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Wake up
— He doesn’t know where the light is coming from; it’s a TARDIS, technically terms like “day” and “night” don’t exist, and neither should daylight. But it’s still here, spilling out from some unknown source, waking him. —
Say good morning to that sleepy person lying next to you
— He turns his head, the remnants of a half-forgotten dream stirring somewhere at the back of his brain. Leela was there, he remembers, and a smile drifts across his still-sleep-filled face. She was there, in his dream, so real he can still practically feel the touch of her warm, human skin against his own, her red hair spilling out over the pillow next to his, her soft snores filling the air. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt so peaceful. He’s ready to hug her, to embrace her and never let go. —
If there’s no one there, then there’s no one there
— But she’s gone. She’s gone and missing and probably dead by now. Did she die immediately after going missing? Did the Master kill her? Or did she survive? Did she move on with her life? The smile fades from his face, he shuts his eyes, and his hands come to his face. Hiding his eyes. Like that will somehow help.
Did she ever miss him? —
But at least the war is over
— He lets out a deep, shuddering breath, and then another. He sits up in bed and draws his knees close to his chest, hugging himself, missing Leela, wishing she could be here right now. It’s like an ache from somewhere deep within himself, wanting Leela, needing her. Missing her more than he’s ever missed anything in his lives, more even than he missed Gallifrey in the days of the Axis and that alternate Gallifrey. He curls into a tighter ball, wishing that it would help him feel safe, somehow. He knows he’s safe, but he still can’t get used to it. He wakes up every morning, tense. And missing Leela. How can he be so lucky as to get out of the war without even a scratch, and she got thrown from a TARDIS in flight? —
It’s us, yes, we’re back again
— A hand on his back finally forces him to open his eyes, and in front of him is one of his oldest friends, her blonde hair a mess, and the bags under her eyes as prominent as the dark circles under his. Narvin, she says, and it sounds like it’s coming through a tunnel. It’s alright. We’ll be alright. Her hand pats his back, traces a tiny circle on it. He wants to tell her that he knows that, but his throat has constricted, and his mouth feels as dry as the outlands. The pinpricks of tears gathering in the corners of his eyes increase, and he squeezes them shut tighter, not wanting Romana to see. —
Here to see you through until the day’s end
— She sits next to him for a long time, hand on his back. Romana was never very good at comfort, which is why she hasn’t said anything else. And he knows she won’t say anything else. But she’s still here, next to him, and that’s comforting in and of itself. He hasn’t lost everyone. He still has her. He still has his madam president. —
And if the night comes
— If only that were enough, he reflects, as he shifts position just barely, just enough that he can reciprocate the comfort she’s providing, bringing his arms around her, his eyes still shut tight, trying to keep the tears in. They’re both trying to help the other, trying to provide the comfort that Leela gave to them, and they both know it’s not enough. They’re a unit of three, and they’re missing the third member, the one who is wise and caring and strong and brave. The one who taught them both how to love. She’s their anchor, and without her, they are lost. Their beautiful, incredible human.
Gone now. —
And the night will come
— Narvin manages to hold his tears back until he hears Romana sigh and sag in his arms. And then one squeezes out from underneath his screwed-shut eyelids, and another, and another. And he can feel Romana shaking in his arms, and she grips him tightly, and he knows that she’s doing the exact same thing. —
But at least the war is over
— These two people, once the two most powerful people on Gallifrey, reduced to nothing, reduced to wandering, exiled, with the one person they were closest to gone. Missing. Possibly dead by now. By rights, they should be dead, too. He should feel lucky. Instead, Narvin almost wishes he was dead. Almost. —
Lift your head and look out the window
— Romana’s tears stop slowly, and her breathing evens out, and Narvin realizes that she has fallen asleep. She’s wrapped up in him, and he’s wrapped up in her, and he couldn’t move even if he wanted to. He sighs deeply and opens his eyes at last, taking a deep breath, breathing in her scent. It’s something he learned from Leela, that each person smells different and that the scent of a loved one should be treasured. He’s lost count of the times he visited Leela’s rooms, which he’d left untouched, just so that he could breathe in her scent, feel like he was safe. Feel like home.
And now they’re gone from Gallifrey. Forever. And he’ll never breathe in Leela’s smell, that smell of woodsmoke and leather, ever again.
He breathes in Romana’s scent again, carefully, like it’s the last time he’ll ever be near her ever again. Because it might be. He’s learned that much from Leela, too. —
Stay that way for the rest of the day
— She doesn’t move for a long time. Narvin’s lost circulation in one arm and both his legs by the time she wakes up, but he doesn’t care. She needed the sleep, just like he needs his, but it doesn’t mean either of them are able to get it. He won’t interrupt her, no matter his discomfort. They’re all each other has, now that Leela is gone. And he’ll do anything he can to make sure she stays okay, because if something happens to her, too, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle it. —
And watch the time go
— When she finally gets up, she doesn’t speak, only offers a small, tight smile. Sometimes Narvin thinks she’s worse at emotions than he is. They freeze for a moment, and time freezes for a moment, as she stands next to him, and he sits on his bed, and they share a look, a look that offers more companionship and comfort than their clumsy attempts at words could ever give. Leela would tease them, if she could see them now. The mighty Time Lords, she would say, her smile making her blue eyes brighten. You have so many words at your command, and yet you cannot speak to a friend or to comfort a loved one. —
Listen
— They never speak of these moments, these moments of weakness, of need, of grief. The moments when the need for companionship outweighs all the most basic Time Lord etiquette. Narvin almost wishes they did, and sometimes, when he sees the faraway look in Romana’s eyes, the distant sadness in her voice and the set of her mouth, he thinks she might wish it, too. But they’re both too good at being Time Lords, too good at ignoring their emotions, repressing them, that neither will ever bring it up. —
The birds sing
— They often go on quiet jaunts between searches for Leela. Something to keep them from totally despairing of ever finding her. But when they step out onto an alien world, strolling through the streets of Paris, it’s difficult for him to find the joy in this. Every part of him wants to be finding Leela. She was his source of joy. She was the reason he saw beauty in anything. And now that she’s gone, he feels foolish for ever having thought that way. It’s all fleeting, all for nothing. He’d never regret loving her. He just didn’t realize her departure would make him hurt like this. —
Listen
— The rain on the streets reflects the light of the street lamps, and the lights of the city seem brighter, somehow. Up ahead, a couple run across the street, into the safety of a cafe, laughing as the rain splashes on them. Cars honk their horns. There is music, somewhere in the distance. Life goes on. Life is beautiful. But it’s all just noise. Just meaningless noise. —
The bells ring
— Heading back to the TARDIS, Romana reaches over. They’d maintained a certain amount of distance, force of habit overriding the desire to hold hands, to hold each other. But now Romana is overcoming that, Narvin realizes, as she reaches over and takes his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. It’s alright, she tells him. It’s going to be alright. —
All the living are dead
— He wonders how she can say that. Everything is hopeless. Life is going on around them, but they’re all just taking their turns breathing in the air of countless dead, forgotten worlds, cycling through space as stardust. When the universe ends, and he expects it to any day now, since the war is still happening somewhere in time and space, what will this all have been? What will this have been worth?
But the universe keeps going. And it stretches out. And he can’t take it. If Leela is going to disappear, why can’t the universe be considerate and at least blip out of existence? If there is an afterlife, the way Leela believes there is, then he’ll be with her again. If there isn’t, well, he’ll hardly be in a position to miss her. —
And the dead are all living
— He wants to turn to the people they encounter on their journeys, turn to them and tell them that it doesn’t matter what they do, since they’re as good as dead anyway. Just give it a few years. Time will take care of the rest. Everything is gray and dull and lifeless, even if it’s full of life. —
The war is over
— Romana has taken to holding his hand now, and he doesn’t object. He needs that touch, needs something to ground himself in reality, or he might lose all sense of self. She’s taken to squeezing his hand, too, as a way of comforting him. He wonders if this exile, this fugitive status, has freed her mentality from the confines of duty and burden, if this is what she would always be like without responsibility. He decides that he doesn’t mind it too much. —
And we are beginning
— He doesn’t mention Leela to her, nor does she mention Leela to him, but she’s the unspoken acknowledgement between them. They keep trying to track her, to find her, but without success. He also doesn’t mention the hand-holding, the hand-squeezes, the physical interaction that’s becoming more and more frequent, and neither does Romana. Something has changed in the nature of their relationship, and he’s not sure what, nor when it happened, but he’s not going to complain about it. And who knows? Maybe they’ll someday find Leela. —
Gridlock on the parkway now
— Narvin stares at the scanner, eyes unfocused, not seeing what’s right in front of him. They’ve landed somewhere else, somewhere new, hoping to find Leela, but if she ever had been here, she certainly wouldn’t have survived very long. The atmosphere outside wouldn’t sustain even a Time Lord, much less a human. He feels that familiar weight on his shoulders, the sagging of gravity and of age, and he blinks, slowly. Part of him wants to curl up in a ball and stay there, stay there until Leela comes back, even though he knows she can’t come back unless he and Romana find her. Part of him wants to curl up in a ball and stay there until he dies. But he knows he can’t do that, because where would that leave Romana? She doesn’t have Leela there to comfort her, just like he doesn’t have Leela there to comfort him. They work as a unit of three, no matter his and Romana’s attempts to overcome that, to be together without Leela. —
The television man is here to show you how
— He wonders what he ever did before Leela. He knows what he was like and what he did, but it’s foreign to him now. Leela proved to him that even Time Lords are capable of changing themselves. Even the ones most resistant to change. Even Narvin. He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the scanner, sees himself standing there, bearded face, dark circles under his eyes. He looks tired and sad. When did that happen? —
The channel fades to snow
— As the scanner fades to black, he becomes aware of Romana’s presence in the room and straightens up, shoulders back. She’s his madam president and his coordinator, after all, even if those titles mean nothing anymore. —
It’s off to work you go
— She takes his hands in hers, squeezing them gently, looking into his eyes. The bags under her eyes are still present, no matter what sort of front she’s putting up, but her short blonde hair, growing longer, is combed, and she’s put some level of effort into her outfit. She’s not here, Narvin, she says, and her storm-blue eyes are hesitant. Regretful, almost. We have to move on. —
But at least the war is over
— He wonders if he’ll ever be free of this, this haunted feeling. He can still feel Leela’s final kiss upon his lips, her last declaration: You do not need to worry about me, Narvin, she’d said, her arms wrapped around him, undercutting the stern tone of her voice. And then she’d relented, and relaxed into his arms, and said, But I know you will. And I know it is because you love me. Leela is his everything. And now she’s gone, but he’s safe, and all he can feel is… emptiness. Not even guilt. He can’t feel anything. —
She’s gone
— When he collapses on the floor, he doesn’t know if it’s finally the grief hitting him, or perhaps his sleepless nights, or perhaps he’s finally dying, this body grown too old. All he can think about is Leela, about his little annoyances with her, about the way she kissed him, about the warmth of her hot human body, of the way the light caught on her bright-blue eyes and made them look like they were dancing. —
She left before you woke
— He remembers an early-morning kiss, a final kiss pressed to his forehead, a final, Goodbye, my love. And now he’s feeling, he’s feeling, and the emptiness is being filled, but Narvin has never felt like this before, never in his lives. —
Dishes, TV, bed, the dark was filled with dread
— If he struggled to sleep before, it was nothing in comparison to this, this feeling. Narvin knew feelings and emotions when he was with Leela. It was safe with her. With Time Lords, it isn’t. And now, all that feeling he’s been refusing to let in, it’s all there, and he’s haunted and he’s hunted. Romana doesn’t know what’s wrong, or why he’s wandering the TARDIS corridors at night, or why he’s suddenly started getting so pale. —
But at least the war is over
— And now he feels guilty, because he’s still alive, and Leela would want him to truly live, and he’s been letting her down, refusing, and now he’s too overcome with ghosts to get past it, and he should feel lucky, because he no longer has any part in the war, and he’s survived, and he still has Romana. But he doesn’t feel lucky. He doesn’t feel grateful. And he wonders what Leela would say if she could see him now. —
Lift your head and look out the window
— It’s a long process, trying to recover, trying to find a way to make Leela happy from whatever afterlife he’s sure she’s moved on to. He’s a Time Lord. He’s cursed with longevity, even if he no longer has the gift of regeneration. And he’s got to make sure Romana isn’t alone. —
Stay that way for the rest of the day
— It starts with little things. A tiny smile, barely manageable, one day. Another day, kissing Romana on the cheek. Reading a book. The different positions of the stars in the universe on every planet they visit. The reflection of street lights in the rain. —
And watch the time go
— And more than anything else, not thinking about Leela. —
All the living are dead
— What are they but stardust, after all? They will have their time in the universe, and then, when the universe sees fit, he and Romana both will die. Cut off from Gallifrey. Cut off from everything. And they will decompose, and their TARDIS will lay abandoned where they left it, or perhaps drifting in space or in the vortex, until it, too, breaks down. —
And the dead are all living
— So he’s going to live. Not for Leela. He won’t think about Leela. If he does, he’ll forget to live. He’ll forget how. He has to move on. That’s the nature of the universe outside Gallifrey. Things change. And you have to adapt. —
The war is over
— He’s giving Romana more smiles these days, and she’s giving him more smiles in return. It’s still awkward, still clumsy, without Leela, but they’re trying. Trying to fill the hole left by her. —
And we are beginning
— He finally works up the courage and kisses Romana properly, on the lips. It’s the first time he’s done that since they left Gallifrey. Since before they left Gallifrey, actually.They’d been discreet for a long time before that, with Rassilon and his secret police and spies. —
We won
— Romana kisses him back, but after that, she won’t let him do it again, and Narvin wonders if he did something wrong, or if it’s still not enough time since Leela disappeared. He doesn’t know how to tell someone that he loves them. He didn’t know how to tell Leela, and he certainly doesn’t know how to tell Romana. —
Or we think we did
— And now he’s thinking about Leela again, and the pain is back, and when Romana looks at him, he can see the same pain in her storm-blue eyes, and he wonders how they’ll ever get through this. —
When you went away you were just a kid
— How is Romana not able to cope with this? She’d travelled with the Doctor, long ago. She should be used to all of this. To change and madness and grief and coping. And then he remembers all the time he’s known her. —
And if you lost it all
— When change and opposition met her in the form of Darkel and Pandora, she became despotic. —
And you lost it
— On the Axis, alone in her room, depressed, not eating, mourning her home. —
Well, we’ll still be there
— She’s not as strong as Narvin always assumes, he knows that. And here he is, overcome with grief, and he’s never realized that she feels the same way. He knows she feels the same way, but he’s never realized it. She needs Leela every bit as much as him. They can’t do this. Not without Leela. They’re a unit of three, and they’re missing the third person. —
When your war is over
— On one of the rare occasions that she sleeps, Narvin goes off on his own, piloting the TARDIS. He’s tried not feeling, and he’s tried getting over her, and he’s tried ignoring, and it doesn’t work. It won’t work. And Romana’s in just as bad a shape as him. So he’ll do what he won’t do for himself. Because it’s for Romana. —
Lift your head and look out the window
— An alien world, the sun shining, the scarlet grass scratching him where it touches his skin, a distant alien bird is calling. —
Stay that way for the rest of the day
— A forest, trees with mossy bark, a laughing brook, sparkling in the sunlight of the early afternoon. Narvin doesn’t like nature much as a rule, but he thinks of Leela. She would love this. She would find the beauty in it. —
And watch the time go
— She’s the same as she always was: beautiful and strong and her mouth breaks into a smile. —
Listen, the birds sing
— Time slows, and Narvin wonders if this is perhaps a dream, like so many of them that he’s had on the TARDIS, on the rare occasions that he’s been able to sleep. —
Listen, the bells ring
— But she sees him, and she’s smiling, and the light is catching on her bright-blue eyes and they look like they’re dancing. —
All the living are dead
— Nothing matters, not anymore, and the ghosts are far away now, and Narvin breaks into a run. —
And the dead are all living
— Leela, he wants to say. Leela, I’ve found you. But he doesn’t. Instead, he holds her close, breathes in that familiar scent, that smell of woodsmoke and leather, and he can feel the pinpricks of tears in the corners of his eyes, but why? He’s so happy, he’s never felt this happy in all his lives, he shouldn’t be feeling tears now. —
The war is over
— And he holds her close, feeling her warm human skin, and the tears spill down his cheeks. I thought you were dead, he whispers. —
And we are beginning
— When Romana wakes, there is a half-remembered dream stirring in the back of her brain, something with Leela, and she’s filled with an ache, a longing so hard that she wishes she could stop existing, if only to stop feeling so much. —
Here it comes
— She lets out a deep, shuddering breath, and then another. She sits up and draws her knees close to her chest, hugging herself, missing Leela, wishing she could be here right now. —
Here comes the first step
— And the door opens, and Romana shuts her eyes, not wanting to see Narvin, not right now. She wants companionship, needs it, but she doesn’t want Narvin’s. She wants Leela’s. Or rather, she wants Narvin’s in conjunction with Leela’s. They’re a unit of three. When one is missing, it just doesn’t suffice. —
Up in our bedroom after the war
— But the hand that softly touches her back isn’t Narvin’s cool, soft hand. It’s warm, and calloused, and small, and she catches a hint of a strange smell, of woodsmoke and leather, and she opens her eyes, and before her are Leela and, next to her, Narvin, who looks like he can’t believe his eyes. —
Up in our bedroom after the war
— She draws them both to her, embracing them both as best she can, and lets out a deep sigh, one of contentment, and not of pain, or grief, or sorrow, or anything else. For this moment, and for many more after this, she is content. —
After the war.