘Great, now answer the first two questions,’ Martha commanded, icily.

‘Your sister is happily preparing for her official interview with Professor Lazarus. I think she’ll be delighted about those findings. You, however, will not remember such a thing,’ the woman replied.

‘Dexter, be nice,’ a familiar but giddy voice spoke.

Martha frowned, and looked around the woman with the blonde bob — Dexter, Martha guessed she was called — to see O swaying from side-to-side, seated on a black wheely chair.

‘O! You have to help us!’ Martha called out, but he only laughed, his head angling upwards and his Adam’s apple bobbing.

The truth sank in slowly like dye sinking below a layer of water, heavy.

‘You?’ Martha frowned. ‘I don’t — I don’t understand. She works for you? You’re helping Harold Saxon?’

O burst out laughing again, his face rising upwards in sheer apparent joy, apparently oblivious to the sinking feeling evolving into horror within Martha.

‘Did you know about this?’ Martha whirled on the rest of them, furiously.

Was this all a trick? Some deception? Some terrible joke? They had been spying on her after all…

She tried to tell herself that her friends wouldn’t do this to her, and scanning their faces — relying on her sinking gut — she could see that they didn’t know what was going on. Martha turned her attention back to her primary focus and glared vehemently at O and Dexter.

‘What the hell have you two done?’ Martha spat. ‘Are you responsible for the Archangel Network, my sister getting a job with Professor Lazarus, and these — these plasma coils?’ Her brain gabbled for the word Clara had mentioned.

‘Ohhh, I’m so glad you asked!’ O clapped his hand excitedly like a child, grinning enthusiastically, showing his teeth and his dark eyes flickering manically. ‘Yes, yes, and no. But I am the reason you will the meet the Doctor! Isn’t that ironic? I’m two for two!’ His gaze slid past her.

Martha spun round to look at Clara.

‘Did you know?’ Martha demanded.

‘No, I swear I didn’t!’ Clara snapped, glaring at O. ‘I was right about you, though. You were hiding something.’

‘Oh, don’t blame her, Doctor Martha Jones.’

Martha looked round and jumped, startled to see O kneeling in front of her in a dark burgundy suit and shiny black shoes. She lurched backwards, her breathing heavy at the sudden proximity.

‘She had a feeling. That’s it. A tiny, minuscule peek behind the curtain. And she told you two!' I’m shocked!’ O pointed at Andrew and Qananii, but looked positively delighted.

‘The Wizard of Oz?’ Martha frowned.

‘Yes, but better! I’m not just a man behind the curtain, I’m your Prime Minister! Technically, in three days,’ O grinned.

Martha shook her head in disbelief. No, that couldn’t be right… Avery had come to her to help… and so had Clara, Jack ,and everyone else. What was going on?

‘I wasn’t lying about the Great Intelligence,’ O added, standing up and fiddling with something in the background while Dexter looked down at them. If they made any sudden movements, she pulled out a gun, making them freeze.

Jack recklessly surged upwards charging, but slammed into an energy field.

‘Jack!’ The group shrieked, running forwards to catch him as he fell to the ground dazed.

‘He really did cause a bit of mayhem in the Doctor’s life, but nothing compared to what I’ve done. The Doctor created me as I have created her…’ O continued as though Jack hadn’t tried to ruin his plans.

Martha checked Jack’s pulse: thready but good.

‘No need to check the vitals of a man who can’t die,’ O reasoned from behind her.

Martha scowled. She felt both rage and confusion swirling within her like a maelstrom.

‘What have you done to my family?’ She demanded.

‘Oh, not nearly anything yet. But you wait, Martha Jones, I will hunt down and torture your family, I promise you…’ O grinned at her, eerie and devilish.

Martha didn’t really believe in God or Satan, but staring at O in front of her, she couldn’t help but think he must be related to the devil or something. She didn’t know why she didn’t think he was cartoonish and stupid, but there was something about O that made her heart ram in her chest with fear. Somehow, something told her it was hopeless, and it made panic rise in her chest, constricting her throat, making it hard to breathe —

‘I’ll stop you,’ Martha vowed.

‘No,’ O chuckled. ‘That’s the thing. I know you won’t. And none of them will either. And you,’ his face scrunched in anger, and he pointed a finger at Clara. ‘You will not interfere.’ Suddenly, he smoothed his jacket and smiled, ‘I should really thank you, Clara Oswald. It’s been such an honour meeting you, truly.’

He spoke with about as much as sincerity as Mum inviting Annalise over for dinner.

‘Who the hell are you?’ Jack demanded.

‘Hush,’ O raised a finger directly in front of his mouth, and Martha felt herself quite unable to speak. She panicked, breathing loudly, and trying to test if air was still being inspired and expired throughout her lungs.

Martha watched as O turned to look at Jack, his eyes squinting, looking tortured — if that were even possible. He looked like Leo trying to stare at the sun as long as possible just to prove he wouldn’t go blind. Finally, after a few seconds, much like Leo, O had to turn away and rubbed his eyes blearily.

‘Whewwww, exhilerating,’ O beamed, rubbing his hands together.

‘He’s not that hard to look that,’ Martha scoffed.

‘Thank you, Doctor Jones,’ Jack grinned.

‘Shut up!’ O whirled on him with a glare, and looked immediately at Martha. ‘Well, that’s because you’re not special. ‘

‘You shut up!’ Clara fired up and O looked around her, his expression positively murderous.

Martha remembered the same look on Mum’s face at the sight of Annalise showing up on Dad’s arm the first time — and she was certain that both Mum and O were capable of it.

‘Martha is special. I wouldn’t have found her if she wasn’t,’ Clara insisted. ‘Every single person is special —’

‘What an ignorant human perspective. So little,’ O sneered and stood next to Dexter, hands clasped behind his back.

‘It’s true!’ Clara retorted, struggling to stand up.

‘It really isn’t. It’s just your tiny finite human lifespans trying to wrestle with how meaningless you’re lives are,’ O retorted. ‘You are nothing. You and this planet will all become dust, this whole universe, and the Doctor and I will still be fighting across the stars,’ his eyes raised to the heavens with such a reverent expression that Martha would have thought he was seeing something so divine and beautiful.

‘You say that like you’re not human,’ Martha scoffed.

‘I’m not,’ O looked down at her. ‘Two hearts, Time Lord.’

Time Lord.

‘But… But that’s…’ Martha looked round at the others for help.

‘The Doctor is the last of the Time Lords,’ Jack interjected stoutly. ‘And he never mentioned you.’

‘Of course he wouldn’t. Quite the quarrel we had… His fault, of course. And he’s too proud to admit it, but I’m waiting for him. I can torture all you precious humans and he’ll still forgive me and punish me, and then I’ll still be there to ruin his life all over again.’

‘What is wrong with you?’ Martha exclaimed, unable to stop herself. ‘That’s so cruel…’

‘You’re lying!’ Jack retorted. ‘The Time Lords are dead!’

‘What happened to You Are Not Alone?’ O gave Jack a reprehensible look, before flinching and looking away again, his eyes landing on Martha.

‘The Doctor made me what I am,’ O leaned in front of her. ‘It’s what he does.’

‘You all said he’s a hero,’ Martha frowned, but her gaze was mainly on O.

She was thinking desperately what they could do to escape. She could keep O talking and learn more, but she had no idea where they were or where to go. Either way, information was vital. O, whoever he was, seemed someone of great egomania, thinking very highly of himself and his opinions. Though Martha could grasp the sense he was easy to rile and unpredictable…. She would not be able to insult him for long before he lost his temper.

‘Oh, he is. I’m the Doctor’s oldest enemy,’ O smiled like he was delivering them gourmet dinner.

Martha’s mouth dropped open, ‘But… But you helped me —’

‘I know! Exciting, isn’t it? All this time, pretending I couldn’t time travel, had only met the Doctor once, and happened across all this connecting information. None of you the wiser,’ O beamed, but a scowl flashed across his face and Martha turned to see he was looking at Clara, ‘Except you.’

‘What can I say? I’m good. I’m better,’ Clara shrugged airily, which only seemed to irk him more.

‘You’re nothing. You’ll be dust and the Doctor and I will still be there!’ O snapped.

‘You know something?’ Martha spoke up and O closed his eyes, as though pained by her voice. ‘Part of that medical training we learned. One of the basic things I learnt from my mate, Julie... We’re Doctors, see, and we know everyone is going to die at some point, but you know what? We do what we can. We help who we can. Maybe it doesn’t matter to you, but it matters to us — and it clearly matters to your Doctor too. Because you wouldn’t be doing all this to make sure he comes back to Earth if he wasn’t.’

O laughed dryly and scoffed, ‘How little you understand. How do you live every day of your lives, every organ and cell rotting? Like, did you know that the surface of your skin is actually dead cells? That when you touch people or anything, the electrons in repel from one another and you’re farther from that person rather than closer? So desperate to be close, and the only thing you do is rip yourself apart.’

Martha stared at O, horrified. She had rather liked him, finding him somewhat quiet but energetically funny. What had happened? She felt like she had been swindled and betrayed.

‘Go on, ask me. I know you want to,’ O grinned, clapping his hands and pointing at them with both hands.

They all simply glared at them.

‘So, what do you I want with you all?’ O continued, clearly enjoying his theatre reveal moment. ‘Well, great question. Obviously, all of you need some treatment. And you know what? I can be a doctor. I can fix you all. I can fix this entire timeline and then it’ll be like you’re starting from scratch. And that’s okay, really, I promise. You’ll all be okay. Children of Time…’ he muttered distractedly more to himself, staring between Martha and Jack. ‘Companions of the Doctor…’ he also looked at Clara. ‘Allies of the Doctor…’ he regarded all of them, his gaze landing on Avery and Rachel last.

Martha shook her head in disbelief.

‘You’re not a Doctor. Doctors don’t harm people,’ Martha snapped.

O let out a near shriek of laughter, even making Dexter jump in surprise, ‘Oh, you should tell her that.’

Martha had no idea what he meant by that, but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of not knowing.

‘So, what are you waiting for?’ Rachel asked warily.

‘I’m so glad you asked,’ O beamed at her. ‘I’m mounting a charge in the Black Archives, connecting them to the Archangel Network to make this entire city forget the last few days. It’ll be like time speeding up, but your tiny brains won’t be able to comprehend the change. You’ll just go to work the next day…’ he waved at them, ‘but you!’ He pointed at Clara. ‘You need to go.’

‘No!’ Martha fired up, seeing Clara’s mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

‘I hate interruptions and you’re like children. One at a time, but especially me first. I am talking!’ O declared, looking down at all of them like they were toys. ‘Who sponsored your stupid blog?’ He demanded, pointing at Clara.

‘I have no idea what you —’

‘You can’t lie to me,!’ O growled, his face and teeth bared in front of hers suddenly.

Martha startled forwards to crouch next to Clara, protectively.

‘Tell me or I’ll kill your friends,’ O snapped.

‘No,’ Clara snapped.

‘Heh,’ O snickered. ‘She thinks she can control everything. Well, not me.’

‘Who are you?’ Martha asked, hoping to distract him.

‘I am the Master,’ O looked over, revelling in his showmanship.

What kind of name is that? Martha thought. I’m not a psychologist or anything but that sounds like something someone a inferiority complex would call themselves.

O, or the Master, shot her a glare as though he’d read her mind.

‘No…’

Martha looked around to see Clara staring at the Master in horror.

‘Aha! You are remembering me. A little bit?’ The Master knelt before her. ‘Oh, good. That is good. Then you will also know that I’m doing this. I’m going to kill Vivien Rook and you and Martha Jones and Jack Harkness and there’s nothing the Doctor can do to save me. No Doctor to save you all.’

‘Vivien Rook? Who’s that?’ Martha asked.

‘Reporter at the Sunday Mirror,’ Avery clarified, his tone cold. ‘We sent her an instruction to —’

‘Spy on Harold Saxon, because there was a small part of your useless brain that went “No, no, no, don’t trust him! He’s just landed on your planet and claims he’s a genius, and he’s really good-looking, but something’s wrong…” Well, I actually am all those things,’ O declared, circling them and their magical barrier.

Martha was struggling to wrap her head around it.

'You’re… Harold Saxon?’ She stammered.

‘I know, right? Shocking. I didn’t see it coming either,’ he grinned.

‘But… The Doctor would sense you,’ Jack spluttered.

‘That’s what the Archangel Network is for. Oh, that’s right. Mild Grass School —’

‘Mildfields School,’ Dexter corrected.

‘Whatever,’ he turned to Dexter. ‘That annoying bloke —’

‘James Curtis.’

‘ — was resistant to the hypnosis. I need you to have him killed before he can tell that annoying lady —’

‘Vivien Rook.’

I do not need these three —’ the Master pointed at the sky, then Martha, and Jack ‘ — being nuisances.’

The Master smiled at her, then turned back to them, ‘Oh, and I’ll be needing this,’ he lunged forwards, fingers reaching for Clara’s throat.

‘Hey! Hey, hey! Let her go!’ Martha screeched and struggled to pulled the Master’s hands as Clara spluttered and choked for air.

The Master pulled back quickly and Martha rushed over, patting her back and soothing Clara as she coughed. They both looked up darkly as the Master held a golden tooth pendant beneath his hands, eyes bright like he was seeing a light at the end of the tunnel.

‘Sync it with the Archangel Network. Erase their memories,’ The Master ordered, his eyes on the tooth.

‘Sir, if I do that —’

‘I don’t care. Just do it,’ he snapped.

‘Yes, sir, but if I do that, it will mean James Cutis and Vivien Rook will learn about your background. That is to say —’

‘Not my background,’ the Master looked furious. ‘I see. So, I do this and I guarantee the year that never happened… O…’

‘That is your name,’ Martha muttered, unable to help herself.

‘Shut up!’ The Master roared, surging down to grab her at the throat.

Martha felt her windpipe close under surprising strength and grabbed at his hands in surprise, clutching at his hands.

‘Freeze!’ He commanded to the others and Martha was released, her head nearly hitting the ground.

She spluttered, coughing on the ground. She looked around to see everyone else frozen like a silhouettes or from some cheap comedy thriller film that Tish despised.

Horrified, Martha looked back up at him, ‘What did you do? Did you kill them? Why did I vote for you?’

'Oh, you had no choice. You were obeying… the one good thing you degenerates can do,’ O smirked. ‘DO IT!’ He roared, turning to Dexter.

He whirled around at them with a rather cruel smile, ‘I couldn’t have done this without you.’

Martha frowned, not understanding, but then, it clicked. She looked round at Clara Oswald.

‘I wouldn’t have ever gotten all of you like this together, and I wouldn’t have gotten this,’ he raised the tooth like it was the greatest treasure in the universe. ‘And you, Doctor Martha Jones,’ his gaze fixed on her. ‘Look at you bringing the Doctor to Earth to save it… How pitiful… It’s like playing five-dimensional chess in a two-dimensional world. What a waste. But then again… there’s still your future to look forward to. Speaking of which, I hope you have a lovely time suffering alongside the Doctor and that you both enjoy the Year That Never Happened. I’m very sorry if I’ve ever apologised for that. I didn’t mean it.’

With that, Saxon waved and clicked his fingers at Dexter as he left.

Martha tried to move but she felt her limbs frozen and her muscles were starting to ache. She could feel the lights flashing above, her head growing heavy, her body sagging but still unable to move. Her eyes fluttered shut.

She woke up in bed, blinked, and smiled cheerily. Tish was going to her interview for Professor Lazarus, and Leo’s birthday party was coming up. As for her, it was just another day at Royal Hope Hospital, bright sunny day, nothing remotely out of the ordinary…