Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Doctor, are you sure that’s even a thing?”

The Doctor made a face, scrunching her nose in a perfect facsimile of good-natured annoyance—which wasn’t hard, thanks to the very real irritation prickling just under her skin. It wasn’t the kind of irritation, however, that she wanted to show to her fam. It was dangerously close to anger.

“Of course it’s a thing, Yaz! Jury duty isn’t a human invention, you know. Lots of species have juries—or at least, the more civilized ones do.”

Neither Yaz nor the rest of the gang looked convinced. 

“And when will you be back again?” Ryan asked.

The Doctor pretended to think about it. “Oh, I don’t know. Half an hour? Depending on the TARDIS, of course, since she likes to trip me up a bit.”

She grinned, and gave a nudge to the TARDIS, as if the ship were in on the nonexistent joke. In reality, the Doctor planned to be in the hallowed halls of the Shadow Proclamation for roughly five minutes, enough time to give a lengthy explanation of why exactly they should all sod off. 

“Right.” Graham nodded, clearly unconvinced. “Half an hour. After how many tries?”

“Oh, come off it, Graham!” The Doctor gave him an affronted look. “I got you back, didn’t I?”

“But you’ll come back, won’t you?” Yaz eyed the Doctor worriedly. She looked as if she were moments away from inviting herself along. As if she didn’t quite trust the Doctor to return. “You won’t leave us hangin?”

The Doctor gave Yaz a smile, as honest a one as could be dredged up, considering her mood at the moment. “I will, I promise. Even if it takes me one trillion and twenty seven tries. Though statistically, it probably won’t.”

None of them immediately answered, but they seemed to accept this. Mostly. She saw the reticence in their eyes, and hastened to make it more palatable. “Trust me, fam. This is the last thing I want to be doing—I’m not even getting paid! But it’ll just be a short hop for you lot, and then I’ll be back and we can go off again. Somewhere that’s not Sheffield. Or Earth. Unless you want to do past Earth—ooh, that could be fun! What do you say, past Earth?”

They still looked rather reluctant, Yaz most of all. “Do you want us to wait for you here?” she asked hopefully. The Doctor almost shook her head, but then caught sight of the painfully optimistic look in her eyes, and turned the shake into a nod. 

“Sure, why not?” She craned her head past Yaz’s shoulder, and caught sight of a sign sticking off a building, just a block down. “That looks like a coffee shop, doesn’t it? Why don’t you all sit down, grab a drink, and I’ll come pick you up in half an hour?”

Yaz nodded eagerly, relief flooding her expression. Ryan shrugged, still clearly uneasy about the Doctor’s imminent disappearance. Graham just studied her for a long moment, a wrinkle in his brow. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then broke off into a cough. 

The Doctor frowned. “Maybe some tea for you instead, Graham.”

Graham shook his head, then devolved into another series of coughs. The Doctor watched him, a crease appearing in her brow. 

“You alright, grandad?” Ryan went to lay a hand on Graham’s shoulder, but at his words Graham gave one final cough and straightened up. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He shivered, and glanced around the little group, all of whom were eying him uncertainly. “Oh, I’m fine, really. It’s just the cold air. And I’m not as young as you two.” 

He ignored Ryan’s and Yaz’s raised eyebrows, and said, “Did you want anything, Doc? Or is this thing gonna take too long?”

The Doctor gave it a think, then waved a dismissive hand. “Nah, don’t bother. I’ll be back in time to order.”

This was enough to draw a relieved smile out of all of them, and the Doctor gave them one last wave as she stepped into the TARDIS. Then she turned around, and made sure not to catch their eyes as she closed the door behind her.

Not that it mattered, she reminded herself, as she threw the dematerialization lever. She’d be back before their coffee got cold.

————

Was she really being so self-important if she expected somebody there to greet her?

They were the ones who had summoned her, after all, and not the other way around. Though it wasn’t as if she didn’t take issue with that; the Doctor had really only come to get them to stop. Or rather, not them specifically, but the big guys behind them. The ones manipulating the peons from the end of the universe. 

One council hiding behind another.

The High Council of the Time Lords had issued the Doctor a mysterious summons several weeks ago, in linear time. Probably something to do with the president she’d deposed of at the end of the universe. She’d ignored it, as was customary. Now it appeared they were trying every route to get to her, including—and this really made her clench her teeth—giving the Shadow Proclamation the nerve to hand her an executive order of appearance. 

The gall of it.

She almost hadn’t come. But then they’d issued her another, and another, clogging up the TARDIS’s servers, all written in badly spelled high Gallifreyan, as if that was supposed to appeal to her. After another half a dozen she’d decided that, instead of ignoring them, she would simply send a strongly-worded refusal. In person.

She spent the flight preparing a rather dramatic speech to launch into upon arrival, and stepped out of the TARDIS with the words on the tip of her tongue, only to find that nobody was there. 

“Huh?” 

She did a quick circle around the TARDIS to ascertain she hadn’t mislanded. And she hadn’t; she was standing smack dab in the middle of the congressional chamber of the Shadow Proclamation, which also happened to be the perfect spot to deliver dramatic refusals of executive orders. Which was why she had chosen it.

Only nobody was there to receive it.

“Hello?” she called, and listened to her own voice echo around the vast hall. Not a single soul responded, and the Doctor frowned, ever so slightly put out. What was the fun after all, in being justifiably annoyed at someone when those people weren’t there?

She turned around again until she spotted the doorway, far off to her left, and jogged towards it. She stopped short when she arrived, and pushed it open with just a little bit of pomp, in case the crowds were waiting on the other side of the door to hear her speech. They weren’t though; the hall was just like the congressional chamber. An utter ghost town.

“Strange,” she muttered, then started down the hall, eying the tall, darkly-paneled doors that lined each side of the hallway. They were all shut, and apparently empty according to the readings of her sonic screwdriver. She scanned each one as she passed by, giving a short huff when every reading returned the same.

Not a soul.

“Curiouser and curiouser.” She continued down the hall, suddenly conscious of her own breathing and scuff-scuff of boots against the carpeted floor, loud compared to the hushed silence around her. “They’ve got to be here, don’t they?”

Had she gotten her dates mixed up? The Doctor checked her sonic. No, it was the correct time and place. Perhaps they were using one of the other asteroids that made up the seat of the Shadow Proclamation’s power. That would be a headache, not to mention embarrassing, though she supposed she could just pretend she hadn’t gotten lost and—

Her sonic beeped and she froze, stopping right in the middle of the hallway. She glanced down, and read the indication; the presence of organic lifeforms, just to the right of her. She pivoted to face the door—identical to all the others—and moved closer, a smile creeping up her face as she caught the low murmur of voices. Ah, so they were just in the slow season, were they? Had to use one of the small rooms, didn’t have enough council members present to make it look grand. Well, she could work with that.

Her hand was already reaching for the door handle, mouth already opening to leap into her speech, when a shout issued from behind the door. She paused, curious, then bent at the keyhole. Voices weren’t often raised in the congressional chambers of the Shadow Proclamation. Not enough emotions among the lot of them, the Doctor liked to think. Or maybe they just liked the awe that a little stately silence could muster. 

Her hair brushed the keyhole just in time to snag the tail-end of another shout, and this time it was loud enough for the Doctor to catch the desperation pinned to it.

“It’s not enough—!” The voice cut off abruptly, overwhelmed by emotion, and the Doctor’s eyes widened. Since when had tears entered the dignified chambers of the Shadow Proclamation?

“Sarva, we’re doing everything we—” another voice hurried to reassure, and the Doctor’s expression fell into shock. She knew that voice, though not in person. The Doctor made a point to know the main players of every era in whatever galaxy she happened to be currently visiting. And that voice belonged to no other than Rathoinax, the current—and most famous—head of the Shadow Proclamation. Rathoinax, who spoke in a monotone and never let a smile slip past her wrinkled old lips, if she could help it. Rathoinax, who most certainly didn’t reassure.

“You don’t understand!” The first voice cut in again, sharp and quivering. “The Child of Time is on our doorstep—”

The Doctor’s mouth fell open. She stared at the edge of the door frame, dark and polished as the door itself, and tried to keep listening even as her mind was reeling.

The Child of Time. A memory whispered at the back of her mind—chasing after her Ghost Monument, on a planet with two suns and her little fam, then nothing more than a confused trio. The words of the Remnants; the Timeless Child.

She thought they’d been referring to her. But could this Child of Time be—?

Her hand was on the doorknob before she even realized she was reaching for it, and then she was flinging the door open and stumbling into the room, all thoughts of petty speeches long gone from her mind. 

The occupants of the room turned immediately upon hearing the door, and a startled cry of surprise ran through the lot of them. The Doctor gave them a grin and a friendly wave, which wobbled with consternation when she actually caught sight of the group. There were only six, which was troubling, and she recognized them all, which was even worse. Every single face in the room stood as the head of a major section of the explored universe, and while it wasn’t unusual for such high heads of states to gather in the congressional chambers of the Shadow Proclamation, it was unusual for all the other representatives, the little planets and peoples and galaxies to be…absent.

“Private party?” She swallowed any worry which might have peeked out of her expression, and when nobody moved, sauntered over. “I almost wasn’t going to enter, but, well, I sort of eavesdropped, and—”

“Who are you?” A gaseous blue shape, his face no more than a roiling cloud of slightly darker blue gases, snarled at her. “How did you get—”

“Prijaan, calm down,” Rathoinax said wearily, her eyes fixed upon the Doctor. “You forget the last member we invited to the session.”

She dipped her head in greeting, and the Doctor gave her a nod. The smile she’d plastered on her face was already fading away. She never managed to keep them on very long around such folk. “Yeah, I got the invite. Didn’t really appreciate it. ‘Specially not the email spam, thanks very much.”

“Email spam?” Rathoinax raised one eyebrow tiredly. The Doctor waved a flippant hand.

“Oh, just a bit of Earth slang. Picked it up in my travels. But that’s not important. What’s important is what I came here to tell you.”

Prijaan nodded, his whole form billowing. “So you have heard about our distress—”

“Distress?” The Doctor wrinkled her nose. “What distress?”

The entire council—all six of them—stared at her. The Doctor stared back, confusion growing in her expression the longer the silence continued. “So, uh, you lot weren’t calling me as a front for the Time Lords, I suppose?”

Rathoinax frowned, puzzled. “The Time Lords no longer exist, Doctor. Excepting yourself, of course.”

“Ah right, yeah,” the Doctor answered hastily. “Right, they don’t. Definitely nowhere in the universe. Or out of it.”

Then she hesitated. “Though, hang on—why have you all been, er, blowing up my phone, as I believe the kids call it? You know I don’t answer to—”

“Unbelievable,” a tall, graceful form snarled, and the Doctor’s eyes flew to her. It was the council member she’d heard outside, moments before interrupting the party. Her voice was still heavy with emotion. “She doesn’t even know.”

“Sarva—” Rathoinax cautioned.

“Know what?” The Doctor looked between the six of them, utterly baffled. When they didn’t immediately answer, she gave an uncertain smile. “Oh, c’mon, don’t hold back on me. There’s not much I don’t know, and it really bugs me when I don’t.”

Several of the council members exchanged a glance. Rathoinax just eyed her, stern and scrutinizing. As if trying to decide. At last, she spoke. “Sarva, is the patient quarantined?”

Sarva looked to her in surprise, which quickly flashed to trepidation. “Yes, Rathoinax, but—”

“We won’t break the quarantine.” Her eyes stayed on the Doctor as she spoke. “But we’ll give her a look. She needs to see him. She needs to understand the trouble facing the universe.”

————

Rathoinax led the Doctor to the quarantine, past the rows of dark wooden doors and down a different hallway, this one lined with empty, glass-walled cells. The ones, the Doctor recognized, in which criminals against the Shadow Proclamation would come to await trial. Only now they were empty—evacuated, the Doctor realized, like the rest of the building. Rathoinax and her council, it seemed, weren’t taking any chances.

Rathoinax’s robes swept behind her as she walked, long enough that the Doctor nearly tripped on the tail. Instead she jogged until she was even with her, and silently cursed this regeneration’s shorter legs. One regeneration back, and she would have been the one striding ahead. 

“What do you mean when you say ‘quarantined’?” she asked. Rathoinax glanced at her once, before returning her gaze to the front as they strode down the hallway. 

“You’ll see for yourself, Doctor. In fact, you might be able to tell us something about what this patient is infected with. All I can say is that it’s like nothing I’ve seen before, not in this universe.”

“Oh, and been to any others, have you?” the Doctor asked dryly. Rathoinax’s lip curled, but her gaze stayed pinned to the front. 

“Not as of yet. Though, given the spread of this disease, I fear we may have to start looking.”

The utter seriousness in which she dropped those words stunned the Doctor out of her planned comeback. She looked at Rathoinax and pursed her lips to ask a question, but didn’t have time to phrase it before Rathoinax raised one elongated hand and pointed a slender finger. 

“There.” The Doctor followed her gaze to a cell at the end of the hallway. It was identical to the others, the walls transparent like all the rest; only not, for as they approached, the Doctor realized that the glass was shimmering, strangely translucent. A shield, she guessed, though she couldn’t be sure as to what kind. Not without closer examination.

“It’s just a general quarantine,” Rathoinax said, as if reading the Doctor’s mind. “The problem, you see, is that we don’t know what we’re fighting. We don’t know what causes this disease, nor how it spreads beyond simple proximity. It doesn’t appear biological in nature, but it affects the biological processes. It also turns—well, look for yourself.”

They closed in on the glass—still easily see-through despite the shield—and Rathoinax gestured to a cot lying centered in the cell. A man sat upon it—not human, the Doctor noted, but definitely a close evolutionary pattern. He was pale and shivering, his head down and his hands resting limply on his knees. Rathoinax stopped a good five feet away and hung back, strangely reluctant, but the Doctor moved close, pressing up against the glass.

“Hello?” she called softly to the man, who twitched at her voice, but didn’t immediately look up. “Hello, there. My name’s the Doctor. I’m sorry you’re stuck in there, but the council’s brought me in to take a look at you—”

By the word council, it was clear the man was listening, for his head jerked up slightly, and then after a long moment, he lifted his gaze. His gaze immediately found the Doctor’s, and she broke off, drawing in a ragged breath.

His eyes were entirely a flat, dull gold.

“Help—me?” The man’s teeth chattered as he spoke. “You can…help me?”

The Doctor didn’t answer. She only stared for several moments, and then quickly whipped her sonic screwdriver out and drew it up and down, scanning. She snatched it back as soon as it beeped and examined the readings, the crease in her forehead growing with every passing second.

“Doctor?” Rathoinax, still standing several feet back, was clearly growing apprehensive at the lengthy silence and the extended time spent in the man’s company. “Do you know what it is? Have you seen this kind of thing before?”

“Yes, sort of—and no.” She was still staring at her sonic screwdriver as she spoke, brow deeply furrowed, but then a moment later she seemed to spring back to life, stuffing the sonic in her pocket and spinning around. Despite the energy of her movements however, the worry in her eyes remained clear as day. “I mean, sort of to the first one and a hard no on the second.”

“Oh.” Rathoinax relaxed slightly at the semblance of an answer, though her eyes still darted warily to the man sitting in the cell. “So can you tell me what it is? How we stop it?”

“Ah, well.” The Doctor made a face, and rocked back on her heels. It could have been lighthearted, if not for the fear rampant in her expression. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? I can tell you what it is, Rathoinax. But you’re not going to like it.”

“Yes, well?” Rathoinax frowned impatiently, trepidation flickering heavy in her eyes. “What is it, then?”

The Doctor gave her a tight smile, shadowed with grim apprehension. “On the technical side, it’s something very, very wrong with time. On the more immediate side, it might possibly be the end of the universe.”

Chapter Text

Inside a room buried deep in the bowels of what had once been the UNIT headquarters, the lights were turned on.

And in the center of the room, surrounded by various tools and equipment, a young woman squinted against the harsh fluorescent lights as she carefully put the finishing touches on her ticket out of the universe that had once been her second home.

“Almost—yes, got it!” She twisted one last wire into place, and slammed the back panel of the dimension cannon shut. It resembled a big button more than any type of cannon, but she held it up to the light anyway, unable to keep a grin of triumph off her face. This was it. Six months after the human race had fallen to the plague, and the Earth had been reduced to a shriveled husk, Rose Tyler had finally found a way to escape.

If it would work. 

Impatience plucked her from her moment of victory, and she scrambled to her feet, pushing aside the tools she had used to complete the task. She fumbled with the cannon for a moment, adjusting the settings with trembling fingers, and then held it out at arms length, pointing it ahead. She stared at the space in front of her, looking without really seeing—or rather, seeing beyond, to something else. She thumbed the big button, tracing its shape.

And then she pressed down.

For a second, nothing happened. Then a stream of blue light shot out of the cannon—and stopped flat, only a few feet in front of her. It spread vertically, sweeping out to create a wall of blue light, just wide and tall enough for Rose to step through.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, momentarily entranced. “It—it’s working.”

And then the blue light flickered, and Rose remembered that she only had a minute or so before the whole thing vanished again. 

So she didn’t waste time, but stepped forward, still holding the cannon out in front of her. The blue light flickered once or twice, but otherwise stayed strong as she approached, until she was only one short step from falling through. Then she stopped, and her eyes darted across the blue light, taking in its steady glow. One foot. Only one more foot, and she would be through. 

Rose closed her eyes, sucked in a breath, and stepped forward.

And crashed against the blue light. 

The blue light flickered as she hit it, but snapped back to stability as she stumbled back, nearly tumbling to the ground. She managed to right herself at the last moment, and her gaze snapped up to the blue light—more like a blue wall, from the feel of it—and her expression twisted into a glare.

“Oh—c’mon!” She lunged at the blue wall, this time tossing her entire body against it with enough force to knock the air out of her lungs. It did no good; the light remained as solid and impenetrable as ever. “You can’t just—!”

She threw herself against the light again, though she knew it wouldn’t help. She already had an inkling as to the problem, though no part of her wanted to admit it. She hadn’t managed to generate enough power to actually force a hole between the two realities. Despite the power she’d scraped from the building, despite the weak spots she had managed to pinpoint in the fabric of the dimensional walls, despite the scavenged Sontaran batteries she had jacked into the cannon—it wasn’t working. She simply didn’t have enough power.

“No!” She hit the wall again, this time with her fists. The cannon slipped from her fingers upon impact, and clattered to the floor. She ignored it, to continue beating against the wall. “No, no, no, no!”

She was half sobbing by this point, snot and tears dripping down her face, her expression twisted with helpless frustration.

“I need—I have to get through! You have to let me!” It was useless to shout, for there was nobody there to hear her. But she did it anyway, months of pent up sadness-turned-to-anger boiling over into one long-winded tirade.

“You can’t just not work!” —a boot slammed against the wall— “I need to get through!” —two fists, in quick succession— “I have a job—”

Her foot connected once more with the wall, and stuck. Rose cut off, her mouth hanging open, and stared at the spot where her foot was—or rather, half of it, because the other half had sunk quite deep into the blue light, which strangely enough, had begun to flicker again, though at a more rapid pace then before.

“What—”

And then, quite faint and yet at the same time very distinct, an irritated voice came from the blue light, and issued a rather disgruntled “shut up!”

Rose Tyler barely had time to register the words, before something grabbed her by the foot and jerked her bodily through.

As soon as she was gone, the blue light winked out of existence. The room lay still, the only signs of her presence the tools on the floor and the dimension cannon lying in the center of the room.

And the lights were still on.

————

In front of a dilapidated old barn, which sat stark on the wind-scrubbed plains of Gallifrey, the High Council gathered.

They stood around twenty, enough to block the door of the old barn, though there was nobody inside it. Occasionally, one of the Time Lords would shift restlessly, and then glance back at the now-boarded up entrance, as if expecting their visitor to come bursting through the door. However, nobody did, and after a moment they would turn uneasily back to the front to eye the empty plains in front of them. They sat desolate, waiting.

The general glanced at the readings on his wrist, and frowned. He glanced at the President, standing to his right, then back to the readings. Finally, he spoke.

“Lord President, are you sure this is the correct—”

“Where else would it be, General?” The President spoke with the same implacable calm she used when calling the end to a session in the chambers. However, the general couldn’t help but notice the stiffness in her shoulders. “The Doctor has always had a yen for the nostalgic.”

The general looked down again at his wrist, then back up at the plains, and didn’t reply. After a moment, the President sighed. “Even I was doubtful when I checked the timelock, General, but you can’t refute simple fact. The breach was made by a TARDIS. And no other being would be able to find their way to Gallifrey.”

The general stared straight out across the plains. His jaw twitched. “Yes, Lord President, but to break the quarantine—”

“—is a risk I have long since considered worth taking.” Now the President was speaking through gritted teeth, impatience rising in her tone. She too glared out across the plains, eyes fixed on the horizon. “We cannot have a Time Lord outside of the quarantine—not even the Doctor, though I do know how he loves to cavort with the lower species.”

“How do you know he isn’t already infected?”

“He would never have made it past the quarantine. And in any case—” The President paused and cocked her head, just as a faint wheezing sound drifted across the plains. She squinted, and leaned slightly forward. “I believe he is here.”

The general followed her gaze, and his eyes found a faint outline about twenty meters away, growing more and more distinct with each passing second. The wheezing grew louder, reverberating across the landscape. The High Council ceased their nervous shuffling, and as one they fell silent, every head turning towards the source of the noise.

With one final thump, the TARDIS materialized. The plain fell silent again. 

And that was when the general realized that they had made a very big mistake. 

Beside him, the President stiffened.

A diner sat in front of them, its decor very much reminiscent of mid-20th century Americana and not in any way reminiscent of a blue police box. The entire Council stared in shock, right down to the President and the general, neither of whom immediately stepped forward to deal with the issue at hand.

And then the door opened, and a woman stepped out.

“Hullo.” She grinned, though it didn’t quite meet her eyes. She had a rather fractured look about her, as if she had just seen quite a few terrible things in a very recent period of time, and hadn’t yet managed to forget them. “I suppose you’re the High Council of the Time Lords?”

There was no response. They only stared. The woman looked around, took in the less than friendly faces, and winced. “Right. Didn’t expect all of you to be here. This is a little awkward.” 

Then she clasped her hands together, and took in a deep breath. “Okay, well. My name is Clara Oswald, and I’m here to ask your help in saving the universe.”

————

For a moment, nobody moved. Then the general stepped forward, snarling. “Clara Oswald, you have no right—”

A hand on his chest stopped him. He looked down at it, then up at the president, who gave a minuscule shake of her head. She stepped forward to stand beside him. “Where is the Doctor?”

Clara gave a sad smile. “Oh, President, if you lot had actually been keeping track of the universe like you should, you would know that the Doctor and I haven’t traveled together for a very long time.”

“It was the Doctor we called back to Gallifrey, Clara Oswald. You should not be here.” The President’s formerly serene affectation was slipping, lending a slight edge to her tone. 

Clara frowned, and leaned back against the TARDIS, crossing her arms. The gesture might have been mocking, if not for the very real confusion that flashed in her eyes. “Well, you’ve certainly mixed up your TARDISes, haven’t you? Pretty impressive feat, considering there’s only two wandering the universe—”   

“That is enough,” the general growled. “You have no idea what you’ve done, breaking through the quarantine! We have no idea if you’re a carrier—”

“I’m not.”

“You assume.” The general was still glaring at her, his hands twitching as if he very badly wanted to curl them into fists. “Every living creature has the potential—”

“Oh, well that’s what you’re forgetting.” Clara shot him a flippant grin, then ducked her head, pushing her hair off her neck. “Oh, you can’t see it from here, can you? Doesn’t matter. I’m sure some of your older members remember.”

“She is right.” The President’s eyes were locked on Clara, a mixture of disapproval and disgust. “You were not here when it happened, Stokros. The Doctor pulled Clara from her death. She is no longer alive.”

“Uh huh.” Clara nodded, and spread her arms out wide. “And no longer susceptible! Which is exactly why I came. I’m not stupid enough to risk infecting a planet of Time Lords, you know.”

The President’s lip curled. “That is precisely why we have called the Doctor home. He is putting the entire—”

“She.” The President blinked, surprised. Clara just crossed her arms again and shrugged. “Don’t worry, I’ve just been keeping tabs on her. Good to know what the ex is up to.”

If the High Council appreciated her humor, none of them showed it. The President particularly was far removed from her earlier implacability, her shoulders stiff and her eyes simmering with fury. 

“If she falls victim to this disease, she will doom the entire universe.”

“Not if she stops it first.” Clara’s eyes were on the President, her jaw set. “You know the Doctor as well as I do. If anybody can stop it, she can. But she needs help.”

The President’s nostrils flared. “She will not find it here. One Time Lord outside the quarantine is an enormous risk. She should have come home, like we asked her to. We cannot send any of our own—”

“Oh, really?” Clara stepped forward, all traces of humor gone from her eyes, leaving only a simmering anger. “You lot are always the same, aren’t you? Sitting here at the end of the universe, doing absolutely nothing but ignoring the problems around you, just hoping the Doctor will dive in and fix it so you don’t have to.”

The President’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t immediately respond, so Clara kept going. She jabbed an angry finger towards her. “Don’t you know that you’re not safe either? That it’s going to get here too, no matter how hard you try to lock yourselves away—”

“We know.” 

Clara stopped, surprised. “What?”

“We’re not as unaware as you would have us seem, Clara Oswald,” the President said coldly. “We understand the enormity of this problem, certainly better than you do. We see in ways that you cannot, and we know that the universe is unraveling.”

Clara stared at them, stunned. Her finger sagged. “Then why won’t you help us?”

“Because we can’t.” The President grit her teeth, annoyance flashing across her face. “You may travel through time and space, Clara Oswald, but you do not see all the dangers. The Doctor never should have stayed outside the quarantine. But she has, and the Time Lords can no longer help her.”

“So you are a bunch of useless, arrogant gits—”

“But we have someone who can.”

Clara blinked. “You do? But how? The only people at the end of the universe are—”

“She is not from this universe.” The President glanced at the general, who seemed to understand. He tapped something on his gauntlet, and held it out in front of him. Instantly a beam shot out, then widened into a rough rectangle. Clara’s eyes widened as well. 

“You put a personal quarantine on—”

And then she cut off abruptly, as the light disappeared, sending somebody tumbling to the ground. That somebody cried out, startled, as she hit the dust, then raised herself to her knees and turned to glare at the High Council. “That was completely unnecessary!”

“We had to be certain you were not infected.” The President was barely looking at her. Instead she turned her gaze to Clara, and tilted her chin in the woman’s direction. “She has been banging on the universe walls for far too long. Eventually, we took pity. I believe she can help you.”

“Help who?” The blond woman tore her gaze from the High Council, and her eyes landed upon Clara. “Oh, nice to see somebody other than a bloody Time Lord around here. I’m—”

“I know who you are,” Clara breathed, her gaze fixed on the woman. “You’re Rose Tyler.”

————

Hi fam!

Long time no see! I hope it hasn’t been too much of a drag in Sheffield (not to knock on Sheffield—we’ve had some fun times there, haven’t we?). I’ve been carted around half the galaxy for space jury duty, which let me tell you, is no picnic. It’s almost as boring as reading the dictionary cover-to-cover when you already know all the words. Hopefully I’ll be finishing up soon, and then I can take you all to a wonderful planet I had the chance to visit a couple years back, where the trees are actually giant purple spears of energy. Actually, I suppose they don’t technically count as trees, but I’m running out of space on this postcard so I’ll have to explain in person. Anyway, I’ll be back soon, and I can’t wait to hear about all your adventures in Sheffield!

Your best friend,
The Doctor

Yaz stared at the postcard in her hands, reading it over and over again, frown deepening with every line. Then she flipped it over to a glossy picture of what she assumed the Doctor was talking about when she’d mentioned the purple trees, and her frown shifted into a scowl. She turned the postcard back over to the Doctor’s messy scrawl, and focused on the last line.

I’ll be back soon, and I can’t wait to hear about all your adventures in Sheffield!

“Yeah right,” Yaz muttered, and crumpled the postcard in her fist. Then she stuffed it into her pocket and stepped out into the dreary Tuesday morning.

Chapter Text

The Time Lords didn’t waste time in pushing Rose at Clara before kicking them off the planet. 

“We have opened a ten minute gap in the quarantine,” the President told them curtly, as Rose scrambled to her feet. “Take any longer, and you will fall to the jaws of the timelock. We will not be able to help you then.”

“Ta to that,” Clara answered, then lunged forward to grab Rose’s arm. “Sorry, but introductions later, yeah?”

Rose eyed her for a moment, then glanced over her shoulder at the Council, waiting in tense silence, and scowled. “Fine. Think I prefer you to the Time Lords, anyway.”

“Low bar.” Clara muttered, and turned to the TARDIS. “Right, ten minutes to get through the timelock. Only took me two hours before. We can do this, right?”

“Much as it scares me, I’m trusting you.” Rose let herself be pulled into the TARDIS, her eyebrows rising as she stepped through the door and took in the interior. “So I’m assuming this isn’t the Doctor’s TARDIS?”

“Nope.” Clara dropped her arm and made a beeline for the back of the restaurant, gesturing for Rose to follow. “Mind you, this one’s stuck as well. It’s been a diner ever since I first got it.”

“Huh.” Rose hung back momentarily as they reached what ostensibly looked like a bathroom, eying the Elvis-splattered door. “I get the feeling you’re not a Time Lord, though.”

“Oh, god no.” Clara pushed the door open to reveal the console room, but didn’t immediately enter. Instead, she braced it with one hand and turned to Rose. “What d’you think?”

Rose stepped through, eyes widening slightly as they swept over the interior, at the swirling patterns that covered the walls and the gracefully curved console. She spun in a slow circle, stopping as she came back to face Clara, who was watching her with a hopeful expression. “It’s uh, nice.”

“Nice?” Clara exclaimed, and stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind her. “Only nice? I’ve done a lot of work on this thing! Used to be all white and boring.”

Rose gave her a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry, but I, uh—I sort of like the Doctor’s better.”

“Oh.” Clara’s face fell. “Me too.”

The air turned suddenly awkward, silent as they regarded each other, unsure of what to say. Then Clara cleared her throat and glanced at her watch. “Uh, nine minutes. Shall we get going?”

Rose gave a small shrug, and gestured towards the console. “’Fraid I don’t know how to drive a TARDIS.”

“Right.” Clara nodded, though her face was clearly uneasy, likely due to their imposed deadline. “No problem, I got this.”

She stepped past Rose and moved towards the console. Rose turned to follow, but stayed at a respectable distance as Clara bent over the controls, face screwed up in concentration. 

“So, if you’re not a Time Lord…what are you, then?” she asked after a couple minutes of silence, punctuated only by Clara’s occasional muttering. Clara glanced up at her words, and flashed her a smile.

“Human, of course!” She punched something into a keyboard, then reached out and slammed a lever down. “Oh, and also dead. Technically. It’s a long story.”

“O…kay.” Rose nodded, though it was clear from her expression that Clara’s explanation didn’t quite satisfy her. “So, how do you know who I am?”

“The Doctor.” Clara didn’t look at her as she spoke, her eyes glued to a screen which she seemed to be shaking in an effort to get it to work. “I traveled with him—uh, her, I guess, and learned a lot about her past. Way too much, probably.”

She hit the screen with the flat of her hand, let out a huff of frustration, then looked to Rose. “The Doctor talked about you a lot, you know. Well, didn’t actually talk about you, but sometimes with the Doctor it’s the things she doesn’t talk about that you hear the most, you know?”

“…yeah.” Rose nodded, frowning slightly. “So, who are you, then? And actually, how did you know to come fetch me? Not that I mind, but…”

She trailed off, and shrugged. Clara studied her for a moment, then pursed her lips, and turned back to the screen. “Name’s Clara. Clara Oswald. And if I’m being honest…I actually didn’t come to get you. I didn’t even know you were here, actually. I came because—well, let me show you.”

She jabbed several buttons, and a display lit up in response. Clara tapped it, then twisted it around to face Rose, who stepped closer to peer at the screen.

“It’s a message,” she said, her brow crinkling in confusion. She scanned it quickly, then turned to Clara. “You got a message telling you to go to the Time Lords for help? Help for what?”

Clara raised an eyebrow, and turned the screen back to its original position. “You really don’t know?”

“I—” Rose stared at her, and sick realization dawned on her face. “No, I think I do, actually.”

But she didn’t say it. She just swallowed, face pale. Clara eyed her for a moment, brow furrowed, then turned back to the controls. After a moment, she spoke.

“So how did you end up at the end of the universe, anyway?”

Rose opened her mouth to answer, and then closed it again as if she weren’t sure what to say. She leaned against the console and studied Clara, whose eyes were fixed on another screen, though she could clearly feel Rose’s gaze. 

After a moment, she spoke. “You know, I get the feeling we have the same problem.”

“Do you?” Clara’s eyes rose to meet hers, and in them Rose saw that she knew exactly what she was talking about. Only she didn’t seem to want to say it any more than Rose.

Rose let her gaze fall to the console, and she traced a finger over one of the controls. Her throat felt thick, all of a sudden, and she swallowed, trying to clear it. “I…I live in a parallel universe. Well, lived. But about a year or two ago, something happened. There was…this disease, that came, and basically wiped us all out. We couldn’t cure it, couldn’t fight it, couldn’t do anything to stop it. It ran through us like…”

She stopped, as her voice turned thick again, and glanced up at Clara, who was still looking at the screen, though her hands, formerly in motion, had gone still.

Rose glanced down again to the console, and continued. “It just wiped us out. And not just us—in my universe, we were just starting to communicate with other species across the galaxy. But just as we were getting hit by the disease, they all went silent. Every last one.”

When she looked up again, it was to find Clara watching her, sympathy in her eyes.

“And that’s why you came here?” she asked softly. “To get away?”

Rose abruptly straightened, drawing her hands back from the console to stick them in her pockets. She glanced at the floor, then at the central pillar of the console, before finally letting her gaze fall to Clara.

“No.” Her voice was brisk and firm, a slight edge running through it. “No, I came here, because six months ago, I tracked the origin point of the disease to weak points in the dimensional walls. Specifically, your dimensional walls.”

She paused, letting the implications sink in, and Clara’s eyes widened. “Oh…”

“Yeah.” She let the word hang in the air for a moment, and then gave a slight, rueful shake of her head. “Near as I can guess, whatever destroyed my world came from yours. So of course, I figured if there’s one thing I can do…”

“Oh, I can see why the Doctor likes you.” Clara shook her head in admiration. “You really crossed the dimensional walls just to figure out what destroyed your universe?”

Rose raised one eyebrow, a hint of stone-cold determination flickering in her eyes. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Hypothetically, yes. Technically, I’ve no idea how.” Clara was still shaking her head as she reached out and pulled another lever. “And you’re right. We’ve got the same problem, and no answers. Sorry to disappoint. Though I am wondering how you survived.”

“Oh, bit of a mystery, that. Well, not exactly, but I don’t think we’ve the time to discuss it.” Rose gave her a lopsided smile, and leaned once more against the TARDIS. “Did the Doctor send you that message?”

Clara snorted. “The Doctor, sending me to meet the Time Lords? I mean, it’s possible, but—” She shook her head. “I've no idea, honestly, though if they're anything like the last mysterious messenger I've met, I don't know if I want to meet them.”

“Uh—” Rose opened her mouth, as if to ask after what Clara had just said, then seemed to think better of it. Instead, she gestured towards the console. “How much time have we got left?”

Clara glanced at her watch, and cursed. “Damn it! We got talking. Okay, four minutes before the quarantine closes and we're trapped here forever.”

She looked up and shot Rose a grin, who returned it uneasily. “Okay, Rose Tyler. Ready to do the impossible?”

For a moment, Rose just looked her up and down, then she nodded, and leaned against the console in an affectation of nonchalance. “Aren't I always?”

“Ooh—” Clara wagged a finger in her direction. “Now that is what I call a good attitude.”

And then, without further warning, she took both hands and slammed a lever down, sending them both flying.

————

It wasn’t the nicest of days in Sheffield, which fit Yaz’s mood perfectly. She kept her head down against the drizzling rain and hunched her shoulders as she walked, trying in vain to keep out the chill. Her police uniform did little to help, nor the knowledge that she would most likely be spending her entire shift outside, under the gray skies and rain which showed no signs of blowing past. 

Yaz tucked her chin into her collar and focused on the ground as she trudged down the street. Luckily, it was only a few blocks to Ryan’s flat, which meant she didn’t have to hurry. Lately, they’d taken to meeting up in the mornings, just as Ryan was getting back from his night shifts and Yaz was leaving for her daytime ones, to sit together and have coffee. Sometimes they’d watch the news, though it never did much for their spirits. Every day, the reports seemed to worsen, and lately even the news anchors’ faces had begun to grow grim. It would have been worrying, in a far-off sort of way, if they didn’t already have the problem staring them right in the face.

Yaz was shivering as she reached Ryan and Graham’s front stoop, and she knocked quickly, three sharp raps, before shoving her hand back into her pocket. Too cold to leave her fingers out to face the elements. She could already feel them growing numb.

She heard a chair scrape backwards in the living room, then the sound of footsteps. A moment later the knob turned, and the door swung inward. Yaz started to grin, only for her face to fall into a frown as she saw who it was.

“Graham!” she scolded, and stepped quickly inside so as to block off the chill. “You should be in bed! Why didn’t Ryan get the door?”

“Oh, c’mon Yaz, I’m not on my deathbed.” He shut the door and then turned to face her, a wan smile upon his face. As he did so, the warm cast of the hallway light caught his face, illuminating his sallow skin and the dark circles standing out under his eyes. They still held the same amount of warmth as they always did, but when Yaz caught his eye, she couldn’t help but notice the dull gold flecking his eyes. It seemed worse than it had been before. As if it were spreading.

Graham shivered, despite the uncommon warmth of the household. They must have cranked the temperature up to keep him comfortable. “I can still get up and walk to my own door, you know. Don’t need to be carted around.”

Yaz shot him a glare as she withdrew her thawing hands from her pockets to rub them together. “You need to rest. Ryan could have gotten the door just as easily, and you know it. Where is he, anyway?”

“Getting the coffee ready.” Graham nodded towards the doorway leading to the living room, and beyond that, the kitchen. He shifted on his feet, wincing slightly as he did so. Yaz noticed, and raised her eyebrows at him. He saw it, and sighed. “Oh, alright, I’ll go back to my chair. And don’t think I won’t claim the comfy one either. If you’re going to treat me like I’m sick, I’ll act like it.”

“You are sick,” Yaz told him, but followed him into the living room anyway, worriedly noting the sag of his shoulders and the slight trembling of his hands. “And you should be sitting down anyway. Why don’t you turn on the news, and I’ll help Ryan with the coffee?”

“I’m old enough to be your grandad, and you’re acting like my mum,” Graham grumbled, but he waved her into the kitchen before sinking into his chair with a sigh of relief he couldn’t quite hide. Yaz gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and after only a moment she turned and hurried into the kitchen, before Graham could look up and catch the concern tinging her expression.

She found Ryan standing over the counter, carefully spooning instant coffee into three mugs. 

“Instant, really?” she asked as she came up beside him. He looked over, then gave her a smile. 

“Oh, hey Yaz. Yeah, instant. You’re not a guest anymore, don’t have to break out the good stuff.”

Yaz pretended to pout. “I wake up at 6:30, two hours before my shift, for this? I’m going to stop coming over.”

Ryan shrugged, still focused on his task. “Feel free. Graham’s already complaining that you mother him too much.”

Yaz’s teasing expression dropped off instantly. “Yeah, I heard. How is he?”

She lowered her voice on the last three words, and leaned in to hear. Ryan didn’t immediately answer, but frowned at the mugs he was now stirring, and bit his lip. “I dunno. Not good, yeah? We took him to the doctor last week, just to get a confirmation, and he said the same thing. It’s Gold’s.”

Yaz’s stomach sank. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Ryan said softly. He was still looking down at the coffee, but he was no longer stirring. The spoon sat idle in the middle cup. “They’re looking into treatment, obviously, but for now—”

“I know.” Yaz stared at the mugs too, at the wisps of steam slowly drifting off the surface. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“How’s your mum?” 

Yaz jerked up at the unexpected question to find Ryan looking at her, his eyes unreadable.

“My mum? She’s—she’s okay.” It was a lie, and they both knew it. Ryan watched her, eyes crinkling with sympathy, but before he could say something, Yaz sighed and gave in. “Okay, yeah. She’s not doing good. We haven’t gotten her tested, though. I don’t—I don’t want—”

“It’s cool, Yaz.” Ryan gave her the smallest of smiles. “I get it. But you should soon, if she doesn’t start improving.”

“I know.” Yaz let her gaze drop, all the way to the tile floor. “We will. We’re just—just waiting a bit, I guess. Hoping.”

“Yeah. We were too.” Ryan’s tone was dark, and when Yaz looked up at him she saw that he was looking past her to Graham, settled in his chair with a blanket as he flicked through the channels. His eyes were full of fear, and a sort of helpless anger, the kind that knew it couldn’t do anything but still wanted to rage despite of it. Yaz watched him for a moment, and her heart panged. She hated seeing that expression on him. Then again, she hated seeing Graham weak and pale, practically trembling as he sat in a chair, curled up against the nonexistent cold.

“Are you two coming?” Graham’s voice jolted them both out of their reverie. “C’mon, the news is on! You don’t want to miss the reports, do you?”

“Coming, grandad!” Ryan called over his shoulder, and hastened to scoop up two of the mugs, sliding the third towards Yaz. She picked it up, wrapping her hands gratefully around it for the warmth, and followed Ryan into the living room. They settled into their chairs just as the picture switched to some kind of live report, a reporter standing outside a hospital, squinting against the misty rain blowing into his face. The headline scrolling across the bottom of the picture read Gold’s disease reaches far corners of England.

“Suppose by far corners they mean Sheffield?” Graham said, and chuckled to himself. It was meant to be a joke, or so it appeared, but Yaz and Ryan didn’t laugh. Instead they just exchanged a glance. After a moment of awkward silence, Graham tore his gaze away from the telly to look between the two. “Oh c’mon, ain’t I allowed to have a sense of humor now? I was just trying to lighten the mood, seeing as you two—”

He trailed off into a sudden fit of coughs, deep and hacking, and both Yaz and Ryan reached out instinctively to—to do something, but a moment later he recovered and swung his head up again. “It’s fine, It’s fine. Let’s just keep on watching, yeah?”

But the words sounded considerably weaker before, and Yaz and Ryan watched him for a few more seconds before slowly turning back to the TV.

Yaz refocused on the news just in time to catch the tail end of the co-anchor leading into the next story. “—and as if things couldn’t get any stranger, scientists have claimed that they’ve discovered the first alleged time-traveler—who, oddly enough, claims to be from our own time.”

“What?” Yaz leaned forward, sloshing her coffee in the process. Graham and Ryan leaned forward as well, all three pairs of eyes suddenly fixed on the television. “Did he just say—”

“Shh!” Ryan waved a hand in her direction, and she promptly shut up, just as the anchors began to discuss the topic.

“Ralph, what do you think? Is this really true? A time traveler?”

“Well, Lisa, I’ll admit I find it a bit hard to believe myself, but apparently it’s been confirmed by several prominent scientific organizations. According to the report, the man actually came forward a month ago, claiming that he was able to leap backwards and forwards in time, but couldn’t control where he arrived. He underwent weeks of rigorous tests with organizations such as WHO, amongst others, and the report has just been published this morning. It appears to be true. We have our first time traveler.”

“It’s hard to swallow, isn’t it? Especially on the heels of the latest conspiracy theories about Gold’s disease, which claim that the infection has something to do with time itself—”

“Oh, I don’t know about that one, Lisa. There’s a lot of fear and misinformation circling around, so the best thing we can do is sit tight, stay strong, and pay attention to where our information is coming from. However, in this case, it really does appear to be a legitimate scientific discovery. I suppose we’ll know more in the coming days.”

“Amazing. Absolutely amazing.”

And then the screen cut to a commercial, leaving Ryan, Graham and Yaz to stare at the bars of chocolate dancing across the screen, eyes wide and mouths agape. 

“That—”

“You don’t think—”

“That the Doctor had something to do with it?” 

As soon as Yaz gave voice to the thought, all eyes turned to her. She looked at them both, then shrugged, though her heart was pounding. Their hearts probably were as well. “If it’s time travel, it’s got to be the Doctor involved, right? Somehow, it’s always her.”

“It—” Ryan shook his head, though more in disbelief at the entire thing than disagreement. “If it is, it’s a hell of a way to show up. After nothing but those stupid postcards for months—”

“Oh yeah, I got one today.” Yaz reached into her pocket, and pulled out the crumpled card, then cringed slightly. “Sorry, I got a bit annoyed. It didn’t say anything more than your last one.”

“They never do, don’t they?” Graham reached out and grasped it with shaky fingers. He smoothed out the paper, and read over the lines, snorting once at what was probably the description of the purple trees. When he finished, he flipped it over to the picture, then shook his head. “Not a damn thing. Let me tell you two, I’m getting bloody sick of this. And no, that wasn’t me trying to be funny.”

He passed the card over to Ryan, who read it quickly, frowning, then balled it up and tossed it back to Yaz. She caught it, and slipped it back into her pocket, then glanced at the TV. The commercials were still playing, but none of them were paying attention. “Why would she send us a postcard though, if she’s back on Earth?”

“Maybe she’s not,” Ryan said, though his eyes clearly displayed his displeasure at the idea. Yaz knew exactly how he felt. She desperately wanted the Doctor to come back, though sometimes it felt like she wanted the Doctor to come back only so she could give her a good smack and an ultimatum.

Because wherever she was, they had mutually agreed, it was not on space jury duty.

Yaz settled back unhappily in her chair. “Yeah, you’re probably right. She would drop by and visit us first, wouldn’t she?”

Ryan snorted. “No idea. At this point, every time she writes miss you fam, I’m just convinced she never wants to see us again.”

“Oi.” Graham swung around sharply to look at Ryan. “That’s a bit pessimistic, isn’t it? For all you know, she has a real job up there. Can’t survive on custard creams forever.”

Yaz smiled slightly, more for Graham’s sake than anything else. She was more inclined to take Ryan’s point of view. At first, the postcards had been a nice little hello, a glimmer of hope that their magnificent adventure wasn’t quite over; that they were just on intermission, rather than the epilogue.

But that had been nearly three months ago. Now Graham was sick, Yaz’s mum was going the same way, and the world seemed to be falling to bits around them. And the Doctor just kept on sending her cheery postcards, once a week, alternating between Yaz and Ryan’s flat with a clockwork dependability that suggested they had been copied out rather than written. They never said anything of substance—no clue of how the Doctor was, where she was, or if there was a specific date to that I’ll be finished soon! Almost as if the Doctor was just keeping them distracted, or out of the way. Almost as if she didn’t trust them.

“Nah, the Doctor could come back if she wanted.” Ryan leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. He jutted his chin out, the picture of obstinacy. “She’s got the TARDIS, doesn’t she? She could come back today, if she cared at all.”

His eyes bored into Graham as he said this, who stiffened. “Hang on, that’s not—”

“Oh, come off it!” Without warning Ryan jerked upright in his chair, and jabbed a finger at Graham. “Grandad, you know she could fix this if she wanted to!” He swept his hand up and down, over Graham’s pale, trembling form. “She could—could snap her fingers and make it right, in a second! She just doesn’t care!”

Graham narrowed his eyes and leaned towards Ryan, the blanket slipping from his shoulders. “That’s not true, Ryan, and you know it. The Doctor cares a helluva lot. And she would be here in an instant, if she knew.”

Yaz looked between them, uncertain of what to say. Or rather, fairly certain of what she shouldn’t. The problem was, she agreed with Ryan. How could the Doctor, who traveled through time and knew the past and future, not see disease staring down one of her friends? How could she have dropped them off in Sheffield the day before an epidemic sprung up across the Earth, and not say a word? 

Ryan glared at him for a second, expression tense. Then abruptly he dropped his gaze, and slumped back in his chair. When he looked up again, Yaz noted, his eyes were incredibly tired.

“Yeah,” he allowed. “Maybe.” 

He looked as if he were about to say more, but then he shut his mouth and shook his head. They all sat silent for a few moments, nobody particularly inclined to pick up the conversation in the same track it’d been heading. The commercials ended, and the news logo appeared, then split to reveal the anchors again. They started talking, but nobody paid attention. Yaz glanced at them, saw they were talking about Gold’s again, and suddenly couldn’t stand to hear a single word. Then she glanced down at the time displayed in the corner of the screen, and realized she didn’t have to.

“I’m late,” she gasped, and sprung to her feet, nearly upsetting her coffee. She turned to Graham and Ryan, both startled at her sudden movement. “Sorry, guys! I just noticed.”

Ryan nodded, but Graham gave her a smile and made a shooing motion with his hands. “Well, go on then. Somebody’s got to make the streets safe.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Yaz flashed him a half-smile, not really able to muster anything stronger, and turned towards the door. She turned back when she made it into the hallway, just to call out goodbye, and caught Ryan leaning over the fix Graham’s blanket, which had fallen in the middle of their discussion. His eyes were soft, concerned.

Yaz wanted to smile, but a sudden lump in her throat blocked it, so instead she opened the door and slipped out—quickly, so as not to let in the chill.

————

By the time they made it through the timelock, Clara was drenched with nervous sweat, and one look at Rose told her she wasn’t much better off. She was gripping the edge of console with white knuckles, and only once Clara slammed the final lever down, parking them in deep space, did she release a deep sigh and uncurl her fingers from the edge.

Clara tried not to be offended.

“Well, that’s that survived,” she muttered, making a show of brushing some non-existent dust off the buttons. She could feel Rose watching her with what she hoped was a nonjudgmental look. “Could’ve given us another few minutes, you ask me.”

“You made it, though.”

Clara glanced up, and caught Rose’s tentatively friendly smile. A hint of trust, if she wasn’t being hopeful. “Uh, thanks. Well, we made it.”

Rose scoffed. “Oh, like I did the flying. Your steering, though…”

“Oi, it’s hard!” Clara propped herself against the console and propped her arms, careful not to accidentally press any buttons. She had done that more than once. “Anyway, now we’re here, and not dead, where to next?”

“Um…” Rose opened her mouth, then shut it and shook her head. “Dunno. Thought you would have a plan, if I’m being honest. I wasn’t even expecting to get out of that quarantine any time soon.”

“Oh. Fair enough.” Clara considered this, then brightened. “Oh, I know!”

She turned and lunged for a monitor above her head, bringing it down to eye-level. Quickly, she began to punch something in. “Now that we’re out of the timelock, I can check my messages.”

“For what?” Rose sidled up beside her, frowning at the screen. Clara kept her eyes on whatever she was punching in as she spoke.

“Ashildr. My friend. She travels with me, but when this whole thing started and we got that message, she went off to track down the Doctor while I came here. Idea was that I would get help, and once she found her, she’d send us coordinates. And—oh, yes!”

She punched in one last number, and the screen changed to what looked like a hokey old email box, early 2000s style. A mail icon jumped in the corner.

“Retro,” Rose commented, as Clara stabbed at the jumping icon.

“The only other option was High Gallifreyan.” The message opened and she leaned in, peering, then frowned. “Only…this isn’t from Ashildr.”

“Huh?” Rose leaned in as well, squinting. “Hang on—that’s in English. Who else do you know that speaks English and can message a TARDIS?”

“You know who.” Clara’s eyes didn’t leave the screen. “Only forget that. Are you reading this?”

She pointed, as if it weren’t obvious, but Rose’s followed her gaze anyway, her eyes running over the sparse lines.

CLARA AND ROSE:

EMERGENCY ON EARTH: ALIEN FLEET APPROACHING, PLANET IN DANGER, IN URGENT NEED OF ASSISTANCE. FOLLOW COORDINATES 2048.4894.9678

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Rose leaned back, and cleared her throat.

“Right. An alien fleet. That’s—”

“Par for the course, at this point,” Clara said. Her eyes were still glued to the screen. “And it’s got to be her, telling us. She’d send us where we need to go most.”

“If it’s her, she might be there, won’t she?” Rose asked. At the hopeful note in her tone, Clara tore her eyes from the screen, and gave her an unconvincing smile.

“I mean, Earth in danger? Where else would she be?” She reached out and pressed a lever down, sending them lurching. “Odds are, those are UNIT coordinates too.”

Rose nodded, and as another rocking motion sent her stumbling, gripped the console. She smiled. “That’s actually sort of my area of expertise.”

“Really?” Clara looked up, hands gripped loosely around the controls, and shot her a grin. “Think I may have chosen the right person after all.”

Rose’s grin widened. “You bet your arse you did.”

————

“Evening, Marie.” Yaz nodded at the receptionist as she approached her desk, who looked up and flashed her a smile. “Could you clock me out, please?”

“Course, Yaz.” Marie swiveled in her chair and bent over her keyboard, nails click-clacking against the keys. “Had a good shift?”

“Nothing special.” Yaz leaned against the desk as she waited, watching Marie’s long purple nails dance swiftly across the keyboard, marveling idly at her speed. A small TV sat propped into the wall behind her, blaring the evening news. It was the same two anchors from the morning, and Yaz studiously ignored them. “Mostly just standing out in the rain. I was going to say goodnight to Ramesh before I left though, have you seen him?”

Marie shook her head. “Sorry, hun. Must have missed him when he came in, and you know that man doesn’t move from his desk. It’ll be the death of him.”

Yaz laughed. “Don’t you think it’s a little risky to talk about a superior officer like that?”

Marie’s eyes darted to Yaz, and she smiled. “He’s your superior officer, not mine. I just work here, dear. And speaking of work… you are done.”

Her fingers stopped, and she looked Yaz fully in the face, still grinning. “Off the clock for the day. Anything else you need?”

“Nope, that was it.” Yaz went to push herself away from the desk, only for a flash of something gold to catch her eye. She paused, then leaned back over the desk and pointed at Marie’s red blouse. “What’s that for?”

Marie looked down at the circular golden pin resting above her heart, and her smile turned melancholy. “Oh, that’s for my niece. She caught Gold’s disease when the recent outbreak started, about three months ago. Didn’t make it, poor thing. She was a wonderful little girl.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” There was something off about Marie’s wording, but Yaz couldn’t put her finger on it. And the thought of the little girl put a familiar pit in her stomach, the one that always appeared when somebody mentioned the disease. Her smile faded, her eyes crinkling in sympathy. “Is that to honor her memory?”

Marie nodded, and pinched the fabric right under the pin, pulling it out to give Yaz a better look. “It’s an old one though, see? An original. I dug it out of my grandmother’s old things when Emma passed. My grandmother wore it when her brother died of Gold’s, almost seems it runs in the family at this point.”

She chuckled, though there was no humor in it, and unpinched her blouse, letting the pin fall back in place. Yaz stared at her, baffled. “Your grandmother? But how could—”

She was interrupted by the door swinging open, letting in a blast of freezing air and blowing rain. They both turned at the sudden chill, Marie craning her neck to see over the desk. 

“Marie, I need you to call processing!” Sergeant Flores had an arrestee bundled in handcuffs and was pushing him ahead with a baton. “Found this guy trying to steal a car!”

The man shot Sergeant Flores a dirty look, who ignored him. Yaz watched them for a moment, then turned back to Marie, a question still on her lips, only to see that she was already on the phone. She hesitated, then decided that it didn’t matter; she would look it up when she got home. Marie must have been mistaken. Yaz had been watching the news for months, and she had never heard of a Gold’s outbreak until now. 

She shrunk into her uniform jacket as she stepped out into the cold, and clomped down the steps, making so much noise that she almost missed the crash that came from just around the side of the building.

She stopped. “Hello?”

For a moment, nothing. Then, faintly, a series of mutterings, and the sound of something metal clattering across the asphalt.

“Hello?” Yaz tried again. She took a step towards the side of the building. “Is somebody there? Are you okay?”

The mumbling was louder now, loud enough to be intelligible, only, as she approached, it just sounded more and more like gibberish. She moved forward cautiously, until she was standing right in the entrance of the alley between the police station and the building next to it, peering into the darkness. She could very nearly make out a shape. “Sir? Ma’am? Is there something I can help you with? I’m PC Yasmin Khan…”

At the sound of her voice, the shape abruptly swung around, bringing his face into the light. Yaz’s eyes widened, and she stepped into the alleyway. “R-Ramesh? Sir, are you okay?”

Ramesh muttered something, and spun back around again. Yaz moved closer, one hand tentatively reaching out. Now that she was close, she could hear more and more of his mumbling, and to her surprise, found that she could understand most of it. Not that it made a lick of sense.

“Time…a-and..I can see, I can see, and they don’t—don’t—the particles—”

“Sir?” She was within reach of him now, and gently, she laid a hand on his shoulder. “Sir, I think you—”

But at her touch, Ramesh responded explosively. One hand darted to his shoulder and grabbed hers, tight enough that she yelped out in pain and stumbled forward. Then he pushed it off and whirled around, gripping Yaz by the front of her safety vest. 

“Ramesh, stop!” she cried. “What are you—”

“STOP!” he screamed, and let her go again, tumbling backwards. His hands went up to clutch at his forehead, and he moaned. “Stop, I can see—I CAN SEE! I DON’T WANT—IT HURTS—”

Yaz nearly hit the ground herself, but caught herself just in time against the wall, and turned back to face Ramesh. Her heart was pounding with fear, half for herself and half for him, because Ramesh had never acted this way before, and the only thing that she could think of was that he was having some kind of a psychotic episode.

“Ramesh, listen.” She tried for her soothing police voice, and stretched her hand out again towards him. He was shaking his head and moaning, his hands over his eyes, and though Yaz had the feeling she was being very stupid, she also knew that she had to do something to help her boss. She took a step closer, and tried again. “Ramesh, I-I want you to stay here while I go and get some—a, a paramedic, I think. Just wait here—”

Abruptly Ramesh flung his hands away from his face, and Yaz gasped. With such close proximity, she could now make out his eyes, and—and his eyes were a flat gold, encompassing both the white and the pupil, like twin oval coins stuck into his face. 

Yaz knew exactly what that meant. Only she had never seen it quite like this before.

“You’re—you're infected,” she whispered, and only then realized she was leaning away from him, leaning backwards as if just being next to him was enough to infect her too. Which was silly, because nobody knew what caused Gold’s. You either had it, or you didn’t.

But at her voice, Ramesh lunged forward again, and before she could react, grabbed her by the safety vest. His fingers flaked gold dust onto her clothes.

“HELP ME! HELP ME! I—” He was shaking Yaz, shaking her hard enough to make her see double, and dizzily she got her hands around his and tried to pry them away, but his grip was like steel and he wouldn’t budge. Instead he slammed her up against the wall, knocking her head against the concrete, and for a blinding moment Yaz saw stars.

I’m going to die, she thought woozily. He’s going to kill me.

She still had her hands on his and he was still yelling, nonsense and more nonsense about stars and time and particles, and all she could think was that she was going to die at the hands of her boss, who might have been a police officer but couldn’t hurt a fly, and her head was bursting with pain, and any second he would slam her once more against the concrete, and—

The pressure of his hands vanished, and Yaz fell backward.

Right onto her bed.

Chapter Text

For several seconds, Yaz was too stunned with pain to even register shock. Distantly, she realized that something strange had happened; that only a second ago she had been outside the police station, and now she was in her room, lying on her bed, but she couldn’t seem to gather the appropriate wonder. Her head was throbbing, and the rest of her felt as sore as if she’d been tossed around a rugby field. She stared at her dark ceiling, and wondered why the fan was spinning when she hadn’t left it on. Then she realized that it wasn’t actually spinning. She was.

Yaz squeezed her eyes shut and massaged her temples. It did little to help the pain, but when she opened them again the fan stayed put. She stared at it for a second, just to make certain, then slowly raised her head, wincing as the motion sent another wave of dizziness crashing through her.

“How…” Her eyes caught the red LED light of her clock, sitting on her bedside table. As she watched, 8:36 switched to 8:37. She looked at it for a moment, trying to figure out why that was important, then groaned and let her head sink back onto the bed sheets.

Ramesh had done this to her. Her superior, who was friendly and kind and had done nothing but support her since she’d arrived at the station, had turned on her in some kind of psychotic episode—only, when he’d looked at her, his eyes had been gold. She’d seen those eyes before, blown up like a mugshot on the news, or as the clickbait-y header of a Facebook article; how to recognize the final stages of Gold’s disease. She had seen them on Graham that very morning, only not nearly at such an advanced stage. 

It doesn’t make sense. Nothing about it did. She had seen him only the day before, and he had been fine. How could he have jumped from perfectly healthy to raving mad? And how could—how could she have escaped him? One moment she had been about a half-second away from a headful of concrete, and the next moment she had…fallen onto her bed. In her own room. At 8:36 in the evening. 

And her shift had ended at 6:00 in the evening.

Oh.

Yaz launched herself to a sitting position, propelled by the sudden revelation. Her first thought was to call Ryan. However, she didn’t get that far; the sudden movement sent her stomach and head spinning in opposite directions. Yaz clapped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late; her stomach twisted, and she lurched to her feet, the room swimming around her. She wrenched the door open and stumbled into the nearby bathroom, collapsing in front of the toilet. Not a moment too soon. 

The next few minutes found Yaz heaving her guts into the toilet bowl, head still spinning, as she wondered vaguely what she had ever done to deserve something like this.

It took awhile before she had gotten rid of everything in her stomach—right down, she was pretty sure, to the coffee she had drunk with Ryan and Graham in the morning. Somewhere in between the reappearance of both her lunch and her breakfast, it occurred to Yaz that she should probably check for concussion. She fit all the symptoms for it, right down to the sleepiness that was starting to creep over the pain in her head, muffling it down to a comfortable ache. In fact, by the time she finished puking, Yaz was about ready to curl up and sleep on the bathroom floor, cold tile or no. Some part of her knew she couldn’t—she had to call Ryan, she had too much to tell him—but once her stomach stopped heaving, it just seemed far too easy to lie down on the floor instead.

And then, muffled through the door, she heard a call. “Yaz?”

Weakly, Yaz raised her head from the tile. “Mum?”

“Are you okay, love? You sound sick.” Her mum sounded anxious, anxious enough to force Yaz into something that resembled a sitting position. 

“Yeah, mum, I’m okay. Just ate something bad, I think.”

“Oh.” The concern wasn’t quite gone, but there was a little more reassurance there. “I didn’t even hear you come in—I must have been asleep. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine, mum.” Yaz leaned against the wall, tilting her head back until it touched. Her eyes slid shut. “I’ll be out in a second.”

“Alright.” A pause. “Well, if you don’t mind coming to keep me company in the living room, I was watching the news.”

There was something plaintive in her tone, enough to make Yaz crack an eye open towards the light coming in under the door. She watched the shadows of her mum’s feet shift uneasily. “Sure, I’ll come in a minute.”

“Good.” Her mum sounded rather relieved. “Oh, and…I went to the doctor today. I’ll tell you about it when you come out.”

The shadows of her feet against the light shifted again, hesitating. Then they moved off, towards the living room. Yaz stared at the spot they’d vacated, at the uninterrupted light streaming in through the crack, and desperately wished she still had to vomit. It suddenly seemed a far better option than whatever news awaited her.

She came into the living room a few minutes later, feeling a bit peaky but otherwise sound. The throbbing in her head had settled down into a dull headache; bothersome, but not enough to keep her in the bathroom any longer, despite her reluctance.

“Hi mum.” She rounded the corner into the living room. Her mum was already on the sofa, a blanket pulled up to her nose, and only one arm peeking out, clutching the remote. She turned her head at the sound of Yaz’s voice, and smiled. 

“Hi, Yaz. How was your shift?”

Her voice was soft, abnormally so, and something inside Yaz curled in on itself. She made her way over to the sofa, and leaned up against the back. True to her word, her mum had the news playing in the background, but she was looking at Yaz instead. Her eyes, Yaz suddenly noticed, were flecked with gold.

“Fine.” She forced her gaze away, and focused on the TV. It showed what appeared to be a crime scene, with a long description of the event scrolling by underneath. It must have been right at the tail end, for Yaz only caught the words was declared dead at the scene. “What did the doctor say?”

Her mum sighed, and looked down at her lap. “Right to it, I suppose.”

Yaz still didn’t look at her, but gave a short, tight nod. 

There was a long pause, and then her mother spoke. “Well, it’s Gold’s, though I suppose we all knew that, didn’t we? I was sort of half-expecting it, to be honest with you.”

She spoke too fast, almost clipped, as if she wanted to get it all out at once. It was too light, forcedly so. Yaz could almost feel the effort she was putting in to each word. 

She didn’t move, didn’t respond. Her eyes stayed frozen on the TV screen, which was slowly zooming in on an ambulance. The scroll came to an end, then started over again. Man found outside…

“How do they know?”

“Yaz, honey.” Her mum placed a hand over hers, resting on the top of the sofa. “Can you look at me?”

For a moment, Yaz didn’t. Then she tore her eyes from the TV and looked down at her mum, who gave her a smile. It didn’t quite reach her eyes, and in them Yaz caught her own fear reflected back at her. She swallowed hard. “Mum…they can’t be sure. Don’t they need to do—tests, or something? A biopsy?”

Her mum chuckled. Her hand wrapped around Yaz’s, and she gave it a squeeze. “You know there’s only the one test. And they can’t do it until you’re far enough along.”

“Far enough…” a lump had risen in her throat. She tried to swallow it, but it refused to budge. “But that means…”

Her mum gave a small shrug. “I think we all knew, didn’t we? And I know I was putting off the testing, but it’s better this way, Yaz. I promise. Now the doctors can get started on treating me.”

Yaz nodded numbly. The optimism in her mother’s voice was frail, and completely false. She knew as well as Yaz did that the only treatment for Gold’s so far was to make the patients comfortable. Make them comfortable, and hope.

So far, all of that hope had been proven false.

Her mum shivered, and pulled her hand back to fold it under the blanket. She was pale, Yaz noticed. She had been so for the past couple weeks, but none of them had wanted to mention it. None of them had wanted to voice the possibility, even when she’d started with the hacking coughs and the nearly uncontrollable trembling. And now, her eyes were flecked with gold.

Yaz suddenly realized her hands were shaking, digging into the top of the sofa. She pulled them back quickly, and glanced at her mum, only to see that she had turned back to the TV. Yaz followed her gaze, just in time to catch the scroll as it started over again.

Man found outside Hallamshire police station identified as Sgt Ramesh Sunder, a member of the Hallamshire police force. Ramesh was found having a psychotic episode, and violently attacked paramedics who tried to detain him, before collapsing. Visual examination revealed that he was infected with Gold’s disease. Ramesh was declared dead at the scene.

“Ramesh…” Yaz’s mum murmured. “Isn’t that your supervisor?”

“Huh?” Yaz barely heard her. Her eyes stayed glued in horror to the scene as her mind reeled. How could Ramesh be dead? He had been—no, not fine, but alive, only a few minutes ago. Or—had it been a few hours? Yaz glanced over her shoulder, to the clock set right above the oven. Nearly nine o’clock.

Ramesh was dead. He had attacked her, and then he had died. And she had somehow escaped. Yaz turned her gaze back to the TV, and shook her head. It didn’t make sense.

Unless she had…but no, that was impossible. Only the Doctor could time travel. 

Her mum was staring at her, confusion slowly drifting into concern. “Yaz, dear, are you alright? Did you know him, honey?”

“I…” Yaz looked down at her, dazed. “I…need to go make a call. I’ll be back in a bit, mum, I promise.”

She spun on her heel and practically fled the room, ignoring her mother’s confused stare burning into her shoulder blades. It was too much, all crashing down on her together, and she couldn’t make sense of it. Didn’t want to make sense of it. Any of it. Not what had happened to Ramesh, not what had made her travel through time, and definitely not what was happening to her mother. She just…had to tell somebody. 

Her first thought, once, would have been the Doctor. But the Doctor wasn’t there.

She made it to her room and slammed the door shut. The lights were off, plunging her into darkness, but she groped for the switch as she dug her phone out of her pocket, flipping them on just as she hit the call button. She brought the phone to her ear and began to pace back and forth across her room, waiting for Ryan to pick up. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…”

“Yaz?”

“Ryan!” Yaz straightened up, stopping in her tracks. “Ryan, listen; a lot of really strange things have been happening to me and—”

Then, without warning, she stopped and looked up. The phone drifted away from her ear.

“Yaz?” Ryan’s voice came over the line again, tinny and distant. “Yaz, are you alright? Yaz?”

Yaz didn’t answer. She was frozen, listening to the far-off, familiar wheezing echoing in from the ground below. 

Wheezing. Familiar. It couldn’t be anything but—

Abrupt, painful hope swelled in her heart. Quickly, she raised the phone to her ear.

“Ryan, get over here. I think the Doctor’s back.”

And then, before he even had the chance to respond, she shoved her phone into her pocket and lunged for the door.

————

The second they stepped outside, Clara knew she’d messed it up again.

What was it with her and the TARDIS? The Doctor’s TARDIS had never liked her, and her own TARDIS landed her in the wrong spot more often than not. Like now, which, when she stepped outside the TARDIS and looked at the flat block high above them, sparkling with lights against the dark night sky, Clara realized this definitely wasn’t the place she was heading for. 

And she had no idea what it was. 

“I swear I thought those were the coordinates for UNIT headquarters,” she told Rose, who had come up behind her and was studying the flats as well. 

Rose snorted. “Still looks like England, though. That’s better than the Doctor’s steering.” 

Despite her chagrin, Clara smiled. “Thanks, I’m definitely going to keep that one.”

She had long since learned that when it came to piloting the TARDIS, it was the little victories that counted. Especially since Rose didn’t know about all the other landings Clara had bungled up. Really, Ashildr was the better pilot.

Somebody coughed off to their left, but Clara didn’t bother looking, too busy trying to figure out where exactly she’d gone wrong. Then Rose gave her a rather rough poke in the shoulder, and she turned to look at her, then at the person standing a few meters away. 

Then Clara realized that she probably should have paid more attention to the cougher. Instantly, she jumped to defense. “Oh—Police! We, um…we have a parking permit.”

Damn. She’d never been good at the excuses. They usually didn’t need them. And the police woman just stared, not uttering a word. She looked as if she’d just gotten off a rough shift, Clara noted. Her hair was messy, her uniform wrinkled and flecked with dirt, her eyes tired. Possibly, she didn’t want to give them too much trouble.

“Oh, that’s a good one,” Rose hissed at her, and Clara frowned. No need to add insult to injury. She wanted to say something, then realized that Rose was about to beat her to the punch, and settled for a swift nudge in the side instead. Getting back for the poking. And also because it was her TARDIS, anyway. She should be the one doing the talking. 

Rose looked at her, then gave a minuscule shrug of her shoulders. That was enough for Clara; she stepped forward, putting a nicely-innocent smile on her face. Briefly, she wondered how much the police woman had seen, then decided to assume the worst. “Hi, uh—ma’am. Listen, I know it seems like this restaurant appeared out of thin air, but—”

“You know the Doctor.”

Okay, Clara hadn’t expected that. She certainly didn’t know how to respond. “Uh—”

“Yeah, we do.” Rose stepped forward while Clara was still stumbling over her answer. Probably a good thing, because she had nothing. “Why’re you asking?”

The police woman looked between the two of them. She seemed to be deliberating over how much to say, if anything. Clara took the time to look her over fully. Her eyes, she noticed, were more than tired. They were closer to dead, almost as if she had been expecting to hear the best news of her life, only to be delivered the worst. Possibly, that was exactly what she’d been expecting, when she’d seen the TARDIS land. Clara could relate.

Then she shrugged, a jerky, unnatural shrug that was clearly trying for nonchalance. Her tone, when she spoke, was run through with badly-disguised bitterness.

“Because the Doctor is my best friend. And I haven’t seen her for three months.”

Oh. So at least they’d checked off the next step on their list.

————

“Right…” Clara clapped her hands together, trying to cut through the stunned and rather awkward silence that had fallen over the three of them. “So it seems we’ve got a lot to discuss here.”

“I think so, yeah.” The police woman looked between the two of them, and something dangerously close to hope flared in her expression. “So you know the Doctor? You know where she is?”

Rose and Clara exchanged a glance. “Well…” Clara began. Instantly, the woman's face fell. “Not exactly, no.”

“Sorry, what's your name again?” Rose asked the woman, who turned and gave her a scrutinizing look before speaking.

“Yasmin Khan. Yaz to my friends.”

Rose nodded. “Nice to meet you, Yaz.” She gestured to herself, than towards Clara. “My name’s Rose Tyler, and this is Clara—uh—”

“—Oswald.” Clara stepped forward, and extended a hand. It looked a little odd, because they were still several meters apart, but she was counting on Yaz to show a little trust and close the gap. Yaz looked at the hand, and didn’t take it.

“You do know the Doctor, don’t you?”

There it was again, that unfortunate hope, so clearly the remains of whatever faith Yaz had kept in the Doctor, three months prior. Clara almost wanted to warn her out of it, but didn’t dare. One look about her was enough to tell Clara that she had some fire in her; it was hidden the way she held herself, in the set of her jaw and the stiffness of her shoulders. No way was Clara going to put that out. Not when they could possibly use her on their little ragtag team.

“’Course we do,” she answered. “And I think we can help each other.”

Yaz studied her uncertainly for a moment. Her eyes darted to Rose, who gave her an encouraging nod, then back to Clara. Then, at long last, she gave a hesitant nod. “Okay. I trust you. I think.”

“You do.” Rose gave a fervent nod of her own, and glanced at Clara, who brought her still-dangling hand sheepishly down. “And we’ll help you as much as we can. But first, we need a place we can talk.”

“Preferably one with a roof.” Clara looked up at the night sky, a dark blanket of gray, and frowned as a raindrop hit her nose. “Maybe with a kitchen, as well. I could do with a cup of tea, if you’re offering.”

“I didn’t realize I was,” Yaz replied stiffly, but there was something of a smile hiding there as well. “And we can always go to my flat, but my—”

She dropped off, suddenly, her eyes finding the flat block high above. Something pained flashed across her expression. “Actually, maybe it’s better we go somewhere else.”

Rose and Clara shot each other a glance, then Rose said, loudly in the suddenly still night, “What about the TARDIS, Clara? You’ve got a kitchen, right?”

Clara shook her head. “Kitchen, yes. Working kettle, no. My friend Ashildr sort of smashed it when—”

“Oh!” Both Rose and Clara turned to look at Yaz, but she wasn’t looking at them. She was digging through her pockets, eyes wide, as if she’d just remembered something important. “Ryan! I forgot to—”

“Ryan?” Rose asked, confused. “Is that your boyfriend?”

“What? No—ew.” Yaz seized her phone from her pocket and swiped the screen open and began to dial. “No, he’s—he travels with the Doctor as well. Him and his grandad, Graham. I’ve got to tell him not to come, that it wasn’t the—”

And then she looked up, sudden revelation spreading across her face. Her phone sat loosely in her hands, thumbs poised as if she were about to launch into an extremely urgent text message. “I think I have a place where we can meet.”

“Uh—” Clara glanced at Rose, who gave a slight shrug, then back to Yaz. “Okay. What is it?”

Yaz looked between them, and, for the first time since they had met her, smiled. “Do you want to come for tea at Ryan’s?”

Chapter Text

Yaz only had to knock once before the door swung open to reveal Ryan standing on the other side. He was wearing a pajama shirt and jeans, as if he’d been halfway through dressing to leave when he’d gotten Yaz’s text, and forgotten to change back. He barely glanced at Yaz, but his eyes went straight to the two women standing behind her, both wearing the sort of uncertain smiles that came from standing poised to enter the house of a person they didn’t know. 

“Uh, hi Ryan,” Yaz said, bringing his gaze back to her. She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “This is Rose and Clara. They’re friends of the Doctor. They said they can help us.”

“Really?” Ryan’s face brightened, and his eyes traveled once more over the two women. This time, he grinned. “You’re going to help us find the Doctor?”

“No, not exactly,” Yaz said, just as Clara opened her mouth, possibly to say the same thing. She closed it again, and gave Ryan an apologetic look instead. “But they said they’ve…well, I don’t really know. But they seem trustworthy, and…um, I think we need help, Ryan. With Graham, and…everything.” 

Ryan looked uncertain, but before he could say anything, Clara jumped in. “Not to be a bit rude, but do we all mind having this conversation inside the house? Bit wet out here.”

Ryan looked at her and frowned. His expression shuttered with suspicion. “I’m not sure if I want you inside my house, before I know who you are.”

“Well—” Rose began, but cut off as a cough echoed from inside the house. It was deep, and hacking, and instantly recognizable. Yaz heard someone shift uneasily behind her, and when she turned she saw Rose and Clara exchanging a wide-eyed glance.

“Is someone in there sick?” Clara asked. Her tone was carefully innocent, but Yaz could tell that Ryan didn’t buy it for a second. His eyes narrowed, and his frown downshifted into a glare. 

“That’s definitely none of your business, now is it? Yaz—”

“Oh, come off it, Ryan.” Ryan looked at her in surprise, but Yaz just gave him a slightly exasperated look and determinedly shouldered her way past him and into the hallway. Then she turned, and  beckoned for Rose and Clara to follow. When they did, Rose giving Ryan a slight shrug as she passed, Yaz waved them into the living room.

“Be there in a sec, guys,” she called, studiously ignoring Ryan’s mutinous expression behind her. “We’re just going to talk for a minute.”

Clara started immediately for the living room, but Rose hesitated, her gaze darting between Yaz and Ryan. Then she turned, as Clara tugged meaningfully on her shirtsleeve, and followed her into the living room.

Yaz waited until they were gone, then turned to Ryan.

“Yaz, what are you thinking?!” Ryan exploded in a fierce whisper. “Letting them into my house? I don’t know who they are, or where—”

“You agreed to it over text,” Yaz hissed back. He paused, and pursed his lips, glowering. “And Ryan, I’m sorry, but I’ve had maybe the worst day of my life, and nothing to explain it all, and I think they have answers. They know the Doctor, I think they’re her—old friends, or something. They might be able to help fix—”

“I don’t want them touching Graham until I know who they are,” Ryan whispered. He stabbed a finger at the living room entrance, to the doorway through which Rose and Clara had disappeared. “How do we know they’re not tricking us, Yaz? I mean, why would the Doctor send her friends, and not herself?”

“Maybe she’s busy,” Yaz answered. “Maybe she’s gotten held up, but she knows there’s trouble on Earth, and she wants to help us.”

Ryan glared at her, jaw twitching. He still didn’t look quite as if he bought what she was trying to say. “Believe what you want, Yaz, but I’m still not convinced that the Doctor hasn’t forgotten about us completely.”

“Ryan—” Yaz sucked in a breath, all her exasperation suddenly falling away. She stared at him, taken aback by his naked honesty. It was clear he believed it; she saw it in the hardness of his expression, the stubborn disappointment in his eyes. Only she couldn’t have him believe it. If he did, Yaz knew she would inch just that much closer to believing it herself. “Don’t say that. Please.”

Ryan already had his mouth open to respond, but Yaz’s pleading tone gave him pause. He softened slightly. “Okay, well maybe she hasn’t abandoned us. But that doesn’t mean that these two are the answer to our problems. We don’t even know who they are.”

“We know they’re friends of the Doctor,” Yaz said quickly. “We know their names. And I—I know it’s stupid, maybe, but I trust them.” 

She hesitated, slightly, and then added, “And listen, Ryan, some things have been happening today that I—well, I could use the help.”

Ryan looked at her for a long moment, deliberating. His hands hung in loose fists at his sides. Then, at last, he nodded. “Okay. But, Yaz—if they do anything to hurt Graham, or even try, they’re out. I’m sorry, but that’s how it’s gonna be.”

“Yeah, alright.” Yaz nodded, relieved. “Of course. That’s fair.”

“Yeah, and—” Ryan stopped and frowned, looking past Yaz to the living room entrance. “Yeah?”

“Um, if you two are done—” Yaz turned to look, and found Clara standing in the doorway. She gave them an awkward wave, then gestured towards the kitchen. “We were wondering if we could use your kettle?”

Ryan stared at her for a moment, then raised his eyes to the ceiling and sighed. “Yeah, sure. But make it five cups, yeah?”

“Of course!” Clara gave him a large grin, and disappeared back into the living room, just as a high-pitched whistle echoed throughout the house.

Yaz was still looking at the now-empty doorway, but she heard Ryan’s sigh loud and clear behind her all the same.

————

When they entered the room, it was to find Rose and Clara making themselves completely at home. Clara was already setting mugs of steaming hot tea on the table, maneuvering the several cups balanced in her arms with enough ease to make Yaz wonder if she’d been a waitress in a past life. Rose was kneeling in front of Graham, his hand held out for her inspection, as they spoke in hushed voices. Yaz caught the tail end of what she was saying— “and you went to the doctor and did the test and everything?” and wanted to move in closer, urgent curiosity sparking in her, but the waves of annoyance radiating off of Ryan stopped her. 

Clara looked up when they came in, and gestured towards the table. “Shall we sit, then? Have proper introductions?”

“I should think so, yeah,” Ryan grumbled, and started towards the living room, where Graham sat in his chair, huddled in a blanket, which was hanging off one shoulder as he leaned forward with vested interest to talk to Rose. “C’mon, grandad, I’ll help you up.”

“Oh, I don’t need it, son,” Graham answered, just as Rose looked up with a kind smile and said, “Don’t worry Ryan, I’ll help him.”

Ryan paused, and looked between the two, frowning. His eyes settled on Graham. “Are you sure, grandad?”

Graham waved him away, almost impatiently. “Yes, I’m sure, don’t worry about me. I’m not in a hospice, am I? I can walk on my own, and anyway Rose here is telling me some good stuff.”

Ryan’s gaze fell to Rose, and lingered, eyes narrowing. “Alright,” he replied after a moment. “But give a yell if you need it, will ya? And come on, we’re doing tea.”

Graham nodded without looking at him, eyes still fixed on Rose. He looked excited, Yaz noticed, and more hopeful than she had seen him in the past several weeks. Which was funny, because he was generally the most hopeful of all—or at least, going by his words. She’d only now noticed that it had never reached his eyes.

Ryan stared at them for a moment longer, then shrugged and turned to the table. He slumped down in the closest chair, wrapping his hands around a mug of tea, and stared at it in morose silence. Yaz watched him for a moment, then slid into the seat across from him, and grabbed a mug for herself. It was the closest one, and, she noted, the same she had used to drink coffee from that morning. She hoped that meant it had been washed and set to dry, rather than having been nabbed from the sink. She didn’t think Clara would do such a thing, but then, they were both a little…odd.

“You lot coming?” Clara called, as she thumped into the seat at the head of the table. Ryan frowned at her placement, but didn’t say anything. Clara shot them another one of those encouraging smiles, then raised her mug to take a sip of tea. Immediately, her face fell.

“Oh, is this peppermint?”

Ryan stared. “Didn’t you make it?”

Clara shrugged. “Been a while since I’ve made tea. Sort of forgotten what I like, if I’m being honest.”

“What do you mean, forgot?” Yaz blurted out. “How long has it been since you made tea?” 

Ryan looked at her, and gave a tiny, confused shake of his head, as if asking what? Yaz responded with a minuscule shift of her shoulders. There was something leading in that statement, something digging at her behind the phrasing. After all, how long did it take for someone to forget their own bloody tea preferences?

Clara paused, and looked at her over the rim of her mug. Then she lowered it onto the table. “Oh, I like you. You know the proper questions to ask.”

“Uh…” Yaz stared at her, puzzled. “Thanks, I guess? But what does that mean, proper questions? What else is there you’re not telling us?”

For a moment, Clara didn’t answer. Her eyes fell to her mug, watching the steam coil off the surface. “You’re right. There is a lot we haven’t told you. Not because we don’t want to, but because we don’t have a lot of time. Or rather, we have bigger fish to fry.”

Yaz didn’t know what to say to this, but before she could formulate a response, Clara lifted her gaze to meet Yaz’s eyes. Her expression was deadly serious when she spoke. “Listen, Yaz, I know it’s an obnoxious thing to say, but my identity is the least interesting thing about me.”

“You can at least tell us something.” Ryan leaned forward in his seat, elbows on the table. His eyes were hard, demanding. “So I know who I’m inviting into my house, and all.”

Clara gave him a small, cheerless smile. “Don’t worry, Ryan. I’m no mysterious stranger. My name’s Clara Oswald, which you already know, I’m human, I used to travel with the Doctor until I died, and then I stole a TARDIS, so now I travel around the universe with my friend Ashildr—who, ah, isn’t here right now.”

Ryan was staring at her, mouth open, as if he didn’t quite believe everything she was saying. Yaz definitely didn’t believe it. Especially the part in the middle. 

“Hold up, you died?”

Clara shrugged, and reached past her mug to snatch a spoon from pile she’d deposited in the middle of the table. “The Doctor saved me. He—she’s good like that, you know. And since I’ve got a TARDIS, well—I’ve been traveling ever since. I mean, I’m still dead, technically, but—” She gestured to herself with her spoon, before dropping it into her tea— “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Ryan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Clara was busy stirring her tea, but she looked up and raised an eyebrow at him. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“Yeah but—”

“I believe you,” Yaz interrupted, and then winced as Ryan’s glare turned to her. “Oh, c’mon, Ryan! You’ve traveled with the Doctor, you’ve seen the things she can do! You don’t think she can’t save somebody from dying?”

Ryan’s arms stayed crossed, his brow creased as he looked from Yaz, to Clara. He studied her for a moment, then let out a huff. “Oh, alright. Sure. You’re dead. Fine, I’ll accept that. But what does that have to do with us now?”

“Uh, hello, you asked me?” Clara gestured towards herself. “I told you, who I am is the least interesting thing about me.”

She leaned forward, templing her hands under her chin. “What’s interesting here is what I might be able to do.”

“About what?” Yaz asked. She frowned. “I still don’t understand why exactly you and her—” she indicated towards Rose with her chin, who was now helping Graham out of his chair— “have come here. What’s the problem? Is the Earth in danger, or something? Why wouldn’t the Doctor come?”

Clara shook her head, a grin spreading slowly across her face. “Again, Yaz, with the good questions. I can see why the Doctor keeps you around.”

She ignored Ryan’s humph to lean forward over her mug. Yaz found herself leaning forward too, though she wasn’t sure why.

“You already know half the answers, don’t you though?” Her eyes were on Yaz’s, sharp and probing. “You know that there’s something wrong, here. That things have gone off, ever since the Doctor left. You all just haven’t been saying it.”

Yaz shook her head, despite the realization growing in her chest, the sinking understanding that had been sitting there for a while now, but she just couldn’t bear to admit. “I don’t—”

“Oh, c’mon, Yaz.” Clara’s eyes bored into her. “You know what it is.”

Yaz searched her gaze, and saw the answer there. Her heart, she suddenly became aware, was thumping erratically against her chest.

“It’s Gold’s disease, isn’t it?” she whispered. “It’s not—it’s not a natural disease. It’s—it’s bigger than that, isn’t it? It’s alien.”

At her words, Clara gave her a hollow grin, and leaned back in her chair. “Got it in one, Yaz. Or, almost. See, it’s not alien. Or, not exactly, and that’s the problem. We don’t know where it came from. Or what it is.”

“Yeah we do.” Rose had Graham clutching her arm as they approached, and eased him into the chair beside Ryan before sliding opposite Clara. She nodded politely towards Ryan, but didn’t attempt a smile. Her brow was crinkled in worry, and she glanced briefly at Graham before speaking. “We haven’t properly been introduced, but I’m Rose Tyler. I used to travel with the Doctor, but I’m not from around here. Well, I am, but not really. I’m from a parallel universe.”

Yaz stared. So did Ryan. He spoke first. “Okay, I thought Clara’s story was unbelievable, but that’s just a load of—”

“Oi, lay off her, will ya?” Graham cut in, leveling a glare at his grandson. It had little power behind it, for even with the blanket around his shoulders he looked frail, but it was enough to make Ryan shut up. “She’s been giving me loads of useful advice about Gold’s, she has. She’s pretty much an expert.”

“I’m not an expert,” Rose said quickly, looking between the other three. “And I’m not a doctor, unfortunately, not that it makes a difference. Doctors don’t help when it comes to—what do you call it? Gold’s?”

“Gold’s disease.” Graham nodded. “Cos of the color, yeah?”

Yaz caught the look Clara and Rose exchanged across the table. They seemed to be doing that a lot, she’d noticed.

“What is it?” she demanded, leaning forward. “You two are looking at each other like—like there’s something else there, something you keep holding back. What is it? What’s causing the disease? And how do we stop it?”

She found herself looking at Clara as she finished, maybe because it was Clara who she had been talking to only a minute prior, but when their eyes met she just shook her head, and gestured towards Rose. “Let her explain it. She’s had a lot more experience than me, dealing with this. I’m nearly as new as you lot.”

Yaz turned to Rose, mouth curled down with suspicion. “You’ve dealt with this before? So you know how to stop it?”

“Erm…” Rose looked between the entire table, and her eyes focused on Graham last, before coming back to Yaz. When their eyes met, Yaz almost wanted to shrink away at what she saw there; an incredible pain, endless and devastating. The pain of somebody who’d lost everything.

Yaz’s insides twisted in dread. A sick feeling was growing in her stomach, a painful apprehension. Suddenly, she felt nauseous.

“The thing is, Yaz—” Her voice came quiet, layered with sadness. “I—my universe—tried to fight it. And we lost. Everything. I lost—” Her voice choked suddenly, and she stopped for a moment, then continued, rougher than before. “—well, never mind. But I wasn’t able to stop it. That’s why I came here.”

Nobody spoke for several seconds. They just sat, stunned into silence. Ryan, Yaz noticed, was watching Graham, and his eyes—oh, she didn’t want to see anything like what was inside of them. She knew the expression was reflected in her own. And Graham just sat there, staring at the table, his expression blank, as if he didn’t quite want to believe it. Or maybe couldn’t.

Ryan sniffed once, what might have been a sneaky sniffle, and leaned forward in his seat. “I don’t understand.”

All of the anger, the suspicion, had vanished from his voice, to be replaced by a cold seriousness. Rose looked at him, and lifted her chin slightly, indicating that he continue.

“I don’t—understand, why you would come here if you couldn’t stop it.” Now some of the anger was back, sparking in his eyes. “So, you failed. What does that have to do with us? To give us a warning? Because if you haven’t noticed, we’re a little bit warned.”

His hand swept over the table, and though he didn’t directly indicate Graham, it was obvious what he meant. Yaz winced, and that same sick feeling surged again in her stomach. She wondered briefly if she had gotten a concussion, after all. 

Clara looked down, and studied the mug of tea in her hands. Rose kept her gaze on Ryan, waiting until he’d finished his speech and brought his hands back to rest on the table. Then she spoke. 

“Not to warn you, no. It’d be useless anyway. But see, when I was stuck back in my universe, after everyone was gone, I began to study it. Try to figure out where it came from.” Her eyes turned hard, and distant. “And it took me a while, but you know what I figured out?”

She leaned forward across the table to mirror Ryan, pushing her tea to the side, and clasped her hands flatly together, pointing in his direction. Ryan’s eyes, tight with barely held despair, darted down to her hands, then back to her face. 

“What?”

Her eyes stayed fixed upon him as she spoke. “That it came from you. All of you, from your universe. I did ‘bout a billion tests to confirm it, and it was all the same.”

She paused, and her eyes traveled around the table before continuing. “Whatever this thing is, whatever made it, it’s from your universe. So obviously, I came to stop it.”

“Nip it in the bud,” Clara answered, with the ghost of a grin. She looked worried as well, all of her former snappy attitude having dropped away to reveal a deep uneasiness in her eyes. “Gotta say, Rose, I’m not sorry I pulled you from the end of the universe.”

Rose grinned, though it didn’t quite erase the worry lines etched into her forehead, and slumped back again in her seat. “Now that’s the part I have questions about.”

“Told you.” Clara shrugged. “I got a message. Probably meant for the Doctor.”

“Hmm.” Rose eyed her, clearly uncertain, and it struck Yaz that they didn’t seem to know each other very well. The thought sent another flicker of unease running through her. She really did feel like she was going to be sick. A strange shiver was moving over her body, the feeling she always associated with the flu.

“Okay, but—” she shifted in her chair, hoping the movement would jolt her back into normalcy. Her head was starting to spin again in slow circles, and by now Yaz was almost certain she had a concussion. “What’s the plan, then? You two had to have come back for some reason, right? And why’d you come back to Earth, instead of going to get the Doctor? Couldn’t she fix it?”

It all came out in a rush, the words nearly jumbled together, and Yaz straightened herself in her seat, clasping her hands together. She definitely didn’t feel good. Rose and Clara exchanged a glance, and then Clara spoke.

“Well, see when I picked up Rose, we got another—Yaz, are you okay?”

She broke off abruptly as she caught Yaz’s expression, her eyes flaring with concern. Yaz looked at her, and tried to answer but realized her mouth had gone dry, and her head was turning fuzzy—no wait, that was her entire body, fuzzing. What was wrong with her?

“Nothing, I just,” she started weakly. Now they were all staring at her, four worried faces bearing down. “I just hit my head earlier, there was something that happened with—”

“Wait,” Rose whispered, horrified, and Yaz broke off, looking at her in confusion. Her head really was spinning now, and her whole body felt strange, as if it were about to break apart, and then she wondered if maybe it was, and fear burst in her chest. “Oh—oh no.”

“Why—what’s happening to me?” Her heart was pounding out of rhythm, or at least it felt like it, and she couldn’t tell if it was fear or the sickness rising up in her. Rose leapt to her feet, the sudden movement sending her chair rocketing backwards, and crossed to Yaz’s side, bending down to peer into her eyes. She took one look, and a terrible understanding crossed her face.

“What is it?” Clara was standing too, Yaz vaguely noticed, though she didn’t remember her getting to her feet. Then again, that might have been because of the spinning room. A sense of dread was building in her chest, and she had the same question as Clara.

“What’s wrong with me?” she demanded, and then shrunk back into her seat as another wave of dizziness took her. “Why am I so—so—”

“You’re a carrier,” Rose breathed, her eyes filled with awful remorse. Yaz stared at her, uncomprehending, as did Ryan and Graham, though at the end of the table, she heard Clara take in a sharp breath.

“She can’t be—”

“What does that mean?” Ryan asked, and his anxious gaze found Yaz. “What are you two talking about?”

Rose didn’t immediately turn to him. Instead, she addressed Yaz. “Yaz, I’m so sorry, but I think you’ve been infected. I think you have Gold’s disease.”

Graham’s head shot up, and he half rose out of his seat, alarm overriding the clear effort on his face. His eyes found Rose, and he gestured towards Yaz. “What do you mean, she’s infected? She can’t be in—”

And then he stopped as his gaze fell to Yaz, his voice cutting off right in the middle of his sentence.

Because Yaz wasn’t there anymore. She had vanished.

————

Ryan launched to his feet, hands balling into fists as fear sparked in his eyes. “Where’d she go? What’d you two—”

“Ryan, we didn’t do anything!” Clara rushed to reassure him, hands held up defensively. “Sit down a moment, and we’ll explain—”

“Oh, to hell with sitting down!” Ryan’s eyes were blazing, his mouth set. He jabbed a finger at Yaz’s empty chair. “Tell us where she’s gone, or I’ll—”

“We don’t know!” Rose spun around and leveled a glare at him, the intensity in her eyes at least matching, if not exceeding, his. He fell silent, more out of surprise than anything, and she took the chance to plow forward. “I told you exactly what she is—she’s a carrier for the disease. Infection shows itself in several different ways, Ryan. This is one of them.”

Ryan glowered at her, jaw twitching, and his gaze darted between her and Yaz’s empty chair. Then he heaved a deep breath, nostrils flaring, and said, “Fine. But what’s happened to her? Why did she just—just disappear?”

Rose gave a rueful shake of her head. “This is the part we didn’t get to explain to you. About what the disease really is. See, it’s not any old sickness. It’s a sickness of time itself, you understand?”

Ryan shook his head. “Not at all, no.” 

Graham too, looked absolutely baffled. He was on his feet as well, and though he didn’t say a word, he glanced to Yaz’s empty chair and his mouth set in a thin, hard line.

Rose glanced between the two of them, and then at Clara, who shrugged. She, too, kept glancing at the empty chair, and when her eyes met Rose’s, she didn’t even try for false confidence. Instead she gave her a worried look, slight panic hidden in her eyes.

Rose refocused on Ryan and Graham, and cleared her throat. “In my universe, we called it time sickness, once we understood what it really was. Because it’s not…not what you would consider a regular disease, like one caused by a virus, or bacteria. It’s closer to cancer, except it’s not a mutation of your cells. It’s a mutation of artron energy.”

“Artron—what?” Graham asked, nonplussed. Ryan, too, looked rather lost. Rose glanced at Clara, who gave her an impatient look, then back at Graham and Ryan.

“C’mon, the Doctor must have mentioned artron energy sometime.”

Ryan shook his head. “Maybe, but I don’t remember it.”

Rose crossed her arms, frowning, and tapped her foot. She seemed to be trying to decide the best way to explain. “Artron energy is—it’s this type of radiation, okay? And it exists in every single living being. Normally it doesn’t really affect you, unless you’re sensitive for some reason, but in the right hands it can be very powerful.”

She paused, waiting to see if they were following along, and when Graham nodded, she continued. “It’s what the Doctor uses to power the TARDIS, for one thing. And it has strong healing capabilities. But for the most part, it’s just in the background, existing inside of us.”

Her frown deepened. “Only now it’s not, and we don’t know why.”

“Hang on,” Graham said. “This—this artron energy, is what’s making me sick?”

“More or less, yeah,” Clara answered, and immediately both Graham’s and Ryan’s eyes went to her. “We don’t know why, but there’s something that’s causing the natural artron particles in the universe to behave in an unnatural way. And so far, it’s affecting every living creature.”

“Right,” Ryan delivered through clenched teeth. He had clearly been listening the whole time, but it had done nothing to relieve the tension in his face. “So that’s what’s happening to Graham, and Yaz, right? Only why’d she disappear? And what’s that thing you called her, a—a carrier? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rose cast a sideways look at the empty chair sitting next to her, regret in her eyes. “What happened to Yaz is just another way the disease can affect people.”

She looked across the table, and her eyes fell to Graham. “Graham, yours is the most common manifestation. People start to fall ill, and then they just sort of…fade away.”

“Ah, cheers for the happy prognosis,” Graham muttered. Rose gave a slight shrug of apology.

“And there are some people who become infected a lot quicker, though we don’t know why. It’s like the disease hits all the buttons in their brains at once, and they just go—crazy. I’ve seen a few of those.” She shuddered. “It’s not pretty.”

“And Yaz?” Ryan prompted impatiently. 

Rose looked at him, her brow wrinkled in concern. “Yaz is what we called a carrier. It’s the way the disease spreads itself at first, before it develops beyond that. It infects a person, and uses them to jump back and forth in time, infecting people wherever they go. The people generally can’t control it, so they just bounce around, and—what?”

Ryan and Graham turned to look at each other, mirrored realization dawning in their faces.

“The time travelers,” Graham said softly. “From the morning news.”

“So you’ve heard of this before?” Clara broke in. When Ryan nodded, she cast an apprehensive look to Rose. “It’s spreading, then. Throughout Earth.”

“So we came just in time,” Rose answered. She leaned forward, propping her hands on the table. “So you think this is why the message told us to come? Other than the alien fleet, obviously.”

Clara shook her head. “Hard to say. You saw what it was. Barely more than a set of coordinates.”

“Right, but I—”

“Sorry, is this helping Yaz?” Ryan interrupted. He had leaned forward to grip the edge of the table, his brows knitted together as he glowered at Rose and Clara. “Thanks for the information, finally, but we can’t just—just stand here, and—and do nothing!”

“We don’t have a choice.” Rose said, and Clara’s head shot up.

“Actually, I don’t think that’s true.”

“Huh?” Rose looked at her, raising an eyebrow in question. “What do you mean? How do you expect us to help her when she’s bouncing around history?”

Clara snorted. “We have a time machine, don’t we?”

Rose’s mouth fell open, into an ‘o’ of surprise, and it took her a while to shut it. “Ooh…that’s…really smart, actually.”

Clara grinned, and this time it was real. “Listen, I’ve done this before, when my friend got lost on the planet of the…well, that’s a long story. But to make it short, all we need is something of hers that I can link into the TARDIS, and then we can go after her.”

Ryan’s face fell. “But…we don’t have anything.”

Immediately, the hopeful anticipation slid from Clara’s face. “Are you sure?”

Ryan cast a desperate glance towards Graham, who shook his head. “Don’t think so. But we can look, can’t we?”

“Yeah…” Ryan frowned, thinking. “Or, maybe we can call her family! Tell them she…forgot something, I dunno. But something from her room would work, wouldn’t it?”

Clara nodded eagerly. “Anything.”

“Right.” Ryan nodded, then whipped out his phone and began to dial. In seconds he had the device to his ear, and as he waited they watched, silent with anticipation.

It was so quiet that the rings on the other end could be heard throughout the room. They watched as Ryan’s expression grew more and more impatient, before falling in disappointment, as the telltale beep of the voicemail made itself heard. He lowered the phone from his ear, and looked at the others.

“No answer,” he said, and they all nodded, though it was clear they had already heard. “What do we do?”

“Call again,” Clara answered immediately.

“And we’ll start looking here,” Rose added. “She could have left something, couldn’t she?”

Graham gave a helpless shrug, but underneath the uncertainty in his expression, there glimmered a hint of determination. “If she didn’t, we’ll just have to go and get something, won’t we? Whether they pick up the phone or not.”

Despite the anxious atmosphere that had fallen over the room, Clara smiled at his words. “Breaking and entering. I like the sound of that.”

“Me too.” Rose, standing right next to Graham, gave him a clap on the shoulder. “Think you’ll do just fine with us, Graham.”

Graham eyed the two uneasily. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

Chapter Text

All Yaz could see was stars.

The entire universe rushed around her—no, into her, bursts of stars pressed up against an all-encompassing blackness that threatened to consume her entire being. She wanted to cry out, wanted to scream, but the blackness pressed into her throat as well as her eyes, making her see things that weren’t there, things that couldn’t possibly be—

Yaz hit the ground back-first, knocking all of the air out of her lungs. She curled instinctively, fighting the urge to dry-heave, and for several terrible moments, that awful, spinning blackness continued, along with the sensation that she was falling headfirst into it.

Then it faded away, and slowly, sense seeped back into her.

The first thing she noticed was that it was daytime. She wasn’t sure how she knew it, with her eyes closed, but then the chirping of birds confirmed her instinct. She was pretty sure birds didn’t chirp in the nighttime.

Slowly, Yaz cracked one eye open, and then another. At first, all she saw was the sky, a pale early-morning blue, with not a single cloud in sight. Wincing, she turned her head to the side, and realized she was lying on what looked like a vast field, which stretched off into the distance before dipping into a narrow valley. An old wooden house—a barn?—sat a few hundred meters from her, and beyond that, the distant sun peeked over a line of trees. Yaz squinted, trying to make out more, but her vision was still fuzzy around the edges. 

“Uugh…” she groaned, and tried to sit up, only for her stomach and head to violently disagree. So she flopped back against the grass, and only vaguely noticed the chill seeping into the back of her uniform from the early morning dew. She squeezed her eyes shut, and tried to figure out what the hell had just happened.

She had been at Ryan and Graham’s place. Okay. Rose and Clara had been there—right. And they had been drinking tea—yes. And then Yaz had started to feel sick, and the room had started to spin, and Rose had told her she was infected with…

“No,” Yaz whispered. Her eyes jolted open, and without thinking, she reached for her face, as if she could check—but that was stupid. How was she supposed to see if her own eyes were turning gold? And if she were in the early stages, she wouldn’t see anything yet. Of course, there was always the test, simple and easy, which would tell her straight out whether she’d been infected or not, but…Yaz didn’t dare. She couldn’t bring herself to do it—couldn’t bring herself to confirm that fear sitting inside her.

So instead she lowered her hand, then placed both palms against the grass and attempted to lever herself into a sitting position. It was slow work, as her body wasn’t entirely in on the plan, but she got there in the end. Then she took the time to have a look around.

She had been more or less spot-on, she figured, in her original observation. There, in the distance, was a forest, the sun slowly rising above it, and closer by sat that brown wooden house, which she suspected to be a barn—or maybe a farmhouse. Yaz wasn’t sure. She peered across the rolling field, noticed a clearly handmade fence that dipped with the landscape, and decided that she was right about the farm. And there even looked to be a couple of cows as well, though they were too far off to be certain.

“What are you doing on my property?” an unfriendly voice growled from behind, and Yaz’s head whipped around, only for her brain to catch up, protesting. She clapped a hand to her forehead, and stifled a moan.

“I said—what the hell are you doing on my property?” the voice repeated, and painfully, Yaz raised her eyes to look at him. Before her stood a middle-aged man, a wide-brimmed hat tilted down over his lined and whiskered face, which sported a dangerous look. Yaz’s eyes traveled over his clothes—definitely not of the twenty-first century, or for that matter, the twentieth—and then to the wood-barreled rifle in his hand, the butt resting against the ground. Her heart skipped a beat.

“I—uh—” she stuttered, unable to think of a reason she would be lying in his field, or for that matter, in any field. “I’m, uh—the police.”

Brilliant, Yaz. Now he’ll just think you’re a bloody psycho.

And she appeared to be right, for his eyes darkened at the comment as his eyes ran over her uniform. 

“Not bloody likely,” he snarled. “What are you, one of those diseased foreigners? Come in from the city, yeah? Well if you think you’re gonna—”

He raised the rifle in his hands, and Yaz flinched back, ready to scramble away—only for him to double over with a cough. She stared at him, as the coughing continued, deep and hacking, and then realized that if the man was going to provide his own distraction, she best take advantage of it.

She scrambled to her feet, despite the protest in her head, but the man responded just as quickly. He straightened up, still coughing, and in a flash had the rifle in his hands, pointing straight at her chest. She froze, staring down the barrel. 

“Try to make a run on me, yeah?” he asked. The coughing had put tears in his eyes, Yaz noted, and he appeared to be shivering despite his layers of clothing. “Don’t even think about it, or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

“I—I don’t mean any harm, sir,” she tried, but he just shook his head, and took a step closer, rifle muzzle gaping at her. 

“Don’t even try it!” he spat. “You’re one of the infected, aren’t you?”

“Infected?” Her head shot up. “What do you—”

“Shut up!” he roared, and Yaz saw his finger twitch on the trigger. “I’ll be damned if I let one of you diseased rats—”

Yaz took a stumbling step backwards, nearly fell, righted herself, and spun around, only to realize she was facing the farmhouse—and she could only imagine how it would look to run towards that. She turned back around again, put her hands in the air, and saw the man’s snarling face, deadly serious. In that instant, she wished more than anything that she was back where she had been, only moments before, sipping tea in Graham and Ryan’s home. 

“Please don’t—!”

But even as she said it, her eyes tracked to the trigger, and she saw the man’s finger tighten, heard the crack of the gun, and squeezed her eyes shut, because she couldn’t bear to see— 

And then she fell backwards.

Again.

————

Nearly twenty minutes had passed, Ryan was still on the phone, and they had torn the house apart.

“They’re not answering,” Ryan declared, and in frustration picked up a nearby cushion, and threw it at a chair. It bounced off the back, and landed on the floor. “That’s it. I say we just go over and pick the lock.”

“Er, does anybody know how to do that?” Graham called from the hallway.

“I do!” Both Clara and Rose’s voices rang out, Clara from the top of the stairs, Rose from the kitchen.

From the hallway, Graham stifled a groan. “Somehow, I knew that would be the answer. I knew it.”

“Hey, whose scarf is this?” Clara came clambering down the stairs, swung into the living room, and held up a long, rainbow scarf. “I get the feeling it isn’t either of yours.”

Ryan looked up hopefully, then shook his head. “Nah, that’s the Doctor’s.”

Clara gave it another look, eyebrows raised. “Bit obvious, isn’t it?”

Ryan shrugged, and began to dial again. She tossed it on a nearby chair and turned to head upstairs. Then, she paused.

“Do you all sense that?” she asked the others, and turned to them. One by one, they shook their heads. Clara frowned, pursing her lips.

“It’s almost as if…hang on.” She patted her pockets, and then reached into one and came up with what looked like a— 

Ryan frowned. “Is that…half a pair of sunglasses?”

“Right on, Ryan.” Clara held the lens up to her eye and pressed something on the side, then peered around the room, looking for all the world like a monocled professor—if the monocle had been made to guard against the sun.

Her gaze landed upon the center of the room, and she gasped. “Oh my god—”

“What is it?” Rose called. She moved quickly out from behind the counter, and came to stand beside her, eying the half-pair of sunglasses curiously. “Hang on, are those—”

“Sonic sunglasses? Yeah.” Clara stepped forward, closer to the center of the room, peering into seemingly empty air. Then abruptly, her eyes widened, and she whipped the sunglasses down, stuffing them into her pocket. “I don’t believe it—I think she’s coming back!”

“What?” Ryan moved forward, towards the center of the room, between the living room chairs and the kitchen table, only to be stopped by Clara’s warning hand.

“Don’t move, Ryan!”

Ryan stopped in his tracks and swallowed, his eyes darting nervously towards the spot Clara’s gaze was fixed upon. “Are you sure it’s her?”

Clara shook her head. “Not really. I just got the signal from the sunglasses, and then when I looked through, I saw a huge disturbance of artron energy. I’d bet my life it’s either her or another carrier.”

“Er, aren’t you already dead?” Ryan asked. Clara gave a wry smile, but didn’t look at him.

“Alright, I’ll bet Rose’s life, then.” 

“Oh, thanks.” Rose shot her a glare, but there was no bite behind it, and in a moment her gaze too was back to the center of the room. “ So you think—”

Clara nodded. “Any second now. She must have somehow found her way back. Either that, or—”

She didn’t have time to finish her sentence, for just as suddenly as she had vanished, Yaz stumbled out of thin air into the center of the room.

“Yaz!” Ryan and Graham both cried out, and Ryan, standing just behind, rushed forward. He reached out a hand to steady her, but Yaz shrugged it off, and swung her head wildly about the room without really seeing it. Then, her eyes fell directly on Clara.

“You—” she began, and then cut off, and looked down the front of her uniform. Shakily, her hand rose to her stomach.

Then, she crumpled to the floor.

Ryan caught her just before she hit the ground, and eased her onto the carpet as Rose and Clara rushed forward. Graham was just behind, his movements a tad more lethargic.

“What’s happened to her?” he demanded, shoving in between Rose and Clara. He knelt down beside them, and his mouth fell open. “Oh—”

“She’s been shot,” Clara confirmed, voice grim. Gingerly, she moved Yaz’s arm to get a look. Sure enough, at first nearly invisible against the dark blue of her uniform, a splatter of blood surrounded a gaping hole in her stomach.

“It hurts,” Yaz moaned, and all four of their heads shot up to look at her. “I—I see—”

“Oh my god, Yaz,” Ryan whispered in horror. He looked to Rose and Clara, as did Graham. “What are we gonna do?”

Clara looked at them, then down at Yaz, and her expression stiffened with determination.

“Right,” she said. “We’re going to do first aid. First, we’ve got to—”

“No, we’re not,” Rose said firmly. All eyes flew to her.

“What d’you mean, no we’re not?” Graham asked. “We’ve got to help her—”

Rose bit her lip and shook her head, face set, though her expression was pained. “I’ve seen this before. She’ll be alright. The disease won’t let it kill her.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ryan demanded. Yaz let out another moan, and he sucked in a breath, gritting his teeth. “Listen, if you let my friend—”

“Ryan, please,” Rose met his eyes, and he dropped off at the utter sincerity in her tone, though suspicion still shadowed his expression. “I would never hurt her, I promise. But I’ve seen these things before—and I’ve studied artron energy. Regular artron energy has a healing factor, and so does this stuff, even though it’s changed. It’ll keep her alive through most injuries, or at least until it—”

“Kills her,” Ryan finished. His jaw tightened. 

Rose fell silent. Then, she just nodded.

“Ryan, look.” Graham tugged his arm and pointed, towards Yaz’s stomach. Ryan followed his gaze, and his eyes widened. Yaz’s hand had fallen away from the wound and, as they watched, a golden puff of—particles?—rose from it, before dissipating in the air.

“That almost looks—” Ryan whispered.

“Like what happened to the Doctor,” Graham confirmed. “Except—”

He didn’t have to finish for Ryan just gave a slight nod, his eyes glued to the wound, where more gold energy weaved its way in and out of the hole in her police uniform. Graham was right; it was different somehow from the gold stuff that had emanated from the Doctor. That had been glittering, and—and beautiful. This glinted dully, burnished and flat. 

“So she’s healing?” Ryan looked up to Rosa and Clara, hope mingling with apprehension in his expression. As if he didn’t want to trust them, but desperately wanted them to be right. “She’ll be alright?”

“For now, yeah.” Rose leaned forward and reached out, pushing a lock of hair back from Yaz’s face. “It’ll take a bit, but—”

But at her touch, Yaz’s eyes flew open. Rose fell back in surprise as Yaz jerked halfway to a sitting position, only to fall back with a moan. Ryan’s hand found her shoulder, trying to reassure, but she didn’t appear to register it. She swung her head around, taking in the room with wide, unfocused eyes, until her gaze lit upon Clara. Then she let out a cry.

“You—!” She tried to struggle upright again and nearly made it before falling back, only this time her fingers reached out and grasped the lapel of Clara’s jacket, pulling her forward. “You’re supposed to—I’m supposed to—”

“Yaz!” Clara worked her fingers free of her jacket, then grasped her hand, giving her palm a comforting squeeze, to no effect. Yaz was still struggling, her eyes fixed on Clara, though they were unfocused and distant. As if she were looking at her, but seeing something beyond. “Yaz, listen to me, you need to calm down, you’re in a lot of pain and—”

“I don’t—” Yaz shook her head, chin dropping to her collar. For a moment her expression grounded, then turned nauseous. “I feel like I’m—”

“Oh no, no, no—” Rose grabbed Yaz’s arm, then, as if thinking better of the idea, dropped it. “I think she’s going to jump again!”

“What?” Ryan’s grip tightened on Yaz’s shoulder. “What do we do?”

“Get your hand away,” Rose ordered, and so sharp was her tone that Ryan instantly jerked his hand back. “Non-carriers can’t survive the trip through the time vortex, it’ll kill you instantly.”

Ryan’s face turned to dismay. “But how are we supposed to—”

“Wait!” Clara leaned forward and snatched something from Yaz’s vest, pulling back just in time—for when she did, Yaz was no longer there.

“She’s disappeared again!” Graham exclaimed. “Now how the hell are we going to get her back?”

Ryan’s brow crinkled worriedly, and Rose bit her lip, uncertain, but Clara sat back on her heels and smiled. “Don’t worry, Graham. I think I’ve got just what we need.”

She tilted the object in her palm towards the others, the object she had taken only moments before from Yaz’s vest, and they all leaned in, craning to get a view.

“Oh, that is bloody brilliant,” Rose breathed. Clara’s smile grew wider.

In her hand sat Yaz’s silver police badge.

————

From the moment she fell back into nothingness, Yaz didn’t register much more than confusion, and pain.

She stumbled onto stable ground, heard the familiar voices of her friends, but when she looked up, all she saw was her. Her, amidst a billion unwinding stars, and Yaz blinked, trying to make sense of it all, but then pain exploded through her body, and before she even realized what was happening, she was crumpling to the ground.

She blacked out and wished she hadn’t, for when she woke up the stars were still there, and she was still there, kneeling smack-dab in the center of a thousand possibilities, images and threads all jumbled together, and vaguely Yaz realized that she had to tell her, she had to make her aware, but before she could, the room began to spin and she fell back into blackness.

She was getting really, really sick of that.

This time she landed standing up, but that lasted only half a second, before the searing pain in her stomach sent her knees wobbling. She sank to the ground, vaguely aware of the sun beating down on her, and for a funny second wished she had time to change.

Then her head rolled back, and she passed out.

A strange hooting and chattering dragged her slowly back to consciousness. She stirred, eyes still squeezed shut against a sun that was definitely directly overhead, then groaned. The sound was rapidly approaching, but Yaz didn't want to deal with it. Her entire body hurt, and her head was spinning with things she couldn't make sense of. She just wanted to go back to sleep.

And then a small, definitely nonhuman hand wrapped its fingers around her ankle.

Yaz’s eyes flew open and she scrambled to a sitting position, jerking her leg away from the creature crouching at her feet. The creature’s hand came away, and its head jerked up as it snarled. Yaz flinched back instinctively, and then stopped, confused.

She was looking at a monkey.

She stared at it, too perplexed to move, and the monkey snarled again, gnashing its teeth. Then, without warning, it took a swinging bound towards her, and before she knew it Yaz found herself inches away from those bared fangs. She froze, unsure what to do. Were monkeys dangerous? This one certainly looked it. It was larger than she’d first realized, and it didn’t seem at all afraid, but rather…aggressive.

A shadow fell over her, blocking out the sun.

Yaz looked up, and squinted at the figure standing above her. Against the sunlight, she could only make out his shape, but after a moment her eyes adjusted, and she saw that it was a man, dressed in no more than what looked like a white skirt. His head was completely shaved, and so shiny the sun seemed to glint off the top of his dark scalp. In his hand he held a wooden staff. Yaz’s eyes tracked to it, and her heart sank. Why did she keep waking up next to people carrying weapons?

The man looked her over, and then his gaze fell to the monkey. He said something in a language foreign to Yaz, but the sound was sharp and commanding, and she knew immediately that it was a call to heel. The monkey drew back, then twisted to leap over her legs and back to the man’s side. It let out a soft hoot, then fell onto its backside and began to swirl a finger through the dust, all previous signs of aggression gone.

The man said something again in that incomprehensible language. Yaz just stared. 

“I, uh…I don’t…”

The man frowned and lifted his staff. Yaz shrunk back, the last incident still fresh in her mind, but he just used it to point to her, before jerking the end upwards in the air. The meaning was clear; get up.

For a second, Yaz hesitated. Clearly, the man wanted to take her somewhere, or do something with her, and Yaz was pretty sure she didn’t want to find out what it was. There was a dangerous glint to his eyes, and an impassivity that made her think he would be totally unmoved by killing her. He only had a wooden staff in his hands, but it was thick and heavy, and by the easy way he handled it, Yaz figured she wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end.

Not to mention the monkey, whose teeth she definitely didn’t want another close-up of.

The man was still waiting, impatience furrowing a line in his brow, and after a moment, his hand twitched on the staff. This was enough for Yaz to decide; quickly, before he could do anything more, she scrambled to her feet, then swayed as a wave of dizziness hit her. Her stomach ached dully, and she wasn’t sure why. 

As soon as she was on her feet, the man drew the staff back and snapped something at her, then turned his head to the direction he’d come. Yaz followed his gaze and saw, a short distance off, a collection of buildings surrounded by a wall, like a tumble of clay-colored blocks clustered next to a sea. Or rather, Yaz realized, a river, for it seemed to be flowing languidly in one direction, its shores dotted with the occasional greenery or palm tree. As she watched, a pair of children, stark naked, ran out of an opening set into the wall, shrieking and shouting, and made a sprint straight for the river. 

It looked like a scene in a textbook, Yaz thought. One of those portraits of an ancient civilization. But how was she supposed to figure out which one?

Something tugged at the hem of her trousers and Yaz startled, jolting out of her reverie. She looked down and saw the monkey, who chattered once at her before turning and loping after the man. She looked up, and saw he was watching her with an unreadable expression in his eyes.

“Where are we going…?” she asked, and then felt rather stupid, for of course he didn’t understand her. At her words he frowned, and jabbed the staff towards her, then at the cluster of buildings, and said something in a harsh, commanding tone. Clearly, they were going to the town.

Yaz had no idea if that was a good idea or not. But then again, what choice did she have? The man’s hand twitched again on the staff, and she swallowed. Then, she squared her shoulders and nodded.

This seemed to be all he needed. He turned on his heel and set off. For a moment Yaz stayed frozen, only to be brought to life by the monkey, who screeched and pushed at her feet, its gnarly fingers wrapping around the fabric of her trousers. Yaz flinched from its touch and stumbled forward, after the man, who was already striding away. She turned the movement into a light jog, despite the aching in her stomach, and watched as the monkey ran on ahead, occasionally glancing back with bared teeth.

Yaz’s eyes fell to the rapidly approaching town, and she felt the beginnings of fear build in her throat. Her stomach gave a nervous flip.

What on earth had she gotten herself into this time?

Chapter Text

“I'm going to get her.” Clara straightened up, stuffing the badge into her pocket.

“Not alone,” Rose answered immediately, and clambered to her feet. “I'm coming with you.”

“No way.” Clara shook her head. “It doesn't make sense for both of us. I'll just make a quick hop, and—”

“And get stranded halfway across the galaxy?” Rose’s hands found their way to her hips, and she glared. “No offense, Clara, but I saw your steering. And I don't really do getting left behind.”

“Hang on a sec,” Ryan interjected. “You can't both leave! You said you'd help us!”

He flung a hand towards Graham, who pressed his lips tightly together, but didn't say a word. His eyes were fixed on the space Yaz had vacated.

Rose looked between Ryan and Clara, indecision playing across her face. When she didn't immediately respond, Clara spoke softly.

“Not to mention the enormous alien fleet bearing down on the planet.” A rueful smile twitched at her lips. “And honestly, Rose, you're probably better equipped to defend the Earth than I am.”

Rose bit her lip, eying her for a long moment. Then she sighed, her hands dropping from her hips.

“Right, yeah,” she muttered, and ran a hand through her hair. “Alright, you go grab her. I'll contact UNIT. But make it back quick, okay? God knows we could use you. And god knows we could use your TARDIS.”

Clara's smile faded into slight disappointment. “Playing second fiddle to a machine. And here I thought I'd finished with that when I left the Doctor.” 

“Haha, very funny.” Rose gestured towards the door. “Shouldn't you be on your way, then?”

“Right.” Clara nodded, then zipped up her jacket with a determined flourish and spun around. “Don't let the world end before I get back!”

She didn't wait for a response, but rounded the corner into the hallway, and a moment later they heard the corresponding click of the door as it opened. Then it clicked shut, leaving Ryan, Graham and Rose to stare at the empty hallway for a moment, unmoving.

Ryan broke the silence. “You don't know her very well, do you?”

Rose’s eyes stayed fixed on the living room entrance. “Yeah, but I trust her.”

“Why?” Ryan turned his gaze to her, and for a moment, she didn't look at him. Then she turned, and as her eyes met his, she smiled.

“Because we don't have a choice, do we?”

—————

It didn’t take long to reach the town, and the man didn’t leave Yaz time to linger. He strode ahead, forcing her to maintain a jog as they weaved through buildings and down streets, drawing inquisitive stares and a few shouted questions. The man never answered, but kept his head straight, giving only the occasional nod to men he passed on the street. Men who looked just like him, with batons and white kilts and dark, shaved heads. Some had dogs, and Yaz even spotted another monkey. They all had the same stiff, authoritative air about them, the kind that reminded her immediately of—

Police. I’m being taken in by the police. 

She bit her tongue to stifle a bitter, mirthless laugh. 

The man turned abruptly, onto a wide street that Yaz could immediately tell cut through the center of the town. A little ways down the road sat a building larger than the others, large enough to suggest a distinct importance. The man didn’t pause, but went straight for the building, and Yaz followed, her heart slowly sinking.

She would have bet anything she was being led into a police station.

The man stopped when he reached the doorway and turned, waiting. Yaz slowed to a walk, and almost hesitated before passing through, only to catch sight of the monkey set at the man’s heel. He looked up to her, and bared his fangs. 

She passed through.

Darkness plunged over her immediately. She blinked rapidly for several seconds until visual comprehension sunk in, then gave a wide look around, noting immediately the luxurious decor, plated in gold and what she might have guessed to be ivory. Candles—or perhaps torches?—dotted the corners of the room, and a carpet of some unknown material rolled down the center. Yaz followed it, right to an elaborate, gold plated chair sitting at the opposite end. 

A man was sitting there. Dressed no fancier than the man who had taken her in, with a white linen kilt and no shirt, his bronze chest gleamed stark against the low light. When she caught his eye, he tilted his head and studied her. Dark curtains of hair fell to his chin, so straight Yaz felt sure they had to be fake. Flanking him were two more men, both bearing long wooden staffs. They too were dressed in simple kilts, their heads shaven. She stared, sweat trickling down the back of her neck—from heat or trepidation she couldn’t be sure—and wondered if she should say something to the man on the throne. Then she remembered that it wouldn’t matter; he wouldn’t understand her anyway.

Someone brushed rudely past her and she looked up, just as the man who had taken her in grabbed her by her arm and jerked her along.

“Hey!” she cried, and her fingers automatically went to his hand, but his grip was like iron, sending her stumbling forward instead. The monkey chattered behind her, and she had the distinct feeling that he was bringing up the rear. Possibly making sure she didn’t escape.

The man dragged her forward, pulling up short only a couple meters from the chair—or was it a throne? He dropped her arm, and before she could react, or even shoot him a nasty look, he brought his own arm to her shoulder and shoved her to the ground.

Her knees hit the floor with a thud that sent sharp pains arcing through them, and she gritted her teeth, but didn’t cry out. Instead she took the chance to glower at him, only to find that he wasn’t watching her at all. His eyes were on the man on the throne, and he stood leaning slightly forward, as if waiting for instructions. Or dismissal.

But the man on the throne didn’t immediately look at him. He was watching Yaz, dark eyes sharp and unreadable, so she forced herself to return his gaze, chin jutted out at a stubborn angle. 

“If you’re going to kill me,” she began, after several seconds of nearly untenable silence, “You don’t have to be all—”

Abruptly, the man lifted his gaze, and barked something at the man standing beside her. He stiffened, then nodded and turned on his heel, striding off the way he had come. The monkey, who had been sitting on its backside, gave a soft hoot and leapt to its feet, swinging after him. Yaz watched them go, uncertainty intermingling with apprehensive confusion. Then, the man’s sharp voice jerked her back to the front.

He said something incomprehensible, and she stared at him.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know—”

But he kept talking, leaning forward in his chair with an expression that suggested absolute urgency. Yaz shook her head, and almost held up a hand to stem his rambling flow, only to think better of it.

“Listen, I really don’t know—”

His dark eyes were growing darker by the second, though she didn’t understand why. She caught the uphill lilt of a question, and then another one, and she could only shake her head, hoping somehow to express her complete lack of understanding. 

Only he didn’t appear to be getting it.

“Please,” she tried again, with a growing hint of desperation, just as the man leaned forward and jabbed a finger at her chest, his voice rising slightly with what she had a sinking feeling might be anger. “Listen, I honestly can’t understand you—”

Without warning, the man’s finger dropped and he stared at her, mouth hanging slightly open. Then he sunk back into his chair, hands sliding along the ornate armrests, and regarded her for several long moments. The men on both sides, Yaz noticed, were looking at her as well. Only moments before, they had been staring straight ahead, motionless. Now they were staring as if…as if they were surprised.

“Those are the first comprehensible words you’ve managed to speak since arriving.” The words came from the man on the throne, and Yaz gasped.

“You can—you can understand me?”

And I can understand him, she realized dizzily, though none of it made sense. How could she possibly understand him? There was no TARDIS translation circuit to do the job, unless—

No. Yaz didn’t dare hope.

The man was scrutinizing her again, his gaze running up and down her uniform, by now rumpled and dirty and almost certainly ragged. Yaz met his gaze, and waited. Experience had quickly taught her not to do the talking. She wasn’t keen to get shot again, and though there were surely no guns in this time period, she didn’t fancy the heavy looking staffs that the two—guards?—were carrying.

The man’s gaze traveled back to meet hers, and he broke the silence.

“A woman saw you appear outside my town. She told me that one moment there was nothing, and the next, you were standing there.” He leaned forward. “Is this true?”

“I—” Yaz’s mouth felt dry. She had a sudden, wild urge to lie, but only a moment later realized that would be foolish. Who would this man believe, after all? A strangely dressed girl, obviously foreign to what he claimed to be his town, or one of his own citizens? 

“Yes, that’s true,” she answered. The man regarded her, and didn’t speak. “It’s not my fault, though. I honestly don’t know how I got here, I just—”

Then she stopped, because that wasn’t entirely true. Yaz had an inkling, the kind that made her stomach shrink in dread, but she was loathe to admit it. If she did, that would mean that she—that she—

“You’re one of them.” The man’s voice jerked her out of her ruminations. Yaz looked up, and saw his upper lip curl down into a frown she didn’t like at all. “One of the infected.”

“I—infected?” Yaz’s heart was beating wildly. She shook her head vigorously, uselessly. “No, I’m not, I just—”

Infected. The word danced in her head, far too obvious and far too terribly true, so she pushed it away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.” A sneer twisted the man’s expression. He was leaning forward now, his fingers clenched around the ends of the armrests, tight enough to turn his knuckles white. “You think I wouldn’t know of the diseased? The entirety of Egypt knows. I have my entire town on watch for your kind, the insidious spreaders, the ones we need to watch against.”

He stabbed a finger towards her chest, and without thinking, she shrunk back.

“I’m not who you’re talking about,” she whispered, though she could feel the cold fingers of truth digging into her chest, twisting. “I’m not. I don’t know how I got here, I swear, and I’m no threat—”

“That’s what the last one said too.” The man leaned back, regarding her with eyes she suddenly realized were very cold. As if he had already decided something. “The last one was one of my own citizens, you know. I knew him, actually, for many years. And I did what I had to do regardless.”

“What—” Yaz’s throat, somehow, had gone even dryer. She tried to swallow, but it was ineffective. “What did you do?”

“I killed him.” The man delivered the words in a flat tone. “It pained me greatly, but we can’t allow the disease to spread. And it falls to me to do what must be done.”

“Yeah, but—” she had no arguments, Yaz realized. The man’s expression sat deadly serious, immovable. “Why bring me all the way here, just to kill me? Why not kill me out—out there?”

She jerked her arm uselessly back the way she’d come, but the man’s eyes didn’t follow the movement. He just tilted his head, considering.

“Yes. That’s a good question.” Something akin to respect flared in his gaze. Yaz’s stomach twisted hopefully. “Why shouldn’t I kill you immediately?”

Yaz simply knelt there, barely breathing. Her stomach still ached, she noted, and her knees hurt from the constant contact with the floor, luxurious carpet or no. The man was studying her thoughtfully. It didn’t look as if he’d changed his mind.

“I need you to answer a few of my questions,” he said, and Yaz’s heart sunk. “You’ve come from a far off place, I can tell by your strange dress. You’ve surely seen this disease before, haven’t you?”

He paused, waiting for an answer. When Yaz didn’t give him one, he leaned forward again, eyes glittering. “Tell me. I won’t spare your life either way. But you may be able to help me save those of my citizens.”

Yaz hesitated, then let out a breath, long and low. She dropped her head, and stared at the carpet, colored red. Hopelessness thudded dully in her chest. Of course it wouldn’t matter. She had escaped death once, only to die again. And even that wouldn’t make a difference, because clearly Gold’s had already spread to ancient Egypt. 

She felt the urge to laugh bubble up in her throat, and stifled it. Ancient Egypt, of all places. She wondered if Ryan would believe her if she told him, and then remembered that Ryan likely wouldn’t get to hear this particular tale. 

Just like that, the urge to laugh died away. 

“Fine,” she spat. “I’ll answer your questions. But I’m warning you, I don’t know much more than you.”

The man smiled at his victory, teeth glinting. “Oh, but you can help. I’m sure of it. The last victim came from my own town, and before he died, he told fantastical tales of far off lands, with one thing in common; in every land, the disease had already spread by the time he arrived.”

The man shook his head in disbelief. “How can such a thing have happened? How can a disease be everywhere at once?”

“Uh…” Yaz wasn’t sure how to respond. The man was gazing off above her head now, clearly lost in thought, and furthermore, she had no idea how to answer, because it didn’t make sense. How could a disease be everywhere at once? How could a disease travel through time? The man who had shot her had mentioned disease too—a diseased rat, he had called her. And then Yaz blinked, as she recalled something else, which seemed like it had happened ages ago; Marie’s pin, a gold circle set against a red blouse. The pin she’d claimed her grandmother had worn when some long lost relative had died of Gold’s.

But how could a disease travel backwards through time?

“But you—” the man’s voice jerked her from her reverie, and Yaz’s head jolted up. He leaned forward, eyes glinting dangerously. “You must know something. Tell me, what have you seen of this disease? Where does it come from?”

“I—” Yaz’s mouth was dry, and she swallowed thickly, very aware that what remained of her life was caught between the amount of words she could manage to spew. The problem was, she had nothing. And in her slight panic, the only thing she could focus on, uselessly, were the busied sounds of the street outside. Voices, footsteps, and the occasional shout. A crash, which sounded as if it might have come from a rolling cart. “I—well, in my time, we’re working on a cure—”

“Your time?” the man’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “What do you mean, time? Where are you from, girl?”

Girl. Yaz’s mouth twisted at the word. Briefly, she wondered if she was meant to be lying about the whole time travel thing, and then decided it didn’t matter. “Yeah, I, uh, come from a different time. The future. And I’m sorry, but there it’s just the same as yours. We’re working on a cure, but we haven’t found anything yet. And people keep dying—”

“Hmmph.” This answer clearly did not please the man. He slumped back in his seat, eying her with cold disappointment. A chill ran down Yaz’s spine.

Nice job buying time, dummy.

Outside, another crash sounded, followed by several shouts.

“You’re not much of a help,” the man said after a few moments. Still, he was staring at her curiously, head tilted to the side. He didn’t seem to notice the commotion outside. “I suppose you know you won’t delay your death much longer.”

“I—” Yaz gulped, and glanced at the two guards. They weren’t looking at her, but one was looking beyond her to the entrance, his brow furrowed in concern. “I don’t know what you want to hear. I can tell you all I know, but it won’t—”

A cry rose up from just outside the door, and Yaz cut off in the middle of her sentence. One of the guards started forward, then stopped, fingers curling around his staff. The other glanced towards the man on the throne, uncertain.

“Wait,” the man said curtly. His eyes fell to Yaz, and his mouth curled into a snarl. “You choose not to answer my questions, then? You have nothing to contribute?”

Yaz’s mouth fell open. “That’s not what I said—”

Another shout came from the door, and both guards started forward.

“Sir!” the lefthand guard raised his staff. “I think—”

“Yes, I see.” But the man’s eyes didn’t leave Yaz. “Is this your distraction, girl? You’ve led enemy forces into my town?”

“What?” Yaz gasped, and gave a vigorous shake of her head. “That doesn’t even make sense, that bloke found me lying in the middle of—”

“A really far off field.” A disgruntled voice came from the entrance, and both the guards jerked upright. The man’s gaze rose past Yaz, who twisted around, then gaped.

Clara Oswald stood in the doorway, her hair mussed and her clothing slightly bedraggled, but otherwise looking perfectly healthy. Her gaze fell to Yaz, and she gave a tired grin.

“You were a tough one to find.” She clucked her tongue disapprovingly, and held up something in her hand. It glinted, shiny-silver. “Turns out, the people here don’t listen to the badge.”

“The wha—” Yaz glanced down to her chest, where she was certain her badge had been—but no, it was gone. “Did you—use that to track me?”

“Ahh, I knew you were a clever one.” Clara grinned and flipped the badge shut, then shoved it in her pocket. With her chin, she gestured towards the door. “Shall we?”

It took Yaz less than a second to respond. She leapt to her feet, heard the rustle of the guards moving behind her, and glanced back just in time to duck a hand. She stumbled forward with the momentum, then recovered and lunged for the door. 

“Catch them!” she heard the man behind her shout, but she didn’t look back. Clara extended her hand, and Yaz caught it, only to be yanked right through the door with surprising strength. 

“So how did my badge find me?” she asked as they tumbled out the door, right past the man who had taken her in. He was slumped against the wall, looking for all the world as if he had sat down and then nodded off.

“No time for questions!” Clara spun her around and pushed her down the street, just as the two guards burst out of the building, hot on their heels. Yaz caught sight of a crashed cart and several more people, apparently unharmed but slumped over in what looked like a deep sleep. “We’ve got to get back to the TARDIS!”

“The TARDIS—”

“My TARDIS,” Clara corrected, then grabbed her hand again, jerking her past the unconscious citizens. “Don’t worry about them, they’re just sleeping, I swear!”

But Yaz barely had time to glance at them before they fell down a side street, and took off sprinting between houses. Behind her, she heard the guards shouting, heard their panting breaths and rapidly approaching footsteps.

“Clara, I think they’re gaining—”

“I know!” Clara pulled Yaz around a corner, and they stumbled right into what looked like the wall Yaz had seen from the outside, the one encircling the city. They stopped short, and Clara dropped her hand, cursing. “Ooh, this is not good, I could’ve sworn I came in through—”

“That?” Yaz pointed down the right, and Clara followed her gaze, to the small entrance set into the wall.

“Yes, Yaz, you genius!” She grabbed her hand again, and together they ran for it.

There was a guard at the entrance, but he was as unconscious as the rest of the people Yaz had seen, cradling a long spear, the shaft against his cheek. Clara jerked her past, and as they stumbled through the entrance and out of the town, jabbed a finger ahead.

“Almost there, see?” 

Yaz looked, and drew in a sharp sigh of relief. There, in what looked like the precise spot she had arrived, sat Clara’s old American-style diner, looking goofily retro next to the enormous, languid river and fields of crops stretching into the distance.

“Did you come to get me?” She asked. Clara turned to her with a raised-eyebrow look.

“Certainly wasn’t coming for the locals,” she said, then pointed behind them. “Which, speaking of—!”

Yaz glanced back, just in time to see the two guards burst through the entrance they had just left. Her heart leapt, and she turned hurriedly back to Clara.

“Got it, not the time for questions.” Clara was already whirling around, and this time, she didn’t bother to grab Yaz’s hand. She didn’t need to; when she took off running, Yaz was right by her side, despite the dull ache in her stomach.

“Stop!” they heard one of the guards cry, but they didn’t glance back. They simply sprinted, feet pounding and hearts thumping, their breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The TARDIS was looming into view, larger and larger with each step, but their pursuers were gaining as well, their frustrated huffs and heavy footsteps louder with each passing second. 

“Clara, I don’t think—” Yaz finally glanced back, and her heart sank. The guards were far back, but not far enough. Were they to stop, they would be upon them in less than a minute. 

“No thinking, Yaz!” Clara called, and flung a finger towards the TARDIS. “C’mon, where’s your sense of determination?”

Yaz’s lungs were protesting, but she couldn’t prevent the scowl that rose to her lips. “I have determination—”

“Then use it!” They were close now, close enough to make out the burnished silver of the doors, and Yaz’s lungs were finally starting to give out—or rather, it was her stomach that was compressing, flip-flopping with a familiar sort of nausea, the kind that—

Oh.

Oh no.

“Clara, I—” she lunged forward and grabbed her hand, just as they reached the doors. Clara spun around, impatience and annoyance flashing across her expression.

“Yaz, c’mon—” with one hand trapped in Yaz’s, she reached around with the other to press down on the door handle. “This really isn’t the time—”

The door handle turned, and she shoved backwards against the door, clearly expecting to shoulder through.

It didn’t open.

Clara’s eyes widened, as did Yaz’s. She looked over her shoulder, and slammed the heel of her hand down on the door handle again. It gave, but nothing clicked.

Clara stared. Her mouth formed a small ‘o’ of surprise. “How—”

Yaz’s stomach lurched, and she clapped a hand to her mouth, even though nothing was coming up. “Clara, I think—”

Clara’s head jolted up, and her eyes found Yaz’s. Sick understanding flashed across her expression. “Oh. Oh no. Okay, um—Yaz, you have to hold on, okay? We’ve got to get you into the TARDIS—”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Yaz spoke through the fingers clasped over her mouth. Her stomach was heaving, her throat dry. Behind her, she could hear the approaching footsteps of the guards. “Clara—”

“Uh—” it was clear Clara had no more idea than Yaz. She turned and pressed down again on the door handle, then cursed as it refused to give. “Listen, we’ll think of something, okay? Just—”

“Clara—” there was a note of warning in her tone, enough to make Clara look up, as Yaz swayed. She could feel herself starting to fuzz, her entire body humming. Terror raced in her chest. “I don’t think I can—”

Abruptly, a cloister bell rang out, and both their heads shot up to the TARDIS. 

“What’s that?” Yaz asked shakily. Clara was staring, shock intermingling with utter dismay. Above them, the dull tones of the cloister bell continued to toll.

“That’s—” Clara was still staring, mouth hanging. “That’s the cloister bell, the warning bell, but how—why—?”

“Hang on, it’s disappearing!” Yaz cried, and yanked her hand out of Clara’s to point. Sure enough, the TARDIS was starting to weave in and out of existence, a slow, steady fade. “Is it supposed to be disappearing?”

“No!” Clara lurched forward and gripped the door handle with both hands, yanking downward as hard as she could. Familiar, dreadful wheezing echoed through the air. “It’s not, and I don’t know why it would possibly—”

“Stop!” Twin voices rang out behind them, and as one, Clara and Yaz spun around, Clara backing up against the quickly fading TARDIS, Yaz with both hands now pressed to her mouth. She was swaying, unsteady on her feet, but as both guards leveled their staffs, she shot her hands into the air. A glance and a moment later, Clara did as well. 

With a thud and one final echoing wheeze, the TARDIS vanished from view. From behind Yaz, Clara stifled a moan.

“Right, stopped,” Clara forced out between gritted teeth. “How about you lower those staff-thingies?”

The guards barely looked at her. Instead, they zeroed in on Yaz. 

“You were under the custody of the mayor Sen-nefer,” the lefthand guard spat. “You tried to escape. The sentence for that is death.”

“Yeah, I thought that’d already been agreed upon, actually,” Yaz said, with a wild glance to Clara. Clara just gave a slight shake of her head, then glanced regretfully behind her, to the spot the TARDIS had stood. Then she took a step forward, leveling herself with Yaz.

“Suppose you’ll have to take us both in, though,” she said, and crossed her arms. “Seeing as I caused quite the ruckus myself.”

The righthand guard lifted his staff slightly and sneered. “It will be easier to kill you here.”

Clara wrinkled her nose. “Oh. Right. Should have expected that.”

Quickly, she stuck out an elbow, nudging Yaz in the ribs. “Jump.”

“What?” Yaz looked over to her. She was fairly shimmering at this point, she could feel it. Her entire body felt like the white static of a TV screen, like a foot fallen asleep. Nausea danced in her stomach, and she glanced quickly to the guards. “Clara, I’m—”

“Think of home,” Clara hissed out of the corner of her mouth. “Last time you got back to Ryan and Graham’s yeah? Think of—”

“Shut up!” The guards were advancing now, mere meters away. “Both of you, silence!”

Clara ignored them. “Listen, just try it will you? Close your eyes, think of home, think of—”

Yaz shimmered, felt herself fading. She opened a mouth she could barely feel, and forced the words out dizzily. “What about you? Where will you—”

The guards were only feet away. One of them raised his staff menacingly, his eyes on Clara, who leaned back, cowering. “Yaz, do it!”

Yaz opened her mouth, then realized it didn’t matter anyway, because the world was dissolving in front of her. So she squeezed her eyes shut, and thought of home. Of comfort, and laughter, and people she loved, where everything was okay, and she wouldn’t have to think about this damned disease—

Stars burst in her vision. Distantly, she heard a startled shout, felt a hand wrap around her wrist, but didn’t have time to register whose it was before she fell backwards.

Right into an indescribable void, which neatly swallowed her whole.

Chapter Text

“Are you usually on hold this long?”

Rose turned around, cell phone to her ear, and gave Ryan a half-hearted shrug.

“Not when I worked there, no. Guess I don't have the sway anymore.”

She gave a rather fragile smile, the kind that made Ryan think there were loads of things sitting unsaid behind it. He opened his mouth to ask a question, then thought better of it, and closed his mouth. Instead, it was Graham who broke the silence.

“Listen, not to be rude and all, but you still haven't said a word about this alien fleet. And last time there was an alien invading Earth, UNIT didn't actually answer us, in case you're wondering.”

“Didn't they?” Rose frowned, and brought the phone away from her ear to examine it. From a distance, a cheery on-hold jingle could be heard. “Ooh, that's not good. I mean, not saying we can't fight off an alien invasion on our own, but you know, it'd be much easier with backing. And weapons. Also I don't think—”

“Going off on one a bit,” Ryan interrupted, and when her gaze jerked to him, he scowled and crossed his arms. “Seriously. You can't just keep me and my grandad out of the loop like that! I mean, Clara just drops that bomb about an alien fleet and leaves, and now we've been standing here for twenty minutes and you haven't explained a bloody thing!”

Rose opened her mouth to respond, then shut it again. She looked to the phone in her hand, then pressed the screen. Immediately, the jingle amplified, cracklingly loud in the room. Then she shoved the phone in her pocket, and looked to Ryan and Graham.

“You're right,” she admitted. “Sorry, it has been a bit rushed. I only just got dumped out of a personal quarantine thanks to the Time Lords, and then Clara was yanking me into her TARDIS, and—”

“Time Lords?” Ryan interrupted. “What's a Time Lord?”

Rose stopped, mouth open. “Uh…”

She glanced helplessly towards Graham, as if he might know the answer. He simply shrugged. 

“Um, okay.” Rose glanced between the two of them, then nodded once. “Okay. Well, Time Lords. Well, that's basically the Doctor, yeah? She's a Time Lord, if you didn't already know. Which I guess you didn't. Blimey, she didn't tell you anything did she?”

Something tightened in Ryan's face. “Wasn't too talkative dropping us off for three months, no.”

“Oi, Ryan…” Graham began, but Rose held up a hand.

“No, Graham, he's got a point, doesn't he?” She gave him a glance, and he shrugged. “You're right. The Doctor doesn't share much, and she never talks about herself, or nearly so.”

Then she looked to Ryan, and met his gaze steady-on, eyes flashing. “But I'm willing to bet she's saved your life more than once.”

“Uh—” Ryan stared at her, taken aback. “Uh, yeah. I guess so. But—”

“But arguing about the Doctor is not telling us about that bloody alien fleet you keep hinting about.” Graham cast a look towards Ryan, before rounding on Rose. “Listen Rose, I like you well enough despite my grandson’s misgivings—”

“Oh, thanks for that, Graham.” Ryan rolled his eyes, but he didn't argue. Graham continued.

“But my first priority happens to be whatever massive alien threat is bearing down on us, which I'm thinking should be all of our priorities, you ask me.”

Rose’s lips twitched. “I mean, I am on the phone with UNIT for that exact reason.”

“And still keepin’ us in the dark,” Graham pointed out. “Any reason for that one?”

Rose hesitated, then sighed. Her hand went to her pocket, as if checking that the phone was still there, despite the jangling tune still emanating from it. 

“Not really,” she admitted. “Suppose I've just no idea where to start. A lot has happened in a short period of time, and I'm not used to being the one explaining things. I mean, even when I was in UNIT, we were all on the same page, you know?”

“Not really,” Ryan said. There was still a slight edge to his tone, but it had softened slightly with Rose’s speech. “I mean, we only just found out you were in UNIT. But you know, you could just start at the beginning.”

“Easiest place to start,” Graham chimed in, and when Rose looked to him, he flashed her an encouraging smile. “Why don't we recap? You're Rose Tyler, you come from a parallel universe—”

“Yeah, and I used to travel with the Doctor,” Rose said. She had begun to smile slightly. Even Ryan looked less tense, a tad more welcoming. Interested. “I worked for UNIT in my own universe, until the disease wiped everything out. Then I spent a load of time getting back here, and I almost didn't make it, ‘cept the Time Lords pulled me through.”

“Why'd they do that?” Graham asked. Rose shrugged. 

“Honestly, I think they were a bit annoyed with me pounding on the walls of the universe. Didn't like the noise, I suppose. So they stuck me in quarantine, until Clara came along to get me—”

“Okay, hang on,” Ryan interjected. “Clara just…knew to get you? I thought you two didn't know each other very well.”

Rose shook her head. “We don't. Never met before. Only according to her, she got a message telling her to go to the end of the universe, to get help from the Time Lords. But she got me instead.”

“And she didn’t even question it?” Ryan asked, bewildered. “I mean, who trusts a message telling you to go all the way to the end of the universe? Was it from the Doctor?”

Rose opened her mouth, then hesitated and shook her head. “No, it wasn't. Actually, neither of us has heard from the Doctor, not that we've been reaching out. Been a bit busy.”

She gestured to the room, torn apart from searching, then to the phone in her pocket. Still, she couldn't quite hide the hint of wistfulness to her tone. For a moment, awkward silence fell, interrupted only by the constant background jingle of the phone.

“So, who was it from?” Graham broke it after only a moment. “If it weren't the Doctor, who was it?”

“That—” Rose paused, then winced slightly, cringing under supposed criticism. “Well, we don't know, actually. Only as soon as we were on the TARDIS, we got another message with a set of coordinates, and a warning. About an invasion.”

“About an—” Ryan mouthed, and shot a dumbfounded glance to Graham, who didn't notice. He was too busy staring at Rose in disbelief.

“So that's it? We're trusting you on a message we've never seen, when you don't even know who sent it?” Ryan’s shock slipped into outrage, and he stepped forward, jabbing a finger towards her chest. “For all we know, there's not even an alien invasion! Of all the bloody things—”

“Son—” Graham tried, though even he was staring at Rose with a bewilderment that bordered on betrayal. 

“No!” Ryan whipped around, his glare landing on Graham. He flung out an arm towards Rose. “Grandad, I don't care how desperate we are, we can't just throw our trust on someone makin’ up lies about an alien invasion—”

“Oi, I am not making it up!” Rose scowled and made as if to step forward, only to stop and look down at her pocket in surprise.

The background jingle had gone silent.

For a moment, all three simply stared.

“Uh—” she started to say, then shoved her hand into her pocket and snatched up the phone, just as an impatient voice crackled out of the speaker. 

“Hello? Hello? If this is a prank caller, you will be arrested under article—”

“No, no, it's me!” Rose said hurriedly, then grimaced. “I mean, uh, not me. It's Rose. Rose Tyler.”

The line went dead silent. 

Then, flatly, “Rose Tyler.”

Rose glanced swiftly up at Ryan and Graham, both watching her. “Uh, yeah. I was—”

“We know who you are.” 

Rose cut off instantly. For a moment, there was silence. Then—

“I'm putting you in contact with Kate Lethbridge-Stewart.”

Rose pumped the air and mouthed yes! to Ryan and Graham, both of whom simply stared at her before exchanging a glance. The jingle floated from the phone again, but only for a moment, before a voice sounded, urgent and deadly serious.

“Rose Tyler, are you there?”

“Yes, yes, it's me!” Rose spun around as she talked, and began to pace, phone held up to her mouth. “Can't believe they put me through, if I'm being honest.”

“They have specific orders for anybody who knew the Doctor.” Kate's voice was curt, impatient, and she didn't give Rose time to respond. “I'm assuming you're here about the alien fleet which just entered our solar system?”

Twin sharp intakes of breath came from Ryan and Graham. Rose turned at the sound, and mouthed told you. Then she spoke into the phone.

“Yeah, me and two other companions of the Doctor. And hopefully two more. We want to help, however we can.”

“We’ll send the helicopter immediately,” Kate said briskly, then paused. “Is the Doctor…?”

Rose shook her head, even though Kate couldn't see it. “No. She’s uh…she's busy.”

“Busy.” A disappointed huff. “She. Well. Okay. We’ll just have to get on without her, won't we?”

“We will,” Rose confirmed, and nodded towards Ryan and Graham, as if daring them to disagree. Neither did. “How soon can you get us over there?”

“We’ll send a helicopter immediately,” Kate answered. “Ah, and we scanned the area as well. Were you aware there’s a TARDIS right by your location? Looks like a diner?”

“A TARDIS…” Rose trailed off, staring at Ryan and Graham in confusion. The phone sagged in her group, then her fingers tightened and she jerked it up. “Uh, yes. It's ours. Long story. Are there people there? Two, specifically?”

“Not a soul, from what we can see.” A moment of hesitation. “Should there be?”

Ryan and Graham looked at each other, brows crinkling in apprehensive worry, then to Rose, who let out a shaky breath.

“Uh, yes. Maybe. Well, they could be…” she paused, then shook her head. “Doesn't matter. Yeah, bring the TARDIS. Might be able to use it, somehow. Oh, and Kate? I can call you Kate, yeah?”

“Formality is overrated,” came the slightly stiff reply. “What is it?”

Rose’s eyes went to Graham, and traveled over him, deep and sympathetic and determined. Then she raised the phone to her mouth.

“I'm going to need to know everything you know about Gold’s disease.”

—————

She was falling—no, they were falling, somebody was gripping tightly to her wrist as she tumbled through starry blackness, bursts of indescribable things flashing before her eyes, things Yaz couldn’t possibly know, couldn’t possibly imagine—

With a thump, she hit the ground. Feet first, and then her knees folded beneath her and hit the floor as well, dragging along whoever was gripping her hand.

“Oof!” that person said. “Okay, I did not enjoy that.”

Yaz didn’t answer, still half-in, half-out of the conceivable universe. Some part of her mind noted that she must have landed, since she was no longer falling, but she could still see stars.

“I—” she yanked her hand away and clapped it over her eyes, trying to block out the universe falling through her head. “I—I can see—”

“Yaz?” A hand peeled her fingers from her eyes, and a concerned face swam in her vision, a round face with big eyes and a brow crinkled in worry. “Yaz, just focus on me, okay? You’ve just—”

“I know,” Yaz gasped, and reached out, fingers groping for purchase. She found it in her jacket and pulled her forward, ignoring her yelp of surprise. “I know, I have to help y—”

“Yaz!” Two hands caught her wrists, prying her fingers from the jacket and gently lowering them. “Yaz, give yourself a minute, alright? It’s no easy trip on anybody—”

“But I have to help you—” 

The wrinkle in the—she had to be a woman, right?—in the woman’s face deepened. “Help me with what?”

But whatever understanding Yaz had managed to grasp was slipping away, along with the stars and the blackness, fading into the stark relief of a physical plane. Matter, atoms. Nothing impossible. She blinked, looking around the room, then focused on the woman stooping over her.

“…Clara?”

Clara nodded, uncertainty melting into relief. “Yeah, Yaz. It’s me, Clara. You remember what happened, right?”

“Uh…yeah.” Yaz blinked hard, trying to clear the remaining fuzziness from her brain. “We jumped, didn’t we? Back to my flat.”

“Um…” Clara hesitated, then shook her head. “Not exactly. Least, I don’t think you live in a storage closet.”

“Storage closet?” Yaz frowned, and looked past Clara’s shoulder. “Oh. This isn’t…”

“Yeah. Didn’t think so.” Clara drew back, though she kept a steadying grip on Yaz’s shoulder, and looked around. “I’m assuming you’ve been here before, though? Somehow?”

Yaz didn’t immediately answer. She was too busy gazing around the small space they were in with wide eyes. It did, for all intents and purposes, appear to be a storage closet, albeit one with incredibly futuristic looking storage. There were a multitude of small, streamlined machines and strange items, the kind which Yaz supposed to be perfectly normal to someone who knew what to do with them. There were shelves and boxes too, all stamped with an alien language, and she blinked again, trying to make sense of it all. She’d never been here before in her life—she would have remembered. And nothing of this place reminded her of home, which could only mean—

“It didn’t work, did it?” Disappointment sagged through her chest. She collapsed back on her heels, letting her palms brace against the dusty floor, and watched Clara wince with the telltale truth.

“I don’t think so,” she admitted, then forcibly brightened. “But hey, we outran those Egyptian lads, didn’t we?”

“Ugh,” Yaz groaned, and let her head fall back. She was still in her uniform, she noticed miserably, which was now sweaty and torn and getting more uncomfortable with each passing minute. Not that she could get out of it. She had no other clothes, and no idea where they were. “I’m sorry, Clara, I—”

“Oh, stop it.” Clara’s eyes were filled with understanding Yaz wasn't sure she deserved. Failure still burned a hole in the pit of her stomach. “It was my idea, wasn't it? Just a guess that didn't pan out. It happens.”

“Yeah, but—” Yaz raised her head slightly to look Clara in the eye. “It made sense. Because I remember, right before I ended up back in Graham and Ryan's living room, I was thinking about it. About how much I wanted to be there. And then I was.”

“Huh.” Clara frowned. “That's…huh. Could have just been a coincidence, though. Or could have been…”

“That you were right and I messed it up?” Yaz asked, wincing as she shifted, rolling her shoulders. Every trip through time and space left her feeling like a used punching bag. Not to mention her stomach was still aching, though it was more of a hindrance at this point than anything. 

“No,” Clara huffed. She stuck out a hand, right into Yaz’s face, and flexed her fingers expectantly. “It has no guarantee of working, and it's not worth moping over anyway. We escaped, didn't we? Ended up here.”

She glanced around the storage closet as she said it, eyes roaming over grimy gray walls and shelves stacked high. “If you're asking me, I’d say we should focus on finding out where here actually is.”

Yaz gazed at the hand, and didn't look into Clara’s face, because she was right. It was useless, beating herself up for something she couldn't control. Useless, and foolish, which pretty much summed up how she felt. What had Clara and Rose said? An alien fleet, bearing down on Earth, and Gold’s was spreading to the far corners of the universe. Infecting Graham, infecting her mother. And all Yaz had done was hop around time and space like a ball in a pinball machine, shot from one end to the other. Helpless. Worthless.

But Clara’s hand was hanging there expectantly, and Yaz didn't want to be useless anymore. Not if she could help it.

“Sorry,” she muttered, and grasped her hand, letting Clara haul her to her feet. “You're right. No use whining, is it?”

Clara grinned and clapped her on the shoulder. “Atta girl! That's the attitude I used to get out of my students.”

“Students—” Yaz’s expression flashed with confusion, but before she could ask a question, Clara pointed over her shoulder.

“I'm assuming that's the door, unless this place is pulling some tricks on us.”

Yaz glanced behind her, caught the dull reddish color of what looked like a door, and forced a smile. “Yeah. Least, worth a try, isn't it?”

She looked back to see Clara grinning at her, a familiar grin which it took her a second to place. Then she did, and her stomach dropped.

Standing there, grinning like a loon at whatever might possibly lie beyond that door, she looked awfully like the Doctor.

God, Yaz missed her.

“Definitely worth a try,” Clara agreed, and stepped past her, reaching for the handle. She tried it—unlocked—then turned to Yaz and gave her a beckoning look.

“Shall we?”

Yaz, still caught up in that stunning familiarity to the Doctor, whose cheery grin burned behind her eyelids, didn't trust herself enough to speak. She just nodded.

Clara’s grin widened, and she twisted the knob. The door opened slowly, with a rusty screech that sent them both wincing, but nobody came. It simply swung into an empty hallway, the walls a dull gray, the floor a metal mesh. Clara didn't hesitate but stepped out, leaving the door open behind her. An invitation.

Yaz swallowed once, and followed.

————

Ryan and Graham were staring.

It was clear Kate Lethbridge-Stewart was trying not to notice as she spoke into her phone loudly over the roar of the rotors, but every so often she glanced toward them and shifted uncomfortably. Rose’s eyes were upon her too, but hers were anxious; she leaned forward in her seat, hands twisting nervously as she tried to catch the conversation.

After a few moments, Kate hung up, her lips pressed in a firm line, and leveled Rose with a sympathetic look.

“I'm sorry,” she said, and Rose’s face dropped immediately. “We couldn't get into the TARDIS, of course, but I had my agents bang on the door, and search the area around it. They couldn't find them.”

Rose slumped back in her seat, disbelief coloring her expression. Disbelief, which quickly slipped into a dark scowl.

“This was exactly what I was worried about,” she muttered, staring at her feet. “I knew I should’ve—”

“If you're talking about leaving, I'd rather ask you to reconsider,” Kate interrupted. Rose’s head jerked up, then she gave an abashed grimace. “We’d much prefer you here, considering the twin crises facing our planet. We've got a lot to do now and, thanks to that alien fleet, not much time to do it in.”

Graham leaned forward, catching on his seatbelt. “And by twin crises, you mean that alien fleet and…” 

“Gold’s,” Kate confirmed, and her flash flashed once more with sympathy as Graham just nodded, a tight, short motion, and leaned back in his seat. “Perhaps this isn't the best time to brief you lot, but—”

“They know,” Rose chimed in, then cast Ryan and Graham a look. “Not that they believed it the first time around.”

“Oi, I believed!” Graham protested. Ryan made a face at this, to which Graham shot him a look. Ryan shrugged, suddenly looking uncomfortable at the three pairs of eyes upon him.

“I believe now,” he said, shooting up his hands defensively. “And I was only saying it's a little mad to trust a woman you just met, that's all! And besides, I thought you lot were shut down.”

He jabbed a finger at Kate, if only to change the subject. It worked; Kate looked down his finger, then sighed.

“We were, yes. Budget cuts and—” she grimaced. “Well, I won't get into that. But they reactivated us three months ago, the moment we began to understand that Gold’s disease is far more than what it appears.”

“Yeah, it’s not a normal disease, isn’t it?” Ryan asked. When Kate looked to him in surprise, he nodded towards Rose. “She and Clara explained things to us. That it’s a mutation of—what’s it called?”

“Artron energy,” Kate completed, but she wasn’t looking at him anymore. She was looking intently at Rose. “You know Clara Oswald?”

Rose shrugged. “Briefly. That’s her TARDIS you’re bringing with us. She went back to get another girl we had with us, a carrier, only—well, I don’t think they made it back.”

“A carrier?” Kate’s head jolted up, and she leaned forward slightly. “Sorry, what?”

“A carrier,” Rose repeated, eyebrows rising slightly in surprise. “Hang on—you don’t know what a carrier is?”

Kate gave a rueful grin. “We’ve only been active for three months. We’re still getting caught up. And so far, we haven’t found a single—”

“Yeah, you have,” Rose said. Kate opened her mouth in surprise, but she plowed forward. “It was on the news this morning, according to Ryan and Graham.” She gestured towards them, and they both nodded. “You must have seen it. The time travelers?”

“The—” for a moment Kate looked confused, then her face cleared in understanding. “Oh. So they have something to do with—”

“Not just something,” Rose confirmed. “Everything. They’re the ones who spread it, see. They bounce around time and space, and everywhere they go, they bring the disease. You probably already have records of it.”

“Records?” Kate asked in disbelief. “How can we have records if it’s only happened three months—”

“But it hasn’t,” Rose said. She was leaning forward slightly, her gaze intent upon Kate’s. “Because it’s affecting the past now, even as we speak. If you think back—”

“Ancient Egypt,” Ryan whispered. Three pairs of eyes turned to him.

“Sorry, what?” Kate asked. 

“Ancient Egypt,” Ryan repeated. He glanced between the three, shrinking slightly at the amount of eyes upon him, then cleared his throat and continued. “Uh, we learned about it in school. The Gold’s outbreak in Ancient Egypt—?”

He broke off in confusion, and shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “But—wait. How can I remember that if it’s only just—”

“Because it’s spreading,” Rose said grimly. She sat back in her seat and addressed Kate. “When we get to UNIT headquarters, check your files. You’ll find it all throughout history, I swear, And the future as well, if you have the means of checking. That’s how it spreads. The carriers jump, and they bring it with them. It’s—”

“Unstoppable,” Kate whispered. Her face had gone white.

“Terrifying, I was going to say,” Rose finished, but she gave Kate a wan smile that didn’t at all reach her eyes. “But it’s not all bad! S’not like we don’t have a few things we didn’t have before.”

“Like what?” Ryan asked. He had gone pale as well, his hands tightly gripping the straps of his seatbelt. Rose turned to him, and smiled.

“Me.”

—————

“Okay, question,” Yaz whispered as they crept up to yet another corner. The place was turning out to be a maze, full of dimly lit hallways and gray toned walls, many threaded through with pipes and machinery vaguely reminiscent of the inside of a military ship she had toured once. As if they hadn’t bothered to put the guts of the ship on the inside. 

If it was even a ship. For all she knew, they could be in some kind of underground bunker.

“Yeah?” Clara peered around the corner, and apparently didn’t see anything, for she beckoned her forward. Yaz came, though not without caution; they hadn’t met anyone yet, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t. 

“You came with me when I jumped,” Yaz said, tiptoeing up beside her, and glancing around the corner as well. Clara was right; there was nobody.

“I did,” Clara confirmed, and took a careful step around the corner. Yaz followed. “Only way, wasn’t it? Didn’t fancy being stuck in ancient Egypt.”

“Yeah, but—” Yaz froze as footsteps clattered above them, and they both looked up to the ceiling.

“We’ve gotta be on some kind of lower level,” Clara whispered. “Which is usually either maintenance, or something important. Secret stuff.”

“Right.” Yaz nodded. “Probably the first, isn’t it?”

Clara shrugged, still staring at the ceiling. When no more footsteps sounded, she looked down the hallway, and began to move forward. “Suppose we’ll just have to keep going until we find someone, won’t we? Or a way out.”

“Yeah, suppose so.” Yaz frowned. “Okay, but back to my question. You came with me. Wasn’t that dangerous?”

“I mean—” Clara glanced back to her, only for a moment. Her expression was unreadable. “Technically, the trip kills all noncarriers. Only I’m already dead, see? Thought I’d take the chance.”

“Kills all—” Yaz gulped, then hurried to catch up as Clara took another step down the hallway. “Clara, that’s—!”

“Better than being stuck in ancient Egypt,” she answered absently. They had reached another hallway, and she stuck her head around the corner. “Listen, it was a chance. I took it. And I’m fine now, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, but—” How can you be? Yaz wanted to say. She certainly wasn’t; at least a quarter hour had passed since they’d landed in that maintenance closet, and she could still feel that awful blackness pressing at the corners of her vision, both empty and bursting with a million inexplicable images. She kept glancing out of the corner of her vision, expecting to see something, though she wasn’t sure what.

It was eerie.

“Shh!” Clara held up a hand, though Yaz wasn’t talking, and Yaz froze, then leaned out to peer with her around the corner.

“Wha—” she started to ask, only for Clara to hold up a finger, and tilt her head in a gesture that obviously meant listen. So Yaz did; straining to hear, she leaned out ever so slightly more, and caught her breath. Waiting.

There—! Distantly, she could hear voices. Indistinguishable, all of them, except for the tone; uniformly angry, a tense current of back and forth punctuated by the occasional shout. Not too far off, by the sound of it. Maybe a hall or two down.

“People,” she breathed, and saw Clara’s head move up and down in acknowledgment. “They sound like they’re arguing.”

“Right they do,” Clara muttered, and took a cautious step forward, glancing down the hallway. “Or debating, maybe. Lower floors, yeah? Sounds important.”

“Sounds like they wouldn’t want to be interrupted,” Yaz said, though she could already see the thought forming in Clara’s head—and she had it in hers, too.

After all, what better way to figure out what was going on then to eavesdrop on the source? 

It was what the Doctor would do, Yaz thought, and her heart panged bitterly at the idea before she pushed it away. 

“We wouldn’t be interrupting,” Clara said, jerking Yaz from her reverie. “Not if we just went by the room. And heard things.”

“They might just be maintenance people anyway,” Yaz added, though she could feel her heart starting to thump with familiar adrenaline. The kind that recalled the closet she and Ryan and the Doctor had hid in to spy at the Kerblam factory. Or hunting the Pting through the corridors of the Tsurunga. Doing things, taking action.

This was what she lived for.

“Yeah, they might,” Clara agreed. They were nearly down the hallway by this point, and when they reached the corner, they both peeked carefully around it, only to let out twin sighs of relief. It was as empty as the other hallways, and looked nearly identical, except for one thing; a nondescript door, placed directly at the end of the hallway. Facing them.

The voices were louder now, and as Yaz and Clara listened, another shout rang out, the words nearly distinguishable. Someone else responded, and the words tugged at Yaz’s ears, something insistently familiar about them. Or perhaps it was the voice, though it faded too fast for her to place it.

“They do sound more official than maintenance people,” Yaz pointed out, heart now beating a staccato rhythm. Eagerness surged through her, pressing her on. Oh, how she longed to do something useful! Even if it might turn out futile, there would be the illusion there, the sense of—of figuring things out.

“They do,” Clara replied, and looked at Yaz, eyebrows raised in clear question. Shall we?

Yaz didn’t think twice. She nodded.

Clara grinned, and together they crept out from behind the corner, towards the far door. The voices were growing louder as they approached, outrage and grim urgency threaded through words that Yaz could almost understand. 

Though how could she understand them, if they were stranded without a TARDIS?

“Clara—” she started to say, just as they reached the door, only for Clara to shush her. Yaz snapped her mouth shut and glanced around, just to make sure the coast was clear, as Clara laid her ear against the door. Yaz hesitated, then did the same.

Immediately, with nothing but a door between them, the voices came strong and carelessly loud, and inexplicably—understandable.

“You must see, it’s the only way—”

“Yes, but—”

Yaz frowned, and pressed closer, because—hang on—

“The Child of Time is in orbit around this planet,” a shrill, demanding voice sounded. “If we don’t act soon, we’ll lose another—”

“Yes, we know it’s the only way—” a soft voice replied.

Yaz didn’t recognize the voice, but Clara’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth to ask a question, only to fall silent as the voices rung out again.

“I don’t care what you lot say, I will not throw this planet to the dogs because—”

Yaz stopped breathing. Vaguely, she became aware of her heart beating in her chest, but it seemed far off, removed. The rest of her was frozen, ice cold shock dripping slowly through her veins.

Because that was—that was—

She didn’t think twice. She lunged for the handle, ignoring Clara’s cry of “wait, Yaz!” and pushed it down, sending both of them tumbling into the room.

The occupants looked up in shock. They were standing around a large round table, the chairs pushed back as if they’d leapt heatedly to their feet long ago and forgotten to sit down. Behind them stretched an enormous view of a star-smattered sky over a green and red planet. But Yaz ignored all of these. She even ignored Clara’s sharp intake of shock, her whispered “Ashildr?” because Yaz didn’t know who that was. And besides, she only had eyes for one person.

Because there, standing at the close end of the table, her mouth hanging open in mirrored shock, was the Doctor.

Chapter Text

Rose and Kate stood in front of the TARDIS, dragged into a large garage attached to UNIT HQ, and didn’t say a word. They only stared. After a moment, Rose reached out to push the door open. It swung inward easily.

“Powered down, I believe,” Kate said. Rose nodded.

“Probably turned itself off for a reason. Best to keep it that way.” She stepped back, and her eyes ran over the outside decor, the sign. “So they aren't inside?”

Kate shook her head. “I'm sorry, Rose. We've no sign of them. The doors unlocked a little after we brought it here, and we searched everything.”

Rose let out a heavy sigh, and wrapped her arms across her chest. Her eyes remained fixed upon the TARDIS. “Did Ryan and Graham get off okay?”

Kate nodded. “My top scientist is examining Graham. Not a doctor, but better in this case. She's been studying the disease since we've been reactivated. I reckon she knows more than anybody on Earth, at the moment. Er, besides yourself.”

Rose snorted bitterly. “Not saying much, is it? I mean yeah, I know the effects of the disease. Not the cause, beyond the basics. I don't know how much I can do to help.”

She couldn’t keep her tone from turning dismal on the last words, a glimmer of helplessness creeping in. What was she expecting, really? She couldn’t stop it in her own world, hadn’t been able to do a damn thing. Now here she was, on a last ditch effort, and she still didn’t know much more than— 

“Please,” Kate snapped. The sharpness in her tone had Rose’s head jerking up, her gaze sliding over. “Rose, god knows I understand what you're feeling, but we can't afford that attitude right now. Not that I expected it from you, if I'm being honest.”

“Uh—” Rose stared, then flushed. A hot prickle of embarrassment ran down her spine. All of a sudden, she had the strangest sense of deja vu, as if she were standing in her own UNIT, with her own Kate, being gently reprimanded for the slightest sense of pessimism. Because Kate, in her own world and this one too, apparently, was an optimist. A bit stiff maybe, and serious, but always, always, optimistic.

All of a sudden, Rose felt a lot more at home.

“You’re right.” She smiled, abashed, and watched Kate smile in return. Motherly, almost. If that mother had access to UNIT’s entire nuclear arsenal. “I’m sorry, it’s just—”

“Hopeless? Terrifying?” Kate asked. Rose raised an eyebrow.

“Familiar,” she finished. “Familiar, and all of the above, yeah. And I’d love to say that I’m coming over with a solution, or at least something more than what you lot have, but I’m not. It’s only me.”

She gestured half-heartedly to herself, and Kate smiled. “Well, we can’t fault that. Sometimes bringing ourselves is the best we can offer. Not that that means much in the face of the end of the universe.”

Rose grimaced. “So you figured that part out, yeah?”

Kate nodded, her smile slipping into something more serious. “Thanks to our top scientist. You’ll like her, I think. Petronella Osgood. Well, she prefers Oswin Osgood. Lovely girl, might be a Zygon, not that it matters.”

“A Zygon—” Rose mouthed, then snapped her jaw shut and nodded. Best, she figured, to focus on the important stuff. “Right. Okay. Yeah, I reckon we’ll have a talk. Fill the boys in as well. They’re companions of the Doctor, so I’ve got some faith in them. Least, from what I’ve seen so far. And as long as the Doctor—”

She hesitated then, and bit her lip, fidgeting. Kate eyed her, but didn’t comment. Only waited for a question Rose figured she had to see coming.

Finally, she asked it. “And the Doctor? She hasn’t…?”

Kate shook her head. “No, Rose. I’m sorry. We haven’t heard a thing. Not even a note.”

“Right.” Rose nodded, even as disappointment washed through her. Because it wasn’t if—well, she was over that. Over her love for him, in one sense. Had learned to build another life, in another world, with another man she loved just as fiercely. And it wasn’t even as if—well, the Doctor wasn’t her Doctor anymore.

But she would have liked to see her. 

“Right,” she repeated, and realized she was staring distantly at the floor only when she lifted her gaze to meet Kate’s. “Yeah, well, I suppose that makes sense, doesn’t it? There’s so much to do, out in the universe—”

But I’m back, a pathetic part of her cried. I’m back, I crossed the universe again, for you—

For the disease. Not for the Doctor. For the disease.

“She’ll make it here in her own time,” Kate said. Her words were firm, but her smile was gentle. “I’m sure of it. I mean, we’ve got an alien fleet bearing down on us, don’t we? That’s just about the time she likes to show up. Right at the last minute.”

“Yeah,” Rose echoed. “The last minute.”

It didn’t do much to make her feel better.

————

 For a long second, nobody spoke. Yaz stared, and stared, and tried to think of something to say. Anything.

The Doctor broke it first.

“Yaz?” she whispered, eyes round as saucers. Yaz just nodded numbly. Somebody on the other side of the table huffed, but she ignored it.

“But you're here,” she whispered, too astonished to do much more, and beside her, felt Clara shift. A comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Yaz—” Clara’s voice came in warning tones, and abruptly Yaz pushed her hand away. Anger flared in her belly, constricted her throat, and before she knew it she was striding forward, hands balled into fists. 

“You were here! This whole time, you liar, you sent us postcards—”

She reached the Doctor and jabbed a finger into her chest, hard enough to hurt. The Doctor didn't move. She didn't say anything. Her gaze flickered down to the finger against her chest, and her shoulders sagged. Defeated.

“Yaz, I—”

“Shut up!” Vaguely, she was aware of a presence behind her, another hand upon her shoulder, firmer this time, but she couldn't be bothered to see who it was. Tears were sprouting in her eyes, to her horror, and it occurred to her that any moment the whole lot of aliens would see her cry, but then she decided that she didn't care. 

“You left us with nothing, just a stupid lie about space jury duty, as if we didn't see through that in an instant and you didn't even care, you don't even care—”

Another huff came from the side, followed immediately by a cough. Loud, insistent. The hand on Yaz’s shoulder grew tight.

“Yaz,” Clara’s voice whispered in her ear. “Not the time.”

Yaz watched the Doctor’s eyes move past her, settling, she presumed, on Clara. Something sparked in her eyes, something Yaz couldn't quite name. A dull, unfathomable sadness. 

“Hello, Clara,” she said quietly. “Been a while, hasn't it?”

Yaz heard a short intake of breath behind her. Then a bitter laugh.

“Don't you start, old man. I know you've been ignoring my messages too. We’ll be having words. You and Ashildr.”

“Oi—” an indignant voice off to the right came, but Yaz didn't bother listening to it. She was too busy watching the Doctor. Anger still coursed through her, hot underneath her skin, but there was a pit in her stomach too, a traitorous ember of joy she already hated.

The Doctor was here. The Doctor will make everything alright. The Doctor will—

How long, Yaz thought humorlessly, until she'd learn to stop lying to herself?

There came another cough, this one loud and entirely obvious. 

“Doctor, if you please—”

Yaz looked over, and caught the displeased expression on the face of a tall, elegant being draped in flowing robes. As Yaz watched, the being pointed a slender finger towards the door. “If you have personal matters to discuss, please take it outside. We're nearly done here, anyway.”

The Doctor watched her for a moment, her lips pressed into an uncertain line. She glanced to Yaz and Clara, then opened her mouth to speak.

“Oh, talk to them, Doctor,” that same impatient voice from earlier piped up, and Yaz’s gaze swung to her direction. She appeared surprisingly human, with long dark hair and a round childish face, though her eyes hinted at years far beyond that. “I'll man your position here. We won't decide anything without you, I promise.”

The Doctor stared at her for a moment, indecisive. “You don't support my stance, Ashildr.”

The girl—she really did appear to be a girl, Yaz thought, possibly younger than herself—smiled a wolfish grin. “Oh, but I love playing devil’s advocate.”

The Doctor hesitated. Then she sighed, and turned back to Yaz and Clara.

“Alright,” she said. Her voice was dull, her eyes flat. She didn't seem at all happy to see them, Yaz thought, and silly though it was, she felt a stab of hurt. “Let’s go. Suppose we've got a lot of catching up to do, haven't we?”

Yaz eyed her. For several seconds she didn't speak. Hurt still sat heavy in her stomach, sharpened by that traitorous joy.

She wanted to see her. She wanted to give her a good slap too, maybe, or take her by the shoulders and demand an explanation. Why danced in her head, along with how could you and do you even care? but she swallowed them all. And nodded.

Wouldn't do to lose her temper now. Not here, not in front of so many. Not when she already had.

“Yeah,” she answered quietly. “Suppose we do.”

—————

The Doctor led them out of the room, down several hallways and up several sets of stairs, opposite the way they had come. And okay, Yaz hadn’t exactly expected the Doctor to take her hand, as she so often had when they were running about, but she hadn’t expected her to stride ahead of them either, coat flapping, and without a single glance back to see that they were following.

It was…rude. Yaz didn’t like it.

She and Clara hurried to keep up, at some points nearly breaking into a jog. Long minutes passed, and for a brief moment, Yaz wondered whether the Doctor was actually leading them anywhere at all, or simply planned to keep them away from the meeting. Away from the meeting, and away from asking questions.

But then they turned a corner and abruptly stopped, opposite a dull gray door. It was blank except for the number 101 printed in peeling black letters.

“Is this your room, then?” Clara asked after a moment’s silence.

“Yours,” the Doctor announced, and with no further words stepped forward and pressed the handle down, pushing the door open to a tiny, narrow room. 

It was definitely a ship’s cabin, Yaz thought as they stepped inside. Beds—or rather, bunks—lined the wall, each one made up with a scratchy-looking blanket and plain white pillow, and all devoid of personal belongings. Yaz glanced around, just to confirm her suspicions, and—no. There didn’t appear to be a single occupied bed, out of the four stacked into the walls.

“Nice place,” Clara observed, and stepped inside after the Doctor, Yaz on her heels. She gave one look around, then collapsed into one of the lower bunks, and grinned cheekily at the Doctor, still standing in the aisle. “Suppose we get first pick?”

The Doctor didn’t laugh. She just looked at her, that same unfathomable expression in her eyes, then sighed and turned to Yaz, palming the back of her neck. Her gaze hovered somewhere around Yaz’s feet as she flung one careless hand towards the bunks opposite Clara. “Here, Yaz. It’s not much, but it’ll have to do for now. The bathroom’s down the hall, and—”

“What?” 

The Doctor’s eyes jolted up. “Huh?”

“What?” Yaz repeated. She was staring at the Doctor, caught somewhere between indignation and shock. “That’s it? You’re just going to drop us off here and go back to—to a meeting?”

“Uh—” the Doctor’s mouth worked uselessly. She swallowed. “Yaz, you don’t understand the importance of—”

“Oh, stuff it!” There were tears in her eyes again, and she blinked them away furiously. “I don’t care! We’re important too, you know! We’re your fam, and that’s a stupid nickname but I thought it at least mattered to you, enough that you wouldn’t abandon us to die—”

“Die?” The Doctor was staring now, thoroughly nonplussed. “Yaz, I never abandoned you to—”

“Yes, you did!” Vaguely, through tear-blurred eyes, Yaz was aware of Clara’s sympathetic eyes upon her, but she was too far gone to feel embarrassed. “Oh, so it was just coincidence that you left us right before the breakout? Right before everybody started getting sick, and Graham—”

“Wait, what?” The Doctor gaped, then, before Yaz could continue, thrust up a hand. “Wait, wait. Yaz, please. Go back a moment. What do you mean, everybody’s sick? That shouldn’t be—”

“It is.” It was Clara who chimed in this time, quiet, and the Doctor’s gaze fell to her. Then she frowned, and shook her head.

“No, hang on. That doesn’t make sense. I’ve checked everything, the sickness won’t arrive to Earth for another three months your time—”

“Oh?” Yaz crossed her arms. It was bitter hurt that propelled her next words. “Tell that to my mum.”

At this, the Doctor’s gaze shot up from Clara to meet hers, and despite the stubborn anger in her stomach, Yaz nearly took a step back. Her eyes were utterly hollow, void of her normal spark, and void of the hope Yaz had come to rely on. The hope that said everything would be okay, in the end. That the Doctor would fix things, never mind that she didn’t know how yet. She’d get there, somehow.

The Doctor didn’t look at all like she believed that anymore. Looking at her, Yaz realized, with a sudden sinking of her stomach, she wasn’t sure she believed it either.

“I’m sorry, Yaz,” the Doctor whispered. Even her voice was flat, dull. “This wasn’t—it shouldn’t have been this way. I was trying to keep you lot safe, I swear. I thought maybe I could fix it before—”

“Before it spread to Earth?” Clara asked. Her voice was warm and sympathetic and the Doctor looked over to her, and gave a wan, hopeless smile.

“Yeah,” she said. “Suppose that didn’t work out, but yeah.”

She fell silent, and for a moment, so too did the room, only for it to be broken by Yaz.

“So—wait a minute.” She glanced between the two of them, then focused on the Doctor. “You’ve been working on—on a cure, here? That’s where you’ve been all this time, trying to fix this?”

Relief stabbed through her at the thought, sudden and cool as a shock of water, and she nearly sagged with it. If the Doctor was working on it—if she hadn’t really abandoned them— 

But the Doctor’s face told her anything but. Her eyebrows rose briefly, possibly in surprise at the flash of hope in Yaz’s voice, and then her expression dropped completely. Yaz’s relief faded as quickly as it had come.

“I—well—” the Doctor hesitated, and ran her fingers through her hair, pushing locks back from her forehead. Her hair hung lankly around a face that was thinner, Yaz suddenly noticed, than she remembered, her cheeks sharpened and eyes hollowed in. Her coat hung off a gaunt frame, and though she stood with the same easy power she always managed to exude, there was something off about it now. A frailty, as if she were seconds from shattering. As if one gust of wind could blow her away.

She looked a mess, Yaz noted, and even though she was still angry, something inside her twisted in sympathy.

“I wouldn’t call fixing the right word,” the Doctor admitted, and sank heavily onto the low bunk opposite Clara. Clara leaned forward, propping her elbows upon her knees and nestling her chin in her hands, but Yaz remained standing, her arms still crossed.

“Fixing would imply a solution,” she continued. Her eyes were fixed on the dull metal flooring, just in front of Yaz’s shoes. She tugged a hand once more uselessly through her hair. “We don’t have a solution. Well, we do, but it’s not much of one, and right now the opposite side seems to be doing a lot better than we are.”

“Opposite side?” Clara leaned farther forward, frowning. “What do you mean, opposite side? It’s not a war, it’s a disease.”

“You’d be surprised how often the two intermix,” the Doctor muttered darkly. “No, Clara, this is a war. If on tactics alone. And we’re not the only ones trying to stop the spread, only the other side is—” she grimaced. “Well, they’re certainly treating it as a war. Or a conquest.”

“A conquest?” Yaz frowned, shifting her weight to her hip. “Hang on, how can there be two sides fighting a disease? Just work together.”

The Doctor looked up at her and gave a weary grin. “In theory, we would. Problem is, we don’t agree on the tactics. Mind, I don’t like our tactics either, but I’m not the sole voice here, much as it pains me to admit.”

Her knuckles, Yaz noticed, were curling into the knees of her trousers, crumpling the fabric. Her voice was low, bitter. 

“Can’t be that bad,” Clara piped up, and raised her eyebrows as the Doctor shot her a disbelieving look. “Oh, c’mon. I suppose you’re working on a cure? What’s the other side doing, killing everyone in sight?”

She must have said something wrong, for the Doctor flinched at the words, her shoulders shrinking in on themselves. She stared at Clara for a moment, lips parted in surprise, and then shook her head and looked away, back to the flooring.

Then she let out a harsh laugh.

“Oh, Clara, you’ve hit the nail on the head. Sort of. Actually, it’s a bit the opposite.”

Her voice was growing lower as she spoke, forcing Yaz and Clara to lean in, straining to catch the words.

“We’ve been trying to find a cure,” she mumbled, more to the flooring than them. “I’ve been trying to find a cure. Only it’s not as easy as it looks. And meanwhile, there’s a great big fleet, led by some poncy calling himself the Child of Time, who’s been chewing up planets one by one. Threatening them, then converting them, making them part of his fleet. And in return, he grants them remission.”

Her fingers came up to make quotation marks on the last word. She was still staring, scowling, at the flooring. 

“Ain’t that a good thing?” Yaz asked. The Doctor’s head jolted up, and she gazed at her tiredly for a moment, then gave a shake of her head.

“It’s not real, Yaz,” she said. “It can’t be. I—I’ve studied it, I’ve examined some of the patients and—it’s brilliant, it is, but it doesn’t last. It can’t. This disease, s’far as I can tell, is unstoppable. You do know what it is, don’t you?”

She asked this question flatly, as if she didn’t entirely care to explain it. Yaz nodded, and tried to swallow the hurt in her throat. “It’s a mutation of artron energy, isn’t it? That’s like, the stuff the universe runs on.”

“Time,” the Doctor corrected, but this time there was a wisp of a smile at her lips. Yaz grasped at it desperately, imprinting the image to her memory. 

She had a funny feeling she wasn’t going to see the Doctor’s smile for a very long time. 

“It’s time, not the universe,” she continued. “It’s a benign type of radiation that sort of…allows us to interact with time. Some more than others. It even has healing properties, though this mutation seems to be sorely lacking.”

Her mouth twisted on the last sentence, and she fell silent again. Yaz and Clara watched her for several seconds as she gazed idly at her shoe, before Clara cleared her throat.

“Alright,” she said. “Creepy time child with an army, thinks he can cure the disease. Think I got that part. Only if that’s what he’s doing, and you don’t have a cure, then what are you lot doing? You’ve got to be working on one, surely.”

For another long moment, the Doctor didn’t reply. Then she looked up, and gazed at Clara with such wistful anguish that Yaz nearly sucked in a breath. One glance at Clara told her she felt the same way.

“Oh, Clara,” the Doctor said softly. “I’m working on a cure. I’m probably the only person that can fix one up, you ask me. But I’m working with the Shadow Proclamation, and you know they’ve never been particularly kind in their methods.”

Clara seemed to understand more than Yaz, by the slowly dawning horror on her face. Then again, Yaz had no idea what a Shadow Proclamation was. She shifted her weight again, frowning, and when nobody answered, spoke.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “What’s a Shadow Proclamation? And what do you mean, they’ve never been kind in their methods? Doctor, what are you actually doing?”

The Doctor raised her eyes to meet hers—reluctantly, Yaz saw. She almost seemed to be shrinking, preemptively wincing away from the words she was about to say. Her eyes roamed over Yaz’s face, and something sparked in her eye—remorse?—before she shuffled it away, and her gaze turned hard. Shielded. 

“We’re—” she licked her lips, swallowed. Her eyes bored into Yaz’s. Begging for—something. Yaz didn’t know what. “We’re stopping the disease before it starts, Yaz. Getting rid of it.”

For a moment, Yaz didn’t understand. Then, a horrifying moment later, it clicked. 

“You mean—” she gasped. The Doctor nodded. 

“That’s right,” she whispered. Her eyes were empty. Absolutely hollow. “Only way we know how to stop it. By killing everything in sight.”

Chapter Text

“Sorry, what did you say your name was?” Ryan shifted uneasily on his feet, propping his hip against the examination bed. White paper crinkled, and Graham glanced down, despite the light shining into his eyes.

“Eyes up here please,” the woman said, and Graham complied with a guilty grimace. “And it's Osgood if you please. Petronella Osgood, but you can imagine why I don't go by the first.”

“And you're a doctor?” Graham winced as she shined the light directly into his eye. Osgood shook her head, and leaned forward slightly, the ends of her scarf brushing the edge of the bed.

“No, I'm a scientist.” She clicked the light off and placed it on the bedside table, then gestured for Graham to hold out his hand. “But trust me, a doctor won't help you here. You're best off with a scientist at this point.”

“Really?” Graham cast a doubtful look towards Ryan as he held out his hand, palm up. Ryan shrugged.

“Well, it's not a disease in the normal sense.” Osgood caught his wrist and placed two fingers against the vein, blue against the pale. Then she cocked her head, waiting. For several long moments, silence reigned.

“Pulse sluggish,” she announced, and dropped his arm. He drew it against his chest, and shivered, though it wasn't cold. Osgood bent over to write something on a piece of paper, then straightened and turned to face them.

“I suppose you've been filled in for the most part?” she asked. Ryan and Graham nodded.

“Bit confused, but we travel with the Doctor so that's par for the course,” Graham said.

“Traveled with the Doctor,” Ryan corrected. Graham threw him a sharp look, and he shrugged.

“Well it's true, ain't it? She left.”

Osgood looked between the two of them, confusion crinkling her brow. A moment later, it relaxed into understanding. 

“Didn't stick around, did she?”

Ryan scowled. “More like abandoned us, you mean. And left us to die. Not to mention all of Earth.”

He swept a hand across the room to accentuate his point. Beside him, Graham snorted and shook his head, only to break off into a deep cough. 

“Not like we're here without help,” he managed after a moment. “We've got Rose and all of bloody UNIT on our side.”

“Which shouldn't be underestimated,” Osgood said. She cast Graham a concerned glance, then turned again to pick up the form she had been writing on and made another mark. “We have succeeded before in this stuff, you know. And Rose is a huge asset to our team. Not to mention you two.”

She flashed them a grin, but Ryan didn't return it. He just scowled again and crossed his arms.

“Okay, but that's another thing,” he said. “I mean, okay, you're government, but who the hell is Rose? She just pops up out of nowhere with this other woman, claiming to be from another universe, and we're supposed to trust her? She's barely explained who she is, or how she knows the Doctor! And she just expects us to go along with it like—like—”

He stopped, struggling to find words, then shut his mouth and shook his head. Both Osgood and Graham stared at him. For a moment, nobody spoke.

“Son—” Graham began. Ryan cut him off with a violent shake of his head.

“Oh no, Grandad, do not tell me we don't have another choice because frankly I'm sick of going along with whoever—”

“No, you have a point.”

At Osgood’s voice, Ryan cut off and looked to her, startled.

“Really?” 

Osgood nodded. “Well, yeah. It's a valid question, isn't it? Honestly, I wouldn't believe the story myself, only I've been researching the Doctor and her companions since—well, since I was a kid. I'm a bit obsessed, see.”

She smiled, slightly abashed, and set the form once more on the table. When she straightened up again, her hands came together and she squared her shoulders, as if giving a brief.

“I can tell you all about Rose if you'd like. In detail. But if you're looking for the short version, it's basically this; Rose used to travel with the Doctor just like you two, and when the ghosts happened in Cardiff—that was them who stopped it, by the way—she got trapped in a parallel universe. Other than one cheeky trip, I think, she's been stuck there. Working with the other UNIT, sounds like.”

Ryan and Graham stared. Then Ryan spoke up. “That's…okay. That's a lot.”

Osgood smiled. “It is. And the longer story would take a day. You can see why she only gave you the short version.”

“And still true version, thanks.” A voice came from the door, and all three turned around, just as Rose entered the room, Kate right behind. She glanced between the three of them with a raised eyebrow, before focusing on Ryan.

“You know I wasn't lying, ‘bout what I told you,” she said, and Ryan had the good grace to look guilty.

“Yeah well it's not like it sounds entirely believable either,” he mumbled. When Rose just continued to stare at him in disbelief, he cast a ‘help me’ gaze towards Graham. Graham just shrugged, and gave Rose a wan, apologetic smile.

“Okay, but it's not as if your travels sound any more believable,” Rose pointed out. She crossed the room and set up against the counter opposite them. Kate remained by the door, arms drawn across her chest. “I mean, not many would believe you travel around time and space with the Doctor.”

“Traveled,” Ryan corrected immediately, only for Graham to let out a quiet sigh beside him.

“Oi, Ryan…” he said quietly. Ryan looked to him, jaw set, then sighed and let his shoulders sag. He glanced between Rose and Kate, then dropped his gaze to the floor, slightly shamefaced.

“I'm sorry,” he muttered, then cleared his throat and spoke again, louder. “I mean, yeah, sorry. I really am. I'm just…”

He glanced toward Graham, just for a moment, and his forehead crinkled as Graham gave another shiver, tightening his arms across his chest. Under the fluorescent lights, he looked incredibly pale, not to mention tired. Dark bags sagged under his eyes.

“It's just a lot,” Ryan said, and lifted his gaze to meet Rose’s. “I mean we've done stuff with the Doctor, but never on this—”

“Scale?” Rose said. Ryan nodded. Her eyes softened, and she gave him a smile. “I understand. Trust me, saving the world is never as glamorous as it sounds. But you two are here because you can help, you know. Actually you, Ryan, might be quite a lot of help.”

“Me?” Ryan's head jerked up, and his gaze swung between the two of them, baffled. “Why me? I don't know anything.”

“You want to be a mechanic, yeah?” Rose asked. Ryan opened his mouth to speak, only for Graham to beat him to it. 

“He does, and he's good at it too!” Graham gave an enthusiastic nod, as if that would impress upon them the true nature of his words. “Fixed an alien ship, didn't he? And he hasn't even taken his NVQ!”

“Grandad,” Ryan muttered, but there was a flush of pride on his cheeks he couldn't quite hide. Rose surveyed him for a moment, then nodded.

“Perfect,” she said. “Because we've actually been cooking up a plan. Or, the start of one. And I'm gonna be working on it myself, but I could use a mechanic. ‘Specially a good one.”

“A plan?” Osgood stepped forward, hopeful gaze swinging between the two of them. “We've got a plan?” 

“Yes,” Kate confirmed. She still stood stiff, military, but there was an excitement to the way she held herself now, a sense of determination. As if she had found a way forward and was determined to take it. “We do. Thanks to the TARDIS we've acquired, Rose and I have managed to think something up. At least, something to try.”

“Really?” Ryan said. “What are you going to do?”

“We,” Rose corrected. She smiled. “I'll need your help on this, Ryan. Because you and me have both been on a TARDIS before. And we need some insider knowledge if we're going to take this one apart.”

——————

Silence reigned. Yaz stared. Deep in her throat, she could feel an indescribable sensation creeping up, like wet cement solidifying. Choking on it. For a moment, she couldn't figure out what it was.

Then she realized.

Disgust.

“You—” she forced out, over the thick lump in her throat. “You can't just—”

She felt nauseous. Not the nausea she had come to recognize as preceding her stomach-wrenching jumps, but just the plain stuff. A twist in her stomach, a funny taste at the back of her mouth.

“Yaz—” the Doctor tried, but Yaz just shook her head. Something was cracking in her chest, she could practically feel it, and it took her a long moment to recognize that what it was. Trust. The naive kind, which she hadn't even realized she'd been carrying since she’d met the Doctor, because she'd thought she'd known her. Known her smile, known her fear. She had seen her face down a Dalek, supposedly her greatest enemy, and still manage to show mercy. Was it such a stretch, then, to imagine that such platitudes could exist even in the most hopeless of hopeless situations?

Maybe it was naivety, Yaz thought. It still hurt all the same.

She didn't know what to do so she looked to Clara, hoping for some kind of reassurance, only to realize that Clara wasn't looking at her at all. She was watching the Doctor, her eyes large and sad, and incredibly understanding. Yaz wanted to gape. She wondered how she could possibly manage that, those sympathetic eyes, when she was still reeling.

It occurred to her that Clara had known the Doctor for a long time. Long before the Doctor had met Yaz, long enough to look at her with forgiveness. 

Long enough to see, perhaps, things more unforgivable than this.

She shuddered at the thought.

“Doctor,” she whispered, and the Doctor’s head jerked up, her gaze finding hers. “How could you—why would you—”

There's always another option, the Doctor had said. Always a third way.

“I'm not,” the Doctor said. Her eyes bored into Yaz, beseeching. “I mean, I'm trying, Yaz, I swear. I'm trying to convince them it's not the right way, I've been working to find a cure—”

“But you still do that?” she asked. Her voice was harsh, she realized, had turned so without her noticing. “You still let them do that, killing everyone off? What's the point of saving them, then?”

“It's more complicated than that,” the Doctor whispered. “Yaz, it's the only thing that's worked so far. Even their cure doesn't work, and I haven't found one, but this does. It's the worst possible solution, but—”

“That can't be a solution,” Yaz retorted. That disgust in her throat had melted into anger, and it was a dizzying feeling, because she'd never been angry at the Doctor before. “Doctor, you've always told me—”

“Yes, and you think I don't think of that constantly?” The Doctor rose abruptly to her feet, her gaze hardening. “That I haven't been looking for something, anything—”

“Yeah, well maybe look harder!” Yaz snapped, which was completely immature but she didn't care. Her hands were knuckling into fists and betrayal was sitting heavy in her stomach, raw and nasty and cruel. The Doctor snapped her mouth shut and jerked back. For a moment, hurt flashed across her expression. Real hurt, deep and open, before she shuttered her expression off into a scowl.

“I can't expect you to understand,” she began. “I thought—”

“I think we're going to draw the line, actually!” Clara shot to her feet just then, and looked between the two of them. For a moment it looked as if she were about to splay her hands between them, as if stalling a fight, but then she just rocked back on her heels and shook her head.

“Please, you two,” she said. “Look at yourselves. You're arguing like my students used to. It's pathetic to watch, if I'm being honest, and if you keep it up, I won't hesitate to give you lines.”

Yaz gaped at her. So did the Doctor. She balked indignantly, and opened her mouth to snap off something about her not understanding the situation, only for the Doctor to beat her to it.

“You're right.” She sagged, and Yaz’s indignant gaze swung to her. “We’re being silly, arguing about this. It won't change the situation.”

Clara nodded in approval, but Yaz just scowled.

“Oi, actually, I don't think we're done with this at all! You can't just—”

“Yaz,” Clara said, and shot her a look that was so strongly reminiscent of her mother that Yaz shut up completely. “Please. It's not the time.”

Yaz almost opened her mouth to argue. But then her gaze flickered to the Doctor, just for an instant, and she paused. Because the Doctor wasn't looking at her. She was staring at the ground, practically drilling holes into it, and her mouth was pressed into a hard line, one Yaz knew to recognize on people. Had seen plenty, in her job and in the last few months. 

She looked as if she were about to cry.

Yaz swallowed her planned comeback, and turned to Clara.

“Fine,” she huffed. “But I still—”

She didn't get to finish her sentence, for just then the door creaked behind her. She watched Clara’s eyes peer over her shoulder to the door, then widen. Yaz turned and looked.

That same human girl from the meeting was standing awkwardly in the doorway—or no, not awkwardly, for she didn't seem at all upset about interrupting.

“Seemed pretty serious,” she said. At this the Doctor let out an annoyed huff, and the girl raised her chin to look over Yaz’s shoulder, to the Doctor.

“Meeting’s done,” she said. “Don't worry, they're not bombing the planet. Yet. But I can't say how long you'll be able to hold them off with the Timekeepers in orbit. Our sources say they've already started negotiations with the Delm leader.”

“Great,” the Doctor muttered behind her, and Yaz twisted to look. She didn't appear at all happy about the news. Instead, she just ran a frustrated hand through her hair. “Alright then. I suppose we’ll be meeting again tomorrow?”

The girl grinned. “Count on it.”

Then she beckoned towards Clara, and raised an eyebrow. “You wanted to talk?”

“Oi, a hello would be nice,” Clara said. “Or an ‘I missed you’, maybe. Not that we aren't having words, Ashildr. Because I've got plenty.”

The girl—Ashildr—sighed dramatically. 

“Why is it always words with you?” she said, though she didn't sound particularly mad. In fact, there was an undercurrent of fondness running through her tone, and Clara's as well. Yaz looked between them, and wanted to ask a question, but Clara was already moving past her towards the door. So she swallowed it, and mentally shrugged. Later, she figured. 

“Alright,” Clara said as she reached the door. She turned around and gave them each a discerning look. “Please, for the love of god, no fighting. Ship is small enough as it is, we don't need to add conflict to the mix.”

“Um…” Yaz eyed the Doctor, who eyed her back, then nodded. “Yeah, ‘course.”

Doesn't mean we have to talk, she thought childishly. The Doctor nodded as well, though she didn't look particularly happy about it. 

“We’ll be fine, Clara,” she said. “It's you two I'm worried about.”

Her voice tilted with fondness on the words, and abruptly, Yaz felt a surge of jealousy. She tamped it down immediately, surprised; she never got jealous. Never had a reason to. Only now she was mad at the Doctor, whom she'd thought to be her favorite person in the world, and the Doctor was talking to someone else with that same fondness with which she used to speak to Yaz.

It wasn't deliberate, but it almost felt it, and that stung. 

Clara just made a face as she passed through the door, Ashildr right behind her.

“Goodbye, old man,” she called, and Yaz saw Ashildr snort in laughter before she leaned forward and pulled the door shut, stranding her and the Doctor in the tiny room.

Alone. 

—————

Ashildr led Clara to another room similar to the one they were meant to be staying in, though this one was considerably larger. It was also clearly built for a single occupant, with a small desk and chair alongside a bed.

“Fancy.” Clara raised an eyebrow as she passed through the door, and Ashildr snorted.

“It's no TARDIS, but—” she shrugged, and gestured to the single chair, before flopping onto the bed sheets. “We make do.”

“Seems like it.” Clara collapsed into the chair, which wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as she'd originally suspected, and leaned over to examine some of the papers on the desk. There were all sorts of briefs and reports, and Clara didn't bother reading most of them, but her eyes did land up one paper at the top of the clutter. It wasn't a report, but a list; and though Clara didn't know every alien species in the universe—or even in this galaxy, wherever they were—she did recognize a few of the planets and species listed.

Most of them were crossed out. Beside a fair portion of those names, in Ashildr’s tiny scrawl, was the word fallen.

Clara stared. Then she shivered and turned to face Ashildr, who was watching her intently.

“Looking at the list?” she asked. Clara nodded. Ashildr grimaced.

“It's not a definitive list,” she said. “Just my own personal tracking.”

“And the ones uncrossed are—”

“The ones neither of us have managed to get to yet,” Ashildr said. Clara fell silent. She sucked in a heavy breath, and let it out in a sigh.

“So what's the word fallen for?” she asked after a moment. She reached out and pressed her fingertips against the paper, trailing down. “Crossed out I'm assuming means you took care of it. So what's fallen? Fallen to what?”

“The Child of Time,” Ashildr said. “And his army, the Timekeepers. Least, that's what they call themselves. Stupid name, you ask me.”

“Can't disagree there,” Clara muttered. She was still staring at the list. “So these are the ones who he—what, converted?”

“Converted, or threatened.” Ashildr snorted. “He plays a nice face, but he's got a whole fleet up there that he parks right around any planet he wants to convert. And then when they agree, he just gathers up their troops and goes off to the next one. Mad genius.”

She shook her head in admiration. “Honestly, no wonder they choose him. I would too, being honest.”

Clara looked up sharply. “The cure doesn't work, I thought. That's what the Doctor said.”

Ashildr snorted. “Yes, and the Shadow Proclamation has complete faith in the Doctor. They also don't mind getting their hands bloody, you know. Not to mention they don't like anybody who threatens their power, and the Child of Time has done plenty of that. They'd blow him up if they could.”

“Oh?” Clara leaned forward, propping her elbows upon her knees. “And why don't they?”

Ashildr shrugged, then let out a bitter laugh. “Clara, they outnumber us a hundred to one at this point. For every planet we demolish, there's another two we lose to the Child of Time. We just don't have the backing, or the manpower. Besides, by this point half the Shadow Proclamation wants to join him.”

“Oh.” It was a sigh more than a word. Clara considered this, then leaned slowly back into her chair. She gazed at the wall next to Ashildr’s head, lost in thought. Ashildr studied her, lips pursed. After several moments, she spoke.

“Did you find what you were looking for, on Gallifrey? Something useful, hopefully?”

Clara jolted from her reverie, and her gaze fell to Ashildr. She shook her head.

“Not exactly,” she admitted. “I found someone, but…well, she's another human. And she's brilliant, from the bit we were together, but she's back defending Earth now, and I'm—”

“Here,” Ashildr finished. Clara looked at her, and smiled.

“How long do you think it'll take for the universe to fall apart with me and the Doctor being together?”

Ashildr gave a sad shake of her head. “Clara, I don't think the universe is much concerned with you two. It's already falling apart.”

That was enough to make Clara's smile vanish. She frowned, and her gaze fell to her shoes. She studied them for a long moment before speaking.

“You know, we had an agreement.”

She was still looking at her shoes as she spoke, but after a second she looked up to see Ashildr regarding her, an unreadable expression in her eyes. Not guilt, exactly, but she had long ago learned that Ashildr didn't really do guilt. Not pity, either. Just a sympathetic understanding.

“We did,” she replied. “Only the Doctor asked me not to keep it.”

“What?” Clara gaped. Her mind spun, and deep underneath it all, she felt a sting of hurt. “I mean, I know there's some danger to the Doctor and I being in the same room, but—”

“That's not it.” Ashildr was shaking her head, and Clara fell silent. “Least, I don't think so. She just…she's been strange, Clara. Or not strange, just…weighted. I think she didn't want you to see her here, in this situation. Doing what she's doing.”

“But that's stupid,” Clara objected immediately, and then she realized that it was the Doctor and emotions, which meant of course she was being stupid. Instead she shook her head in disbelief. “Okay, fine. That does sound like her. Only why'd you have to listen?”

This time, Ashildr just shrugged. “Honestly? I felt bad. She begged me not to, and it was…I don't want to say pathetic, but let’s call it sad.”

“Ugh,” Clara huffed. “Honestly, that is—stupidly the Doctor. Glad to see nothing’s changed. Though I suppose she’ll have to deal with me now.”

Ashildr grinned. “Like she isn't secretly hap—”

She cut off abruptly and cocked her head, listening to something in the distance. “Do you hear that?”

Clara paused and listened as well, straining to hear. For a moment, she heard nothing. Then—

“Is that—” her eyes widened, and she looked to Ashildr, who nodded. Clara's heart sunk.

“An alarm,” she confirmed. Her face had turned grim. “We’re being attacked.”

Chapter Text

Ryan, Osgood and Graham stared. It was several long moments before anybody spoke.

“Take apart a TARDIS,” Graham repeated. “You want to take apart a TARDIS?”

Rose’s excited expression faltered slightly at the subdued reaction. She glanced quickly to Kate, then gave an affirming nod.

“Yeah, basically. See, a TARDIS’s shields are some of the most powerful in existence. Literally, nothing can get through them. Well, almost nothing. But whatever that alien fleet is above—” she jabbed a finger at the ceiling to illustrate her point— “I reckon it can’t get through TARDIS shields. So if we can figure out a way to expand them to cover Earth, then that alien fleet’s got no hope of getting through.”

She finished with an anticipatory smile, as if she expected the three to jump forward with questions, or at least enthusiasm. They didn’t jump forward with either—in fact, they didn’t jump forward at all. They just stared, with various expressions of disbelief.

Ryan wondered vaguely if all the Doctor’s companions turned out this way eventually. Leaping head first into danger. 

Then, not as if they had much of a choice.

“Er—” He shifted, uncomfortable. “Listen, Rose, the Doctor did show me a few things, but I’m definitely not capable of—”

“Oh, but she is,” Kate stepped forward, and tilted her head towards Rose, who gave her a grateful smile. “As you know, Rose worked with UNIT in a parallel universe, and she specialized in dimensional engineering. And as she explained to me—” she looked to Rose for confirmation, who nodded eagerly— “this is all a matter of reconfiguring the dimensions of the TARDIS. Which she, ah, assures me she can do.”

She glanced at Rose as if to confirm this, who simply gave another nod. Ryan opened his mouth to object, but Rose got there first.

“I can,” she said. Her eyes were fixed upon Ryan. Reassuring. He wasn’t sure he believed it. “I was actually working on splitting dimensional walls before I came here, which isn’t exactly the same, but built on similar principles. So I do have experience.”

“Right.” Graham nodded. “And did this…splitting dimensional walls thing, did that work?”

“Uh—” Rose’s face fell. “Well actually, no. I mean, I came close, but I didn’t quite—”

“So it’s more of an almost, is it?” Ryan piped up. He didn’t feel at all confident about the idea. In fact, he felt rather nauseous. “And you want me to help?”

Rose looked at him, and for just a moment, appeared unsure. Then the expression disappeared in a flash, and she swallowed, nodding.

“Well, does anybody have a better idea?” she asked. “We can’t just wait around for the Doctor to come, can we? And we’ve got a whole bleeding TARDIS here, might as well use it, you ask me.”

“Not to mention it’s not as if we’ve got much time for a solution,” Kate added in. She grimaced. “According to our tracking, the fleet is only a couple days away. We didn’t have much time for a plan, and we’ve even less time for a solution. If we can get this working, it could buy us—well, loads of time. Enough to think our way out of this.”

By this time, Ryan felt distinctly nauseous. Graham didn’t appear far behind. Even Osgood’s cheery professionalism looked to be fading.

“And what about me?” Graham asked. “Alright, you lot save the planet, that’s all well and good, but if I’m just going to waste away, I’d rather do it in my own home.”

“You’re not going to waste away,” Ryan snapped. Graham looked to him, then gave a disconsolate shrug. 

“I mean—”

“I’ll be studying you,” Osgood cut in. Four pairs of eyes swung to her, and for a moment she appeared taken aback by the sudden attention. Then she squared her shoulders and pursed her lips.

“Seriously. Like I said—you need a scientist, yeah? Well, I’m a great one, and frankly you’re a fantastic resource. We can help each other out.”

Graham stared at her. His lips twitched. “Frankly, I’m not sure that makes me feel better.”

Osgood shrugged. “Better than wasting away, yeah?”

He studied her for a moment before answering. “Yeah. Yeah, I suppose it is.”

“Good,” Kate cut in. The others looked to her, and she beckoned briskly to the door. “Good, now we’ve got that sorted. Graham, you stay with Osgood. Ryan, Rose, you two come with me to the TARDIS.” Without waiting for an answer, she half-turned towards the door, only to pause when nobody made a move to follow. Then she turned back to face them, and raised a stern eyebrow.

“May I remind you we have two days to save the world?”

For a moment, there was no response. Then, quickly, they followed. 

—————

Yaz and the Doctor stared at the now-shut door. For a long moment, nobody moved. Then, Yaz heard a heavy sigh behind her, and she turned just in time to watch the Doctor thump onto a bunk. She slumped forward and ran her hands over her face, through her hair, before returning them to her lap. Then she looked up, and gestured to the opposite bunk.

“You don’t have to keep standing.”

For a split second, Yaz didn’t know what to say. Then she scowled, and crossed her arms.

“Think I’ll stay standing, thanks.”

The Doctor just looked at her for a long moment, then dropped her gaze to her knees. She stared at them, and at her hands, resting lightly on her trousers. Yaz watched her and waited, though for what she wasn’t sure. An explanation, maybe. An apology.

Nothing came. Long seconds passed.

Finally, she couldn’t take it.

“Are you really just going to sit there?” she asked. The Doctor didn’t look up, but her hands tightened into fists, knuckling into the fabric of her trousers. She didn’t answer, so Yaz continued.

“Doctor,” she said, and then again, angry impatience leaking into her tone. “Doctor. Is that it? You don’t want to talk to me, so you’ll just pretend I don’t exist? Well—”

“That’s not it.”

Yaz stopped, startled. “Huh?”

The Doctor looked up then, and looked Yaz directly in the eye. Her gaze was firm; her mouth, a hard line. Yaz watched her swallow once, as if prepping herself.

“That’s not—I don’t not want to see you. But you came at a very bad time. You see, we’re just trying to win negotiations with this—”

“You really think I care about that?” Yaz gaped at her. “Are you honestly kidding me right now? Doctor, you left us for three months. You left us to die.”

The Doctor jerked back as if she had been hit. Violently, she shook her head. “No, Yaz, I told you—that wasn’t meant to happen. I looked into your future, I researched it, and Earth wasn’t meant to be hit for another six months after I’d left. So I’d thought—”

“Six months?” Yaz cut her off. “Six bloody months? That was your answer Doctor? No word, no nothing, just—see you all in a bit?”

“’Course not,” the Doctor snapped. “I was trying to protect you lot. I had work to do, and—”

“Oh, work.” Yaz snorted. “What, blowing up planets? Or the cure you haven’t found?”

It was too much, she realized as soon as she said it. The Doctor flinched, and something in her eyes went dark. Her jaw tightened, and she gazed at Yaz for a long moment before dropping her eyes to the ground. When she spoke, she didn’t look up.

“You don’t understand, Yaz,” she said. “You really, really don’t. This is bigger than you, bigger than the fam, bigger than all of us. Even these negotiations—” she waved a vague hand, then ran it roughly through her hair. “They’re the smaller fish. We’re not stopping anything, we’re not saving—”

She broke off, staring at the metal flooring. Then she spoke again, her voice rough and low.

“The only hope is the cure.” She swallowed, hard. “That’s it. For now, nothing else matters. I can’t pop in to reassure you lot, I can’t go off on my own, I shouldn’t even be taking time to talk to you, not when I could be working.”

Yaz stared at her, and didn’t know what to say. Something was clogging her throat, thick and salty like tears, and for a moment she thought it was betrayal, but then she realized that it was only simple realization, the kind that hurt deep down for being so true. 

That the Doctor, alien though she was, was actually very human underneath it all. Only a person, messy and flawed, albeit one with an astonishing intellect and a track record of making things right. She couldn’t make it right all the time, Yaz realized, and she wondered how often it was that the Doctor actually failed. How many terrible ways things had turned out that Yaz didn’t know about.

She wondered if this might be one of those times. Then, she viciously pushed that thought away.

“So you’ve been working on it all this time?” she asked, suddenly desperate to change the subject and the direction her thoughts were veering down. The Doctor looked up in surprise at the question. Almost as if she expected more shouting.

“Yeah,” she answered. “Just about. Other than when they drag me to meetings. Not that I know why, since they always decide against me.” 

Her lip curled on the last word, and her eyes fell past Yaz, blank on the wall behind her. She stared at it for several long seconds, her gaze far away, and didn’t speak.

It was Yaz who broke the silence. She coughed, and shuffled her feet, scuffing her boots against the floor. “What have you found then? I mean, even if there’s no cure, there’s got to be something.”

“Yeah, you’d think there’d have to be, wouldn’t you?” The Doctor snorted and leaned abruptly back, propping herself on hands pressed into the bedsheets, staring at the far wall. “But I haven’t found a single damn thing. Oh, I’ve found loads about how the disease actually works, which I suppose is the first step, but that’s the obvious bits, it only takes a bit of examination, and then—”

She broke off and let out a frustrated huff. “And then nothing. I can’t even figure out how the other bloody side is doing it.”

She stared glumly at the far wall, and Yaz watched her for a moment, trying to decide what to say.

“Knowing how it works is something, though,” she said at last. “You said it yourself, that’s the first step. I mean—doesn’t it make things clearer at least?”

“Clearer.” The Doctor let out a bitter laugh. “I really wish it had, Yaz. But knowing how it works is a bit of a leap, if I’m being honest. The disease—actually, I shouldn’t call it a disease, because it’s not that at all. It’s a mutation.”

“Yeah,” Yaz said. “Artron energy, I at least know that much.”

The Doctor shook her head, and her eyes rose to meet Yaz’s. “Yes, but it’s much more than that. See, we call it a disease because it presents as one. People getting sick, dying—it has all the hallmarks of sickness, but it’s not. It’s not a bacteria, and it’s definitely not a virus. It’d be closer to compare it to cancer, though cancer has nothing on this.”

“Cancer?” Yaz stared. Briefly, her mind flew back to the doctors on Earth, the constant television updates. None of them had talked about mutations, none of them had made such a comparison. But then, they had been just as clueless, it seemed, as everybody else on the planet.

The Doctor nodded. “Yes, cancer. Because it acts like a malignant tumor, in many ways. Artron energy is meant to be benign, but from what I can tell, there’s been some kind of glitch in time itself. Something that’s caused regular artron energy to change, to affect living creatures in a hostile manner. Every living creature. And in the end, it kills them.”

“Kills them?” Yaz whispered. Her heart plunged, right down to her toes. “You mean all—?”

“All of them,” the Doctor confirmed. Her face was grim. “There hasn’t been a single survivor, from what I’ve seen. And it affects everybody. Some slower than others, but it gets them all in the end. The only way we’ve found to prevent it is to quarantine and kill the infected before they spread it. But even then—”

She stopped, and shuddered at her own words. For several seconds, she didn’t speak. She only stared at the far wall, shoulders tense. Yaz watched her, mind spinning with horror. 

Everybody died. Everybody would die. Even— 

“What about the carriers?” she burst out. The Doctor’s head jerked up, and for a moment confusion flashed across her expression.

“You know about the carriers?” she asked. Yaz nodded. 

“Yeah, I—” and then she bit her tongue. What would the Doctor do, she wondered, if she discovered Yaz was a carrier? And then, an even more terrible realization occurred—the ship had to be full of people, hadn’t it? Uninfected people, to which she had unwittingly brought the disease. And whose one plan against the infected was to simply wipe them out.

Yaz froze, caught with indecision. If she told the Doctor, would they kill her? Did it even matter, at this point? If she was already here—

“They started talking about it,” she said. “On Earth, on the news. They said they found time travelers, and then Clara explained to me what they were. Only I don’t get it. How can they infect people? And how can they jump back and forth through time?”

For a moment, the Doctor didn’t answer. She studied Yaz, and Yaz stood there, arms still crossed, trying to coolly ignore the pounding of her heart. She could tell the Doctor, she decided. She would. She just had to…gather more information first.

“I don’t know,” the Doctor said after a long second passed. She was still studying Yaz, her eyes roaming over her face. “That’s the frustrating bit. I don’t know if it’s spread through the air, or something else, but I suspect it’s far more complicated. Simple proximity seems to be enough. And I mean proximity through time and space, not just space.”

“Wait, what?” Yaz frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.”

The Doctor shook her head, and for the barest moment, a ghost of a smile flickered at her lips. The kind she wore when Yaz would ask endless questions, and she would cheerily explain them over and over again, until she got it. 

“You’re thinking too linearly. You have to keep in mind that this disease—” she gestured vaguely— “doesn’t move linearly. It doesn’t have to, see? It can arrive at a certain point in time, and already be there. That is, the symptoms show up before the point of infection.”

Yaz considered this, forehead creasing in concentration. After several moments, she gave up. “No, sorry, not following. How can a disease get there before it…actually gets there?”

The Doctor drew in a contemplative breath, and let it out in a sigh, rubbing her chin as she tried to think how to answer. After a few moments, she leaned forward, elbows propped on her knees and hands splayed out to explain.

“Okay,” she said. “Think of it this way. Imagine time, not as a line, but as a pool of water. So the past and the present of a certain time period—let’s say your own, the year 2019—are just water in the pool. And you, the hypothetical carrier—” she jabbed a finger at Yaz, and didn’t seem to catch her responding flinch— “are a rock thrown into the pond. The ripples are the disease. So, when you toss the rock in—” she mimed tossing a rock— “the ripples spread instantaneously, affecting both the past and future. No matter which direction you look in, the ripples are already there. It just seems like the disease has already arrived, because you remember it.”

She shook her head with a hint of what might have been fondness. “Humans. You see things so linearly.”

Yaz shrugged, unsure what to say. She was still trying to wrap her head around the explanation. It did make sense, in a roundabout way, only—

“But why do the carriers die, then? Shouldn’t they—” she wracked her mind, thinking back to her biology classes— “Shouldn’t they just pass it on? That’s how things usually work with illnesses, ain’t it?”

The Doctor shook her head sadly. “Not a normal disease though, is it? Cancer attacks all cells eventually. Though from what I’ve seen, the biggest threat to the carriers isn’t from the disease itself. It’s from how they travel.”

“What do you mean, how they travel?” Yaz said, and prayed the Doctor wouldn’t notice the slight squeak in her voice. Fear was thickening her throat, solidifying in her stomach. “It’s not the disease that kills them?”

“No, the disease gets everybody in the end.” The Doctor was frowning, staring off at the opposite wall. “But living organisms aren’t meant to travel through time—at least, not without protection. The travel tends to speed the process up, or so I’m guessing.” She sighed. “Hard to know when you don’t have a live carrier to examine. They’re in and out before we can stop them, and the fear just makes them more likely to jump. I think some can actually control where they end up, to an extent. Probably more, but most are too scared to try. And it’s not as if they’re keen to come back to be experimented upon.”

She trailed off into gloomy silence, but Yaz wasn’t entirely paying attention. Her mind was reeling, her stomach flip-flopping with realization. If Clara had been right—if she could control it—then why hadn’t she gone home? What had she been thinking of, that could possibly have made her end up here?

“But the disease doesn’t usually kill them,” the Doctor continued, jerking Yaz right out of her thoughts. She startled, and looked to the Doctor, only to find the Doctor staring back at her, a bemused expression upon her face.

“Sorry, what?”

“The disease.” The Doctor frowned, and her eyes ran over Yaz’s form, scrutinizing. “It’s the trip that speeds up the process. Scatters them into smithereens, makes them go crazy. The last few I’ve gotten have been screaming about stars. That’s what you were asking, wasn’t it?”

She was still staring at Yaz as she spoke, watching her. As if she wanted to ask something.

“Um, yeah,” Yaz answered, tucking the implications of that sentence away to study later. It was too much to take in at the moment, not when the Doctor was watching her like that, as if she suspected something. As if she knew. 

And somewhere, scratching just at the back of her mind, she knew exactly what the Doctor was talking about. An encroaching blackness, a billion bursting stars, gold and white and burning in her vision. Terrifying. Too much to understand.

She shuddered, and only then realized that the Doctor was still watching her. And as Yaz watched, she opened her mouth to ask a question.

“Yaz,” she began. “Are you—”

“Hang on,” Yaz said quickly, even though she had nothing to finish that sentence. All she knew was that she did not want the Doctor to finish that question. Didn’t want to hear her ask the very thing she was trying to avoid, because the slightest thought of it made her mouth go dry with fear.

And it worked; the Doctor paused, then shut her mouth, though her eyes passed once more inquisitively over Yaz’s face.

“Hang on,” Yaz repeated, and searched her brain desperately for a question. Something, anything. She’d had a million a moment ago; where had they all gone?

The Doctor tilted her head curiously, and opened her mouth again, just as Yaz lit upon something.

“Hang on—how are you not dead?”

At this, the Doctor paused. Then she frowned, clearly confused. 

“Should I be?”

“Um, yes,” Yaz replied, and as she said the words she realized that she was, in fact onto something. “How can you still be alive? If you’ve been working with the infected for who knows how long, even with carriers, then why aren’t you infected? Shouldn’t you be?”

For a moment, the Doctor just stared. Then she let out a small chuckle and dropped her gaze, shaking her head.

“Yasmin Khan,” she said. She was still chuckling. “You’ve always known the right questions to ask.”

“Uh, thanks.” Yaz smiled weakly. She didn’t feel at all thrilled by the compliment. Not when her earlier questions had led to answers she simply hadn’t wanted to know. “But you’re not answering the question.”

“Yeah, well—” the Doctor let out a shaky sigh. She still wasn’t quite looking at Yaz. Her hands had fallen back to rest lightly upon her trousers. “It’s not a nice answer. Though I suppose there haven’t been any nice answers for a while, have there?”

She gave a rueful shake of her head. Then she looked up, and patted her chest.

“I’ve put something called a personal timelock upon myself. It’s one of the tricks my people have, and it’s very difficult to set up, and especially on something so small as one person. And it’s far more complicated than I could possibly explain to you, but the gist of it is that I’ve locked my timeline off from the greater universe. Nothing can touch me, nothing can affect me. I can affect the universe around me—” she fluttered her hand to illustrate— “so I can look for a cure, and go to meetings, and do all sorts of useful things, but nothing can touch me. Not the disease. Not other people.”

She paused, and gave a soft chuckle. “Not even me.”

Then she shrugged, and slowly lowered her hand back to rest upon her knee. Yaz stared at her, trying to comprehend. The Doctor didn’t seem too thrilled by the whole thing, but it sounded perfect to Yaz’s ears. Untouchable. Safe from the disease.

Selfishly, she wanted that.

“But that—” she swallowed, then tried again. “But that sounds perfect! Why don’t you use it on other people, just for the time being? To protect them?”

And she knew what she was asking, deep down inside, but she couldn’t bring herself to voice it. Not out loud, and barely in her head.

Put it on me. Put it on Graham. And Ryan. And my mum, and everybody you claim to care about— 

But the Doctor was shaking her head.

“It’s not that simple, Yaz,” she said. “You see, it’s not a perfect solution. It’s not even a solution. First of all, it won’t protect me forever. Like I said, the disease gets everything in the end. Eventually, my timelock will start to break down, and I’ll be affected too. And besides—” 

She shrugged. “It’s not reversible. If I remove it—well, I’ll die. It’ll undo my entire timeline, and it won’t be pretty.”

“Undo your—” Yaz stared in disbelief. “What does that mean, undo your timeline? Like, undo you?”

“Something like that.” The Doctor gave another shrug. “Wipe me out of existence, I’m assuming. Haven’t gotten around to trying it.”

She flashed Yaz a grin, but there was no mirth behind it. Yaz just looked at her, heart pounding against her ribcage, and for a wild moment, couldn’t figure out why. Then she realized; it was fear, cold and desperate, both for herself and the Doctor. The Doctor was plunging into danger, risking her entire life—giving up her entire life—just to find a cure, and she wasn’t finding it. And Yaz—Yaz was—

“You can’t do that,” she said, and the Doctor’s head jerked up in surprise.

“Do what?”

“Do that,” she said sharply. “Touch that. I mean—what the hell are we supposed to do without you? Doctor, you’re—”

My best friend. She pushed the words away. She wasn’t quite ready to say them, not with the taste of betrayal stale in her mouth. Not with the hurt prickling in her stomach.

“The only hope we’ve got,” she finished. “I mean, if anybody can fix it, it’s you.”

This clearly wasn’t what the Doctor wanted to hear. Disappointment darted across her expression, so quick Yaz couldn’t be sure she had seen it at all. Then she looked down and sighed, her hair falling in a curtain across her face. For a moment, she didn’t speak.

“That seems to be the general consensus,” she said at last, and Yaz might have been imagining it, but she thought she caught a quick hint of bitterness in her tone. “Suppose I concur, only—”

And then she looked up, brow crinkling in confusion. “Did you hear that?”

Yaz tilted her head, baffled. “What?”

Just as she said the word, a sound tugged at her ears. She turned instinctively towards the door, only to catch it again, louder this time. A wail, low and keening, but growing louder with each moment.

A sudden creak and clatter came from behind her, and Yaz turned just in time to see the Doctor launch to her feet. Her face was pale, her knuckles clenched into rigid fists.

“That!” she said. “It’s the alarm—they’re attacking the ship!”

Chapter Text

The alarm blared. Yaz stared at the Doctor.

“But—who?” she exclaimed. “Who would be attacking the ship?”

“It must—” the Doctor cut off, staggering as the entire room shook, then grabbed the edge of a bunk to keep from falling. Another alarm joined the first, wailing its own urgent tune. “It has to be Delm! The planet below, this has happened before—”

“This has happened before—” Something slammed into the ship, sending Yaz stumbling as an enormous groan echoed through the room and down the distant hallways.

“Yes!” The Doctor was clinging to a bunk, trying bravely to ease herself to her feet despite the slowly-steepening pitch of the floor. Yaz looked down as her feet slid slightly, and her heart jumped into her throat.

“They must have joined the other side!” the Doctor continued. “I've seen this before—the moment they join the Child of Time, get the firepower of the fleet, they turn around and chase us out before we can implement our solution.”

Solution. Yaz’s stomach twisted at the words, then twisted further as another something slammed into the ship, sending the whole room shaking. “Right! Nevermind that, what do we do?”

“We have to find Clara!” The Doctor was moving along the bunk, hand over hand like she was playing at sideways monkey bars, and when she got to the door she reached out and grasped the handle, shoving it open. “Don't worry, Yaz, I'll get you lot to the TARDIS and—”

She broke off as the door swung open to reveal both Clara and a disgruntled looking Ashildr, standing side by side in the small hallway. The Doctor stared.

“Er, guess I don't need to go looking, then.”

“You never do.” Just then the ship dropped a meter, sending them all stumbling. Clara grabbed the door frame, and glanced up at the Doctor, then beckoned impatiently down the hallway. “I'm assuming there’s a plan?”

“‘Course there is!” Without warning, the Doctor spun around and grasped Yaz’s hand, yanking her bodily through the door. “Come with me, I'll get you all—”

“I think you'll leave me out of this, thank you very much,” a cool voice behind Yaz came, and both she and the Doctor turned. Ashildr was standing there with her arms crossed and her foot tapping the floor, looking perfectly level-headed despite the sick heaving and groaning of the ship. Even Clara stared at her in disbelief, Yaz noted, but Ashildr was looking at the Doctor. 

“There are people on this ship, Doctor. Do you plan to leave them?”

“What? No! But—” the Doctor paused, and her eyes fell to Clara, then Yaz. Awful uncertainty flashed in her gaze, and she ran a hand over her chin. “But I have to get them to safety, Ashildr. I have a duty.”

This didn't seem to move her. She regarded the Doctor for several long seconds, even as the ship began to tilt and drop, creaking laboriously from damage Yaz didn't want to think about. For a moment, nobody moved.

“Are you sure, Doctor?” Ashildr asked at last. “Because we still need you here.”

“I know, but—” She let out a frustrated sigh, and glanced to Yaz again. Then her jaw tightened, and she returned her gaze to Ashildr, this time decisive. “They're in my care, Ashildr.”

“Hmmm.” Ashildr studied her for another moment. The ship rocked, and sick dread flickered through Yaz’s stomach. She stared, and resisted the urge to scream at her to get a move on.

“Hmm. Okay.” And just like that, she dropped her gaze and patted her pockets. “Well you know me, I'll be fine. But come back, yeah? We still need you.”

The Doctor nodded, though she didn't look at all happy about the idea. “I will.”

Then she leaned forward and snatched up Clara’s hand, pulling her along as well despite her protest of “Hey!”

“C’mon!” the Doctor said, then spun around and took off down the hallway, leaving Yaz and Clara with nothing to do but take off after her.

It was hard to keep up, and not only because the Doctor was sprinting. The ship was leaning sharply now, sending their feet sliding with every step, and every few seconds another something would slam into the ship, making everything around them jump and groan. They followed the Doctor down several confusing corridors, up a flight of stairs, and were fully panting by the time the Doctor abruptly pulled up short, stopping outside the type of door Yaz immediately recognized.

It was a door to precisely the same type of room they had landed in when they'd first arrived on the ship. It was a storage closet.

“Doctor,” Clara said as the Doctor plunged her hand into her pocket and pulled out her sonic. “This isn't an escape pod.”

“‘Course not,” the Doctor grunted, clearly paying them the barest of mind as she pointed the sonic at the handle and thumbed a button. “TARDIS is much safer, quicker. I'll get you lot out of here, back to Earth maybe, and then I can—”

“Doctor,” Clara said again, and when Yaz looked over she saw that she had paled slightly in urgency. “We can't take the TARDIS.”

“What?” At this the Doctor spun around, brow furrowing. “Why not?”

For a moment, Yaz didn't get it either. And then Clara glanced over to her and she remembered.

Her. It was always her, messing things up. Her stomach flip-flopped.

The Doctor looked between the two of them, nonplussed. The ship rocked, and a dangerous rumble sounded from below. “I'm not following. Why can't we use the TARDIS? What's wrong?”

Clara didn't answer her. She was staring at Yaz now, eyes wide with horror.

“Yaz,” she whispered. “You didn't tell her?”

“Tell me what?” The Doctor turned impatiently towards Yaz. “Yaz, why can't we—?”

And then she stopped, as realization hit. Yaz saw the precise moment—her blood drained in an instant, her face going bone white. Her eyes widened.

“You're—” she choked on the word. “You're a—a—”

Yaz couldn't answer. She just nodded and, as around them the ship rumbled and creaked, the whole thing sagging, she felt a deep sense of shame.

They were going to die. And all because—

“I'll stay here,” she whispered, and paused, looking between the Doctor and Clara, then licked her dry lips and continued. “I can stay, you two go and—”

And it's better I die now, she thought bitterly. Die doing the right thing, the useful thing, rather than going mad from a disease.

But the Doctor was already shaking her head.

“No,” she said, then again, frantic. “No, Yaz, there's no way I'm—”

The ship dropped again, and they all staggered. The Doctor kept looking at Yaz, stunned, even as she reached out blindly for something to cling to. Her hand caught upon the door handle, and she looked at it, then to the door. Painful indecision filled her face.

“Doctor,” Clara said, her voice low and urgent, and the Doctor’s gaze jerked to her. “What are we going to do?”

For a moment the Doctor stared at her, and Yaz’s heart sunk, because it was clear from her face that she didn't know. Her gaze darted to Yaz, then back to the door, and awful uncertainty flashed again across her expression.

It was a dizzying feeling, Yaz thought, to watch the Doctor crack under pressure.

“Doctor—” she began, but the Doctor just shook her head again, as another crash sent them reeling.

“Yaz—”

And for a horrible moment, Yaz was certain of what the Doctor was about to say. She squared her shoulders, ignored the nauseous fear threading through her stomach, and braced herself for the words. 

Twenty years, she thought. Twenty years was good.

But the Doctor didn't say anything, because Clara got there first.

“Oh, I've got it!” 

Two pairs of eyes jerked up to meet Clara’s gaze.

“Got what?” Yaz asked, but Clara didn't answer. Her eyes were on the Doctor.

“Doctor, you trust me, don't you?”

The Doctor nodded, albeit a tad uneasily. “Why do those words worry me?”

Clara stepped forward and grabbed the Doctor by the shoulders.

“Listen to me,” she said, her eyes sparkling with epiphany. “I can take the TARDIS. I know how to pilot, I'll get her far away from here, while you two get to the escape pods. It's not perfect, I know, but it's—”

“A chance,” the Doctor breathed. She shook her head, as if to clear her thoughts. “I wasn't even thinking—”

“Do you really think we've got time for you to beat yourself up?” Clara let go of her shoulders and stepped back, studying her. Her eyes were sad all of a sudden, for reasons Yaz couldn't be sure of. “C’mon, Doctor—you've still got work to do.”

“Don't I know it,” the Doctor muttered, but she reached out and took Yaz’s hand, just as another crash sent them wincing and stumbling. “C’mon, Yaz—and Clara—”

She half-turned, mouth open to say something, only she never got there. Without warning, Clara rushed her, wrapping her in an enormous bear hug for several long seconds before letting go. Then she turned to Yaz, and smiled. 

“Keep an eye on her, will you?” she asked. Yaz wasn't sure what to say. Her throat was inexplicably tight. So she just nodded.

“Right. Okay.” Clara seemed visibly relieved. She cast one last look at the Doctor, a melancholy smile.

“Don't even think about saying goodbye,” she warned, wagging a finger, and didn't wait for a response before turning away from them, towards the door. Yaz watched as she turned the handle down.

“Yaz, let’s go.” The Doctor squeezed her hand, tearing Yaz’s attention back to the Doctor. 

“Yeah. Uh—” It was hard to think past the dull fear pounding away in her chest. “Are we going to make it?”

The Doctor smiled, but there wasn't much humor behind it. “Guess we'll have to find out, won't we?”

Then, without warning, she turned around and took off down the hallway, dragging Yaz along before she even had a chance to catch their breath.

And then it was only more running. More running, and the sounds of emergency; that wailing alarm, now faded to the background, and the constant rumbles, the shaking, the sudden drops and shifts of the ground below their feet. Briefly, Yaz wondered what would happen if the ship gave out beneath them. Her stomach turned at the thought, and quickly she pushed the thought from her mind, forcing herself only to focus on running.

But her stomach continued to turn.

By the time they reached the escape pods, even Yaz, with her limited knowledge of space ships, could tell that it wasn't long for the craft. More alarms had joined the first, and smoke now drifted through the air, making every drawn-in breath a battle. The lights had shut off in parts of the ship they had passed through, leaving only ghostly-red emergency lights to glow softly in the gloom.

They couldn't have much time, Yaz realized. Possibly minutes. The thought sent her heart jackhammering.

“Here!” The Doctor announced as she pushed them through an unmarked door. Yaz had no idea how she knew, but she wasn't in the mind to argue; the trip had turned her dizzy, which didn't help with the mounting nausea in her stomach. She swallowed, trying to displace the feeling, and felt the dizziness on her tongue. Something about it was all vaguely familiar, though she didn't know why.

“These are the escape pods?” She gestured weakly to the openings set into the wall. Within, she could catch glimpses of a seat, controls. “Will they fit us both?”

“We can go apart,” the Doctor said, and let go of Yaz’s hand, swinging around to face her. “I'll plug in similar coordinates so we end up—Yaz, are you all right?”

Her face wrinkled in concern, and Yaz just stared at her, uncomprehending. In truth, she wasn't sure she knew how to answer her. The entire room, it seemed, was spinning, and—

“Oh no.” The Doctor reached forward and grasped her by the shoulders, steadying her, and it was only then that Yaz realized she had been weaving. “No, Yaz, you can't jump now, you hear me? You can't—”

Yaz tried to answer, but everything was falling apart. The whole room was dissolving into gold upon black, and she looked into the Doctor’s face, trying to focus on those hazel eyes, but it was nigh impossible. Somewhere, distantly, she tasted fear.

“Doctor,” she tried. “I—”

“Yaz, listen to me.” The Doctor leaned close, her voice low, her hands tight upon her shoulders. “Listen to me, Yaz, okay? You can try and come back, you can control it, yeah? Just think of me, that's all I want you to do. Think of me, and come back—”

She might have said more, but Yaz didn't hear, for in that moment her feet gave out, and she went rushing towards the ground. 

Blackness met her instead.

—————

“Alright—no—yes! C’mon, c’mon—”

It wasn't piloting, Clara reflected, but more like wrestling with the controls that got her off that damned ship and floating safe in the time vortex. She kept up a steady stream of quiet reassurances as she flew, but even so, the TARDIS protested heavily. She couldn't tell if it was because Clara was a foreign pilot, or because Clara was just…Clara.

“You never liked me that much, did you?” she muttered as she bent over the console, trying to read the Doctor’s frustrating controls. To make things worse, the whole thing had apparently gone and changed its casing, and it was ages off Clara’s familiar console. She couldn't recognize a single thing. 

“You never liked me, not even when—” she broke off, and with a grunt, shoved one of the stickier levers down, rocking the TARDIS to a halt. “There!”

She took a breath and stepped back, hands on her hips. For a moment, she surveyed the results, vaguely satisfied. 

“Not bad for a human, yeah?” she said after a minute or so. The TARDIS let out a discordant beep, and she scowled.

“Oi, enough with the potshots, thanks!” 

She eyed the console with a frown, then stepped forward and bent to examine the coordinates on the monitor, only for something to catch her eye. She leaned back to fully look at it, and for a moment stared, uncomprehending. Then she burst into a disbelieving laugh. 

“Really, Doctor?” She stepped on the lever, and smiled as a biscuit popped out. Leaning over, she swiped it up and brought it close to examine.

“Custard creams.” She shook her head. “Didn't know you liked custard creams.”

And just like that, her smile began to fade. The edges turned nostalgic, and then slipped away entirely. She studied the biscuit, then took a thoughtful bite. And made a rueful face.

“Not my thing, if I'm being honest.” She set the half-eaten biscuit on the console, and wiped the crumbs on her trousers. Then she turned once more towards the controls. 

“Right. Where to next?”

The TARDIS didn't give her an answer. Then, she hadn't been expecting one. The problem was, once Clara voiced the question aloud, it occurred to her that she didn't actually have an answer either. She had options, but neither of them looked particularly appealing. Both looked equally necessary.

Somehow, she had to rescue Yaz and the Doctor—or at least Yaz, if the Doctor was going to keep on being stubborn. That had been her whole point in taking this great leap in the first place; she couldn't very well come home without her. 

And that was the other thing; she had to get home. With a great big alien fleet bearing down on Earth, it wasn't as if Clara could afford to sit on the sidelines. Not even if part of her longed to park the TARDIS right by wherever the Doctor happened to be, and stay there.

Clara sighed and leaned forward, propping her elbows atop the console. She studied the strange new controls with a crease in her brow, then bit her lip and let out a soft chuckle.

“It's always the same, isn't it?” she said—to herself or to the TARDIS, she didn't know. “Nobody gets over traveling with the Doctor. Nobody.”

She considered this for a moment, then abruptly let out another sigh, and dropped her chin into her propped-up hands. Ruefully, she shook her head.

“I just wish we could have talked, you know?”

But of course, the TARDIS didn't answer. Clara let the question dangle for several seconds, filling the quiet of the console room. Then, without warning, she pushed herself up and away from the console, and spun around.

“Right!” Hands behind her back, she began to pace. “Right. Two things, two problems. No. Two things, and one main problem, which is how to get Yaz on the TARDIS. Or get her back to Earth. Or—”

She kept pacing, mumbling to herself as she ran through the options. She could jump back to Earth, couldn't she? Only that hadn't worked so well the first time, had it? Or maybe it had, only Clara had no idea what connection there might have been between Yaz’s idea of home and that cruddy old spaceship.

“C’mon, Clara, think,” she murmured, and continued to pace, ignoring the increasingly urgent beeps from the console. “You've got a brain, don’t you? Not as big as the Doctor’s maybe, but—”

A loud, rather irritated beep from the console interrupted her. Clara's head shot up and she whirled around, her eyes immediately falling upon the nearest console monitor. It was on, and flashing green with a large envelope icon. She stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending.

“Is that…for me?” she asked. The TARDIS gave an annoyed beep, and she jumped.

“Alright, alright!” She hurried over, pressing her whole hand to the screen in her hurry, and within an instant the icon disappeared. In its place sat a message. Anonymous.

“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “It's you again, isn't it?”

Barely daring to breathe, she leaned forward and began to read, her eyes growing rounder and rounder with each word. When she got to the end, she stared. Then she reread the entire thing.

“They want…” She shook her head in disbelief. “They want me to steal one of those?”

For another long moment, she just kept on staring. With one hand, she reached up to rub her chin, considering. Calculating. Finally, she just shook her head.

“How in the bloody hell am I going to get back into Gallifrey?”

Chapter Text

“You’re sure this is going to help?”

Osgood gave Graham a discerning glance. 

“Honestly, no. But we can use all the samples we can get, really. And I've been running them through every test I can think of. So who knows?”

She held out the small plastic container to Graham, sans lid. He looked at it, then sighed and put out his hand. Pressing his thumb and index finger together, he rubbed. Instantly, gold dust flaked off of his fingers and into the container.

“And you're not worried or anything about coming in contact with this stuff?” he asked as she whisked the container away, screwing on the lid before turning to place it on the nearby counter. She shrugged, her back still to him. 

“Not really. I've been working with this stuff for months. And you know, in all that time we've never figured out how it spreads.”

She turned to him and smiled. “Well, until now.”

“Huh.” Graham eyed her get-up, the gloves and lab coat, then let out a snort, which quickly turned into a cough. He hacked away, one hand to his mouth, then brought it away and shivered. “Yeah, it's tricky innit? The whole jumping around bit. Almost like it's too smart for a disease. Or space cancer, or whatever the hell you want to call it.”

“Space cancer.” Osgood chuckled, then stopped, a thoughtful frown spreading across her face. “Hmm. You know what? That might not be far off.”

“Is it now?” Graham shrugged. “That's what Rose was telling me. She knows quite a bit about it.”

“Yeah, she told me some stuff, but…” Osgood was still frowning, gazing off into space. “Never quite thought of it like that. Space cancer. Or time cancer. Or—”

And then her mouth fell open, her face lighting up in epiphany. “Oh!”

She whirled back around and lunged for the container of golden dust. Graham stared at her, nonplussed. 

“Oh?” he said. “Oh what?”

“What you said!” She turned around, cradling the little container in her hands. “Space cancer, only not space cancer—time cancer. What if it's not an illness, but it's a sickness of time?”

Graham was still staring. “Uh, yeah. We know that already. Rose mentioned.”

“Yeah, but—” she frowned at the container, lips pursed and brow creased. “Maybe we shouldn't be thinking of it as any kind of sickness. Maybe we should be thinking of it as a mutation.”

“A—” Graham’s mouth fell open. He shut it slowly. “Now I'm starting to see where the cancer metaphor comes in.”

“Exactly!” Osgood looked at him and grinned. “It does all sort of make sense, doesn't it? We've been looking at it as an illness, a disease, only because it's been presenting as one. But maybe it's actually a glitch, and it just keeps spreading and spreading. Turning everybody like it.”

“Everybody dead, you mean,” Graham said. 

“Well, yeah.” Osgood looked briefly put out. “But that makes sense, doesn't it? Supposedly, artron energy has healing abilities. Regenerative capabilities. So—”

It took Graham a moment to catch on. His eyes lit up in understanding. “So if it's gone and glitched—”

“Maybe it's doing the opposite,” Osgood finished. She stared at him, eyes shining bright in revelation. “Like cancer.”

“Like cancer,” Graham echoed. Osgood nodded, and her eyes once again fell to the container in her hands. 

“And cancer only needs one cell to start,” she murmured, before looking up again. “Maybe that's it, Graham! Maybe we're the cells!”

“Oh, lovely thought,” Graham muttered. “Don't want to be a cell, thanks. Rather be a person.”

Osgood just tilted her head in agreement, but didn't comment. Instead she gazed off into the distance once more, thinking.

“So there's got to be a starting point,” she muttered. “Doesn't that make sense? The first cell. Patient zero.”

“Well he'd be dead now, wouldn't he?” Graham pointed out. “No offense to the poor guy, yeah, but if he was the first to get sick, he’d probably be long gone by this point, right?”

Osgood grimaced at the blunt reply. “Okay, well I didn’t think of that. Still, it’s got to be something, hasn’t it?” 

Graham shrugged. “’Fraid I’m not enough of a scientist to say. I’m a bus driver.”

“Hmm.” Osgood didn’t seem to register. She was tapping her chin, still lost in thought. “Patient zero. The first cell. You know, I bet we could trace that. Or at least, figure out how exactly this mutated stuff diverges from the regular stuff. Then maybe we could track the iterations of the mutation. We even have some stolen Inosian technology that’s built exactly for—” 

Her face was brightening with every word she spoke, only to abruptly fall. “Oh, but we’d need artron energy for that, a high enough concentration for our scanners to pick up.”

“You mean like a TARDIS?” Graham asked.

“Huh?” Osgood looked to him, confusion flashing across her face. “Yeah, but the Doctor isn’t—oh!”

“Yeah, I was wondering when we’d remember that one,” Graham said dryly. Osgood just stared at him, her mouth open and her eyes wide. She sucked in a heavy breath, and shook her head. 

“Graham, this is—” she stopped as her breath caught, and Graham’s eyebrows rose in worry as she plunged her hand into her pocket and yanked out an inhaler, which she quickly brought to her lips. He watched in sympathy as she took a few quick puffs before letting out a steady breath.

“Asthma?” he asked as she returned the inhaler to her pocket. She gave an embarrassed smile.

“Sometimes I forget to breathe,” she confessed, then waved a dismissive hand. “But that’s not important. If this works out—”

“Not impor—”

“We could trace the mutation back to its source!” Her eyes were alive with excitement. “That’s the first step, isn’t it? We track down patient zero, and—”

“Find a cure?” Graham asked hopefully. Osgood’s face dropped a fraction of a millimeter.

“Well, not yet, but—”

She was interrupted by the loud beep of her watch. She looked down, frowning, and twisted it towards her. A message flashed, and Graham craned his head to get a look, but couldn’t quite manage it. He watched instead as Osgood’s eyes ran over the tiny screen. Her eyes widened.

“Is that Ryan and Rose?” he asked after a long second. Osgood looked up at him, and shook her head.

“No, it’s Kate,” she said. Her face was strange. Apprehensive. “She wants us to come to the command room. She says she’s got a message from the fleet.”

————

For several seconds after the message ended, nobody moved. They simply stared at the blank screen mounted before them.

“Play it again,” Kate instructed. The technician, who too had been staring with his mouth open, snapped it shut and jumped to life. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Hastily he pressed a button, and a beep came from the screen. Then, in a monotone voice, the message began to play.

“Hello, people of Earth. Do not be alarmed, but your planet has tested high for signs of Gold’s disease. You have been placed under strict quarantine pending your answer to the options now presented to you.

Option 1: eradication to prevent further spread of the disease.

Option 2: acceptance of the offered cure (note: subject to compliance of terms).

In twelve hours, a teleportation signal will be sent to pick up your chosen leader for negotiations.

End message.”

With a short hiss of static, the message came to an end. Again, for a long moment, nobody spoke.

“Eradication,” Graham muttered. “Why's it always got to be eradication?”

“From my experience, that's simply the nature of the game.” Kate was still gazing at the screen. “However, I'm more interested in the second part of the message.”

“A cure,” Osgood whispered. “Do you really think—?”

Kate shook her head. “I honestly don't know.”

She turned abruptly to face the other two, grimacing. “These things are always a bit too good to be true. And I can just imagine what the Doctor would be saying right now.”

“Don't take it,” Graham supplied. He nodded, looking rather crestfallen. “Mind you, she’d probably have a cure by now.”

“Yes, well, a cure wherever the Doctor happens to be doesn't help us much here,” Kate replied. There was a deep, ponderous crease in her brow. “I don't want to say it's something to consider, but—”

“You're considering it,” Osgood finished. Kate hesitated a moment, then nodded.

“What choice do we have?” she asked.

“The shields,” Graham pointed out, though he didn't look enthusiastic about the idea. “We’re still working on those shields.”

“Rose and Ryan are working on those shields,” Kate corrected. “And I'm not entirely sure of their progress. They may know dimensional engineering, or at least Rose does, but we still don't know if that's a solution. And we still have no route towards a cure.”

“Actually, we might,” Osgood said. Kate turned sharply to her.

“What?”

“Well—” Osgood hedged, turning slightly nervous under Kate’s piercing state. “It's not a cure yet, but we might be able to use the artron energy carried by Clara's TARDIS to study the disease. See, we have a theory that the artron energy of the disease, while reminiscent of a disease, is not actually a traditional—”

“It's like time cancer,” Graham cut in, chopping off Osgood’s increasingly rapid flow of scientific babble. Kate gave him a grateful look. Osgood stopped, looking rather put out, then pushed her glasses up her nose and continued.

“A bit more complicated then that,” she said, shooting Graham a glower. He shrugged. “But yes, like a mutation. As if something has gone wrong with time, maybe at a specific point. And we want to study samples of both good and bad artron energy to see the difference.”

“That's not a cure,” Kate pointed out. Osgood frowned, but pushed on, undeterred.

“It's not, but it could be. And it's worth a try, isn't it? Especially since we've know idea what those terms and conditions might be.”

Kate seemed to be considering this. With every word, and the increasingly confident look in Osgood’s eye, she nodded a little more thoughtfully.

“Okay. I see where you're going with this. But if it doesn't work—”

Osgood shrugged. “We can give it our best shot, can't we?”

“We?” Kate raised an eyebrow. Osgood nodded eagerly.

“I need samples from somebody, don't I?”

“Oh, pleasure,” Graham grumbled. “Love being a lab rat, sure thing. Wouldn't rather be sitting on my sofa watching telly.”

“Cheer up, Graham.” Kate gave him mirthless grin, and a firm pat on the shoulder. “You're saving the world.”

Then she stepped back and gave the two of them a discerning look. Studying. Even with the confidence plastered across her expression, it was easy to catch the worry deep within her eyes.

“Right,” she said. “Shall we inform the others?”

—————

“Ow!” Ryan yanked his fingers back and stuck them angrily in his mouth. Rose’s begoggled head popped up from the other side of the console. Her nose wrinkled in sympathy.

“Ooh. Burnt fingers again?”

Ryan nodded, then removed the fingers from his mouth to examine. They were only slightly blistered, but they still stung.

“That's the fifth time already.” He flexed his fingers experimentally, then eyed the panel he had been trying to pry off. “How does she do that? She’s powered off!”

“Honestly, I don't blame her. I’d probably be annoyed too.” Rose clambered to her feet, then made her way around the console, dropping next to him. She frowned. “Actually, I'm not sure that's the right panel either.”

Ryan groaned. “After five burns? Could have told me that before I tried to touch it!”

“Okay but you didn't need to touch it, did you?” She held up the futuristic wrench Ryan had promptly dropped upon searing his fingers. He scowled, and snatched it back.

“I'll have to touch it eventually,” he grumbled. “Besides, could have told me that wasn't the shield paneling.”

Rose winced. “Okay, maybe I wasn’t sure. I'll know it once I get to it though!”

To demonstrate, she ducked under the part of the console Ryan had been ducking under moments before, as Ryan watched her with a critical gaze.

“What are you doing?” he called after a few impatient moments.

“Checking to see if any of these are the one!” she called back, voice muffled. Ryan waited, balancing on his knees, until Rose let out a heavy sigh and slid back out from under the console, straightening up as well.

“Okay, I don't think it's that part,” she said, then, as Ryan opened his mouth to protest, hurried to continue. “But that's just elimination, isn't it?”

She gestured widely across the TARDIS. “We've gotten some stuff out of the way!”

Ryan swept his gaze across the console room, where various panels had been pried up, leaving open holes and circuitry. He studied one nearby circuit board for a moment, then sighed and turned back to Rose.

“We haven't made a bit of progress, have we?” he asked. Immediately, Rose’s face fell.

“Well…” she hedged.

“We haven't, had we?” Ryan's scowl deepened, turned frustrated. “All this—prying up panels hasn't done a thing! Are we really doing something useful here, or are we just messing about?”

It was immediately obvious that he had struck a nerve. Rose's eyes flashed at the accusation, and her mouth set in a hard line. “We aren't messing about, Ryan. We're trying to save the world. You may be used to the Doctor jumping in with a sonic screwdriver to fix things, but I'm not her. We have to do things the hard way.”

Ryan didn't back down. Instead he set his jaw, and crossed his arms. “You act like her though, you know that? Like it's all a game, that you can fix things that easy. Like you're not scared.”

“Like I'm—” Rose gaped. “Do you really think I'm not scared?”

For a second, Ryan didn't respond, taken aback by the strength of her reaction. His eyes roamed over her face, studying. Scrutinizing. Then he gave a short nod.

“Yeah. You're just too…I dunno. Like you've done this before.”

For a moment, Rose just stared. Then she broke into a soft smile. 

“I am scared, if it helps, Ryan,” she said. “I've just gotten better about not showing it. Because sometimes it doesn't help anything.”

“Huh.” Ryan’s eyes didn't leave her face. “That sounds like something the Doctor would say.”

Rose shook her head, still smiling. “No, it doesn't. The Doctor would say it's okay to be scared. And then turn around and taunt the person pointing a gun at you.”

At this Ryan let out a low chuckle. “Okay, yeah. That does sound more like the Doctor.”

“Yeah, well.” Rose reached down and picked up another wrench, still smiling. “Definitely not going to taunt anybody holding guns. I've done that a few times, and it doesn't turn out well.”

“Bloody hell, you really are like the Doctor,” Ryan muttered, as he leaned down to gather up the scattered tools. “That practice, or does it just come naturally at this point?”

Rose laughed as she pushed herself to her feet, then stuck out a hand to help him up as well.

“Definitely practice. Gotta keep up somehow, don't I?”

“Yeah, I dunno if the Doctor is someone I'm keen to keep up with at this point.” Ryan looked up, saw Rose’s hand, and took it. With a heave, she pulled him to his feet.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked, frowning, as Ryan stumbled then caught his balance. Ryan looked up, then raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

“What, after all she's done? Or, not done?” He gestured vaguely around the console room. “Rose, she just left. Abandoned us, basically, to a disease and an alien invasion. That ain't enough for you?”

Rose’s frown deepened. “You know she hasn't caused this, though. You can't blame her for not being around to fix it.”

Ryan shrugged, unmoved. “I've had enough people in my life abandon me, thanks. Not about to waste time on another one.”

“Another one?” Rose tilted her head, perplexed. “Who else do you mean?”

Ryan opened his mouth, then hesitated. “Why, are you about to give me some speech about trusting people?”

“No.” Rose shook her head in earnest. “I'm just curious. You don't have to answer.”

“Oh.” Ryan considered this, then gave another shrug. “Well, my dad for one thing. Never was much of one. But then, my mum died years ago really suddenly, and my nan got killed by an alien thing when we met the Doctor.”

He said it all rather quickly, then ducked his head and palmed the back of his neck, abashed. Rose stared at him, brow creased in sympathy.

“Ryan, that's…I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, you don't have to be,” he muttered, then shook his head and gave a long look at the ceiling. “Just telling a woman I just met my life story, is all. I'm dealing with the end of the world fine, definitely.”

Rose laughed. “I mean, you're doing better than most people, you ask me. And I get where you're coming from, I do.” She gave a sad smile. “Not like the Doctor hasn't abandoned me, once or twice. But she always comes back, when she can.”

“Really?” Ryan eyed her doubtfully. “You think she's still coming back? After all this time?”

“Always,” Rose replied. “I’m telling you. If there's one person I've got faith in—it's her.”

Ryan didn't immediately respond to this. He surveyed her for a moment, then gave a reluctant nod.

“Yeah. I suppose. Maybe. But hoping for the Doctor to come back isn't going to fix the problems we've right now.”

Rose opened her mouth to reply, but didn't get the chance to answer, before a light upon the console lit up, just above Ryan’s head. She pointed. “Look. Door alert. Someone’s come inside.”

Ryan turned as Rose pushed her goggles up to her forehead, leaving two red rings around her eyes. She raised an eyebrow as Ryan turned back around and suppressed a snigger.

“Don't need to say a word, thanks,” she told him. “Shall we see who's come to check in?”

They climbed through the slowly building wreckage of removed panels to the console room entrance. Rose pushed the door open, and as they stepped through, found that whoever had come to visit hadn't bothered to wait outside. Osgood, Graham, and Kate all stood in the diner entrance, looking around in varying states of interest. On Osgood, it was something closer to wonder. Graham only looked vaguely impressed.

Kate zeroed in on Ryan and Rose the moment they stepped into the diner, and was talking before Rose could even open her mouth.

“We have news,” she announced. Rose took in the look on her face for a long moment before answering.

“Is it good news or bad news?” she asked. “I honestly can't tell.”

Kate just shook her head, perturbed.

“You know,” she said. “I’m not sure.”

Chapter Text

Once more, Yaz fell through darkness and stars.

It was worse this time. This time, the darkness climbed into her mouth and the stars bored into her eyes, and when she opened her mouth to scream, she choked. This time, the visions that burst in her mind were clearer than ever before, and made just as little sense because they were all out of order. She watched things happen that had never happened, things happen that could but didn't, and between it all she felt herself slip away, her whole body dissolving into billions of tiny pieces.

But before she fell apart entirely, she landed.

At first, she didn't even realize. Stars were still tumbling through her head, searing her vision, and she watched them come and go, unable to do anything but stare. It wasn't until much later that a dim, distant part of her noted a cool pressure against her cheek. Something hard—wood. It was against her fingers too, and her foot was nestled in something soft. Physical things. The dizzying feeling was gone. She was no longer falling.

But nothing made sense. Unsteadily, Yaz pushed herself to her feet, and spun around in a slow circle, then stumbled to the nearby couch. Or had she stumbled to the couch, then turned in a circle? She couldn't tell. Everything seemed to be happening out of order, and she couldn't figure out which one had actually happened. Stars were still pressing into her vision, distracting her with things that hadn't happened yet.

Things she had to do.

“I need,” she gasped, and some distant part of her startled at her own voice. Was she alive? Or had she died yet? She certainly felt nauseous enough to be dying.

“I need—” she repeated, and looked around the living room. She had been here. Was going to be here. She was here right now, wasn't she? Part of her was still choking under that terrifying blackness.

“—need to help her,” she finished. And she knew exactly who that was. Only where was she?

Yaz looked around the homey space she was in, blinking as if to get used to the light, though there wasn’t any. It was actually quite dark, though watery sunlight streamed in from the window. The entire place was quiet, stiflingly so. The lamp perched next to the chairs in the sitting room was off, as was the one overhead. It was all familiar, familiar. 

Sitting room, Chairs. A kitchen table—

She turned suddenly, fast enough to make herself nauseous, and stared at the table. Wood, circular, unremarkable. The chairs were all pushed back, as if everybody had abruptly gotten up and left. Five cups sat spaced around the table. Spoons, scattered. They all looked old. Everything looked old.

“Where—” Yaz tried to say, then stopped, because she knew where. It was hard to focus, hard to see things the way they were meant to be—her whole head was still scattered, cottoned with that awful blackness—but she recognized where she was standing.

Ryan and Graham’s sitting room. Only everybody was gone. And it was so, so quiet.

She blinked again, long and slow, trying to clear her muddled thoughts, and tried not to panic. Only now she was looking, there was too much off about the place not to. The whole room looked torn about, searched through; there were pillows and blankets scattered across the floor, coats hung over the back of the chairs, drawers hanging open. Yaz’s eye snagged upon a magazine, sitting open on an end table, and she stepped closer, frowning. There was something strange about it, fuzzy. She took another step closer and reached out, dragging the pad of her finger across the glossy photo. The second her finger touched it, she realized what it was.

Dust. The magazine was covered in dust, and so was the rest of the room. The end table, the wooden chairs, even the coat draped over the back of Graham’s favorite armchair. It all sat dusty and unused, as if somebody had stepped out and not come back for a very long time.

Fear crawled its way up Yaz’s throat.

She was spinning around and lunging for the front hallway before she even realized, only vaguely conscious of her stomach’s protestations at the idea. She  practically fell around the corner and stumbled to the door, hand reaching out for the handle.

Only to trip over something right in front of the door.

Yaz nearly fell. She caught herself just in time and managed to keep herself upright, gripping onto the door handle as she searched for the offending object, which turned out not to be an object at all. It was actually a pile of mail and newspapers, all yellowed with time, massed in front of the door. Just underneath the mail flap.

With trembling fingers, Yaz bent over and picked up the top paper—a newspaper, dusty and faded, the edges curling with age. She frowned and unfolded it, grimacing as the pages stuck together. She spent an inordinate amount of time unsticking them, searching through pages to find a clear date, though she knew she only need look at the first page. She was avoiding, that was it. Didn’t want to face the fear sticking in her throat, the dread sitting in her stomach.

On the fifth page, she found a clear date. Her fingers stopped shuffling through, and she stared.

June 26, 2021.

Two years. 

Two years, and the mail was piled up in Graham and Ryan’s house, five cups of tea sat cold on the table. Two years, and a thick layer of dust carpeted the entire home.

And there was no noise coming from outside.

Yaz dropped the newspaper. It landed with a thump on the top of the pile, but she wasn't even looking at it. She lurched again for the door handle, grabbed it, and pulled. It stuck on the pile of letters and newspapers, but she simply gave it a forceful, slightly desperate push, shoving the papers against the wall, then stepped out onto the stoop. 

Immediately, there wasn't much to see. In fact, there wasn't anything to see. No cars traveled the streets. No train moved on the distant tracks. There were no people about. None at all.

The entire city of Sheffield, or at least as far as she could see, was dead silent.

Yaz stared, heart jackhammering in her chest. The taste of fear rose at the back of her throat, pressed panic scraping the sides of her stomach. Once more, nausea hit her, but she swallowed it and kept staring, unable to tear her eyes away from the desolate landscape.

Everybody was gone. Or no—everybody was dead. She knew it, just as she knew a billion other half-recalled things that didn’t make sense. The truth of it sat like a pit in her stomach, gnawing at her insides.

Her family—dead. Graham and Ryan—almost surely dead as well. Gone off and never returned home, and the disease must have claimed them as it had claimed everybody else, as it was probably claiming her as well. Slowly but surely.

Yaz trembled. It occurred to her that she had never actually checked. Never done the test to confirm her diagnosis. She hadn’t wanted to, if she was being honest with herself. Hadn’t wanted to admit the truth. It was easier not to know. 

But she knew now, didn’t she?

Slowly, wary of the shaking of her fingers, Yaz raised her hand in front of her. She gulped once, then pinched her thumb and forefinger together, and rubbed.

Instantly, a waterfall of golden dust flaked off her fingers. She watched it flutter to the ground below, the blood rushing in her ears. Telltale nausea stirred in her stomach, sharpened by terror, but she didn’t move. Didn’t fight against it. Instead she just watched that golden dust rain to the ground, until the nausea boiled over into overwhelming dizziness, and then she squeezed her eyes shut, and remembered the last words the Doctor had said.

Think of me and come back— 

Yaz kept her eyes shut tight, and as the blackness consumed her, the only thing she pictured in her head was the Doctor.

—————

Thetthu stood outside the grand chamber of the High Council, and tried to pretend like they couldn't hear everything that was being said.

It was hard. It was harder not to listen in, especially when the High Council’s voices occasionally raised above a murmur, to shout or spit a sharp comment. They were clearly disgruntled, Thetthu could tell, or possibly nervous. Then, they were always nervous when the Doctor was involved.

Thetthu was too, if they were being honest. They had heard about the Doctor before, in stories and rumors, particularly those shuffled about at the Academy. But they had never met the Doctor. Nobody had, not in their class at least.

And now they might be about to. That is, if the Doctor managed to brush past a lowly, just-promoted head guard like Thetthu.

Only from the sound of the High Council’s increasingly frantic discussion, they weren't sure if they were going to get the chance.

Still, Thetthu kept their back straight and their head up, just in case that was the sort of thing that might impress the Doctor. They didn't think it was, but then, what else could they do?

Footsteps sounded in the hall.

Thetthu’s head jerked up, and before it occurred to them that they weren't, in fact, supposed to move, they swung their head around towards the source of the noise. It was coming from the right, they registered immediately, loud footsteps echoing down the hall, and for a moment Thetthu’s heart leapt. Could it possibly be—?

Then Mahrea swung around the corner, and Thetthu’s expression dropped into a scowl.

“Mahrea!” they hissed. “You're supposed to be at your post! You can't—”

But Mahrea didn't appear to be listening. She sprinted towards Thetthu, chest heaving beneath her armor. She skidded to a stop in front of Thetthu, still breathing hard, and for a moment just sucked wind, unable to answer.

“Thetthu—” she gasped, half bent over from her run. Her weapon dangled uselessly off her shoulder strap, and Thetthu had to bite their tongue to keep from snapping off a reprimand.

Only because they were friends, they reminded themselves. They were friends, so they would let it slide, just this once.

“What is it?” Thetthu asked impatiently. Mahrea was still trying to catch her breath, but at their words she attempted to straighten. She must have run all the way up from the bottom levels from where she was posted, Thetthu guessed. Despite their annoyance, they couldn't help but wince in sympathy. 

“It's—there was—” she gasped, and pointed vaguely down the hall. “I was guarding and—”

“Mahrea, I don't need the whole story,” Thetthu snapped. “Just tell me what happened. And quickly, you're disturbing the High Council. Don't you know they're awaiting the Doctor’s TARDIS?”

“Yes, that’s just it!” Mahrea straightened up completely at this, her eyes wide and panicky. “I saw it! I saw the TARDIS!”

“What?” Thetthu lost their composure completely, gaping. “You saw the Doctor?”

Mahrea shook her head. “No, see there was this girl, and I didn't notice her at first but—”

“But it was the Doctor, wasn't it?” Thetthu asked, eyes shining with excitement. For a moment, they forgot that they were the head guard, that they were supposed to be standing stiffly outside the grand chamber of the High Council. “They say she's a woman now—”

“No, she couldn't be!” Mahrea was still shaking her head. “She was human, and she—oh, Thetthu, you're going to kill me.”

“What?” Thetthu’s face dropped into a frown. “Why?”

“Because the girl, she—uh—” Mahrea gulped, as if fortifying herself, then squared her shoulders. “She stole my confession dial.”

Thetthu stared. Distantly, behind them, through the thick wooden door, they could hear the whispered murmurs of the High Council growing. Growing in volume, growing in distress. 

“She’s leaving, I don't believe—”

“The TARDIS is dematerializing!”

“She's gone, she didn't even—”

Thetthu just stared. A million questions ran through their head. They only asked one.

“But why would they steal a confession dial?”

Chapter Text

“Ryan, son, I don't think the ice cream machine is going to work.”

Ryan just shook his head, his face screwed up in frustrated concentration. “It will if I—”

“Uh, I don’t think—” Rose started to say, but it was too late. Ryan jerked the handle once more and it abruptly came loose. Ice cream spilled out of the machine, slopping over both the cone and the hand he was holding it with. He scowled, then grabbed a nearby hand towel and began to swipe away at the ice cream on his hand. Someone suppressed a strained laugh from behind and he turned to face the booth, his scowl deepening.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, eying Rose, who appeared to be the culprit. “We can’t all be mechanical geniuses. We aren't all, seeing as how things are going.”

“Oi,” Rose protested. “I was trying to tell you! The TARDIS is off. She’s as good as dead at the moment.”

Ryan just shrugged, clearly abashed, and finished cleaning his hands, then glanced at the ice cream cone in his hand—now mostly empty—and sighed. He tipped it in a nearby rubbish bin, then came around the counter and slid into the empty seat at the end of the booth. Only Graham looked up as he sat down, and flashed him a sympathetic smile.

“Shame about the ice cream,” he said. Ryan just shrugged.

“Didn't want it much anyway,” he muttered. 

Once more, a gloomy silence fell over the booth. Nobody spoke, but simply gazed despondently at the table, until, after several long seconds, Kate cleared her throat and gave an expectant look around.

“Well,” she said, then paused until one by one the occupants looked up to meet her gaze. “You've all been briefed. What do you say?”

For a moment, nobody answered. Then Rose spoke.

“We shouldn't do it.”

Kate looked to her in surprise. She opened her mouth to speak, only for Graham to beat her to it.

“Sorry, but why on earth not?” he exclaimed. “I mean any other situation I'd say yeah, don't trust a bloody invasion fleet, but it's not like we've got much choice, do we?”

“We have the shields,” Rose argued. “Which if we get working, they won't be able to touch us—”

“If we get them working,” Ryan interrupted, and when Rose threw him a look, tossed up his hands in defense. “We haven't even found the right panel yet!”

“Not with that attitude!” Rose snapped back, then immediately seemed to realize her tone, for she softened. “I'm sorry, Ryan, I didn't mean—”

“No, I know,” Ryan muttered, and gave a dismissive wave of his hand. Rose bit her tongue, and the two lapsed into an awkward silence. Then Rose coughed, and glanced abashedly at the others.

“So the shield isn’t going that well, if you can’t tell.”

“Really,” Kate stated dryly. “Well, I’m afraid that narrows our options down to two. Eradication, or acceptance of their terms.”

“Right.” Graham leaned forward, templing his hands. “Well, I think the answer’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Rose raised an eyebrow. “When we haven’t got any idea what the terms are?”

“Well, they’ve got to be better than this, haven’t they?” Graham gestured to his face, towards his eyes, where the golden flecks had begun to film, snaking across his pupils. He looked around at the others, and when nobody disagreed, sat pointedly back against the booth cushion and crossed his arms. Even in the rather small booth, his frail form seemed small, shrunken, “You ask me, a few terms are better than all dying at once. And besides, what if they’ve actually got a cure? Haven’t even thought of that, have we?”

“Uh, actually I have.” Osgood raised a shy hand, and gave an uncomfortable smile as the others all turned to her. “I mean, we have a possible avenue, don’t we? Stands to reason they might as well.”

“Right. Avenue.” Rose said. “Why don’t we work on that? Make our own cure?”

“In twelve hours?” Ryan asked. She shot him a look, then gave a grudging shrug.

“Okay, maybe not,” she admitted. “I just—I don’t like the idea of giving in to them. I mean they show up, guns blazing, and threaten to exterminate us unless we do as they say. That doesn’t sound fishy to you all?”

“I think it sounds extremely fishy,” Kate said. “But I also think that Graham and Ryan have a point. We have no shield, and no cure. We’re basically helpless.”

“Not with that attitude,” Rose grumbled. 

Kate gave her a sharp look. “It’s not an attitude, it’s realism,” she said. “We have twelve hours, or—” she glanced at her watch— “Eleven and a half, until they request somebody for negotiations. I’m assuming that’s me, since they’ve sent the message here. And I don’t think I’m going to refuse.”

“What?” Rose exclaimed. All the others looked at her in surprise. She gave a quick look around, and backtracked. “I mean—really, Kate? You’re just going to agree—”

“I’m not going to agree,” Kate corrected mildly. “I’m going to negotiate. The message never said anything about agreeing.”

Rose stared at her, mouth open, before quickly shutting it. Her cheeks colored in embarrassment.

“Right,” she mumbled. “Suppose I didn’t think about that. Doesn’t mean they won’t force it, though.”

Kate grimaced. “I’m not disagreeing, but I really don’t see what other option we have. It’s not as if we have the Doctor here to save us. And no offense, but those shields don’t seem to be coming along.”

“Yeah, but—” Rose bit her lip, clearly reluctant. Then she brightened. “But they could, couldn’t they? I mean, we’re not giving up yet, are we, Ryan?”

“Huh?” Ryan startled, and looked over to her. “Uh…no? I mean, we don’t have to?”

“Exactly.” Rose jabbed a finger at him. “You and me, we’ll keep working on those shields. Kate could try to buy us time with negotiations, and Graham and Osgood—”

“I want to study the disease,” Osgood said. “Or the mutation, rather. I think if we manage to siphon some artron energy off of this ship, we could potentially trace the point of divergence. See what makes it different, basically.”

“Alright.” Rose nodded, then turned to Kate. “That sounds good, right?”

For a moment, Kate didn’t answer. She studied Rose, then glanced around the rest of the table. Then she let out a sigh.

“It’s not a plan, is it? More like pieces of one.” She shook her head, and didn’t give anybody time to answer. “But I don’t see any other option. And if you could get those shields up—”

“We’ll have a lot more bargaining power.” Rose sat back in her seat, determination flaring in her gaze. “And we’ll have to, won’t we? At this point, it’s do or die.”

At her words, the group fell silent. Nobody rushed to speak. They simply shifted uncomfortably in their chairs, as the weight of time steadily ticking by sunk in.

Then Graham cleared his throat. “Well, that’s that for motivation, isn’t it? Now I say we get to work, before one of you lot starts writing my obituary.”

—————

For a long time, Yaz was lost in the stars. 

She couldn't feel herself anymore. Only the sensation of falling, of being scattered amidst blackness and golden swirls of time, until nothing made sense at all. 

But eventually, she heard voices.

No—one voice. Familiar.

“It's okay, Yaz—just take my hand, yeah? There we go.”

Something warm wrapped around her hand and squeezed, a comforting pressure. A hand, right—she had hands. She was—what was she? A person, not just billions of tiny atoms, though it certainly felt like it. 

She had a name, she was pretty sure.

“C’mon, Yaz, up you go.”

Something—someone?—hoisted her to her feet. She balanced shakily, and tried to look around, to find the source of that familiar voice, but there were too many stars pressed into her vision.

And she had a job she had to do, she had to fix—

“I need to find her,” she rasped, and reached out blindly, searching. “I need—”

“Alright, alright,” that soothing voice murmured, and caught her other hand as it scrabbled against fabric. “It's fine, Yaz, everything's fine. It'll take you a few minutes—”

“No!” she snatched her hands away and brought them to her face to rub at her eyes. “No, I need to find her, but I can't—it's all stars—”

Someone’s breath hitched, and then firm hands caught her arms, pulling them gently away from her face.

“Yaz—”

Yaz—that must be her name, it had the ring of it—blinked, and things began to fade into view, though blackness still lapped at the edge of her vision. A blurry shape was peering at her with concern, vaguely recognizable. No—very recognizable.

“Doctor?” Yaz croaked. 

The Doctor nodded, a relieved smile splitting her face.

“It's me, Yaz. You found me again.”

“I—did?” Yaz glanced dazedly around the room. It was, in fact, a room they were in, she realized, with brown paneled walls and a wooden floor. It had the look of an abandoned front room, sparse in furniture and heavy in dust, with the only light coming in through the window. There was an empty fireplace, a few chairs scattered around a low-sitting coffee table, and a molding rug on the floor. Yaz stared at it, then looked up to the Doctor.

“Where are we?”

The Doctor’s smile faded somewhat. 

“We’re on the planet Delm. The one we were trying to negotiate with on the ship, before they began firing at us.” Her expression twisted. “Appears they chose to side with the Child of Time.”

“Oh.” Yaz gave a dazed nod. “A ship. We're on a ship—”

“No, Yaz.” The hands gripping her arms gave her a squeeze, gentle but firm. “We were on a ship. Now we're on Delm. We're hiding from—”

“The Timekeepers,” Yaz whispered. The Doctor stopped, her brow wrinkling in confusion.

“Yes, but how—”

“You just said it,” Yaz answered. The Doctor shook her head.

“I didn't, Yaz.”

“But—” Yaz pulled her arms out of the Doctor’s grip and brought them up to her face, pressing them into her eyes. Things were starting to swirl again, everything turning out of order, and she couldn't tell when the Doctor was talking. Somebody was knocking on the door. Had knocked on the door. No—

“They're going to knock,” she said, just as there came a sharp rap from behind them. The Doctor jumped, peering over her shoulder. 

“Yaz, get behind me,” she said. Yaz frowned in confusion.

“I already am.”

“No, you're not,” the Doctor said through gritted teeth. She stepped past her, carefully maneuvering Yaz behind her back as her eyes remained fixed upon the door. Yaz readily complied, too befuddled to argue. Blackness still edged at her mind, and golden ribbons of time snaked through her thoughts, jumbling all her directions. She wasn't sure when things were happening anymore, she realized, and the thought sent a heady sense of fear through her. As if somebody had gone and swiped her feet out from under her.

The knocking came again, louder and more insistent. Yaz stared at the door, blinking every so often as it faded into different images, things that she was pretty sure weren't happening at the moment. The rapping stopped abruptly, and there came a heavy pause. She felt the Doctor, right in front of her, suck in a tense breath.

Then the door splintered in.

“Don't move!” Voices spilled in from the outside along with a sudden stream of light, illuminating swirling motes of dust. Boots crashed upon the broken wreckage of the door, sending wood splinters flying. Yaz watched the Doctor shoot her hands up, wincing at the movement, and did the same, with only some slight confusion, because they were already surrounded. Then she realized they weren't, not yet.

She was mixing things up again.

“Stay where you are!” the voice called—middle-aged voice, lacking authority. Not that it mattered, for moments later, several other soldiers fanned out from behind him, and leveled their guns at Yaz and the Doctor. Yaz felt, rather than saw, the Doctor tense, her shoulders squaring, and that was when she noticed the uneven way that the Doctor was holding herself. Her right shoulder was hunched slightly, as if it hurt to raise her hand, and she held her foot at a funny angle. Gingerly. 

It occurred to Yaz that the Doctor was—no, had—crashed down in an escape pod somewhere. She wondered where it was now.

She blinked, and noticed a long gash down the back of the Doctor’s coat. Beneath it, more torn cloth and dried blood.

“Doctor—” she began.

“Shut up!” The closest soldier swung his weapon towards her and she jumped, eyes flying to him. They traveled over his white plated armor, clearly used, his round helmet, the visor open, and landed upon his eyes—filmed over in gold. The moment they did, the soldier’s eyes widened, and he took a step back.

“Sir, we have an infected here!” he called. Quickly, the Doctor placed herself between Yaz and the soldier.

“She's under my protection,” she said, then frowned.  “How can we understand you lot anyway? Universal translators?”

“We told you to be quiet,” the first voice snarled, and Yaz turned to see the same uniform, the same dented white armor, only this man had no helmet. He had no hair either, only a shiny dark scalp and dark brown eyes, and despite the snarl in his voice, he didn't sound entirely confident. Yaz had the impression that he wasn't altogether experienced in things such as these.

“Yeah, you and what army?” the Doctor shot back. The man seemed truly taken aback by this. His eyebrows flew upwards in surprise.

“The Timekeepers,” he said. Yaz shot a glance to the Doctor, and watched her grimace.

“Right,” she muttered. “Stupid comeback, that.”

“Alright, enough talking!” the man said, and gestured with his weapon towards Yaz. “Who are you? And why are you harboring an infected? Is she even Delmite?”

“Will that change your decision?” the Doctor asked. The man cocked his head.

“What decision?”

“Whatever you're about to do with us,” the Doctor replied. When the man didn't immediately answer, she raised an eyebrow. “Well, what is it? Shoot us? Or figure out why two non-Delmites managed to land on your planet? Including an infected—you know if we were from the Shadow Proclamation she would be dead by now.”

The man stared, entirely speechless. The Doctor’s point seemed to be sinking in, Yaz figured, because he wasn't shooting them—yet. In fact, the muzzle of his weapon had sunk a few millimeters lower, as if he were actually considering something besides immediate execution.

“Who are you, then?” he grunted and, as if suddenly seeming to remember, jerked the muzzle of his weapon back to chest level. “And what are you doing in an abandoned territory? We swept this area clean ages ago.” 

“We—” the Doctor hesitated. Yaz glanced to her, and saw her eyes dart towards the weapon. “We’re—”

“Travelers,” she said, and the man’s eyes narrowed, his finger flexing on the trigger— 

“—refugees,” Yaz said. The man’s eyes swung to her, as did the muzzle of his weapon. 

“What?” he growled. “How—”

“We were escaping the Shadow Proclamation,” she fibbed, and felt the Doctor’s hand brush against hers, a question in the movement. Yaz didn’t know how to answer it. 

How could she explain that everything was happening at once? She could barely comprehend it. Her mind ached whenever she closed her eyes and felt that blackness tugging at her. Those stars, winking half-in half-out of her vision.

It hurt.

“We crashed,” she continued, and gestured vaguely towards the broken door. “There’s a ship out there, if you bother to search for it. But we come from the last planet they—they—”

“Ofera,” the Doctor provided, and her hand, brushing against Yaz’s found her fingers for a fraction of a second and squeezed. Then it was gone, back by her side, leaving Yaz to wonder if such a thing had really happened or not. “We’re from the planet Ofera. Our leaders agreed to work with the Shadow Proclamation, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t let them take her.”

And then her hand was there, reaching back to wrap around Yaz’s shoulders protectively, pulling her close. Yaz let herself be drawn into the fabric of her coat, though it smelt of dirt and blood and sweat, and even though she knew it was an act, allowed herself to feel safe, just for a moment.

The moment continued. The Doctor kept her arm around her, protective, as the man regarded them with narrowed eyes. 

“We don’t take refugees,” he grunted after several seconds. “The Timekeepers never—”

“Don’t we?” one of the other soldiers piped up. He had no helmet either, only the same worn body armor as the others, though his had a crack running down the chestplate. None of their armor looked new, Yaz noticed. It was if they had all been given it secondhand, scavenged from the dregs of the pile.

“Selek, shut up,” the first man growled, his face flushing with what might have been embarrassment. “They never said—”

“But we’re the Timekeepers too, aren’t we?” Selek shifted his weapon and, with one hand, gestured to the Doctor and Yaz. “And if they’re sick, maybe we can get them—”

“They’re not under the agreement,” the man hissed, but there wasn’t much weight behind it. He hefted his weapon again, keeping it level at the Doctor’s chest, but he was staring, frowning at the lapels of her coat, considering. For several long seconds, nobody moved.

“Hev—” Selek started, and the man’s head jerked up. He looked at Yaz and the Doctor, and scowled.

“You’re refugees,” he stated flatly. Together, Yaz and the Doctor nodded.

“And you want asylum?” he asked. Again, they nodded. For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Then he dropped his gaze to the floor, and sighed.

“Alright,” he grunted. Yaz’s heart leapt with relief, and around her shoulders, she felt the Doctor’s arm tighten. “We’ll take you back to HQ. See if they can do anything for you. They might still kill you, mind. I’m not the one in charge.”

The Doctor nodded. “We’ll take the risk. Anything. Thank you.”

The man grunted again. “Not like you pose a risk anymore. Not with the cure.”

He smiled grimly and reached up to tap the side of his head. “It’s a miracle, isn’t it?”

For a moment, Yaz had no idea what he was talking about. Then she squinted, peering closer, and realized; deep within, the man’s eyes were flecked with gold. She stared.

“You’re cured,” she whispered. Beside her, she felt the Doctor tense. She ignored it, because hope was beating fast in her chest. The Doctor had said that the cure didn’t work—but then, if it could slow things down— 

The man nodded, and his grin turned brighter. “We all are. Or, most of us. The only thing is it doesn’t stop the uninfected from falling ill, but we can cure them just as fast, can’t we? It’s a miracle, I’m telling you. Nothing like the filthy Shadow Proclamation.”

He spat on the ground, his saliva splattering through the dust. Around her shoulders, the Doctor’s arm was like a vice. Yaz felt her suck in a breath, and hurried to say something before the Doctor could break their cover.

But the man—Hev—beat her to it. He straightened and gestured towards his soldiers, then towards them. 

“C’mon,” he said. “We’ll escort you out. HQ isn’t far from here.”

The soldiers pushed them through the door and out onto a street as abandoned as the house they had just left. Other homes lined the street, most of them broken in, their doors swinging silently in the slight breeze that rustled through. Yaz stared at the houses, the thatched roofs and the dirt road, the broken furniture tossed into the street as if the residents had left in a hurry. Most of the windows on the houses were broken in. Yaz took one look around at the abandoned homes, the empty street, and for a moment she thought of Sheffield. Not Sheffield bustling and full of life, but the Sheffield she had seen on the front stoop of Graham and Ryan’s house. Utterly empty. Silent.

Yaz shuddered and blinked, forcing the images away from her mind.

They picked their way over a broken chair and a tipped over rubbish bin, the contents of which had spilled out across the street, caked with dirt and dust. Yaz frowned at the smell, and nearly tripped to catch up with the Doctor, several feet ahead of her.

“Doctor,” she hissed. The Doctor turned her head slightly, but otherwise didn’t respond. “Do you really think—”

“I don’t know,” she whispered back. “They might still kill us now, it’s only luck—”

“You don’t need to talk!” Hev called, and the Doctor fell silent. Yaz fell silent as well, biting her tongue over what she had been about to say. It hadn’t been luck. It had just been—she knew the Doctor’s explanation wasn’t going to work. Just like she’d been standing behind the Doctor, only apparently she hadn’t been. Yet. It was all incredibly confusing.

But it was dying down now, somewhat. The blackness didn’t tug so insistently at her mind, nor did stars burst in her vision every time she turned her head. All the impossible things she had seen were fading, settling back into linear time. Things were starting to make sense again.

Only she needed to help someone. She remembered that, clear as day, only she couldn’t remember who. There had been something she had done—was going to do—was she doing it now? She glanced around her, at the soldiers and the Doctor, walking tense by her side. No, they were being captured. But there was something—there had to be something—

“It won’t take us long,” Hev grunted, and Yaz startled, turning in his direction. He loped alongside her to the right and just a little ahead, and when Yaz and the Doctor looked, he pointed. “There, see?”

They followed his gaze, and Yaz’s eyes widened. There, rising not too far off in the distance, was an enormous—there was no other word for it—palace, sparkling dimly under the watery light of the gray, clouded sky. It sat white and domed, the four spires around it stretching into the sky. It reminded Yaz of the type of palace she might have imagined in a story book, only the landscape around it was no image out of a fairy tale. It was as squalid as the street they were walking down, and for a moment Yaz wondered if that was simply the natural color of the landscape, but then she glanced at the grim faces of the soldiers, and knew that it wasn’t.

“Thought you were taking us to HQ,” the Doctor said. She was studying the palace with an unreadable expression, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Are the royalty in charge?”

Hev snorted. “The royalty are dead. First to go in the disease. The people negotiated the treaty. Honestly, it was probably better that way.”

They were approaching the palace now. The road had widened and flattened, and somewhere along the way Yaz realized that it had turned paved. She made sure to keep pace with the Doctor, and half-wished that she could reach out to take her hand, if only for the comfort, but she didn’t want to appear childish. 

“Who are you taking us to?” the Doctor asked. Hev glanced at her, suspicion flaring in his gaze.

“You don’t need to know that,” he answered shortly, and hefted his rifle, picking up his pace. The others picked up their pace as well, forcing Yaz and the Doctor into a light jog.

They continued on in silence until they reached the steps of the palace. Yaz almost expected the soldiers to lead them around to a side door, but Hev simply plowed forward, right up the stairs, leaving Yaz and the Doctor and the rest of the soldiers to follow. They were panting by the time they reached the top, but Hev didn’t pause for them. He nodded at the guards, then pushed through the enormous double doors, letting them swing wide, and went straight towards a second pair of guards, placed at the bottom of a spiraling staircase.

Yaz’s eyes widened as she stepped inside the hall—and it was a hall, enormous with wide, arched ceilings, marbled floors, and dazzling chandeliers, none of which were lit. Her eyes traveled over the finery around the edges of the room—vases and plants, some of which were smashed—before her eyes fell back to Hev, who was speaking in hushed tones with the guards. Yaz couldn’t make out what he was saying, but then one of the guards shook his head vigorously, and Yaz’s heart sank.

The Doctor leaned in close, the lapels of her coat brushing against Yaz’s shoulder. “I don’t think it’s looking too good for us.”

“Noticed, yeah,” Yaz whispered, her eyes still on the guard. “What are we gonna do?”

The Doctor grimaced. “I have the psychic paper, but with all these guns pointing at us—”

“Hev!”

Hev turned, as did the Doctor and Yaz, to the new voice. A woman, dressed in the same white armor as the soldiers wore, strode across the floor. A helmet obscured her face, and when she spoke again, her voice came through distorted.

“Hev, why are you bringing two civilians to—”

“Uh—” Hev snapped to attention, weapon cradled across his chest. His eyes flickered nervously over the woman. “Yes, ma’am, we found these two, refugees from Ofera, and they seek asylum. I wasn’t sure if we could bring non-Delmites to the processing center, so—”

“We shouldn’t be bringing in any non-Delmites at all,” she snapped, and turned to Yaz and the Doctor. She had only a futuristic looking pistol holstered to her waist, and as they stared at her she shifted her weight to her hip and crossed her arms.

“Refugees?” she asked. “Do you have papers?”

Instantly, Yaz felt the Doctor untense beside her.

“Yes, actually, we do.” With one hand, she reached slowly into her pocket. The woman watched them, or at least Yaz assumed she was watching them under her visor, as the Doctor removed the psychic paper and flipped it open.

“Refugees,” the Doctor repeated. “From planet—”

But the moment she saw the psychic paper, the woman’s body language completely changed. Her arms fell to her sides and she straightened, then took a step forward.

“Hev, get out,” she said, then corrected herself. “Actually, no—you two, come with me.”

With no warning, she reached forward and grasped the Doctor’s wrist, ignoring her yelp of surprise to drag her towards a darkly paneled door on the side of the room. Yaz stared for a moment, then leapt to life and followed.

The moment they reached the room, the woman opened the door and shoved them into what looked like an abandoned office, then turned and slammed the door shut before spinning around and crossing her arms.

“Oh, you,” she said, and shook her head. “I could kill you.”

Yaz stared, nonplussed. So did the Doctor.

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor said after a moment’s pause. “Do I know—”

The woman shook her head again. “You daft—”

She reached up and gripped her helmet, then in one swift movement, pulled it off and tucked it under her arm, revealing a mass of curls and a pretty face.

Yaz had no idea who she was. She stared at her, then looked to the Doctor, who was gaping with her mouth wide open. Her face had gone completely pale.

“Doctor?” she said, as the silence stretched on. “Who is—?”

For a moment, the Doctor didn’t answer. Then she swallowed and took a step forward, her eyes roaming over the woman in utter disbelief.

“R-River?”

Chapter Text

“Do you think she'll be long up there?”

Rose looked up at Ryan’s question, glanced at the floor panel she was currently trying to pry up, then sat back on her heels.

“Who, Kate?”

Ryan nodded. “Yeah. How long do negotiations usually take, anyway?”

Rose shrugged. “Hard to say. Could be hours. Could be days. In my experience, the longer it takes, the better. Usually means they're actually hashing something out.”

“Huh.” Ryan considered this. “Suppose that buys us more time for this, don't it?”

He cast a rather dispirited hand over the torn up floor panels, and Rose grimaced.

“Okay, so maybe it’s taking a little longer than I thought,” she admitted. “But once we find them—”

“We still have to figure out how to make a whole shield around the Earth.” Ryan pointed out. He shook his head. “I can’t believe we’re doing this. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Are we sure that part’s even possible?”

“We’ll find out, won’t we?” Rose gave him a bright grin, which faltered at Ryan’s doubtful expression. “Okay, to be fair, that’s where my dimensional engineering experience will come in. Should mean we have something of a fighting chance. We’ve just got to find the damn shields.”

Ryan sighed. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. I just get the feeling the whole thing is hanging over our heads. I mean, if we don’t manage—”

“We will,” Rose cut in, voice firm. Ryan gave her a look, and she softened slightly, then sighed. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be harsh. It’s just—I’ve dealt with a few of these things before, and I’ve always found the best way to think of it is just to pretend that you’re going to win, at all costs. It’s hard, but if you manage to put all those doubts out of your mind, then you’ve only got one thing to think about—victory.”

She smiled on the last word, and Ryan just studied her, not entirely convinced. He chewed his lip, frowning, then let out a sigh. “I see where you’re coming from, but it’s not all that easy, is it? I mean, look at us!” He gestured around the console room. “Can’t even find the panels while Kate is up there agreeing to who knows what, and even if we manage to find it, who knows if we can get this shield working! It just looks pretty desperate, is all.”

He finished with a morose shake of his head, then looked back to Rose, only to find her still smiling. It was a soft sort of smile, entirely understanding, and when their eyes met, she studied him for a moment, then gave a small shrug. 

“You wanna know something I learned from the Doctor?” she asked. Ryan hesitated a moment, then nodded. Rose’s smile grew, then turned just a little sad.

“He—well, she, used to be he—taught me the best lesson when you’re in an impossible fight. That sometimes, right when you’re at the worst possible moment, and nothing looks like it’s going to succeed—then that’s the best moment to stand up and fight back. And I’ve always remembered that, and it’s worked pretty well so far. Got myself out of some really bad scrapes with it.” 

She finished with another one of those small shrugs, and Ryan stared at her for a moment, and didn’t respond. The moment stretched on, into a second, then two.

Finally he said, “That sounds like something the Doctor would say.”

Rose laughed. “It does, doesn’t it? She likes her big speeches.”

“She does.” Ryan glanced around the console room again, brow joined together, as if seeing it in a new light. But he didn’t pick up the wrench he had set down. Instead, after several moments, he spoke.

“Rose, you mind if I visit my grandad? Reckon I could use a break. A short one, if you don’t mind.”

Rose nodded. “’Course. Reckon I could use one too, now you’ve mentioned it.”

Ryan smiled and, as Rose heaved herself to her feet, followed suit. He brushed himself off as he straightened, then nodded farewell and turned to make his way through the diner, snagging a dish towel to wipe his hands on the way out.

He was still wiping off the considerable amount of grease on his hands as he stepped into the examination room, where Graham was once again propped up on a hospital bed. He looked up as Ryan entered, and gave a tired grin.

“Starting to get sick of these,” he grumbled, and patted the white paper covering the surface. “Reminds me too much of hospitals.”

“Sorry about that.” Osgood turned as Ryan came in and shot him a wave, before scooping up several small containers sitting on the counter before her. All of them contained gold dust, and all of them were labeled.

“I’m off to the lab,” she informed them, and cast Ryan an apologetic grin. “Sorry, but I’ve got to get these tested. Might be close to a breakthrough.”

“All means,” Ryan replied, but she was already whisking off, containers gathered in both hands, through the doorway and out of sight. He watched her go, then shook his head with a smile and turned to Graham, who smiled wanly. The bags under his eyes seemed to have sunken in further, and as Ryan watched, he suppressed a shiver.

“Is she putting you through the wringer?” he asked. Graham shook his head.

“No, she’s fine,” he answered. “Just a lot of samples. It’s the illness that’s getting to me, I’ll admit. It’s cold in here, isn’t it?”

Ryan shook his head, his smile fading. “Not really.”

“Oh.” Graham lapsed into silence, as did Ryan, and they stayed like that for several moments. Finally, Ryan cleared his throat and asked:

“So, you think you might be getting anywhere? Er, in terms of a cure?”

Graham shrugged. “Tough one to ask me, honestly. I don’t understand half of what she’s talking about—particles and energy and radiation. The gist of it is that if we compare Gold’s samples with the regular artron energy, we might figure out just how it mutated. And then trace it back, using Inosi-something technology.”

Ryan nodded. “Alright. I mean, sounds as good as anything else we’ve got.” Then he shrugged. “Mind you, that ain’t saying much.”

Graham looked up, and gave a sad smile. “So, suppose that means the shield isn’t going well?”

Ryan groaned, burying his face in his hands. “No, it isn’t! And Rose is bloody optimistic, considering we haven’t even found the right panel yet! And considering Kate is already up there negotiating—” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine we have much time left, and I’ve no idea what we’re supposed to do.”

Graham pursed his lips. He didn’t immediately respond, but drew his arms across his chest and glanced at the thermometer on the far wall. It read 23C, and he stared at it for a moment, then sighed and dropped his gaze.

“Son, you don’t actually think…you don’t think that cure is real, do you?”

There was a hopeful edge to his tone, and Ryan caught it immediately. His head jerked up, and his brow crinkled.

“Why, do you think it is?”

“Well…” Graham grimaced. “You’ve got to wonder, don’t you? I mean, I’ve been turning it over in my head, and I don’t really see a bait and switch. ‘Course, I’m not the leader of an alien fleet, so who knows. But…”

He shrugged. “It makes sense, don’t it? Kill us, or cure us. If they didn’t have a cure, why would they offer?”

Ryan frowned. “Yeah, but when have you ever met an invasion fleet with good intentions? How many of those have we met with the Doctor?” He shook his head. “I dunno, grandad. I mean, it sounds good, but the more I think about it…there’s got to be something funny going on, doesn’t there?”

“Does there?” Graham asked. There was an earnest, almost pleading look to his face. “I mean, I know how it seems, but…”

He trailed off, then sighed. “Oh, I dunno. Suppose it doesn’t matter now, does it? Kate is up there doing negotiations, and we’re down here on plan B. Well, plan B and plan C.”

Ryan snorted. “Might have to move on to plan D, way things are going. Not that I know what that might be. Complete and total surrender at this point.”

Graham gave a cynical smile. “Aye, but that’s just circling around to plan A.”

Ryan tossed up his hands in faux-defeat. “Okay, fine! I’ll just wait for a miracle. Like somebody who actually knows how to take apart a TARDIS. Somebody who—what?”

He broke off, frowning, at Graham’s confused expression. Graham shook his head, then tilted it to one side. 

“Do you hear that?”

Ryan shook his head. “Hear wha—”

And then he broke off too, and froze, at the most familiar sound in the world. He stared at Graham, who was now staring over his shoulder, his jaw slowly dropping to the floor. 

“Son—” he whispered, and shakily pointed. “It’s—”

Hardly daring to believe it, Ryan turned around. And nearly sagged at the sight before him.

Because wheezing into existence was the most welcome thing Ryan had ever seen.

It was the Doctor’s TARDIS.

————

Yaz looked between the woman—River—and the Doctor in disbelief.

“You know each other?”

“Yes,” River answered immediately. “We’re—”

“Old friends,” the Doctor said. River paused, and gave her a look.

“Married,” she finished. Her eyes traveled up and down the Doctor’s form, and she gave a smile, tinged with nostalgia.

“New look,” she said. “I really like it.”

“Do you?” the Doctor replied, and there was something in her tone that had Yaz glancing over sharply, just in time to catch the red that tinged her cheeks. Something flashed through her in that moment that she couldn't quite describe. Hot, and uncomfortable.

She forcibly ignored it.

The Doctor shook her head, and her own smile was brimming with an awful sadness, a hint of betrayal.

“Oh, River.” She gestured with her hands around the room. “What are you doing here? With them?”

“Really, Doctor?” River’s eyebrows rose, her mouth twisting. She crossed her arms and scoffed. “That's pretty rich coming from you.”

The Doctor clearly didn't have a response to this. Her mouth pressed into a hard line and she stuck her hands in her pockets, rocking back on her heels. Her jaw worked, and for several moments she didn't speak.

“How did you know I was working with the Shadow Proclamation?” she spat at last. “I never advertised—”

“Please.” River snorted. “Like you need to. You're you, Doctor. The moment there’s a universe-ending crisis, everybody wants to know where the Doctor is. And which side she's on.”

“I'm not on a side,” the Doctor retorted. “It's not like that at all. I offered the Shadow Proclamation my ability to find a cure, and I never supported—”

“Neither did I,” River said softly. “I suppose we've both been getting our hands dirty, haven't we?”

For a moment, the Doctor didn't answer. She just stared at her, rigid as a board, her jaw twitching and her fists bunching the inside fabric of her pockets. Then she let her gaze sweep over her, taking in her white armor, her holstered pistol, her helmet tucked under her arm. At last she let out a sharp breath, nostrils flaring.

“Why this side, then?” she asked. “If you can’t help getting your hands dirty, why choose the Child of Time?”

River smiled. “Doctor, if you're going to choose a side, wouldn't you choose the one that seems to know what they're doing?”

“So that's it.” Yaz watched as the Doctor let her eyes slide shut, a look of incredible fatigue upon her face. “That's it. Just throw your lot in with the toughest side. Not—”

“Don't be daft.” River’s sharp tones cut through the reprimand, and the Doctor’s eyes jerked open, surprise flashing across her face. “I never said the toughest side. I said the side with the most information. What else do you think I'm here for?”

“I—” the Doctor stared. Dimly, Yaz realized she was staring as well, and she looked from the Doctor to River and back again, that same strange feeling brewing in her chest. Not exactly betrayal, though it echoed of it. Instead her heart clenched, and her stomach dropped, and it annoyed her suddenly, that here she was standing between the two, and neither of them were so much as looking at her. 

“Sorry, but who are you?” she burst out before the Doctor could speak. River turned to her, then smiled and stepped forward, sticking out a hand.

“Professor River Song. Archaeologist, and her wife.” Her gaze darted to the Doctor and she tilted her head to accompany the movement. Yaz stared, and didn’t reach out to take her hand.

“She never said she had a wife.” 

And what else hasn’t she told us? The thought ran through her head, petty and mean, but River just smiled warmly.

“Doesn’t like to mention me. I’m a bit of the family shame. Can’t keep from running off, see. Me or her.” Her fingers flexed, and she shot the Doctor a glance, though something flashed within. Pain, maybe. Yaz watched her gaze fall just for a moment to the Doctor’s pockets, where her hands were buried, and it occurred to her that she had never seen her wear a wedding ring.

Something in her chest unclenched. Sympathy rushed in instead. Yaz eyed her hand for a moment longer, then reached out to take it.

River pumped it up and down once, twice, then let go and stepped back. 

“So, I’m assuming you want to hear what I have to say?” This was directed at the Doctor, who didn’t look at her. She kept her gaze on the far wall, her hands balled in her pockets, then sighed and dropped her chin.

“Yes. ‘Course I do. We need to know everything we can.”

“That’s what I thought.” River’s voice was brisk, but her eyes softened at the Doctor’s acquiescence, and she turned and placed her helmet on the desk in the center of the room before turning back to face them. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.” The Doctor stepped forward and met River’s gaze, her expression flickering to life with a sudden intensity both familiar and foreign to Yaz. She recognized that old earnestness, that desire to learn and understand, to solve the puzzle, but now it was lined with a new desperation she couldn’t recall ever seeing before. Not on Tsurunga, not with the Solitract. Not even on Ranskoor Av Kolos, when Yaz had been certain she’d been about to say goodbye to her family forever.

This was new, and frightening.

“Everything you’ve found out,” the Doctor repeated, her eyes fast upon River’s. “All of it. Especially about him.”

“Him?” Yaz looked at her in confusion.

“The Child of Time,” the Doctor said, not tearing her eyes from River’s face. “The one who’s in charge of this whole mess. That’s what he calls himself at least, though I’ve no idea—”

“Elijah.”

“Huh?” The Doctor stopped, scrunching her nose. 

“Elijah,” River repeated, and crossed her arms, shifting her weight to one hip. She glanced from the Doctor to Yaz, who simply shook her head. “His name is Elijah. Rather poetic, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, a little too much, you ask me,” the Doctor growled, and ran a hand through her hair, pondering. “Right. Elijah. Sounds like he chose that one himself too. Just burying himself, isn’t he?”

River snorted. “I don’t doubt it. Mind you, I’ve never met him. I’m not high up enough for that, though I know people who are. That’s where I get most of my information. Secondhand.”

“Better than nothing,” the Doctor muttered. She turned abruptly on her heel and began to pace, back and forth across the small space of the room. Both River and Yaz watched her go, and when their eyes met, River gave Yaz a wink.

“Grumpy one, isn’t she?” she said.

“Uh—” Startled, Yaz didn’t know how to respond. No, she wanted to say. No, she’s not like this at all, she’s kind and wonderful and she’s got a smile big enough to light up a whole room, and she tells the stupidest jokes, and I don’t know this person at all, I really don’t—

“A little bit,” she responded, and from across the room, heard the Doctor’s exasperated “Oi!” It wasn’t a cheerful sort of exasperation, only tired and a little bitter, but River just gave her another kind wink, and Yaz found herself smiling.

“Right,” the Doctor muttered, swinging around to face River and Yaz. “So we know his name. I suppose you know his cure’s a load of rubbish as well?”

Now it was River’s turn to look surprised. She shook her head, mouth open. “I—”

The Doctor looked up, and gave River a bitter smile. “Oh, River, you think I’d throw away a perfectly good cure just because I didn’t think of it?”

River stared at her a moment, then snapped her mouth shut.

“Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised,” she answered stiffly, though Yaz could still see the shock evident in her eyes. “So you’re telling me—”

“The cure doesn’t work,” the Doctor responded tiredly. “I’ve gone through it, even nabbed a few patients to examine and it—it only slows it down. Great for a year, maybe, but it won’t buy them much time. Won’t buy you lot much time.”

“Hmm.” River nodded, her lips pursed into a thin line. She sucked in a breath, then let it out slowly, and said, “Well, suppose I was a little harsh on you. Can’t say our track record is much cleaner.”

The Doctor shrugged, and rocked back on her heels. “Dirty hands.”

River nodded, and for a moment, silence fell over the room. Yaz took the time to look between the two, noting the odd distance at which they stood, the way they weren’t quite looking at each other. Or rather, River was watching the Doctor, as the Doctor studied the ground, her brow furrowed in concentrated thought.

It was River who broke the silence. “I suppose you’d want to know that he’s Ithurian.”

“What?” The Doctor’s head jolted up sharply, her eyes landing upon River. “Ithurian? Really?”

River nodded. “I don’t know how useful that could be, but it’s something.”

“It is.” The Doctor’s gaze dropped back to the floor, the crinkle in her brow deepening.

“Sorry, but what’s Ithurian?” Yaz asked, once it became clear neither of them were actually planning to explain.

“Ithurians are a humanoid species,” the Doctor responded without looking up. “Very similar to humans—actually, somewhat related. They evolve in your future. They’re peculiar in that they’re sensitive to large concentrations of artron energy.”

“Sensitive in what way?” Yaz asked.

“Visions,” River answered. She too, was watching the Doctor, but at Yaz’s question she shifted to face her. “They can see the future, if they’re exposed to large masses of artron energy. Though I’m not sure what that could do with anything.”

“Me neither.” The Doctor studied the floor a moment longer, then abruptly jerked her head up. “River, I need to know more about him. I need whatever information you have, or can gather—”

“I can do you one better.” River was smiling, and the Doctor frowned, nonplussed.

“One better?”

“Than information,” River answered. Her smile grew, sparkling impishly. “Give me a few hours, and I can arrange for you to meet him.”

Chapter Text

For a moment, neither Graham nor Ryan moved. Then Graham slid off the examination table, wincing slightly with the movement, and brushed past Ryan.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered. “I honestly don't believe—”

“Me neither,” Ryan replied. He stepped forward to be level with Graham, his eyes still fixed upon the TARDIS. “But who else—?”

And then the doors opened and somebody who was most definitely not the Doctor poked her head out. She gave a look around, and spotted Graham and Ryan immediately.

“Oh my god, it worked!” Clara’s eyes widened and a disbelieving grin split her face. She stepped fully out of the TARDIS, still grinning, only for it to falter as they simply stared. “Why, what's—”

And then she glanced at the TARDIS, and realization struck. “Ooh—”

She turned back to Ryan and Graham and grimaced. “Sorry, I know what it must have looked like.”

“Yeah—” Ryan's voice came choked. “How did you—”

“It's a long story,” Clara answered. Next to Ryan, Graham put a comforting hand on his shoulder, then hit Clara with a discerning look, square in the eyes.

“I think we have time,” he said quietly. Clara nodded.

“Right. One question though.” She cast her hand around the room. “What is this place?”

Graham stared. “You don't know?”

Clara shook her head. “I snagged one of your jackets I found on the TARDIS. Figured I’d find you together, and Rose. Where's Rose, by the way?”

“Working.” It was Ryan who spoke up this time, his voice slightly shaky but firm all the same. “Working on our plan to save Earth. Taking apart your TARDIS, mainly Well, expanding the shields. Only we can’t seem to find them.”

Clara gaped. Outrage flashed across her face, but then she shook her head and shuffled it away. “Okay, alright. Ripping up my TARDIS. I’ll process that later. Maybe And is this, then—?”

“UNIT,” Graham confirmed. “Rose took us to UNIT, and we've been here ever since. Working. Not very successfully, mind.”

“Right.” Clara opened her mouth, shut it again, then nodded. “Okay. That's good. Well, Ryan and Graham, I think we've got a lot to discuss.”

“Do we?” Graham’s eyes swept over the TARDIS, the weathered blue doors and the familiar PHONE FOR POLICE sign. Then his eyes fell back to Clara.

“Yeah, you're right. I think we do.”

—————

It was funny, Yaz reflected, how waiting areas seemed to look the same no matter which time or galaxy. This one was no more than a bench in a hallway outside a room which apparently contained a transmat beam, something Yaz only had a vague understanding of. The walls were paneled with dark wood, the lights were dim or maybe broken, and there was a guard at the end of the hallway, who occasionally cast Yaz and the Doctor disapproving looks, as if to discourage conversation.

Not that they needed the help. River had gone off to speak to somebody important about getting them an audience, leaving Yaz and the Doctor to wait silently on the bench, their eyes straight ahead and their bodies a careful foot apart.

Every so often, Yaz would risk a glance at the Doctor. She never glanced back, never seemed to notice, just studied the opposite wall with her arms loosely crossed, an unreadable expression on her face. It was almost as if she were deliberately ignoring Yaz, or perhaps ignoring the tension sitting between them, as taut as a rubber band stretched to its breaking point. Yaz could feel it pressing down on her chest as well, sitting uncomfortably in her stomach, blotted out only by a sick sense of dread that had been with her since her first jump. The kind that could only come from knowing she was about to die. 

And the Doctor wouldn't even look at her.

Yaz let out a long sigh, closer to a huff. The Doctor didn't reply. She tried again, eying her, and when she still didn't receive a reply, nearly let out a real huff instead. She caught herself, however, and instead glanced to the Doctor, then to her own shoes. She studied them for a long moment, trying to decide on a question.

Finally she said, “Doctor, where are we?”

“Where are we?” The Doctor’s brow crinkled and she at last looked over. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—” Yaz gestured vaguely around the hall. “What galaxy is this? Where did I—?”

End up. She didn't finish the sentence. The Doctor seemed to understand. She turned her gaze back to the opposite wall, arms still crossed, and scrutinized it a long moment before speaking.

“We’re in the fourth quadrant of galaxy Y4Xi, on the planet Delm. Year 2554, somewhere thereabouts. Can't remember which one exactly.”

“Year 2554?” Yaz’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Hang on—so we're in the future? I—jumped into the future?”

“That's usually how it works, yes,” the Doctor replied. Her eyes stayed fixed on the far wall. Her jaw was tight. “Jump through time, spread the disease. You seem to have a fair bit of control, which isn't always the case. Then again, most are too frightened to try.”

She was talking to Yaz, but she wasn't even looking at her. Yaz stared, and somewhere deep in her chest, resentment stirred. Hot, angry. And maybe it was silly, but she'd been waiting months on end to see the Doctor, to not feel alone again, and now the Doctor was here, not a foot away, and Yaz felt more alone than ever.

“Why won't you look at me?” she asked, and there must have been something jagged in her tone that finally had the Doctor looking over.

“Huh?”

Yaz flung a hand toward the far wall. “That—you keep staring at a blank wall, and you won't even—you won't even turn your head! Are you mad at me, or something?”

This was loud enough to catch the attention of the guard, who threw them a sharp look but otherwise stayed in his spot, far down the hall. Yaz barely noticed him. She stared at the Doctor, who stared back, eyes sweeping over her form—her ragged police uniform, torn and dirtied safety vest, dusty boots. She lingered on her eyes, studying Yaz with an intensity she couldn't remember ever seeing before. As if trying to see past something Yaz didn't even know was there.

Then her face crumpled, just for a fraction of a second, and she looked back to the opposite wall.

“I'm not mad at you, Yaz,” she said carefully. “I just—”

“What?” Deep inside, Yaz’s heart sank. Just for a moment, she’d thought the Doctor had been about to apologize, or at least explain, only—nothing. “Is it—it's not because I'm ill, is it?”

And the moment she said those words, a chill of fear swept through her chest, choking her. Because logically, she knew she had Gold’s. Had been sick for a while now, clearly. Probably didn't have long left.

But accepting it was another thing.

The Doctor didn't immediately respond. She sighed, and dropped her gaze to the floor, and let it hang there.

“It's not because you're ill,” she said at last. She turned to Yaz then, and studied her for a long moment. Then, to Yaz’s surprise, she reached out with two gentle fingers and touched them to Yaz’s cheek, just underneath her eye, as if to wipe away a tear.

“It's that,” she said. “Seeing it. Watching it affect—” she broke off, just for a moment. “Affect you. It's not something I wanted to see. Ever.”

Then she brought her fingers away, as quickly as they had come. For a moment Yaz sat there, frozen. Slowly, she lifted her own fingers to the spot the Doctor had touched, just beneath her eye, as if she could feel what she knew had to be. The gold in her eyes, spreading. 

She wondered how far along it was.

After a moment she lowered her hand and looked down, biting back a painful lump in her throat. Then she nodded, a quick jerk of her head. 

“So that’s it then? You just—ran away?” The Doctor flinched, and inside, Yaz cringed. She hadn't meant it to be harsh—but then, how else could it sound? The fact of it hung between them, a near physical tension, and it ached. Ached of betrayal, ached of I-don't-know-you-anymore. The Doctor looked stricken, and it hurt to see, but Yaz pressed on anyway.

“Is that why you left?” she asked. “Because you didn't want to see us sick?”

The Doctor shook her head. Her lips, pressed together, trembled. “No, Yaz, I—I got a call from the Shadow Proclamation. They needed my help, and that was before—I didn't realize—well, you know. And then I stayed. I was more needed here.”

“Uh huh.” Yaz’s eyes roamed over her face. “But why did you lie? Why couldn't you warn us, or something? We sat there for months, Doctor, just waiting, watching Graham—”

And my mum, a voice inside her head screamed. Her stomach plunged. Of course, she might not even get the chance to see her again, before—

“I'm sorry.” The Doctor’s voice jerked Yaz out of her reverie. She looked at her, astonished.

“What did you say?”

“I'm sorry.” The Doctor closed her eyes slowly, and turned to the front, leaning back to let her head rest against the wall. Yaz watched her, studying the shadows under her eyes, the lines drawn into her face. She looked haggard, exhausted.

“It was stupid and careless of me,” the Doctor said. Her eyes stayed shut. “Leaving you lot alone, relying on my own overconfidence. I thought I could beat this thing, or at least make some progress before it got to you all. I never thought it would come early.”

“Come early?” Yaz frowned. “What do you mean, early?” 

The Doctor opened her eyes and looked over. “Six months. It wasn't supposed to hit you lot for another six months. But somehow it started the moment I left, and I don't know why.”

“Yeah, but—” Yaz sat back, her brow crinkling in confusion. “You said it can spread back and forth through time, so that makes sense, doesn't it?”

The Doctor shook her head. “It's not that strong, or we'd all be long dead. No, it can spread about three months into the past or the future from the point of contact. Which means—”

She stared at the far wall, her brow furrowed. “Hang on—”

“Doctor.”

Both their heads jolted up, then swung towards River’s voice, approaching from the end of the hall. She still wore her white armor, but had left her helmet behind, and had chosen instead to sweep her curls back into a thick ponytail. She smiled as she came closer, but it didn't mask the displeasure in her eyes or the rigid set of her jaw, and Yaz’s stomach twinged with worry at the sight.

“What is it?” The Doctor put her hands on the bench as if to stand, but didn't push herself immediately to her feet. Instead she waited, poised. “Did you get it? The audience?”

River nodded, but her eyes moved past the Doctor, sweeping instead over Yaz.

“I did,” she said. Her eyes stayed upon Yaz for a moment, before shifting back to the Doctor. “Only one problem.”

“Why, what?” the Doctor demanded. River grimaced.

“I got an audience, for you, only. Yaz has to stay behind.”

—————

“So you found her,” Graham stated flatly, the moment Clara finished her explanation. They were sitting around a booth in the diner and had been joined by Rose, who hadn’t said much throughout her story, but only listened with a deepening furrow in her brow. 

“And you left Yaz behind,” Ryan said. Clara glanced sharply at him, and her expression tightened.

“I left her with the Doctor,” she corrected. “The safest place in the universe. And I didn’t have much choice—the ship was crashing, we had nowhere else to go.”

“Right.” Ryan didn’t seem entirely pleased with this explanation, but he didn’t push. Instead he just eyed her for a moment, then looked to Graham. Something passed between them, and then Graham sighed, and dropping his chin into his hands. 

“So the Doctor is still out there somewhere, with Yaz, and we’ve got no hope of bringing them back, is that it?” he asked. Clara hesitated, then nodded.

“Basically,” she admitted. “And I’m sorry, I know I promised I would bring her back, but—”

“Yeah,” Ryan said. Clara stopped, and looked to him, and for a moment, he just watched her. Then he let out a heavy breath, dangerously edged with tears, and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He glanced at the door over her shoulder, then at the counter, then studied the table.

“Suppose you did all you could,” he muttered after several moments’ pause. Clara stared at him, until he looked up, and shifted uncomfortably. Then she jerked her gaze away, and looked to Rose instead, who was watching her in sympathy.

“Not much more you could have done, I reckon,” Rose said. Her hand twitched, as if she wanted to lay a comforting palm across Clara’s hands, placed upon the table, but she didn’t. Instead she swallowed and said, “So—what did you say he was called? The Child of Time? That’s his fleet?”

Clara nodded. “Him and his Timekeepers. Least, that’s what they call themselves. It’s one of those convert-or-die situations, only he actually seems to mean it about the converting bit.”

Ryan frowned at this, but Graham leaned forward eagerly. The golden film over his eyes caught the light. “Hang on? You mean he actually offers a cure? It’s not a sham?”

Clara shook her head. “No—or well, he does offer a cure, but it doesn’t work, according to the Doctor. It only slows it down, and in exchange you’re pretty much his. His planet, his people, his fleet. That’s how he gathers his troops, from the sound of it. Just gets the people he cures to hand them over.”

Graham sat back in his chair, deflated, but Ryan was still staring off into the distance, frowning.

“Hang on. That doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“Huh?” The others looked to him. Rose shook her head, and grimaced.

“Honestly Ryan, I hate to say it but that makes a dreadful amount of sense to me.” 

Ryan just shook his head, then looked at the others. “No, but—that doesn’t make sense for us. We’re just a—a what do you call it?”

“Level five planet,” Rose supplied helpfully. 

“Yeah, that one. We don’t have any ships, or anything. So how is he going to convert us? Why would he, anyway? We don’t have any way to help him.”

For a beat, nobody said anything. They simply stared at Ryan, all three of them, as the penny dropped. Then, as one, they paled.

Clara was the one to break the silence. She looked at the others, all pale as ghosts, and said, “I think we best get back to working on that shield.”

—————

Yaz reacted before the Doctor, leaping to her feet.

“No way,” she said roughly, staggering just a bit as dizziness swept through her. The blackness hadn’t entirely gone, she realized, nor had the confusion. It had diminished to the background, but it lingered, like vertigo. “I’m going too.”

The Doctor rose to her feet beside her, coat rustling, and reached out to steady her.

“Yaz,” she said quietly. “Let me.”

“No,” Yaz spun around, ignoring the protest of both her head and her stomach. “You can’t just go off on your own again! Last time you did, you—”

She choked on the word, and fell silent. The Doctor stared at her as if she’d been struck. 

“I won’t leave again,” she said. Her whole voice, her whole stance, was stiff as a board. Her fists were balled, her knuckles white. “Yaz, I’m just going up to talk.”

“Yeah, and he could kill you, couldn’t he?” she shot back. “He could shoot you right there, or—”

But the Doctor was shaking her head, a slow, sad movement. “No, he can’t, Yaz.”

“What?” Yaz paused, and deep in the back of her mind, it occurred to her that she was being overemotional. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to reel it in, not when the Doctor was about to go off once again on something that could, for all Yaz knew, be a suicide mission. 

The Doctor smiled, and swept a hand over herself. “I have a personal timelock, remember? He shouldn’t be able to kill me, least not in any way I know of. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“But—” Yaz balked. She still had plenty of arguments on her tongue, ready to fall from her lips, but the Doctor’s shoulders were stiffening, her jaw setting, as if she were done arguing. As if she had already decided.

“Yaz—” River stepped forward, and Yaz looked to her helplessly. Part of her wanted to point at the Doctor and scream can’t you argue with her? She’s your wife, isn’t she? But that awful understanding glimmered in River’s eyes, the same kind Yaz had caught in those sly winks she had passed behind the Doctor’s back. The kind of understanding that was far too resigned to the Doctor’s ways. 

“I can stay with you.” She nodded to the bench Yaz and the Doctor had been sitting on moments before. “She should come in and out through that room. It probably won’t take more than an hour at most. Maybe less. And if anything goes wrong, I’ll help you out of here.”

Yaz stared at her. “That’s not—” 

That wasn’t what she was worried about at all. What did she care about herself, at this point? But she could see the firm look in the Doctor’s eyes, saw it echoed in River’s, and knew she had no winning argument. So she looked between the two, then swallowed dryly, and nodded.

“Fine,” she spat, allowing just a hint of bitterness to seep into her tone. “But I won’t leave without you, Doctor. I’ll be here until you come back.”

For the barest fraction of a second, the Doctor’s eyes widened in surprise. Then she gulped, and gave a solemn nod.

“Well then, Yasmin Khan,” she said. “I’ll just have to make sure to come back.”

Then she stuck her hands in her pockets, gave them both one last look, and brushed past Yaz to the door on the opposite side of the hall, leading to the transmat room.

—————

The Doctor barely had time to examine the transmat room before she was whisked away.

She stepped inside, heard the door click shut behind her, and managed a brief glance around—crude transmat blockers, controls, all clearly temporary—before a bright light flashed before her eyes and she felt every cell in her body painlessly dissolve.

They reformed themselves not a fraction of a second later, on a white synthetic mat in the middle of a wide semicircle of a room. She turned around, and spotted an enormous bay window curving behind her, not dissimilar to that of the meeting room she had been standing in not hours earlier. The planet below was Delm’s familiar green and red, and she studied it for a moment before turning back to face the front.

The room was large, and very empty. The walls were an unburnished white, and sourceless light emanated from the ceiling. It was the impressive, expansively empty type of room the Doctor guessed they used for negotiations. Easy to make a visiting leader sweat when the planet they were trying to save was literally staring them in the back.

There was a wide door staring her down at the back wall. The moment she laid her eyes upon it, there came a pneumatic hiss, the door slid open, and a man stepped through.

He was a young man, to the Doctor’s surprise. In fact, he couldn't have been more than twenty-five, a lanky fellow with shocks of red hair falling over a pale, freckled face. He stood simply dressed in a white shirt and trousers, the seams lined with golden thread.

His eyes, the Doctor noticed, were a flat, dull gold.

He was grinning as he stepped through the entrance, but the moment his eyes connected with the Doctor, the grin faltered, just for a fraction of a second. Then it was up again, his face smoothed over with such impeccable blankness that the Doctor nearly doubted she'd seen it at all.

Nearly.

“Hello.” He gave a pleasant smile, his hands joined together in front of his chest. His eyes roamed over the Doctor, hungry and sharp, and his grin widened. “So you're our turncoat.”

“Turncoat?” The Doctor’s eyebrows rose, then the logic flicked in, and she nodded. “Oh yes. That's me. Sick of working for the Shadow Proclamation. They're a nasty lot.”

“They are.” The man surveyed her for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. “So, what can I call you, then? If we're going to have a talk.”

“Um—” the Doctor licked her lips, and wondered if it was wise to give out her name. If, according to River, everybody was wondering whose side she was on. “Jane. Jane Smith.”

“Huh.” The man nodded, his eyes running over her once more, then abruptly broke into a wide smile. “Well, I suppose formalities are a bit much, aren’t they? You can call me Elijah.”

“Elijah.” The Doctor turned the name over on her tongue, feeling it out. “A prophet, wasn't he? Fitting.”

“I’d like to think so.” He stepped forward, a strange eagerness dancing in his eyes. As if he wasn't entirely interested in information. “So…Jane. Running from the Shadow Proclamation, is it? I assume you want asylum.”

“Might be nice,” the Doctor lied. “For me and my mate. And a cure, if you're offering.”

“Hmm.” Elijah tapped his chin in faux thought. “That could be arranged for you, if you need it. Not sure about your…mate. There's a limited supply, you understand.”

That was definitely a lie, but the Doctor didn't pursue it. Instead she crossed her arms and cocked her head, tapping her fingers against her elbow. 

“Dunno if I can accept those terms,” she said. “Pretty desperate situation, see.”

And it was desperate, though she didn't at all trust Elijah to hand over a cure for Yaz, nor did she trust its ability to work. Then again, perhaps if she could gain inside access to the labs—

But Elijah didn't take the bait. Instead, he tilted his chin as well, the dull gold of his eyes catching the light. “We’ll have to see. First, how about you tell me a little about the Shadow Proclamation? Then I can talk to my advisor.”

“Adv—” the Doctor stopped herself just in time. “Er, anything you want to know. Though, I do have one question beforehand. About you.”

Elijah smiled, spreading his arms wide. “Anything.”

“Okay.” The Doctor nodded, uncrossing her arms and sticking her hands into her pockets, rocking back on her heels in the perfect display of poised uncertainty. “Okay, well—who are you? Feel like I should know who I'm talking to, before I hand anything over. Beyond just a name, see.”

Elijah chuckled and shook his head, his eyes dropping to the floor, and the Doctor took the opportunity to wrap her fingers around her sonic screwdriver. She thumbed the scan setting, and her pocket vibrated silently.

“Valid question.” He looked up again, eyes glittering, and gestured to himself. “But who I am isn't important, Jane. Where I come from doesn't matter. It's what I represent that's important. The things I stand for.”

“And what is that, then?” The Doctor’s eyes passed over his form. Her hand slowly uncurled from her screwdriver.

Elijah’s smile stretched wider. “Hope, of course. A new future, and a united one at that. Billions of peoples under one helm.”

“Yours?” the Doctor asked. Elijah shrugged.

“Suppose mine is as good as any.”

“Funny, but I would have thought victory might have factored in there, somewhere,” the Doctor replied. “Because that's what you're fighting, isn't it? The disease?”

Elijah shook his head. He was still grinning. “The disease is simply a means to an end, Jane. A sign, if you will, or a path. It's how we get to where we want to be.”

“So you really are a prophet,” the Doctor said. She couldn't quite keep the ire out of her tone. There was something off about his smile, something a little too wide, and the more she stared at it, the less she liked it.

Elijah chuckled again. “That's not really up to me, is it? I believe that's for the future to decide.”

“Hmm. Suppose so.” The Doctor eyed him for a long moment, brow crinkled. Then she gave a small, abrupt shrug. “Alright. So, what do you want to know?”

A pleased look glinted in Elijah’s eye. “Everything. Where are they going next? What planets do they have working for them? What’s their progress on a cure? I know they've been working on one, with considerably less success.”

“Yeah, well.” The Doctor grimaced. “Hard work, ain't it? ‘Specially when you're too busy blowing planets up.”

“We do try to avoid that, when possible,” Elijah said. “But I have one of the smartest minds in the universe working on our cure. My own personal advisor. It's no wonder they can't keep up.”

Personal advisor. Once more, the Doctor bit down on her tongue. It was too close in the game to give it away with a question like that, though she longed to ask after this mysterious advisor, who seemed to run things behind the scenes. Who in the universe could possibly be smart enough to even attempt a cure, besides a fellow Time Lord? And if there was a Time Lord working with the Child of Time, the Doctor felt sure she would have sensed it. Or at least noticed that another Time Lord had gone missing from the end of the universe. 

“Right, a cure,” she hedged. “We aren't doing so well on that end, I will admit. Though maybe if we joined heads, we'd have more success.”

Elijah shook his head. “Now, why would we do that? We have everything we need here. Can't just give it away, now can we?”

So he doesn't know it doesn't work, the Doctor thought. Or at least, he didn't appear to know. 

“Suppose you're right,” she admitted, then let out a fake, heavy sigh. “Well, I don't know what to tell you. We've been doing our best, but we're clearly losing. We try to negotiate, but we always lose out the moment you lot show up. And I can tell you that I personally worked on the cure, and had no success. Which is why I'm interested in seeing what you're doing here.”

“Did you?” Elijah’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Well, that could be arranged, assuming you've got more to share with me. I think—”

And then he broke off, and tilted his head at something the Doctor couldn't hear. Confusion flashed across his expression, and he reached up to tap something in his ear.

Ah. A communications implant, hidden by his hair. Elijah listened intently, then frowned, and turned away from the Doctor. He began to speak in soft tones, and the Doctor leaned forward, straining to hear.

“I’m speaking with an informant—”

A pause. 

“So you know who it is?”

Another pause. The Doctor watched as he listened, finger held to his ear.

“But why would we change—that's a level five—”

Silence. Then the Doctor heard Elijah sigh, and watched as he lowered his hand. She leaned back, quickly shuffling her expression into blank innocence, just as he turned around.

But there was no trace of the agreeability with which he had regarded her before. He looked her over, his expression cold, and the Doctor waited, resisting the urge to rock slightly on her heels from impatience.

Finally, he spoke. “Looks like I won't be needing your services after all. There's been a change of plans.”

“What?” The Doctor’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “But I still have—”

“We don't need it.” He waved his hand dismissively. “You'll be transported back to the surface. I'll issue instructions for my forces to deal with you.”

“But what about—” But he was already turning away, his hand reaching up once more to his ear. The Doctor opened her mouth to protest, but she could already feel her cells starting to dissolve into so many atoms. The room began to dissolve around her, and just before she was whisked away completely, she heard Elijah's voice float back to her.

“Yes, leave some forces here and plot a course for our next planet. It's a level five planet, called Earth. We’ll leave immediately.”

The Doctor’s hearts plunged, but before she could react, she was gone, swept away into the buzzing atomic level of the transmit beam.

Chapter Text

Yaz didn't know what to say to River. 

Once the Doctor left, Yaz sank defeatedly back onto the bench, and was slightly surprised to see River sit down next to her, settling back against the wall with her eyes on the door opposite them. There was a slight wrinkle of worry in her brow, but otherwise her face was smooth, nothing to suggest she was overly bothered with what the Doctor has just gone and done.

And now they had been sitting there for several minutes, and Yaz had no idea what to say to her.

She wasn't even particularly sure she wanted to talk. That uncomfortable feeling still sat in her belly, slight resentment coupled with a childish sense of betrayal, and she couldn't put a name to it so she just stewed, and wondered if she ought to strike up a conversation. She had plenty of questions, but she wasn't sure how to phrase them without coming off as rude.

Luckily, she didn't have to bother.

“This must be hard for you.”

Yaz’s head jolted up, and she looked over to find River watching her with kind eyes.

“What is?”

River gestured to her. “This. And that.” She gestured to the door on the opposite wall. “She doesn’t much listen, does she? Not even if you’re worried about her. Especially if you’re worried about her.”

“Yeah.” Yaz stared at River, trying to discern the glimmer in her eyes. There was something sad in her smile, and something very lost in her eyes. She had a wistful air about her as well, as if she had only just missed something she wasn’t going to get back. She was watching Yaz intently, and her gaze was far too empathetic. “Aren’t you worried?”

“Always.” River smiled, then gave a small shrug. “But I’ve learned a long time ago that I can’t stop the Doctor from doing what she wants. Nobody can, really, for better or for worse. So sometimes you just have to steer her in the right direction.”

“Yeah, but—” Yaz struggled, trying to put words to what she wanted to say. To that disappointment in her chest, sharp as a knife. “That doesn’t mean I should just let it go. It’s not fair that she just goes off on her own, without even a word or a proper farewell. People don’t do that.”

River shook her head. “The Doctor isn’t people.”

“She is someone, isn’t she?” Yaz shot back crossly. She drew her arms across her chest and sat back against the wall with a huff. “You’re just making up excuses for her. That doesn’t even make sense.”

“I’m not making excuses,” River said, but she faltered, just for a moment. Then she sighed, and looked away. For a long moment, she didn’t speak. Neither did Yaz.

“It’s a hard thing, to know the Doctor, isn’t it?” River asked after several seconds of silence had passed. Yaz glanced at her, and caught her staring at the door opposite them, her gaze boring into it with an intensity that bordered on anguish.

“I didn’t think so,” she answered. “But now…I dunno. I thought I knew her. She’s my favorite person. Or she was. But now she’s doing these awful things, and just—acting awful, and that’s—that can’t be who she is, can it?”

She hadn’t meant to end it on a question, but desperation twisted her tone, and River caught it immediately. She looked over, that same painful sympathy still flickering in her eyes.

“The Doctor is a lot of things, Yaz,” she said carefully. “I don’t—she must not have told you much, has she?”

Yaz shook her head. “She hasn’t told me anything. I don’t even know where she’s from or—or what species she is, now I think of it. I don’t even know her name.”

River smiled. “Oh, well don’t be hard on yourself for that. Nobody knows her name. Well, except me, but that’s just chance and misfortune.”

“But you know what species she is?” Yaz asked. “You know where she’s from? Because she never talks about herself, never says anything at all.”

“That’s probably because she’d be here all day if she did,” River said. “And she talks enough as it is.”

She chuckled at her own joke, then grew solemn again, and looked up, meeting Yaz’s gaze head on. 

“But Yaz, the one thing you should know, if anything, about the Doctor, is that you don’t know everything. You’ve seen facets of her, and the things she’s chosen to show you. But the Doctor has a very checkered past, and she’s very aware of it. She’s done a lot of bad things, some for good reasons and some for not, and what she can’t cover up, she hides.”

She shook her head, as if in exasperation, and Yaz just stared, her head reeling. A strange pit was opening up in her stomach, the disappointment in her chest welling into her throat. Taking on the form of tears. She swallowed them.

Because it wasn’t something she could couple with her image of the Doctor, the image River was laying out for her. But she spoke with such solemn honesty that Yaz couldn’t help but believe. 

She hated every word of it.

“So that’s it?” she whispered. “That’s who the Doctor is, under it all? A coward? A liar?”

“What?” River actually balked, and beneath the cavity in her chest, Yaz felt a flash of annoyance. What did she have the nerve to look shocked for? It wasn’t her entire world being upended, was it?

But River just shook her head. “No, Yaz—god no. The Doctor is the bravest person I’ve ever met. But she’s different from you and I. She has the power to do more good than most people can accomplish in a whole lifetime—you’ve seen that, haven’t you?”

Slowly, Yaz nodded. River continued. “Well, she’s got the power to do plenty of terrible things along with that. And she tries harder than anybody I know to do more good than bad, but—sometimes, things don’t work out that way. She lives in the gray, Yaz. She has to.”

“Why?” Yaz asked in a small voice. It was a stupid, childish question. More of a protest than an actual inquiry. Because River’s words rang with truth, but Yaz’s image of the Doctor, strong and powerful and wholeheartedly good, was starting to crack, and it hurt deeper than it had a right to. 

“Why does anybody?” River shrugged. “Somebody has to. We can’t all keep our hands clean. The Doctor, I think, would rather she do the hard bits than anybody else.”

“Oh.” Yaz accepted this answer quietly, and stewed over it in a petulant malaise of hurt. Hurt for herself, nursing it because she was scared and alone and farther from home than she’d ever felt, and hurt for the Doctor, who suddenly seemed far too human for Yaz’s comfort, messy and flawed and a far cry from the person Yaz had thought her to be. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. 

The blackness rubbed at her eyes all of a sudden, and she leaned back against the wall, exhausted. The feeling, unlike after her previous jumps, hadn’t faded entirely but lingered at the edges of her mind, making her feel like she was teetering on the edge of a cliff, the real world behind her, that awful blackness and bursting stars below.

“River?” she asked suddenly, and River turned her head, tearing her eyes away from the opposite wall. “Are my eyes—what do they look like?”

She didn’t look at River as she asked the question, but she could feel River’s gaze upon her, and she held her breath, waiting. It was several seconds before she answered.

“Your eyes are gold, Yaz,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, you must have jumped a lot. It goes fast with carriers. They burn out quickly.”

Burn out quickly. Yaz’s throat swelled. She blinked hard, and stared at the door across the hall even though she knew River could almost certainly see the tears. Then she wondered if that was true at all. Maybe she couldn’t actually cry, under that gold film.

And then, to her surprise, the door across the hall opened, and the Doctor burst through.

“Doctor?” Yaz shot to her feet, as did River, only a beat behind. She opened her mouth to say something, only for the Doctor to rush forward, eyes wild with fear.

“We have to go,” she gasped, and her hand reached out to touch Yaz’s arm, as if to grab her and pull her along. “We have to figure out a way to get out of here. The fleet is moving to Earth.”

“What?” Yaz stared, as did River, stepping forward with alarm flaring in her eyes.

“How do you know that?” she demanded, and the Doctor turned to her, shaking her head. 

“I caught it just as they beamed me back. I don’t know what changed. There’s—there’s something strange about the Child of Time. I don’t think he’s the real power behind this. But none of that matters at the moment, because we have to figure out a way to get to Earth, now.”

“But we don’t have the TARDIS,” Yaz said, and looked at the Doctor in awful realization. “Doctor, how are we supposed to get back to Earth if we don’t have—”

“With this.” River grabbed the Doctor’s hand, and pressed something into it. When she drew it back, Yaz saw what looked like a black wristwatch, vaguely familiar.

“What’s that?” she asked as the Doctor pulled it closer to examine, nose wrinkling.

“Vortex manipulator,” she answered. “Cheap and nasty time travel.”

Then she looked up at River. “How did you get this?”

River smiled. “You don’t think I wouldn’t leave myself a way out?”

The Doctor stared at her, then looked to the vortex manipulator. “But if we take this—”

Then her head jolted up, and her gaze turned hard. “Come with us, River.”

River shook her head. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

“What?” Yaz turned to her. “Why not? We can take you, can’t we?”

River nodded. “Yes, though it’s more dangerous. A vortex manipulator is meant for one person. Any more than that degrades the personal shield against the time vortex. Even two is dangerous.”

“Yeah, but—” Yaz turned to the Doctor, who was wearing a strange, despondent look. Resigned. “We can risk it, can’t we? So she doesn’t have to stay here.”

The Doctor shook her head. “The thing is Yaz, with your disease…I don’t know how traveling through time with the vortex manipulator will affect you. And with two, it’s already dangerous enough. I would send you back alone, but—” her hand closed over the vortex manipulator. “I have to get back to Earth.”

Yaz stared at her, an awful feeling forming in her stomach. “No, but—”

She turned to River. “River, that doesn’t make sense. You need to go, I’m next to useless—”

But River was just shaking her head. “I’m not leaving, Yaz. As much as you lot hate the Child of Time, there are some good things the smaller folk are doing. We’re evacuating areas, setting up quarantines. Making things safe for people. I need to help with that.”

“Yeah, but—” she was interrupted by a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off, but then the Doctor was stepping past her, up to River. 

“You won’t be stupid, will you?” she asked with a set jaw and a soft gaze. River smiled.

“I think you take care of that enough for the both of us, sweetie,” she replied.

The Doctor gazed at her. Something twitched at her lips—almost a smile. “It was nice seeing you again.”

River raised an eyebrow. “Is that all you’re going to say to me, dear?”

“What do you want me to say?” the Doctor asked. River stared at her, mouth slightly open as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She shook her head in exasperation.

“Oh, you’re already taking care of the stupid, aren’t you?” she asked. The Doctor opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, River stepped forward and grasped her lapels, yanking her forward into a deep kiss.

Yaz stared. For several long moments they stayed like that before parting, River grinning, and the Doctor gaping like a fish.

“Oh, I do miss that reaction,” River said. The Doctor straightened abruptly, stepping back and wiping her mouth.

“Uh, yes, I—c’mon, Yaz!” she said in a voice louder than normal, and grabbed Yaz by the arm. “Earth, remember?”

Yaz was too shocked to respond. She just stared at the Doctor, then looked at River, who gave Yaz a wink.

“Look after her for me, will you?” she asked. Inexplicably, Yaz flushed. She gave a hurried nod, and River turned back to the Doctor.

“I have the coordinates to follow the fleet through time,” she said. “You should get there not long after they do. But you should go now, before the Child of Time realizes I haven’t actually killed you two yet.”

“Right.” The Doctor stepped back, wrapping her arm tightly around Yaz, and thumbed something into the vortex manipulator. “Ready, Yaz?”

Yaz nodded, though her heart was beating fast. She wondered what might await her on the other side of the trip. What if she didn’t even make it to Earth?

The Doctor thumbed something on the vortex manipulator, then looked up at River. Something wistful crossed her face, and she opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. 

“Goodbye, River,” she said, and though something else seemed to linger in the air beside it, she didn’t say it. Instead she waited until River gave her a warm, sad smile.

“Goodbye, Doctor.”

The Doctor nodded once, short and stiff, then looked at the vortex manipulator, and pressed a button.

Immediately, the world around Yaz dissolved into stars and blackness.

————

“This’ll be the last one,” Osgood declared confidently. She pressed a button and stepped back, eyes glued to the monitors as they began to crunch patterns and identify variations. Behind her, Graham wore an opposite look.

“No offense, love, but you said that about the last five.” He eyed the screens with uncertainty. “Not that I don’t have faith, but—ain’t we sort of looking for a needle in a haystack?”

Osgood snorted, but her eyes didn’t leave the screens. “Sort of, but we’ve got the advantage of alien technology to help us run the search. I mean, at its base, it isn’t a complicated test. We’re simply comparing a sample of good artron energy from Clara’s TARDIS with the samples I’ve taken from you, and trying to see if—”

“If it’ll turn up anything useful,” Graham stated dryly. “Right, I think I’m actually starting to get my head around the science-y bits. Sort of. And if it actually turns up something, I suppose we’ll use that—how?”

“Not quite sure yet, if I’m being honest,” Osgood replied. She was eying the numbers on the screen worriedly. “I mean ideally, we can track the iterations—er, the mutations—of the disease all the way back to patient zero. Hypothetically. But that all depends on if—”

Just then the numbers stopped rolling and the computer beeped, indicating an end. Then, the words COMPILING: PLEASE WAIT flashed upon the screen.

“—on if we get something,” Osgood finished hopefully, and stepped forward to peer closer at the screen. For a few moments, nothing happened, and Graham hung back, waiting for the flashing red ERROR message that was sure to appear.

But instead the compiling message disappeared, and the words MATCH FOUND flashed across the screen.

“Oh my god,” Osgood said. Behind her, Graham stared, mouth hanging open.

“You did it,” he managed after a moment’s pause. “You actually did it.”

“Uh huh.” Osgood was still staring at the screen. “I did. I can’t believe I did.”

And then, as if the words had jerked her to life, she scurried forward and pressed the button to print the results.

It didn’t take long; they appeared as only a few sheets of paper, which Osgood pored over as Graham peered anxiously over her shoulder, waiting with barely contained impatience.

“What is it?” he asked when he couldn’t take it anymore. “What does it show?”

“I’m not—” Osgood frowned, then flipped over the last sheet of paper. “I’m not sure. The scans have definitely identified differences between Gold’s disease and regular artron energy. Certain irregularities, but I don’t know enough about artron energy—or time, for that matter—to even begin to tell what those mean.”

Graham’s face fell. “So I’m supposing this means we aren’t finding patient zero anytime soon?”

“Well—” Osgood pursed her lips, and looked up at him. “I mean, it’s not a no. That’s the other strange thing. It looks like this disease mutates slightly with every new organism it encounters, just like we thought, which explains why it’s able to attack every living creature. Which means if we knew the energy signal of the first living organism it infected, we would be able to compare the iterations of the disease and trace it back to the original. Only—”

“We don’t have the energy signal,” Graham said. Osgood hesitated, then nodded grimly.

“Yeah.” She bit her lip, clearly put out, then glanced down at the results again, frowning. “This is certainly something. Only I’m not sure where we could go with it. Or whether it would lead to a cure.”

She looked up again at Graham, regret in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Graham. I think it’s only led us to a dead end.”

“Oh, it’s okay.” If Graham was disappointed, he didn’t show it, other than the slight sag of his shoulders. He shrugged, his gaze dropping slightly, then let out a deep, hacking cough. He recovered, cleared his throat, and said, “Suppose it was a bit of a pipe dream anyway. I’ll just have to hope for a miracle.”

Osgood smiled slightly, sad and empathetic. “Yeah. I’ll keep hoping too.”

—————

The moment Clara identified the panel containing the shields was the real moment they made progress.

“I still can’t believe it was one of the last few we hadn’t checked,” Ryan said through gritted teeth, stretched under the console as he carefully twisted together two nearly invisible wires.

“Can’t believe you two ripped up my TARDIS,” Clara muttered from where she was crouched in front of the now removed panel, a screwdriver in hand, sonic sunglasses dangling over one eye, and a manual propped open on her knee.

“Oh, are you still complaining about that?” Rose called to her. She was across the room, looping the other end of the wire Ryan was connecting to what she assured them was a makeshift dimensional conductor, though in Ryan’s book it looked more like a diesel generator. “We’re saving the world here!”

“Alright, alright,” Clara replied crossly. “I know. I’m a little bit attached, is all. I could hear her screaming at me from the moment I stepped out of the Doctor’s TARDIS, even with her being powered down and all—good call on that, by the way. But still. You didn’t even ask.”

“Well she let us in, didn’t she?” Ryan pointed out, then out a satisfied huff as, with one final twist, he joined the wires together. He laid them carefully down, then slid out from under the console and sat up. “And I agree with Rose. A little bit desperate.”

“Ha!” Rose crowed, and Clara, still glaring at the manual, scowled.

“That’s if we even get these shields up,” she said darkly. “I suppose the only thing is that Kate isn’t back yet from those negotiations, which hopefully means—”

A distant crash interrupted her. Her head jerked up, and she looked at Rose, then at Ryan, who frowned and shook his head, then nodded towards the door.

“I think it came from outside,” he said, and pulled himself to his feet. “Was anybody meant to come inside?”

“Don’t think so.” Rose was peering at the door as well. Slowly, from across the room, Clara closed her manual and set it to the side, then stood up. “Think we should investigate?”

“Might be Graham and Osgood visiting,” Ryan said. “Grandad did say they were getting close to finding something.”

“Right.” Clara sidled up next to him, wiping her hands on her trousers. “Let’s go meet them, then. I could use the break, anyway.”

“Me too,” Rose agreed, then started for the door. Ryan followed, Clara on his heels, as they stepped through the door and into the diner.

Only there was nobody in the diner. They trooped through, faces drawing into lines of curious confusion as they approached the door, from which, on the opposite side, could be heard the sounds of movement. Movement, and then a groan.

Rose reached the door just before Ryan and pushed it open wide enough for the other two to step through after herself, only to stop two feet out, and stare. Ryan nearly ran into her. He stopped just in time, and looked in some annoyance over her shoulder, only to freeze. Behind him, he heard Clara come up, and then stop as well.

Because lying on the floor, in a tangle of limbs, was Yaz and the Doctor.

Chapter Text

Kate sat perched on the edge of her seat at the flimsy table in the center of the room, and tried not to look out the window behind her. 

It was an enormous window, taking up the entirety of the curving back half of the room, and casting a glorious view of planet Earth below, which was precisely why she couldn’t bear to look. Responsibility sat heavy on the back of her neck, a pressing weight, and under her clothes, though it wasn’t particularly warm, she felt clammy with sweat. 

She had been sitting here for hours. Hours, from the moment she’d been beamed up in that funny way, at a flimsy, white, two person table that was clearly not part of the typical decor of the room. She had a feeling it had been set up specifically for negotiations between herself and that other mysterious person, who had yet to make an appearance. She couldn’t help but wonder if they were making her wait on purpose. Classic negotiation tactic.

Then again, it wasn’t particularly working. She’d long passed from anxiety to simple fatigue, sinking into an impatient malaise of resigned frustration with each hour that passed, marked only by the watch on her wrist. She’d long since stopped glancing at the Earth behind her, breathtaking though it was. Somehow, that hurt even more.

Kate sighed, then glanced at her watch again. 

“They do like to take their time, don’t they?” she muttered, and palmed her chin tiredly, only to jerk up as a pneumatic hiss issued abruptly from the wide door on the opposite wall. She straightened in her chair, then thought better of it and stood, as the door slid back and a man stepped through.

“Hello, Kate.” He grinned, large and toothy, and Kate nearly took a step back in surprise.

Because underneath a mop of red hair, set into a pale, freckled face, the man’s eyes were entirely gold. 

“Hello.” Quickly, she stepped out from around the table and held out her hand, shuffling her face into smooth implacability. “As you already know, I’m Kate Lethbridge-Stewart. I stand as Earth’s representative.”

The man chuckled, and didn’t take her hand. Instead he gestured to the table. “Yes, I know who you are. And you may call me Elijah. I have a title, but—” he flashed a grin— “it’s a bit too pompous for the occasion.”

His hand gestured, waiting, so she sunk into her chair, and watched as he seated himself opposite. The moment he was settled, she leaned forward, propping her chin in her hands, and spoke.

“So tell me, why bring an entire fleet to threaten a level five planet?”

Elijah’s eyebrows rose at her comment. He stared at her a moment, then dropped his chin and let out a quiet, surprised laugh.

“You do get right to it, don’t you?” When she didn’t say anything, he leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head, eying her for a long moment. Then he spoke.

“This isn’t entirely a show of force, surprising as it might seem. Because this isn’t my entire fleet. This is only the nucleus, if you will, the necessary implementary items. The rest of my forces are scattered throughout time and space, spreading our cause.”

“Cause?” Kate gave him an inquisitive look. Elijah smiled, and spread his arms wide, gesturing.

“Yes, cause. This isn’t an army, Kate Lethbridge-Stewart. We’re not here just to kill. We have a mission. A purpose. We’re trying to save the universe. I’m trying to save the universe.”

“So you’re the one in charge here,” Kate stated. Elijah nodded.

“Only fitting for heads of state to meet.”

“So this is a state, now?” Kate glanced around the room dryly. Elijah chuckled, and shook his head.

“Not as such, but—well, that’s the future. We’re talking about the here and now.”

Abruptly he leaned forward, clasping his hands and placing them on the table. His eyes glinted dimly under the sourceless light of the room.

“The fact of the present, as I’m sure you would agree, is this: we have an immense threat facing our universe. A disease spreading through time and space, wiping out entire sections of the universe. Whole civilizations throughout time have fallen to it, including yours, right now. I’m here to stop that.”

“Stop that,” Kate repeated in disbelief. “And you plan on doing that—how? Because all we’ve seen so far is threats. And an enormous fleet, pointing your guns at us. Not the most friendly welcome.”

Elijah’s lip twitched, a hint of what might have been amusement running across his face. “The quarantine is only to ensure compliance. I’m hopeful we won’t need to implement it. Of course, that leads us to the business we’re here to discuss.”

“Right. Business.” Kate’s brow creased, her lips pressing into a thin line. A bead of sweat had begun to trickle down the back of her neck, but she didn’t reach up to wipe it away. “I assume—I hope—you’re talking about the cure.”

Elijah smiled. “Yes. Our cure. Currently the only thing standing between our universe and its destruction. You can imagine why we guard it so jealously.”

“Well I hope you’re willing to share,” Kate quipped. “That was your offer, wasn’t it? You said in your message you would offer us the cure, in exchange for certain conditions—which, I should mention, you still haven’t laid out for us.”

“That’s what we’re getting to, isn’t it?” Elijah shook his head in sympathy. “Really, you don’t have to worry. I understand your rush. I’ve seen it plenty of times myself, and I can assure you that we nearly always manage to work something out. Because honestly, our terms are very basic.”

“And what are they?” Kate asked.

“Your help,” Elijah replied. Kate stared. 

“Our what?” she asked. “What help could you possibly want from us? You have us under quarantine, or haven’t you forgotten?”

Elijah laughed, leaning back in his chair, and waved his hand dismissively. “I know, I know. But I’m speaking sincerely. After all, where do you think these ships, this force, comes from?”

He spread his arms wide, gesturing around the spacious room. “We’re not an invasion fleet, Kate. We’re a force for good. Because there are other forces out there, forces that will no doubt arrive eventually to your planet, demanding its destruction to save themselves from the disease. That’s how they work. They would rather wipe out then try to save. But that’s not what we do. We have a mission, see; rather than eradicate, we unite, creating one overwhelming force against which we will win against this disease. But first I need to know what you have.”

“What—” Kate stared, mind reeling. “What we have?”

“Yes.” When she didn’t immediately answer, Elijah’s smile dropped, a frown tugging at his lips. “Your resources. Your spacecraft, your capabilities. How you can assist us in our mission.”

“But we—” Kate paused, taking in a large breath. Her heart was beating fast, suddenly, as the implications of the conversation sunk in. “We have a few satellites, some stolen alien technology, but—”

“Satellites?” Elijah’s frown deepened, a deep wrinkle appearing in his brow. “You don’t have ships? Anything close to lightspeed?”

Kate’s throat had gone very, very dry. She thought for a brief moment to lie, and then realized it would be useless. “We’ve—managed to get to our moon—”

“I see.” Elijah’s brow had joined together into one displeased line, his jaw set in dissatisfaction. “So you have nothing to offer us.”

“That’s—that’s not entirely true,” Kate protested. “I’m sure we have something, we’re a level five planet, we could work out—”

“Hmm.” Abruptly, Elijah stood, his chair screeching across the white floor. “I’ll have to talk to my advisor. Seems I was given misleading advice.”

He shook his head, as if he couldn’t quite believe he had wasted his time, and turned to go. Kate leapt to her feet, pushing her chair back.

“Wait!” she called, though her heart was slowly sinking. Elijah paused, and she wracked her brain for something, anything. “We have troops. Ground troops, maybe, but I’m sure we could provide—”

“I’ll have to think about it.” He gave a dismissive wave of his hand and turned to go. Kate stepped back, sudden apprehension coursing through her.

“Is that it?” she called at his retreating back. “Are you walking away from negotiations?”

“Negotiations are over.” He didn’t even turn around. “I’ll send my decision shortly. You may return to Earth.”

Kate opened her mouth to reply, or object, or something, but before she could get the words out of her throat that funny fuzzy feeling came over her again, and she looked down only to watch herself dissolve once more into thin air.

—————

For a long moment, Ryan just stared. Beside him, he heard a sharp intake of breath, and from behind, a relieved exhale.

As for himself, he just felt frozen. Unable to move, or believe his eyes. Because there, lying in front of him, were two people he had already convinced himself he’d never see again.

And then the Doctor groaned, and before Ryan knew what he was doing, he rushed forward.

“Doctor!” he exclaimed, then pulled up short, checking himself. He felt like a little kid meeting his favorite parent, like his dad had just come back with a microwave and an apology and an abashed smile.

Only that hadn’t been enough then, so why on earth was he acting so stupid now?

The Doctor groaned again, and pushed herself painfully into a sitting position. Then her eyes widened, and went straight to Yaz, lying in a heap on the floor.

And that was when Ryan realized that Yaz wasn’t moving.

“Yaz—” The Doctor pushed to her knees and fell over Yaz, her eyes wide with the sort of fright Ryan had never seen on her before. She reached out, then hesitated, and ran her eyes over Yaz’s form, as if trying to decide what to do. Then her expression hardened with determination and she leaned over, sliding her hands carefully under Yaz’s prone form.

“Doctor—” Ryan’s heart caught in his throat. Behind him, he heard the others shuffle closer. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Hiya, Ryan,” the Doctor said without looking up. She was carefully easing Yaz into her arms, who mumbled and shifted, but didn’t open her eyes. “The trip was hard on her. She’s a carrier of the disease, and she’s been—she’s been—”

“Getting worse,” Clara said quietly from behind him. The Doctor nodded, her eyes still on Yaz.

“We need to—” she began, only to stop as Yaz let out a cry.

“Yaz?” she asked, cradling her closer. “Can you hear—”

“Ow—the stars—!” Yaz twisted abruptly, her hands flying to her face, pushing against her eyes. “I can’t—I can’t—”

“Yaz—” The Doctor tried to sooth, but Yaz wasn’t listening. She sat up suddenly, wrenching away from the Doctor’s grip, her hands jammed into her eyes, and keeled forward, shaking her head.

“It’s in my head,” she moaned. “I can see it, it hurts—”

“Doctor, how do we help her?” Ryan started forward, but the Doctor just shook her head. 

“We have to wait,” she said, voice grim. “I’m sorry, but it’s just—the later stages, there’s nothing anyone can do.”

“Later stages—” A lump rose in Ryan’s throat. Yaz was moaning, shaking her head and muttering like a crazy person, like a few of the people Ryan had seen when he’d taken Graham to the hospital, their eyes filmed over and their hands flaking gold dust. He could even see it now, scattering off her closed fists, fluttering to her lap. “But that doesn’t make sense, she’s only been gone—not even a couple days!”

“And she’s jumped a lot,” the Doctor replied. She reached out gingerly to place a hand on Yaz’s back, only for Yaz to jerk violently away, still muttering and moaning. The Doctor took her hand back, and just for a fraction of a second, Ryan saw something flash across her face. Anguish, deep and open as a wound, right before she closed it off again. Her eyes turned hard, then she let out a sigh. 

“I’m so sorry, Ryan,” she said, and looked up. “I don’t think—”

Only to stop, and stare.

For a moment, Ryan didn’t get what she was looking at. Her gaze flickered over Clara, widened slightly, then shifted to his other side, and grew round as saucers. Her mouth fell open, and the color drained from her face, leaving her pale as a ghost. As Ryan watched, her lip trembled, ever so slightly.

“Rose?”

Beside him, Rose raised her hand and gave a short, almost shy wave. “Hi, Doctor.”

The Doctor just stared. In the silence of the room, broken only by Yaz’s occasional cries, Ryan could have sworn he heard a pin drop. Then, clumsy with shock, the Doctor clambered to her feet, hoisting Yaz as well with gentle hands.

“How did you—?” She left the question dangling, and Rose just smiled.

“End of my universe too, turns out. I came to see what the matter was,” she replied. Then she jerked a thumb towards Clara. “Got a ride from a friend.”

“Fast friends,” Clara added with a grin—though, was Ryan imagining it, or was there something a little regretful in that smile? He frowned, but didn’t have time to consider it, for the moment Clara spoke, Yaz’s head jerked up, her hands falling to her sides, exposing flat gold eyes.

“You!” she cried, and took a stumbling step forward, reaching. “I need—”

“Yaz, wait—” There was a warning note in the Doctor’s tone, but Yaz didn’t heed it. She took one step forward and her knees gave out beneath her, sending her nearly to the floor, only for the Doctor to catch her. She wrapped her arms around her, keeping her upright, but Yaz didn’t even seem to notice. 

“No!” she cried, her face wrought with distress, her eyes glinting dimly as her hands reached out, grabbing at air. “I need her! I have to tell her about—”

“Yaz, you can tell Clara anything you want, but you need to calm down,” the Doctor told her in a firm voice. Firm, but there was something quivering underneath it, and somehow it made Ryan’s heart drop even lower. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself, or—”

“Please!” She was still reaching for her, fighting the Doctor’s grip, and when Ryan glanced over he saw Clara rooted to the spot, her face a rictus of confusion. She clearly had no more idea what was going on than the rest of them.

“Please!” Yaz repeated. “I have to—let me go, I need to—”

And then, without warning, she collapsed, sagging in the Doctor’s arms and burying her head in her hands. For a moment, she was silent. Then, softly, Ryan heard a sob.

“It hurts,” she moaned. Gold dust flaked from her hands onto the floor. “It hurts, it—”

There came a soft sigh, barely a whisper of air, that Ryan realized only after came from the Doctor. She hugged Yaz close, letting her fall into her chest, then looked up at the little group with exhausted, anguished eyes. 

“Is there any place we can bring her?” she asked. It was almost a plea. “Somewhere we can—help her, just a little bit? Make her comfortable?”

Her voice cracked on the last word, so understated Ryan nearly missed it. He opened his mouth, and realized his throat was too dry to make any sort of sound. It was Clara who spoke instead.

“There’s an infirmary,” she said, and gestured towards the door. “Down the hall, two doors before the end on the left. I could—”

Yaz’s head jerked at the sound of her voice, but she didn’t look up. She just kept sobbing quietly into her hands. 

“Or maybe I shouldn’t,” Clara finished quietly. She looked helplessly at the other two, and once again, Ryan’s mouth was too dry to speak. He knew he ought to step forward, to help Yaz—his best friend, for god’s sake—but something stopped him. His chest hurt so hard he couldn’t breathe.

“I’ll do it,” Rose piped up behind him. He turned, and saw that she was already moving forward, reaching out with one hand to touch her shoulder. “Or, I can show you where it is, at least. There should be attendants there.”

“I should stay with her,” the Doctor said. Her jaw was set, her gaze determined. “I need to make sure—”

“Actually, Doctor, we could use you here,” Clara said. There was an edge to her voice, and when the Doctor turned to her, mouth open as if she wanted to argue, she must have seen something that made her shut it.

“Fine.” She swallowed, then turned back to Rose. “You know where it is?”

“’Course I do,” Rose said with a smile. “Always good to know where the infirmary is, if you’re saving the world. Someone very smart taught me that.”

Something twitched at the Doctor’s lips. “Funny, I don’t recall ever saying that.”

Rose scoffed in faux exasperation. “Never said it was you.”

“Right.” A smile flickered across the Doctor’s face, only for a moment, old and sad and not all there, and then even that was gone and she glanced towards Yaz. Something crumpled in her expression.

“Shall we?” she said quietly.

“Yeah.” Rose reached out and hoisted Yaz under the armpit, balancing her between the two of them. “Let’s go.”

As they left, Clara and Ryan watching them go, Ryan couldn’t help but think that he wasn’t sure if things had gotten at all better, or very much worse.

Chapter Text

They didn't speak as they made the short trip down the hallway, Yaz supported between them, but when Rose glanced at the Doctor, just once, she found her watching her with soft, unreadable eyes.

Rose looked away quickly, unsure what to make of it.

It was a new thing, seeing the Doctor in this body. She was a far cry from the Doctor she had fallen in love with, in more ways than one; there was age peeking out of her eyes, and a sag to her shoulders that Rose couldn't tell was normal or from the events surrounding them. There was a certainty there too, an ease she hadn't had before, or at least, an ease Rose hadn't noticed.

Then again, maybe this Doctor just wasn't so worried about trying to impress her.

“Is this it?” 

Rose startled from her reverie and glanced to the door the Doctor was nodding at. The plastic plaque displayed the word INFIRMARY.

“Uh, yeah.” She shifted Yaz to one arm, who mumbled and let out a soft cry, then reached out to turn the door handle down. It swung open, revealing a white-walled room, empty except for various medical machines and equipment, and a counter stacked against the far wall, as well as several beds. Rose glanced around and cursed.

“I'll have to page a medical attendant.”

“S’alright.” The Doctor surveyed the empty room. “I can keep an eye on her until they get here.”

“I'll stay too,” Rose quickly added, and when the Doctor looked at her, eyebrows rising in surprise at the force of her reaction, she flushed and said, “I mean, we're here now, aren't we? Might as well make sure she's taken care of.”

“She—” Yaz cried out abruptly between them, and reached out for nothing before trailing off into mumbles. “I have to—the stars—”

“Shhh.” The Doctor placed a soothing hand on her back and, when Yaz didn't shy away, began to rub comforting circles. “It's okay, Yaz, we're going to get you help.”

“But—her,” she gasped, and shook her head. “I have to help her—”

Rose watched, something sinking in her chest. She couldn't tell what it was directed at. The Doctor, her face a mess of barely hidden concern as she tried uselessly to reassure, or Yaz, slumped over between them, crying out in obvious pain. Maybe both of them.

“Do you have an idea what she’s crying about?” she asked as Yaz began to settle down, her cries dying off into hiccuping sobs. “Because she seemed awfully interested in Clara back there, didn't she?”

The Doctor shook her head. “I honestly couldn't tell you. I've studied carriers, and at this stage they're basically incomprehensible. Seeing time in a non linear manner without being trained for it—it does things to your head. I had a man ranting to me about mirror selves, he was convinced there were two of me. And another who was sure a piece of fruit had poisoned him and that was the whole reason he was sick.”

She shrugged. “It's impossible to tell. And I don't think Yaz can either.”

She gave another look to Yaz, and something painful flashed across her face. Then it was gone, her expression smoothed over into blank determination, and she nodded towards the closest bed.

“Let’s bring her there.”

It didn't take long to maneuver her onto the bed, though Yaz struggled slightly against their ministrations, before eventually giving up and collapsing back onto the sheets. There was a blanket folded at the foot of the bed and the Doctor bent to pick it up, only for Rose to stop her.

“Shouldn't we get her out of that first?” she gestured vaguely over Yaz, to her yellow safety vest and clunky gear. All of it was dirtied, torn and caked with dirt or dust. Her hands curled into the fabric of her trousers, flaking gold, and her eyes were wide open, though she didn't appear to be looking at anything. The Doctor’s eyes followed Rose’s gesture and understanding flickered across her face.

“We don't have any pajamas,” she said softly. Rose watched her stare at Yaz, who had turned on her side and curled in on herself, her face screwed up in pain. 

“I'll ask the attendant to bring some,” she said. She waited until the Doctor swallowed, then tore her gaze away from Yaz and turned to Rose.

“Right.” Her jaw tightened. “Let’s.”

It took some time, but they managed to peel off her safety vest and boots as well as her equipment, leaving her shivering in socks and a stripped down uniform. Rose couldn't help but glance at the Doctor from time to time as they worked, until, on the third time, she glanced over and found the Doctor watching her in return.

“Something on my face?” the Doctor asked with the barest twitch of a smile. Rose shook her head, but her own lips turned upwards, and a familiar feeling spread in her chest.

“Just trying to get used to it.” She gestured towards the Doctor. “It’s a new look on you.”

The Doctor grimaced as she threaded Yaz’s arm out of her safety vest. “Oh, don't tell me it's awful.”

Rose laughed quietly, and guided Yaz’s other hand out of the second sleeve. The moment her hands were free, they flew to her face, covering her eyes, and she curled in on herself again.

“It's not at all,” Rose assured her. “It's…well, it's quite pretty if you really want to know.”

For a split second, a small grin broke out over the Doctor’s face, only to disappear as Yaz twisted, letting out a cry. She leaned over, placing one hand on Yaz’s shoulder as the other cupped her face, murmuring reassurances. Rose watched her, something she couldn't quite identify tugging at her heartstrings. It wasn't exactly the same feeling as she remembered—years and growth and simple maturity had seen to that—but underneath the layers of time it was the same kernel of love, unchanged. 

It was nice, in a way. It also ached. 

“So you survived.” Yaz having calmed, the Doctor straightened up and looked Rose in the eye. “And you made it here.”

“I did,” Rose said. “Nearly didn't. Had a little help from the Time Lords.”

“The Time—” The Doctor started, then shook her head. “Never mind. But Rose Tyler, how on earth did you make it here? And why? Where's your—”

“Family?” Rose asked. The Doctor snapped her jaw shut, then nodded. “Dead. Like the rest of my world. Of the same disease that you lot are fighting.”

It was rare, Rose reflected, to really stun the Doctor. The last time she recalled had been in that wonderful, brief reunion, when all the planets had been taken. Only that moment had been a good deal more joyful than this. 

Horrible sympathy crossed the Doctor’s face. Her eyes ran up and down Rose’s form, studying. Trying to understand.

“Oh, Rose,” she murmured. “I am so, so sorry.”

Somehow, that phrase hurt worse than anything else she could have possibly said. Rose’s jaw tightened, and she leaned over to begin unlacing Yaz’s boots, who had settled down into quiet moaning, her hands still clasped over her eyes. She could still feel the Doctor’s eyes upon her, but she didn't look up, not until the Doctor’s hands appeared in her view, and carefully began working on the other boot.

After a moment, the Doctor spoke. “Is that what happened? It wiped out everything?”

Rose nodded, her throat thick. There was a moment's silence.

“Rose—how did you make it?”

Rose looked up. It wasn't a surprising question, but something about it took her off guard. Then she let out a quiet chuckle, and turned to set Yaz’s boot to the side.

“I’m not entirely sure, to be honest. I think it might have to do with the heart of the TARDIS—do you remember that?”

The Doctor nodded, something glimmering in her eyes.

“How could I forget?”

Rose smiled. Then she shrugged. “We ran tests at my UNIT. Apparently looking into the heart of the TARDIS saturated me with so much good artron energy that I'm not as susceptible. I still am, but it'll take me longer than the others. We even tried to build a cure off of me, but—”

“It didn't take.” The Doctor pursed her lips, frowning. Rose nodded. 

“We tried to make it work as a temporary solution too, but the disease itself spread too fast for us to actually come up with anything. It wiped us out in less than two years.”

“Two years,” the Doctor mouthed. She shook her head, and her gaze dropped to Yaz, shifting and muttering on the bed. She picked up the blanket at the foot of the bed and began to unfold it, forehead creased in pensive thought. “I wonder if—”

Then she sighed, and her chin dropped. “No, that wouldn't work. Even for a temporary solution, you'd probably need more than one TARDIS, and there aren't enough in the universe to fix this thing. And if it keeps coming back—”

“Then we still lose,” Rose finished. The Doctor glanced at her, and didn't say anything, but the answer was clear on her face. Instead she bent over and drew the blanket over Yaz, who was shivering badly now despite the relative warmth of the room. Rose watched her, a small wrinkle in her brow.

“Doctor,” she said after a moment’s pause. The Doctor looked up, questioning, and Rose dithered for a moment. “Why—why is my world gone? I mean, how can my world be gone when yours isn’t? I know it came from here, I’ve tracked it that far. But it doesn’t make sense.”

The Doctor gave a soft, almost affectionate smile, and straightened. “You humans. Always thinking so linearly. You have to remember, Rose, we’re dealing with a disease that doesn’t have to move linearly at all. You could say that it’s happening all at once, everywhere. It’s only by chance it already got to your world. You understand?”

Rose hesitated. “It’s one of those timey wimey things, isn’t it?”

The Doctor’s smile grew. “Yeah, I suppose it is.”

Silence fell between them. Rose watched the Doctor, who looked down, fiddling awkwardly with the hem of her coat. Then she glanced at Yaz, and sighed.

“Oh, Rose,” she said suddenly, and gave a quiet chuckle. “What are we doing?” 

“Huh?’ Rose’s head jerked up. “Why—what do you think we’re doing?”

The Doctor just let out another laugh and shook her head, then gestured to the space between them. “Look at us here. End of the world. And I haven’t even given you a proper hello.”

Then without warning she stepped around the bed and crossed the small distance between them, scooping Rose up into a tight hug. Rose stiffened in surprise for the barest hint of a second, then immediately melted, because despite the new body, the new face, the new everything, this was familiar. The Doctor, her Doctor underneath a new coat and funny trousers and suspenders. 

For a moment, just a moment, Rose was home again.

They stayed like that for several seconds, then broke apart as an awkward cough sounded from the doorway. They turned as one, a flush Rose thought she saw spreading on the Doctor’s cheeks spreading across hers as well, to find a medical attendant standing uncertainly in the doorway.

“Er—” he glanced between them, then cleared his throat. “The others sent me to take care of the patient.” 

He nodded towards Yaz, now curled in on herself and softly moaning. The Doctor nodded in return, but made no sign of moving. 

“Thanks,” she answered stiffly. “I can stay with you, lend a hand.”

“Uh—” the man began to fidget uneasily. “Actually, they told me you’re both required. Something urgent, they said.”

“Urgent?” Rose asked. “What is it?”

The man’s gaze fell to her, and he swallowed. “It’s Kate Lethbridge-Stewart, ma’am. She’s back from negotiations.”

—————

By the time the Doctor and Rose filed into the command room, the others were already there. The Doctor caught sight of Kate immediately,  standing in front of an array of monitors, framed by CCTV footage and various shots of the fleet splayed across news channels. By the number of news programs scrolling across the screens, it was clear that the public, as well as various governments, were starting to catch on.

She dipped her head as Rose and the Doctor walked in, her face tight and strained. “Nice to see you here, Doctor. We could certainly use you.”

“Nice to be back,” the Doctor answered, as she cast her eyes around the room. Osgood, standing by Kate, gave the Doctor a friendly smile but didn’t step forward, only shifted uneasily on her feet and glanced at Graham, Ryan, and Clara, standing in a clump a few feet off. Graham, upon catching her gaze, gave a small wave and a warm, far-too-understanding smile.

“Good to see your face, Doc,” he said. His eyes glittered a dull gold under the light, set into a face that had long turned sallow and pale. He looked frail, the Doctor noticed. Tired. “We’ve missed ya.”

“Yeah.” The Doctor nodded, a lump forcing its way up her throat, and managed a small smile of her own. “Missed you too.”

The words burned her tongue on the way out, but Graham just kept his smile and gave a little shrug, as if to say ‘that’s okay’. Beside him, Ryan shifted and looked away. Clara just watched the Doctor, something that wasn’t quite a smile and wasn’t quite a frown painting her face.

“Right, well now we’re all here.” Kate’s voice cut through the tense silence and the Doctor turned immediately, eager to leave the introductions behind. She wasn’t sure how long she could stand to see Ryan’s betrayal, or look Graham in the eye, which were no longer his eyes but now belonged to the disease. The way they all would eventually, if she didn’t manage to stop it.

“As you know, I’ve just gotten back from negotiations,” Kate continued. “And I’m sorry to announce, it didn’t go well.”

She grimaced, and around the room the Doctor heard several sharp intakes of breath. Shock, and awful realization. She couldn’t find it in herself to muster either one.

“What did they want from us?” Osgood asked. Kate’s jaw tightened.

“Something we couldn’t provide,” she replied. “They wanted us to join their cause—their fleet—in return for the cure. Only we never got that far, because the minute their leader realized we didn’t have any ships to offer, they kicked me off the ship.”

“Oi, that doesn’t sound bloody fair!” Graham objected. “Why invite us up for negotiations at all, then?”

“Why come to a level five planet at all?” Kate countered. She shook her head. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t. I would have assumed they’d have known what they were getting themselves into. None of this makes sense.”

“It doesn’t.” The Doctor stepped forward, and all eyes turned to her. “Kate, you say you met with their leader? What was his name?”

“Elijah,” Kate answered. “He seemed a bit young, but—”

“Yes, he is.” The Doctor frowned. “I met with him just before you did. Er, not here, but in the future. I was trying to get more information about their cure, but before I could, he changed course and came to Earth. I’m honestly not sure what the connection is.”

“Connection?” Ryan gaped. “You mean he might have come here because you two talked? Because I’ve got to say, that is—”

“Hang on, we don’t know that,” Clara interrupted, and cast him a warning look. He fell silent, but the Doctor caught the mutinous look in his eye, and her hearts compressed. 

It was the right thing to do. She repeated it in her head like a mantra. It was the right thing to do. The right thing to do.

“It wasn’t like that, Ryan,” she said aloud. “I swear, I never mentioned Earth. He just got a call halfway through, something from an advisor—”

“He mentioned an advisor too, when I spoke to him,” Kate said. “Why, do you think he’s not the ones pulling the strings? That he’s some sort of figurehead?”

“Figurehead, no. Pulling the strings, I’m not sure,” the Doctor replied, brow creased in worried thought. “He seems to be in charge of the fleet himself, but there’s definitely somebody behind him, the same person, I think, who’s working on the cure. But who? Who has that kind of capability? Even I wasn’t able to crack it.”

From across the room, she caught the brief fall of Osgood’s face and almost questioned it, but then Rose gave her a nudge to the side.

“You said somebody could develop a temporary cure from the heart of the TARDIS,” she said. “Maybe they built off that?”

The Doctor shook her head. “I dunno. The heart of the TARDIS won’t stop the disease, that much is certain. Stave it off a bit, but where could they find a TARDIS? There’s nobody else in the known universe who has one, outside of us.”

“Could be another Time Lord,” Clara volunteered. “They’re locked under quarantine, but I managed to get in. Who knows who could get out?”

The Doctor’s lip twisted. “’Course they are. Well, if it’s another Time Lord, it’s not the best idea. We’re highly susceptible to the disease, there’s a reason I put—well,  that’s not important. The cure isn’t real, anyway, at least not the one they’re offering. It’s temporary.”

“Oh, well that’s comforting,” Graham muttered. “No cure, and no negotiations. What on earth are we going to do, then? Sit around and wait until they decide to wipe us out?”

“I should think not,” Kate said sharply. “That’s certainly not what we’ve been doing up until now. With the shield—”

“Shield?” The Doctor swung her head between them. “What shield?”

“Uh—” Rose exchanged a look with Clara, then sighed. “I feel like you won’t like this one, but we’re sort of mangling Clara’s TARDIS trying to expand the shields big enough to cover Earth. Nothing stronger than those shields, you told me so yourself.”

“I don’t like it either,” Clara added quickly. “But I don’t see a lot of options, not with seven billion lives on the line.”

“I—” the Doctor looked between the two of them, mouth open in stunned awe. She shut it only a moment later, then shook her head. For the first time in a while, something like hope bubbled in her chest. Useless hope, but there all the same. “Not like it? What’s not to like? Seven billion people on the line, and that’s—” she shook her head again, gaze soft— “that is brilliant.”

“I agree,” Kate cut in, her voice stiff with strained impatience. “Unfortunately, it’s not exactly getting done if we’re all gathered here, is it?”

“Oh, yes mum,” Clara muttered, but she flashed the Doctor a smile, then tugged on Ryan’s arm. “C’mon, Ry, let’s get working, yeah? Doctor, I’m assuming you’ll lend us a hand, right?”

The Doctor nodded. “Of course.”

“You don’t have to call me Ry,” Ryan grumbled, but followed her out of the room. The Doctor watched them go, only to look over as Rose touched her arm and gave her a gentle smile.

“Reckon with you helping we might actually have a chance,” she grinned, and the Doctor, despite the nagging dread in her stomach, smiled back.

“You always had a chance, Rose,” she replied. “Don’t undersell yourselves.”

“Oh, you know, just keeping things realistic,” she answered. “Shall we get on, then?”

The Doctor nodded, only to pause at the sound of an impatient cough behind her. She turned to find Osgood waiting, hands tucked nervously together.

“Actually, Doctor,” she said. “I’d like you to look at something, if you don’t mind. Just for a moment, in the lab.”

The Doctor looked to Rose, who shrugged, then back to Osgood. Then she nodded.

“Sure, Osgood. Lead the way.”

——————

She followed Osgood down the hallway and into a lab, chock-full of the sort of technology she always reprimanded UNIT for keeping. She bit her tongue now, however, and watched as Osgood pressed a button, sending several monitors flickering to life, then gathered in her hands a sheaf of paper which she then shoved towards the Doctor.

“Okay, Graham and I have been running tests,” she began, taking a step back once the papers were safely encased in the Doctor’s hands.

“Graham?” The Doctor looked up in confusion, and Osgood just smiled.

“He’s been my guinea pig, a bit,” she admitted. “Poor man, he’s got the patience of a glacier. But we’ve been running all the usual tests, trying to match the energy signals off regular artron energy to the stuff that the disease is made of. I mean you must know that it’s not a virus or anything, it’s—”

“A mutation, yes I know,” the Doctor answered. She peered, frowning, at the papers in her hands. “So what have you been trying to find, exactly?”

“The source,” Osgood said eagerly. She gestured to the monitors, mounted on the wall. “We figured—well, I figured—that if we studied the mutation, we might be able to find the source, and maybe from there develop a cure. From the tests we ran, we were able to determine that every time the disease met a new living organism, it mutated slightly to properly infect the organism. So from there we realized that if we knew the signature of patient zero, we could possibly understand how the whole disease came about. What started it, and—”

“How to stop it,” the Doctor finished. She was staring at the papers in her hands, brow furrowed. “Only we don’t have patient zero. And even if we knew where they were, they’re probably dead.”

“Well, when you put it like that, it seems proper depressing.” Osgood seemed slightly put out by the Doctor’s blunt analysis. The Doctor didn’t answer, but simply studied the papers in her hands. The results were familiar, but there was something about them that tugged at her memory, something she couldn’t quite place. As if—

“You knew this already, didn’t you?”

“Huh?” The Doctor looked up to find Osgood staring at her, a small, sad smile on her face. She gestured resignedly at the papers in the Doctor’s hands.

“The results. You already knew them, didn’t you? You’re not surprised.”

“I—” the Doctor glanced to the papers, then nodded. “Yes, I’m sorry. Osgood, I’ve run just about every test there is to run. I haven’t found a single thing.”

“Yeah, I sort of presumed,” Osgood said. She eyed the papers despondently. “So it’s useless then? Our tests? What we’ve found out?”

The Doctor sighed. “Not exactly useless. See, this would be excellent if we had patient zero. Only patient zero is most likely dead, and even if they aren’t, we have no way of finding them. But I admire what you’ve found, Osgood. Really, it’s rather quite brilliant.”

Osgood opened her mouth to say something, then closed it as a sharp rap on the door sounded. She looked over, then sighed.

“Probably wondering where you are.” She turned, and moved towards the door. The Doctor watched her for a moment, then her head sunk down once more towards the results in her hand, and she frowned.

Patient zero. They could use the results only if they had the energy signature from patient zero. But they didn’t, did they? Unless—

“Doctor?”

The Doctor’s head jerked up, and she turned to the door. Clara stood in the hallway, and upon catching the Doctor’s eye, she gave a little wave.

“Found you,” she said. She glanced between her and Osgood, as if unsure whether to intrude. “Are you coming?”

“Uh—” for a moment, the Doctor hesitated. For just a second, that same lingering suspicion pulled at her, the sensation that there was something she wasn’t seeing.

Then she set the papers to the side, and smiled. “Sure. Shields won’t put themselves up, will they?”

Chapter Text

Clara waited until the Doctor was fully in the hallway to reach out and shut the door behind her. “Sorry, not trying to be pushy. It’s just, you know, the end of the universe.”

“Yeah.” The Doctor just nodded. She wasn’t quite looking at Clara, but had her eyes focused down the length of the hallway, a small crinkle in her brow. Far off, frowning. Clara watched her for a moment, then cleared her throat.

“Er…shall we?”

“Huh?” Startled, the Doctor at last looked to Clara. “Oh, right. Let’s get a shift on.”

Clara smiled. “Is that your thing now? Let’s get a shift on?” 

“Is it?” The Doctor seemed surprised, then thought about it a moment. A small smile crept its way across her face. “Suppose it is.”

They turned down the hallway, walking side by side, and Clara couldn’t help but sneak a glance at the Doctor, then another. Taking in the things she hadn’t properly gotten to notice before, on that ship. She strode down the hall with her hands in her pockets and her back straight, her eyes focused ahead, but she couldn’t quite hide the frailness of her frame, or the way her coat hung off her shoulders. The lankness of her hair, or the empty look in her eyes.

She reminded Clara of her own Doctor, the gruff old man, when she’d found him after so many billion years in that confession dial. Dead inside. Like she’d already lost.

“Doctor,” she asked as they turned a corner. The Doctor, deep in thought, didn’t seem to hear her. “Doctor—”

She reached out and tugged on her sleeve, and this at last drew the Doctor’s attention. She looked down, then stopped in the middle of the hallway and looked to Clara, who gave a rueful smile.

“Is that how you treat an ex?”

The Doctor frowned. “Were we dating?”

Clara laughed. “No, dummy. But we were friends. We’re still friends, least I hope so. And I’m not just going to stand here while you beat yourself up, or whatever’s going on in your mind.”

“I’m not beating myself up, Clara.” But by the slightly caught look in her eye, Clara could tell that wasn’t true. So she planted herself in the hallway, and crossed her arms.

“Right. Care to share, then?”

“Uh—” for a moment, the Doctor looked as if she might be considering. Then she shook her head. “No. It’s useless. No sense in sharing.”

“Alright.” Clara’s arms remained crossed. Her foot tapped the floor. “How about a hello then?”

“A…hello?” The Doctor actually had the nerve to look puzzled, and Clara almost gaped. Instead, she shook her head in exasperation. 

“Oh, I do want to kill you half the time. Yes, Doctor. A hello. Like friends do. Maybe you haven’t wanted to see me all these years, but I’m perfectly fine in admitting that I’ve…well, I’ve missed you, Doctor. And I know we aren’t meant to meet up, and you should by all rights not even remember me, but—well, it doesn’t change the fact, does it? I’m happy to see you, Doctor. Always will be.”

She hadn’t meant to say it in so many words, but the second they finished spilling out she stopped and held her breath. The Doctor stared, surprised, though Clara couldn’t imagine why. Her Doctor had always seemed rather surprised at any outpouring of emotion too, particularly those directed at him. As if he couldn’t imagine somebody feeling any sort of positive way in his direction.

The Doctor opened her mouth, then shut it again. Then she cranked an old, sad smile into place, one so incredibly reminiscent of Clara’s Doctor that it almost hurt.

“Clara, if you don’t think a day hasn’t passed that I haven’t missed you, then you are absolutely, one hundred percent wrong.”

Clara stared. Tears filmed over her eyes, welled up right inside that small hole in her heart that had always wondered. Wondered whether the Doctor had moved on, wondered if she’d forgotten. Wondered if she’d found newer, better friends, silly as such a thought could be. She blinked them away, and tried to smile.

“Right, well you better not just be saying that,” she managed. “Because I’m very offended that you didn’t let Ashildr call me. And the way you’ve been acting—pushing us all away, going off on your own? Not very mature, you ask me.”

The Doctor’s lips twitched. “What are you, a school teacher?”

“Once and always,” she shot back. “And I wasn’t kidding about the lines earlier. Go off and do something stupid, and I’ll start drawing them up.”

The Doctor snorted, and turned to start once more down the hallway. “I won’t be doing anything stupid.”

“Oh, really?” Clara hurried to catch up. “Because I know that look on your face, Doctor. That’s the ‘I have a stupid, self-sacrificing idea’ face, and you won’t mind me saying that I don’t like it. Last time you did that, you were in a confession dial for four and a half billion years, so—”

The Doctor shook her head, eyes focused on the end of the hallway. “I don’t have an idea, Clara. I have—well, I have a thought. I don’t know. Not really worth anything, at this point.”

“Right.” Clara caught up to her side, and eyed her with disbelief. “You know I just—I care about you, right? Not just the universe—you. And whatever you’re going to do, I have a feeling I won’t like it.”

They stopped outside the door to the wide garage where the TARDIS sat, and the Doctor paused, then sighed and turned to Clara.

“I’m not doing anything stupid,” she said. “I’m just—doing what I can, Clara. That’s all. And right now, that means working on this shield. We can figure the rest out later.”

Clara studied the Doctor doubtfully. “Right. Okay. You know something, Doctor?”

The Doctor already had her hand pressed against the door, poised to push it open, but she stopped and looked at Clara. “What?”

Clara smiled. “This face is a terrible liar.”

The Doctor stared open mouthed, clearly caught. Then she scowled, and pushed the door open, leading them both into the garage where Clara’s TARDIS sat.

Clara followed the Doctor through the door and into the TARDIS, uncertainty still prickling under her skin. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the Doctor was about to do something incredibly stupid and self-sacrificial; she could see it in the set of her face, the exhaustion in her eyes. The way she wasn’t exactly talking to the others, wasn’t exactly talking to Clara. 

She was being evasive.

The Doctor stopped when they stepped inside the console room, so suddenly Clara nearly crashed into her. She narrowly avoided it, and instead stepped around and to her side, glancing across the torn-up space. Rose was there, crouched in front of the shields panel. The others were absent.

“Where’s Ryan?” the Doctor asked. “Didn’t—I thought Ryan was working with us.”

Rose looked up from the manual she had open, and glanced to Clara before answering. Clara understood immediately.

“Graham decided to go to the infirmary,” she answered. “Osgood doesn’t need any more tests, and he thought to go visit Yaz besides, so—”

She trailed off and shrugged, resigned. As if they all knew what was coming. Clara’s stomach twisted, and when she glanced at the Doctor, felt her heart tear in two. Because the Doctor had gone pale, awful realization struck across her face.

“I should—” she forced out. “I should go to see them.”

She turned on her heel, only for Clara to reach out and place a firm hand on her arm. The Doctor’s eyes found her hand, then traveled up to meet her gaze.

“Wait, Doctor,” she said. “We need you here. Help us with the shields, help us figure out what in the bloody hell we’re doing, then go visit them. Graham isn’t gone yet, I promise you.”

The Doctor’s lips moved silently before she answered, a half croak, nearly inaudible. “He might be.”

“He won’t,” Rose answered. The Doctor looked over to her, and she nodded, her gaze firm and sincere. “I promise, Doctor. He’s not quite at that stage yet. You know it’s true. Just give us a little time here, then go on. Okay?”

For a moment, the Doctor just stared. She was trembling, Clara realized abruptly, slight enough to go unnoticed except for her grip on her arm. She looked into the Doctor’s face and watched her swallow once, then nod.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s get to work.”

—————

It wasn’t more than two hours later when the Doctor bid Rose and Clara goodbye and stepped out of the TARDIS, wiping her hands on a spare towel from the grease that had accumulated. She stepped into the hallway, took a moment to get her bearings, then started in the direction of the infirmary.

She arrived to find Graham propped up on a bed next to Yaz, Ryan leaning up against the bedside table. They were speaking in low tones, but looked up when she arrived, voices trailing off.

The Doctor paused in the doorway. Her eyes flickered to Yaz, in the bed next to Graham’s. She had been switched to pajamas, and she lay curled on her side, her back to Graham, muttering something about stars and blackness. 

“How is she?” she asked, though she could tell it wasn’t exactly what they wanted to talk about. There were questions hiding in their eyes, which was precisely the reason she didn’t want to look at them.

Graham nodded towards Yaz’s prone form. “Honestly? I dunno. She’d been like this since we got here. We tried to talk to her a little, but—”

“Nothing.” Ryan was watching the Doctor, something hard in his eyes. “She’s just been muttering to herself. What happened, Doctor? What did you do to her?”

The Doctor’s head snapped to Ryan. “I didn’t do anything! Ryan, I swear—”

“Oh, don’t.” He crossed his arms, jutting his chin. “Don’t even say it, Doctor. Last time you swore something, you were gone three months without a single word.”

“But—” I left postcards. The words rose to her lips, stupid and useless, because she could tell by one look they hadn’t helped. It had seemed to her a good idea at the time—a red herring, and a promise of return. Now, in retrospect, with Ryan’s tone thick with betrayal, they seemed trite and patronizing. 

She didn’t finish her protest. Instead she just swallowed, and stepped fully inside, letting the infirmary door swing shut behind her. “I’m sorry, Ryan. I didn’t mean to leave, I swe—I’m telling the truth.”

“Hmmph.” Ryan’s eyes flicked over her face, scrutinizing, but he didn’t say anything more. Instead he nodded towards Yaz. “So what is wrong with her? We only saw her a day or two ago and she was—she was—”

“She was fine,” Graham completed. “And now—blimey Doc, she’s worse off than me. How is that possible?”

The Doctor stepped closer, restrained grief filling her eyes. “I assume you know she’s a carrier.”

Ryan gave a stiff, short nod. “Rose and Clara filled us in, yeah. But that doesn’t explain anything about how she got this way. Why she’s—”

Yaz let out a sudden cry, then curled deeper in on herself, shivering. Ryan’s eyes fell to her, and his face twisted.

“Like that,” he finished quietly. 

The Doctor didn’t immediately answer. She watched Yaz for a moment, as she shivered with her face screwed up in pain, then looked up, her eyes traveling over Ryan before landing on Graham. She studied him for a second, taking in his sagging shoulders and waxy skin, the circles under his eyes, and swallowed away a hard lump in her throat.

“It’s the jumping,” she explained. “The more a carrier jumps through time, the less stable she becomes. Living organisms aren’t made to travel like that, not without proper protection. And Yaz has jumped a lot, the past few days. It’s a wonder she’s here now. She’s strong.”

“Oh, we know that, Doc,” Graham said, and when she looked at him, flashed a smile far warmer than she deserved. Somehow it thickened, rather than loosened, the lump in her throat. “The question is, how can we help her?”

“I’m afraid we can’t,” the Doctor answered. “Not at these stages—well, not at any stages.”

She tried to smile, but it caught on the grief splitting her chest, and came out jagged. “I’m so sorry, I really am. But I don’t know what else I can do. I’ve been searching for a cure for months, and—” unconsciously, her hands curled— “I haven’t found a single thing.”

“But the other side—” Graham began. 

“The other side is faking it.” The Doctor looked at him sharply. “They don’t have a real cure, I’ve studied it. A real cure would be—” she shook her head. “I don’t know. Out of our reach, maybe. I’m not sure.”

“But you can’t just give up like that!” Ryan exclaimed. He flung an arm in the direction of Graham and Yaz. “What, you’re just going to let them die? Doctor, you can’t—you just—you can’t.”

The Doctor stared at him. “What do you expect me to do?” she asked quietly. Ryan shrugged.

“I don’t know. But—” he shook his head. “You’re you, Doctor. You always know what to do.”

“Do I?” she asked. “Ryan, I’m only—”

And then she stopped. Because what was she meant to say? Only human? Only a Time Lord? Only the one who had promised to come back, promised to fix things in so many words?

“I’m only me,” she finished. “And I’m doing what I can.”

“Yeah?” Ryan asked. His eyes began to blaze. “And what is that, Doctor? Besides abandoning us, I mean. Not like I ain’t used to that, but—”

“Son—” Graham began, and laid a calming hand on his arm, only for Ryan to shake it off.

“But I trusted you,” he said. His gaze bored into the Doctor. “We trusted you, Doctor. And you lied to us. You left. And you don’t even have anything to show for it. So tell me, what the hell are we supposed to do now?”

The Doctor didn’t answer, but stood there, numb, Ryan’s words slicing neatly through her chest like the blade of a knife. Hot and sharp and honest enough to hurt.

What do you have to show for it, Doctor? A voice which sounded suspiciously like her own taunted her. What on earth do you have to show?

“I don’t know,” she said. “But I’m sorry. Ryan, I’m—”

She caught his eye, saw the betrayal sitting there, burning off anger, and knew he wasn’t ready to accept it. She said it anyway. “I am so, so sorry.”

“Sorry ain’t gonna fix things,” he muttered, but he dropped his eyes and crossed his arms. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The Doctor’ gaze sank to the floor as well, and she gazed miserably at the linoleum, only the occasional cries from Yaz puncturing the long, awkward silence.

It occurred to her that they were all going to die. Or at least, so it appeared. She could feel her chances slipping away like sand through her fingers, had felt as such ever since she’d begun researching the cure and hit brick wall after brick wall. There was no hope, no solution, and with every passing moment, the disease spiraled further and further out of control. How could she—or anybody—possibly contain such a thing, short of bottling it at the source?

But that would mean— 

“So, is that it then?” 

The Doctor’s head jerked up, surprise and confusion flashing across her expression. Ryan was looking at her, hurt and anger mingling into the kind of resignation she had seen in a thousand faces before. She almost preferred the anger.

“What is what?” 

Ryan gestured to Graham and Yaz. “This. The disease. You said there’s no cure. So what do we do? Wait around to die?”

The Doctor stared at him, and once again, a desperate thought flickered on the edge of her mind. The kind of thought that was stupid enough to push away immediately, only she didn’t. Because Ryan was still staring at her, angry and hurt and expecting her to do something, even as it was clear he was waiting to be let down. Because Graham had moved on to staring at the floor in helpless resignation, shoulders sagged and back slumped. As if he had already accepted his fate.

You’re the Doctor, aren’t you? Fixer of the universe.

She couldn’t fix this. But she could try.

“I have—I have to check something,” she forced out, that stubborn lump finally swallowing her ability to speak. Then, before Ryan or Graham could protest, she turned and swept out of the infirmary.

She knew immediately where she was going, only she didn’t get that far.

“Doctor, can I have a word?”

Only two hallways down from the infirmary, the Doctor paused, then turned.

“Yes?” she said.

Kate stood at the end of the hallway, a tablet in hand. She gestured for the Doctor to join her. “Shall we walk and talk?”

The Doctor nodded toward the corner she’d been about to turn. “Sort of heading in the opposite direction, actually.”

Kate hesitated, then tucked the tablet under her arm, and strode briskly to catch up with the Doctor. The moment she did, the Doctor turned and started off down the hallway, leaving Kate to keep pace.

“I assume you understand the nature of what’s facing us,” she said. The Doctor didn’t turn to face her, but kept her eyes fixed ahead.

“Oh, I’m afraid I understand that and more,” she answered. “Like the fact that this shield is only a stopgap measure, and even if the fleet doesn’t succeed in destroying Earth—which they most likely will—you still have the disease itself to contend with, as well as no possible way of stopping it.”

“Well.” Kate seemed taken aback by her blunt observation. “I mean, do you?”

The Doctor stopped, and turned to face her. “Do I what?”

“Have a way of stopping it,” Kate answered. For a moment, the Doctor didn’t answer. Then she frowned, and turned back to the front, taking off down the hallway again.

“No.”

Kate jogged to catch up. “Hang on—you really don’t?”

The Doctor’s frown remained, a deep line in her forehead. “Do I look like I’m lying?”

“No,” Kate admitted. “But you do have a history.”

The Doctor didn’t look at her, but her frown deepened into a scowl. “Well, I’m not lying now. Hook me up to a lie detector if you want, we’ve got time. Sort of.”

“Very funny.” Kate frowned. They were striding quickly down the hallway now, and as they turned a corner, just before the Doctor’s destination, Kate put her arm out to stop her. “Doctor, wait—”

The Doctor came to a halt, just before the door she had been looking for, and looked at Kate. Gruff annoyance flashed across her face. “Yes?”

“Just—” With the Doctor stopped, Kate removed her arm, and brought both across her chest, hugging her tablet. She looked the Doctor up and down, scrutinizing. “Are you really, honest to god telling me that there is no hope for us? That there’s nothing we can do?”

The Doctor didn’t immediately answer. She frowned slightly, contemplating her answer, and didn’t quite meet Kate’s gaze. Instead she stared over her shoulder, at the opposite hall.

At last she answered, “I have to check something.”

“What—” But Kate didn’t have time to get her question out, for the Doctor turned and grasped the handle of the door they were standing in front of and, before she could so much as hear another word, opened the door and slipped inside.

She closed it behind her, and listened to Kate’s huff of impatient disapproval. She held her breath until she heard her receding footsteps, then whirled around and leaned against the door, letting the back of her head rest against the cold metal. It was the same lab that she and Osgood had stood in only a few hours before. It was empty now, and silent, with the exception of the Doctor’s panicked breathing.

She closed her eyes and took several breaths, smoothing over the frantic pumping of her two hearts. Panic was an emotion she’d learned to shut off long ago; other peoples’ expectations were harder. She could feel Ryan and Graham’s painful hope atop her shoulders, pressing as heavy as the weight of every planet she’d watched die the past three months. In her mind’s eye, she saw their faces.

In a way, it was worse like that. As personal as a punch to the nose, and just as painful.

She stayed like that for nearly a minute, taking in long, slow breaths, and letting them out, her eyes closed and her head tipped against the door. Then, once her breathing had calmed, she pushed off and made a beeline straight towards the computers Osgood had utilized earlier, the ones upon which the Doctor knew her data to be stored.

With a push of a button she had the monitors flickering to life, and it didn’t take her long to navigate to the test results. Once they flashed upon the screen, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her sonic, then thumbed through to the last scan.

“There we go,” she muttered when it popped up on the reader. The results of the sneaky scan she had done during her talk with Elijah stared at her, and she eyed them for only a moment before flipping the sonic and aiming it at the monitors.

“Right, I need you to run for a match,” she told the sonic, and thumbed the command in for good measure. “See if I’m right.”

The sonic buzzed, then lit up, and the monitors beeped, then began to scroll. Screen after screen of results flashed by, until the Doctor’s arm grew tired and her hand grew numb from her grip.

“C’mon,” she muttered. “C’mon—”

The scrolling stopped, and her sonic beeped. She pulled it back immediately, and eagerly thumbed the button the bring up the results. Then she stopped, and stared.

Because she was right. Elijah was patient zero.

And now she knew just where to find him.

Chapter Text

Ryan didn’t say anything for a long while after the Doctor left. Graham watched him, and didn't speak, but let him sulk.

After a few minutes passed, he gently said, “You didn’t go lightly on her, did you?”

Ryan didn't look at Graham. His eyes were on the door. “After everything she’s done? Don't think she deserved it.”

Graham leaned back into his pillows, and considered this. They were scratchy, thin pillows, the kind he immediately recognized from his previous stays in hospitals. Felt almost as if he were getting used to them.

It was a bitter thought.

“Alright, I’ll admit she ain't been the best friend the past few months,” he said. “But it hasn't been easy on anybody. Doesn't give you the right to tear into her.”

Ryan didn't seem particularly convinced. He crossed his arms and glowered.

“I can't believe you of all people are saying that. Considering that fact that you're—you're—”

He didn't quite get the word out. It stuck in his throat, so he swallowed instead and gestured vaguely over Graham. Then he stuck out his hand towards Yaz.

“And what about Yaz? Look at her, grandad! The Doctor brought her back like that, and you expect us to trust her?”

He was nearly yelling now, and at his raised tones Yaz let out a cry which quieted down into a whimper, then trailed off into indistinct mumbling. Ryan glanced at her, and shame crossed his expression.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, though Graham couldn't tell if it was directed at him or Yaz. He just dipped his head in acknowledgment. Silence stretched between them.

Ryan glanced at the ground, and shuffled his feet. For several long moments, he didn't speak. Then he sighed, and looked up.

“Grandad, are you really telling me you're not mad at her, not at all?”

Graham gave a small shrug. “Not at her, no. I mean, she didn't make me sick. Disappointed a bit, yeah. I mean, you'd expect more coming from a who-knows-how-old alien, dontcha? But at the end of the day, I think, she's still human.”

Ryan scoffed. “You literally just called her an alien and a human in the same sentence.”

Graham grimaced. “Oi, you know it's an expression. My point is, she makes mistakes. I don't want to waste time being angry at her when she's offered to help. I think she's doing the best she can.”

“Yeah.” Ryan gazed at him a long moment, expression unreadable. “Maybe.”

Then he looked at Yaz, still shivering, still muttering, and his brow creased, worry mingling into a deep-seated fear, the kind Graham had seen on many a man’s face, back when he'd been staying in the hospital. The kind that he hated to see splayed across Ryan’s young face.

The fear of death.

“Grandad,” he whispered. “Do you think we'll get out of this one? I mean fine, the Doctor’s doing her best, but—what if it's not enough? What are we gonna do?”

Graham shook his head. It occurred to him that at this age he ought to have better answers, more wisdom. Instead, he only had honesty.

“I don't know, Ryan. I don't know.”

——————

When the Doctor brushed through the infirmary door again, Graham and Ryan were already on their way out. Which was more or less exactly what she'd hoped.

“Back so soon, Doc?” Graham asked as Ryan helped him out of bed. He grimaced as Ryan gripped his hand, as if to make a show of not enjoying the help, but he let him pull him to his feet regardless.

The Doctor gestured towards Yaz. “I’d hoped to, uh—”

“Of course.” Graham, balanced unsteadily on his feet, and glanced meaningfully towards Ryan. “We were just going to grab a bite before Ryan goes back to work.”

Ryan rolled his eyes at Graham’s unsubtle look, then turned towards the Doctor. “Did you want to come? I hear the cafeteria isn't bad.”

“Better not be,” Graham grumbled. “After all the work we’re putting in saving their arses.”

“That I’m putting in,” Ryan corrected, the barest hint of a smile flickering at his face. He glanced once more at the Doctor. “Want to come?”

His tone was carefully pleasant, and the Doctor recognized it exactly for what it was; a peace offering. An olive branch, or an apology, or maybe both. That stubborn lump rose in her throat, and she swayed slightly on her feet. It was incredibly tempting; a snatched moment with friends, pushing the weight of the world off her shoulders, if only for a moment. Stolen comfort in stale sandwiches and bad coffee.

But the universe wasn't waiting.

She shook her head. “Thank you, really, But I'm just going to talk to Yaz for a few moments. Didn't really get a chance to before.”

Disappointment flashed briefly across Ryan’s face, but then his expression tightened and he nodded.

“Alright then. See you at the TARDIS, yeah?”

The Doctor nodded. “Yeah.”

It would be interesting, she thought, to put a tally on her lies. Just to see how high she'd gotten.

She stepped further inside, moving to Yaz’s bedside as the other two brushed past her to the door. She waited until they were fully outside, and the door had swung shut behind them before she pulled up a nearby chair and sank into it, just inches away from the edge of Yaz’s bed.

Yaz at first didn't seem to notice her. She remained curled under her blanket, eyes shut and hands covering her face, muttering incomprehensible nonsense. The Doctor watched her for a long time, then leaned forward, sinking her chin into her palm.

“Yaz, what am I supposed to do?” she asked. There came no reply. The Doctor eyed her painfully, then sighed.

“Yaz, I have an idea. Or no, it's not an idea, it's just—a chance, maybe. Actually, I don't even know if it's a chance I just—I need to do something, Yaz. I'm useless here.”

Yaz shook her head and pressed her palms deep into her eyes, mumbling something about stars.

“It hurts,” she groaned. “It hurts, I can—”

The Doctor watched her, then reached out with careful fingers and pressed them to her hair, still in a braid. With gentle movements, she began to smooth loose locks away from her forehead, tucking strands behind her ear. 

“S’alright,” she murmured. “S’alright, Yaz, I'm going to help you—”

But at the word help, Yaz abruptly stilled. Slowly, she removed her hands from her eyes and raised her gaze to meet the Doctor’s, drilling her with a dull gold stare. The Doctor stared back, rooted by surprise.

“Doctor,” Yaz said. The Doctor’s mouth fell open.

“Yaz?” she asked, tentative. “Can you hear me?”

Yaz pushed herself to a sitting position, the blanket sliding off her, and reached blindly for the Doctor, feeling out the lapels of her coat, then moving her hands around her sides, down to her pockets.

“Yaz, what are you doing?” the Doctor asked. Yaz shook her head.

“Pockets,” she mumbled. “You have to check your pockets, the whole point is the pockets—”

The Doctor stared at her. Yaz was patting her down, feeling across her coat, and when she found her pockets she dug in, only for her face to fall in frustration.

“But—” she withdrew her hands, then looked up at the Doctor with wide, sightless eyes. “Where is it?”

It took a moment for the Doctor to get her mouth to work. “Where is what, Yaz?”

Yaz frowned, then shook her head in confusion and covered her eyes. 

“I don't know,” she moaned. “I don't know, I don't—”

“Shhh.” The Doctor placed her hands on her shoulders and began to ease her slowly back onto her side. “It's okay, Yaz, it's okay.”

Yaz went quietly, the fight having drained out of her. Once her head fell against the pillow, she curled up again, and the Doctor made sure to pull up her blanket, tucking it around her shoulders before she leaned back into her chair and eyed her with a terrible sadness. Her hearts were sinking slowly to her stomach.

“I'm not sure what to do,” she said after a few moments. “Because I have a chance, I think, to fix this whole thing. Maybe. Actually it's a hunch, or maybe it's a saving throw, I don't know, but it's better than nothing, right? Right?”

Yaz didn't answer. She just mumbled to herself and curled in tighter. The Doctor watched her with soft, sad eyes.

“You don't need me here, do you?” she asked. “You lot are brilliant enough without me, I can see that. Building a shield out of a TARDIS—”

She broke off and shook her head. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Wouldn't have thought of it myself.”

She smiled then, an overwhelmingly grief-filled smile, and reached out to lay a hand on Yaz’s shoulder. Yaz didn't respond except to hunch even smaller under the blanket, pain painted across her face. 

“It hurts,” she cried out. “I can't stop it, it hurts, it—”

The Doctor stared at her. Deep in her chest, she felt something stiffen and crack. 

Her gaze hardened, and she took her hand away.

“Alright,” she said, and rose from her chair. “Alright, Yaz. I'm going to do—something.”

And then she turned, pushing her chair back, and started for the door. 

And nearly ran right into Clara.

“Hey!” Clara cried, startled, and stumbled back, only for the Doctor to catch and steady her. 

“Clara?” the Doctor said, baffled. “What are you doing here?”

“Running into you, apparently,” Clara grumbled, then reached up to gently peel the Doctor’s hands off her shoulders. “Good catch, though. Didn't expect you to turn around so fast.”

“Didn't expect you to be standing there,” the Doctor replied. She raised an eyebrow. “Did you come to visit Yaz?”

“Erm, sort of.” Clara straightened her shirt where the Doctor had grabbed her, then looked up into her eyes. “Just wanted to check and see—are you alright?”

“Me?” The Doctor took a step back. She blinked, shuttering off her expression, and was surprised to find wetness prickling at the corners of her eyes. She blinked it away. “‘Course I'm alright. I'm always alright.”

Clara nodded slowly. “Still a terrible liar. Right. Do you want to talk about it?”

The Doctor smiled, and knew immediately that it wasn't a good one. She could feel it cracking around the edges. “I really don't know what you're talking about. I was just off to work on the TARDIS.”

“Really.” Clara studied the Doctor. “And you aren't about to go off and do something stupid, are you?” 

The Doctor shook her head. “Scout’s honor.”

She raised her hand and shifted her fingers into a mockery of a scout’s salute. Clara glanced at it, then laughed and batted it away. 

“Right, so you're not going to tell me.” She put her hands on her hips and shifted her weight to one side, hitting the Doctor with a scrutinizing gaze. “Can I give you a reminder, Doctor?”

“Huh?” The Doctor glanced at her, then cast a quick look over her shoulder, towards the door. She bounced slightly on her heels. “Sure, I just—oomph!”

Without warning, Clara swept her into an enormous hug, tight enough to knock the air out of her lungs completely. The Doctor caught her breath in surprise, and for a moment, froze. Then she let herself relax, right into Clara’s achingly familiar embrace.

It was too short. After a few seconds, Clara drew back, her hands brushing over her pockets before she brought them up to straighten the Doctor’s lapels. 

“Going to work on the TARDIS?” she asked. She drew her hands back and looked up at the Doctor.

“Uh huh.” The Doctor nodded. “That's where I'm going.”

“Hmm.” Clara cocked her head as she studied the Doctor. Then she smiled, small and sad and far too knowing. “Right. Well, I'll be there soon. Don't get into too much trouble without me, yeah?”

The Doctor returned her smile, utterly solemn. “Wouldn't dream of it, Clara Oswald.”

Clara just shook her head as she stepped past her, slipping through the door and out into the hallway.

She waited until the door clicked shut behind her to turn around and make for Yaz’s bed, sliding into the chair the Doctor had occupied.

“Hi, Yaz,” she said softly, and when Yaz didn't respond, said it again, louder. 

“Hi, Yaz.”

This time, it seemed to register. Yaz’s head jerked up, her hands falling from her face. Then she sat up straight, golden eyes peering at Clara.

“You,” she whispered and reached out. “You—”

“Yes, it's me.” Clara leaned forward, catching her hand as it came to touch her cheek. “It's Clara, do you recognize me? Clara Oswald.”

“Clara,” Yaz repeated, and her fingers curled around Clara’s hand. “I have to help you, I have to—”

“Yes!” Clara nodded eagerly. “Yaz, you were talking about that before, about helping me. How do you have to help me? What do I need help with?”

But Yaz’s brow only crinkled in confusion. Abruptly, she pulled her hand away and clutched it to her chest.

“No,” she muttered. “I already did it, didn't I? It already happened, it's all done—”

“What's done?” Clara reached for her hand again, only for Yaz to yank it out of reach. “Yaz, what did you do?”

“Nothing.” Yaz shook her head. “I didn't already, but—no, hang on—”

And without warning she pressed her hands to her eyes again and let out a moan.

“I don't know,” she cried. “Clara, I have to tell you—”

“Tell me what?” Clara pressed. “Please, Yaz, it's okay, just tell me and you can rest, I promise—”

“No, you have to tell me,” she gasped, and buried her face on her hands, keeling forward. “You have to tell me the—the—”

“What?” Clara frowned. “Hang on. That doesn't make any sense. Yaz—”

She reached out again, hoping to calm her, or at least steady her, only for the radio watch on her wrist—a reluctant gift from UNIT—to beep. She scowled at it, then brought it to her ear.

“Yes?” she growled, eyes still fixed on Yaz. “Who is it?”

“It's Kate. Clara, where are you?”

Clara instantly straightened at the distress in her tone. “I'm in the infirmary with Yaz. What is it?” 

“Is the Doctor with you?”

Clara shook her head, then remembered that Kate couldn't see her. “No, but I saw her a few minutes ago. Why?”

There was a pause. Then Kate’s voice crackled through, a thin layer of calm papering over panic.

“Because her TARDIS is gone.”

Chapter Text

The Doctor piloted the TARDIS with an unnaturally quiet ease through the time vortex. Every once in a while she snuck a glance to her sonic, plugged into the console mainframe, its jewel-like light glowing softly. Upon the monitor just above her head flashed her destination.

Ithura, 238.5949.584 - year 5698.

It hadn’t taken her long to wire the data in her sonic, collected from both Osgood’s test results and her own scan, into the TARDIS. It hadn’t been done without protest. The TARDIS objected greatly, for reasons the Doctor couldn’t determine, but she guided her through the process with a soothing hand and plenty of murmured reassurances. She could understand her reluctance; even the Doctor wasn’t keen to jump straight to the starting point of a temporal mutation.

But she couldn’t see another choice. 

“We’re almost there,” she whispered, and let her fingertips stroke the controls. “Almost—hey, there we go. Good girl.”

With a great, familiar wheeze, the TARDIS thumped to a halt. 

The Doctor waited several moments for the wheezing to fade before she took her hands off the controls and stepped back from the console. Her sonic she unhooked and placed in her pocket. Then she took a heavy breath, and turned towards the door.

“Right,” she murmured. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

The doors opened, and the Doctor stepped outside into mushy, gray snow that immediately soaked through her boots, turning her socks damp. She grimaced, hopping her way out of the snowdrift, and onto the bare, stony dirt of drab field. Dead, empty trees spread out behind the TARDIS, skeletal branches clawing into a white, washed out sky, and just beyond the field over a small rise sat an array of low buildings that the Doctor immediately recognized as a village.

It wasn't quite what she expected. Then, she wasn't sure what she expected.

She shut the doors behind her and after a moment’s deliberation, decided on the village. Not for any particular reason, but the readings had led her to a time span of about a day, and a small, vague area, of which the village seemed a likely bet. Best source to get information, in any case.

She trudged through gray slush, wincing at the now-numbness of her toes, and crested the small rise. Trees dotted the outskirts, as bare as the forest behind her, and she surveyed them for a moment, then stopped and took a closer look.

There was something lying behind one of the trees. Something large, and dead. 

The Doctor frowned, and stepped closer.

The body stretched behind the tree, unmoving and very much not human, or bipedal in any sense of the word. Long spiny wings stretched across the ground, revealing an almost reptilian body, the skin brown and pebbled. When the Doctor knelt down and pressed a hand against its side, she felt still-warm flesh. A recent death, she figured. No more than a few hours at most.

She wondered what could possibly kill a reaper.

She moved her hand along its spine, then down to one of its limbs, only to pause and peer closer, nose scrunching.

“What is…oh.”

Caked upon its claws and scattered across the ground, the reaper’s limbs were messy with gold dust.

The Doctor stared for a moment, then sat back on her heels. Her gaze swept along the length of the reaper until she reached its eyes—open, staring sightlessly at the sky. A flat, dull gold.

A chill ran down her spine.

“Right,” she muttered and, suddenly anxious to escape the presence of the dead reaper, heaved herself to her feet and carefully stepped around it, to the direction of the village. “Looks like I'm in the right spot.”

It didn't take long to reach the village. She spotted two more reapers on her way there, both sprawled across the ground and clearly dead, but didn't stop to examine them. Instead she continued until her feet carried her to a rough gravel road, which split the buildings before her; roughly hewn, low hanging houses built of dark wood. Snow had been scraped from the road, piled up around the edges, and as the Doctor passed the first couple of buildings a thin, whistling wind swept through the town, fluttering her coat and setting her a-shiver.

“Nice place.” She shuddered and tucked her hands under her armpits, then leaned into the wind, eying the buildings as she passed. Most appeared to be stores or other specialties, and she puzzled for a moment over the lack of both homes and people before realizing that they most likely lived outside the town, on farms and otherwise. It seemed that kind of place.

Still didn't explain the lack of people, though.

The Doctor shivered again, then caught sight of a small cluster of people huddled together under the wooden awning of a building. They were talking in quiet tones, far too engaged in their conversation to notice as she approached, until she called out.

“Hello! Don't suppose you have a moment to talk?”

The three people—two men and a woman—looked up, confusion and then suspicion flashing across their faces. The closest man to her eyed her clothes, a spot of color against the drab snow and buildings, and his forehead crinkled into a frown.

“You new around here?”

“You could say that.” The Doctor wasn't feeling particularly smiley but she plastered one on just in case as she approached, pulling up short just close enough to be almost, but not quite, in their little huddle. “I'm more of a traveler, really. Seeing the sights.” 

The woman’s nose wrinkled in disbelief. “What kind of sights are you expecting here?”

The Doctor shrugged. “Oh, I dunno. Cool things. Weird things. Or boring things. Whatever you got, really.”

“Weird things, huh?” The second man gave a knowing nod. “I knew it. You heard about those things out there.”

He pointed over her shoulder, to the direction she'd came. She followed his gaze, though it wasn't possible to see anything at this distance, then turned back to face him.

“Things? You mean those big creatures I saw on the way in?”

“So you saw them then?” the first man said. “They're nasty, ain't they? And nobody can figure out where they came from, they just—came out of the sky, like that. As if God himself had dropped them down.”

He snapped his fingers to demonstrate and the Doctor nodded, a perfect look of faux astonishment fixed upon her face. “Just like that? When did they arrive?”

The woman shrugged. “Just a couple hours ago, all of them at once. Gave us a right fright, swooping over our heads like that.”

The Doctor frowned. “You don't seem very frightened now, if you don't mind me saying.”

“Yeah, well they're all dead, aren't they?” The second man gave a grim smile, and touched an object the Doctor couldn’t see to his lips. “Few minutes of absolute terror, then they all just—dropped, like that. It was mad. Everybody’s been talking about nothing else since.”

“Right.” The Doctor glanced around. “Only where is everybody, exactly?”

She'd expected grimaces, or fraught stares and worried glances. Instead, the first man guffawed.

“Well it's cold, isn't it?” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, to a building just two down. “Most of ‘em are in there.”

“There?” The Doctor craned her head over his shoulder to see. “What's there?”

The man grinned. “The pub, of course. Where else are we supposed to discuss a story like this?”

————

The Doctor wound her way through the tables and chairs, wriggling between groups of loudly gossiping patrons to get to the bar. 

“Ask the bartender,” the first man outside had advised. “He’ll tell you everything and anything you need to know. He knows basically everything about this place.”

“Not that there’s much to know,” the woman had grumbled.

The Doctor spotted the bartender before she made it to the bar, a broad man in a dirty white tank top with an impressive mustache, one hand swishing a rag in and out of a mug as he surveyed the crowds with a critical eye. She pushed her way into the open space right before the bar and thumped onto a stool, then beckoned for a drink.

The bartender came over slowly, still wiping the mug. “What can I getcha?”

The Doctor opened her mouth, then hesitated. She hadn't yet drunk in this body, nor did she know what she liked. Nor was she particularly in the mood to drink.

“Er…water.”

The bartender scowled, but turned to a tap and filled the very mug he was holding with water before slamming it down before her. She accepted it, and tried not to let her nose wrinkle in distaste as she pulled it close.

The bartender watched her as she raised it to her lips, and as she set it down, he said, “You new around here?”

The Doctor grimaced. “Is it that obvious?”

The bartender’s eyes flickered over her coat, her braces, the rainbow on her shirt. He didn't say anything, but his answer was clear. In precise, robotic movements, he began to swipe circles into the counter with the rag. After a moment, he spoke.

“You're here because of those things, aren't you?”

“Uh—no, actually.” The Doctor glanced around the pub, then leaned forward across the counter. “I mean, it's quite interesting. But I'm more of a general sight-seer. More here for the classical attractions.”

The bartender snorted. “Well, you're wasting your time. There ain't any of that here.”

The Doctor’s face fell. “Oh, c'mon. Not even a gift shop?”

She tossed it out as a joke, but something in her tone must have been off because the bartender’s brow knitted together in a scowl, and he tossed the rag onto the counter.

“What are you really looking for here?” he said. “What are you, some tourist from the city, trying to get a good look of the rural folk? Listen—”

He leaned over the bar and jabbed his finger at her. “All we do here is live our lives. We're honest, god-fearing folk, and as if it weren't enough with the disease, now we've got creatures falling out of the sky—”

“Disease?” The Doctor eyes narrowed and she leaned forward. “What disease?”

But the bartender just stared at her for a moment, then snorted and leaned back. He reached into his pocket and withdrew something the Doctor couldn't quite see, and pressed it to his lips. When he went to return it, she caught a glimpse of an ornately carved stone. 

“Oh, that's what you're interested in?” he asked. “What are you, a journalist? Seem about as heartless.”

The Doctor frowned, and leaned back, though her hands remained gripping the edge of the bar. “No. I'm sorry, I'm just—I'm a researcher. I’m studying this new disease—”

“New disease?” The bartender shook his head. “Now I've no idea what you're going on about.”

The Doctor’s face fell. “What?”

“Ostavosis,” the bartender answered. His eyes roamed suspiciously over the Doctor’s face. “It's an old disease. Well known. You must have heard of it.”

“No, I haven't.” The Doctor eyed the bartender, frowning. “I'm not from Ithura, see. Off world visitor.”

“Oh, well that makes a hell of a lot more sense.” The bartender’s face cleared. “Well, don’t put much worry to it. Only Ithurians are vulnerable. Unfortunately for us. We’ve had a bad go of it recently.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” The Doctor replied absently. “And I suppose you have trouble getting vaccines out this far?”

“Vaccines?” The bartender chuckled. “You’d have to cure it first. Oldest known Ithurian disease. Thousands of years, still no cure. Suppose you can’t beat that, wherever you’re from.”

He sounded dismal as he said it, and his hand came out to clutch the rag again, moving it once more in rhythmic circles. The Doctor watched him clean the spotless counter, and wondered if she should say something.

“I suppose I can’t,” she replied. “But I really am sorry. Disease is terrible anywhere. Especially the kind you can’t fight.”

The bartender shrugged. “Guess so. Hardest on the parents, really. Lots of children lost to it, you know.”

“Children?” Deep in her chest, the Doctor’s hearts panged. “That’s truly awful.”

“It is, yeah.” The bartender had stopped cleaning, and was now staring at the counter. Then he sucked in a short breath, and let it out in a rush. “Anyway, anything else I can get for you? It’s tradition ‘round here to buy a newcomer their first drink. I was gonna make you pay, but you seem like a decent sort.”

“Huh? Oh, thanks.” The Doctor glanced at her mug, still nearly full. “But, er, no thanks. I’m actually going to head back to my ship before it gets too dark.”

And as she glanced out one of the far windows she realized she’d have to hurry. Evening was quickly fading into dusk, and she couldn’t remember how long an Ithurian day was, but she was pretty sure it was near that of an Earth day. They were related too, she remembered now, humans and Ithurians. Only distantly—Ithurians had that artron energy sensitivity that humans didn’t—but there was a shared history somewhere along the line. Something religious, maybe.

“You better head on then.” The bartender’s gruff voice broke her from her thoughts, and she turned around to watch him jab a finger at the door. “It’s fairly safe ‘cept for the occasional animal, but you never know with those things out there. I dunno what they are, but they ain’t creatures of God, that’s for sure.”

“Oh—yeah.” The Doctor slid her mug back across the bar, cringing as the bartender eyed distastefully the nearly full mug, then rose with a screech of her stool legs. “Well, thank you for the conversation. It was…interesting.”

The bartender grunted. “Least I can do.”

He grabbed her mug and she watched him turn around and dump the contents into a sink before turning around herself, and starting back through the mass of tables and people. The crowd had grown considerably from the time she’d entered, as more and more people packed in and away from the cold, eager to discuss the day’s strange events.

Once the Doctor made it out of the pub, she turned in the opposite direction of the way she’d come and began a considerable loop of the village, keeping her eyes peeled for any possible temporal contamination. She found nothing of the sort, nor did she discover anything more about the village, which turned out to really only be a few buildings crowded around one long, snow-cleared road.

Two moons had appeared in the still-light sky as she finally turned back to the direction she’d come. It didn’t take her long to cross the village, nor did it take her long to crest the small, tree-dotted rise over which she had traveled on her way in. Before long, she could make out the line of skeletal trees stretching across the horizon, and only a short while after that, when she squinted, she began to make out the familiar blue of her TARDIS.

She couldn’t help the relief that washed over her as she neared. It was slowly darkening, and although she knew the reapers were dead, she could feel their presence prickling uncomfortably on the back of her neck, like a warning sign. She didn’t look at any of the bodies she passed, but only stared straight ahead to her rapidly approaching TARDIS, and that was how she realized very quickly that there was somebody waiting for her.

He swung around at the crack of a branch under her foot and she froze, not ten feet away. For a moment they both stared at each other, he gripping a strange small contraption in his hand, before he broke into an enormous smile and stepped forward. 

“This is your machine, isn’t it?” He was grinning broadly, turning the contraption in his hands like an excited child, and she looked him over once before nodding. He was a small man, closer to elderly than middle age, with shocks of graying hair and a thin, wrinkled face, which now appeared to be brimming with joy.

“Yes it is,” she replied slowly. “Why? May I ask who you are?”

But the man just shook his head, his face still split into an enormous smile, and to her shock, the Doctor saw tears begin to come.

“You must be a saint,” he said, still shaking his head in disbelief. “You must be a saint sent from God himself.”

“Me?” the Doctor asked. “Why?”

“Because.” The man grinned. “You just saved my son’s life.”

Chapter Text

For several minutes, the whole room was silent. Then, quietly, murmurs began to go up; some angry, some worried, some scared.

Clara didn’t join them. She just stood there, and stared at the spot where the Doctor’s TARDIS had previously sat.

“I knew she’d leave.” A low voice, almost a growl came from just behind Clara’s left shoulder and she whipped around, only for Graham to get there first.

“Oi, Ryan!” he snapped. “She might come back, you know! Some bloody optimism might be nice!”

Ryan reared back in surprise, as did Clara. In the—admittedly short—time she’d gotten to know him, Graham hadn’t been one to snap.

Then, the Doctor had just left them in their hour of need. She supposed that gave him the right to snap.

“Ryan, Graham,” Kate said wearily from behind them. “I know this isn’t ideal. But we were already going through with this plan before the Doctor got here. I don’t see why we should stop now.”

“We’re not stopping,” Ryan said through a clenched jaw. “I’m just pointing out—”

“And we heard it,” Graham said. “Son, I’m just as disappointed as you are, but don’t waste your time. If she comes back, she’ll come back.”

“And you think she will?” Ryan asked. His eyes were on Graham, his gaze alive with righteous indignation. “Grandad, do you honestly think she’ll come back?”

Graham met his gaze steady-on. For a moment, Clara just watched him search Ryan’s eyes, his expression unreadable.

Then, he snorted.

“As if I can read her mind,” he said. “But I’ll tell you one thing. She won’t leave us in a bind.”

Ryan stared. “You wouldn’t call this a—”

“She left blueprints.” Rose, who had been silent up until then, suddenly jerked her head up. Her eyes widened, then fell to Clara. “Isn’t that right? She left us blueprints.”

For a moment, Clara didn’t remember. She was too busy thinking of those last few minutes in the infirmary, that last hug, the kind which sent her breath short, because she had been almost too late. A few moments later, and she might have missed her. Then should would have never gotten the chance to say goodbye, never gotten the chance to slip that—

“Clara?”

“Huh?” Clara’s head shot up. “Sorry?”

“The blueprints.” Rose was staring at her. “You remember that, don’t you? We know how to set the shields up.”

“Oh, I—” Clara swallowed, momentarily stumped. Then it came back to her. “Yeah, we’ve got them. The know-how, at least.”

“Good.” This came from Kate, and the other four turned in her direction. She wasn’t looking at them, however. She was staring at the communicator on her wrist. “That is perfect timing.”

“Perfect timing?” Rose frowned. “Why?”

For a moment, Kate didn’t reply. Then she looked up, her expression grim.

“Because,” she said. “I’ve just received warning from every country monitoring the fleet. It seems as if they’ve started to prepare to attack.”

—————

The man grinned broadly at the Doctor. The Doctor just gaped. After several moments, she found her voice.

“I’m sorry, what?”

The man’s grin only widened. He reached out, groping, until his fingers found painted wood, and he patted the TARDIS.

“You and your machine,” he said, and shook his head. “Heaven sent, you are. And for all I prayed—”

“Prayed—for me?” the Doctor asked. Dimly, her mind was reeling. 

The man shook his head, and reached into his pocket. “For a miracle. Anything. I’d nearly lost hope, but—”

He broke off, and chuckled. “God moves in mysterious ways.”

The Doctor stared. It took her a moment to find her voice.

“I’m not—” she shook her head. “I’m not who you think I am, and—sorry, what’s your name?”

The man looked up at her, and smiled, and as he did, his eyes caught the rising moonlight. The Doctor choked back a gasp.

Because at this angle and proximity, even with the rapidly encroaching darkness, it was possible to see that the man’s eyes were filmed with gold.

“My name is Alve,” he said. “And I’m nobody, I really am. Just a poor old man, with a son who might have died today if it hadn’t been for your machine.”

“Machine?” The Doctor frowned. “Alve, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ve ever met you or your son. I’m just a traveler, see. Sometimes I help people where I can, but I’ve never even been here before.”

But Alve’s smile only grew wider. “Oh, but that doesn’t matter! It’s the fact that you came at all, and just in the nick of time, I—”

He broke off and shook his head in disbelief. He surveyed the Doctor for a long moment, eyes glimmering with something the Doctor couldn’t remember having seen for a very long time. 

Joy. Her hearts panged painfully at the sight.

And then abruptly Alve let out an embarrassed laugh. “Oh, where are my manners?”

He tucked his contraption under his arm, then stepped forward and stretched out his hand. The Doctor hesitated, then grasped it.

Immediately, Alve pumped her hand up and down, his grin swelling once more. “I’m so sorry, I haven’t even gotten your name! An angel sent by God, and I forget my manners. Please forgive me.”

“I’m not an angel,” the Doctor said absently as he released her hand. She drew it back, flexing her fingers slightly from his over-enthusiastic grip. “My name is the Doctor. I really am just a traveler, Alve. Nothing more.”

“Yes, but you’ve delivered a miracle today.” Alve’s eyes were brimming over with joy, so bright it hurt to see. The Doctor couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “Come, would you like to see? I don’t live far.”

The Doctor didn’t answer at once. She studied Alve with a slight crease in her brow, her gaze sweeping over his small, stooped form, his thinning gray hair, and at last, his gold filmed eyes. After several moments, she nodded.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I think I’d better.”

————

Contrary to Alve’s statement, his home was not as close as the Doctor assumed. They wound first through the village, then past it as they made their way to his home, and as they walked, Alve talked. He seemed enthusiastic to share his story, and once started, kept the conversation flowing with only the occasional question from the Doctor.

“You see,” he whispered excitedly as they walked through the village, leaning in as if he expected others to attempt to listen in. The road, however, was nearly deserted. “I have an ability, given to me by God himself.”

“An ability?” the Doctor whispered back. “How so?”

Alve nodded eagerly. “It started three months ago. Or—” he broke off, and chuckled quietly. “Silly me. I should go back a bit. I need to tell you about my son.”

“Your son?”

Alve bobbed his head again. “Yes. You see, my son Selvi is the most important thing to me in the world. Without him, I don’t know what I would do. It’s only been us, ever since he was just a toddler.”

The Doctor nodded solemnly, but otherwise didn’t respond. Alve continued.

“Not three months ago, Selvi was struck by the children’s disease.”

“Children’s disease?” The Doctor’s face crinkled in confusion. Alve nodded.

“Ostavosis. Surely you must have heard of it.”

“Oh.” The Doctor’s face cleared, then turned sober. “Yes, I have. But why children’s disease?”

“It’s rare to catch as an adult,” Alve answered, then waved his hand dismissively. “But that’s not important. What’s important is that this disease, this blight—” his face twisted— “threatened to take from me the only thing I held dear.”

“I understand,” the Doctor answered. “But what did you do? What can you do? I thought it had no cure.”

“It doesn’t.” Alve’s face darkened. “I’ve always wondered—well, it doesn’t matter. When I was younger, I dreamed of finding a cure. But I’m a poor man, and I have a son to take care of. Any money I save goes to his schooling. You understand, surely. Are you a parent?”

The Doctor hesitated, face clouding. At her reluctance, Alve simply nodded. “No need to explain. I can see it in your face. I’ve seen it on my own the past few months, every time I look in the mirror.”

“Yes,” the Doctor murmured. “I can imagine. But go back, Alve. What were you saying about the disease?”

“The—oh, yes.” His face turned dark once more. “Children’s disease. As you said, there is no cure. But I am a devout man. I turned to God for guidance.”

“You…prayed?” The Doctor’s nose wrinkled, confused. They were just passing the last houses of the village now, and the road had narrowed into something of a wide path. Bare trees and the occasional farmhouse dotted snow-blanketed fields.

Alve nodded, and reached into his pocket. As the Doctor watched, he removed a small stone, and pressed it to his lips before continuing. “I prayed for days on end. When I wasn’t caring for Selvi, I prayed for anything that could possibly help me. Anything.”

“Did you get an answer?” the Doctor asked. She was looking at Alve as she spoke, but when she glanced up, she caught the ghostly form of another reaper stretched out behind a tree. She shivered, and picked up the pace slightly.

“I got a gift,” Alve answered. His face crinkled at the memory. “An ability, something extraordinary, but—well, you can imagine my disappointment. I couldn’t imagine how it would help my son.”

“Why? What was it?” the Doctor asked, even though she had the sinking feeling she knew the answer. Alve grinned, and his eyes glinted as he tilted back his head to look at her. 

“The gift of travel,” he answered in a low voice. “Instantaneous, faster than a transmat beam. But not only travel through space, you see. I gained the ability to travel through time.”

“Travel through time,” the Doctor repeated hoarsely. Her head was starting to spin, her hearts thumping in her chest. “But—how? And how are you—”

She cut herself off before she could get the words out, but Alve didn’t seem to notice. He bobbed his head eagerly.

“You understand!” he crowed. “You can imagine, I’m sure, the potential of such a gift. But can you believe I didn’t want it?”

The Doctor most certainly could. Instead, she just plastered a look of doubt upon her face. “Why not?”

“Because it didn’t help me,” he spat. “Oh, I wasn’t one to turn away God’s will. There is always virtue in following Him. I worked on my gift, until I could control it. Until I could hold a place in my mind, and jump there instantaneously. It hurt, but do any of his gifts come without a price?”

“No, I don’t reckon they do,” the Doctor answered dryly. Her hearts had begun to bang against her ribcage, a staccato rhythm. They were approaching a house now, a ramshackle, wooden thing with snow sliding off the roof, a light glowing faintly in the window. Behind the house sat a shed, as ramshackle as the building itself. “But I don’t understand. What does any of this have to do with me?”

Alve grinned, and jabbed a finger at the Doctor’s chest. “Because you—you were the answer! You completed his vision! I realized the moment I found your machine that God’s work requires faith and obedience. An impossible patience. But I waited, and prayed, and when you arrived, I knew.”

“Knew what?” the Doctor asked crossly. “Alve, I’m sorry but I’m not following. What do I—what does my machine have to do with any of this?”

Alve stopped. They were just outside his house, standing at the foot of several steps leading up to a sagging porch and a pockmarked door. Alve gestured to the top of the steps.

“Shall we?”

The Doctor hesitated, then nodded. Alve dipped his head, his hands churning almost anxiously, then led the way up the steps. Once he reached the top he pressed his hand to the door handle, and began to speak again.

“Earlier today, I was struck by a vision,” he said as he pulled the door open. “It’s not unknown for my kind, but it’s hardly usual. I saw a cure that I myself had created for this wretched disease in the future, clear as if it were right before me. And I realized why God had given me such a gift. I knew what I had to do.”

He waved the Doctor inside and turned to shut and latch the door behind them, then flicked a nearby switch. Light filled the hall. Beyond it, in a room off to the left where a dim light already shone, the Doctor heard the creak of a bed.

“What did you have to do?” she asked. A horrible dread was filling her stomach, crawling up her throat. 

Alve shook his head once more, soft disbelief filling his expression, and said, “What would you do? I had the chance to cure my boy. So I jumped. I grabbed a syringe and I came back. God showed me the answer, though he took his time.”

He laughed softly, and then scurried off into the second room, as the Doctor stood rooted in place. A cold numbness was spreading throughout her limbs, her chest. Nausea burned her throat. 

Her head was spinning.

“Selvi?” Alve called softly, then poked his head back around the doorway and grinned.

“He’s awake, if you’d like to introduce yourself,” he said, then disappeared again. The Doctor stood there for a moment, unable to formulate an answer, or indeed, a thought. Then, moving as if in a dream, she followed.

The lights were turned low as she entered, into a room that was clearly meant both as a living space and a bedroom. There was a small bed up against the wall, right under a white, frost-stained window, and upon the bed lay a small form, shivering under a thin blanket. The Doctor stepped closer, even as her mind screamed at her uselessly to stop, to run. She could sense the wrongness coming off the boy in waves. 

She took another step closer.

There was a book on a chair next to his bed, dog-eared and well-worn, and she numbly took in the picture on the cover. Moses, parting the seas. An Old Testament for children, it looked like. The kind that focused on the stories more than the litanies of commands. Dimly, she recalled the relationship between the Ithurians and the humans. Split off somewhere down the line. A shared religion.

“Selvi?” Alve leaned over the boy, and ran a hand gently over his form. “I brought somebody here to see you. She calls herself a doctor, but I think she’s a miracle worker.”

A hollow laugh rose in the Doctor’s chest, and never left her throat. Instead she only stared as the boy shifted, then turned to face her, innocent curiosity mingling in his expression.

His face was pale, and freckled. His eyes, like flat gold coins, glinted dully under shocks of bright red hair.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

Rose shook her head. She and Clara were bent over a monitor on the console, brows wrinkled in determined concentration as they flicked through screens of calculations Ryan couldn’t decipher. He wasn’t entirely sure they could either. And he felt entirely useless, standing there holding wires together.

“I mean according to the blueprints we’ve done everything accurately, so—” Rose’s eyes fell once more to the blueprints spread over the console, and she frowned. “There’s no reason they shouldn’t work. Unless we’ve done something wrong.”

“But we haven’t,” Clara said. “I’m sure of it. This time we haven’t.”

“Didn’t you say that the last time we tried this?” Graham asked. Clara, her eyes still on the screen, scowled.

“Oi, shouldn’t you be in bed rather than backseat driving?” she shot back. He shrugged.

“No safer place than a TARDIS, is there?” he answered. He was leaning against the wall, watching them work with an idly interested eye. Ryan rolled his eyes.

“The TARDIS is powered down, Grandad,” Ryan said. “You wouldn’t be able to get in otherwise. You’re sick.”

“Yeah, that’s how me and Yaz ended up on that fun little romp across time and space,” Clara added in. “I went to pick her up, TARDIS wouldn’t let her in. First thing I did when I got here was make sure you lot powered her off.”

“Not to mention it’s pretty thick to be working on a powered up TARDIS,” Rose said. She was still bent over the blueprints, forehead crinkled. “Especially if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“The Doctor does that all the time,” Graham said. Then he paled. “You mean I might have accidentally tossed the TARDIS out of UNIT?”

“Well, you didn’t.” Clara looked up, and shot him a reassuring smile. “Why’d you think we made you wait outside for the tests?”

Graham shook his head. “Bloody hell. Okay. Right. Nice to see I’m being useful.”

Rose shook her head, though she didn’t look up. “You’re always useful, Graham. Good company.”

“Right.” He snorted. “Well, seeing as you’re about to do another test, I think I’m going to go visit Yaz. See how she’s getting along.”

“Oh, good idea.” Ryan’s head shot up, and his eyes glinted with worry. “Did the attendant say anything?”

Graham shook his head. “Last time I was there, no. Said she shouldn’t jump anymore, though I don’t know how any of us could prevent it. And she keeps babbling about things I don’t understand.”

“That sounds about right for this stage.” Rose set the blueprints back on the console and looked up. Her eyes were solemn, serious. “And the attendant was right. The thing with carriers is that they don’t always die the normal way. Sometimes they just jump one last time and just—disappear. I’ve seen it happen.”

Ryan’s jaw tightened. “How on earth are we supposed to keep that from happening?”

“Keep her comfortable, and calm if at all possible,” Rose answered. She glanced apologetically between the both of them. “If we keep her stable, it lowers her chances of jumping. That’s all we can do.”

“That’s encouraging,” Ryan muttered. But he nodded anyway towards Graham. “Yeah, Grandad, you’re good with that. You should go.”

“Least I can do,” Graham answered. He pushed off the wall, a little unsteady, and gave them all a wave. “Right. Good luck on saving us all.”

Rose’s lips twitched. “As if it’s so easy.”

“Let’s hope it is!” he called, and then the door to the console room shut behind him. Ryan looked at Rose, and shrugged.

“Not as if I had a choice in grandads,” he said. “Now, are we doing this or what?”

It didn’t take them long to finish setting up. Clara lingered to turn on the TARDIS, then joined them outside, where they clumped together in an uncertain trio.

“Ryan, did you bring the control panel?” Clara asked. Ryan nodded, and held it out for her, only for her to wave it back at him.

“Nah, I did it last time,” she said. “You try your luck.”

Ryan stared. “Are you sure? What if I blow it up?”

“If you blow it up, it’s definitely a problem with my rewiring,” Rose said grimly. “But in all seriousness, we don’t have all day.”

She gestured towards the controls, gripped tightly in his hands “Could you please do the honors?”

Ryan gulped. Then he nodded. With trembling fingers, heart beating fast, he reached out and flipped the switch.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, without warning, there came an enormous whoosh! A gust of something rippled out from the TARDIS, and Ryan barely had time to brace himself before it knocked into the three of them, sending them all staggering backwards. Beside him, Clara stumbled, and he reached out to steady her, then looked up.

“That definitely didn’t happen before,” he said. “Is that it? Did we do it?” 

“I think—” Rose peered over his shoulder at the control panel, then snatched it from his hands and began scrolling through readings.

“Hey!” he cried, but there was no annoyance behind it. She just shook her head and continued to scroll. 

“I think…we’ve done it. Or near as I can tell. There’s only one way to really check.”

“What way is that?” Ryan asked, just as Clara’s communicator beeped. She frowned, and thumbed the volume button then held it up so they could all hear. Ryan leaned in as Kate’s strained tones crackled through the tiny receiver.

“This is not a drill, let me say again this is not a drill. We’ve gotten reports that the fleet has prepared their weapons. Firing is imminent.”

There was more, something about taking cover, but Ryan didn’t hear. He leaned back and stared at the others, numb fear spreading through his chest.

“There’s your way, Ryan,” Rose said grimly.

————

Distantly, she was lying on a bed in an infirmary in pajamas that weren’t hers, but more presently she was falling amongst stars.

She couldn’t figure out what had happened, only that the blackness had slammed into her and never left. It drilled deep into her mind, tearing it apart with a pain that couldn’t be physical and was, and much as she tried to close her eyes, tried to shut it out, it burst through her head with visions that couldn’t possibly be hers.

A thousand futures, and none of them happening. A thousand pasts, all disappeared, only they couldn’t be, if she could just—

She had to find her. It was the only thing that made sense in her head. She had to find her, the impossible girl, and tell her what she knew—or no, the impossible girl had to tell her what she knew, and she couldn’t figure out which one was the right way to go about it.

And as if to make things worse, she kept seeing things.

She was on a planet that had been destroyed and brought back and—no, she was on a planet where a sick boy shivered under blankets—no, she was piloting a TARDIS that wasn’t hers—no, but she didn’t know how to pilot a TARDIS, did she? Were any of those memories hers? Were they memories at all, or things that hadn’t yet come to pass? All of time was jumbled up in her head, and every time she pressed her hands against her eyes she just saw more stars.

“I need—” she gasped in a rare moment of clarity, though she couldn’t tell if anybody was there to hear it. “I need—I need to find—I have to tell her—”

Rough, warm hands guided her back into bed, and a familiar voice spoke. “There now, love, it’s alright. Just take it easy, yeah? Everything’s going to be okay.”

“She left,” she cried, and curled up into herself, hands she couldn’t quite feel scrabbling at blankets that didn’t really help at all. “I have to tell her before she leaves—”

“It’s alright, Yaz,” that same familiar voice soothed. “You’re going to be fine.”

She wasn’t, but the voice didn’t know that. Instead she just quieted as a wave of aching exhaustion washed over her, sending her reeling back into bed. Those warm hands patted her shoulder in a grandfatherly fashion, but she didn’t feel much beyond that.

Once she had calmed, Graham stepped back and surveyed Yaz with a mournful eye. There was a great lump in his throat that wouldn’t budge, and though he had never had a grandchild until Ryan, he couldn’t help but think that this must be what it felt like to lose one.

He glanced up anxiously to find the attendant watching him, solemn.

“She’s not going to be okay, is she?” he asked. “I mean, I know what I just said, but—”

The attendant shook his head. “It might be nice for her to hear it, though. Who knows? It’s hard to tell with these kind.”

He glanced sorrowfully at Yaz, huddled under the blankets. Graham watched him, a bitter feeling in his chest.

“She’s not mine, you know,” he said suddenly, then chuckled. “Well, maybe it’s obvious, innit? But I feel a bit like she’s mine. Like I’ve gotta watch over her, just like with my own grandson.”

“I can imagine,” the attendant said. Graham looked him over doubtfully. It was clear he couldn’t; he was a young man with glasses and messy brown hair, who didn’t look old enough to be a father, never mind a grandfather. But he let it go.

“Yeah, it’s hard,” he said, and sat heavily down on the opposite bad. The lump in his throat still wouldn’t go away. “I think—”

He cut off at a beep from the attendant’s wrist communicator. The attendant frowned, and lifted it up to his ear to listen. Then his eyes widened.

“Oh my god,” he said.

“What is it?” Graham demanded. “What happened?”

Slowly, the attendant lowered the communicator from his ear. His face had gone terribly pale. 

“It’s the fleet,” he said. “They’re about to attack.”

—————

Elijah stared at the Earth below him, hands behind his back. He didn’t move. Beside him, one of his aides waited nervously.

“Uh, sir, did you want me to give the command?” 

Elijah didn’t answer. His eyes roamed over the green and blue mass below, and something akin to awe filled his expression.

“You know, my people share an ancestry with humans,” he said. “Funny, isn’t it? The things you need to do.”

“Uh, yes sir.” The aide was very deliberately not looking at him, but staring studiously at the planet below. “But uh, you didn’t answer…”

Elijah frowned, and reached up to tap his earpiece once, twice. He apparently didn’t get an answer, for his face twisted into a scowl and he brought his hand down, jamming it behind his back.

“No answer,” he muttered. “Unlike her.”

“Sir…?” the aide prompted. “I can look for her, if you’d like. She’s usually in the lab.”

Elijah shook his head. He was still staring at the earth. “No. I don’t need her permission. Yes, you may give the command to fire.”

“Uh, thank you.” The aide nodded, clearly relieved at his success, then turned and tapped his own earpiece.

“Yes, this is Commander Johans, we’ve been cleared for concentrated fire. Go ahead.”

Elijah watched as, one by one, the ships in orbit released their weapons. Enormous, planet busting bombs floated from ship underbellies, caught the gravitational pull, and began to fall, gaining speed as they plummeted to Earth.

And stopped. 

Elijah frowned. Behind him, his aide tapped his earpiece, frantic and loud enough to be heard even without turning around.

“A shield?” he hissed. “What do you mean there’s a shield?”

And then, one by one, the bombs exploded. 

Behind him, there came a sharp intake of breath, but Elijah didn’t move as explosions licked upwards, debris spiraling through the atmosphere. Several ships caught the brunt of the explosions and, as chunks broke off, began to drift aimlessly through space.

“Sir.” Johans appeared by his side, his movements jerky with panic. “Sir, what should we do?”

“What’s the nature of the shield?” Elijah asked. 

Johans pressed his earpiece and listened intently for several moments. “Sir, it appears to be a—a TARDIS shield. How can that be possible?”

Elijah’s eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. “Interesting. I wouldn’t have expected that of them.”

“Uh, me neither sir.” Johans fidgeted. “But, uh, what should we do?”

Elijah didn’t answer at once. He studied the planet for a moment longer, then turned to face Johans. His eyes glittered under the light. “We have dimensional drilling technology, don’t we?”

Johans’s head bobbed up and down nervously. “Uh, yes sir. But it’s with the rest of the fleet.”

“Then bring them.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Call the rest of the fleet, get them here, and start working. We can’t leave a planet like this.”

“Yes, sir.” Johans scurried off, and Elijah turned back to the window, to the Earth below. He stared for a second, then reached into his pocket and withdrew an ornately carved stone. He pressed it to his lips, only for a moment, then returned it to his pocket and continued to stare at the planet far below, his hands clasped behind his back and his gaze lost in contemplation.

Chapter Text

The Doctor stood there, frozen and reeling. Selvi looked at her curiously, and when she didn’t move, frowned.

“Are you a doctor?” With some difficulty, he pushed himself into a sitting position. “It’s okay, you know. We don’t need you anymore. Dad says I’m cured.”

“You are.” Alve nodded eagerly, and glanced to the Doctor as if hoping she would introduce herself. She didn’t. She simply stared. “But it was her machine that did it, son. Remember what I told you when I left? That I was going to go find the source.”

“Source,” the Doctor repeated. Then, without warning, she snapped to life and reached into her pocket, yanking out her sonic screwdriver. She whipped it up and down once, quickly, then pulled it close to peer at the readings. “But you’re—I don’t understand—”

“Cured,” Alve said. He stepped forward, a worried glimmer appearing in his eye. “I don’t understand. Is something wrong?”

“Something wrong,” the Doctor said hoarsely, and choked down the urge to scream. How could he not see? His son’s eyes painted gold and it was as if he wasn’t even looking— “I don’t know, I need to take a closer look—”

But that was a lie and she knew it, because she was looking at the readings now and they were a mess. Corrupted artron energy spewed off the boy in waves, flooding the entire house, thick and heavy and so, so wrong. Beneath it all there was something more too, something solid that sent off warning bells deep in the Doctor’s mind. She frowned, peering closer, than sucked in a sharp breath.

“You’re a fixed point in time,” she whispered. “You—your death is a fixed point in time. But how—”

Selvi looked at her in confusion, then turned to his father. 

“Dad—”

“I don’t know what she’s talking about, son.” Alve’s hand snaked out to wrap reassuringly around Selvi’s palm, and he looked up at the Doctor. 

“What is it?” he demanded. “Are you really a doctor? Is there something wrong?”

“No,” the Doctor lied, because it was useless to make him worry. “No, nothing’s wrong, I’m just trying to understand.”

“What is there to understand?” Alve asked. His hand tightened around Selvi’s. “My son was granted his life back from God, he was cured, it’s a miracle—”

“A miracle of your own doing,” the Doctor snapped, and shoved her sonic screwdriver back into her pocket, then jabbed her finger into Alve’s chest. “You jumped forward, didn’t you? Somehow you were infected, by your own son I’m guessing, though I’ve no idea how that could possibly have happened—”

“Infected?” Alve gaped at her. Then he brought himself up to his full height, which wasn’t much. “Doctor, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I was granted a gift, and I used it. What’s so wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong?” The Doctor’s face drained of color, something akin to fury working over her expression. “You’ve meddled, that’s what! You jumped forward in time and grabbed a cure you created, and—”

“And I can still create it, can’t I?” Alve asked. “I’ve only seen my future, I haven’t changed it! I haven’t meddled anymore than you have!”

The Doctor shook her head. “But you have. You have, you just don’t realize—”

Abruptly, she pulled her finger from his chest and shoved both hands in her pockets then spun around, face drawn up in furious thought.

“It doesn’t make sense,” she muttered. She could feel Alve’s worried stare on her back and ignored it. “It doesn’t make sense, he didn’t change anything—”

But it did, she realized with a sinking feeling. Because what more could inspire a pursuit of a cure than a grief-ridden father? Selvi’s death, fixed in time, so that his own father would someday produce a cure. Except Alve wasn’t long for this world anymore, the Doctor could feel at least that much. He was petering out from the disease his own son had given him, the corrupted artron energy slowly eating him alive. A few weeks more—less, if he jumped again—and he would be dead. No cure, and his son saved by a perversion of the very laws of time itself, a perversion so deep that it grew and mutated until it spread across the entire universe.

The Doctor shook her head, trying to clear it.

“But what I don’t get—” she whirled around again and leaned in close, peering into Alve’s gold filmed eyes. Uncomfortably, he leaned back. “—is how you can be infected, Alve.”

Alve shook his head. “I’m not infected,” he insisted. “I don’t have Ostavosis, I got myself checked.”

“No, no.” The Doctor shook her head and drew back. “That’s not what I mean. But how can you be infected? Your son has been sick with Ostavosis, sure, but this disease—this mutation of time, it happened today. Only you’ve been sick with it for months and I don’t see how—”

And then she trailed off, the color draining from her face. Alve stared at her in confusion, but she wasn’t looking at him. She just stared past his head, out the window, as her own words played in her head.

“No, it can spread about three months into the past or the future from the point of contact. Which means—”

“The symptoms arrive before the disease itself,” the Doctor whispered. “Oh, I’m stupid, I’m very, very stupid—”

Without warning her gaze fell to Alve again and she stooped down slightly, so as to be eye-level.

“Alve,” she said very seriously, “You told me that you came to find me with that contraption. Why did you come to find me? And what does that thing do?”

“This?” Alve’s brow crinkled, and he reached under his arm to pull out the contraption, a small metal box with various wires sticking out. “I made this. It’s an artron energy detector. I made it awhile back, just out of interest, but today when I received that vision, I knew there had to be a large source of artron energy nearby. And like I said, I came to thank you.”

He smiled, and tucked the device back under his arm. The Doctor gazed at it, unseeing. Her mind was reeling, dizzily enough to make her nauseous—or maybe that was the realization washing over her, sticky and thick and horrible in her mouth. She felt as if she were going to throw up. 

“I—getting air,” she gasped, and straightened, falling backwards. She stumbled, then turned, and lunged for the hallway, for the door, only half-mindful of Alve’s curious eyes upon her. From the room, she could hear Selvi’s voice, clear and impatient.

“Dad, could you read me the story of Elijah again?”

The Doctor barely noticed. She burst out the door and plunged down the steps, feet squelching into dirty snow, then turned and swung around the house to the back, to the space between the wall and the shed. Her mind was going around in sickening circles.

Alve got the disease from Selvi. Selvi only had the disease because his father broke the laws of time, but he could only break the laws of time because he had the disease, and the only reason he got the disease was because he managed to jump forward in time—

“Bootstrap Paradox,” she moaned, and sagged against the back wall, just under the window. She lifted two numb hands and jammed them into her eyes, rubbing viciously as if doing so could erase the image of that red hair, those two golden eyes glinting softly under the dim light. 

But he never would have been caught in a paradox if he hadn’t been able to see the invention of the cure, and he never would have seen the invention of the cure if he didn’t get a vision, and the only reason he got a vision was because there was a large source of artron energy nearby, which only happened because I—because I—

Her hearts were pounding in her chest, her breath coming in short shallow gasps. When she removed her hands, black spots bloomed in front of her eyes. Distantly, she recognized the symptoms of a panic attack, but she was too far gone to consider the implications. Instead she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against roughly hewn wood, trying to breathe, trying to think—

It’s my fault, it’s all my fault, and I can’t go back and change things because I’ve got a bloody personal timelock, nothing can affect my timeline, not even me—

From a few meters away, there came a low chuckle. “Oh, that’s not a good look on us.”

The Doctor’s eyes flew open. She swung her head to the left, to the source of the voice, and her eyes widened.

“You’re—” she whispered. The person chuckled again, and moved closer, into the light cast by the window. The Doctor gaped.

Because standing in front of her, not two meters away, wearing a ragged blue coat and a faded rainbow shirt, was the Doctor.  

Chapter Text

All eyes were on Kate as they huddled in the command room, but she wasn’t looking at the others. She was gazing off, a crease between her brow with a phone pressed to her ear as she listened intently.

Ryan leaned in close to Graham and whispered, “Do you think it’ll work?”

Graham opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, Clara leaned in.

“We’re about to know in about five seconds if it doesn’t,” she stage whispered. Rose, standing off to the side with her arms crossed, raised her eyebrows at her.

“Cheers for the optimism,” she said. Clara shrugged and leaned back.

“I have faith in us.”

“I’m not sure I do,” Ryan said. He looked rather sick to his stomach, and when both Rose and Clara shot him a look, clarified, “I mean me. I only know helped a bit, anyways, and I don’t know much more than what the Doctor showed me, but—”

“But you helped, didn’t you?” Graham nudged him in the side. “That’s what counts.”

“Not if we’re all dead,” Ryan muttered, but he seemed at the very least a tad pleased at Graham’s praise.

Abruptly, Kate brought the phone down, and turned to face the others. At once, everybody crowded forward, craning to hear.

“Well, the shields worked,” she announced. Around the room, there came a collective sigh of relief. “According to our reports, the first wave hit the shield and bounced off. Took out a few ships with it, which I suppose is lucky for us.”

“Hang on…first wave?” Ryan paled. “You think they’ll be more?”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” Kate answered. An aide handed her a tablet, and she thanked him and gave it a glance. “They won’t stop at just one, I’m sure of it. Only—”

She stopped, and peered closer at her tablet. A frown appeared upon her face, and the others looked between themselves in confusion.

“Something you care to share?” Clara broke the silence after a long pause.

“I—” Abruptly, Kate’s face drained of color, just as the employee manning the screens behind her looked up and gasped.

“Ma’am—” he pointed just as she spun around and looked up at the array of monitors. News footage, which played 24/7 on several of the screens, showed a reporter standing outside, gesturing to the sky above.

“We’ve just gotten reports that there are more alien ships entering the solar system. First reports delivered suggest that they are more of the same fleet which previously hosted a representative of our species for negotiations. The government has assured that they are in contact with an international agency to investigate the matter—”

“International agency?” Graham asked. “Who is that supposed to be?”

Kate didn’t take her eyes off the screen. “That’s UNIT, Graham. We’re the international agency.”

“Oh.” There came a long pause. “Then what do we do, then?”

Kate shook her head, her eyes still glued to the monitor. On the screen, the footage had changed to show a diagram detailing the number of ships in the sky.

“Honestly Graham, I’ve no idea.”

—————

For a moment, the Doctor thought she was imagining. She blinked, and the image didn’t waver.

The Doctor grinned back at her.

“I know it’s a bit of a shock.”

The words jerked the Doctor to life. She scrabbled backwards, fingers scraping against rough wood. “How—you can’t be here! There’s a paradox—we’re a paradox—”

The Doctor just laughed. “I know that. Blimey, I’m not an idiot. We’re not an idiot.”

She took a step closer, putting herself a spare few feet away, and the Doctor stared, chest heaving. Her hearts were thumping loudly in her chest, her blood roaring in her ears. She opened her mouth, and shut it again, and instead looked over the Doctor—herself—taking in her appearance. 

She had to be older than her, if not because of the age glimmering in her eyes, then because of the length of her hair, nearly to her shoulders and raggedly cut. Her coat was worn with age as well, the edges frayed, and the colors on her shirt had faded into dull shades. She watched the Doctor’s eyes roam over her, and her grin only widened.

There was something off about it.

“Oi, don’t have to give me that sort of look.” Her older self frowned, and glanced down at her coat, swishing it experimentally. “I’m not that bad, I don’t think. There’s a few years between us, that’s all, and I’ve never been the best with keeping up the laundry, not without the TARDIS.”

“Without the TARDIS?” the Doctor croaked. “Why—why don’t we have the TARDIS?”

The Doctor shrugged. “Plugged it into the fleet. We needed time travel, fastest way to do it. Stretched the poor dear to bits, but—”

Her smile turned sad, nostalgic. “She’s a strong thing.”

“The fleet,” the Doctor repeated dizzily. “The—”

And then the realization slammed down on her, physical enough to nearly send her staggering. She swayed, kept her balance, and stared at her older self, horrified understanding settling into her stomach.

“You’re the advisor,” she whispered. Shakily, she pointed a finger at the window above their heads. “That’s him, isn’t it? Selvi is Elijah. He grows up and—and—”

And she knew how to make a cure, or at least a temporary one. If she had the heart of the TARDIS—if she crippled her own—

Rose’s words roared in her ears: We tried to make it work as a temporary solution too—

The Doctor grinned at her, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Got it in one.”

She leaned up against the wall, elbow propped against a board, and studied the Doctor. Her grin faded slightly, and a faint crease appeared between her brow, a dark glimmer in her eyes. A whisper of anger, and then it was gone. 

Upon her wrist, just visible with the fabric of her coat riding up her arm, was the strap of a vortex manipulator. 

“You know his father dies, don’t you?” she asked quietly. The Doctor nodded.

“He doesn’t have long left,” she said. “He’s infected, all because—”

“Of us,” her older self finished. “Yeah, we really messed it up, didn’t we? Stuck our noses where we shouldn’t have stuck them. Curiosity killed the cat, and all that.”

The Doctor shook her head. “I didn’t mean to,” she whispered. “I was just trying to make sense of things, I was just trying to figure out—”

“Yeah, well you did!” The Doctor suddenly wrenched herself off the wall, her grin vanishing into a snarl. She jabbed a finger at the Doctor, who unconsciously took a step back, then nearly laughed. Was she really so scared of herself?

What a stupid question. Of course she was.

“You did,” her older self repeated. Her face, in the space of an instant, had twisted beyond recognition. Or no—the Doctor could still see herself there, her own anger and pain glistening in those hazel eyes. “You came back here, and you messed around where you shouldn’t have, and I’ve spent so many years cleaning up your mess.”

“My mess?” The Doctor’s hearts were beating wildly. “Don’t you mean our mess?” 

The Doctor’s eyes darkened. “Yes, your mess. You don’t think I’ve tried to make up for it?”

She gestured wildly to the window above them. Her pupils, the Doctor noticed, were just a bit too blown, her nostrils flared, her chest heaving slightly. 

A cold sweat broke out over the Doctor’s neck. 

“I’ve been trying,” her older self spat through gritted teeth, “To fix things. Don’t you understand? I’ve been working with Elijah since this very day. I couldn’t leave him, you know. We couldn’t leave him.” She shook her head. “With his father dead? The epicenter of a disease of our own making? I had to make things right.”

Her voice turned pleading on the end, as if she were trying to make the Doctor understand. She didn’t need to. The Doctor already did. 

She’d come to this place with a vague goal in mind; to find the cause of the disease, to prevent it if she could. But what could she do when the disease was caused by her own hand? When she had stupidly locked herself out of her own timeline?

“You couldn’t come back, could you?” she asked. “The personal timelock prevents us. Nothing can interfere with our actions. Not even us.”

Her future self nodded. Without warning, her face wrenched, an awful sadness springing up in her eyes. In a moment, the madness was gone, and she looked only absolutely miserable. “I tried that, you know. So many times. But none of them made any difference in the end. Just me, banging  away against my timeline, like an absolute fool.”

Her lip twisted bitterly on the word fool. “Why do you think I stayed? I figured if I set myself down and took care of him, if I studied him, then maybe someday—”

Her voice broke off and she shook her head. Something glistened in her eyes, and she reached up, swiping her sleeve roughly across her nose. 

“We’re so close,” she whispered. “We’re staving it off, at least. Giving people hope.”

“Hope?” The Doctor let out a bark of laughter. “Really, that’s what you call it? You and Elijah, gallivanting about the universe, handing out a cure that doesn’t even work? Destroying the planets that don’t agree? Killing—”

She didn’t have time to finish her sentence, for without warning the Doctor rushed her, pinning her against the wall. Her head bounced back, hit the wood, and for a moment she saw stars. When she refocused, her own face, gaunt and lined, was only inches away.

The anguish was gone. In its place sat wild, unrestrained fury. Her breath met the Doctor’s cheek, hot and heavy and slightly sour. The Doctor wanted to close her eyes, but irrational fear curled in her stomach. She didn’t want to look away.

“Don’t talk to me about killing,” her older self hissed. “After all we’ve done with the Shadow Proclamation? All the planets we’ve seen destroyed? We’re the same person, Doctor. I know precisely how much blood is on your hands.”

The Doctor stared at her older self, and fought the urge to close her eyes. Instead, she sucked in a breath. She watched her own eyes track over her face, glimmering with anger just a step off from hatred. Or maybe it was hatred. The Doctor couldn’t really tell, at this point.

“Fine,” she answered. “So that’s your answer? Spread a cure that doesn’t work? Why would you do that? Who are you trying to fool?”

“I’m not trying to fool anyone,” her future self hissed. Her fingers dug into the Doctor’s shoulders, sharp and painful. “I’m trying to make it work. It’s all we’ve got at this point—”

“It can’t be,” the Doctor answered. “It can’t, we just have to look harder, try something—”

“It is!” The Doctor shook her once, sending her slamming into the house once more with a dull thud. She leaned in closer, her breath once more hot on the Doctor’s cheek. “You don’t think I’ve searched every avenue? After twenty years, you don’t think I wouldn’t have found a way? You think I’m an idiot?”

She was crazy, the Doctor thought. She could see it in her eyes, her pupils wide, darting over her face. Her chest was heaving. She was crazy, absolutely mad as a hatter, and worst of all, the Doctor could understand. Could see the cause and effect, the reason behind the why. Could feel the same desperation clawing at her own chest.

She had a feeling she hadn’t seen her friends for a very long time.

“You led Elijah’s fleet to Earth, didn’t you?” she whispered. “All my friends—our friends! You left them to be killed, didn’t you?”

“You left them to be killed.” Her older self grinned, but it was void of mirth. “They’re long since dead and gone in my timeline, Doctor. Eaten by the disease, or killed by the fleet—does it matter which way?”

The Doctor’s face twisted. “So why lead them there at all? Just so I can see them die quicker?”

Her older self just shook her head. She still had a tight grip on the Doctor’s shoulders. They had begun to grow numb, and the Doctor couldn’t tell if it was the cold or the pain. 

“Oh, like you’re there to see them?” she scoffed. “You left, Doctor! Your friends, the one thing you actually give a damn about besides yourself, and you left!”

She shook her suddenly, pushing her back against the wood, and the Doctor’s head knocked once more against a board. Tears of pain sprung to her eyes.

“I didn’t know!” she gasped. “I didn’t realize, I never would have come if I’d—”

“You liar!” her older self snarled, and without warning shoved her, not against the house but upon the ground, into the wet snow. The Doctor tripped and stumbled flat upon her face, gray slush filling her nose and her mouth, then rolled onto her back, just as her older self fell atop her, slamming her into the snow. Cold seeped into her coat.

“You liar,” her older self hissed, and the Doctor struggled, but her future self had a stronger grip and more rage flaring in her eyes. She leaned in close, hands pressing against her shoulders, until their noses were almost touching. “You always would have come, and you know it. You’re a curious, self-obsessed fool, who can’t stand a mystery she doesn’t know, who would rather run around alone than help the people who need her—”

“Stop!” the Doctor cried. She shoved uselessly against her future self, felt hands creep up to her throat, and pushed them away. “Stop! You can’t kill me, you idiot, you can’t stop it! Why did you come here? Just to rub it in my face, as if I don’t know?”

At her words her older self’s hands abruptly loosened, so unexpectedly that the Doctor nearly shoved her off in surprise. Then she recovered and really did shove her off, bringing her elbow up to slam into her chest. Her older self fell back with an ‘oomph!’ and the Doctor scrambled to throw herself atop her, pinning her down in much the same way she had been pinned down moments prior.

Her older self froze beneath her. Then she abruptly relaxed, all the tension spilling out of her, and grinned, a wan, pitiful grin. Unfocused, slightly mad. Spit flecked her lips. 

“Why did you come here?” the Doctor growled. Her fingers pressed into her older self’s shoulders, pushing her down into wet snow. “Why?”

“You really want to know?” her older self asked. Her eyes roamed over the Doctor’s face, and her pitiful smile widened into a grin. The Doctor nodded. 

For a moment, she didn’t answer. Then her head fell back into the snow, and she laughed, a harsh, bitter sound.

“It was so stupid,” she gasped. She was still laughing. “Spur of the moment, really. I just had to check. I’d planned everything so perfectly, leading the fleet to Earth. I just had—I had to make sure I’d done it. That you wouldn’t come. Then I saw you, and—suppose I got mad. Mad enough to think I could stop you.”

Surprised, the Doctor’s grip loosened. “But you can’t. The timelock prevents you.”

“Never hurts to try, does it?” her older self answered. She grinned, her eyes roaming over the Doctor’s face, dark and mad and hateful. Without warning she jerked upright, wrenching one arm from the Doctor’s grip, and slammed it into her throat, fingers tightening. The Doctor let out a grunt and brought her hand up, only for her older self to buck, pushing her off and into the snow. The Doctor fell backwards, nearly crashed into the shed, and only narrowly avoided another hard knock to the head. Instead she scrambled backwards as her older self dove for her, fingers clawing at her throat, her collar.

“Stop!” the Doctor gasped, but it was no use. Her future self’s hands wrapped around her throat, tightened, and when the Doctor tried to make another noise she only choked. Her vision began to swim; her head grew foggy.

But she can’t… she thought dizzily. The timelock prevents…

But it didn’t seem to be helping her. Her older self’s fingers were digging into her throat, tighter and tighter, and dark spots began to bloom before her eyes, covering her vision, until—until—

With a cry of frustration, her future self tore her hands away as if burned, falling back into the snow. She cursed and wrung them out as the Doctor choked, greedily sucking in air, half dazed, half shocked because she had—she had—

She had really tried to kill her. That was who the Doctor was destined to become. Something in her chest cracked, hopelessness filling her stomach. Her hearts plunged to her stomach, and disgust clogged her throat, thick and heavy.

Then, it turned to anger.

“You idiot!” The Doctor lunged, so fast her future self didn’t even have time to scramble away. She brought her hands up, but it was useless; the Doctor pinned them to her sides, grinding them down deep into the snow, until she felt flesh and bone meet hard, rocky ground. “You bloody idiot! You want me to hate you? You think I don’t? You think you’re who I want to become after so many years trying—trying to—”

She didn’t finish the sentence because her future self was laughing again, loud and horrid and utterly repugnant, and the Doctor couldn’t stand it. White hot rage filled her vision, the kind of rage she could never dare to let herself feel, and she didn’t feel her fist flying through the air until it slammed into her future self’s jaw, knocking her head backwards with a sickening crunch.

Her older self cut off for a moment, then gasped and let out another chortling laugh. Her hand came up to feel her jaw, but the Doctor shoved it away again.

“That’s more like it,” she gasped, and once more rage flashed through the Doctor’s vision. Her fist came down again, this time into her nose, then her eye, snapping her head back, and she knew she should stop but she didn’t want to. She wanted to gouge, to tear that smirk off her face, to make her pay—

“You’re doing great,” her older self choked out, half a laugh still on her lips, and the Doctor paused, chest heaving, fist hanging in the air.

“Huh?”

“Great,” her future self forced out. Her lips were flecked with blood and spit, and more blood streamed from her nose, trailing messily across her cheek. “Honestly, we’re incredibly predictable. But don’t let me stop you.”

“Stop you?” Slowly, the Doctor’s fist lowered. Instead, she twisted her fingers into her older self’s shirt and dragged her upright, until their faces were practically touching. “From what?”

“Killing me,” her older self gasped out. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? Bloody hell, that’s what I want. Daft of me to come back here. I should have known. But now that I’m here, you—you could actually do it.”

The Doctor stared. “Do it,” she repeated hoarsely. Slowly, her fingers uncurled from her older self’s shirt, and she fell back bodily into the snow. Instead her hands gripped her older self’s shoulders, digging into her coat. “You want me to kill you?”

Her older self grinned, and licked her cracked, blood spattered lips.

“Least you could do,” she said. “C’mon, Doc. Don’t be scared. Why don’t you do yourself a favor?”

Chapter Text

“How many extra ships?” Rose asked. Kate just shook her head.

“I don’t know.” She was staring at her tablet. “Too many. They just keep appearing—”

She peered at her tablet, tapped the screen. Rose and Clara glanced at each other.

“Is the shield strong enough?” Clara asked. Rose just shook her head.

“I don’t know.”

Ryan looked between them. “Well, we’d better check, shouldn’t we?”

“Right.” Rose nodded. “Clara will come with me and check. Graham, Ryan—”

“I’m going to check on Yaz,” Graham said. “Ryan too.”

Ryan swung around. “But grandad—”

“No, it’s okay, Ryan,” Rose said. She nodded toward Graham. Her eyes were full of a warm understanding. “You go with him. Me and Clara have got this.”

“Uh—okay.” Ryan didn’t have time to say anything further before Graham grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out the door and down the hall.

“Ow!” Ryan pulled his hand away, but fell into step beside him. “Grandad, listen, I want to visit Yaz too, but we have to check the shields—”

“Oh, sod the shields.” Graham leaned in close as an employee hurried past, and beckoned for Ryan to lean in as well. His face was grim. “Listen, I talked to the attendant just before the attack. She isn’t doing well at all. She could be gone any minute.”

Ryan’s face paled. “What do you mean, any minute?”

“What do you think it means?” Graham answered, but when he caught sight of Ryan’s face, he backtracked. “I mean—oh, I don’t know what I mean. I’m sorry, son. I just thought you’d like to be with her.”

Ryan clenched his jaw shut. His chin trembled slightly, but he nodded. “Damn right I would. Thanks.”

Only the attendant was present when Ryan and Graham entered the infirmary, and they knew immediately by the look on his face that it wasn’t good. Their eyes fell to Yaz, huddled under the blankets, and they rushed forward.

“Blimey, she looks like a ghost,” Ryan said as he neared, and Graham just nodded in agreement. Yaz was pale and shivering, but her eyes were wide open, sightless and gold. Ryan reached out to touch her shoulder, only to yank his hand back as she let out a small moan.

“Did that—did that hurt her?” he asked the attendant, who shook his head. 

“She probably doesn’t realize you’re here,” he said, but he sounded rather uncertain. “It’s hard to tell, at this stage. We haven’t really had the chance to study it. Well, we have, but—”

“Yeah, we get it,” Graham muttered. He reached out just as Ryan had, and patted her carefully on her shoulder, not really expecting a response.

But the moment his hand touched her shoulder, Yaz flinched under his fingertips. He yanked his hand back, only for Yaz to jerk straight up, the blanket falling from her chest.

“I need to tell her!” she cried. Her gaze swung between Ryan and Graham, sightless and yet strangely piercing. “I need to tell her!”

“Tell who?” Ryan asked as the attendant rushed forward to wrestle her back into bed. 

“Don’t worry about it,” the attendant assured them. “Patients say all sorts of things. It’s not worth listening to, really.”

“Like hell it isn’t!” Graham exclaimed. “What if she’s got something important to say?”

The attendant looked at him, dumbfounded. “You really think so?”

“Well, we don’t know, do we?” Ryan said crossly. He stepped forward, and passed a hand over Yaz’s line of vision. “Hey Yaz, it’s me, Ryan. Who are you trying to talk to?”

The attendant leaned back and eyed them dubiously, but he didn’t say anything. For a moment, Yaz didn’t respond. Then her eyes moved to Ryan, and she looked at him. No through him, or past him, as she had before. At him.

“Clara,” she whispered. “I need to tell her—”

And then she let out a cry and jammed her hands over her eyes. Ryan and Graham gaped, as did the attendant. Then Graham looked up, and raised his eyebrows.

“Well?” he asked the attendant. “Are you going to call her in, or what?”

The attendant stared. Then, he began fumbling for his communicator.

—————

Clara was knee deep into the TARDIS flooring when her communicator beeped. She almost ignored it. Instead, she sighed and put down the sonic wrench she was holding, then brought the communicator up.

“Yes?”

Immediately, a frantic voice crackled. “Clara? Is this Clara?”

“Yes, it is,” Clara answered impatiently. “Is it important?”

“Uh, I think so.” There was a murmur she couldn’t make out, as if the speaker was talking to somebody else, then his voice became clear again. “Yes, uh, there’s a patient here who’s been calling for you? Uh, you specifically. Her name is Yaz.”

Clare’s eyes widened. Hastily, she stood up, and pulled herself out of the floor paneling.

“I’ll be right there.”

By the time she got there, she could see that Yaz was well and agitated. Both Graham and Ryan, as gently as they could, were trying to hold her back, but she was pulling out of their grasps, groping through thin air. The moment Clara entered the infirmary, she lunged forward.

“Clara!” she cried. Clara hurried forward, bending down at her bedside so that she was level. Yaz groped for her, and she let her grab her arms, clinging as if she were a life buoy. Gold dust flaked onto her sleeves.

“Hi, Yaz,” she said. “What is it? What did you want to tell me?”

Without warning, Yaz’s face crumpled. She blinked, and a tear, sparkling with gold dust, fell from her eye.

“She needs us,” she said. “Clara, I can’t stop her, I can see her but I can’t—”

“Oh, Yaz, it’s okay,” Clara murmured. She wasn’t sure who Yaz was talking about, but she had a certain suspicion. “She’ll be okay.”

Yaz shook her head. “She won’t, not unless—”

Abruptly she pulled her hands away and brought them to her eyes, smearing her cheeks with gold dust.

“I feel sick,” she groaned. “I feel—”

“Oh no,” the attendant’s face drained. “Nausea is a sign she’s about to jump.”

“Oh, bloody—” Clara leaned forward and caught Yaz as gently as she could, holding her steady. “Listen to me, Yaz, okay? You have to calm down. You have to try to relax—”

“But—” Yaz gasped. “Clara, I have to warn you—I mean, you have to warn me—you have to tell me about Gallifrey—”

Clara froze. “What?”

“The confession—” Yaz shook her head, as if trying to focus. “The confession dial—”

Clara paled. She leaned in close, propping herself against Yaz’s bed. “How did you know about that?” she demanded.

Slowly, Yaz’s hands fell away from her face. She looked up, right at Clara, and her lip trembled.

“I just want to help,” she said. “I just need to know—”

“Clara, do you have any idea what she’s talking about?” Ryan asked. Clara didn’t take her eyes away from Yaz, but nodded.

“I think so,” she said. “I’m sorry, Ryan.”

“Sorry?” Ryan said. “Sorry for what?”

Clara didn’t answer. Instead she leaned in towards Yaz, and cupped her ear. Quietly, low enough so as only the two of them could hear, she whispered three messages. Then she hesitated, and added a fourth, just in case.

The moment she drew back, Yaz relaxed and fell back into her pillows. Her chin drooped towards her chest, as if she were about to fall asleep.

“I don’t—” she murmured. “I don’t feel—”

“It’s okay, Yaz,” Clara said. “Thank you.”

“Thank you?” Graham asked. “What did you tell her?”

But Yaz just looked up at her, her eyes shining with something that Clara hasn’t seen in a long time. Hope, maybe. 

“I’m going to help, aren’t I?” she asked. Clara just nodded.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I think you are.”

Yaz nodded again. Then her head fell back, but before it hit the pillow she was gone, as if she had never been there at all.

—————

Underneath her fingers, the Doctor could feel the fabric of her own coat, twenty years worn. Her older self stared at her, a mad grin fading from her lips, as she caught on to her hesitation.

“What?” she rasped. “You don’t want to do it? Can’t kill with your own hands?”

The Doctor shook her head, even though her hearts were pounding and hate was singing in her ears, do it, do it, wipe her from existence you don’t have to be like her if you just— 

“You know I can’t,” she spat. “You’ve got a timelock as well as I. And I’d have known if you’d have taken it off, because we’d both be wiped from existence.”

Her older self laughed. “Like that’s stopping you.”

Her right hand scrabbled through the snow, digging, and came up with a branch. Before the Doctor could react, she shook back her left sleeve and dragged the branch across her skin, raking her flesh with welts that immediately began to ooze. 

The Doctor stared. She waited for the timelock to kick in, for the cuts to disappear as if they’d never been, as had happened to her when she’d crash landed upon Delm. Deep gashes, healed within hours, if not minutes. A tiny cut like this, gone within seconds.

But it didn’t disappear. Blood began to run down her arm and drip off her elbow onto her coat, staining splotches of deep red. 

“It’s degrading,” she whispered. Underneath her grip, her future self grinned, all teeth.

“Yeah, it is,” she said. “Took me long enough, didn’t it? Sloppy personal timelock, couldn’t hold for long.”

She flung the branch off to the side. “Now do it, then. Kill me.”

The Doctor shook her head. “I won’t. I can’t—”

But even as she said that, something inside her so badly itched to give in. Was it really so wrong? If only to wipe that smug, ugly smile off her face—

Her future self caught her hesitation, and her eyes darkened.

“You pathetic—” Taking advantage of the Doctor’s loosened grip, she kneed her roughly in the stomach, knocking the air out of her lungs and bowling her over sideways. The Doctor fell into snow and curled onto her side, gasping for breath, as her older self scrambled to her knees.

“You coward!” she snarled, her face a mask of hatred and rage, and with both hands grabbed the Doctor by the coat lapels, dragging her onto her knees with a wiry, determined strength the Doctor couldn’t recall possessing. Blood dripped from her nose into the Doctor’s face, and she tried to rear back, but couldn’t. “Can’t face up to your friends, or your mistakes, and now you won’t even face up to yourself!”

She dropped the Doctor suddenly, sending her sagging onto her knees, and lifted a hand to ram into her face, only she never made it. The Doctor’s hand shot out and caught the fist, her knuckles cracking under the impact before immediately healing, and then she brought her own elbow up, ramming it into her older self’s face.

“Stop calling me a coward!” she cried, as her future self reeled backwards under the blow, before reaching out and scrabbling at the Doctor’s braces to drag her down with her.

“Just telling the truth,” she gasped, and pushed the Doctor into the snow, before slamming the heel of her palm into her cheek, driving her head deep into wet slush. “I’m not gonna stop, not until you—”

“What?” the Doctor forced out, then grabbed her hand and pulled. Her future self fell forward, and the Doctor took the chance to grab her by the shoulders and force her to the ground, before scrambling on top of her. Her future self bucked upwards, but the Doctor sent a fist flying to her face that knocked her back into the ground. “Is that what you really want? To get me angry enough to kill you?”

And it was working. Hate simmered in her chest, roiled every time she stared into her older self’s eyes and saw the madness there. Her hearts banged painfully against her ribcage, and all she could think was that she couldn’t be her, she couldn’t stay on this path, but if she couldn’t kill her—what could she do?

Her future self spat blood and saliva to the side, then nodded once, painfully.

“That’s the plan,” she said. “Second-rate, badly-devised. You can’t leave this planet, Doctor. I don’t have to leave it alive.”

The Doctor sat back and surveyed her, disgust rising in her throat, choking. “So that’s my future, is it? You?”

Her future self tried for a shrug, but couldn’t quite manage it pressed into the snow. “Hate me all you want, Doctor. It’s not near as much as how much I hate you.”

The Doctor shook her head, and tried not to let her lips curl into a snarl. It was so very hard, when even her fingers itched to curl into fists. She would do anything, she thought wildly, just to wipe that expression off her face.

She wondered what expression sat upon her own face. 

“I never wanted this,” she spat. “I only wanted—”

“To find a better way?” her future self laughed, ugly and bitter. “There is no better way. Trust me, I’ve looked. You’ve unleashed a disease that’s eating up the whole universe, Doctor. You want to get rid of it, you’d have to wipe yourself out of existence.”

Her lip twisted on the words, and she threw the words down like a gauntlet. A dare.

The Doctor stared.

“Wipe myself—” An idea began to bloom in her head, ridiculous and utterly mad, the kind of thing Clara would kill her for trying. The kind of thing she wasn’t sure she had the courage to do.

But her future self was still smiling that cruel, twisted smile, and as the Doctor hesitated, it widened.

“Cat got your tongue, Doctor?” she taunted. “C’mon, dear. Don’t be a coward. All it would take is—”

“Shut up!” Abruptly the Doctor shoved her once more down into the snow, cutting off her taunting, then pushed off and staggered to her feet. She fell back against the wall, then, eying her future self, then forced herself once more upright.

“Wipe myself out of existence,” she murmured. The thought was dancing in her head now, bright and hopeful and bittersweet, and she clung to it desperately. “If I could—”

Her future self watched her, smug victory fading to confusion.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, though it didn’t seem to matter, for it struck her in the same moment. Her eyes widened, and she scrambled to her feet “Wait—you can’t—!”

But the Doctor just shook her head, a wild grin of her own growing across her face. “Oh, I can and I will.”

Her future self lunged for her, pinning her against the wall, but it didn’t matter. The Doctor was already shuffling through her own timeline, reaching back to the timelock she had stored deep in the recesses of her mind. The one she had put in place only a few short months ago.

“No,” her future self gasped. Her hands balled into the fabric of the Doctor’s shirt, suddenly desperate. “You can’t kill us like that, that’s—”

“I thought you wanted to die,” the Doctor said through gritted teeth. Deep in the back of her mind, she found the start of the metaphorical cord, and gripped it.

“Not like this,” her future self begged, hands tightening. “You know that’s not death, that’s—”

“Nonexistence,” the Doctor forced out. “Even worse.” Her eyes fell to her future self’s hands, clutching desperately at her shirt. Painfully, she raised her gaze to look her in the eye. “And you know what?” 

At the back of her mind, nonexistence taunted, coiling around her consciousness. Ready, waiting.

A solution, if she had the courage to do it. 

The Doctor thought of her friend’s faces, and decided that she did. 

“You always were the coward,” she spat, and saw her future self’s eyes widen, her lips form around a “No!” that never was spoken. For in that moment, the Doctor took the metaphorical cord, and pulled.

The pressure of the hands on her shirt disappeared, and the Doctor stumbled forward—into nothing. Her future self was gone. She had never existed at all.

Pain ripped through the Doctor, driving her to her knees. She swayed, nearly keeling over, and blacked out for a good two seconds. When she came to, she knew neither a beginning nor an end. Her timeline had begun to unwind, starting at the beginning, at an old man with a stern smile, and at the end, with a slight woman with mad eyes. Then, it began to work its way back to her.

It hurt. More than anything she had ever felt, more than Clara jumping into her timeline to save her, more than those four and a half billion years. More than watching Rose disappear into a parallel universe, or taking in the heart of the TARDIS. It hurt, but she dragged herself to her feet anyway, because she had to know. 

She had to be sure.

The corrupted artron energy was gone. She could feel its lack, just as she could feel the clean smoothness of time rippling its own unfettered courses, unmarred by glitches in the code. Just to be certain, however, she stood up on her tiptoes and peeked through the window.

Alve sat by the bed on an old wooden chair, running his hands through Selvi’s hair. Selvi sat propped up in bed, his eyes half closed, his chin nodding into his chest. Alve murmured something, and Selvi looked up, his eyes flickering open, and gave him a smile.

His eyes were a plain brown.

Chapter Text

Yaz fell.

And as she fell, she fell apart.

It was the whole universe rushing through her head, she understood that now. All the pasts and presents and futures jumbled together, too confusing for a plain old human to understand, but now she was nothing but atoms. Barely a consciousness left, and she could feel herself fading fast. 

But she couldn’t go yet, because she had work to do.

With her last bit of humanity left, Yaz gathered up the messages she had been entrusted with, and flung them across the universe.

———

“She’s gone!” Ryan cried. He rushed forward, as if he could yank her back again, then stopped and leveled Clara with an accusing glare. 

“What did you tell her?” he demanded. “Did you tell her it was okay to go? Did you?”

Clara shook her head. “I only told her what she needed to hear. Please, Ryan, I’m sorry. But she has something important to do. I really think so.”

“Not important enough for her life!” Ryan cried. “How could you—”

His voice cracked on the last word and he broke off, choked. Graham stepped up beside him, and quietly gripped his shoulder. 

“He’s right, you know,” he told Clara. “You shouldn’t have done that. Who knows where you sent her? Who knows if she’ll come back?”

“I don’t know if she will,” Clara told him honestly. There was a lump in her own throat, and she tried to work around it. “I’m so sorry, Graham, Ryan. But I only told her things she needed to hear. Messages. I think they might help us.”

“That’s a pretty wild chance to stake your hopes on,” Graham said. His eyes were cold. “You best not have been sending her off to her death.”

“I hope I wasn’t,” Clara told him grimly. “But I’m afraid we might all be heading to our deaths soon, anyway.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to mention that,” Ryan muttered. “What happened to optimism?”

Clara opened her mouth to answer, only to be interrupted by a beep from her communicator. She frowned and lifted it to her ear. 

Immediately, Rose’s tones crackled over the line. “Clara, are you listening? We need you and Ryan in the TARDIS now! They’re using a dimensional drill to try to work their way through the shield!”

Clara stiffened. “Be right there,” she answered numbly. She brought her communicator down, and looked sharply to Ryan and Graham.

“Ryan,” she said. “Are you ready to work with me again?”

For a moment, Ryan hesitated. Then, reluctantly, he nodded.

“Good,” Clara said. “Because we don’t have much time.”

When they arrived at the TARDIS, it was to find Rose already hard at work, deep into some side paneling, with a frustrated grimace upon her face. 

“We don’t have anything that can fight against dimensional drilling,” she informed them the moment they arrived. “I’ve no idea what to do. Strengthening the shields won’t help.”

Then she frowned. “Why did you bring Graham with you?”

Clara shrugged. “With the shields around Earth, they can’t knock Graham out of the TARDIS. Couldn’t leave him alone in the infirmary.”

Rose nodded, but she was still frowning as she peered at Graham. She took a step closer, until she was right in his face, and stared straight into his eyes.

“Graham,” she said softly. “Your eyes aren’t gold anymore.”

“What?” Quickly, he reached up as if to feel. “Aren’t they?”

Ryan gave a look, and gasped. “Oh my days! Graham, they aren’t! You’re cured!”

Graham just stared at him in shock, his hand still on his cheek. His fingertips trembled.

“I don’t believe it,” he started to say. And never finished. Because he had never been inside the UNIT headquarters at all.

Every door inside the building sat bolted and shut. The halls were empty and cobwebbed. Dust lined the floors, crowded the corners. On the nondescript door to the building, also closed off, there hung a crooked sign. 

It read: closed due to budget cuts.

—————

Slowly, the Doctor dragged herself through the village, and back to the TARDIS.

She had some time, she knew, before her last moment would be erased. And though it was a fair bit too painful to think, she focused on one simple plan.

Get to the TARDIS. Get the TARDIS away from the planet. And never, ever come back.

Not that she ever could, anyway. She wouldn’t exist.

The Doctor laughed hollowly at the thought. There was nobody around to hear it. It was late at night by now, and the whole village had gone inside, minus those who still made merry at the pub. She barely glanced at it as she dragged herself by. Instead she just focused on moving forward, one foot in front of the other. Boots, sloshing wet, sinking into snow.

It was hard. They were the hardest parts sometimes, the in-between moments. It hadn’t been hard to undo the timelock—just a frantic, panicky moment of decision, a rifling through her own head, and bam, undone. Now, staggering at least a mile back through cold and snow and disgusting, dirty slush—that was hard. Every cell in her body ached.

But it had to be done. So the Doctor bent her head down, lifted one foot, and put it down. Then she lifted her other foot, and put it down again. She wondered for a vague moment if she was actually going anywhere, or if she was just standing in one spot, lifting her feet up and putting them down again. It was a funny thought. She wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t true.

“I’ve got time,” she murmured to herself, which wasn’t true either, because she didn’t. It was a nice thought though, distracting from the pain that rippled throughout her entire timeline, burning up strands of people she had met and things she had done. Well, sort of. Only she would be gone from them, she had made sure of that. The people, the events, would remain the same, just with a Doctor-shaped hole right in the middle of them.

She laughed at that too, because it was funny. Gone from time, as if she had never existed. Taken out and misplaced. Like Elijah, who had done nothing wrong but die, except when he hadn’t, only now he was going to anyway. One person the Doctor hadn’t been able to save.

One person for the whole of time. She tried to convince herself it was enough.

She didn’t quite manage it.

She was almost past the village now, and she could feel the strands of erasure creeping up on her. Tendrils of nothingness wrapping around her most recent memories, of falling to Earth and meeting an unlikely group of friends, of running through a desert and being taunted at by talking rags, of meeting Rosa Parks. Mostly, she thought of her fam, and tried very hard not to think of the Child of Time, whom she had failed to save.

She wondered what they would think of her here, running out of time with her feet sopping wet from the snow. Yaz would probably chide her over her footwear. Graham would suggest a fuzzier pair of socks, and Ryan would roll his eyes fondly and unsubtly remind her that she had promised to take them to a sunny planet the next time—

“I’ve got time, Ryan,” she muttered, and then remembered that she didn’t. It was funny, wasn’t it? Elijah, who had thought that he was the Child of Time, who had had so much of it he’d never run out, only it turned out he really didn’t have much of it at all. And now the Doctor, a Time Lord for Rassilon’s sake, who always had enough time for anything including tea and biscuits, and now she had no time at all. Timeless. 

“Oh.” She realized as she came upon the TARDIS and stopped, even though she didn’t have the time, because it was too funny not to. “Oh, I get it now. It was me all along, wasn’t it? I’m the Timeless Child.”

She chuckled to herself, which turned into a laugh too loud for the weak joke, then pushed the door open and stepped inside. She let her hand linger for just a moment over the wood, reveling in the familiar touch, the feeling of old paint beneath her fingertips. Then she shut the door behind and made her way to the console, slowly, achingly. She nearly collapsed over it and, with shaking fingers, plugged in the first coordinates she remembered. The TARDIS took off with a wheezing groan, and the Doctor sagged against the console, coat swinging.

Something clinked in her left pocket.

The Doctor frowned. Slowly, she reached into her right pocket to confirm that her sonic screwdriver was in fact there. Then she withdrew her hand and moved it to her left pocket. She reached inside, and grasped something roundish, then brought it out into the light to have a look.

For a moment, she didn’t understand. She turned the object over in her hands, then caught the post-it note stuck to the bottom. She pulled it off and read it, and slowly, a wide, aching smile spread across her face. Somewhere deep in her chest, a painful warmth spread throughout her hearts. Relief, as fresh as a spring day. Not that she would ever see one of those again.

Then again, maybe she needn’t be so pessimistic.

“Oh, you lot.” She chuckled, and shook her head. “I’m a daft old fool, aren’t I? I should have known you were looking out for me.”

She clenched the post-it note in one hand and, with shaky fingers, began to pry open the object.

She managed it just as the TARDIS wheezed to a halt. It clicked open and, for a blinding second, the room filled with a flash of light. Then it disappeared, leaving an empty, silent console room.

The confession dial, with no hands to hold it, clattered to the floor. The note fluttered down as well, landing only a foot away. It read:

Your friends are always here for you.

Chapter Text

“Yaz! You’re going to be late!”

“I know, mum!” 

Yaz shoved the last bit of toast in her mouth, grabbed her plate, and tossed it in the sink, wincing only slightly as it clattered. Then she turned, grabbed her uniform hat from where it hung on the coat rack, and went to open the door.

“Dear, are you leaving?”

Yaz gave an exasperated sigh, and turned around. “Yes, mum!”

Her mother appeared in the hallway, hands on her hips. “What, just like that?”

Yaz gave an overly affected shrug. “Well, seeing as I’m twenty and therefore an adult—mum!”

She cut off as her mother swept her into an enormous hug, spinning her around and laughing before setting her back in front of the door. Yaz made a show of disgust, smoothing out imaginary crinkles in her uniform, but she couldn’t quite hide her smile.

“What was that for?”

“Well I’m just—proud, is all,” her mother said. Her eyes crinkled as they roamed over Yaz’s uniform, her hat, a proud smile appearing on her face. “It’s your first day off parking disputes, isn’t it?”

“Well yeah, but that won’t mean I’m doing anything interesting,” Yaz grumbled, but she still looked rather pleased. “Probably just means I’ll be patrolling a park, or something like that.”

“Well, it’s certainly better than parking disputes.” Her mother reached out and smoothed a wrinkle Yaz had missed, ignoring her affronted look. “And you’ll do great, Yaz. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, mum.” Yaz grinned, then glanced at her watch. Her eyes widened. “Oh mum, now I really am going to be late!”

“Oh—sorry dear!” Her mother’s eyes widened as well and she fairly pushed her out the door, right into the middle of the hallway.

“Good luck dear!” she called, before shutting the door behind her. Yaz turned around, a ‘bye mum’ on her lips, but just shook her head when she saw the closed door and turned to make her way down the hallway.

She really should have been hurrying, but it was too nice of a day to do so. As she stepped out of her flat block and into the rare Sheffield sun, she couldn’t help but glance up at the sky and grin. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, only an early morning sun, and after months of hard work, she had finally been moved up to—well, to something at least. Something bigger. Something more.

She was, to put it frankly, excited.

She passed as usual the old police box outside her flat block, the one she nary gave a thought to, and stopped. She wasn’t sure why. It was the kind of police box they had sometime long before she became a PC, she was pretty sure of that, for she had never used one herself, or for that matter, responded to a call from one. 

Then, maybe she would now that she had moved up.

The thought reminded her that she ought to keep hurrying along, but she didn’t. Instead she took a few steps backwards, until she was level with the police box, and gave it a good look, something she had never done before in her life. It was old, that was fairly obvious, but looked freshly painted, and she wondered vaguely if someone ever came around once in a while to give it a new coat of paint. Something about the thought inexplicably cheered her up.

There was a sign on the front that said POLICE: PHONE FOR ASSISTANCE, but there was another one hanging from the door handles as well, which she couldn’t recall ever being there. It read, in sloppy print: out of order: please phone actual police.

Yaz frowned at the sign.

“That’s an odd way to put it,” she muttered, and stepped closer, pausing only to cast a look around, in case anybody was seeing her act funny around a police box. Because there was no reason to examine it, really. Only that it was there, and old, and had been there her entire life, as far as she could remember, except she had the strange feeling she’d never seen it before. 

“Huh.” She was close enough to touch the wood now, so she reached out, and was surprised to find it warm to the touch. Surprisingly warm, almost as if it were humming. Suddenly uncomfortable, she pulled her hand back. Then, out of simple curiosity more than any real expectation, she tried the handle.

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t budge. She stared at it for a moment, disappointed for no particular reason, then pulled her hand back and tucked it into her pocket. Then she looked around, conscious of prying eyes—some of the neighbors were so judgmental—but upon finding none, took a step backwards, and tilted her head back to examine the police box in full.

“Cool,” she murmured, then remembered that she was, in fact, supposed to be on the way to a job she had just moved up in. She jolted to life, glanced at her watch, saw that she really was late, and turned, taking off down the street.

She didn’t look back, and by the time she arrived at the police station, out of breath and in disarray, all thoughts of the police box were gone from her mind.

Reversion (noun): a return to a previous state, practice, or belief.