Archive of Our Own

A touch upon greeting is all but mandatory across Gallifreyan cultures, except perhaps the few religious subsets who intentionally hone their telepathic senses.

Even the weakest tactile-telepath could pick up on essential referential data about a person, and it was seen as taboo to try and claim you’re holding a conversation without knowing exactly to whom you’re speaking.

One brief touch saved the strange rituals of having to exchange titles and details verbally in the way so many non-telepathic species do; not to mention serving to bolster the already deeply ingrained superiority complex of the Time Lords, making them look like magicians to anyone without the innate ability to sense someone’s species, name, age, status, gender and the pronouns associated with all or none of those things with a mere handshake.

The Doctor had never been a particularly strong touch telepath, not by a mile – as a young sprite he was told he had ‘hot hands’ by his teachers at the Academy, some sort of tendency to stop his own psyche from connecting with others by way of constantly shifting their point of connection, if he even allowed the prolonged physical contact to begin with.

Though he’d grown accustomed to many of the TimeLord social customs that came counterintuitively to his nature, the Doctor had never quite gotten the hang of picking up a psychic wavelength through anything but direct skin-to-skin contact.

Which meant it wasn’t until he grabbed Ian by the bare wrist in the forest that he finally felt a flood of personal details fill themselves in where he’d been uncertain before, and he was deeply perplexed to get the sense that they weren’t a ‘man’ as they were being referred to in the present.

An incomprehensible part of human behavior, the Doctor thought, not having an inherent sense of your own gender this far into your life. He’d never felt anything quite like Ian’s swirling, scattered and squashed identity, hidden in a dense psychic fog yet clear as day to the Doctor the moment their minds touched.

He found himself begrudgingly even more curious about Earth’s culture surrounding all of this. 

Humans like Ian and Barbara seemed to have some sort of fascinatingly arbitrary binary system if the Doctor had picked up on things correctly during his outings in the sixties. Vaguely similar to Gallifrey’s own delineation if rather confusing in its application. 

Though he’d never admit it aloud, his knowledge on this particular era of Earth’s history was still… lacking , to say the least. He’d argued with Susan countless times over the past few months about why she refused to take her beloved iPod to school; apparently humans saw some perceivable difference in a mere forty or fifty odd years of technological advancement.

Cursing his own curiosity, the Doctor tried to shake off the desire to begin asking questions, instead focusing on helping move this neanderthal onto their shoddily constructed cot.

Perhaps he’d press the two stowaways on it later, once they were back on the TARDIS. A prehistoric Earth jungle full of beasts and other bloodthirsty cavemen… wasn’t the right time. Even the Doctor had enough sense to realize that.

“We warned you, Tegana!” Khan bellowed, “Those who rise against us will be humbled! You must die.”

Everyone screamed as Tegana raised the sword against himself and thrust it clean through his own abdomen. In the commotion, Susan was nearly yanked away from Ping-Cho, only their interlocked fingers keeping them from being separated.

“Doctor, the keys– quickly!” Marco Polo thrust the TARDIS keys into the Doctor’s hands, clapping him on the shoulder with a nod. 

The Doctor bowed his head in return. “Thank you.”

“Now go,” smiling wryly, Polo pushed him toward the TARDIS as the Doctor thanked him once more, “ Go, go! ”

“Come along!” 

Susan felt her grandfather pull her by the arm, and she looked back at Ping-Cho with enormously sad eyes. The girl met her gaze with a gentle smile and squeezed her hand, letting go only to touch Susan’s cheek. 

“ Susan… ” Her name sounded so soft coming out of her mouth. Susan almost wished she could hear Ping-Cho say something without the TARDIS translation modulator, at least once. She couldn’t bear to think that her only memory of her voice wouldn’t even be real. Ping-Cho’s thumb rubbed across Susan’s cheekbone as she whispered, “Goodbye.”

“Bye, Ping-Cho,” Susan attempted the same easy calmness the other girl had, but her throat was so full of tears she couldn’t even say goodbye properly. Chin quivering, Susan leaned forward and pushed their lips together, feeling Ping-Cho’s hand on the back of her neck until they parted.

“Your caravan, quickly!”

“G- goodbye! ” 

Susan tore away from her and rushed through the TARDIS doors, unable to look at her again. If she saw Ping-Cho’s eyes one more time she might just end up staying here in the Mongol Empire. 

She collapsed against the wall as they began to dematerialize, feeling tears falling down her cheeks. Anger and devastation welled up inside her and Susan dug her hands into her hair. Why did she have to fall so deeply in love with every place, every time, every person she met!? What was the matter with her!?

Across the room, Barbara was standing with her arms crossed, looking over at Susan every once in a while with a warily furrowed brow.

“Did you see that, Ian?” she asked under her breath. Ian looked around, unaware and unassuming, before leaning back toward Barbara.

“See what?”

“Susan and Ping-Cho, just a moment ago. They-...” Her face wrinkled as though she’d smelled something sour, and her voice lowered several pitches more. “They kissed each other.”

Ian paused, looking over at Susan’s huddled, sobbing form against the wall. “Hm. Well, they did become quite good friends, didn’t they? I hope she’ll be alright.”

Barbara’s frown only grew deeper.

Though the initial landing had been somewhat rocky, upon embarking from the TARDIS and determining themselves to be in the heart of Earth’s nineteenth century St. Petersburg, the crew actually found seemingly nothing to be amiss whatsoever. At least… not so far. 

It was nice to be relaxing, especially after everything that had happened between the four of them when the controls malfunctioned. Any tension that remained was being scuttled away among the sounds of the crowds strapping their skates on and bustling through the chilled air.

The Doctor smiled as he watched Susan slip and nearly drag Barbara to the ground, the two of them gliding around the frozen-over river surface like a pair of newborn baby deer. 

“Careful, you two! I’d prefer to avoid any broken bones on my ship if we can manage it!” he called out to them, uncertain if they even heard over their own laughter. 

Shaking his head and chuckling under his breath, the Doctor looked toward Ian with some jibing remark which died on his lips when he saw the gloomy longing plastered to their face. Tracking their gaze, the Doctor found them following the thick woolen skirts typical of this era billowing about the legs of the women on the river like they were observing a funeral procession. 

He shut his mouth and sat back, resting both hands on his cane.

After a ridiculously long moment of consideration, he decided to lean over and say quite succinctly, “You’d look quite strapping in one of those dresses, Chesterfield.”

Ian startled and flushed, a look of horror coming over their face. 

“Wh-... I beg your pardon? What are you on about!? Don’t– don’t be ridiculous, Doctor. Goodness… ” they forced out a laugh through their nervous rambling and crossed their arms over their chest quite indignantly. “You really do say some of the strangest things, you old man. Men don’t wear dresses here on Earth. We’d just look silly.”

“Why, I’ve seen you wearing dresses, my boy. You wore one just yesterday!” the Doctor questioned, referring to the red flannel thing they’d slept in. Ian flushed and pulled their jacket tighter like they couldn’t stand the thought of the clothes on their body.

“That was a robe , Doctor! It’s different.”

“I… fail to see the distinction,” the Doctor snorted, much to Ian’s clear frustration. “And what about that nightdress you wear, hm?”

“Night shirt… ” they grumbled.

“Oho, my mistake. ”

“Oh, it’s not the same and you know it! Those aren’t actual dresses. It would be a real joke if I wore something like that. Look at me.” They sighed with a defeated gesture out at the lake, adding under their breath, “I’m much too tall.”

Somehow, this caught the Doctor completely off-guard. They were adding arbitrary rules on top of the already arbitrary binary of human gender perception in the twentieth century. He frowned, allowing himself to pout with his nose turned up.

“ Hmph, ” was all he had to say further.

“Susan, I can’t wear this. Look at how long it is, didn’t you say the long ones were for the women?” Ian complained from within the billowing pools of teal-blue fabric Susan had thrown over them.

“My dear Chestnut, as I’ve attempted to explain before, one’s clothes do not dictate their gender,” the Doctor’s voice echoed out from the depths of the closet.

“Especially not here!” Susan bounded over, swimming in her own cloud of shimmering pink, “I said the longer ones mean we’re q’Wimeon, not women.”

“Oh… of- of course?”

“It simply means we’re here as visitors to the planet, my boy!” the Doctor chortled, making Ian jump when he clapped them on the shoulder, “And q’Wimeon with bendable legs must cover up their lower joints if they’re to follow proper customs. Ohoh, yes… quite a fascinating culture, the Vix-t’gib Ray, aren’t they? Quite fascinating…”

“Besides, I think you’d make a beautiful lady,” Barbara added jokingly, wrapping a translucent belt around her own orange cloth to accentuate her waist inside the enormous flowing folds.

The Doctor noted Ian flushing and looking away angrily, the same way they’d done when he told them they would wear a Russian dress well.

“You’ve all got to stop trying to dress me up as a woman…” 

Before anyone could even begin to question what they meant by that, Ian threw a hand in the air, hastily detangling themself from the fabric.

“You know– I think I might just stay in. You all enjoy yourselves with this, er… floating mountains… situation they’ve got going on out there…” 

As they tried to discard the teal bundle, Susan locked their gaze with a pair of horribly sad, pleading eyes, somehow contorting her face to look uncannily like a sopping wet stray kitten left out in a muddy gutter.

“Now don’t give me that look, Susan, it won’t work on me. I am still your science teacher.”

“Come on, Ian…” she stuck out her lower lip, “Please?”

They scoffed uncomfortably, rolling their eyes. “I’ve got no idea how to put this thing on. It would look silly on me, and- and I wouldn’t want to break any sort of custom.”

“I can help you!” Susan pushed, “ Iaaaan… ”

Finally, Ian relented with a heavy sigh and pushed the fabric in Susan’s direction.

“Oh, fine, have it your way,” they huffed. 

“ Yay! ” Susan’s face immediately lit up and she beamed, “You’ll enjoy this, I promise! It’s really quite comfortable!”

“Yes, yes, do what you must. But leave my shirt be, if you please…”

With the pitiful facade broken now that she’d gotten her way, Susan bounced up and down to the tune of her own gleeful squeals as she snatched them down to her level by the hand and began to arrange the liquid fabric to drape over them like a shimmery waterfall. 

Ian flushed and turned away the moment they caught a glimpse of how they looked in the floor length mirror hanging nearby. Pretty wasn’t a word they’d ever dared think about themself, but for some ridiculous reason it was the first one that came to mind.

“There you go, Ian! Now you’re all set!” Susan chirped, flouncing away as Ian kicked at the hem that dragged just under their feet. 

“Alright, yes… thank you, Susan…”

Not risking as much as another peek at their reflection, Ian tried to square their shoulders out of the nervous hunch in their back. They flinched at a touch on their arm, but relaxed when they realized it was just Barbara, looking almost as sunny as Susan. She stood up on her toes and their cheeks brushed as she put her lips to their ear.

“That color is lovely on you, dear,” she whispered, quiet enough that the other two didn’t hear. Ian’s heart skipped a beat and they smiled a bit more sincerely this time, muttering thanks under their breath.

Though it had been a number of weeks by now, the incident with Ping-Cho had been weighing on Barbara ever since she witnessed the whole thing play out.

She couldn’t figure out how to feel about it, and worse– she didn’t know how to even begin approaching Susan to question her about it. 

Perhaps a kiss on the lips doesn’t hold the same meaning on whatever planet the Doctor and Susan come from, like how some Italians will kiss you on both cheeks before even saying hello but an American might knock you upside the head if you were to try the same on them. It could easily be chalked up to her misunderstanding a few key cultural differences, and what she witnessed was just an affectionate gesture between two close friends who would never see each other again.

Still… It gave Barbara such a strange feeling. One she very much did not enjoy.

Incidentally, she happened to be pondering that exact feeling when she came across what seemed to be a three-dimensional photograph in a box in one of the storage rooms. 

Barbara tilted the image side to side and back and forth, captivated by the way the background shifted with her eyes and the movement of the frame, almost as though she were staring through a real window out into a world completely frozen in time. She was so awestruck she didn’t even process the scene in the foreground until she gave it a second look.

Immediately, she forgot whatever she’d been looking for and stood back with the image held at an arm’s length, staring at it until her eyes began to ache with a sinking feeling replacing the wonder she’d been wrapped in moments ago.

“Doctor?” Barbara asked carefully, not looking up at him. She heard a detached ‘hmm?’ from across the room, and she finally yanked her eyes free. Turning the frame toward the sound of rummaging and holding it up a bit higher, she cleared her throat and said louder, “Doctor, what’s this?”

“Is it that part I asked you to find for me, hm!?” he called back from inside some big boiler looking contraption where he claimed he may be able to harvest a similar part to what he needed. 

Barbara sighed, stealing another glance at the photo. “No, it’s not… but– Doctor, will you come out and look at this for a moment?”

“Well, hm– alright, alright… let me just climb out of here, my dear…”

An unkempt mop of oil-streaked white tresses popped sideways out of the machine first, followed by the Doctor’s buggish goggles and cheshire smile appearing as he tossed back his veil of hair and began to shimmy his way down to where Barbara stood. He could be so uncannily agile for such an old looking man, sometimes.

“Yes, let’s see… mm…”

His lined face creased in deep concentration as he inspected the photograph and simultaneously mopped at his brow with a handkerchief. After a painstakingly long moment of muttering recollection, an unmistakable twinkle appeared in the Doctor’s eyes and he broke out with a hearty chortle.

“Ah! Aha, yes… Yes, yes, that was a very dear friend of mine…” he waved a knobby finger toward the picture, “You see there, on the left… the woman all in blue, eh? Hoho… oh yes, she was a very dear friend. Very dear friend… Millenia was what we called her at the time, if I’m not mistaken…”

Barbara could feel her heart hammering like a drum in her chest, palms clammy and mouth dry. She was uncharacteristically nervous.

“Yes, and– and who’s that in the picture with her?”

“Hmph– now who was that, yes, hm…” Again, the Doctor squinted at the image, looping his thumbs through the straps on his apron with a chuckle. “Yes– ah– yes, of course, of course. Ah– see, now, that was her third wife, I believe she was–... Peyhh, ahh… Petrichor was her name, yes…”

“Ah, I… I see,” Barbara frowned, glancing at the two brides uncomfortably. She wet her lips. “S- so… homosexuality is legal on your planet, then?”

The Doctor blinked at her. “Hm? I beg your pardon?”

“Sorry, I just– I thought you said your friend has had three wives.”

The Doctor didn’t seem to entirely process what she was trying to ask. He stroked his chin and gazed around at the ceiling as if he’d find his train of thought somewhere up there.

“Well– It’s quite a bit more complicated than that, I’m afraid… Her third wife had been her husband twice, yes… the poor woman was a bit accident-prone, you see. Hm, yes… and, ah… as for your question my dear, well! There are indeed some, ah– strange, and eh… possibly outdated laws in my culture surrounding homogenerative spouses, but I can’t imagine you’d be asking about that…”

At Barbara’s blank stare, the Doctor stammered and waved his hand in little circles.

“As I said it’s all rather complicated! Yes, rather complicated indeed… Nothing you’d have any business understanding, hm? Now, ah… about that part…?”

Still staring agape, Barbara was now twice as baffled as she had been a moment ago. She shut her mouth and swallowed around the lump in her throat, steeling herself to try again.

“Doctor, what I meant was, two women aren’t supposed to be together. It isn’t right .”

“Why not?” the Doctor asked plainly. 

Barbara again found herself clamming up, unsure how to go about explaining herself to someone who clearly didn’t have a clue what homosexuality meant on Earth. In the end, all she managed to get out was a bitter,

“Well– just– because. ”

Somewhere not so far back in his memories, the Doctor could recall learning at the Academy about an incident a few thousand years or so forward that led to the discovery of how a space-time ship’s ‘heart’ interacted with the vortex and matter relative to dimensional flow. 

No one would ever accuse him of paying much attention in school, but he knew the vague details involved Gallifreyans slowly realizing that their time machines were gaining sentience with each use as a systemic malfunction in the time rotor led to massive leakage of vortex energy into the protyon core through the malus-lupus centrifuge tube in the center console.

That chapter of continuum wrapped up when the problem was caught and any ship that couldn’t be fixed was decommissioned and vaulted like so many other failed ventures of Time Lord science.

If he weren’t so determined to ignore the likely reality that he and Susan mistakenly made off with one of those living ships in their haste to get off the planet, the Doctor may have thought the TARDIS was taking a liking to Terra’s Quaternary period.

That is to say: they were back on Earth again. 

And it happened to be this specific visit to Earth, in the twenty-first century of all places, that someone asked Ian what pronouns they preferred to use for the first time. 

The plucky young man tending the shelves of a used bookstore told them his name was Nicholas Paulson and that he used he/him pronouns, but they could call him ‘Nick’ and he wasn’t actually picky about the pronouns. 

At the start, he managed to avoid confusion when getting introductions from Susan, the Doctor, and even Barbara, who seemed to pick up on how to respond based on what she heard the other two say – but when he turned to face Ian, all Nick got was, 

“Ian Chesterton. Pleasure.”

“Nice to meet you, Ian.” The two of them clasped and shook hands, and Nick prompted them again. “Er– pronouns, if any?”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, like– how’d you want me to call you if I’m not using your name? You know pronouns. It’s basic elementary, innit?”

“I- I mean… you know, just the normal ones,” Ian attempted to laugh, but the Doctor noticed a familiar flush of embarrassment creeping across their cheeks. 

“I use whichever ones you want, mate,” Nick challenged. Though his smile hadn’t yet fallen, it was now covering a clear tinge of wariness. There was a hefty silence that followed, if only for a second before Ian tried to hide their discomfort with another forced chuckle.

“Well, I–...”

They glanced toward the Doctor, as if asking for support, but he simply acted as though he were looking at something across the room much more interesting than the conversation at hand.

“I… I mean…” Ian’s face was fraught, “You don’t get to choose , do you?”

The Doctor was genuinely proud of how subtle he thought he had been until a brightly colored book was slammed down on his desk out of the blue.

Peering up over the rim of his glasses with as bored an expression as he could muster, the Doctor found Ian standing over him with their arms folded, looking incredibly cross.

“Can I help you with something, Chessington?” 

“What the hell is this?” they demanded. 

The Doctor was a bit taken aback – Ian sounded really, genuinely angry. It wasn’t a tone he’d heard them take in quite a while. Still, he merely gave the cover a once-over of false curiosity before shrugging.

“Why, I’ve no idea. Never seen a book like that in my life,” he smiled coyly with a glance up at Ian, whose eyes had darkened, “It does look like quite a good read, though. Have you thought about taking a peek inside, hmm?”

“Oh, you insufferable old man,” they snarled, “I know what you did! You put this- this children’s book out on my bed!”

“What a strange thing to accuse me of, breaking into your room to leave you bedtime stories,” the Doctor scoffed. Ian’s face was getting so red they seemed moments away from shooting steam out of both ears.

“You– I-... UGH! ” 

As if to restrain themself from the societal faux pas of hitting an elderly person, Ian stamped their foot on the ground like a child and pointed in the Doctor’s face, yelling, “I know you did this!”

Then they turned on their heel and stormed out of the room, hands in fists at their sides. The Doctor chuckled under his breath; in reality he knew what Ian meant, because he’d done exactly what they’d accused him of. More, actually, though perhaps they hadn’t gotten the chance to see that part yet.

What he’d left on Ian’s bed was a copy of an unadorned yet heartfelt chapter book, which he’d spotted and snagged on the way out of the shop they’d been trapped in with the alien mimic Nicholas Paulson during their brief jaunt into the mid-twenty first century several weeks ago. 

It was meant for a much younger audience – children most likely – but the no-nonsense gentleness with which it spoon-fed the reader concepts of gender and its relation or lack thereof to the human sex spectrum made the Doctor think it could perhaps speak to his traveling companion in a way he wasn’t personally equipped to. 

Not that he… cared about whatever Ian had going on in their own mind. Certainly not, it wasn’t any of his business.

But if he happened to fold over the corner of a certain chapter on gender neutrality and nonconformity to be sure it caught Ian’s attention before passing it off to them, well… who could really prove that? It did come from a second-hand store after all.

Despite their initial anger, the book reappeared on Ian’s bed the very next day. And this time, the Doctor didn’t hear word of it for quite a long while.

Barbara could hear Ian crying through the wall for the second time in the past week. 

It both broke her heart and made her unreasonably upset herself, because for all the times she’d sobbed into his arms during the first few weeks of their residency on the TARDIS, she couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t show that same vulnerability to her during his moments of need.

There was something wrong with him, and it didn’t just start after Marinus. 

Perhaps the crying did, but his demeanor had already shifted somehow, weeks ago after that boy at the bookshop asked him what gender he was. She couldn’t wrap her head around why the question had rattled him so badly; he’d been a man for as long as she’d known him, just because they were seeing and learning new things didn’t mean they were becoming new people.

Maybe he was a transsexual. Barbara knew of a woman her estranged sister was friends with who used to be a soldier before having a sex change. 

She didn’t know how she’d feel about that, if Ian suddenly wanted to be a woman. She really couldn’t imagine treating him badly if he did decide to change, but… if it were anyone else, she may not be entirely open to the idea.

Perhaps he was wary of her in that regard, she supposed.

Turning over in bed, Barbara sighed. She wished he would at least talk to her about it. He was putting on a brave face for the Doctor and Susan, but Barbara knew him better than that. She knew when something was wrong. Yet he seemed to pull away from her even further when she’d tried to bring it up, like she was accusing him of something terrible.

The night they returned to the TARDIS after Marinus was the first night Ian didn’t join Barbara in her room to have a talk before they each went to bed. 

Worse still, he didn’t make any sort of fuss about it, as if he weren’t breaking an unspoken sacred routine between the two of them. He just bid her a quick goodnight and slipped into his own bedroom, and something in Barbara shattered when she heard the door lock.

When she heard him crying the first time, she’d assumed the last few days had simply caught up with him and he’d needed a good cry to let it all out. But when it happened again two nights later, Barbara couldn’t help but lay awake for hours listening to the muffled sounds of her best friend’s sobs, wondering dreadfully why he was crying like that.

For the first time on the TARDIS, Barbara felt truly alone.

“It’s insulting!” Susan cried, angry tears welled thick in her glassy eyes, “He treats me like a child, even around you and Barbara! It just isn’t fair! I’m older than the two of you combined, if anyone should be treated like children it’s you!”

“Susan, Susan! Calm down,” Ian hushed her, putting their hand over hers to try and ground her a bit. “Look, try to understand your grandfather’s perspective, eh? You may be older than us in years, but if the Doctor’s really as old as he says he is, and you’re the age you say you are, then… Well, it would be like comparing the lifespan of a fly to that of a human! We don’t live nearly as long as your kind do. You’d still be a child in the eyes of someone from your planet, wouldn’t you?”

Though she still appeared visibly disgruntled, the juxtaposition did seem to set Susan’s nerves somewhat at ease.

“Well… I still don’t like it,” she huffed, crossing her arms, “It’s not fair.”

“He’s only trying to protect you, Susan. A young woman like yourself, traveling out there with so many things that could–”

“I’m not a woman,” Susan cut them off.

Ian stopped, the words catching in their throat. “A- alright, well– for a young girl–”

“Not a girl, either.”

“What–”

“You misunderstood me. I’m not female,” Susan insisted, and if Ian didn’t know any better, they’d think she rolled her eyes at them. “It’s… close, but Earth doesn’t have a word for what you’d call my gender on my home planet. You might just say I don’t have one. With… a little touch of girlhood in there.”

“Oh,” Ian said, blinking in surprise, “I… I didn’t know your species could do that.”

“Anyone can do that. We’re not exactly the only species with a gender spectrum. You’re in a little blip of history where humans tried to narrow it down to two, but it didn’t last very long. You don't even have a binary sex system, gender would've been next to impossible,” she said as casually as she would a weather report. Ian’s heart almost jumped out of their chest, and they had to bite their tongue.

“Well, what’s that supposed to mean, eh? There’s no… ‘no gender’ for us, we’ve got men and we’ve got women, plain as day.”

“It’s hard to get that out of your head, I know. But a lot of people aren’t men or women on your planet, even during your time. I think some people call themselves nonbinary,” Susan shrugged, throwing Ian for another loop. 

Their mind immediately flew to the colorful children’s book the Doctor had left out on their bed the other day. The stupid book that had been occupying every corner of their mind the moment they got a second to think. Haunting them, practically. Driving them to frustrated tears in the middle of the night.

“Well that’s–...” Silly, they wanted to say. Ridiculous. They swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the sick feeling in their stomach. “...Interesting, isn’t it?”

Susan and Barbara were stargazing barely ten feet from the TARDIS, an unexpectedly peaceful night by a seaside cliff on a planet with three moons and a purple sky. 

As the air had gotten chillier and started biting through their jackets, the Doctor and Ian had decided to retreat inside for the rest of the night, taking advantage of the small moment of stillness in their typically hectic travels.

Though truthfully, the Doctor had a feeling Ian was ‘subtly’ following him around in an attempt to catch him for a private conversation.

The two of them sat in the library for nearly twenty minutes in somewhat peaceful silence – which was strange, considering the open books in both their laps. It took a little while for him to notice the distinct absence of the sound of turning pages, likely because he was too busy studying the anxious way Ian sat across from him.

When he did, however, it only made him more aware of the way they very much weren’t reading, instead bouncing the leg that wasn’t folded under the other, gnawing at their already visibly worn lower lip.

“You alright, Chesserman?”

Startled at the sudden shattering of the silence, Ian’s eyes shot up toward the Doctor. It took them a second to adapt a look of poorly feigned innocence.

“What? Yes. Why’d you ask?”

The Doctor shut his own neglected book and set it aside, gesturing with a bony finger toward Ian’s copy of Twelfth Night . 

“The Bard must’ve written quite the soliloquy in there, if you’ve spent this much time reading through it, eh?” He gave a wry chuckle as Ian looked away with an embarrassed shade of pink painted across their face.

They sighed, slipping a bookmark between the pages. “Yes, I… I suppose I’m not really in the mood for reading. I may head in for the night.”

Neither of them moved. The Doctor cleared his throat.

“I do hope you’d make me aware of it if something were, ah… bothering you, hmm?” he pressed, examining Ian’s face to try and gauge what could be causing the worried look in their eyes and pinched line between their brows. The expression was uncharacteristically sad, so much that it honestly frightened the Doctor; he didn’t think he’d ever seen Ian look quite so vulnerable or young before.

He tried again, “…Chesterton?”

“Did- did Susan complain to you about me?” Ian finally asked with awkward strain, looking back up as the Doctor frowned.

“No, no I don’t believe so.” He arched one snowy brow. “Why, hm? Did you do something worth complaining about?”

“Well– no, I- I just…” the words seemed to dry up their throat, and Ian coughed into their fist, refusing to meet the Doctor’s eye. “We spoke yesterday, and she– er- I mean–… oh, I’m not sure what to call her anymore. She said she had no gender, and– and that there’s some kind of spectrum, and… Doctor, I’m worried I’ve offended her somehow.”

The Doctor shook his head, fighting back a bemused smile. 

“No, no, my boy. If Susan had taken offense to something you said, she’d be the first to tell you! She’s quite the, ah… bull-headed young lady, if you will, ohoho…”

“B-but what she said, a-about not having a gender…” Ian continued, “Why’d you call her a young lady just now if she was put off when I called her a girl? How does that make any sense?”

“Well, it’s as simple as the TARDIS translation modulator giving you the, ah– the nearest possible equivalency to your own language, yes… Some things may not have a direct translation!” the Doctor chortled, “I’m afraid the terms and associated pronouns for Susan’s gender are inexplicable to your kind, Chessington. If you’re really so worried about offending her, it’s fortunately very easy to avoid using gendered language altogether until you’ve, ah… caught on, as it were, yes? So long as you’re respectful…”

Ian pinched the bridge of their nose, breathing out heavily. “But– but what about that book , Doctor?”

“Hm?”

“The one you left on my– oh, you know bloody well what I’m talking about, you old fool!” Ian huffed, “I’m only trying to be sensitive. I thought perhaps you left it for me to read because I was being… ignorant , maybe. I don’t want to hurt Susan.”

The Doctor nodded, understanding yet still mildly entertained. “Your attempts at sensitivity are noted and appreciated, Chestleton. But, aha – I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood, yes… That book was a gift! For you.”

Ian narrowed their eyes. “What? Why?”

“Hm.”

“Why, Doctor?” Ian repeated, brow furrowing as they seemed to grow suddenly nervous. “What’s all this about, eh? Are you trying to tell me something? Do you and Susan know something about me that I don’t?”

A coy smile curled upon the Doctor’s thin lips. “Perhaps we do… or perhaps not! Who’s to say?”

“Why, you!” Ian snapped, “Of course you do! That’s what all of this is about, isn’t it!? OH! I can’t believe I’ve let you drag things on this way. You’ve been playing me for a fool for weeks now, and I’ll tell you, I’ve had it! I’ve really had it, you batty old codger! Why did you give me that book!?”

“It’s not a crime to suggest light reading–”

“Stop! Stop that! You aren’t going to give me the runaround again, Doctor, just– just be honest with me this once, would you!?”

If it weren’t for the rattled, deer-in-headlights look on Ian’s face, the Doctor might’ve spun another joke. Instead, he pursed his mouth into a line with a shrug, offering half the truth, “…I thought you may find it… enlightening, is all. I didn’t mean any offense by it.”

“Then- then why’d you mark that chapter!? If you’re trying to tell me something, just come out and tell me– stop playing games! Do you think I’m not a man!? Am I–” Their tone became strained. “Am I not a man!?”

“Now that would be for you to decide yourself, wouldn’t it–?”

Ian cut him off with a strangled noise of frustration, shouting, “Would you stop doing that!? Please! I- I’m already so confused–... ” 

At the sound of their voice breaking, silence fell over the room.

The Doctor watched with his hearts in his throat as Ian forcefully bit back tears, struggling to find their breath again. Feeling an unusual coil of guilt tugging at his gut, the Doctor swallowed and thumbed at the lapels of his robe.

“…Chesterton, I- I really… didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t realize this was all such an, er… sensitive topic for you. Hrm…”

Ian clearly heard him, but they took another few moments to try and summon up the right words. A weak, exhausted sigh slipped out as they shut their eyes.

“You don’t understand. I’ve never–…” Ian choked on the tightness in their throat. They could hardly manage more than a whisper, 

“I’ve never had a word for it, Doctor.”

Without any playfulness or mirth left, the Doctor could only nod.

Barbara stared at herself in the mirror, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. The peachy lipstick she’d applied before going out was a ghost on her lips by now, the last streaks smeared wet down her chin. Damn. She’d looked so nice on the TARDIS this morning.

Uncurling one shaking fist, Barbara tried to ignore the stinging odor of ammonia and bleach taking residence in her nostrils as she breathed as deep and slow as she could manage. Her fingers curled around a few paper towels from the dispenser in front of her, but she never broke eye contact with her pallid reflection even as she cleaned stray drips of spittle off her face.

She looked haggard, mortified , and for what? What had she really done?

A small noise, almost a whimper, escaped Barbara’s throat and she clutched the sink’s edge to steady herself. She knew what she’d done. She knew. Everyone probably knows. You’re disgusting. A pervert. You shouldn’t be allowed to teach young girls. 

“It’s an alien ,” she hissed under her breath, fingers white as her grip on the sink tightened. Her face and neck were flushing again – she needed to control herself.

Barbara’s teeth ground together and she fought not to strike the mirror with her own fist. It would be too difficult to clean herself up from that, and she’d learned at a young age that as a lady she couldn’t explode, only implode.

Again, she glared into her own wild, bloodshot eyes. 

“It’s an alien, it was just an alien… ” she repeated it like a mantra, voice hoarse. Nausea’s slimy vine curled around her stomach and began climbing toward her throat, and Barbara dropped her head over the sink in case she were to lose even more of her lunch than she already had.

You’re deplorable. Sick. Even if she’s an alien, you know why you were staring–

“Stop it…” Barbara whispered to herself, finding it hard to breathe again.

She hadn’t even noticed her own half-lidded eyes mapping their way over the sensual blue curves of the alien dancer’s body, swaying and spinning and contorting its long limbs to the lilting music that floated through the street fair – not until Susan, bloody Susan, sent a wrecking ball through Barbara’s very soul by asking if…

There was a gentle rap on the bathroom door. Praying it wasn’t one of her companions chasing after her, Barbara somehow managed to summon enough air into her lungs to call out, “It’s occupied!” 

Whoever came knocking didn’t try again.

Groaning to herself, Barbara shut her eyes and rubbed her temples to try and dispel the ache pulling her head apart like taffy.

The dancer was… a woman. Barbara had been looking at a woman.

So lustfully that Susan had noticed it and called attention to it, and though Barbara had loudly balked at the idea that she might fancy the azure performer, everyone had been close enough to hear what had been said.

Someone like you shouldn’t be teaching. Not young girls like Susan. Imagine if the parents found out. 

The whole situation was bone-chilling, and it frightened Barbara down to her core. Worse still, no one besides her made any sort of scene or really even reacted at all to the idea that she may have done something so disgustingly lewd out in public like that, ogling another woman. Even Ian didn’t seem to take issue, and that only terrified her more.

It wasn’t attraction. She wasn’t attracted to other women, she wasn’t like that. 

She was the good one. She was always the good one, nothing like her sister, nothing like her disgusting sister– Barbara was everything her parents did right. This couldn’t be happening to her.

Trembling fingers attempted to return some of the lost volume in her hair, and Barbara felt herself choke up. 

The way she was staring couldn’t be that. Not when she’d looked at so many women the same way, assuming it was simply part of human nature to admire the details of a beautifully sculpted body on display. What woman hadn’t thought about what sort of women they’d chase if they were a man? 

You know the answer. You’ve always made up such good excuses for yourself, haven’t you?

Barbara splashed her face with water and dabbed at her running makeup with fresh paper towels, trying to clean herself up well enough that she could go back out and make up some excuse about lunch not sitting well with her.

Though they were thousands of years and countless planets away from home, as she left the bathroom Barbara still found herself praying her mother wouldn’t hear about this day.

“Doctor? D’you have a minute?”

When he looked up the Doctor saw Ian standing in the doorway, dressed for bed in their green striped pajamas and robe. Smiling, he gestured to the armchair beside him. 

“Chambleton, come in,” he greeted, “Sit, sit.” Once Ian was seated, the Doctor closed his book and set it down on his lap, one finger tucked between the pages he’d left off on. “Now. There’s something you’d like to speak with me about, I presume?”

“Er–... yeah.”

There was a long, thick silence between them before Ian spoke again. Their hands were clasped fidgeting in their lap, and they wouldn’t meet the Doctor’s eyes.

“Thank you,” they started awkwardly, “For the book.”

 The Doctor shrugged. “I know it was a bit childish–”

“It helped. Reading it, I mean,” Ian told him, uncomfortably clearing their throat and shifting in the armchair. The Doctor offered a small nod and sat back. Again, Ian coughed into their hand. “I, er– I think I may want… or– I may be…”

They trailed off and didn’t finish, sighing in seeming defeat. The Doctor reached out and patted their arm, offering a comforting smile. 

“It’s alright, Chesterfield. It takes time. You don’t need to figure it all out at once, hm?”

Ian nodded weakly. “Thank you, Doctor.”

A noticeable tension hung over the TARDIS. Though things were operating as usual, it was impossible not to see the way Barbara and Ian had begun avoiding each other.

Susan didn’t know what happened. Everything had been completely fine up until the events in fifteenth-century Mexico. 

At first, she thought the two may just be a bit more exhausted than usual, because while their reunion was just as enthusiastic as it always was when they found themselves separated, they didn’t talk much in the console room afterward.

But the next few days showed more of the same reclusive behavior from both of them, bad enough that even the Doctor asked if they were alright. Which of course led to even more strange two-stepping around each other. It all led Susan to one troubling conclusion – something was clearly amiss, and she needed to do something about it.

She found Barbara in the natatorium at the edge of the pool, feet hanging in the shiny blue water that slowly rippled around her bare ankles. Susan toed off her shoes and joined her, staring out across the long lapping rows.

After letting the silence sit for a while, she glanced over. Streaks of reflected light danced across Barbara’s face.

“Are you alright, Barbara?” asked Susan. Her voice carried an echo in the broadness of the pool room.

A familiar frown pursed Barbara’s lips, and she looked away with her head held high. Susan kept staring at her until she finally turned back, her stern expression fading. There was a distinct sadness in her eyes.

“No, I- I’m not. I haven’t been for a while, really,” she admitted. Susan’s face turned up in concern, her hand traveling closer to Barbara’s in case she needed one to hold.

“I understand. I’ve had times where I’m not feeling so good about myself, too,” she said gently. 

Barbara shifted away from her, crumpling a bit. “Susan, I- I don’t know if you’ll want to be so near me if you know what I’ve done.” Her gaze fell to her lap, fists bunching the fabric of her skirt. “Please, just… leave me be. I’m not who you think I am anymore. I… I’ve let all of you down.”

“Why?” Susan asked, attempting to close the distance again. “I think you’re a wonderful person, Barbara. Whatever you’ve done, I couldn’t hold it against you.”

A tense pause. 

“...Barbara?”

“I slept with a woman when I was posing as Yetaxa!” she suddenly blurted out, before clapping a hand over her mouth and gasping. “Oh, Susan– I’m so sorry, Susan, I- I’m so sorry!”

Susan blinked, taken aback for a moment. “Barbara…”

“She offered herself to me and I couldn’t help myself, I- I truly don’t know what happened! It was like… I wasn’t even behaving like myself, like I was some- some madwoman possessed! And- and I don’t know what to do now, Susan, I- I’ve never… this was the first time… I don’t know why I enjoyed it so much!” Barbara’s hand raked up through her unstyled hair, going on desperately, “It- it’s nothing perverted, I promise! And I would never come onto you, please don’t worry–”

“Hang on, what are you talking about?” Susan asked, only laughing because she was truly lost. 

“I’ve been so afraid you would all find out, I- I don’t want you and your grandfather to think I’m some sort of… lesbian,” Barbara almost spat the word, and it made Susan jump. She stared in surprise again.

“It wouldn’t matter to us if you were. We’d only be happy for you.”

Barbara laughed at that, a bitter and angry sounding laugh that brought tears to her eyes. She kicked her feet in the water, muttering, “What would Ian say? He’d be disgusted with me.”

“No, no… I don’t think so,” Susan shifted closer again, reaching out for Barbara’s hand with a gentle expression. “May I…?”

Pulling her hand back, Barbara made a noise. “Susan, please. Please, just… leave me be. I want to be alone.”

“I only want to understand, Barbara,” she said softly, “I don’t like seeing you so sad.”

Slowly, Barbara sighed. Chin quivering, she nodded and turned her hand over, closing her eyes. When she laid her fingers on the woman’s open palm, Susan found herself suddenly overwhelmed by fear and guilt and self-loathing so painful it made her want to drown.

Terrified at the sheer power of the urge she felt looking down at the pool Susan yanked her hand away and scrambled back in shock. As the feeling faded she looked up at Barbara, who had tears now streaming down her face, cheeks red and eyes clenched tight. Susan’s hearts both lurched in her chest.

“Oh, Barbara…”

Three quick raps on the door, and Barbara looked up from the book she’d been reading. 

“Come in!” she called, surprised to see Ian poke his head through the doorway. Though she grew nervous as she had been over the past few weeks, she was glad to see him. “Ian. Please, come sit.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he said with a tentative smile. Barbara could tell from the way he sat partly curled up at the end of her bed that he was just as anxious as she was.

After a moment he looked over at her, nudging her in the arm. “It’s good to sit with you again.”

“I’d missed this,” Barbara admitted quietly. The smile fell from her face as she remembered why they hadn’t been speaking, at least on her end. Her palms were clammy and she rubbed them on her thighs, trying to calm her racing heart. “Ian, I–”

“Barbara, I need to tell you something.”

They both paused, meeting each other’s eyes in surprise. A marked silence passed before a laugh bubbled out of each of them, bringing real smiles to their faces. It felt easy again, just for a second. Just like they were before.

Then Ian looked away, his face growing grim and hesitant again as he nodded at her. “Sorry. You first.”

“N- no,” Barbara shook her head, “You first.”

“Really, mine’s nothing important. You go first,” Ian insisted, his face flushing unusually pink. Barbara swallowed thickly.

“Well– alright, I suppose. I…” she took a deep breath through her nose, surprised at how thin the air felt in here. “I… I haven’t been entirely honest with you, Ian, not since Mexico. And I feel terrible lying to you, but… but I just wasn’t ready to explain myself, and- and it was eating away at me inside. I’ve felt so awful about myself for so long, I didn’t realize…”

Ian’s listening silence made Barbara feel as though the bed were swallowing her whole. She kept staring down at her hands, fiddling with a button on her shirt.

“I’m not a heterosexual, Ian. I… I think women are lovely. And I could see myself… loving a woman, some day,” she explained, surprised at how steady her own voice sounded. After a moment, Barbara shut her eyes and added softly, “Please don’t be angry with me.”

When she glanced back at him, unnerved by the lack of response, she found him smiling warmly at her. It took him a moment to gather his words, but he nodded in solidarity and squeezed Barbara’s hand. 

“I could never be angry with you. I’m so happy for you, Barbara.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and Barbara quickly tried to swipe them away, keeping her chin raised proudly. 

“Well, thank you. Now go on, what did you want to say?”

Ian didn’t answer. His eyes scanned her face for a few seconds, then he waved her off and pulled her against his side. “Eh. Doesn’t matter. I’ve already forgotten.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you,” Barbara sighed. Ian squeezed her arm, thinking about the Doctor.

“It’s alright. These things take time, yeah? You don’t have to figure it all out at once.”

The Doctor found Ian sitting alone against the wavy metallic wall of the room the Sensorites had left them in.

“Good news, Chitterton,” he called, wobbling in on his cane and gesturing with the map, “We’ve found someone willing to take us down to the aqueducts. Marvelous– simply marvelous. Hm! We’re well on our way to getting to the bottom of this beast of a problem, aren’t we, hm?”

Ian sighed, standing on shaky legs. They still had a sallow look to their face after their brush with death only hours earlier, complexion waxy and ill. The Doctor frowned, stepping back with a hand on his lapel.

“Feeling alright, there?” he asked cautiously, though with no less grandiose in his voice. Ian only rubbed their eyes, leaning up against the wall before sliding back down to the bench. The Doctor’s snowy brow arched. “Chesterton, if you’re still unwell from that water, by no means am I expecting you to tag along with me, do you understand? I know I may look like a tottering old man, but I’m far more resilient than I appear!”

“I’m alright, Doctor, really,” Ian insisted, though their voice still came out weak. “I- I need to do something, to distract myself. My head is spinning.”

“Mm, yes– poison will do that to you.”

“No, that isn’t what– urgh. You really are insufferable,” they stood up again, knuckles digging against their temples as they found their footing. “Come on– how are we getting down to the aqueducts?”

“I’ve asked one of the lower ranked Sensorites who seemed to know their way around. Now really, Chesterton, if something is on your mind–”

“Nothing is on my mind, Doctor,” Ian snapped, “I’m just not feeling well.”

The two of them paused by the doorway, the Doctor staring at Ian’s back. They turned to look over their shoulder, sighing in deep exhaustion as they met the Doctor’s eyes.

“When I… when I was dying, I- I couldn’t stop kicking myself for never-...” they pinched the bridge of their nose again, trailing off and shaking their head. “I would’ve died with the lot of you thinking of me as…”

The Doctor waited, allowing them time to think of what they wanted to say. Eventually, Ian huffed out another puff of air and turned their back on the Doctor again. 

“I… I might’ve felt this way for some time, the more I look back on it. I just didn’t have the language for it, I didn’t…” they swallowed and chewed their words. “When I was a boy, you know what my father used to tell me?”

“Hm?”

Ian crossed their arms over their chest. “That I was shit at being a man. No matter what I did, how hard I tried, I’d… I’d never be enough. Not for him.”

“Your father was wrong,” the Doctor said sincerely, “You’re ten times the man he’ll ever be.”

“That’s just the thing. I- I’m not a man at all, I don’t think.” 

They paused after saying it, all the air seeming to catch in their chest before finally releasing and allowing their shoulders to droop. Still, the Doctor could see they’d grown somewhat steadier on their feet.

Flirting with a woman wasn’t what she expected it to be – Barbara had awkwardly gone back and forth in her own mind, alternating between staring and stealing glances at a handsome butch making small talk with the bartender. The toothpick between her teeth flicked up and down as she spoke, mesmerizing Barbara and making her stomach do twirls.

She felt creepy offering the simple compliment, but it was taken in stride, returned to her, and sooner than she’d expected they were sitting with their knees interlocked and touching with practically every word. 

It wasn’t what she thought it would be. It felt so normal.

Hours later, Barbara would be lying beside the woman, Jaida, half-naked in bed in her apartment, listening to the sounds of futuristic cars flying past the windows.

The Doctor swatted Ian away from the console. “Yes, yes, now if you don’t mind, please get your hands off my machine! You’re a menace, my boy.”

Ian stepped back, falling a bit silent. The Doctor noticed after a moment, pausing with one knobby hand wrapped around a lever.

“You alright, Chesterton?” he asked, voice pitching up in curiosity. Ian shrugged, but their brow had furrowed slightly.

“Doctor, why is it you’ve always called me ‘boy’, hm?” they questioned, “Seems you’ve always had an idea that I’m no male, so what’s with all of that, then? Another mistranslation from the TARDIS?”

A few shambling steps around the console and muttering under his breath seemed to disguise the fact that the Doctor wasn’t entirely sure how to answer. 

He didn’t look up as he spoke, “Well, I- ah… hm, well- to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t aware it was coming across that way. Hmph. Like I’ve told you, Chesterton, your century’s Earth English is a new language the TARDIS is still attempting to entirely learn to translate…”

Still shuffling around, the Doctor cleared his throat and flipped a switch on the console.

“Yes, hm, yes… very new. Always learning. Machines!” he muttered, “Machines, yes… yes, nothing but a mistranslation, but I’ll be mindful to change my, er… vocabulary, as it were, yes…”

Ian flushed and shifted on their feet, hands folded behind their back. “Well… I, er… I honestly don’t mind it, Doctor.”

“Yes, yes… hm?” the Doctor looked up suddenly, ears perked up. Ian offered a coy smile, unable to stop from chuckling under their breath at the wide-eyed look on the Doctor’s lined face.

“I said it doesn’t bother me. Actually, I was going to say before, I…” they shrugged their shoulders, “I find it endearing, really.”

“Hm! Endearing, they say…” The Doctor chortled, tugging on his lapel and waddling over to clap Ian on the back. “Endearing! Oho, quite, quite…” 

“Barbara?” 

Ian slipped into the kitchen, closing the door behind them. Barbara looked up from the food machine as it dispensed her meal cube, smiling. 

“Hello, Ian. Care to join me for lunch?”

They laughed, ducking their head and pulling out a chair to plunk down in. Barbara noticed they were wearing the robe they’d gotten on Marco Polo’s caravan again – something about it made them look absolutely lovely in her eyes, but she would never say that out loud nor to their face.

“What’s on the menu?” they asked as she took a bite of the yellowish cube stuck on the end of a metal fork. Barbara raised her eyebrow coyly.

“Grilled salmon and broccoli, if you’ll believe it. Quite good, I’ll admit. Though I still don’t understand how on Earth that machine makes these little things,” she accentuated her point with another bite of the cube.

“Well isn’t that just the thing? It isn’t anything on Earth.”

Barbara laughed out loud. “I suppose you’re right!”

Ian smiled at her, but they were clearly nervous about something– Barbara picked up on it after only a moment, swallowing down the rest of her meal cube and setting the fork on the table.

“Something wrong, Ian?” 

“No. Well- yes, I–...” Ian shook their head, squaring their back and attempting to steel themself, “Barbara, I’ve… I’ve been meaning to tell you this, but- but with how fast things move around here I haven’t been able to find the right time. And I… I really haven’t even figured it all out myself, and- and I’m afraid to confuse you, so I’m not even sure if I should tell you, but… but you’re the best friend I have, and I couldn’t go on without you knowing-... knowing who I really am. I’m sure that sounds silly, but–”

“You’re rambling, dear,” Barbara told them gently. Ian stopped, then looked down at their hands, chuckling to themself.

“Yes, I suppose I am, aren’t I?” Their smile became a bit bleak, humor falling flat as their voice cracked, “Goodness. If only you could feel the way my heart’s going right now.”

Barbara looked confused and a bit concerned, head tilted ever so slightly to the side. 

Ian took a deep breath, then, “Barbara, I- I’m not a man.”

She paused. “How do you mean?”

“I- I don’t feel like a man, I never have. The Doctor and Susan, they’ve been wonderfully helpful, explained all sorts of fancy terms and labels, but to put it plain and simple, I- I’m just not a man.”

“Then…” Barbara’s gaze was contemplative, but not judgemental, “What are you?”

Ian opened and closed their mouth, forced merely to shrug their shoulders. “I… I don't know.”

“But you don’t want to be a woman,” she pressed, earning another shrug.

“No, I-...” they shook their head, “It’s not about want, Barbara. I just… know. I can’t explain this feeling, it’s… it’s something entirely non-binary. I can’t really put it into definite words. But… but it feels right, not defining it. I don’t think I ever really understood what made someone’s manhood, especially not my own. I was just… doing what I was told to do, in many ways, I suppose.”

“Wearing it like a costume?” Barbara asked.

Looking up at her, Ian seemed to lose their words. Slowly, they nodded, and Barbara gave them a gentle smile.

“You always love a costume, don’t you?” she ribbed, “I think you may have just gone through every time period the Doctor has in that closet, and we’ve barely traveled to half those places.”

“Well, I never!” Ian scoffed, unable to fight a smile from their face. It only lasted a moment before they sighed, losing any sort of energy they’d managed to find. “Barbara, I- I’m sorry for this. For how… confusing it must be for you.”

“I can only imagine how it would be for you,” she responded. 

Ian paused, looking away. “And… I’m sorry for how long it took me to tell you. I was trying to figure it all out myself, really. If I had known what was wrong with me sooner, I would’ve–”

“Ian,” Barbara interrupted sternly, “Please don’t say that. There’s nothing wrong with you. There was never anything wrong with you.”

It seemed to take them a moment to process what she’d said, and Barbara’s heart broke at the expression of shock that took over Ian’s face, slack like they’d never considered her words before. They opened their mouth to respond but quickly closed it tight, unexpected tears surging into the corners of their eyes.

Blinking heavily, Ian looked away from her, pressing their fist against their pursed lips as Barbara took their other hand into hers to squeeze gently.

When they landed briefly on an alien planet several thousand years prior to the dawn of civilization in that galaxy, Ian decided to wear a dress for the first time outside the safety of the TARDIS closet.

They didn’t entirely enjoy it – the hem kept getting snagged on low branches and brambles as soon as the Doctor directed the group into the forest, and the breeze kept forcing them to push at the back to avoid exposing their undergarments. 

“You better get used to it with those big billowy things,” Barbara joked with them, “Take a leaf from mine, why don’t you? Get yourself a sensible pencil skirt.”

“Think I may just stick to trousers, if I’m being honest.”

Yet in spite of the inconvenience, every time Ian caught a glimpse of themself in any reflective surface, they couldn’t help but smile.

No one could really believe Susan left.

It felt as though a hole had been carved out of the TARDIS, leaving nothing but an empty void for the others to dance around for days, not wanting to speak on it yet unable to think about anything else.

Barbara and Ian exchanged glances across the console each time the Doctor slipped up and spoke to his missing granddaughter out loud, either too absent-minded or in denial to ever correct himself.

“How are you feeling about everything?” Ian muttered into Barbara’s bath-damp hair, their eyes unfocused across the room. She breathed in and out slowly, listening to the sound of their heartbeat; eventually she shrugged weakly against their chest, rubbing the silver bracelet around her wrist.

“I’m not sure, really,” she whispered back. It all felt like a dream. She still felt like she was in a dream. 

“I think… it all could’ve been worse,” they suggested, their tone surprisingly light, “We’re both here, aren’t we? Alive? At least there were no Daleks this time.”

“No,” she murmured, “Just people. ”

They chuckled at that, but Barbara frowned. She could feel each of Ian’s ribs through their nightshirt.

The Doctor and Vicki didn't need to hear all the gory details of what had happened to them in Rome. They hadn’t even entirely told each other, aside from a few remarks. This was just… a particularly terrible adventure. One day they’d be able to look back and recall everything and laugh. One day. 

Suddenly overwhelmed in the silence, Barbara turned and straddled Ian around the waist, her hands clumsily grasping their face as she crushed their lips together.

They tasted like mint and their mouth was soft against hers, parted in a surprised O. When she pulled away, feeling wetness on her cheeks, Ian stared up at her with wide, searching eyes.

“Barbara, a- are you sure you–...” they stopped, realizing their hands had traveled to her waist and quickly dropping them. “I- I’m not a woman, I wouldn’t want you to–”

“I’m bisexual,” Barbara blurted without thinking about how she’d never said it out loud before. “I love everyone. I- I love you , Ian. Please… ”

Their face suddenly became fraught with worry, and Barbara’s heart started to race. 

“ Don’t— ”

“Are you… alright , Barbara? Did something happen in Rome—?” 

Her throat felt tight. “Stop. Please don’t ask me that, I can’t…”

She felt their hand on her face, thumb stroking across her cheek. Their palm was warm, and Barbara leaned into it, feeling herself starting to crumble. “Ian, please… ” her whispered voice cracked, hoarse and painful, “I need you. I- I love you. I love you , please just let me—”

Ian gently pushed her away as she tried to forcibly kiss them again, their eyes sad and their hands firm on her shoulders. 

“I love you too, Barbara,” they murmured, “But… we can’t. Not right now.”

With that, Barbara finally broke. Everything that had happened over the past week came crashing down on her and she couldn’t handle it anymore. She started to cry, and she couldn’t stop, melting into Ian’s shaky embrace and sobbing until she could hardly breathe.

“I almost dread going back to the sixties, Doctor,” Ian admitted, surprising the Doctor into looking up from the foosball table with a scandalized expression.

“Dread going back– why, Chabbletin, haven’t I been trying desperately to get you back there ever since we left? Why the sudden change of heart, hm?”

Shrugging, Ian spun their row of players idly, watching the ball slowly roll toward the Doctor’s waiting pegs. 

“I think I’ve gotten so used to you lot… understanding me, I suppose,” they said, not meeting his eyes, “I’m afraid to imagine going back to London in the sixties, having to… to go back to being the man I was before. If that makes any sense. No one would understand, not in our time. Not the way all of you do.”

“You’ll have Miss Wright, of course,” the Doctor offered, ignoring the drifting ball that was heading for his goal. 

Ian sighed. “Barbara’s lovely. I only wish… I only wish I didn’t have to explain myself to anyone. If I could just… be, without all the questions that come with it.”

The Doctor nodded, and flicked his wrist to send the ball flying back across the foosball table, barely missing Ian’s goal. He chuckled to himself as they scrambled to gain control of their line of players. 

“It’ll be difficult, yes. Yes, yes, it will be difficult,” he agreed, “But even in your time, I trust you’ll be able to find others like you. Yes, I believe you will.”

“Right…” Ian offered an uncertain smile, “I hope so, Doctor.”

“Everything alright, Vicki?” Barbara asked, making her way through the kitchen to sit next to the younger girl, who was cross legged on the bench against the wall. 

Frowning, Vicki nervously twirled a piece of hair around her finger, pulling so hard it looked like it hurt. Barbara could see how thin that area had become on her scalp.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so odd,” Vicki said bluntly, “I’ve tried not to let it affect the rest of you, but I’ve been in a lot of distress recently.”

Barbara blinked, still unused to the incredibly direct way Vicki tended to speak. 

“Well… I’m sorry,” she tried, giving her a reassuring smile, “I hope we haven’t done anything to make you feel that way.”

“No, no, of course not! It wasn’t you or Ian, it was the Doctor. And I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it, he- he was perfectly understanding when I told him what I wanted, but I- I just haven’t been able to get it out of my head,” she sighed and pulled her knees closer to her chest. 

Barbara tilted her head. Vicki sighed.

“I… I’ve thought about feminizing hormone therapy for a while now,” she said, eyes cast down at the floor. “But… when the Doctor asked if I’d want to start, I- I really wasn’t sure. He’s got everything in the lab. It- it’s a bit archaic compared to what we had in my time, but it’s nothing terrible. I- I could start today if I wanted, but…”

“But…” Barbara urged.

Still tugging on a lock of hair, Vicki shrugged. “But I… I don’t know if I want to. I don’t want anyone to think I’m… pretending to be a girl or anything. I’m not. I- I am a girl, I’m certain of that, but… but I don’t know if I want… that part. I like myself just the way I am. I- I don’t want to have to change.”

Gently putting her arm around Vicki’s shoulders, Barbara let her lean against her, nodding their heads together.

“You don’t have to change anything, Vicki.”

“And you’ll still think of me as a girl?”

Barbara smiled, laughing softly. “Of course. Unless you tell us to think differently. And we’ll support you no matter what you decide to do.”

Tears began to soak through the fabric of Barbara’s shirt, wetting her shoulder. Vicki’s arms curled around Barbara’s waist as she sniffled.

“I- I’m sorry,” she whimpered, muffled and crackly, “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“It’s alright. It’s alright, we all need a good cry sometimes.”

Vicki’s shoulders shook. “I just don’t know what I want to do.”

“I… I understand. But… please, don’t be too hard on yourself. It takes time, Vicki,” Barbara squeezed her shoulder, “You don’t have to figure it all out at once.”