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Eris has set his TARDIS to drift in the vortex. He hopes it can do something like that safely. This one is rather antique. He’s sure it’ll be fine, but still…He’d hate for anything bad to happen to it. To him. He’s already barely escaped Gallifrey with his life. He knows what will happen if he’s brought before Mantus. Or Rassilon. He shudders at the thought.
But he has nothing else to do, so he decides it’s time to do a little exploring. He has no plans of getting lost in the TARDIS, certainly not. He’s no idiot. Leastways, he tries not to be.
Everything is exactly as he expects it. The short corridor just off the console room has a few doors on either side, leading into sleeping areas, a small wardrobe, shower facilities, and a medbay. Everything is pristine, as is to be expected of a CIA TARDIS, especially one that hasn’t been used in centuries. Except for one thing.
There’s a body in the medbay.
Well. It probably isn’t a body. Not a dead one, anyway. It’s stuck in a cryogenic pod, centuries old by the looks of it. There’s a piece of paper stuck to it—is that a thing that exists, sticky paper? How odd—and Eris goes to investigate, cautiously.
The paper pulls off easily—it’s only sticky on the top part. It’s a very small square, electric blue, and there’s writing in pen. How very antique. Eris wonders what’s going on here. He even briefly considers getting in touch with Coordinator Romana, just to see if she can shed some light on the situation.
Commander Hallan, the paper reads. Infected with Dogma Virus.
Eris knows about the Dogma virus. He learned about it in a political history class his last year at the Academy. The last year that the academy existed. Reports on what happened to it in the end are scant, though, bordering on potential signs of paradoxical happenings. But this is Gallifrey. Paradoxes don’t happen on Gallifrey. Not without some massive coverup involved.
Eris looks through the window at the frozen face. It’s pleasing to look at, certainly. Light-brown hair tipped with frost, a bit of scruff hinting at the man trying to grow a beard, or perhaps wanting to show to the world how serious his job was. Time Lords don’t naturally grow facial hair, as a rule. They have to make a conscious effort to do so. It’s usually done as some kind of political statement. Eris briefly wonders why Sub-Coordinator Narvin grew his.
Above all, the sleeping face shows a measure of respect. Authority. He seems like a loyal, respectable man. Eris looks at the paper again. Commander Hallan. Was he a commander in the CIA or the Chancellery Guard? Which seems more likely? Eris assumes he was in the CIA—how else would he have ended up inside a CIA TARDIS’s medbay?
But most of all, Eris wants to know why this commander wasn’t cured. Was he just forgotten? But someone had to move him into the TARDIS medbay. It’s all a mystery, and one Eris intends to get to the bottom of. He’ll just have to cure this Commander Hallan and wake him up.
The next several weeks see Eris doing research, trying to find out as much as he can about the Dogma virus and how to cure it. He knows he can’t let Hallan out until he’s cured, or he’ll infect Eris with it, too, but that’s about all he can find. He’s taken to explaining his findings to Hallan. Not that the commander can hear him, of course, but it’s nice to talk to someone. It’s lonely onboard the TARDIS. And this gives him a distraction from dealing with Knyla’s death.
One day he visits Hallan in the medbay, even though he hasn’t found anything new. He looks through the little window at the man’s face. Hallan doesn’t look peaceful in cryogenic suspension; he looks worried. The corners of his mouth turn down and his brow is furrowed.
“Wonder what brought you here,” Eris says quietly. He needs to talk to someone, even if that someone is currently in cryogenic suspension. “Did the Coordinator know that you were on this TARDIS, then? Was she hoping I’d find some way to cure you?”
There is no response. Of course there isn’t. It would be far scarier if there had been. Eris peers through the window, as if Hallan’s sleeping face could somehow give clues to what he needed to do.
And then Eris begins to think. “Hang on a microspan,” he says slowly. He might have just found a way to cure the commander.
The dogma virus retroactively changed Time Lord DNA, reducing them to nothing more than zombies. But Eris has never been infected with the virus. His DNA remains unchanged. If he compares his DNA with Hallan’s, he could perhaps find the differences and find a way to cure the commander.
Of course, Eris isn’t good at this sort of thing. It’s why he joined the CIA, instead of some research team like his family had originally wanted. But he can still try. The worst scenario is that Hallan isn’t cured, and maybe dies. But Hallan’s been in cryo for so long that he probably doesn’t have any surviving family. He appears to have been forgotten.
Eris gets to work on this new project, throwing himself headlong into it, not sleeping, even forgetting to eat. He isn’t quite sure why, but he wants to get this done more than he’s wanted anything in a long time. He wants to talk to Hallan, learn more about him. Find out what happened to him.
Finally, after long trials and tests, Eris thinks he’s found a cure. He can’t be certain, because he’s generally bad at this medical sort of thing, but again, the worst that happens is that it won’t work. He doesn’t know Hallan, and no one else remembers the man, so it can’t be too bad. Right?
Still, he hesitates. Can he do this? He could be curing Hallan. He could be killing him. And he really, really doesn’t want that to happen. He wants to meet Hallan, to talk to him. Get to know him.
Eris won’t admit it to anyone (not that there’s anyone on the ship he can admit it to), but he thinks he’s fallen a little bit in love with the commander. He’s been visiting the medbay far more often than strictly necessary, and he’s been getting more excited about this possible cure than is normal, given that he knows nothing about Hallan other than his name and rank. But that doesn’t change the fact that the commander is, well, attractive. And Eris is afraid to end the cryogenic suspension and find out that perhaps Hallan’s personality isn’t as attractive as his face.
But that risk doesn’t outweigh Eris’s desire for company. Even if Hallan doesn’t like Eris back, or if it all turns out to be some weird attraction that goes away as soon as Eris has someone to talk to, it’ll be alright. Eris wants someone to talk to. He also wants to hold someone, and be held in return, but he won’t let himself think about that, not right now.
He programs the cryo chamber to give Hallan the cure with trembling fingers. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this nervous. The chamber beeps as it administers the cure, and finally, a release of air signals the end of the process. Eris watches the screen with Hallan’s vitals closely.
And sure enough, the screen registers signs of change. It flashes a warning sign at Eris, then shows imagery of DNA—Hallan’s DNA—mutating, twisting, finally settling down. Eris runs it through the computer alongside his own, running checks to see if he’s been successful.
Finally, after all these weeks and months onboard the TARDIS alone, with no one but himself for company, Eris begins entering the necessary codes to release Commander Hallan.
With a rush of air, the cryogenic chamber opens, and slowly, Hallan opens his eyes. “Madam President!” he shouts suddenly, and attempts to stand, to hurry somewhere, but his legs fold under him, and he crumples to the ground.
Eris quickly catches him and helps stand him up. Hallan is taller than he, with a big, muscular build. Eris isn’t exactly a small person, but it takes all his strength to get the commander over to one of the beds in the medbay. “You’ll be alright, commander,” he says soothingly. “You were in cryogenic suspension.”
Hallan collapses onto the bed and rubs his forehead. His skin is still colder than normal, and Eris can see that he’s shivering. He suddenly imagines himself warming up the commander, raising his own body temperature and sitting with his arms around him… But he can’t. He’ll find a blanket. That’s what he has to do.
When he returns with the blanket, Hallan is staring at him. “I brought you a blanket,” Eris says redundantly, holding it up. “Here. Let’s warm you up.”
“I don’t mean to be rude,” says Hallan. His voice is deep, authoritative. “But who are you?”
Eris grins apologetically and unfolds the blanket, placing it on Hallan’s lap. “The name’s Eris. Agent Eris. I’m with the Celestial Intervention Agency.” His face falls. “...Or. I was.”
Hallan rolls his eyes. “One of Narvin’s lot, then?” He takes the blanket and wraps it around his shoulders, still shivering.
“Sort of?” Eris replies, confused. “Except Narvin isn’t the Coordinator.”
Hallan’s eyes open wide, and Eris can see how bright blue the irises are. “When did that happen?” he asks. “How long have I been in cryo?”
Eris shrugs, embarrassed. “I’m not sure,” he admits. He sits down on the bed, shoulder to shoulder with Hallan. “I found the cryo unit here in the medbay, but I don’t know when you got here or how.” He pauses. “Narvin’s lot? Are you not part of the CIA?”
“Why would I want to be part of the CIA?” Hallan snorts. “Coverups and conspiracies. No, I’m a commander in the Chancellery Guard.”
“You were a commander in the Chancellery Guard,” Eris corrects. “Doesn’t exist anymore. Rassilon dissolved it.”
Several emotions cross over Hallan’s face, the last being a rather endearing confusion. “What’s going on?” he asks. “Tell me what’s happening.”
“I don’t know where I’m supposed to start,” Eris replies. “When did you go into cryo?”
“The civil war,” Hallan replies. “Pandora was trying to infect the president with the dogma virus. I took the brunt of it. I locked myself in cryogenic suspension.” He looks warily at Eris. “What’s been going on since then? Did Pandora win? Are we all exiles now?” He pauses for a moment. “You said Narvin isn’t Coordinator anymore. Did something happen to him?”
“Who was president during the civil war?” Eris asks.
Hallan gives him a look that seems to say, are you stupid? “Romana,” he says slowly. “President Romana. She was fighting against Pandora, please tell me you know who Romana is.”
“Oh, right,” Eris says. “I always forget Coordinator Romana was president before she joined the CIA.”
“She what?”
She resigned and became Coordinator of the CIA. It was all a while ago. I was still quite young when it happened.”
“Then what happened to Narvin?”
“Sub-Coordinator.”
“Is that even a rank?”
Eris grins. “If it wasn’t before, it is now.”
Hallan grins too, and Eris sees that he has a dimple. But the grin fades quickly. “What happened to the Chancellery Guard?” he asks.
Ah. This will be the tricky bit. Eris sighs, and places a hand on Hallan’s shivering shoulder. “The civil war,” he says quietly. “It was centuries ago.”
The color that had been returning to Hallan’s face drains out. “And there’s still no cure?” he asks, his voice a hollow whisper.
“No! No,” Eris reassures him quickly. “It’s just...well...I think they forgot about you.”
Hallan laughs bitterly. “Of course they did. President Romana had reservations about me, even though I served her faithfully in the war. I did this—” He gestures to the cryo chamber, “—as a way to keep her safe! And she forgot about me.”
“Well…” Eris screws his face up, trying to remember what had happened after the civil war. The history from the period is so confusing. “Hang on. No. Right after the civil war, there was the Day of Three Presidents.” He shrugs. “There was a lot of confusion about everything, I think. Romana was deposed for a little while, and I don’t think President Matthias remembered you.”
“But he knew about me, too!” Hallan bursts out.
“He had the dogma virus to deal with,” Eris says. “At least, I think he did. I don’t know what was going on. I never paid attention in history.”
“Yes, that’s another thing,” Hallan says. “Just how young are you?”
“Old enough to be a CIA agent,” Eris says defensively. “Just...young enough to be the most junior agent.”
Hallan laughs, but this time there’s no bitterness. He puts an arm around Eris’s shoulders. “It’s alright,” he says. “I imagine I’m older than most people in power on Gallifrey right now.”
“I don’t know about that,” Eris replies. “Romana’s the Coordinator, of course, and then…”
“Yes?”
“Well, there isn’t a president anymore. Rassilon’s taken over.”
Hallan stares at Eris. “You’re joking.”
“It’s the Time War,” Eris says tiredly. “They wanted to bring Rassilon back because of the Time War, and now things are worse than ever. That’s why I got kicked off Gallifrey. I found you in my TARDIS medbay.”
“There are so many things you just said that don’t make sense,” Hallan replies.
“Let’s not talk about them, not right now,” says Eris. “We should focus on your recovery. When you’re fully recovered, then we can talk about it.”
Hallan raises his eyebrows. “If you say so, Medic,” he replies.
“Don’t call me that,” Eris says quickly. “I’m no good at that sort of thing. I didn’t even know my cure would work.”
“Hang on, you came up with the cure?”
Eris looks down, embarrassed. “Yeah, but I didn’t know if it would work. I couldn’t find anything about the dogma virus in the TARDIS databanks and I’m not that good at biomedical engineering and—”
His rambling is suddenly cut off by a firm mouth pressing against his. He starts back in surprise, and Hallan cuts off the kiss. There are two small spots of pink in each cheek, and he looks...exhilarated. Nervous. Maybe a mixture of the two.
“I’m sorry,” says Hallan quickly. “I just...Well…”
Eris tries to put his mind back together enough to speak. “Oh.” he says. “Oh. Uh.” He raises a hand to his lips and touches them, almost without thinking. “D’you think—uh—would you mind…?” He pauses, trying to collect his thoughts. “Can you do that again?”
Hallan lets out a small, breathless laugh. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he says, and brings his lips to Eris’s once more. This time, Eris is prepared, and the kiss is long, tender. It’s everything Eris needs, and from the way Hallan is responding, Eris would guess it’s everything he’s been longing for, too.