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Chapter Text

Babbage Residence, London, 24th of August, 1834

There was something to be said about karma being a bitch. 

Honestly, she should have seen all of this happening from the moment the Master revealed himself.

The whole thing was just so, so, master . The grand scheme of working with another species (see: the Toclafane and The Year That Never Was), the annihilation of the human race (for some reason or another, the Master was set firmly on their destruction) and trapping the Doctor in an unsolvable puzzle. Their kin would have said the Master was, well, the master of flirting (debauchery and backstabbing was the love language of their species, after all) but something deep inside the Doctor made her ponder if this really was the Master’s failed attempt at a mating ritual or him being what he’s always been. 

Mad.

Regardless of the bitter hate-love relationship the two had going on, the Master never went so far as to have the Doctor isolated from her companions, in this case, her fam, or from her beloved Mark Fifty. The TARDIS had always been in a stupidly easy place to get to and her mates had always been able to breach his plans.

This time, she was trapped with just her witt and sonic.

In eighteen-thirty-six, a time that felt, and probably was illegal, for a woman to have a brain. On the body’s looks alone, the Doctor would be marked down by this backwards society as a spinster, unfit for anything, a burden upon society. 

Ada Byron, soon-to-be Lovelace, had brought the Doctor back from the Kassavin dimension and when the Silver Lady had failed her and attempted to take the Time Lord under her wing. It took three days of moping and breaking the Silver Lady down to parts before Ada had put her foot down. 

“Nothing can be done now, except  moving on,” the mathematician had stated firmly before peeling the blonde off the floor and into a bath. However, the life of being a socialite meant that Ada was away from the Doctor and the Babbage townhouse, pursuing the eligible bachelors of London. 

It was, for a while, just the blonde and Charles Babbage and Charles, Omega bless him, was not the best at feelings and left the Doctor to her thoughts.

Moving on. Such a simple task the Doctor had routinely failed. Rose had been lost to another universe and the Doctor had mourned unconditionally. Amy and Rory had died and the Time Lord went into self-imposed exile. Clara became the Impossible Girl and the Doctor could do nothing but pine and watch from afar. 

She was a Time Lord for Rassilon sake, she could wait a hundred-and-sixty-four years, watch the world evolve through wars and crisis and alien invasions and-

She would not intervene. She would have to stay concealed and steadfast in isolation as Earth became mad with technological development. Past and even future versions of herself would  take action against such events and all she could do was wait for the year twenty-twenty. Her life was, effectively, on hold. 

She was a prisoner of Time…

The depression had come full wind and whilst Time Lords did compartmentalise and move on to the next problem at hand, the Doctor had nothing but dull, slow, human time on her hands. She read the entire Babbage library in half a day and she was hiding from Ada, lest she was pestered with invitations to brunch with the ladies of London society. 

Sequestered in her room, courtesy of Charles, the Doctor had only her thoughts for company, dreary, blank, grey thoughts that weighed her body down with a fatigue a Time Lord should not feel. To a human, Time Lords sleep a few hours once every three weeks but the days blurred for the Doctor who slept for multiple hours each day. If she was in her right mind, the Doctor would have known that the narcolepsy would ruin her body and mind but, in all honesty, she didn’t care. 

One might say she was being dramatic, after all, there was fifty-three years till Madame Strax and her posse opened doors and many versions of herself thrived in Victorian London so there was always a ride available, plus or minus a few paradoxes but those always sorted themselves out. Hell, River would probably be around in the near future and-

Oh, River. 

It wouldn’t be the River Song the Doctor knew and loved. She had already said goodbye to her wife and best friend years ago. The one she would meet sometime in the future would be a jaded Melody Pond, raring to slaughter the Doctor at the Silence’s command. If the Doctor were to actively seek the proto-Lord then death was inevitable (River had succeeded once and no doubt would succeed again).

A voice in the back of her head, one that sounded like the floppy haired, bow-tie loving version, screamed that a hundred-and-sixty-four years was nothing and her pre-war selves were definitely annoyed at her whining. 

She threw a pillow over her head, focusing on strengthening the barriers between her past selves. Was this how the Eleven started? His past-selves screeching at the current self? Certainly felt like she was going insane. At least in Christmas she had electronics and a purpose to stick by. Here, she was nothing but a blonde scientist with naught to her name. 

A thwack was administered to her back and the Doctor yelps, rolling over onto the attacked area. An annoyed looking Ada wielded a pillow over her head, prepared to give the Doctor another hit. 

“You know that’s classified as assault?”

“I call it an intervention.” The brunette pulled her arm back, reading herself but the Doctor threw a hand in surrender. “Lord Babbage has informed me that you have laid in your bed these past few days.”

The Doctor huffed and slid off the bed, putting distance between herself and the pillow. 

“I’m bored.” Of life, she added on in her mind.

“Then come with me to afternoon tea. It won’t kill you to talk to people.” Oh but it will, Ada.

“I’m not like this, Ada.” She waved a hand to the pinned up hair and crease-less linen dress. “I’m not like you and all I’ll do is make a fool of myself.” 

That’s not like me, whispered Angry Eyebrows. When have I ever cared if I stand out? 

Because I am me. Because I am here, she hissed back. 

“I can teach you manners and etiquette,” offered Ada as she deposited the pillow on the bed and moved to sat beside the Doctor. “I have a feeling those are things you’ve never learnt.”

For the first time in a month, or had it been months, the Doctor threw her head back and laughed. 

Oh, Ada was both right and wrong. The Time Lords, of course, had horribly complex societal rules and being a member of a prestigious house she was pre-deestined to learn all of the stupid protocals. Of course, her and the Deca said fuck that. 

“What is making you laugh? Is it a memory?” 

“Yeah, it’s just.” There’s a far away gaze, a happy one, on her face and Ada just watches how this timeless woman became younger in that moment. “Where I’m from, we have etiquette and societal expectations to learn them. They made my species as whole rather cutthroat and dull and my friends and I-” A dreamy chuckle. “We never paid attention. Always breaking the rules. There was this one member of our circle and he tried his best to remain uptight but I always dragged him down to my level.

“There’s this strict protocol around romance for my species and he crossed so many lines for me. Kisses in the hallway between class, staying in my room past curfew just so we could watch the stars from my room since I had the best view, according to him but I think he just wanted to hold my hand.” Ada blushed at first, even to her that was scandalous, but seeing the melancholic woman smile warmed her heart and she moved past the initial shock of such promiscuousness. 

“What happened to you two?” The question was innocent in its teasing, like they were just two schoolgirls giggling at a love note from a classmate but the Doctor’s smile slipped.

“We grew up. I married for the sake of my family’s honour and we drifted apart,” she said softly. “Then, out of nowhere, years after I ran away from my life and duties, did he come back. We’ve been stuck in this endless cycle that’s just gotten ridiculous.”

“So, could he come and find you? Take you home to your time?” Tears pricked in the Doctor’s eyes. 

“Ada, he’s the one that put me here.”

The silence went on, heavy and Ada, foregoing her usual stiffness, sat on the floor next to the Doctor, legs tucked beside her. A gentle rain began and the two women watched it hit the window. 

“I think,” Ada started off slowly, cautiously, sad even. “You’ll find you have a lot more in common with us ladies than you think.”

The Doctor gave a question hum as she tucked her knees to her chin, feeling as if a black hole was inside her chest. Oh, how she yearned for the simple Academy days; young, stupid and in love.

“Some of my friends and even my acquaintances have fallen in love with bad men. At all the balls and chaperoned meetings, they were perfect gentlemen and then after the wedding, they turned into vile monsters.” Ada took a deep sigh. “Though I am unwed, we gossip of a different life where we are free from men and their forced rules; free to love and wed who we please.”

“Is there a special someone in your heart?” Asked the Doctor, turning her head to look at Ada. “I can keep secrets.”

“There is but our love is forbidden.” So, a High Born marrying a Low Born then?

“Who?”

:”One of my oldest friends. She married a beast and I haven’t seen her in years.” More like a Patrex marrying a Prydonian: impossible in certain era’s.

“I’m sorry.” Ada cleared her throat.

“Not your fault and besides.” The woman grabbed the Doctor’s hand and the Time Lord nearly wretched it back if it weren’t for the feeling of warmth, security and solidarity radiating from the human. “Moral of the story is that you are not alone in this world and if your upbringing was similar to mine, then there should not be an issue teaching you to become one with English society.”

Ada wanted her to belong, feel loved and safe. Those were concepts the Doctor hadn’t known for a long time. Sure, the fam tried, especially Yaz, but there’s this Georgian woman, right there and then, holding her hand and offering such tangible comfort that the Time Lord needed. 

“Help me,” said the Doctor, words sticking in her throat. The hardest sentence in the world. “Help me be a Lady.”

The Doctor was a renegade and now, maybe, just maybe, for the next two-hundred years, the renegade should sleep and the Time Lord of Lungbarrow could come out. Just maybe she would play by the rules, keep her mouth shut and stay alive. 

Yes, she would do that. Her own divergency was driving her insane and rigidity would provide her with a foundation to rebuild her mental health and…she would be the Theta-That-Never-Was, polite, cordial and Not-The-Doctor. It was the Theta that would have made her a suitable life-partner for Koschei, in the eyes of his house and father.

“‘M not gonna change myself because  of him, Ada.” At first, the mathematician was confused; she would never judge a lady for moulding herself to a man, that was how upper class ladies were trained to entice men but then, she realised, the Doctor was confirming to herself. “I’m gonna change because I need to. I need to or I will lose myself, permanently.”

“Then, will you no longer be called the Doctor?” 

“No,” mourned the Time Lord. Laying the mantle of the Doctor was something she bolted at since the beginning and yet, here she was, doing it of her own will. “The Doctor must go, for now.”

Ada squeezed her hand, reassuring the blonde. She gave a smile and a nod before standing up, unfurling the Time Lord, pulling her to her feet. 

“You must pick a new name but think about it. Not many get a second chance at life, my friend.”

Sometimes, the Doctor forgot how naive humans could be. 

“Oh, Ada, I have had more chances and new lives than you could count with your hands. And, I don’t need time to think about my name. I’ve been running from it for so long.”

“Tell me.” How many have died because of the Doctor’s name. How many will die because of it. The Silence will, no doubt about it, cause mayhem if the whole, proper thing was littered to the humans so a modified (and feminised) version was needed. 

“My name is…” Deep breath, be prepared for the end of the world. “Theresa Lungbarrow.” 

The wind merely rattled, as if disheartened that the Time Lord didn’t use her over stylised Gallifreyan name and said being looked around the room through the corner of her eye, expecting to see some assassin creeping in the corner to take her out. 

But there was no-one else but Ada and herself. The human grinned.

“Theresa, what a lovely name.”

With that, the Doctor was stripped of her clothes and put into a hot warm bath. At her request, the apparel was to be burnt whilst her jewellery and sonic locked away. Minimise the trail as much as I can, she thought.

Then, once patted and powdered dry, the blonde was dressed in cotton and figure emphasising undergarments before being draped in a red dress and her hair was pinned up as much as it could be due to its length.

When placed in the mirror, all she could see was a Time Lord, regal, starched and unphased at the tight confines of clothing. Of course, she internally rebelled at the stay but, needs must. Theta stepped out of the door, arms entwined with Ada as she walked with as much grace and dignity she recalled from her youth. They walked down the hall, away from the dressing room and Theta knew she was walking from part of herself. 

The Master may or may not have wanted her dead but, in a way, he had killed the Doctor, placing the gun in her hand and watching her pull the trigger against her own temple. 

“You will be alright,” promised Ada. “Everything will work out.” 

How Theta desperately wanted to believe her naive friend.

Chapter Text

London, 3rd of February, 1835

She was back to the start when her meagre belongings bought by Charles Babbage had been transferred to Ada’s residence and Theta was given a room.

The lethargy seemed never ending on some days and when it finally became too much for Charles to handle (he was a man and therefore, led a far more interesting and busier life) and thus, Theta came to live with Ada.

The cover was simple, in Theta’s terms, but would be hard to corroborate since the ton were too noisy for their own good. Theressa Lungbarrow was a bastard cousin of Ada’s, widowed and childless and unable to support herself in the relentless cold and hostility that is Yorkshire. Ada, being the generous person that she is, agreed to housing the blonde. 

Being widowed in the eyes of London allowed Theta to stay at home, away from prying eyes and questions and for the first six months or so, Ada had allowed the Time Lord this time. The days were quiet and sometimes, she didn’t even change from her nightdress into daywear, choosing to lay in bed and stare at cloud formations, if she opened the curtains that day. 

Solitude gave her time to review her mind, the endless passages twisting and changing as she had regenerated. There were clear markers, other than the obvious alterations to decorations within the sections of her mindscape, telling her how fresh or how old the corridors, the neural pathways, if you will, that housed her memories and thoughts and feelings. 

They were in utter shambles, intersections that never existed before blurring two iterations of the Doctor into one or cracks, like doorways, leading one version to the next. The Master had always thrown her off kilter and some overlapping, especially sections that were burnt by their touch, was to be expected but the near enough collapse of her brain's structure caused her excessive fatigue. 

If the feeling of helplessness didn’t drag her down to the cold depths of the Matrix, then Koschei’s effect on her mind would. 

There was a rather tough crossway, where her Tenth self and her young, Academy days tried to blend, a cacophonous itch of burnt orange walls and paper cluttered wood floors collided with graffitied Prydonian architecture taking Theta days to untangle, unintentionally scaring the life out of the maids as she entered a deep, meditative state. 

When she finally roused, Ada was in a chair, back straight and doing what appeared to be a cross stitch pattern. The windows were open, and Theta had been dressed in a clean nightgown, her hair brushed and clean. Sitting up, the human looked apathetic. 

“Is this man, this murderer really worth your soul?” She placed her needle craft on her lap and folded her hands delicately. “You have been asleep for three days. The maids assumed you had somehow died in your sleep, yet you still breathed.”

“So, you’ve been watching me sleep?” Ada had been raised in the art of Ars moriendi and when she heard that one of her best friends was on the verge of death, of course she kept watch over the body, praying to God and whoever Theta worshipped that her soul would go to heaven.

“I have been watching you, wondering when you would pass on and in the time that I have spent by your side, I had begun to think.” Her voice was calm and collected, restricted. “You have been dying a small amount each day since that man had left you here and I believed all you needed was time to process before I began your lessons. Seeing you lie there has told me that you do not intend to move on.”

Theta gave an indignant noise of protest.

“I do, I do, it's just complicated right now.” 

“How?” Huffed out Ada. “All you have done is lie in bed for months on end. How is that taxing?”

“Like I said, it’s complicated.” Wishing the conversation to end, Theta kicks the covers off and steps out of bed, moving to the folding doors that cut a small corner of the room off for changing. A set of clothes had been laid out, as if the maid or even Ada herself had hoped Theta would rouse soon. 

“I am not stupid, Doctor, so do not treat me as such,” ordered Ada as she sat up alarmingly quickly, gracefully but angrily walking towards the blinds and assisting Theta with her corset, tugging perhaps a little too forcefully at the cords. “Both Charles and I have taken you under our roofs and all we ask is just information as to how we can support you.” 

Theta hisses as the corset tightens too much for her liking but the brunette was harsh and perhaps, she did deserve the woman's anger. It was a very old habit that was very hard to break out of. Most of the Doctor’s companions needed constant explanations about what was happening and what to do next (obviously since they were out of their own timelines and thus, out of their comfort zones) and the Doctor had somewhat grown bored of the pestering. Better to treat them as apes and get on with it , had been her ethos for a while . 

Gods and Pythia above, she had acted like that towards her fam, keeping them at arm's length and always half informed. 

Well, if the Doctor was dead, somewhat, then Theta must start breaking what was once her personal set of rules. 

“He broke my mind, the Master, in a way.”

“Mhm.” The bustle was attached around Theta’s waist. 

“Every time we would meet, I would always get this chaos in my head like when I was around him, like everything I experienced in the past was happening at once. My mind and my time would bleed into one.”

“Sounds like madness,” offered Ada softly as she collected a deep blue cotton skirt. 

“In my culture and species, it is and it takes so much energy to just sort out the smallest issues. But, after the gallery incident, my mind feels fractured, broken, as if Time has become one within my own body and being stuck here has only escalated.” Theta raised a hand to her forehead, feeling a strong headache forming as she thought about thirty, forty, fifty overlaps left in her mindscape. “It’s like something is ripping it apart and it’s not the mind probe-”

“Mind probe?”

“Gallifreyan torture device but anway, it’s like Koschei has infected me with something. Which would honestly be his kinda thing to do. I wouldn't be surprised to see if he could use a cybermite and infect me or Gallifrey or some other absurd shit and I wish this headache would go away!” 

Ada doesn’t say anything, guiding Theta to the vanity once the Time Lord was dressed in the blue costume. The short mess of blonde hair was difficult to style, worse so as the weird bob started to grow out the layers, showing off brown roots against the blonde. Theta looks at herself in the mirror, wincing as her neurons fire simultaneously, her face shifting from feminine roundness to aged sharpness to boyish floppy hair to curly brown to-

“That’s…not me,” she whispered, tilting her head side to side. The female in the mirror, humanoid, with darker skin and dreadlocks copied Theta’s movements though with a firm look of disappointment. She traced over cheekbones and fuller lips, feeling the higher eyebrows and thicker neck. “I don’t remember you.”

“Of course, you won’t.” The mirror stops moving along with Theta and takes up a conversational pose, resting her chin on her hand. “They’re smart like that, aren’t they?”

Theta reached up feeling Ada’s hand resting on her shoulder.

“Ada, do you see this?” 

“She does. Interdimensional hopping changes the brain, especially going into a realm beyond N and E-space with just your mind.”

“Whoever she is, she is correct. I do see her.” 

Ada squeezed Theta’s hand, putting a comforting weight onto the Time Lord as she thought over questions, plotting, planning what to say. She really was falling back onto her heritage if she was using the word ‘plotting’ when it came to a respectable and peaceful conversation.

“Who are you?”

“You. From a long, long time ago.”

November 25th, London, 1837

Christmas had always been a spectacular event in Theta’s eyes even when she could jump between centuries, celebrating Christmas every day of the human week. But as a stuck traveller, the holiday had taken a bittersweet note. 

Seeing the children playing in the street on a snowy day had made her hearts clench, memories from her own youth, or at least, one of them, flashing in her mind; snow filled days, skipping class to throw solid water at each other, piling in one room, huddled as a group under blankets to get warm. Life had certainly been simpler, easier back then. 

This year, Christmas was to be celebrated differently than last, the golden age of Queen Victoria having just dawned, and everyone was thoroughly excited. 

“I do wonder as to what will happen this year,” twittered a fair headed woman, smoothing out a crumple in her satin green dress.

“Indeed. So young and alone her majesty is. I do hope that a betrothal is to happen soon though, I do hope she won’t marry a German-”

Theta snickered. 

“Is something the matter, Theressa?”

“Oh, nothing, Charlotte, dearest. Just remembering something I read, that was all.” 

The group of married and unmarried ladies gave small chuckles, having grown used to Theta’s unusual behaviour. They, to the outside, seemed like an odd bunch with no men by their sides. Consisting of well read, educated aristocratic ladies, they posed a formidable aura of feminine grace and power within the ton. At Ada’s request, they had welcomed Theta with open arms, ready to teach who they thought was a simple working widow into a spinster of fashion and beauty. 

The conversation continued, turning into a hushed gossip about the latest marriages. Theta was very much reminded of Gallifrey, how every action was questioned and discussed between all the noble houses. Usually, she would have been bored out of her mind but years amongst the humans as a human has developed her interest. 

“Did you say that the duke of Gloucester was caught with a maid?” She gasped out, flicking her fan out in a smooth motion. Sure, exploring new worlds would be far more stimulating than idle chit chat but, what was the saying? When in Rome. 

“Indeed and- Oh! Lady King!” 

Theta spun quickly around and hid a rather feral grin behind the painted paper fan. Two years and Ada had thoroughly flourished in her marriage and only two months postpartum, she looked healthy. 

“Theressa, I am terribly surprised to see you here,” Ada teased, clasping Theta’s spare hand as the Time Lord gently fanned herself. “I thought the theatre bored you to death.”

“It does but, as you are well aware, it is an opera tonight and Charlotte suggested I might find myself a suitor or two for the evening,” she replied a little tensely. 

She linked arms with the mathematician and together they promenaded around the room towards the drinks table. It was now common to see the young brunette talking and walking around with the Time Lord and nobody looked twice now but unknown to them, somebody was watching. 

“It has been months since I have seen you and look at you.” The human wove a hand up and down subtly. “Brown hair and wearing such a stunning dress. Did Charles order that for you? If so, he has my compliments, you look like a jewel, darling.”

Time Lords were, honestly, one of the most vainest creatures in existence and the Doctor would blush and dispute any compliments to their physical appearance (occasionally) but Theta was not the Doctor, thus, she preened, smiling triumphantly. 

“You have Elizabeth and Mary to thank. Eliza, bless her, demanded that I show my face and stand with our friends. Something about Jane’s suitor or betrothed or some other reason. And Mary, you know how she’s a budding chemist, decided to do something about my faded blonde.” She shook her head, huffing as the reason why she had to attend slipped her mind. “Enough about me, Lady King, and tell me how your darling daughter is? I read the announcement in the newspaper.”

Ada smiled warmly, though, there was an underlying tenseness in her body. They swayed to the edge of the drinks table, picking up a glass of champagne and sipping politely. 

“It went well, the birth and she is thriving, but I’ve been feeling tired and just generally unwell. I was always sick as a child and with the Kassavin incident only a few years ago, I worry.”

Theta raised an eyebrow. 

“There’s something else, isn’t there?”

Ada took a gulp of her drink. 

“It’s William’s new business partner.” Soon enough, the two females were talking behind their fans, blue hydrangeas and soft peonies painted on wood concealing their conversations, as Ada kept a weathered eye on the crowd. 

This was the closest thing to danger Theta had felt in a while and, admittedly, her heart rate doubled in anticipation of a conspiracy. 

“It’s him, Theressa, it’s him ,” hissed out the lady. 

“Who?” The Time Lord raised an eyebrow and squinted her eyes in confusion. Within the posse of ladies, there were a lot of ‘him’s , rakes and bucks that had scorned the collective. 

“ Him!”

“Really not helping.” Ada snapped her fan, closing it and using the wood and paper to point at a man. Theta turned around slowly, unsure as to whom she would find. 

Her hearts stuttered. 

“Oh. Him .”

“Yes. Him. The Master.” 

A flurry of emotions hit Theta full force: fear, excitement, anxiety and was that desire? Sweet Rassilon, no, that whole courtship fiasco ended eons ago and there was no way she would fling herself back into an old, rather toxic relationship. 

“Shit, he’s coming this way,” cursed Theta under her breath as she knocked back her drink and placed it on a nearby table. Damn, why didn’t she grab the ginger ale? “Does your husband know?” 

Ada shook her head. 

“No, I didn’t want to seem completely mad. I have voiced my concerns as to starting a new entrepreneurship before the end of the year but, as usual, men don’t listen.” 

They braced themselves as Lord King walked over to the duo, the Master dressed in an era appropriate costume. 

“Ah, wife!”

“Husband,” murmured Ada, pretending to be pleased to see both men. 

“Cousin.” The Englishman bowed to Theta shortly and in turn, she curtsied. “Theressa, may I introduce to you Mr Oakley from America. Dearest, you remember him from the dinner we had before Anne was born?”

“Of course, I do,” smiled Ada through somewhat gritted teeth as the Time Lord and human curtsied in greeting. So, Ada had met the Master and his new persona recently.

The Master bowed politely to both women in return, his smile human, O-like and missing its usual feral quality. He’s not here for an ‘explosive’ time then , thought Theta, suspicious as to why, after the years she’s spent here, to return.

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss-” He trailed off, (thankfully, as his American accent was rather grating to Theta’s ears) fishing for her pseudonym.

“Mrs Theressa Lungbarrow, sir. I am Ada’s cousin.” Her shut fan was slowly dragged threw her hands as she stared at her nemesis in the eye.

‘I hate you’ she told him in fan language. Whilst, in the moment, one of the many boring skills Ada had taught seemed to be useless, it was rather entertaining seeing the twitch of the Master’s left eye. Saying ‘I hate you’ would have become their ‘I love you’ before the whole Year-That-Never-Was debacle (yes, the bar was that low but now it’s up high, higher than the Eiffel Tower). The phrase was thrown about on the regular between them but for Theta to say it such a subtle, yet public language insulted the Master. Just a little bit.

They were a duo larger than life and often the talk of the Time Lords (‘have you heard of what those two idiots are doing again,’ the CIA coordinator had grumbled out more times than they could count). For her to reduce their dynamic to just a little fan motion, his chest imploded ever so slightly.

A staff member called for the audience to take their seats and Ada latched onto William protectively.

“Mrs Lungbarrow, are you to attend Lord and Lady King and myself for the evening?” The Master held his arm slightly away from his body in an invitation to escort her to the box, but her face was blank as open the fan rather furiously and hiding a portion of her face.

“No,” she replied coolly, no emotion on her face other than disinterest. “I will be attending with Lord Babbage and his eldest children. Excuse me.”

Before she stepped away, the mathematician caught her arm gently and Theta leant in as the human whispered something so quietly that not even William nor the Master could hear:

“Do you think he knows about the Timeless Child?”

Theta leant back and the Master had an issue trying to read her facial features. Gods, it was like the Doctor was acting like a proper Time Lady; all frigid and calculating, unwavering in their suspicions of outsiders. She gave a small eyebrow raise before a small smile.

“If you will excuse me, Lord King, Mr Oakley.”

She didn’t look back at the Master as she found Charles and his small army of offspring as well as Charlotte, his lover.

The Master watched her walk away, shoulders back and head held high, highlighting the delicate back of her neck and shoulders. Yesterday, for him at least, she was a blonde with a bob cut and mismatched clothing but now she was proudly spotting a brown updo of curls and braids and sashaying in an emerald green dress that caught the candlelight.  

A far cry from the Doctor, that was very much obvious. Yet, what probably caught him the most off guard was the use of her shortened name: Theta ‘Theressa’ Lungbarrow. Of course, a few syllables had been cut off to make it more ‘human’. No Doctor, no pretentious titled, just ‘Mrs’. Was she married then? The Master’s gut coiled up in an ugly emotion at the thought she had married a bloody human. At least Melody Pond was a Proto-Lord, half Time Lord, half human.

The taste of ozone had somewhat faded around Theta, proving that she had not time travelled in a while, but the lure of her energy signal pulled him in, hypnotising his own core that no other Time Lord could do.

I guess that’s what happens when you linger around the source of regeneration itself, hissed the Master to himself bitterly as he watched her ascend the steps towards the private boxes. The Timeless Child.