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Chapter Text

“All I wanted was a family.” – Tal-Rho, Superman & Lois: Last Sons of Krypton

“What in the end, are any of us looking for? We’re looking for someone who’s looking for us.” – the Doctor, Doctor Who: The Pilot

After helping save the world from Ally Alliston, Tal ran. Of course he ran. He wasn’t exactly eager to be returned to the Department of Defense, locked in a closet-sized cage, and tortured with a kryptonite collar. It wasn’t as though they were going to pardon him for trying to destroy the world. He briefly entertained the idea of losing himself on the parallel Earth before it was sealed off – he had a wife there, that was intriguing for many reasons – but he didn’t relish the idea of being stuck under a red sun with people who spoke backwards for the rest of his life.

Of course, all this left the question of what to do instead. If he wanted to avoid being recaptured by Kal-El and the DOD, he had to find someplace to lay low until the super boy scout got distracted by the next global crisis. Hopefully something dire enough that Tal’s usefulness as a potential ally would outweigh the moral imperative of returning him to military custody. But “laying low” from Superman was no simple matter.

Something brought Tal back to the UK – nostalgia, perhaps, although his memories there weren’t exactly pleasant. Could one be nostalgic for a place where they were abused? Perhaps he merely wanted to view it through adult eyes. Now that he was powerful. Now that they could no longer hurt him. Perhaps he wanted to convince himself it was as bad as he remembered it. Or show himself it wasn’t. Tal didn’t know anymore. These were all reasons he thought of after he found himself floating above the rugged moorlands and sandy coasts of Cornwall. He moved inland and gradually there were hills and rivers and a quantity of very small, very dirty sheep.

 There were no people about. Everyone was inside, watching news coverage of the almost world ending events that had recently transpired. The sky going red, doppelgangers showing up on your doorstep, that kind of thing would distract people for a while. He was relieved that Kal-El and his family were safe, vaguely wondered how much – if any – good will that bought him, considering he had tried to murder that same family a year ago.

Tal drifted until he felt a sickening prickle of recognition along the back of his neck. One minute he was gazing down at the rolling hills and dotted forests, watching the scenery, the next there was a lurch, like everything had gone sideways. It was only in Tal’s mind. A mental lurch. Because he had found the place where his ship crashed all those decades ago. Where he had first stumbled, blinking and numb, onto an indifferent alien world.

1978. He’d been a child. A stupid child. Unprepared for what was to come. His father had warned him of horrors, and yet somehow nothing had felt quite real until those moments.

In the present, Tal’s feet touched the earth. He hadn’t meant to land. A headache split his skull, but it must have been psychosomatic because Kryptonians did not fall ill.  

Gazing around the wooded area – it all looked smaller and sparser than he remembered – Tal saw no trace of the crash site. There wouldn’t be, it had been something like forty years. Yet it was seared into his memory: the scorched grass, the burning limbs broken off trees that had shattered and exploded as his pod tore through the forest canopy. How strange the air had first tasted. How horrible the yellow sun had seemed – and the overwhelming rush of his powers first manifesting, hitting him like a wall. The sounds too loud, the colours to bright, his heart racing like it would explode in his chest, his eyes burning to cinders in his skull. He had thought he was dying.

And the people coming at him, emerging out from between the trees like wraiths. Screaming and cursing him. The bangs of their hunting rifles, the sounds worse than anything their lead bullets could have done to him, not that he’d known that then. Not that he’d known anything back then, except that the noises hurt and the people here wanted him dead.

They would do worse than kill him, but he pushed that thought aside into the metal box where he kept the memories of his life before he’d escaped and established the Morgan Edge identity. But now that was over and he was still here and the past was still with him.

Tal found himself at the abandoned World War II air raid shelter where the British military had held him. Why? His stomach roiled.

It was in a secluded spot – probably wouldn’t have done to have the locals listening to a child screaming at all hours. The nearest village was a tiny place called Carbury, a few miles away. Though why they would even install an air raid shelter in such an out of the way place was a mystery in and of itself.

Tal floated above the bunker for a time, processing its sloping, sunken shape. It was even more disused now, apparently its second life as forgotten as the first. It was half-underground and had begun to be overgrown.   The entrance was boarded up, but that was quick work for someone with superpowers.

Again, Tal was unsure what possessed him to take this tour. It wasn’t as though there was anybody left to get revenge on. The men who were responsible would be in nursing homes if they weren’t dead. The Eradicator was meant to be his revenge against the whole horrid species, but that had failed. Everything he’d worked for had failed in the end.

So why was he here?

Why are you anywhere, you stupid boy? Said his father’s voice in his head. Tal pushed that into the box as well.

The air inside the old shelter was stale and musty, growing worse as Tal descended. The walls were solid steel, the floor so thick with dirt that it muffled his steps. He passed the remnants of soldiers’ barracks, abandoned supplies rotting in wooden crates, a makeshift office area he had never seen . . . and deeper in, more familiar sights: the laboratory where they had done experiments on him, some bloody tools still lying scattered about. Had they not even cleaned up after his escape? They must have simply sealed the place and left.

Sloppy, Tal thought. He would have been more thorough.

Ah, and then, there was the cage with iron bars. Thick, medieval-looking chains still lay rusting where they hung against the rough wall. Ancient, faded blood stains spotted the floor and the memory of his own screams echoed back at him from within the cramped space.

Tal was distantly aware that his heart was pounding harder. This shouldn’t be affecting him this way. He shouldn’t have come here.

Tal glanced up.

Well, that’s interesting.

The bunker’s ceiling was lined with lead. He didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. Of course, he did neither because he was Tal-Rho and he had control of his emotions.

The headache spiked again, threatening to knock him off his feet.

This wretched hole could serve as his hideaway from Superman.

Why did you come here? He asked himself, shivering beneath his Kryptonian battle armor. A muscle in his jaw twitched and he became aware he was grinding his teeth.

He knew what Zeta-Rho would say. His father would call him weak. Could he not push these memories away? They were irrelevant. Unimportant. He had a new fortress.

Sort of.

Rats scurried in the shadows. It was damp and depressing and in no way fitting for the last of the House of Rho, but it was lined with lead. He could stay and work out his next steps.

Except he didn’t have any. He was no longer the Saviour of Krypton. He was no longer the Eradicator.

He did not want to go back to prison.

“Morgan Edge” had some offshore accounts that no one knew about that he might be able to regain access to, but even that felt like an exercise in pointlessness. Edge had been too famous, too well-connected. Anywhere he went in the world, people would recognize him.

Tal’s chest constricted. He struggled against the feeling that he was being boxed in, that his current situation was unwinnable. This was as bad as being back in the cage at the DOD.

No, he told himself sternly. At least there were no people here. No Mitch Andersons, or General Lanes. No kryptonite to torture him. He could simply exist. He was Kryptonian.

He didn’t need anything more than that.    

Tal existed in the darkness of the abandoned air raid shelter for – he lost awareness of time. It ceased to be important. He did not leave. He didn’t have to eat or drink and wouldn’t for a significant time. He slipped into a meditative trance.

A few curious rats approached, but when they found they couldn’t penetrate his Kryptonian skin they went away. It went on like this, and might have continued to do so indefinitely, except that one day a strange man appeared in the shelter with him.

 It shouldn’t have been possible to sneak up on a Kryptonian, but Tal had been so deeply in his trance that it startled him to realize he was no longer alone. There was a stranger who had apparently strolled straight through the bunker and was now sitting across from him, cross-legged on the floor, regarding Tal with a curious head-tilt.

The man looked young - in his late twenties, at the oldest. He was pale with an oddly angular face and dark, floppy hair. Despite his apparent youth, he wore a brown tweed jacket, bracers, and a bowtie, giving him the fashion sense of a retired math teacher.  

“What are you doing here?” Tal asked, attempting to sound intimidating, which would have been easier had he not been sitting in the middle of an abandoned air raid shelter with a thin coat of dust settled over him. His beard was growing back again, scruffy on his face and neck. He had the uncomfortable suspicion that he looked quite haggard.

This was apparently confirmed when, rather than running away, the stranger merely tilted his head in the other direction. “You know, I could very well ask you the same thing. Curious place for a nap. Bit depressing. Have you seen the cage? With the chains? Blimey.”

Tal regarded the other man for a moment. If he started torching random humans with his heat vision his brother would no doubt get involved. “I was raised in that cage.”

The man nodded slowly. His mouth thinned into a frown. His eyes looked very tired, and older than his young face. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?” he sighed, and rather than seeming put off by Tal, leaned closer to him. “I’m so sorry.”

Tal blinked as some of the dust trickled into his eyes. “Who are you?”

“Oh. Right. How rude of me. I’m the Doctor,” the young man shoved a hand between them, as though Tal was going to shake it. “And you are Morgan Edge,” he prodded, wiggling his fingers when Tal failed to respond. “The Kryptonian. Not the main one, mind you. The other one.”

Tal felt one of his eyes twitch. The other one. Typical. He flicked his gaze towards the mouth of the tunnel. Unfortunately, the lead-lining worked both ways. Superman couldn’t see him, but Tal could not see if anyone was outside. “I imagine you are not alone.”

“I’m not,” agreed the Doctor. “There’s an army of UNIT operatives out there, just sort of idling while they wait for my signal. Does that bother you, Morgan?”

Tal’s mouth went dry. How foolish to expect he would simply be allowed to disappear, even in a place like this. He briefly considered his options. Attack the Doctor and risk the wrath of UNIT? Try to fight his way out and get shot full of kryptonite bullets again? He would die if his brother wasn’t around to laser them out of his system. Could he break through the roof of the bunker and escape that way? Or was it better to pretend to co-operate and then use superspeed to get around the army?

The Doctor nudged his knee and Tal stared at him, realizing that the man was waiting for an answer. “Does it bother you?” he asked again. “It sort of bothers me. I have a thing about guns. Don’t like them. Kate insisted though. Said you were very dangerous. And I said, I love talking with dangerous people, they’re all sorts of fun. Send me in first.” He grinned at Tal. “So, your turn. Tell me why you’re here. Sitting in the dark. In a place where they tortured you.”

Tal found himself wanting to answer, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t have the answer for himself. The silence stretched between them again. Any second now, he will call in the soldiers with their kryptonite bullets, he thought, but he still couldn’t think of an answer that would make sense to anyone.

“You’re . . . planning revenge?” the Doctor suggested.

Tal scoffed. “Against whom? Even if I remembered their names, I have no idea where to find them. The men who were here.”

“Right. I was picturing more of a generalized rampage of revenge against the British government. Blowing up Parliament, that sort of thing – not that I’m suggesting you do that!” he added quickly, as Tal’s brow rose. The Doctor huffed. “You weren’t even thinking about it, were you?”

“No,” said Tal firmly, deciding that he didn’t want to add crimes he hadn’t even done to his long list of misdeeds.

“No,” repeated the Doctor, slapping his knees and shaking his head. “You are just . . . basically sitting here, aren’t you? But that’s so boring! Here I thought you’d be trying to destroy the world or something.”

Did the man want him to be destroying something? “Sorry to disappoint,” he said tightly.

“Everyone says you’re the bad one!” the Doctor exclaimed.

Tal winced.

“I expected some villainy. What am I supposed to do with the rest of the day? You can’t just be sitting here. Peacefully.”

This was the strangest conversation he had ever had. He wondered what Kal-El would have said. Would Kal-El have even asked about his plans, though? Or would he have insisted Tal return to custody. Would they have fought again? Tal was so tired of fighting.

“I would really rather just be left alone,” he said, knowing as he said it how useless such statements where.

“I see,” said the Doctor. “Well, I don’t know if the army’s going to go for that. You’ve made them a bit nervous. They’re expecting more of a battle.” He looked thoughtful. “It would help if I knew what your actual plan was. I mean if it’s not blowing up Parliament.”

“It’s not.”

“Alright. So?” the Doctor prompted. “What are you here for?”

Tal stared back at him. “I’m not here for anything.”

“Then why are you in Cornwall?”

“I . . .” Tal swallowed. Maybe it was the man’s endless questioning, but somehow the truth slipped out: “I don’t want to go back to the cage.”

He cursed himself as soon as the words left his mouth. They sounded weak. Pathetic.

But the Doctor’s frown merely deepened. He looked at Tal. He looked around at the rusted bars and the chains and the blood on the floor. He looked back again, a line forming between his brows. “I hate to point out the obvious . . .”

“It’s a different cage!” Tal snapped.

The Doctor’s brow furrowed even more. “And the very depressing child torture place is . . . better?”

“Yes! Alright? It’s better than a tiny kryptonite box, or a closet-sized tank constantly lit with red solar lamps, or kryptonite shock collars! It’s better than all of that. I didn’t come here to hurt anyone, I -” Tal caught his breath. He realized he’d been shouting without meaning to. His breath was ragged. What was wrong with him?

The Doctor regarded him thoughtfully. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize it was as bad as all that, Morgan.”

“Tal,” he said. He didn’t know why he was bothering, but he felt very tired suddenly and he’d already told the Doctor everything else. “My name is Tal-Rho. Morgan Edge was just . . . a character I was playing.”

The Doctor nodded, seeming to take that in stride. “Tal, then. Pleased to meet you.” The Doctor toyed with his cuffs for a moment, before looking back at him. “If I promise no cages, would you come and talk to me? Somewhere less monumentally horrible?”

Tal stared at him, the blood rushing in his ears, his temples pounding because . . . “You can’t promise that,” he said hoarsely.

“I told you, I’m the Doctor,” he said. “Trust me.” He said the words with calm authority, as though one could almost believe him.

Tal stared into the encroaching darkness. “The men outside . . .”

“I’ll send them away. You’ll come with me. We’ll go to the pub. You’ll tell me your story. Just two blokes chatting in a pub. That’s totally normal. Or so I’ve been told.”

Tal looked down at his hands in the dark. They were coated in a grimy layer of dust. He realized he was slowly dying in this place, without the sun. It might take a hundred years, but did he plan to move in a hundred years? But maybe that was for the best. He was meant to be dead already. He had no family. Well, it wasn’t as though Kal-El would mourn.

“And afterward?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” the Doctor admitted.    

Tal swallowed. He was probably never going to get a better deal from anybody, his brother included. He nodded stiffly. The Doctor patted his hand. Patted his hand, like he was a child! Before Tal could even react to that outrage, the man was bouncing to his feet, pulling a walkie-talkie out of his jacket and speaking into it: “call off the dogs, Kate.”

“Doctor?” a woman’s voice spoke through the crackle of static.

“I mean it, Kate. Send everyone home. Radio when they’re gone.”

 There was a brief pause, in which Tal imagined angry refusals and recriminations and orders to execute him on sight.

But then: “Copy that. Over.”

It was raining outside. The water began to wash away some of the dust, running in dirty rivulets down the sides of Tal’s face. He was embarrassed about that. A Kryptonian should not be lurking in disused air-raid bunkers. A Kryptonian should not be captured if he was hiding. The entire ordeal was mortifying if he thought about it too hard. Tal was slightly mollified that the humans had been scared. There were tire tracks in the damp earth, left by the military jeeps. True to his word, the Doctor had sent them away. With his telescopic vision, Tal could see the distant convoy, moving away to the East, towards London.

There remained a single car on the old dirt road, a Rolls Royce. There was a driver, and a woman waiting outside beneath a large black umbrella. The Doctor practically skipped the rest of the way down the slope towards her, ignoring the rain. “Kate! There you are. Fabulous. Look who I’ve found!”

She eyed Tal with professional calm, but he tracked the wariness in her gaze. “Yes, I see. So, the reports were true. We have Morgan Edge in a field outside Carbury.”

The Doctor held up a hand. “He prefers Tal-Rho. I best make introductions,” he spun around, so that he was facing Tal again. “This is Dr. Kate Lethbridge-Stewart, chief scientific officer and head of UNIT. They’re a United Nations taskforce set up for monitoring extraterrestrial threats,” said the Doctor, gesturing grandly to the woman.

Kate was not dressed in a military uniform, as Tal had expected, but rather in a blouse and slacks, pearl earrings and a long coat. “Kate, this is Tal-Rho, of Krypton. Formerly the Eradicator, yes, yes, we’ve all read the reports.”

Tal and Kate Stewart regarded one another pensively. She raised an eyebrow, but maintained her decorum, slightly inclining her head. Well, if they were all going to be so polite about it. Tal nodded stiffly to her as well.

“Alright! Good, excellent,” the Doctor clapped his hands. “No one shooting anyone with death rays from their eyes or kryptonite bullets.” He shook a wet lock of hair out of his eyes. “Now, could we please continue this somewhere slightly more pleasant? There’s got to be a pub, or an inn, or something, hasn’t there?”

“There’s the Gore Crow Hotel,” Kate informed him.

Not exactly an inspirited name, Tal thought. 

“Oh, yes,” said the Doctor, blinking rain out of his eyes. “I stayed there with a friend once, in the 80s. Or was it the 90s? They rebuilt it?”

Tal eyed the Doctor carefully. Kate looked about Tal’s age, whereas the Doctor looked no more than 28. There was no conceivable way he’d been anywhere in the 1980s. Unless?

Tal cast a closer look, switching to x-ray vision. The Doctor had two hearts. Not human, then. Not human, but not Kryptonian. Did UNIT Know? Surely, they must. It raised the question – why did some nonhumans, like Kal-El and the Doctor, end up working with the humans, seemingly at no harm to themselves, whereas Tal had been shoved in a cage the moment he landed? He never even had a chance.

“Tal?” the Doctor’s voice reached him as though from far away. Tal realized he’d been standing frozen for too long and something of what he was feeling must have shown on his face because both the Doctor and Kate regarded him like he was a wild dog that might bite.

His eyes hadn’t burned, had they?   

“Why do you work with them?”

The Doctor wiped wet hair out of his face. “Seriously? You want to do this here? I’m getting drenched. Come sit in the car, Tal.” He opened the door and looked at him expectantly. Both Tal and Kate remained frozen, each sizing the other up. “It has comfy chairs,” the Doctor added.

This is ridiculous, he told himself. He was not going to allow himself to be intimidated by two people. The rain was slicking down, leaving a wet sheen on the skin-tight Kryptonian battle armor. It wasn’t as though Tal felt the cold, but he disliked the dampness.

If he got in the vehicle, would the woman slap a pair of kryptonite shackles on him, as the DOD had done? If she tried that, could he get out in time? Normally yes, but he felt weary. Better to fly now, while he could. Up into the storm, disappear in the black clouds. Risk a fight with Kal-El. End up back in prison.

“It’s alright,” said the Doctor, in a gentler tone. As though he had seen into Tal’s mind and knew what he was thinking. “It’s alright, we’re just going to talk.”

And how dare he speak as though Tal was someone who needed soothing? He wasn’t that idiotic lost child any longer. He was Kryptonian. His thoughts kept spiralling.

The Doctor held his gaze. “You can leave anytime. He’s free to leave anytime, right, Kate?”

Kate frowned but nodded. “Not as though I can stop you,” she said.

 “Very well,” said Tal, trying to maintain some dignity. He gestured to the car. “Ladies first.”

After a quick glance at the Doctor, Kate acquiesced. The Doctor gestured for Tal to follow her. Feeling as though he were crossing the Rubicon, Tal did.

The Doctor gave him a big smile which was only slightly patronizing, and shut the door after him, before climbing into the front seat. Tal sat there and tried to appreciate the novelty of the experience. Quite different from how his arrest in Kansas had played out, at least.

The interior was spacious. It was a luxury car, after all, the type he would have had drive him around in his Morgan Edge days. At least there was enough room that it wasn’t terribly awkward sitting next to the head of UNIT, who was doing a fine job pretending she wasn’t terrified of Tal, but her elevated heartrate gave her away. He wiped some of the rainwater and grime off his face with one hand. 

The Doctor twisted around in his seat, all smiles. “Comfy? Oh, Tal, this is our driver, Crispin. Crispin, this is Tal-Rho, the fellow who tried to blow up the world a year ago. Don’t let it bother you.”

The driver wisely said nothing, though his hands were gripping the wheel extremely tightly.

Tal’s eyes narrowed. He did not enjoy feeling as though he were being made fun of and besides: “I wasn’t trying to blow up the world,” he said, through gritted teeth. “I was resurrecting Krypton.”

“Tomato, Tomahto,” said the Doctor, waving his hand dismissively.

Tal bristled.

“Yes, do please continue to antagonize the Kryptonian seated next to me,” said Kate. Her tone was remarkably dry, considering. And when he shifted his gaze to her, she did not even flinch. Tal admired her a little for that.

“You should know,” she said to Tal, “I don’t think he even read the mission brief.”

“It was boring!” the Doctor shouted back at them, thumping his head against the seat. “Besides, I skimmed it. Something about implanting Kryptonian consciousness into humans. Big deal. The Gelf tried that in 1869.”

There was that feeling of everything going sideways again. Whether it was the Doctor’s casual dismissal of Tal’s life’s work, or – what the Hell was a ‘gelf?’

“And fish-people tried it in 1580. Well, their sights were somewhat more modest: they only wanted one city and not the entire world.”

Tal looked at Kate. “Is he -”

“Mad? Yes, completely. But he isn’t wrong. Your Eradicator was hardly the first extraterrestrial threat this planet has faced.”

That was interesting. Tal was unsure how he felt about that. The Eradicator was meant to be the peak of Kryptonian achievement, the saviour of their people and culture. But he had failed. Krypton was dead because he had been too weak to stand up to Kal-El and John Henry. Tal should have died, and Krypton should have lived.  

“And as the Doctor points out, you weren’t even the first to do so with the goal of saving your race,” the look she gave him was very nearly sympathetic.

Tal kept his face blank. The Doctor had lapsed into silence and was eyeing him in the rearview mirror. Tal didn’t know what these people wanted from him, but they were approaching the village, and no one had brought out kryptonite yet. Rain pelted the windows of the Rolls Royce. He tried to relax. It didn’t come naturally to him. It never had.

“Were you serious about the pub then?” Tal asked.

“YES!” shouted the Doctor. “Crispin, take us to the Gore Crow!”

~ * ~

The Gore Crow Hotel was an old inn, though most of it had been rebuilt in 1990s. It was the type of place that had at least four different ghost stories (none of which were true) and one about an alien invasion (which was.)  It also had a steady roster of loyal regulars. Those regulars were not happy when UNIT bought the entire place for the night and Kate forced everyone to evacuate the downstairs pub.

Well, she didn’t do this job for the popularity.

She would just as soon have taken the Kryptonian into custody – stuck him in a vault so far beneath the Black Archives he’d never see the sun again. But the Doctor was keen he be made comfortable and perhaps that was wise. UNIT was not the American military. She did not have a huge supply of kryptonite and perhaps they could not have contained Tal-Rho successfully. So, it was prudent to keep the man who could roast you with his eyes from getting tetchy. Fine. But Kate had seen the video footage of the attack on Metropolis a year ago and could not pretend to be as blasé as the Doctor.

These were the thoughts that came to her as the locals filed out of the Gore Crow, muttering curses and shooting dirty looks at her as they left. Her stomach was a knot of anxiety as she had the owner, Cliff Rowlinson, sign the NDA and requested he stay – as per the Doctor’s request.

Had she made a terrible error in listening to him and sending the SWAT team away? Tal-Rho could blow Carbury off the face of the Earth if he so chose.

Though he didn’t appear to want that. After she radioed the all clear, the Doctor and Tal entered the oak-panelled front hall of the hotel. The smell of beeswax was almost overpowering and there were bouquets of fresh purple heather standing in vases. Kate followed them to the bar, where a pleasant fire was roaring in the fireplace.

The Kryptonian moved slowly, surveying the empty seating area and the bar, noting the egress. The Doctor was watching him, though he was good about not being obvious about it, bouncing all over the place, introducing himself to Cliff, shaking the man’s hand and trying to pry his gaze away from Morgan Edge.

NDAs be damned, Kate thought, this is going to be all over the village by tomorrow.

“You need to eat something,” said the Doctor, to Tal.

This earned him a deeply suspicious look. “I do not.”

“You do!” the Doctor insisted. “You’re too skinny.” This was something a bossy aunt would say and for the moment Tal-Rho looked completely taken aback. Kate would have found it more amusing had the stakes not been so high.  

“I am perfectly capable of absorbing the necessary proteins from the Earth’s sun.”

“Oh right, so much sunlight in that bunker. Sunniest place I ever saw,” said the Doctor flippantly.

Kate bit her lip to keep from pointing out that a weakened Kryptonian might be a good thing.

Curiously, after a little light bickering, Tal seemed to give up his objections, following the Doctor to a booth. His long black coat – not really cloth, but some type of alien armour, Kate surmised – cast long shadows along the pub. The owner was shaky and pale but agreed to bring food and drinks when the Doctor ordered for them.  

“Isn’t this nice?” the Doctor asked, drumming on the table. “Isn’t this all so nice and normal? Well, Kate, you’re the human: is this normal?”

Kate snorted, removing her coat. “Which part?”

Tal looked curiously at the Doctor. Kate wondered if he’d even realized the other man wasn’t human. The Kryptonian seemed to be turning his words over, weighing them before speaking. “Where are you from, Doctor?”

The Doctor smiled, looking a bit smug, Kate thought. “Gallifrey.”

Tal-Rho’s expression was searching, if he recognized the name, he gave no sign. “Why are you doing this?”

The Doctor placed both hands on the table. He looked at Tal-Rho squarely. “Because you interest me, and I like things that interest me. And I did read the reports – even though they were boring and incomplete. I would rather have the full story and not the one the Daily Planet paints, or even the one we pulled out of the DOD’s classified files.”

Tal looked again at each of them. He looked around the empty hotel, and Kate wondered if he was using his x-ray vision, searching for a potential trap, UNIT operatives hiding in the back. There was only Crispin, she knew, smoking by the car, and the Crow’s owner, working in the kitchen.

Apparently satisfied, Tal focused on them once more. “I see.” The hesitation was interesting. “And if I told you it was all true?” he asked finally.

“I don’t doubt it,” said the Doctor.

Kate, watching for the Kryptonian’s slightest twitch, noted the stiffening of his shoulders. “But it isn’t the whole truth, is it?” she said. “What was in that old air raid shelter that was so interesting?”

The wrong thing to say, apparently. A muscle in his neck spasmed. She glanced at the Doctor, but he appeared calm. “Yes. Tell Kate about the bunker. I think she should know.”

Cliff returned and placed three pints in front of them. “Finest beer in the area, if I do say so myself, sirs, ma’am,” he spoke nervously. “I make it myself. My dad’s recipe.”

Tal regarded the drink with the look of a man who had been dying of thirst in the desert. Or was desperate to delay the conversation, she thought. Well, he had agreed to come, but she wouldn’t rush things. The Doctor’s comment about the bunker piqued her interest.

Tal took a long drink from the beer. It seemed to earn his approval. It was a relief to see him do something so human. Kate took a sip of hers to be polite. The Doctor ignored his, staring at Tal so hard it was almost like he was the one with x-ray vision.

“Very well,” said Tal, setting the glass down. And he began to speak. About landing on Earth as a child, about being captured by the military, about medical experiments that sounded like torture and growing up in a cage. By the time the food arrived, Kate had quite lost her appetite.

The Doctor asked her some questions about what UNIT was doing in the early 80s, taking the conversation off Tal for the moment. God, he really did want the man to eat, didn’t he? Cliff set a juicy steak with chips, mushrooms, tomatoes, and peas in front of him.  

“Could have been us,” she admitted. “Could have been Torchwood. I’ll look into it.”

“Good. See that you do. Curious place to put an air raid shelter though, isn’t it? Especially one of that size. Of course, this is a funny spot. Did your dad ever tell you about Lake Vortigern?”

“Yes. He came out of retirement for it, I remember. But parallel universes are the sort of thing one comes out of retirement for, aren’t they?”

“Parallel universes,” Tal interrupted them, frowning. “Like the Inverse World?”

“Sure,” said the Doctor. “There are loads of them. There’s the normal space-time continuum, right? Past-present-future? Then there’s an omnidirectional continuum which is, ehh, sort of sideways for lack of a better term. Breaches used to happen more frequently. One was right here in Carbury. In spots like this people might get some odd ideas. Might be more paranoid than usual.”

“Then why aren’t we bumping into parallel worlds every day?”

The Doctor spread his hands. He grinned but there was no joy in his eyes, only a sort of haunted shadow. “My people happened. The Time Lords sealed the walls between the universes. Less mess that way. Keeps things tidier. But they’re all gone now, so if someone’s determined enough, like say, Ally Alliston . . . well,” he shrugged. “You’ve seen what can happen.”

Tal looked down at his plate for a moment, frowning, placing his utensils neatly before looking back up. “Your people are gone?”

The Doctor shrugged. “It was a bad day. A thing happened. It’s hardly the only dead world out there, you should know.”

Tal seemed to be processing this. A thin line appeared between his brows. “But they were powerful enough to –”

“Yes, yes, they did a lot of neat stuff. Let’s get back to you, shall we?”     

There was a change in Tal-Rho. It was subtle, but Kate noticed it. The shift had started when he’d told them about the bunker, and they’d proven willing to listen. And after the Doctor’s comments about the Time Lords, he began to regard them both with more interest. He answered their questions with less hesitation, spoke of his father, Zeta-Rho, who had apparently existed as an AI hologram. He told them about Morgan Edge and the Eradicator, some of which was already known to them. How after his initial plan had been foiled by Superman.

What was new to Kate, and she suspected the Doctor, was that after the initial plan had been thrown off, Tal had been forced to fall back on Zeta-Rho’s original idea. The original blueprints for the resurrection of Krypton apparently included Tal sacrificing himself to activate the Eradicator. Kate was a mother herself. Her stomach twisted at the idea that she would ever sacrifice her son for the sake of – well, anything.

The Doctor frowned at this as well, and gave Kate a weighted look. She wondered if he was having the same thoughts.

“After you absorbed the full power of the Eradicator was that still you?” asked the Doctor.

“No, I was . . . gone. It was only the voices,” Tal had a faraway look. “I shouldn’t have come back. Krypton is dead because of my weakness.”

“To be clear,” said the Doctor, “they were already dead. You had an army of ghosts.”

Tal shook his head. “It was my purpose. It was glorious. Or it would have been, if . . .” he swallowed, pain formed tiny lines around his eyes and mouth. Kate almost felt bad for him, but then reminded herself that he was mourning the fact that he had failed to destroy the human race.

It had been a long day. She drank more of the beer.

“I would have been glad to die for them,” said Tal.

The Doctor hummed softly. “But that’s no longer an option,” he said. “The Eradicator’s gone. Krypton is gone.” He paused, spread his hands, and smiled ruefully. “Gallifrey is gone. You mourn and you move on, Tal.”

The Kryptonian stared back at them from across the table, face unsettlingly blank. “To what?”

Kate held her breath, wondering if he was actually asking them for a suggestion. She looked at the Doctor, who’s eyes were troubled.

“I don’t know,” he said carefully. “That has to come from you.” The Doctor turned to her. “I did tell him you wouldn’t arrest him.”

Kate closed her eyes, counting backwards from ten. Slowly, she exhaled. “Just as well. I seem to have left my kryptonite handcuffs in my other jacket. You’ll have to find somewhere to put him, though.”

The Doctor blinked. “What? I will?”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “You just said I wasn’t to arrest him. I can’t have him haunting the air raid shelter – he’s going to cause a panic. Besides, I’m going to have a team in there first thing tomorrow collecting evidence of what happened in the 80s.”

Both men were looking at her with confused, startled expressions. It was almost amusing. She supposed the Doctor wasn’t keen to give Tal-Rho keys to the TARDIS. But if he didn’t want the Kryptonian taken into custody he’d have to work something out.

“I don’t have a house, Kate,” the Doctor sputtered.

“Hmm,” she finished her drink. “Well, this is a hotel. And the owner’s already signed our NDA. Get a room.”

“I don’t have money.”

“Nonsense, UNIT has a bank account for you. We’ve been paying you as a scientific advisor since the 1960s. I’ll set things up with the owner, Rawlinson, tonight, and send an agent with the details over tomorrow. I’m needed back in London this evening. I expect you to watch Tal-Rho,” she said pointedly, gathering her coat. “You didn’t want him arrested, so I’ll consider him in your custody, officially.”

Tal raised his eyebrows. “You realize he can’t actually stop me leaving?”

“I don’t suppose anyone short of Superman could do that,” said Kate. “However, if you do, I’ll consider you an enemy of the British Crown and the United Nations. Our next meeting won’t be so cordial. It’s up to you.” She kept her tone light but stared him straight in the eye.

Tal sat back, looking pensive and weary, but staying put. Good. She nodded to them both.

The Doctor sighed and grumbled but waved her off. “Alright, Kate.”

“Be good,” she said to either, or both, of them.

~ * ~

The room was small, perhaps not up to the standards of someone had been a billionaire in his past life, but surely better than prison, or the air raid shelter. The Doctor kept an eye on Tal, curious about his reactions. The Kryptonian was subdued, standing by the window, looking out at the quiet nighttime village. His hands were clasped behind his back, his posture military stiff.

Time could change, time could shift, time could be rewritten. The Doctor had returned from one of his solo jaunts in the TARDIS to find a Kryptonian in red and blue flying about doing good deeds and apparently had been at it for twenty years or so. Everyone knew about it, the same way everyone had forgotten about the daleks and the cybermen.

Well, there you are, time travel is a real headache.

He turned his attention back to Tal-Rho. The man blamed himself for the death of Krypton, even though he’d been a child at the time. His sins were so much less than the Doctor’s if you looked at it that way: if you weighed Krypton against Gallifrey and their respective roles in each. The Doctor didn’t believe in trying to bring back the dead, especially at the expense of the living, but it wasn’t as though he was without sympathy. He’d done worse to Gallifrey than Tal had tried to do to Earth and there was no one left to hold him accountable. So, he supposed he could be benevolent in giving out second chances. Had to be, for his own sanity.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” he asked, genuinely curious.

The Doctor was lying on the bed, still fully clothed because it wasn’t as though he actually needed to sleep. His ankles were crossed, and his hands were clasped loosely on his stomach.

“I don’t need to sleep.”

“Of course not,” said the Doctor. “Sleep is for tortoises. Though you have been cloistering yourself out of the sunlight and I suspect your body is weakened from the kryptonite you were exposed to in the American facility.”

Tal turned to face him then, glaring. The room was small enough that he was looming over the Doctor. “You ridiculous man. I could destroy you so easily.”

“Threats are so boring, don’t you think?” he looked up at Tal and smirked. A muscle in Tal’s jaw twitched. The Doctor’s smirk widened. The man was easy to rile.

“. . . fine,” said Tal. He took a step back and sat stiffly in a chair beside the small fireplace. Unlike the large fireplace in the downstairs retreatant, the fireplaces in the room were small and electric. There were lamps on the tables, and a small writing desk. The bed was big enough for two people, but if Tal wanted to sit in the corner, the Doctor supposed that was his prerogative.

“I don’t bite, you know. Well, actually that’s a lie. But I won’t bite you if you want to share the bed.” The Doctor thought about it. “Probably.”

“No.” There was a considered pause. “Thank you.”

If he’d known Kate was going to strand them in Carbury he would have brought some books, some board games, something. “Do you miss being Morgan Edge?” he asked.

Tal frowned. “Not really. It was certainly preferable to being a wanted man, but Galaxy Holdings and Edge EnerCorp were only ever means to an end. It was never intended to be my life. I was never intended to live,” he added bitterly. “There was no sense in getting attached.”

“No friends, no family?”

Was it the Doctor’s imagination, or did Tal flinch slightly at that question?

“No. Of course, I needed to forge working connections to build my empire, but genuine friendships would have been frivolous, a distraction.” He paused, apparently weighing whether or not to say the next bit. The Doctor held his tongue. Tal wasn’t the most talkative man and if he cut him off he was likely never going to hear what he had to say.

Finally, Tal sighed and continued: “I had harboured certain hopes that Superman would join me, as a brother, and that with his help I would survive the resurrection of Krypton. That we would be reunited with our mother and the rest of our people. But as you know, that was not to be.”

So Big Blue is his brother? The Doctor filed that tidbit away for later. It hadn’t been mentioned in any of the press.

“But you were here for decades.” He sat up and scooted to the end of the bed, closer to where Tal was sitting. “Working and living among the humans. You didn’t have to be alone.”

“Oh yes, the humans,” Tal sneered. He shook his head. “No. I think not.”

Snobbery? The Doctor wondered about that. “Well, you could have got a pet fish.”

Tal huffed.

He kept half-expecting Tal to up and vanish, using his superspeed or powers of flight to make another run for somewhere. He could establish himself as a supervillain to rival Lex Luthor if he wanted. There was no doubt a billionaire like Morgan Edge had some assets squirreled away that hadn’t been caught. And yet he’d stayed to speak with the Doctor and Kate. And he still stayed.

Apparently, he was taking Kate’s threat seriously, which meant that he didn’t want UNIT as an enemy. At least for now. “Tal, Tal, Tal . . . You’re something of an enigma, you know that?”

The Kryptonian blinked at him. “I’m the enigma? You call yourself a Time Lord and yet you debase yourself by working for humans.”

“With humans. I work with humans. And they’re not that bad. Most of them.”

Tal’s face was a mask at that. “You and I may have slightly differing experiences.”

“Granted,” the Doctor shrugged. Tal seemed surprised it wasn’t more of an argument. “You’re still not allowed to go around killing them. If I’m going to keep you out of the cage that part is non-negotiable.”

“Yes, I gathered,” he said dryly.

“I just felt it ought to be clarified.”

“I didn’t expect carte blanche in that regard.”

The Doctor decided to change topics. He patted the pockets of his tweed jacket and came up with various odds and ends – buttons, sonic screwdriver, half a bag of jelly babies, and finally a pack of playing cards. “Come, come,” said the Doctor, patting the mattress beside him.

Tal raised an eyebrow. The Doctor dumped out the cards. “Gin rummy? Crazy eights?” the Doctor shuffled the cards like a showman, accordioning them between his hands with a flourish. He paused to glanced back at Tal, lips quirking. “Go fish?”

“I can’t decide if I hate you,” said Tal.

The Doctor grinned at that. He began dealing.

After a moment, Tal sighed and picked up his cards.

Chapter Text

The Gore Crow Hotel was quaint and smelled strongly of beeswax and heather. There were some antiques scattered around a communal reading room that held more than A Fault in Our Stars, so the place was already leagues better than being back in the cage.

Not to mention the lack of red solar lamps and kryptonite. His brother had only visited when he needed something. It had been rather diverting when the humans momentarily turned on the big blue boy scout and locked them up together.

Though that had culminated in Tal getting tortured with a kryptonite shock collar. So, not so amusing after all.

It was morning. Tal showered and shaved, though he was still wearing his Kryptonian protective suit – he had no alternative.

He found a little old lady sitting in a sunny spot in the reading room, a Braille book open in her lap. He wondered if anyone had told her who he was. When he said good morning, she greeted him easily enough. She even invited him to join her for tea.

They chatted about books for a few minutes, and it was nice to speak about something inconsequential. It was the sort of meaningless small talk he would have engaged in thoughtlessly with his human staff as Morgan Edge. He never thought he would miss it, until he found himself in isolation for the better part of a year.

Tal found himself relaxing into the lull of gentle conversation. Until the Gore Crow’s owner, Cliff Rawlinson, froze in the doorway, a look of wide-eyed horror on his face. And Tal was reminded that he was the villain in this story. In every story. The opposite of his brother.

 The man clearly did not want to have a confrontation with him (wise) but inched over nonetheless, wringing his hands. “Come on, mum, l-let’s not bother the guests, alright?”

“I’ll leave,” said Tal, standing.

Cliff lost even more colour. The man grabbed the frail woman’s shoulder so hard she winced.

“Cliff, what’s the matter, sweetheart?”

“I’ll leave,” Tal repeated.

He turned back to the stairs, but the Doctor was already there, surveying the situation. Shame washed through Tal and then anger, but before he could do anything regrettable the Doctor was at his side.

He took Tal’s arm and steered him away from the humans.  “Let’s go explore the village, shall we?”

“I can’t!” he hissed, once they were back in the lobby. “People will panic. Then Superman will . . .” He shook his head.

“Lucky for you, while you were drinking tea and chatting with Elizabeth -” of course the Doctor knew the old woman’s name. “I was tinkering. You’re human looking enough, all that’s needed in a case like yours is the most rudimentary of perception filters to muddle some of your features. I can put one of those together in my sleep. Not that I sleep. But if I did! Think of how many perception filters I could build!”

The Doctor’s hands were flittering everywhere as he spoke. Tal wondered if the man even knew he was doing it. He resisted the urge to snatch them just to get him to stop and clenched his jaw instead. “It cannot possibly be as simple as-”

The Doctor pulled something out of his jacket pocket and passed it to Tal.

It was a pair of spectacles.

“Oh, you must be joking.”

“No, look, it’s fine. Perception filter,” the Doctor stressed, snatching the glasses back and unfolding the little arms, as though Tal didn’t know what to do with them.

Nonplussed, the Kryptonian took the spectacles and put them on. He glared at the Doctor. “There, satisfied? This can’t possibly make a difference.” Rao knew how Kal-El pulled it off.

At that moment, Cliff came out of the reading room, still looking shaken. “Oh, Doctor, there you are. Dr. Stewart sent something for you. Come by the front desk, will you?”

The innkeeper’s gaze slid unnervingly over Tal, going slightly unfocused for a second.  “Sorry, sir, I don’t believe we’ve met. Are you another one of those soldier chaps?”

Tal was too stunned to say anything. He nearly reached up to remove the glasses, but the Doctor’s hand on his arm warned him to stop.

“This is my friend,” said the Doctor, grinning and looking unbearably smug. “Morgan . . . Smith.”

“No,” Tal frowned.

“Smythe?” The Doctor’s grin only widened. “We’re the oldest of pals. Known each other forever and a day,” he glanced at Tal. “Work with me here. I’m trying to develop a backstory.”

Tal glared at him. “I hate you.”

The Doctor’s expression inexplicably softened, and he regarded Tal with a fondness that made his stomach twist. “No, you don’t.”

He turned back to Cliff. “Anyway, yes, that message from Kate?”

Tal followed, frowning, as the Doctor and the hotel owner spoke. In the lobby, there were a few other guests milling about and none so much as glanced in his direction.

It just wasn’t possible. Was this how Clark did it? Had the Jor-El AI shown him how to create a – what had the Doctor called it? – a perception filter? Did it have to be glasses? Did UNIT know about Clark Kent? He didn’t think so, he hadn’t said anything about his brother’s secret identity and there had been nothing about UNIT, Kate Stewart, or the Doctor in his brother’s memories.

Yet the Doctor choosing a pair of glasses as his disguise was an uncomfortable coincidence. Tal caught himself reaching up to remove the silly things, but the Doctor sent him a sharp look.

Right. Play nice with UNIT, he told himself, don’t panic the humans.

“But I’m wearing Kryptonian armour.”

The Doctor glanced at his outfit. “Yes, you are a bit overdressed for the country.”

Tal shut his eyes and counted backwards. “I mean – even if they don’t recognize my face, it should be rather obvious that I’m not . . . local.”

“So, you’re a tourist,” the Doctor shrugged. At Tal’s darkening expression he continued: “Relax! No one pays that much attention to what a random stranger is wearing. Just don’t start floating or anything and you’ll be fine. Their brains probably re-interpret it as a trench coat, or maybe they think you’re cosplaying.”

“Cosplaying?” Tal repeated icily. “They think I’m cosplaying?”

“Ha ha ha,” the Doctor gave a loud, forced laugh, patting Tal’s arm as an older lady turned to look at them. “Yes, dear we’ll get you some new clothes, okay.” He winked at the lady. “S’posed to be romantic weekend and all this one wants to do is go shopping. Of course.”

The woman gave him a sympathetic smile and turned back to her knitting.

“I should probably mention the perception filter doesn’t work if you stand there loudly complaining about it.”

Tal sputtered, caught on the other thing: “why did you say we were – we -”

“It was a clever lie to fool the humans.”

Tal knew that, obviously, but did he have to say they were romantic? An angry flush crept up his neck, burning his cheeks. He told himself sternly to calm down. “Of all the preposterous –”

“Also, look around.”

The Doctor went on to happily ignored him, taking the proffered envelope from Cliff.

Tal told himself he was upset because the lie was so ridiculous. Even if the Doctor was older than he looked (so was Tal for that matter) he still looked about a decade too young for him. Nevertheless, Tal controlled himself enough to take the Doctor’s advice and surveyed the lobby for a second time.

Not only were there guests loitering about, checking in, they all seemed to be couples. There were banners set up that hadn’t been there the night before, announcing some sort of couples retreat taking place over the weekend. The Lovegood Institute was evidently renting out the inn to host a ‘small and exclusive’ group for a type of wellness seminar.   

“You’re still fretting about it, aren’t you?” the Doctor asked. His eyes twinkled with amusement and heat flared along Tal’s neck.

“I am not,” he snapped.

The Doctor snickered and looped their arms together. “I don’t know what you’re so worried about. Frankly, I’m a dream.”

Tal felt his back stiffen with tension but for reasons inexplicable to himself did not push the Doctor away. “Well, I suppose taste is subjective.”

“Oh, that’s it - you love me.”

He could have shattered every bone in the man’s body and they both knew it. Probably, he could find a peaceful way to extricate himself as well. He did neither. Call it ‘not causing a scene.’

The Doctor steered them toward the front doors.

“It’s more fun this way.” The Doctor smiled cheekily. “Play along, dear.”

Tal tried to think of the correct response to this situation but came up short. People had always been too afraid of him – either as a billionaire, or an alien – to tease him like this.

Then they were outdoors. On top of the Lovegood thing, the village was hosting a bustling market day. Local craftspeople and farmers were set up in the square. Tents and tables were piled high with everything from hand-made jewelry, to puppets, to baked goods and locally grown produce.

The Doctor seemed delighted by everything and squeezed Tal’s arm. “Well, isn’t this lovely!”

Baffled by everything that had happened in the last 24 hours, Tal finally landed on: “. . . but why?”

“Well, someone ought to show you the good side of humanity,” said the Doctor, as they strolled along past the colourful booths. “And you’re not going to find it in a prison cell.”

He paused to look over a display of fabric hand puppets with great scrutiny. They were Arthurian themed – King Arthur, knights of the round table, the sorceress, that sort of thing. Tal raised an eyebrow at the Doctor’s interest but held his tongue.

Around them, people walked by. Tal was blessedly anonymous. He wasn’t invisible – they moved around him and said good morning to him, they just didn’t particularly notice him. The tightness in his chest loosened by degrees, until by the time they’d done a circuit of the market he felt surprisingly . . .  relaxed.

What a novel feeling.

The Doctor turned to Tal, eyeing him up and down. “You were right, back at the inn. We really should find you some more suitable clothing, just to be safe. Kate overnighted a bankcard. Me, with a bank account!” he said in disbelief.

Tal’s brow wrinkled. “How did you live before -”

“Also!” the Doctor steamrollered over that. “Something funny is going on with this couples retreat.” He produced a brochure from his jacket, passing it to Tal. “We’re going to investigate.”

Tal scanned the brochure. He had no experience with such things, though the advertisements for corporate training retreats and upper management seminars had certainly floated across Morgan Edge’s desk from time to time. From what he could tell it seemed normal enough. The brochure promised romantic time with your partner as well as counselling and relationship building exercises away from the hustle and bustle of the city.

“Even the healthiest partnerships require the occasional tune-up!” the backflap read. “Restore your intimacy in the idyllic English countryside.”

“It’s utter drivel,” he said. “But I fail to see what’s so unusual about it.”

“It’s psychic text,” said the Doctor.

He pulled a metal wand from his pocket. The device whirred and a green light shone on the end. Impossibly, the glossy paper shimmered, warped, and changed into a scrawl of symbols Tal couldn’t read. Then it shimmered again and went back to being English, only this time it was less an advertisement for a couples’ holiday and more a summons to ‘obey or die.’

“Not Earth technology,” said the Doctor. “Why target couples, though? That’s interesting.”

Tal objected to helping humans on principle but supposed it was better than sitting around doing nothing while he waited for the other shoe to drop with UNIT. “Alright.”

The Doctor’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Excellent! Then, first things first, human clothing. As you can see,” he adjusted his bowtie. “I am something of an expert myself.”

Tal snorted.

The Doctor shot him a mock (at least he thought it was mock) offended look.

Tal said: “I ran a Fortune 500 company for the past decade. I understand how to dress.”

“You understand how Morgan Edge ought to dress,” the Doctor pointed out. “But you’re not him anymore. And Morgan Smith – err, Smythe – is a whole new man!”  

Tal had images of himself in tartan and bowties and grimaced.

The Doctor grinned but was distracted by a group of children playing in the square. He produced the playing cards from last night and started performing impromptu magic tricks for them.

“Oh yes!” he spun around so fast he almost knocked into Tal. That would certainly have hurt one of them, Tal thought, raising an eyebrow.

With the children watching, the Doctor reached behind Tal’s ear and, with a theatrical flourish, produced the bankcard.

Tal rolled his eyes while the children giggled and clapped. “There you go, dear. Kate’s written the pin on the back.”

“Do you even know much you have?”

“No, and I don’t care. Go, buy whatever you need and meet me back here.”

Tal was torn between annoyance at being given orders and dismissed, and feeling pleased that the Doctor already trusted him enough to just hand over a bankcard and send him on his way. In the end, the pleased feeling won out and he took the card.

Carbury was tiny, so it wasn’t difficult to find the local charity shop. He supposed his days of bespoke suits from Savile Row were at an end. Then again . . .

Tal rubbed his forehead.

The Doctor had just handed him a bankcard and a disguise that seemed to fool everyone he met. He could run. He could really run - find out how to access Morgan Edge’s offshore accounts and – what? Build a lair on a deserted island somewhere? Try to rebuild his fortress in the desert?

Plot to take over the world?

His heart picked up speed, but it wasn’t excitement he felt pooling in the pit of his stomach, it was dread. Anxiety clawed at his throat at the thought of assuming the role of the villain again. It would mean an endless, hopeless loop fighting his own brother and to what end? There was nothing he even wanted anymore!

Tal forced himself to breathe deeply and relax. It would be foolish to leap into anything rashly at this point, he told himself. Surely, it would be wiser to go along for a while and see where his newfound association with the Doctor and UNIT led.

Taking another breath, he squared his shoulders and entered the shop, its little brass bell chiming overhead.

~*~

The Doctor returned to their room at the hotel to take a phone call from Kate Stewart. He stood beside the bed, arms crossed, the plastic of the old-fashioned landline cradled between his ear and shoulder. His gaze was on the window, thin curtain shifting in the sunlight, and the sounds of the bustling market rising from the square below.

“Don’t you think it would be better if we had him in some form of constraint?” Kate asked.

The Doctor frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. Humans were a lot of things – creative, curious, surprising – but they were also so prone to fear. He thought of Tal, holding himself so stiffly, the brittleness undermining his stern façade. The wariness in his eyes as he obsessively tracked the exits. The humans had done that to him.

The Doctor was an optimist, but he wasn’t ignorant of the ugly lengths people would go to when they let fear control them.

“UNIT has some kryptonite in the Black Archive,” she continued, a touch hesitant at the Doctor’s silence.

“No, Kate,” the Doctor sighed.

He continued to peer at the window. He thought of Tal’s bemusement at the perception filter. He trusted him with the bankcard because he knew he would come back. If he turned on them, it would be because the humans pushed him to it.

“Please, don’t do that. Whatever restraints you impose on him he’ll break eventually. If he feels cornered . . . well, a trapped animal will also bite people who are trying to help. I’d rather it not come to that.”

He pictured her frown. Knew she was thinking it over, weighing his insight. She trusted him, but she had the world at stake. He wondered what the Brigadier would have done. They hadn’t always agreed, either.   

“You speak as though Tal-Rho can be rehabilitated,” she said, finally. “Do you honestly believe that?”

“Everyone can change,” he murmured. “Everyone does change. And this isn’t some altruistic flight of fancy on my part, Kate. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve given people similar options, and they never take me up. They’d rather destroy themselves for their chance to get even. But Tal-Rho is different. He was willing to speak with us. He could have got away. He could have killed a good portion of your men before one got him with a kryptonite bullet. How many of those does UNIT have, anyway? Not a lot.”

“No,” Kate agreed wearily. “Not a lot. I’m relieved it didn’t come to that.”

“So is he, Kate. That’s my point. That’s what makes him different.”

It was Kate’s turn to sigh. “The Americans won’t like it . . .”

The Doctor bounced on the souls of his feet. He sensed a ‘but’ coming.

“. . . but alright. UNIT will follow your lead on this, Doctor. For now. If his attitude changes, if I think he poses a security risk . . .” she left the threat dangling. They both knew, anyway. Not many kryptonite bullets meant there were some.

The Doctor didn’t like it – guns, any of it. But he knew that Kate would do whatever she had to, to protect the people of Earth. That was her job.

And his job was being the Doctor. He’d seen enough the-last-of-their-race-destroys-themselves-in-a-final-blaze-of-glory. He didn’t need to see it again.

~*~

Tal sat out in the garden, relishing the sun on his face. He was still recovering from his treatment by the DOD, but the longer he was away from Kryptonite and the red solar lamps, the better he felt. Being out of the bunker and in direct light helped as well, the heat tingling and spreading along his skin.

He closed his eyes and tilted his face up, letting out a deep breath.

Did the Doctor know about Kryptonian hearing? Perhaps the conversation was staged, or he thought Tal was distracted and not paying attention. He had experienced a sharp tightness in his chest at the mention of Kryptonite (weak) and a shameful flood of gratitude when the Doctor pleaded his case. The feelings worried him. Everything worried him lately.

But the sun on his face was calming and the chatter from the market, children running and laughing, was soothing. The smell of fresh baked goods wafted over him. It was all so . . . wholesome. He kept waiting for the cynical side of his brain to kick in and scoff at it but instead found himself enjoying the village.

The Doctor had defended him, when even his own brother would not.

A moment later the Doctor bounced out into the yard, grinning when he saw him. Tal tried to ignore the flutter in his stomach as the Doctor carefully took in his appearance. He’d changed into a pair of dark jeans and a grey sports coat. He’d also picked up an old suitcase to hold a couple of sweaters, a change of trousers and his Kryptonian armour.

“Much better,” said the Doctor. “Well done, you.” He dropped into the seat across from Tal. “Listening in, I take it?”

Tal’s brow rose slightly in surprise and acknowledgment.

The Doctor shrugged, unbothered, and tilted his chair on its back legs. “It’s what I would do, if I had those nifty Kryptonian ears.”

“What’s the Black Archive?”

Skinny shoulders shrugged. “Every time UNIT finds a bit of extraterrestrial flotsam it winds up under top-secret, triple classified, blah-blah-blah.” The chair teetered, then slammed back to the ground. The Doctor’s eyes on him were dark. “If I told you not to worry about it, would you listen?”

“Do they have Kryptonite?”

“Ugh . . .” the Doctor groaned, dragged a hand through his floppy hair. “Yes,” he said. “Some. They’ve not built an arsenal with it, if that’s what you mean.”

Tal tried not to think about how precarious his position was, and that it was the British who had captured him, tortured him, originally. Images of the bunker came superimposed over his eyes and even the yellow sun turned distant and cold. These cheerful people, who seemed so harmless, had come after him with pitchforks and torches once before. He knew better than most how quickly it could all turn ugly.

At some point, while Tal was lost in those thoughts, the Doctor ordered them tea and scones. The Doctor was pouring for him when the world came back into focus. However one sliced it, this was better than the DOD.

“Thank you,” he said stiffly. For the tea? For defending him to Kate Stewart? For the glasses? He was startled to find that he was already running up quite a list.

The Doctor smiled, and there really was no choice but to stay and drink the tea and watch the market carry on in the square. And the Doctor wasn’t human, either, which went a long way toward calming his nerves.

Tal lifted the Lovegood Institute brochure off the table and looked it over again. “How do you propose we . . . investigate?”

“Simple,” replied the Doctor, eyebrows waggling at him. “Join the fun; see what happens.”

“You’re just going to swan in?” Tal asked. “People pay thousands of dollars for these things, you know.”

“Relax,” the Doctor waved off his concern. “Think about your new human identity. What do you want him to be like?”

Tal scowled, but in truth he was relieved that the Doctor was talking about the “Morgan” identity almost as a character. That’s all “Morgan Edge” had been to him. Without the need for his father’s plans, what sort of life would he choose to live?

“Now, you’re not to be an evil billionaire again. It’s played out.”

His lips twitched despite himself, and he concentrated on his tea for a moment. “I shan’t miss it,” he said.

The Doctor tilted his head at him curiously. That flicker of a smile again, as though Tal had pleased him, and that sent a thrill of warmth through his stomach.

“My assets were frozen, my company dismantled and divided up amongst the shareholders. If I looked into it hard enough, I might find some offshore accounts the officials missed, but . . . but I . . .” He wasn’t interested in being that man anymore. He had never been able to decide things for himself, after activating his father’s crystal in the desert. The AI had told him where to go and what to do, had built him the life that he needed in order to succeed in Zeta-Rho’s plans.

Kal-El had so many things that defined him, apart from Superman. He was a husband and father, a reporter, a writer, a farmer, an American . . . Tal was stateless and without any direction. He didn’t even know what he wanted.

And here was the Doctor, trying to give him some trace of an identity, even if it was a false one.

“I don’t know how to be normal,” he said softly, placing his empty cup back upon the saucer delicately.

“Well, I never said you had to be normal, per se,” the Doctor frowned.

“Oh!” a high-pitched voice interrupted. “Are you two here for the Lovegood retreat as well?”

A middle-aged woman teetered over to them, unbalanced in her blocky heels. She pointed eagerly to the flyer on their table. A large blue orchid was pinned to her crisp white jacket.

The Doctor beamed at her. “Why, yes, actually!” His hand reached across the table and laid over Tal’s.

Tal forced himself not to pull his hand back on instinct, heart thudding at the contact. It had been so long since he’d had basic human contact. The warmth of it shocked him. The length of the Doctor’s fingers. The lightness of the touch.

The woman was overjoyed. “How lovely!” she clapped. “You know, it’s a very nice group. Very . . . open-minded.” She gave them a meaningful look that rankled Tal.

Even though they weren’t really a couple, and he considered himself above human opinion, her sing-song voice was irritating.

“Professors Lovegood . . . it’s a husband-and-wife team you know . . . are getting set-up inside. Should be just another five minutes or so. They sent me to round up the stragglers.” She giggled. “I guess I just have that helpful look about me.”

Tal gave her a dark look. Not dark enough to melt his new eyewear, though.

The Doctor was the polite one. “Thank you so much, Miss, ah -”

“Evelina,” the woman held out a manicured hand, decorated in chunky, inexpensive rings.

Tal’s eyebrow twitched for unknown reasons when the Doctor removed his hand to take the woman’s, even though he was only being courteous. And they weren’t really a couple.

“Are you here with your partner, Evelina?” the Doctor asked.

“Oh my, yes. My Geordie is around here someplace.” She giggled again. “Well, I’d better round up the rest. See you inside, darlings.”

 With that, she gave a little wave and tottered off to the next table.

“Ah. See, it all works out,” the Doctor placed his cup down and stood, making a show of offering Tal his arm. “Shall we?”

Tal rolled his eyes and ignored the proffered arm, but he did stand. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

“Come on, Tal. Where’s your sense of adventure?” the Doctor chided him.

The bottom floor of the Gore Crow had been taken over by the Lovegood Institute – large signage was propped everywhere proclaiming the benefits of their “Lovegood Method.” The corporate greys and blues of their logo didn’t exactly scream ‘romance’ to Tal, but he supposed he’d make a poor judge of that. They did have a flower as their symbol – and flowers were romantic, weren’t they? – a dark blue orchid. There were vases stuffed with great clusters of them at each table as well.

Half-a-dozen round tables draped with linen tablecloths were arranged around the space, with four wooden chairs per table. Literature was placed at every seat, along with pitchers of ice water, notepads and name badges.

He picked up one of the booklets and flipped through it.

“Remember, what you’re reading isn’t really what you’re reading,” the Doctor whispered.

Tal wondered what sort of aliens had the ability to create psychic text. He had always, somehow, thought it was only Kryptonians and humans. Of course, that was foolish. If there were two planets supporting intelligent life, there must be others. Not that his father, Zeta-Rho, had ever bothered to mention them. He wondered why the Doctor was trying to stop these ones – so what if they fleeced a few humans? There were plenty of humans to go around.

You are thinking like the Eradicator, he told himself, grinding his teeth. Stop it.

If only it were that simple. If only morality were a switch one could flip.

The Doctor was calling and waving to a couple across the pub. Not that awful Evelina woman, thank goodness. But still. Humans.

Tal sighed.

“Why, if it isn’t Craig!” the Doctor cried, throwing his arms wide. “My old flatmate.”

“You had a flatmate?” Tal’s eyebrow rose. For some reason, the idea of the Doctor doing anything remotely normal seemed odd. The man hadn’t even had a bankcard until this morning.

The Doctor shot him a mildly irritated look, his fringe wobbling. “Don’t be jealous. And Sophie! Hiiiii! Craig and Sophie! Hi!”

He bounded off across the floor and into the waiting arms of the people who had leapt to their feet to embrace him - a chubby man with blond hair and stubble and a skinny woman with a rather pointy face. They were laughing and crying as the Doctor kissed each of them on the cheek.

Tal hesitated but the Doctor waved him over. “Tal! Come and meet Craig and Sophie!”

So much for his secret identity, he thought, wincing as the Doctor shouted his name to the room at large. The Doctor shut his mouth quickly, then tried to backpedal. “I mean . . . Craig and Sophie, this is my normal human friend, Morgan.”

The man, Craig, laughed warmly. “You don’t even know your mate’s name, then?” His expression sobered. “OH. I mean. And you’re here together . . . Doctor, does that mean he and you are – ah?”

The Doctor stared at Craig blankly for a good five seconds while Tal pressed his lips together. This had been the Doctor’s idea, after all. He wasn’t going to say it.

The Doctor slapped himself on the forehead. “Oh! That! Yes, yes,” the Doctor flapped his hands. “We’re very . . . squishy and romantic together. You know, with the -” he made kissy noises and pressed his hands together while Tal grimaced.

“Aw,” said Sophie. “I’m so happy for you.”

Craig smiled. “I’m relieved. The last time we saw you . . . well, you seemed so sad.”

Tal glanced at the Doctor, wondering what that was about, but the man’s face gave nothing away.

“His name is Morgan,” the Doctor declared firmly. “. . . I just call him Tal, after . . . Talford, y’know, in Shropshire . . . where we . . . met.”

Well, that wasn’t fooling anyone, Tal thought, but kept that to himself.

He forced himself to smile and shook Craig and Sophie’s hands. “How do you do?”

“Right, right, mate. Except it’s not Talford, is it? It’s Telford.”

Tal gave the Doctor a look which he hoped communicated: you are so bad at this, and I hate you, and I am rethinking taking my chances with Superman.

“Oh, come on. Nicknames don’t have to make sense,” said Sophie. “I think it’s cute.” She was clearly trying to smooth things over. “Here, sit with us.”

They moved down, making room for Tal and the Doctor at their table.

“But Doctor, if you’re here, does that mean this is dangerous?” asked Craig in a suddenly hushed voice. He leaned forward. “I mean, is it . . .” Here he paused and gave them all a dramatic, weighted look. “. . . aliens?”

If Tal had been drinking, he would have choked.  

“No, no, no,” said the Doctor rapidly. Then, he sighed and shrugged. “Well, yes.”

Sophie and Craig exchanged worried looks.

“It might be fine. Just noticed a little telepathic coercion in the marketing, that’s all! No cause for alarm, really.”

“Does everyone know you’re an alien?” Tal hissed.

“No! I mean, I normally try to keep the whole extra-terrestrial bit on the down-low, as the kids say, but I told you - Craig and I were flatmates.”

As though that explained anything.

“Me and Sophie know all about the Doctor,” said Craig a touch smugly.

Tal stared at the man – so human and soft – and wondered how much trouble he would get into for incinerating just one.

The Doctor’s fingers brushed the back of his hand.

Light, barely noticeable, like the brush of a moth.

The lights flickered. The seminar was about to commence.

~*~

Waves of irritation poured off the man seated next to him, and the Doctor didn’t need Time Lord telepathy to tell him. And, granted, he had just blurted out Tal’s Kryptonian name carelessly, but Craig and Sophie gave no sign of recognizing him from the news footage of the Eradicator’s attack on Metropolis. The glasses were working! He should be glad.

Right?

A nervously smiley woman introduced them all to the two Professor Lovegoods, the relationship experts. Her smile looked too wide – forced. Her eyes were buggy. But maybe she just looked like that. The Doctor frowned, listening to the typical boring spiel about their qualifications. He hadn’t figured out the game yet, but he was sure there was one afoot.

Around the room came a polite smattering of applause while the Lovegoods stepped forward. Helen had long dark hair and Egan was tall and skinny. They both wore matching three-quarter length jackets, in a blue that matched the strange orchids at every table.

The Doctor wrinkled his nose, sneezing.

The strong, sweet fragrance was almost overpowering, making his sinuses burn. He wondered how Tal, with his heightened senses, was taking it. But Tal didn’t appear bothered at all.

Just as well, he thought, pulling out a handkerchief and blowing his nose. If Tal sneezed and blew a wall down that would take quite a lot of explaining . . . or NDAs, and Kate would be ever so cross.

“Welcome, everyone,” said Helen Lovegood. “Thank you for the introduction, Miss Moss . . . It’s wonderful to see so many joining us here today.”

Her husband continued: “I see some of you admiring the rare orchids that are our emblem. Please take a moment to enjoy their wonderful scent. They were bred specially in our private lab. Trademark of the Lovegood Institute.”

Sophie leaned forward, holding her long hair back as she breathed in deeply. “It’s wonderful!” she exclaimed. “They smell like vanilla.”

The Doctor noticed Tal frown and tilt his head curiously at the plants. “I don’t smell anything.”

“Me neither,” said Craig. “The springtime always wreaks havoc with my sinuses.”

A frown line appeared in Tal’s forehead. He glanced at the Doctor and didn’t need to say it out loud – Kryptonians weren’t subject to allergies. So why couldn’t he smell them?

Egan Lovegood spoke again, his sonorous voice rolling over the dimly lit room: “Friendship is another important relationship in our lives, and I would like all couples to come away from this weekend not only stronger in their romance, but with new friendships forged as well.”

“While we will be delving into new skills for building communication and intimacy with your partner soon, for our first exercise, I’ll ask each couple to separate – only for the morning, of course -” polite laughter followed Helen’s comments.

“You’ll ‘pair up’ with a member of the other couple at your table. You may present them with an orchid from your table as a gesture of friendship.”

Craig rolled his eyes. “How lame is this? Almost makes you wish for a good old-fashioned invasion.”

“He’s joking, of course,” said the Doctor, lest Tal get any ideas.  

“Still, gives us a chance to catch up, eh, Doctor?”

“Speaking of, where’s Alfie?”

“Well, couldn’t exactly bring a kid along to a thing like this, could we? He’s staying with Sophe’s mum for the weekend.” Craig plucked one of the flowers out of the vase and passed it to the Doctor. “Don’t exactly scream romance now, do they?”

“Why do you say that?” the Doctor gave the blossom a cautious sniff and sneezed violently again.

Craig laughed. “Bless you. I dunno. ‘Cause roses are more traditional, aren’t they? Red ones?”

The Doctor rubbed his face. This was all getting rather complicated. Certainly, each of his incarnations had had its own relationship with . . . well, relationships.

It was nice to see Craig again, though. At some point while they were talking, Tal and Sophie stood up from the table and wandered away to look at something across the room. His eyes were watering from the strange flowers and after wiping them, he was taken aback to see Craig watching him rather intently.

“Are you alright, really?” he asked. “Because you scared me last time, with all that talk of . . . the clock running down, and using up your final hours. Saying goodbye.”

“Ah. Right. That,” the Doctor sniffed, fingers drumming the table. He played with his handkerchief for a moment, before discarding it. “Well, I wasn’t lying to you when I said all that. I just . . . outsmarted the end. Again. I do that, you know.”

Craig grinned. “I’m glad, man. And hey, you met someone? How great is that?”

His grin faded as the Doctor just looked back at him blankly . . . “Morgan?” Craig prompted. “Or Tal, or whatever your boyfriend’s name is.”

“Oh. Right, yes, of course. Sorry, it’s still . . . new.”

The Doctor settled back in his chair, pouring them each a glass of ice water from the pitcher. He nodded across the pub, where Tal and Sophie were mingling with some of the other couples in line for the coffee and tea. “What do you think of him then? First impressions?”  

“Honestly? He seems uptight and a little weird,” Craig said with a shrug. “But then, you’re weird too, so I suppose it fits.”

“Ha,” said the Doctor dryly.

“And it’s good, because I think you need someone,” continued Craig.

The Doctor scoffed.

“I’ve been in your head, remember? You always need someone. I’m happy for you, mate.”

He supposed that was true, and with Amy and Rory dedicating more time to their real, adult lives and River gone off on her own adventures in time and space . . . Craig and Sophie had the baby . . . and he was just so old now. Old and alone.

But Tal wasn’t the normal type of companion he chose – not because he was Kryptonian, but because the Doctor tended to gravitate toward people who reminded him of the importance of compassion. They told him when to stop. They reminded him when to be kind. Tal wouldn’t do that. Tal was . . . damaged.

Like him, in that way.

Old and alone and dragging a planet of the dead behind him. All the guilt, all the ghosts. Krypton. Gallifrey.    

~*~

Sophie was pleasant enough company. She chatted to ‘Morgan’ about the work she was doing at a non-profit with animals and asked what he did for a living. She was harmless, her expression open and earnestly friendly. And he did have to practice this.

“Yes, well I was previously in the corporate sector. However, I left recently . . .”

Her expression was sympathetic. “I understand. Craig and I did something similar a few years back. Decided to just change our whole outlook on life. The Doctor inspired us, actually.”

Tal cast a glance across the room at where the Doctor was deep in conversation with the ex-flatmate.

“It can be rather soul sucking, can’t it?” Sophie laughed nervously, tucking a blonde curl behind her ear. “You just feel like a cog in the wheel of some awful machine.”

“It was my father’s company,” he said, the improvisation coming naturally.

“Oh! I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “I didn’t mean to say – I’m sure your father’s company wasn’t like that -”

“It was awful,” Tal assured her, offering a small piece of a smile. The best he could do. “I don’t know why I stayed for so long,” he murmured. “Or what to do now.”

Maybe it was a mistake to admit so much, so close to the truth, but Sophie nodded.

“I think that’s only natural,” she said. “A lot of the time, it’s easier to stay in situations, even when they’re stressful and horrible, even when we know they’re not good for us, because the alternative is just too . . . vast and scary to contemplate.”

Tal nodded, surprised by her understanding.

The rest of the morning passed with standard ice-breaker games and trite life advice. Tal barely listened to any of it. The fact that he was here – at a couples retreat, of all things - felt entirely surreal.

He stared down at his hand and found himself thinking about the Doctor’s touch again. He’d been touched before, of course. Handshakes and such when he was Morgan Edge, but that had been before and no time for real relationships, not ever. Not with Zeta’s plan hanging over him for his entire life like a guillotine waiting to descend.

When he was imprisoned by the humans – both times – they had taken a lot of joy in their violence against a temporarily powerless Kryptonian. So, for a long time, his only experience of physical contact was pain and humiliation.

There had been one brief hug with his brother, before he’d launched himself into space to fight Ally Alliston.

He wondered sometimes about the Tal from the Inverse World. The one who had been friends with his brother, had a wife, perhaps even a family of his own. Did the man feel different, he wondered? Did he feel lighter, happier?  

Before lunch, the nervous girl who had introduced the Lovegoods approached their table, tapping at an iPad. “Excuse me, sirs . . . could I get your names, please? There seems to be some confusion with your registration.”

Her eyes kept darting off the screen, seeming to track every corner of the inn and cataloguing each of the guests.

“Ah yes, of course. I’m the Doctor and this is my partner, Morgan Smythe.”

“The Doctor isn’t even a proper name,” Tal muttered.

The Doctor ignored him, passing a blank piece of paper to Miss Moss. The assistant glanced at it with a pinched expression. It seemed physically painful for her to focus on any one thing for too long. “Oh, I see . . . you have a receipt. Hmm, well, it must be an error in our system . . .”

 She trailed off, jabbed the screen a few more times and eventually wandered away.

“The Lovegoods aren’t the only ones with the psychic paper trick,” the Doctor said, in answer to Tal’s unasked question.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tal saw the assistant talking with the Lovegoods. With very little effort, he was able to listen in.

“She recognized the trick,” said Tal. “They’re going to separate us from the group.”

Craig gaped at him. “How could you possibly know that?”

Tal squeezed his eyes shut. Frustrated with himself for the mistake. “I can . . . read lips.”

“We’ll play along for now,” said the Doctor. “Maybe we can learn something. You and Sophie keep your eyes peeled out here.”

“Will do.”

Miss Moss approached them again, too-wide smile, all teeth, stretching across her face. Tal sat back in his chair and arched an eyebrow at her. “Is there a problem?”

“Not at all!” her rictus grin was fixed in place. “We’re starting our special individual sessions, and the Lovegoods have selected the two of you to go first! Isn’t that exciting?”

“Thrilling,” said Tal, voice drier than the Sahara Desert.

The smile didn’t waver, but something about her eyebrows . . . and her heartrate, far too fast.  

The Doctor whacked his shoulder gently with one of the brochures. “Now, now, darling . . . We did promise we’d put in an effort this weekend. Save the marriage and all that.”

Oh, they were married now, were they? Well, he could play this game too, Tal decided. “You should have thought about our marriage before you slept with that slutty nurse, darling.”

The Doctor’s eyes lit up with amusement. “I couldn’t help it! He had such caring eyes. But you didn’t have to tell the children!”

“Surely they have a right to know when one of their fathers is revealed to be a backstabbing cad.”

“Well, maybe if you paid more attention to me, instead of staying late at the office . . . doing whatever people do in offices.”

“You knew I was up for a promotion – we could have had the world at our feet.”

Sophie and Craig were watching, bemused and clearly a little unsure what to believe. Meanwhile, they were attracting the attention of the other tables who had stopped their icebreaker games and were watching the drama play out.

The assistant’s eyes darted back and forth between them. Sweat broke out along her forehead but her strange façade didn’t change.

Suddenly, Helen Lovegood appeared at the girl’s elbow. Her eyes were dark, nearly hypnotic. “Well, it certainly sounds as though we have a lot to work through, doesn’t it? Won’t you two join me in the reading room?”

“Don’t worry, everyone,” her husband intoned to the room in a booming voice. “Here at the Lovegood Institute we guarantee we can mend any relationship . . . even this one!”

The room laughed and clapped, which Tal thought was a touch insensitive given the melodramatic heights to which their farce had risen.  

Helen led them through the Gore Crow, back to the reading room Tal had visited earlier. It had been sectioned off, to give the couples some privacy in their individual sessions, he surmised.

There was a table with more orchids at the entrance, these ones had been fashioned into boutonnieres. Helen picked one up. “Please, accept this gift,” she said, pinning it to his lapel. “Allow the wonderful floral scent to wash over you.”

She pinned one on the Doctor next. “Oh, isn’t this nice?” said the Doctor. “Now we match!”

She waved them inside. “Have a seat now, please.”

Sunlight poured in, thick and honey coloured. He had no idea what was happening with these people, or what they were doing with the flowers, but he doubted it could bother him, a Kryptonian. Tal sat and the Doctor slouched next to him, regarding the professor insouciantly. Tal decided to take the opposite approach.

He leaned forward, spoke softly, as though confiding to her. “You see, he doesn’t really want to fix this.”

Her eyes were like onyx pools, large and hypnotic.

“And why do you think that is, Mr. Smythe?”

Recalling his conversation with Sophie and how a little truth worked well, he continued: “I’m not exactly husband material. I’ve done bad things. Left a trail of bodies . . . metaphorically speaking, of course.”

Her smile did not reach her eyes. “Of course. But in the dining room, it sounded as though your partner was the one who had wronged you.”

“I blame other people for my problems,” he said. He didn’t know why he said this now, the words so raw they seemed to scrape his throat on the way out. “I always have.”

“But then, there’s always blame to go around,” the Doctor said. He was watching Tal intently. “Besides . . .” He sat straighter in the chair. “He isn’t the only one with a trail of bodies. Metaphorically speaking.”

Helen’s heartrate picked up. Even though the Doctor had been speaking softly, with a wry smile, something about his words carried weight.

“Well, it sounds like there are some tensions on both sides. Why don’t we try to reestablish your original connection?”

A small line appeared between the Doctor’s brows and he slouched again. Tal wondered if he had been expecting a different response.

“Doctor, will you take Morgan’s hand?”

“Of course,” he said easily.

Touch was something most people didn’t have to think about, after all. The Doctor held his hand, twining their fingers together. And it was an act, of course, but Tal hadn’t been touched in so long before today. The warmth of another person’s skin – the flesh held sunlight, so maybe that was why even though he was indestructible he felt the sensation of contact and closeness.

He swallowed, willing himself not to react. To just be normal about this.

But he hadn’t been listening to anything the Lovegood woman said for the past five minutes. His attention was consumed by the sensation of the Doctor’s thumb gently brushing his hand.

“Wait . . .” said Helen. “It’s not working.”

Tal and the Doctor both looked over at her. Her eyes widened. She swallowed and jumped up.

Tal reluctantly released the Doctor’s hand, blocking the door before she could escape. “What’s not working, Professor?”

“Um – nothing – ” her eyes betrayed her, darting to the flower in his lapel.

“What are the orchids, Helen?” the Doctor asked. “What exactly are you waiting for them to – augh!”

The flower pinned on the Doctor’s chest exploded into long, skinny vines that lashed around his body. The petals glowed as though burning from within and an unearthly light cocooned the Doctor. His face contorted with agony.

He had never seen such a thing, but Tal didn’t hesitate to snatch the burning flower off the Doctor. He was surprised to find that it tickled as he crushed it into a pulp.

His orchid twitched, wriggled, and leapt free of his lapel. Vines like spider legs unfurled and the flower used them to stick to the nearest wall and skitter up and away from him.  

“You didn’t grow that,” the Doctor groaned, leaning against the chair and catching his breath. He stood after a moment, straightening his bowtie. “Not on Earth, anyway.” He glanced at Tal. “Thanks for the save, dear.”

Helen cowered in the doorframe. “Who are you people?”

“I don’t know why you’re so afraid of us,” said Tal. “You’re the one with the killer boutonnieres.”

He lowered the glasses, thinking to zap the second orchid with his heat vision, but the Doctor fluttered a hand at him.

“Wait-wait-wait!” The Doctor turned and twisted, watching the flower move nervously along the wall. It crept behind the bookcase. “It didn’t attack you. Why didn’t it attack you?” He spun until he was facing Tal-Rho again, his fringe flopping into his eyes. “You don’t smell them, either.”

“Is that important?”

“I don’t know!” the Doctor tilted his head, regarding Helen. “I suppose it senses your invulnerability, and doesn’t try.” To Helen: “Why are you doing this?”

The woman’s eyes were no longer dark brown, but the same cobalt blue as the orchids. They shone, like a cat’s in the dark, and the skin of her face began to flake away.

“We had no choice!” she screamed. Her voice was many voices. Her long hair spread out in vine-like tendrils. “The nursery planet of the Varga was destroyed! We followed the call of the Green through subspace, searching for fertile beds to seed.”

The Doctor’s eyes narrowed. “Did you say the Varga . . . ?”

An ear-splitting screech erupted from Helen Lovegood and the hair/vines snapped forward in a rush, lashing at the Doctor. He stumbled back over the seats, knocking them over.

Tal caught the alien appendages in his hands. The vines writhed helplessly in his grip. The voice wailed. She tried to retract, slithering and coiling.

Tal raised an eyebrow at the Doctor.

“It’s alright, Tal. Let her go.”

The vines drew back, leaving long strands of hair sticking to his jacket. Tal grimaced in disgust. The remainder of Helen’s face melted away, unfurling into large silken blue petals. All that remained were the eyes, bulbous and dancing on stalks. This was more disturbing than Ally.

“You are not like the weak humans,” the unearthly voice said. “We cannot seed you.”

“You’re not seeding anyone,” snapped the Doctor irritably. But, Tal mused, rather calmly considering they’d just seen a lady’s face morph into a giant flower. “This is a Level 5 planet.”

“You cannot stop us.”

“Oh, you all say that.”

The petals fluttered. If a flower could pout, that’s what she was doing.

Tal hoped his own master plan with the Eradicator hadn’t seemed so incredibly . . . silly from the outside.

It was odd that no one had heard the commotion, they weren’t far from the rest of the attendees, not to mention hotel staff and guests. He listened for the meaningless chatter, but what he heard was mostly silence.

Except for the Doctor’s friend, Craig, who was knocking frantically at the door to the room he shared with Sophie, begging her to let him in . . .

“Doctor, your human friends appear to be in trouble.”

The Doctor sighed. “Yes, they usually are.”

He scrambled over the toppled chairs and pushed past Orchid-Helen, apparently trusting her fear of Tal to keep her from attacking again. “The thing about humans, Tal? Is that they always need saving.” He stopped suddenly, turned back, gripping the doorframe as he stared at the giant flower-person. “Oh! One more thing. Why’d you need couples?”

“It seemed only appropriate . . .” the petals relaxed and unfurled. “As they will be propagating our seedlings throughout this world.”

The Doctor wrinkled his nose before darting off. Tal glanced back at the flower-woman. He had witnessed his brother’s heroics, but didn’t really know the ins-and-outs of how this all worked. Was he supposed to arrest her now? He really didn’t want to touch her.

“Well, planet of the giant flower people . . . what was that like?”

~*~

An elderly couple from Yorkshire was pulling the petals off and rubbing them between their fingers, spreading the crushed pulp on each other’s faces. A barrister from London had woven several into a crown and was wearing it on her head. Everywhere, people had pulled the vases from the centers of the tables, closer to them, repeatedly smelling and plucking at, playing with the flowers. Chewing on the petals, pressing them into their faces.

And all in eerie silence.

The Doctor glanced around the dining room, but Craig and Sophie were missing. Somehow, it was always the humans who wandered off.

“Doctor . . .” the voice crackled.

Egan Lovegood emerged from the kitchen. His face had also been replaced by a giant orchid blossom, eyestalks dancing above the petals. He dragged the hotel owner behind him. Cliff was wrapped in thin, dark vines. His eyes bulged in terror, his mouth stuffed to overflowing with blue petals. He squirmed and tried to cry out.

Moss also emerged, her head a mess of writhing vines lined with thorns. They swirled through the air and slapped at the ground on either side of the Doctor, narrowly missing him. He jumped backward, tripping over his own feet. “Taaaaal!”

The Kryptonian flew into the room, grabbed Moss and pushed her through the wall, into the kitchen. The hotel shook violently at the crash, wood and plaster smashing apart.

Egan turned to help Moss, releasing his hold on Cliff. The Doctor hurried to him as the man spit flowers out on the floor. “Doctor, what’s happening?”

“Get your mother and everyone else out! Pull the fire alarms! Evacuate!”

Craig appeared, also helping Cliff to his feet. “Doctor, I can’t get to Sophie! She’s locked herself in our room. She took the vase that was at our table.”

The building shook again. A mass of vines filled the hole Tal had punched through the wall, churning like a nest of snakes. “What the hell is that?” screamed Craig.

“Something alien.”

The shrieks of the flowers filled the hall. The Doctor was confident Tal could handle himself against the Varga. “We need to get Sophie out.”

They ran for the stairs as plaster shook loose from the ceiling. The Doctor already had his sonic screwdriver out and buzzing before they reached the door.

“Sophe!” Craig barreled past him.

The second story floor lurched and shuddered beneath their feet.

She sat on the bed, petals strewn around her, more petals than could possibly have been in one bouquet. Petals filled her mouth, dripping from her lips. Petals covered her eyes.

Craig grabbed her shoulders. “Sophe! What are you doing? Talk to me!”

“Craig, I can help her, I promise, but we have to get out of here!”

The Gore Crow groaned and shook like it was a dollhouse being rattled by particularly violent children. The furniture bounced and clattered, pictures fell from the walls, frames smashing on the floor. Smoke had begun to pour up the stairs.

“Right! Leaving now!” Craig hauled Sophie off the bed, dragging her with them to the landing.

The three froze mid-way down the stairs, as Egan and Helen Lovegood blocked their way. Their petals were a little wilted, their matching jackets singed and smoking.

“You did this! You brought the Kryptonian.”

“And what did you do?” the Doctor asked. “Floated here, mutated flowering spores drifting through space until you found this green and blue planet . . . The Lovegoods were humans once and you took them over, used their bodies as sustenance to regrow yourselves.”

They rustled, the heavy vanilla perfume filling the air, mingling with the acrid smoke until they were all choking. “We had no choice! We would have died out.”

“There is always . . . a choice,” the Doctor coughed, eyes streaming.

Tal appeared, as though on cue. Glasses missing, he donned the black Kryptonian battle armor once again. He floated above the Varga, whose eyestalks swayed and blinked up at him.

One burst of super-breath cleared away the smoke and dust. The fire hadn’t reached them yet and the structure, though groaning, held.

Craig shouted: “holy crap, is that the Eradicator? What’s he doing here?”

The Doctor winced. He knew that would sting Tal.

Sure enough, he sank slightly in the air. Eyes burned red. Lips curled in a snarl. “Shall I save these pathetic humans, Doctor? Even though they fear and despise me? Or shall I save these . . . Varga instead? It’s all the same to me.”

The Doctor held up his hands. Damn it, Craig.

“Don’t . . . roast . . . anybody, okay?” He looked back down at the plant-people. “You don’t need to do this. I can help you. I can find another planet for your seedlings.”

They twitched. Their eyes roved over Craig and Sophie behind him hungrily. If they had lips, they’d be licking them. “We need the animal meat . . . mammal and plant matter. . . that is . . . Varga.”

“Humanity is not on the menu.”

“These ones . . . so good. Held onto themselves for so long. Screaming in our heads. Giving us the gift of their speech . . . thought patterns. The world will be our garden. A paradise. We will devour them all.”

“No, no, I don’t think you’re listening to me -”

“And you, Doctor – what gifts will we gain when we absorb you?”

The vines unfurled again. They really didn’t learn, he thought miserably as Tal’s eyes burned red as twin suns. The smell of burning plant matter filled the air as the Varga exploded. Flaming bits of flower and vine rained all over the inn.

Later

They sat in the pub across the way from the Gore Crow. Tal had used his ice breath to put out the fires, but by then the structural damage to the inn was significant. A large part of the wall and roof collapsed. Luckily, everyone got out in time.

Except, of course, the Lovegoods.

Moss had gotten away somewhere. Tal said he hadn’t killed her in the struggle, and the Doctor believed him. The Doctor had also been able to use the pub’s kitchen to whip up an antidote to the plant toxins for everyone who had been infected.

All in all, it was a win.

“Were you really going to help them?” asked Tal, leaning against the pub beside him. He’d switched back into his civilian garb. Even though only Craig and Sophie had seen him, he appeared pale and drawn by the events of the day, sipping at a beer even though he couldn’t get drunk.

“Yes,” said the Doctor. He held a shoebox on his lap, perforated with airholes. Inside, the little flower from Tal’s boutonniere moved back and forth. He supposed he’d have to get it some dirt.

Tal glanced at the box, frowning. “You meant it?”

“I always mean it, Tal.”

He sighed. “. . . I destroyed the inn.”

Ah, so that’s what was bothering him. The Doctor patted his arm. “You saved everyone. They can rebuild the inn. They’ve done it before.”

He nodded at the box. “Will that thing grow up to be like the Lovegoods?”

“Not precisely. The Varga are plant-animal hybrids who absorb living matter and incorporate it. If this little guy doesn’t absorb any humans . . .” he shrugged. “I don’t really know. Just be a weird flower, I guess.”

“But you saved it.”

The Doctor glanced at him, choosing his words carefully. “Well . . . it’s not his fault, where he came from.”

Tal huffed softly, but the Doctor could tell he was still worried.

“Phone call for you, Doctor,” said the pub owner, passing him the receiver.

Kate’s voice: “You burned down the hotel? Doctor, you gave me your word-”

“To be fair, it’s happened before.”

“What has?”

“I’ve burned down the Gore Crow. Before. I suppose you also know that everyone survived, except for the unfortunate Lovegoods, and they were dead before they arrived. Fully . . . uh, flower-fied.”

Kate sighed. “I want you to bring Tal-Rho to the Black Archive for a proper evaluation.”

Beside him, Tal tensed visibly. His already pale skin turned ashen and the glass handle on his pint cracked. The Doctor laid a hand on his arm again. Tal seemed to respond well to small touches.

The Kryptonian wouldn’t look at him, but there was brittleness around his eyes. The gaze far away and the Doctor knew he was wrestling with himself over running.

“Kate . . .” he warned.

“Not for anything medical or invasive,” she said. “But if he’s living in the UK, I want to be sure that he isn’t a danger to himself or others. I think that’s fair.”

The sounds of the rest of the pub fell away. It really did feel like it was only his contact keeping Tal in place.

“You have your reservations too,” she said.

The Doctor squeezed his eyes shut.

“Or you would take him in the TARDIS.”

It was true. He felt for Tal. Deeply. But he spent most of his existence fighting to keep the Time Lord technology as far away from dangerous, powerful megalomaniacs as possible. Tal-Rho was incredibly powerful. A being such as he, with the ability to move freely throughout time and space? The potential consequences were catastrophic.

The Doctor’s caution remained – it had to.

“I’ll expect you in London tomorrow.”

The call disconnected.

Tal didn’t look at him. Was staring at the bottles behind the bar. “What is a . . . Tardis?”

The Doctor frowned, knowing the wound of distrust might create a rift from which they would never recover. And that Tal had already been wounded again and again . . . He also knew that the only way to make a man trustworthy was to trust him.

But he still couldn’t allow everyone he met access to his ship.

In the end he decided on laying out the truth, no matter how painful it might be for Tal to hear it.

“The TARDIS stands for Time and Relative Dimension in Space. It’s my ship. But I can’t let everyone I meet see it. The technology of the Time Lords is something that I am obligated to protect.”

“Ah. And of course I am unworthy.” Tal scoffed, finally turning to face the Doctor. Bitterness and anger burned in his eyes.

“It’s not that simple.”

Tal shook his head, backing away from the bar. The Doctor could feel him retreating emotionally, as well as physically. The walls slamming into place. “It was a foolish mistake to think that I would ever be seen as anything other than evil.”

Before the Doctor could open his mouth again, Tal was gone.

Kryptonians.

The Doctor jumped down from the barstool and wandered to the front of the pub. He passed Craig and Sophie on the way, who were enjoying beer and chips.

Outside, the sun was setting. UNIT personnel were shifting through the rubble of the Gore Crow, the lot cordoned off by caution tape. The smell of smoke lingered in the air, as did the heady fragrance of flowers. A faint sprinkling of rain brushed his face.

Tal stood hesitating by the door. He glanced at the Doctor and raised a hand to brush the thin arms of the perception filter spectacles. “. . . these work on your UNIT people, as well.”

“Of course they do. I’m not sure they’d work on other Kryptonians, or anyone who knew you extremely well, but they’ll work for most everyone else.”

Worried lines furrowed his brow. “But . . . why?”

“The perception filter is a gift, not a leash chaining you to UNIT,” said the Doctor. “I am genuinely trying to help.” He sighed, taking a moment to breathe in the night air. Overhead, the stars were beginning to appear in the twilight sky. Tal studied him with a weighted look.

“I’ve not allowed Kate on the TARDIS, either. Nor anyone under her command. Not even Craig and Sophie. You’re not evil, Tal.”

That did appear to help, as Tal’s expression lost some of its tightness and anxiety.

“I suppose . . . it is possible that I overreacted.”

“It’s alright,” the Doctor assured him. “I’ve been accused of having a dramatic streak myself.”

He wondered what they would do about London and Kate’s ‘evaluations.’ Still, no sense worrying. He was (fairly) confident Tal could pass whatever psychological testing they threw at him. If he cooperated.

Well . . . he couldn’t possibly be worse than Amy when it came to dealing with psychiatrists – could he? The Doctor chewed on his lower lip. Maybe he should be worried.

“When we get to London, just don’t bite anybody.”

“That’s your advice?”

Chapter Text

They got a ride to London with Craig and Sophie. He could have flown there in a matter of minutes, of course, but the Doctor seemed keen to do things the human way. Perhaps he thought Tal-Rho flying over the capital would be seen as threatening by UNIT.

Tal was surprised that the Doctor hadn’t arranged for UNIT to transport them – their jeeps had been stationed around Carbury as they left and as far as he could tell the Doctor hadn’t bothered to check in with any of their uniformed personnel.

But then he remembered, the Doctor was herding him to their Head Quarters for whatever ‘testing’ they deemed necessary. He wondered if UNIT was as well supplied as the American military; if they would be able to hold him against his will.

If this was all a trap.

The Doctor sat beside him in the backseat of Craig’s Ford Focus. It was slightly cramped, especially as the Doctor insisted on bringing the shoebox containing the killer flower along. It sat between them, skittering a bit as the thing inside it moved around. Otherwise, the drive was uneventful. The perception-filter glasses meant Craig and Sophie didn’t recognize him as the Eradicator and Tal did his best to forget their terror back at the inn. They kept up a steady stream of chatter with the Doctor, who could probably talk for days, and largely ignored ‘Morgan Smythe.’

Tal found himself watching the English countryside roll by in the dark. Hills like sleeping giants that would be dotted with sheep in the daylight. He tried to push his thoughts away, but they continuously circled back to the Lovegood’s couples retreat and the Doctor’s insistence that they play at being boyfriends. Though they had been pretending, it had stirred up old feelings in Tal. Emotions he had done his best to bury, smother, and destroy.

Tal-Rho had dreamt of a family, once. Longed for one. Yet he knew what he was – alien and terrifying. Too damaged for that type of closeness. His reflection in the car window showed a tired man. Though the AI had told him that on Earth his Kryptonian blood would grant him near-immortality, he had aged since his experience being the Eradicator. The prolonged exposure to kryptonite and red solar lamps hadn’t helped matters, either. There was more grey in his hair and faint lines etched on his face.

He had to pull himself together and get over this, accept the Doctor’s help and not torment himself by thinking of anything more.

It was around two in the morning when they arrived in London. The humans were tired. Sophie napped in the passenger seat. Tal and the Doctor did not require sleep. In fact, the Doctor couldn’t stop fidgeting and tinkering with the silver wand thing.

“Screwdriver,” he said, when he caught Tal watching him.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a screwdriver. Just a bit more sonic.”

“In what way is that sonic?” Tal asked, raising an eyebrow.

The Doctor pressed a button, causing the end to light up green and a whirring buzz sounded. “Sound,” he said, waving it in Tal’s face. “That’s sonic. Obviously. Everyone knows that.”

“Do you need a place to stay?” Craig asked from the driver’s seat.

The Doctor shook his head. “Thank you, Craig, you’ve been a delight. But places to go. Work to be done. Just drop us anywhere.”

Craig gave a nervous laugh. “In the city? At two in the morning? Are you sure?”

“Trust me,” the Doctor smiled, winking at Tal-Rho. “We’ll be grand.”

Later, they stood on a London street corner in the dead of night, watching the Owens’ retreating headlights. The Doctor cradled the shoebox in his hands, rocking on his feet. “I didn’t want us riding back with UNIT,” he admitted. “Going straight to the Tower.”

“The Tower?”

“The Black Archive,” he explained. “It’s under the Tower of London.”

“Ah.” Of course it was. Maybe they’d like to cut off his head with a kryptonite axe while they were at it.

The Doctor nudged him. “I want you to meet some friends of mine before all that.”

“I’ve already met your friends,” Tal scowled.

The streets were thick with unhoused souls in tattered sleeping bags and blankets. The humans could not even care for their own. It was beyond him what Kal-El or the Doctor saw in the species.

“You are grouchy tonight,” the Doctor tilted his head, eyes narrowing in appraisal. “Are you sure you don’t need sleep?”

Tal breathed in through his nose, counting . . .

“I mean, not as much as humans, certainly.” The hands began flapping here and there again. Well, one. The other was occupied carrying the shoebox. “They sleep all the time. You know they’ve got a whole room in their house just for sleeping? But maybe something along the lines of 4 hours of sleep to every 72 hours awake, or so . . . just to keep you less cranky.”

“I am not -”

The Doctor gave him an unimpressed look.

Tal threw his hands up in exasperation.

Maddening! The Doctor was maddening and mad and the longer Tal was with him, the more he felt he was going mad too. Grouchy? Cranky? He had tried to destroy the world for Rao’s sake! Kal-El certainly hadn’t responded with ‘maybe you just need a nap and then you’ll be fine.’ That wasn’t a thing! He was just . . . a villain.

Anyway, it was impossible to win an argument with a madman. Tal followed the Doctor through the quiet streets – wondering where he was leading them. Eventually they reached Regent’s Park and then Primrose Hill, with its Victorian terraces and Regency townhouses. They crossed the canal, passing beneath the shadow of a beautiful old church. It was a very affluent area and Tal side-eyed the Doctor. “They’re rich – your friends?”

“Nah,” he shook his head, smiling. “I won the money for the house in the lottery.”

Tal was unsure which was more unlikely – winning the lottery or giving the money away. He had moved in circles of the incredibly wealthy as Morgan Edge and they certainly didn’t give anything away.

“You’re so – strange,” he said, after a moment.

The Doctor smiled at that. “Thank you. Now – where were . . . ? Ah! Here!”

He darted across the street, approaching a townhouse with a blue door and pulled out his sonic screwdriver. Tal raised an eyebrow. “And we’re breaking and entering now?”

The Doctor looked back at him, scandalized. “Oh, I am not! I forgot my key.”

“I seem to recall you telling Kate Stewart you didn’t have a house.”

“Like I said, it’s not mine. I gave it to my friends, the Ponds.”

“The name on their mail says ‘Williams,’” said Tal, who had peered through the door with his x-ray vision.

The Doctor just shook his head and tutted. The door clicked open.

Tal was slightly concerned that they were breaking into the wrong house and followed with some reluctance. A year ago, he had inspired global terror as the Eradicator, raising an army of Kryptonians to overtake the Earth. Now he was breaking and entering a random house in London.

How the might have fallen, he thought.

He heard two human heartbeats upstairs, slow in sleep. The Doctor skipped through the lounge, waving his sonic screwdriver at various lamps to turn them on. The walls were painted aqua green, decorated with colourful art prints. The house was clean but cluttered with books, trinkets and curios packed on every shelf.  

The Doctor continued through to the kitchen and began rummaging in the cupboards. The paint changed from aqua to a pale red with white cabinets. Innumerable vases of fresh-cut flowers decorated every countertop. Despite himself, Tal found the combined effect rather sweet.

Then the Doctor pulled out an old iron kettle and slammed it on the stovetop with a clang. Upstairs, the human heart beats jumped.

The worst part was, there was a new electric kettle plugged in on the counter, which he had blatantly ignored. Tal shook his head and sighed, crossing his arms and waiting to see how the situation played itself out.

The Doctor went on fixing tea. “Nothing like a late-night brainstorming/catch-up/gab-session/slumber party!” he exclaimed, spinning around to grin at Tal. “Don’t you agree?”

Tal blinked slowly.

This pretty little London house was doubtless more pleasant than whatever awaited him at the Tower, though the human occupants were creeping to the stairs, whispering to each other about the break-in, so he wondered how long that would last.

“Why do you like them so much?” Tal asked.

The Doctor tilted his head curiously.

“The humans. My brother . . .” he wondered how much he could say, then decided on something vague enough that it wouldn’t give his brother’s secret identity away: “Kal-El was adopted by human parents and raised among them.”

“Ah,” the Doctor appeared thoughtful for a second, but he didn’t press for details. “That’s rather charming, isn’t it? Superman had human parents . . .” His eyes, meeting Tal’s, were sympathetic. “I am sorry it didn’t happen that way for you.”

“But you?”

The Doctor chuckled. “Oh, no. I was already an old man by the time I left Gallifrey. Earth is nostalgic for me. They look like Time Lords.”

He didn’t point out the obvious, that if humans looked like Time Lords, then Kryptonians did as well.

Tal used his heat vision on the kettle and the water boiled.

The Doctor beamed at him. “Oh, now that is neat!”

A moment later, his expression sobered. “I know that they aren’t perfect, Tal, but on the whole, humans are compassionate, curious and capable of great things.”

Tal said nothing and hoped that his expression was diplomatically blank, rather than showing the actual disgust he felt. He could admit that individual humans, like Lois Lane, might possibly have some potential. However, overall, his opinion of them was as opposite to the Doctor’s as possible.

The Doctor, arranging a teapot and cups and saucers on a serving tray, stopped fussing to look back at him. “I know you don’t believe me and that’s fine,” he said gently. “I just ask that you give them a chance.”

He paused as they moved toward the lounge. “Maybe try not to mention how much you hate them to UNIT.”

He took one more step and a cricket bat smashed into the tray.

The teapot exploded – bits of ceramic went everywhere. Scalding tea splattered the floor and wall. The Doctor screamed. Their attackers screamed. Tal hung back, trying to think what to do, when the screams turn into laughter.

“Doctor!!” The woman wielding the cricket bat tossed it aside before smacking the Time Lord on the arm. “What the hell are you doing in our kitchen in the middle of the night?!”

“Making tea.”

“Was that my nan’s tea set?” Her husband asked, running a hand through his short brown hair. He groaned. “Doctor, I have work in a couple of hours. Unless the world is actually ending -” he stopped. “Wait. Is it?”

“No. Nothing’s ending. I just wanted tea.” The Doctor frowned, looking down at the shattered tray with disappointment. He turned to find Tal’s gaze. “And I wanted you both to meet someone.”

The humans finally looked at him. They were in their late twenties, or early thirties, barely dressed in nightclothes, hair messy. Rather than looking embarrassed, they both seemed resigned to the Doctor’s antics. The woman, who had long red hair, regarded the Doctor with a fond smile. “Alright.”

“These are the Ponds. Amy and Rory.”

He nodded to them in greeting. “Morgan -”

“No,” the Doctor stopped him. “Not for these two.”

Tal froze, thrown off balance. The Doctor had been the one to give him the glasses.

“You don’t need them here.”

The Doctor approached slowly, as though Tal were an animal prone to startle. Which, perhaps, he was. He was jagged around the edges, still recalling the fear the Doctor’s other so-called friends had had at seeing him without the perception filter in place.

“I know the Owens weren’t ready. Not yet. They’ll get there,” the Doctor smiled wistfully. “But the Ponds? Well. The Ponds are special,” the Doctor’s voice was low and soft. Like he was whispering a secret between them. His eyes held Tal’s as though by gravitation. How was it possible that a person could have more gravity than a planet? How had the Doctor made it so that Tal could not look away?

“These people are precious to me. And I want you to meet them. Truly meet them.” Gentle, as though Tal could still refuse.

His heart thudded sharp in his chest. Kal-El kept his secret jealously guarded. Tal did not know these people and one word to the wrong ears could lead Superman and the American Department of Defense back to him. He could be put in the cage again. His throat tightened like a steel noose had been dropped over his head. His jagged edges clashed against the Doctor’s soft words.

He said nothing.

“I promised you the best of humanity, Tal-Rho.”

The Doctor reached up for Tal’s glasses and he flinched. Emotions roiled through him – shame at his fear, anger at the Doctor, hurt and betrayal.  

“Trust me. Please?”

Amy and Rory watched curiously, but not worried. “Did this have to be done at three in the morning?” Rory whispered to his wife.

“Quiet, you. This is dramatic,” she whispered back.

There was a moment where he genuinely didn’t know. But the Doctor had trusted him, far more than anyone else had in a very long time.

Slowly, Tal nodded. The Doctor smiled at him and gently plucked the glasses from his face. “Oh, hello. There you are.”

He turned back to the humans, who were leaning against the kitchen counters, Rory with a wad of paper towers to mop up the spilled tea. “Amy and Rory, I’d like you to meet Tal-Rho, one of the last surviving sons of Krypton.”

They stared at him for a moment.

“He’s got kind of a silver fox thing going on, doesn’t he?” said Amy.

Rory’s brow furrowed. “Didn’t he fight Superman and try to take over the world or something?”

“Yes, but they’re brothers,” said the Doctor before Tal had even opened his mouth. “And people try to take over the world every week.”

The brow lifted. “True enough. Well, I think there’s a spare set in the cupboard. I’ll put the kettle on.”

“Good man, Rory.”

Meanwhile, Amy grinned at Tal. It was unsettling. “What did they call you? You had some sort of silly super-villain name, didn’t you?” she asked, stalking toward him. “The Eraser? The Extractor?”

“He was the Eradicator, I think,” said Rory, pecking her cheek while he walked past.

“Ooh, that is good!” she laughed. “Eradicate me, Tal-Rho!”

“Don’t listen to my wife,” called Rory from the cupboards. “Also, Doctor, what’s in the shoebox?”

“Omnivorous alien flower, don’t touch it!”

“Wasn’t going to!”

And Tal realised that the Doctor’s friends were, like the Doctor, completely mad and not afraid of Tal in the slightest.

“They’ve met a lot of aliens,” said the Doctor. “Bit jaded.”

Tal, feeling completely upended, remained silent. At some point, they finally made it into the lounge. Amy Pond was still in her rumpled nightshirt and socks and entirely unbothered by the strange man in her house. The Doctor sat with her on the couch, gesturing for Tal to take the armchair beside.

He was still rather stunned when Amy said: “so, tell us about yourself! Mr. The Eradicator,” she laughed again and made little claws with her hands. “Grrr!”

The Doctor put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a side-hug. “Be nice, Pond. We’re your guests.” He kissed her red hair as she dissolved into giggles.

“Right, so why did you try to destroy the world then?” Rory called from the kitchen, as though the question wasn’t serious enough to warrant being in the same room with them.

“He was trying to turn everyone into Kryptonians by uploading their consciousness into human hosts,” the Doctor shouted back. “And turning humans into Kryptonians physically with a mineral called X-K.”

“OH!” said Amy, snapping her fingers. “Like those fish in Vienna.”

Tal startled. “Like . . . fish . . . What?”

“Same basic concept, yeah,” said the Doctor.

Amy nudged him in the side with her elbow. “Invasion of the sexy Kryptonians, though? I could be into that.”

“. . . the Eradicator was my mother’s life’s work,” he said finally, at a complete loss.

Amy frowned. “I thought you were the Eradicator.”

Rory came back to the lounge with the tea.

“It was also the name of the device,” said Tal. It seemed pointless to obfuscate it now, when they knew everything else. “The machine storing the minds of Krypton.”

“Your standard memory matrix set-up, modified with a dime-store psychograft,” said the Doctor.

The humans nodded as though this meant something to them. How pathetic to hear his entire raison d’etre summed up and dismissed with a few words of techno babble.

“Um, but just to be clear, you don’t want to do that anymore?” asked Rory, joining the Doctor and Amy on the couch.

As though it was a job he’d retired from.

Still, Tal sighed and nodded. He’d known from his conversation with Kate Stewart and the Doctor that other aliens had tried to invade the Earth, and of course he had seen a recent example with his own eyes. But he’d never imagined ordinary humans would be so nonchalant about it.

Tal stared at them helplessly. “How many people have tried this?”

“To be honest,” said the Doctor. “I’ve lost count.”

The Doctor went on to tell them about the upcoming meeting with UNIT. He made it sound far less like they’d been ordered to attend and more like a potential partnership.

“Oh? So, are you going to be working them, Tal?” Amy asked. “Sort of like the U.K. Superman?”

He frowned at the mental image of himself clad in a skintight union jack and cape soaring over Britain’s skies. “I think not.” He did not relish the idea of becoming UNIT’s dancing monkey.

“Nothing’s been decided yet,” said the Doctor. He slouched on the Ponds’ couch and Tal couldn’t tell from his tone if he approved of the idea or not.

Tal had been jealous once, that his brother was a hero. That the people of this world adored him. He used to torture himself with ‘what if’ scenarios, during those long years when he was preparing for Zeta-Rho’s plan and could not reveal himself. He had believed in the mission then, but at the same time he wanted to be reunited with his mother and brother.

He had dreamed that they would all be together someday. He convinced himself that Kal-El must be miserable. That he had made himself a slave to the humans and would happily forsake them for his family. But that wasn’t true, and Kal-El already had a family.

The only thing Zeta succeeded in was making Tal-Rho into a monster.

~*~

The Doctor advised him to leave off the perception filter eyeglasses and change back into his Kryptonian armor for the meeting with UNIT. He didn’t want them made aware of Tal’s new alter ego. Which seemed to suggest to Tal that the Doctor did not entirely trust them. Which was interesting, as Kal-El trusted the DOD, even after they had turned on him.

“Do you really work for them?” Tal raised an eyebrow.

“With them. I work with them,” he stressed. “Sometimes. I am strictly a consultant.”

“Ah. A freelancer.”

Overhead, the early morning sky above London was heavy and grey. They approached the imposing medieval walls of the Tower, walking the stone paths. It was six a.m. and well before it opened to the public. Large ravens landed around them, feathers glossy, giving their harsh cries. They were unbothered by the approach of the two men, hopping along in their path. Tal thought of Amy and Rory, indifferent to aliens. If you were exposed to something often enough – hordes of tourists, alien invaders – perhaps it lost all power over you. But was that a good thing, or a bad thing?

The Doctor straightened his bowtie. “Now, you’ll be fine. Try to stay positive.”

As though Tal-Rho had ever remotely approached positivity.  

The walls were ancient, worn and rough. They walked through an abandoned courtyard. He vaguely wondered where the normal liveried guardsmen were, then supposed UNIT had sent them away. He scanned the structure – there were walls and towers he could peer through easily enough, and a lower level . . . and levels below that, which became obscured from his sight by lead. Or perhaps an alien substance – he didn’t know what was possible anymore.

The Doctor had confirmed that UNIT had kryptonite. If they tried to put him in a cage . . . Tal gazed up at the stone battlements. This entire place was designed to be a prison. A place of torture and execution.

The Doctor was babbling about history. Tal had tuned out most of it but dialed in at: “The royals kept a zoo here, once. Until about 1835, actually. And the thing about that-”

“Yes,” Tal murmured, peering at the narrow windows. He was able to see the desperate etchings of former prisoners carved into the walls. “Humans do love putting living things in cages.”

The Doctor opened his mouth as though to object, thought better of it, and closed it again.

They walked through corridors, saw some branching off into narrow staircases with iron railings. There were gallery rooms and museum displays. He knew the crown jewels were also somewhere, but uniformed soldiers appeared to escort them to the secret staircases leading to the lower levels before they reached those.

The men were armed, but with regular bullets, not kryptonite. He would have felt the tinge of kryptonite simmering the air. The Doctor continued blithely along, in the manner he had of swanning in as though he owned the place.

Kate Stewart met them one floor down. “Thank you both for coming, Doctor.” She paused, her gaze on him cool and appraising. “Tal-Rho.”

The Doctor stood between them. “What’s this really about, Kate?”

“Nothing sinister, I assure you. But we must be thorough. Now, if you’ll both come this way, please. I have some specialists I want to introduce you to.”

Tal froze on the word specialist. His legs simply refused to move. He remembered lasers and knives and chains and being in the dark. Specialists and scientists coming to determine exactly how strong the alien boy’s invulnerable flesh was. The stink of his own fear when he was very young and vulnerable and afraid. Which he wasn’t, certainly, not anymore.

Distantly, he was aware that the Doctor was asking: “what kind of specialists?”

But there was a strange ringing in his head and the words were drowning in it. Which was ridiculous because he was Kryptonian and he should be able hear everything.

Everyone was crowding around him. Why were they doing that? Why were their voices buzzing like insects. What did they have – kryptonite scalpels? Needles? Knives? Saws?

Blood – chains – screaming –

“Damn it, Kate! You saw what was in that abandoned lab in Cornwall! Tell him what you mean by specialists!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think . . .” she sounded concerned. Why did they all sound so concerned? There was something else said, between her and the Doctor, followed by Kate shouting: “Psychiatrists! They’re mental health specialists, that’s all.”

“I told you he wasn’t dangerous!”

“The man has the ability to wipe London off the face of the map and I should just take your word for it?”

“Yes!”

“Look at what happened in Carbury.”

“He saved those people!”

The world came back into focus, the shouting match between Kate and the Doctor shaking Tal out of the mental fog that had encroached upon him. He wondered if he had done something, if his eyes had shone red. But the soldiers weren’t panicking. They weren’t even pointing their guns at him, so he assumed it wasn’t that bad. He swallowed around a scratchy throat. The Doctor was between him and all the UNIT personnel, reminding him of a little yapping dog going up against a bear.

If he ran now, he would never gain Kate Stewart as an ally. And he had enough enemies to last a lifetime.

“Alright,” he said. “It’s alright.”

The Doctor and Kate both turned to look at him. The Doctor looked worried, which was the most unsettling thing so far.

“Psychiatrists?” Tal repeated. “Right, yes, well you said it was for an evaluation.” He had known that much, hadn’t he? It had only been the word specialist, with all its obscure ambiguity, that had given him pause. Only pause. He hadn’t – he gave the room a glance – set fire to anything. And if he let them go on thinking he was so fragile that a mere word would set him off, they would never trust him.

Kate took a steadying breath and squared her shoulders. “Right. Very good. Now, if you’ll follow me . . .”  

The long black coat of his Kryptonian armor swished behind him like a cloak as he followed. Banks of fluorescent lights shone overhead, illuminating a bizarre melding of ancient and high-tech aesthetics. Flatscreen monitors were arrayed against rough stone walls. Bespectacled, lab-coat wearing scientists sat at computers. Beyond them were rows upon rows of metal shelves holding thousands of bankers boxes and crates. And beneath them was a level with bodies – alien bodies – kept preserved in cold storage. He glimpsed it through a chink in the lead – or whatever shielding they had.

He could not freeze again, he told himself sternly, waiting for the sense of nausea to pass.

There were rooms like vaults, cubes with thick lead-lined walls and bullet-proof glass, none of which would really matter as long as there was no kryptonite. The Doctor hovered at his side, darting to the soldiers and scientists like a worried hummingbird. “How do you feel?” he asked Tal, once he’d made his circuit.

“Fine.” His senses prickled, searching out the pain of the meteor rocks and not finding it.

The Doctor pulled out the sonic screwdriver and waved it about – scanning for something? He read the results and nodded, apparently satisfied. “Alright then.”

  Kate introduced them to a portly man in a rumpled suit and indicated one of the boxlike rooms. “Doctor, perhaps you would like to wait out here with me?”

The Doctor scowled at her, but Tal held up a placating hand. “I can manage, Doctor. I’m not a psychopath, after all.”

It was meant to be lighthearted, but they all stared at him.

What they didn’t understand was that he had literally been trying to save lives during his time as the Eradicator. They were lives alien to planet Earth and he had deemed the humans as expendable, which he understood didn’t look great in hindsight. He knew better than to let the human doctors know how little he thought of them as a species. If it was sincerely nothing more than a psychiatric evaluation, Tal reasoned he should be fine.

The Doctor pressed his lips together in a way that suggested he harboured concerns. “I’ll be right here,” he said.  

It was rather like a police interrogation – bright lights harshly illuminating everything in the small white room and there was a two-way mirror which didn’t work on Tal, who could easily see the Doctor and Kate watching from the other side. They didn’t even offer him a glass of water.  

It turned out that the portly fellow was only the first in a series of doctors. His questions were the easy ones with obvious answers. Did he want to hurt anyone? No, of course not. What did he think about humanity? They were fine. He’d come to appreciate their idiosyncrasies.

Did he have any long-term feelings of anger?

What? After being locked in a secret underground laboratory and experimented on like a rat for most of his childhood? After the abuse he’d endured at the hands of both the British and the Americans? Why would there still be any lingering anger over that?

Tal shoved those thoughts down and attempted to smile. “Why, no. None at all.”

After the man, there was a woman with a long face and her hair pulled back rather severely. She asked Tal-Rho about his “support system.” The question made his left eye twitch. It felt odd and presumptuous to say the Doctor, considering he’d only met him a couple of days ago. Even worse to say ‘the Doctor’s friends,’ whom he’d only met a couple of hours ago. If he said Superman, on one hand that was surely impressive. On the other, suppose UNIT had a way to contact his brother and check? Kal-El would most likely not only deny it but come to collect him for General Lane.

“The Doctor has been most helpful so far,” he finally said. “And has been introducing me to many colorful humans of his acquaintance.”

He should have said people, he mentally kicked himself. Humans hated being reminded that they weren’t the centre of the universe. Sure enough, something moved in the woman’s eyes as she jotted her notes. In the corner above her left shoulder, the red light of a video camera monitored them. Recording these interviews for posterity in UNIT’s archive? Tal frowned at it but recognized that he was not in a position to complain.

Hours passed. Another woman asked him: “what are your beliefs about yourself and your life?”

He knew he had to tread carefully, but how to explain that he was only beginning to separate out the threads of his own beliefs from the decades of his father’s brainwashing and conditioning? No, he worried that if he sounded uncertain that would look bad. Likewise, if he admitted that it had been wrong to try and convert humans into Kryptonians – was that showing the error of his ways, or admitting culpability?

“My beliefs . . .”

That surely was the easier answer, except that he wracked his brain and came up short. “I . . .” He risked a glance at the mirror to see that the Doctor was beginning to look concerned.

“I did try to save the world from Ally Alliston – I’ve been told UNIT knows about the incident with the parallel world?” A brief nod from the psychiatrist. “I helped Superman.” Though he had only done that to save Kal-El and Kal-El’s family, but UNIT didn’t need to know that. “So, I clearly believe in the value of this world and its people. I’ve witnessed my brother’s heroics over the years, and I believe I could be of similar . . . assistance to humanity.”

The psychiatrist, who had previously maintained a maddeningly superb poker-face, raised an eyebrow at that.  

For some reason, rather than shutting up, Tal found his mouth running away with him: “and we all know what my brother believes in: truth and justice. Vague concepts that can be twisted to mean almost anything and slot into any previously existing moral system.”

He stopped abruptly.

“So . . . it doesn’t exactly sound like you share those beliefs?” the psychiatrist prompted, after waiting a moment to see if he would continue.

“No. Of course. They’re . . . fine.” He winced internally. “And Superman is more nuanced than I give him credit for. I suppose it’s more the manner in which the media has simplified him that I take objection with. I suppose I believe that everyone has more sides to them than the world sees. You know that I . . .”

. . . was raised by a monster, to hate humanity. But there has to be more to me than that. We’re not just the way we were raised.

But if he admitted that, they would never see him as anything but that monster.

Tal-Rho shook his head. They already saw him as that monster. The Eradicator. He would never be more than that, in their eyes.

“Do you ever feel empty inside?”

Tal blinked, coming back to the small chamber. The interview. The cold, dead eyes of his appraiser. The words rattled around in his chest. “Excuse me?” He could not keep the offense – and with it, implied threat - out of his voice.

The psychiatrist, though professional, flinched. “Let’s circle back to that one –” She clicked her pen, a nervous tick. Click-click-click. Tal’s eyebrow twitched again.

“Can you tell me about your experiences growing up?”

Tal gritted his teeth, arms crossed in front of him. He knew it was a defensive posture. Couldn’t help himself. “I was raised by a monster who spent the first eight years of my life brainwashing me to be his own personal avenger of our people. I was taught that my own existence was meaningless, except insofar as I could be used as the engine with which to resurrect our dead race. I was taught that human beings were a verminous scourge, a lower life-form that looked like us but lacked everything that made Krypton great -” he should stop, he knew he should stop, he didn’t know why he couldn’t stop –

“And then I landed on Earth. Here, in the United Kingdom, and all of the worst things my father ever taught me about humankind were confirmed. I was hunted like an animal and tortured. My powers were not yet fully developed. I was trapped, kept hidden from the world, a piece of alien meat – an experiment.”

And the voice in his head, relentless: they will never see you as one of them. Always be afraid of you. Always hate you.

The psychiatrist stopped writing and stared at him with blank shock. The pen stopped clicking and fell from her grasp. She stood, knocking over her chair. Hadn’t she wanted the truth?

Images ran through his head in jumbled fractals. His blood boiled like fire in his veins. Doors were buzzed open. The doors to their tiny interrogation room. The psychiatrist was running, heels clicking on stone.

His eyes, reflected in the sleek metal walls – red, glowing like embers.

No. He didn’t -

Boots hit the metal gangways. The Doctor shouted. Tal shut his eyes and covered his face with his hands.

What had he done?

A hand rested on his shoulder. The Doctor’s voice hovered close to his ear. “Come on, let’s get some fresh air.”

As though he had made a minor faux-pas. As though they would let him leave this place. He heard the assault rifles being raised and safeties disengaged. And then he felt it. The sting of kryptonite – still a few meters away. His skin crawled, breaking out in chill gooseflesh. The very air came laced with knives. He shuddered, gasping. The heat vision faded.

He had yet to move from the metal seat in the small square cube of a room, but doors at either end were open. Soldiers surrounded them. And Kate Stewart held a portable safe, the kind with a keypad on the front, the lid now open. A sickly green glow seeped from within.

The Doctor’s hand squeezed his shoulder, and he was weak enough to feel it.

“What are you doing?”

Kate stared at him. “Step away from him, Doctor. He threatened UNIT personnel -”

“He was answering their questions. He was cooperating.”

The Doctor drew out the sonic screwdriver for a second time, flipping it on with a flick of his wrist. It buzzed and Kate’s face blanched. “Doctor, don’t you dare!”

The lid of the safe slammed shut and she dropped the lead box, startled. “Doctor!”

The relief was instantaneous. He breathed deeply.

“Tell the soldiers to stand down,” said the Doctor. “Don’t be a fool, Kate.”

The look she gave him was hurt, betrayed – and angry. Now he was costing the Doctor allies as well. The tiredness opened inside him like a yawning pit. Do you ever feel empty . . . ?

But he didn’t want to be locked up, the key thrown away, buried in the Black Archives or the DOD. Buried again, exiled to a secret prison. Never to feel the light of Earth’s sun upon his face. He shuddered.

“Tal,” the Doctor’s voice. Worryingly sharp.

He looked up.

“Get out of here.”

Right. While he still could.

Kate frantically pushed buttons on the safe’s keypad, but whatever code was meant to open it was no longer working.

The soldiers with their guns stood around looking uncertain.

“Oh, lower your guns, you idiots,” said the Doctor. “You’re only going to hurt each other with the ricochet.”

~*~

One moment, Tal-Rho was sitting there looking grey and lost. The next second, the Doctor looked down and he was gone. The rush of air in the small space ruffling the Doctor’s hair and clothing was the only sign that he had left at superspeed. He somehow managed to weave around the soldiers, because not a one was knocked down or punted away.

They never even had a chance to try regular bullets. The Doctor would have smiled at that, but the way Kate was looking at him hurt his hearts.

“Science leads. Isn’t that what you told me?” he asked, walking over to her. He looked down at the now useless lead box in her hands. “I thought we were rather past shooting everything we didn’t understand.”

“He’s dangerous, Doctor.”

“He didn’t hurt anybody. He had a physical reaction. I doubt he was even aware he was doing it.”

“Don’t you see how that makes it worse?” she cried. “He’s unpredictable -”

“So am I.”

“He’s killed people -”

The Doctor held her gaze. His own was ancient and weary, peering darkly from his deceptively youthful face. “So. Have. I.”

He’d fought in the Time War. He’d sacrificed Gallifrey. He was so many millions of times worse than Tal-Rho, they just didn’t see it. There was a reason they called him the Oncoming Storm and the Lonely God. A reason he could look the Atraxi in its giant floating eye and tell it: “I’m the Doctor. Basically, run.” A reason why River Song told him they had to keep the word ‘doctor’ safe from him, lest it become conflated with ‘warrior.’

“He is trying to be better,” he said quietly. “Check in with your people. See if he injured anybody on his way out.”

She stared back at him for a moment, resenting him, but perhaps not wanting to. Finally, she did as he asked. Everyone was present and accounted for. Except for a stack of papers that had been knocked over, no one had even noticed the Kryptonian leave.

The Doctor nodded, having expected as much.

He found Tal-Rho outside the Tower. Considering the Kryptonian could be half-ways around the world, he hadn’t gone far. He sat overlooking the Thames and the Doctor was struck with déjà vu, having sat there with Amy not long ago, during the Year of the Slow Invasion. They had spoken about running away. The Doctor insisted that wasn’t what he was doing, there was just so much to see. Yet he was still here. In the same place.

He sighed. None of the UNIT personnel had followed them. Probably because Kate was smart enough to know it was a wasted effort when Tal could lift off and fly away at superspeed anytime he chose.

He wondered if she would have a change of heart, or if the next time he saw UNIT they would have followed the Americans in building kryptonite weapons. Maybe he couldn’t make a place for Tal on Earth, after all. It made him sad for all of them.

The Doctor licked his lips. “I half-expected you to be gone.”

“Really?” Tal asked. The Doctor was close enough now to notice that, though the Kryptonian was facing across the river at the skyscrapers, including the glittering Shard, his eyes were tightly shut.

“No,” he admitted, brow furrowing. “I s’pose not.”

“I failed,” said Tal stiffly, hands curled into fists in his lap.

The Doctor crouched next to him, hurting to see Tal like this. “No. You didn’t fail. Not at all.”

“I should not have . . . reacted.”

“You shouldn’t have had emotions, you mean?” the Doctor scoffed. “Don’t think that way. I’ve met beings without emotions, it’s not something to aspire to.”

Tal didn’t respond, concentrating on his breathing. He was trying so hard. The Doctor looked back across the river. Hours had passed underground, but the sky was still overcast and grey, a cool wind rising off the water. Tourists milled about, swarming the banks, and it was a wonder no one had noticed Tal. He still wasn’t opening his eyes.

“Tal, you’re okay. You can open your eyes now.”

Through gritted teeth: “No. I can’t.”

Oh. Was that red light glowing faintly behind the thin skin of his eyelids? The Doctor sat next to him and carefully slid a hand over one of the clenched fists. He had noticed, back at the village, how Tal seemed to grow calmer at his touch.

Yes, the Doctor thought, as Tal exhaled softly at the contact.

“Alright then,” the Doctor said. “Just give it a minute.”

He rested his chin on Tal’s shoulder. It was a gesture he would have made with Amy or Rory without a second thought, but a tremor moved through Tal’s back. His breath hitched.

“Tal, is it alright that I touch you like this?”

A deep breath. Tal nodded. “. . . Yes.”

They sat that way for a moment, listening to the water and the wind. The noises of the city swirled around them. Rush of traffic and thousands of voices - what must it feel like to hear it all at once? Rather like watching all of Time at once, the Doctor mused.

“I know you were trying to be honest. And you didn’t bite anyone, so you’ve handled it better than Amy handled any of her psychiatrists.”

Tal huffed, though the lines of tension in his face softened slightly. “Amy Pond doesn’t have the power to incinerate someone with her gaze.”

“Debatable,” the Doctor smiled. “And also – you didn’t.”

He swallowed. “I wanted to.”

“Oh Tal,” the Doctor pressed his lips together for a moment. He resisted the urge to say ‘that’s very human of you,’ knowing it would not be well received. “We’re not responsible for our thoughts. We’re responsible for how we act on those thoughts. And you didn’t hurt anyone.”

He rubbed the clenched fingers of Tal’s hand lightly. Despite the indestructible skin, it didn’t feel like he was touching a statue. The skin felt natural, if a trifle warmer than a human’s. He wondered, when was the last time anyone touched Tal-Rho? Most people needed contact to some degree or another.

A childhood spent in a cage. A lifetime spent working on a secret mission. No friends, and the only family he had left appeared to be a brother who didn’t want anything to do with him. How lonely he must have been for so long.

“When you’re ready, we’ll go back to the Ponds. UNIT will leave us alone for the time being.” If only because they needed time to build kryptonite guns, but he didn’t say that.

Tal gradually opened his eyes. They were as grey as the sky over the Thames. His hand uncurled and the Doctor gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“You’re not worried that I’ll lose control?”

The Doctor peered across the water. “Well, the Shard is still standing, so I think we’re okay.”

Tal smiled wearily as the Doctor patted him on the arm.

~*~

The Ponds were sitting in their back garden when Tal and the Doctor arrived. Tal was honestly surprised to see them again, had expected to be locked away deep within the Tower in another red solar or kryptonite-lined cage. It felt rather dreamlike to be walking among them, through the lush spring greenery. A trellis was covered in white flowers, and they had an unusual garden shed – shaped and painted to look like one of those old-fashioned police boxes from the 1960s.

It was the same shade of blue as their front door, now that he thought about it.

“You’re back!” said Rory with some surprise, and Tal wondered if the humans had assumed that he would be locked up as well. But no, he realized after a moment that the remark was aimed at the Doctor.

“Yeah, thought I’d keep hanging around here for a bit, with my new friend. If that’s alright? We could use the spare bedroom.”

Amy’s eyes practically turned into supernovas at this. “You dog! How long has this been going on for then?” she laughed. Not like she really believed it, but like teasing the Doctor about it was the obvious joke.

“Shut up, not like that,” said the Doctor, amicably enough. “We need a place to stay, and I need to build a terrarium for our flower friend.”

Rory frowned. “Wouldn’t you rather just stay in the TARDIS?”

The Doctor looked away. Not meeting Tal’s gaze.

It was fine.

“Not . . . right now.”

Rory blinked and exchanged a confused look with his wife. Amy shrugged. “Sure, we’d love it if you stayed here.” She waved Tal over. “How’d it go with UNIT?”

He winced. “I’ve had more productive meetings.”

“Ouch,” her expression was sympathetic. “Well, things will turn around.”

Tal stared at her. He couldn’t understand why the Doctor’s friends were being so kind to him.

She rested her chin on her hand, giving him a small smile, as though she knew what he was thinking. “If the Raggedy Man trusts you, that’s good enough for me.”

Tal raised an eyebrow.

“Did he never tell you how we met?”

Rory made dinner, pausing to ask if there was anything Kryptonians couldn’t eat. The Doctor put together a large glass tank full of dirt for their strange alien plant. And Amy sat with Tal-Rho in the garden while the sun set and told him all about her meeting the Doctor when she was a little girl. He was a ‘raggedy man’ who fell out of the sky. They were letting them see a piece of their lives, he realized. Then Amy poured them each a glass of wine and told him about a whale carrying a city in space.

They put the terrarium in the spare room, against the wall at the foot of the bed. Tal watched the flower scuttle back and forth on its spidery vine legs, exploring its new home. The Doctor had added pebbles and moss and other plants. It seemed happy enough.

The Doctor kicked off his shoes and threw his tweed jacket over the back of a chair before flopping down on the bed. He crossed his ankles. His gaze tracked Tal across the room. “Are you sure you don’t want to lie down for a couple hours?”

The room was too small to pace. He frowned, straightening the Doctor’s jacket on the chair, just for something to do with his hands.

“Yes, I know, I know: Kryptonians don’t need sleep,” he said, not unkindly. “Still. Long day.”

Tal stared at the door. But if he went out now, he might disturb Amy and Rory, who were settling into bed in the next room. Didn’t the Doctor know how difficult this was for him? He was tired. He felt scraped raw and stretched thin by UNIT’s relentless questioning. He didn’t know how to interpret the Ponds with their easy kindness and hospitality. And he had to keep the memories away, because if he let them take over his eyes would burn again.

“Tal.”

He was squeezing his eyes shut. Taking a deep breath, he opened them. “I’m fine.”     

The Doctor lay there, looking at him. “You know there’s nothing wrong with needing a bit of rest.”

“I can’t.”

The Doctor sat up, watching him worriedly.

Fuck. His voice had cracked, hadn’t it? As raw and ragged as he felt.

Tal kept his eyes focused on the terrarium. He had slept – slept when he was imprisoned by the DOD, the red solar lamps and blue kryptonite keeping him powerless. More than the nightmares, it gave Mitch Anderson, the sadist who had replaced General Lane, seemingly irresistible opportunities to send in his goons. Not that Tal needed to be asleep to be at their mercy, but something about catching him off guard had delighted Anderson all the more.

Tal would wake up being thrown to the floor, a boot in his gut or slamming into the side of his head. They would beat him and worse. He couldn’t think of it now, his chest too tight. The air suddenly too thin.  

“Talk to me,” said the Doctor gently.

The strength went out of his limbs and Tal found himself sitting on the end of the bed. The Doctor crawled over to him. Tal didn’t look at him, watching the purple-blue orchid thing instead. Even the flower was burrowing its roots in and appearing to sleep for the night.

“I don’t like it,” he said finally. “It’s dangerous. You leave yourself vulnerable.”

The Doctor blinked slowly at him, not saying anything for a moment. “I don’t understand . . . Tal, are you worried that Amy and Rory will hurt you?”

Amy and Rory? No. Of course not. It was ridiculous when the Doctor said it. But Tal’s shoulders tensed rather than relaxing. He angled himself away from the Doctor, shame coursing through him. Ridiculous. Anderson wasn’t here. Anderson was dead.

“I’m not trying to dismiss what you’re feeling,” said the Doctor. “But I promise that you’re safe here.”

Unless UNIT comes hunting for me with their kryptonite, Tal thought.

“I’m here. I’ll wake you if . . .”

“If they come to hurt me?” Tal asked.

He couldn’t stand to see the tears in the Doctor’s eyes, wanted to get up and leave, except – the Doctor’s hand on his arm stilled him. “Yes, yes, I’ll wake you up. Come here. For God’s sake. Come here, now.”

The Doctor slid back up the mattress. Tal glanced at him, confused as the Doctor opened his arms, wiggling his fingers in Tal’s direction.

Tal stared at him, mouth agape.  

“Tal. Here. Now.”

And that did something to him. He felt a tug in his stomach and warmth prickled the back of his neck. Tal moved carefully, not wanting to crush the Doctor, who drew him back and into his arms. The Doctor settled against the pillows and wrapped his arms around Tal.

Tal rested his head on the Doctor’s shoulder. He felt the warmth of him, the surprising solidity of having the other man at his back. The Doctor’s arms wrapped around his stomach. They were both fully clothed, but the Doctor’s left hand found Tal’s and the softness and warmth of the skin-to-skin contact was comforting. As was the steady thud of the Doctor’s two hearts – the rhythm so unfamiliar, it was impossible to mistake for human.

“Hush,” the Doctor murmured in his ear. “Relax now.”

Gradually, his eyes dropped closed on the dimly lit room. He could hear Amy and Rory softly breathing next door. The Doctor’s breath was warm puffs against his cheek. The Doctor’s arms were around him, holding him tightly.

~*~

The Doctor lay in the dark, holding Tal. He gazed into the shadows cast by car headlights moving across the window, thinking of the hollow look in Tal’s eyes when he had looked back at him. The anguish in his voice when he said he couldn’t sleep. Not because he wasn’t tired, but because it wasn’t safe.

Normally the Doctor would rather have been tinkering with something in the TARDIS, but Tal needed this. The Doctor held him while his breathing evened out, growing slower. When Tal stirred in the throes of a nightmare the Doctor brushed his forehead and murmured soothing words until it melted away and the deep, nourishing sleep returned.

He thought of Krypton, another world he had failed to save. He thought of other survivors of lost worlds, and there had been some, over the years. The night unravelled around him, leaving the Doctor with Tal’s breathing and his own swirling thoughts.

In the early morning hours, he heard Amy and Rory stir.

She poked her head in on the way by – their door was ajar, and it wasn’t as though it mattered to the Doctor. She looked confused and surprised, but smiled faintly at him, giving a little wave when he lifted a finger to his lips.

Later, with the sun slipping into the room like warm honey, the Doctor gently extricated himself from the bed. He managed it without rousing Tal and was surprised that the Kryptonian had slept through Amy and Rory getting showered, dressed and making breakfast. It was a clear sign of how exhausted the Kryptonian was, the stress and the lingering effects of kryptonite poisoning catching up with him.

The Doctor tiptoed out of the bedroom and made his way downstairs, as quite as a cat in carpet slippers. He found Amy in the kitchen. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” she passed him a mug of tea, which he accepted gratefully.

He sensed her looking at him curiously while he blew on the tea. “What’s on your mind, Pond?”

“Nothing!” A beat passed. “Okay, what was that, up there?” she whispered, eyes glowing with excitement. “Because I was joking before, about you and Mr. Tall, Dark, and Deadly but . . .”

“We were just sleeping together.” There was a moment of confusion while he watched her dissolve into helpless giggles, before he remembered the connotations of that particular phrase in this time and place. “Not like that!”

Amy nodded, wiping her eyes. “It’s just – you know that would be fine, right?” She hugged him tightly. “I love you, Raggedy Man.”

“I love you, Pond.” He kissed her forehead. “Always.”

“Sooo . . .” she leaned back, studying him intently. “Tal-Rho. Is he the new us?”

The Doctor frowned, breaking away from her so he could return to his tea. “I’m not replacing you, Pond. Not ever.”

She gave him a look. A look that plainly said I love you but you’re being ridiculous. “You know that Rory and I love you. And we loved traveling with you. But our lives are here now. And . . . well, I don’t want you to be all alone out there.”

She paused, regarding him with a thoughtfulness that made him wary. Amelia Pond was the first face that this face saw, and she knew him better than anyone. “He must be special, because I’ve never seen you slow down like that for anyone.”

The Doctor’s brow furrowed. “He needed it.”

“Yeah. But sitting still drives you absolutely batty. And you sat there with him all night?” She sipped her tea. “So, therefore, he’s special.”

“Everyone’s special,” the Doctor frowned into his mug, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Yeah, but he’s the most special. Isn’t he?”

“Should you be this smug about it?” he asked, exasperated. “Aren’t you my mother-in-law?”

“Please, we all know River would be fine with sharing.”

Well, she was probably right about that.

Still, he wasn’t sure. What was Tal-Rho to him? A project? A companion? A boyfriend? What did Tal want? He responded well to his touch, yes. But was that just out of desperation? Because the Doctor was there? This was even more confusing than that time he accidentally built a robot boyfriend. But he’d best figure it out before he accidentally caused Tal more hurt.

“I hate it when you’re right, Pond.”

Chapter Text

Tal-Rho awakened from the first genuinely refreshing sleep he’d had in a long time. Each time his mind had stirred toward consciousness, he had sensed the Doctor’s calming presence and been able to sink back into the comfort of oblivion. The twin heartbeats created an unusual metronome and the featherlight touches of the Doctor’s fingers brushing his hair had a soporific effect. The familiar nightmares had not threatened: no Mitch Andersons, or faceless scientists, no soldiers.

He was still surprised and a little taken aback to find himself opening his eyes to the golden sunlight of Earth and the realization that he had slept through the night and well into the morning. The smell of coffee, tea and toast wafted up the stairs.

Even though he was alone on the bed, he was not deserted; he could easily hear the Doctor chatting with Amy on the floor below. Not that he needed the Doctor to be there in order to relax, he told himself sternly.

But he did.

Tal groaned and rubbed his face. What in Rao’s name was happening to him? It was foolish, allowing himself to feel so much for any one person. Let alone such a strange, silly man as the Doctor . . .

He had longed for Kal-El to join him as a brother, and Kal had his own family. He had longed to finally meet his mother, and she had been a disappointment. The hologram could not give him what he needed from her. He squeezed his eyes shut. As though that would block out the realization that nothing the AI could have said would have been enough to mend the pit in his chest, formed from a lifetime of her abandonment.

And Zeta had held her hologram over his head for decades . . . the promise of a mother. A family.

Zeta.

Tal had only ever been a tool for his father. Lesla and the other Kryptonians had viewed him similarly – in terms of what he represented and their future victories, not as a person. Not as an individual. He was supposed to die for them, anyway.

But did the Doctor truly see him? Or was he just a project? Something to be fixed? Good men were forever trying to fix things. And that meant when he was no longer broken, he would be discarded. Again.

It felt nice to be held and touched gently, like he wasn’t some raving lunatic or villain. Like he was just a man. He hadn’t known how much he craved such simple pleasures. Just as he craved the way the Ponds looked at him – with no fear or resentment in their eyes. 

When Tal walked down the stairs and stepped into the clean and brightly lit kitchen, Amy smiled at him and offered him a cup of tea. Five minutes later, he found himself sitting at the breakfast counter, eating a piece of toast like his being there was perfectly normal.

The Doctor was tinkering with some new device but paused long enough to give him a brief smile. It struck Tal that he had never – and mostly likely would never – have such an experience in the Kent farmhouse. He understood the reasons for that. He had well and truly ruined his chances of having the family he had always longed for, but the ache never quite abated.

“Rory’s at work,” Amy explained to Tal. “And I’m supposed to be writing an article on a new café that’s opened in Shoreditch. Wanna come with?”

He stared back at her, surprised to be asked. He supposed there was no reason he couldn’t put on his new Morgan Smythe disguise and join her. Still, he glanced at the Doctor, expecting the other man to object. True, the Doctor had given Tal the perception filter glasses in the first place, but London was not Carbury, and UNIT deemed him unsafe and unstable . . .

“Oh, go on, then,” the Doctor shook his head, barely glancing up from the small metal box. Sparks spat from exposed wires, and he frowned down at the contraption. “I’ll be here for awhile yet. Making a Varga-detector. It detects Varga. Well, it should. At the moment, all it does is boil eggs and download comics from the future. Still. Can’t have Miss Moss running amuck all over the countryside . . . but that’s for later. Or possibly earlier.”

He blinked at them, as though surprised they were still sitting there, and waved at them dismissively. “Go!”

Amy rolled her eyes, nudging the Doctor with her foot. “Hey, don’t be Mr. Grumpypants because of . . . that thing we talked about earlier, yeah?”

The Doctor’s wide mouth tightened for a fraction of a second, before he relaxed and shook his head. With a wry half-smile, he said. “Don’t meddle, Pond.”

She smirked at the Doctor, the two exchanging a look Tal couldn’t quite read. But she also patted Tal’s arm while she walked past and Tal felt that she was, for some baffling reason, on his side in this thing.

Whatever this thing was.

Amy soon proved to be an entertaining companion. Tal found her surprisingly easy to get along with as they took the tube and she pointed out various passengers whom she felt might have been improved by Eradication. He knew she was joking, but it was still odd to have someone laugh about it.

He could almost believe he was Morgan Edge again, except that Edge hadn’t used public transportation in years and people had never laughed with him. Not even Lesla Larr would have joked about the Eradicator. He’d had acquaintances, business partners, sycophants, and, finally, soldiers, but no friends. Morgan Smythe was already doing better in that regard, even if he was merely borrowing a friend from the Doctor.

Shoreditch was bustling. They passed a large flower market, art galleries in old brick buildings, bakeries giving off divine aromas, and a half-dozen quirky cafes before they finally found the particular one that Amy wanted to write about. It was small – a tall, narrow building - and already packed with a mixture of Londoners and tourists. The decorations were eclectic, and antique wingback armchairs seemed to make the tight space even more crowded. They ordered lattes at the counter and Amy looked around, carefully jotting notes on her phone.

Occasionally, people recognized her, and Tal learned that she had been a model, before turning to writing. “It’s mostly articles and blog posts, stuff like that. I’d like to try my hand at writing a novel someday, though.”

He tried to imagine what it was like to have dreams and goals that ordinary.

“That sounds . . . nice,” he hazarded, then realized he’d left it a beat too long.

Luckily, Amy looked more amused than offended, as they found a small table. “I mean, it’s not world domination, or anything,” she teased.

He grimaced.

“So, what’s next for Mr. Morgan Smythe?”

He sighed, frowning down into his mug. “I don’t know. Everything Morgan Edge did was to a purpose.” He wondered how Kal-El had landed on a career in journalism. Amy was a writer, too. How did they know what they wanted to do? How did anybody know what they wanted to do?

“Well, there’s no rush,” said Amy.

He glanced around the café, at all the humans with their lives and careers and dreams. The people Kal-El chose to protect. The people the Doctor was so fond of, despite their abundant flaws.

“They look like Time Lords.”

Hell, they looked like Kryptonians, but that only hurt, as far as Tal was concerned. They were a constant reminder of everything he had lost and his own personal failure to resurrect it. Earth civilization was unimpressive – Kal had no memories of Krypton, but Tal had seen the glittering domes firsthand. Crystalline spires that rose as though out of a dream, in an array of colours that danced across the thin mists of clouds. He had looked out upon the glittering lights of Argolis at night and watched the elevated skywalks moving in steady silver streams from his nursery window during the day. The sky had been dotted with little messenger robots, glinting gold and silver and buzzing through the air like swarms of giant bees.

He wanted to be good enough that Kal would let him go free, but he didn’t want to be human, exactly, either. It felt like a betrayal of his memories and, apart from the Doctor’s friends, none of them had ever treated him with much kindness. Tal swallowed, stomach cramping, and cursed himself for his failure with UNIT. The Doctor might have been blasé about it, but Tal had acted foolishly, allowing his emotions to get the better of him at a crucial moment.

Kate Stewart was probably already contacting the Americans and asking for reinforcements.

“Hey,” said Amy softly, and he realized he’d been stewing for the last several moments. She only looked concerned, though. Not frightened. “It will be okay. Trust the Doctor.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, beneath the glasses. He did trust the Doctor. That was the most frightening thing of all.

“You know what . . .” she turned her screen off, before tossing her phone in her bag. “I’ve seen enough of this place. Let’s get out of here and engage in some good old-fashioned retail therapy.”

Tal blinked at her.

“You need a new wardrobe, right? And that is one thing I don’t trust the Doctor to help you with.” She paused, considering him with a sharp, appraising gaze. “We need to find something that brings out your blue eyes.”

With that she grinned and ushered for him to follow. “Come on! Chop, chop! Let’s hit the shops!”

~*~

The Doctor was beginning to feel stifled. He thought he’d been doing better, learning and adjusting since the Year of the Slow Invasion, when he had first made the effort to live his days one-after-the-other in linear fashion with his human friends. But the old wanderlust – never entirely gone – was tugging at him again. Had always been his problem, ever since his younger days, back when he was an old man.

He was itchy and irritable and could feel the TARDIS engines humming like breath, like a heartbeat, like a siren call always in the back of his head. Come and see, come and see . . .

Still, what could he do? Amy and Rory didn’t want to risk their lives traipsing madly across the universe anymore, and Rory’s dad had a point – people had died before, or been lost on other worlds, in other universes. He didn’t want that to happen to them.

And he was the one who had made the rule that Tal-Rho could not be trusted with access to Time Lord technology. He had expected more push back on that. Maybe he had even half-ways wanted a fight, which he could . . . what? Use as an excuse to abandon Tal, when the man was so clearly trying to change?

The Doctor threw down the sonic and ran his hands through his hair, disappointed with himself. He could do patient. He could do linear. He’d been stranded on Earth before, in the 1970s, and it hadn’t killed him. He’d worn a fun cape, practiced his Venusian Akido, hung around with UNIT. Good times.   

Tal hadn’t brought the TARDIS up again. He seemed resigned to the idea that the Doctor didn’t trust him with it and hadn’t asked him to change his mind. The lack of pushback was beginning to make the Doctor’s stomach knot.

He wanted to trust Tal. The more time they spent together, the more he saw through the Kryptonian’s prickly exterior. But the consequences if he was wrong . . .

The Kryptonians and their metagenetic anomalies under yellow suns were too much for this planet, shouldn’t have been there anyway – a hitch in the cosmic timeline. If the Doctor’s people were still around, it wouldn’t have been allowed to happen. But what was the alternative? Krypton, the planet, another victim of the Time War, and he wasn’t going to be the executioner of her last two surviving sons. Besides, he couldn’t exactly object to Superman flying about saving kittens from trees and stopping bank robbers. And Tal was a complicated man, but not an evil one. 

The Doctor spent the morning running around the same useless thoughts, while he took apart his machine again. The jiggery-pokery normally helped him clear his head. Still, when the pieces were spread out on the kitchen counters, he frowned down at them sullenly instead.

The Kryptonians had been a clever bunch, had paralleled a lot of Time Lord technology, though not the dimensional stuff, thank goodness. But they’d used devices similar to genetic looms and were developing mind matrices near the end. Even the AI holograms were something Time Lords had dabbled with, though they didn’t use them to preserve their dead – different cultures, but oddly similar for all that.

Given time, he was certain that Tal possessed the capability to learn more about the TARDIS than the Doctor wanted him to, just by being a passenger. And a Kryptonian who could travel through time and space had the potential to be a worse threat than even the Master.

And yet another part of him – foolish, rebellious, dreamer part – wanted nothing more than drag Tal aboard and show him everything! He wanted to watch Tal’s reactions - to impart some magic and wonder into the life of a man who had had such a joyless childhood and adolescence. He picked up the sonic, twirling it absently around his fingers. It would be irresponsible, surely . . .

Yes.

No.

He couldn’t decide.  

Mid-afternoon, Amy and Tal returned. They must have gone shopping as well, because Tal’s arms were full of brightly coloured bags. The Doctor smiled to himself at how quickly Pond had gotten the Kryptonian wrapped around her finger. He pushed the finished Varga-detector aside and stood, stretching. His floppy fringe fell into his eyes for a moment.

Linear, he told himself. He could do linear.

“Have fun?” he asked.

Amy swung over to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Mmm. I got a call from my agent, though.”

“Oh?” the Doctor’s brow scrunched. He tried to think of what she was doing now, not the fashion model stuff or the kissogram thing.

“They want me to write a travel guide for Metropolis! City of to~morrow~!” she sang.

“Ah.”

He wondered if Tal was aware that he radiated worry quite magnificently from across the room. 

“You never took us there, you know,” Amy mock-pouted, pressing a finger into the Doctor’s chest.

How could he explain that Metropolis was another time aberration, showing up as people forgot about the Daleks and the Cybermen invasions? Something spit up by the crack in time rather than erased by it, and cemented when he’d rebooted the universe. He had wanted to take her to New York, instead. But then Carbury had happened, and everything had gone sideways since then.

It was a funny thing, being a Time Lord. He could feel the timeline changing, shifting subtly like a river bubbling around him. Even the days he hadn’t lived yet.

Tal was watching him, glacial blue eyes too sharp and careful. The Kryptonian noticed everything.

“You have your thinking face on,” Amy tilted her head. “Anyway, something else happened . . .” she glanced at Tal, who stiffened noticeably. She saw it too and frowned in confusion. “It’s a good thing! On our way back, some kid fell off the platform, in front of the train-”

The Doctor watched Tal’s expression, his keen embarrassment. Knew Amy wouldn’t have called it a ‘good thing’ unless the child was saved, which meant Tal had done it – so why the dodgy look? The silent plea to Amy to stop talking?

“Tal saved him! It was incredible!” She noticed his expression too. “Why – why are you getting upset?”

The Doctor considered Tal. He didn’t think he was that keen on the superheroics, regardless of what he’d said to UNIT. And indeed, he took a shuddering breath and avoided their gazes while carefully putting down the shopping bags. “It was nothing. My brother . . .” he stopped, frowned and shook his head.

What? His brother did more? His brother would have done it better? His brother, apparently, hadn’t been there.

“Did anyone see . . . ?”

“No,” said Amy, still looking concerned over Tal’s responses. “He did the whole superspeed thing – woosh!” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “It was totally amazing! ‘course then we had to endure an entire ride back listening to people debate whether it was Superman or the Flash.”   

“Well,” the Doctor cleared his throat. Tal still seemed – worried? Unsettled? “Recognition’s not the important part.”

He crossed the room purposely, until he stood toe-to-toe with Tal. Who continued to avoid his gaze. Slowly, the Doctor brushed his hands up Tal’s arms until the other man finally focused on him. The tips of his ears turned pink which was, frankly, adorable.

“I’m proud of you,” said the Doctor.

“I don’t -” he swallowed. “It wasn’t anything. It was so easy for me.”

The Doctor hummed. He could have launched into a whole speech about the importance of a single life but sensed that would only embarrass Tal further. Instead, he grabbed his hands and brought them to his lips, watching with amusement while Tal’s pupils dilated.

“Very proud,” he murmured.

If Tal only saved the occasional bystander from an unfortunate accident now and then, that was still infinitely preferable to the open hostility he’d previously held for the human race. 

Amy seemed to be making a point of not staring at them, riffling through one of the shopping bags. She pulled out a men’s terracotta button-up. When the Doctor released him, she held it up in front of Tal. “What do you think, Doctor? Doesn’t this bring out his blue eyes?”

The Doctor smiled and nodded, pleased that the two were getting along. Especially as it was actual human contact for Tal. Maybe he’d even saved the person to impress her, which was fine. The motives didn’t matter to the Doctor so much as the result, especially when the result was a child alive in the world who wouldn’t have been otherwise.

Rory came home from the hospital, and they celebrated Amy’s new book deal and Tal’s rescue. There was champagne which, although the Doctor found most alcohol disgusting, at least had bubbles in it, and fish fingers and custard.

Tal gave them all a mystified look. “You . . . like this?”

“It’s tradition,” said Amy, nudging the plate of fish fingers in Tal’s direction. Tal glanced down at it looking slightly appalled.

Rory sighed and said: “It’s not too bad. You get used to it.”

Before the Doctor could object that there was anything to ‘get used to’ – it was perfect – Amy threw an arm around him and laid her head on his shoulder. “So! What about Metropolis?”

The Doctor concentrated on dipping his fish in the custard for a moment. Normally, he would have loved to take them. Pile Amy and Rory into the TARDIS and skip over to the United States . . . but he couldn’t just ignore Tal. He supposed they could do it the human way and take an 8-hour flight, but the idea of doing that made him itchy again.

“It isn’t that impressive,” Tal scoffed. And for a moment, the Doctor wasn’t sure whether he meant fish fingers or the city. “London is better, anyway.”

The city, then.

The Doctor, Amy and Rory all stared at him until he sighed and – clearly with great reluctance – took a bite of custard-smeared fish. Tal’s nose wrinkled and he muttered something about the Doctor being mad and the Ponds being mad and possibly the entire Earth being filled with completely batty people who weren’t even fit for Eradication.

Amy was clearly more put off by the Doctor than Tal. Her chin dug into his shoulder. “Come on! It’s a great opportunity for me. In addition to the book, I was thinking I could sell a whole series of articles – ‘10 coolest spots to hang out in the City of Tomorrow’ – or, or! – ‘10 best spots to catch a glimpse of the Man of Steel in action.’ Do you think we would?”

“Ah, BuzzFeed lists. The height of modern literature,” Tal rolled his eyes, placing half a fish-stick delicately back on his plate.

“We still need to find the Varga,” said the Doctor diplomatically.

She frowned. “Well . . . I guess. I still think it would be fun for us all to go together.”

“Pond and her harem, you mean,” the Doctor teased.

“What?” Rory flustered, looking alarmed between Amy and a scowling Tal-Rho. “Is there something I should be worried about?”

The Doctor rolled his eyes while Amy gave her husband an epically unimpressed look. “Seriously, Rory?” She waved a fishfinger between Tal and the Doctor, dripping custard on the table. Rory’s brow wrinkled for a second as Tal blushed to the tips of his ears.

“Oh. OH. Sorry. Right. Um, very good, then.”

Tal dragged a hand down his face. He gave the Doctor a questioning look. The Doctor shrugged, picking another piece of fish off the plate.

They still hadn’t labelled anything, but he was beginning to think they should.

Later, the Doctor found Tal sitting in the guest room, watching the alien orchid exploring its new habitat. Twiglets like little fingers prodded against the glass. “What’s little Philbert up to?”

Tal turned to him, eye twitching.

“Yes,” said the Doctor gravely. “I named our plant-son.”

The other man let out a huff but wore a bemused smile when he turned back to the glass tank. “I see. He seems pleased enough. Though it isn’t freedom.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to keep him in there forever,” said the Doctor. “Though, I’m not entirely sure how one goes about socializing a plant.”

Tal hummed in acknowledgement. “I never realized the universe was so . . . vast. I’m sure you find that rather silly. But the way Zeta spoke of it . . . or his AI, rather . . . things always seemed so simple.”

The Doctor didn’t laugh at him, not at the tired lines around Tal’s eyes, or the worry at the corners of his mouth. The Kryptonian had made terrible choices, but he had had the courage of his convictions, willing to give his own life to resurrect the other Kryptonians. There was more good in him than Tal himself wanted to admit, the Doctor was certain of it.

“I’m glad you’re seeing his lies for what they are, now,” he said at last. “Because the reality is, that the universe is mind-staggeringly big and complex, and full of beauty.”

Tal, still watching the flower, appeared to absorb this, but did not appear cheered by the thought. His mouth tightened in a thin grimace. The Doctor worried that Tal was slipping away from him, falling down corridors of dark thought. He crossed the room and sat next to him on the end of the mattress. Reaching over, he trailed his fingers along the back of Tal’s neck, lightly scratching his scalp and watched as Tal silently shuddered and leaned into the touch.  

“Penny for your thoughts, my dear?”

Tal’s fingers were laced loosely in front of him. He stared at Philbert so intently that the Doctor was a bit concerned he should have made the terrarium heat-vision proof. But eventually the Kryptonian dropped his head and sighed. “Why?”

The Doctor pursed his lips, but before he could ask Tal to be more specific . . .

“Why any of this? Why call me ‘dear,’ and introduce me to your ‘precious’ human friends, and intercede with UNIT on my behalf? Why give me a chance?”

 “Why not?” came the kneejerk reply.

A flippant mistake and Tal’s eyes were already so haunted. The Doctor exhaled deeply and took one of the Kryptonian’s hands between both of his. “Because I understand. Because I’ve been where you’re pinned. Because I’ve done worse things than you can even imagine, Tal-Rho of Krypton.”

Blue eyes flickered to him, surprised and uncertain. “But you’re . . .”

“Oh, I’m not a hero. Not like your Superman. Don’t ever think that. I’ve saved the Earth, yes. But I’ve done a lot more than that . . .” he sighed, brow furrowed. Remembering Demon’s Run, and more, besides.

(. . . Gallifrey.)

“I’ve been told I make them so afraid.”

He watched the pain and understanding echoed back in Tal’s eyes and held his gaze.

“I am a madman. A traveller. A cosmic hobo. I’ve upended lives. I’ve ruined lives. I’ve waged war. And I’ve watched entire worlds burn to cinders and scatter in space. I understand. Just as I understand that you’ve done unforgivable things.” He squeezed his hand tightly. “And I forgive you. Let’s not compare sins, Tal. Regardless of what UNIT thinks they know, I’ll still have you beat.”

Tal stopped breathing for a second. There was a question in his eyes. Then his head dipped lower.

The kiss was brief and chaste. Tentative. More of a question than a kiss.

The Doctor raised his hands to frame Tal’s face. “It’s alright,” he said.

He lifted his face and kissed Tal back more assuredly.

This incarnation had been more fumbling with love, at first, but that had been early days and River Song had been an excellent teacher. He slid a hand around the back of Tal’s neck. Since he couldn’t move Tal, he used it to draw himself closer, deepening the kiss.

Tal’s hands were at his waist, holding so carefully, as though afraid the Doctor would shatter. The Doctor pulled back slightly to check on him. Tal stared. His eyes such a clear, light blue and so very worried. “Doctor, I . . .”

Leaning forward, the Doctor pressed another quick kiss to his lips, the corner of his mouth, his jaw. “Relax, dear.”

And Tal’s breath caught in a sound that was not quite a sob and not quite a groan. He shifted on the bed, hands sliding beneath the Doctor’s jacket, unclipping his suspenders. Tal pulled him closer, until the Doctor straddled his lap. The Doctor, peppering his face with kisses and licks and bites. It wasn’t like biting stone or steel, the flesh surprisingly soft and pliable. He wondered, faintly, if Kryptonians, on a subconscious level, were capable of making themselves vulnerable.

After a moment, when they both paused to catch their breath and reassess, Tal’s eyes flickered over his face. “Doctor,” he swallowed. “Is this . . . anything? Can this be anything?”

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully, running his fingers down the sides of Tal’s face. “I can’t . . . hmm.”

He thought. He’d told Rose Tyler “you can grow old with me, but I can’t grow old with you,” and it had been true. But a Kryptonian absorbing yellow sun energy could live . . . for a long time. Even he didn’t know how long.

And it wasn’t like River, either, whom he always met out-of-order. Who had died the first time he’d met her and so every subsequent meeting became tinged with growing sorrow and nostalgia and dread.

“I don’t know,” he repeated, watching Tal’s eyes. “But I’m willing to try.”

Tal leaned forward and kissed him again, sucking on his lower lip. The Doctor wriggled on top of him, rubbing them together and Tal whimpered against his lips. He grinned, reaching down to tug at Tal’s sweater. He pulled it up, the Kryptonian obediently raising his arms as he slid the clothing off.

Tal likewise pushed the Doctor’s tweed jacket off his shoulders. Tugged at his bowtie, the material sliding loose around his throat.

“Okay, lie back, you,” he patted Tal, since pushing wouldn’t do much.

Tal obeyed with a dazed look, lying back against the bed. The Doctor crawled over him, exploring the slender, muscular torso inch by inch, kissing and licking bare skin as Tal’s breathing became more ragged. He reached the nub of one hard nipple and sucked.

Tal shivered with pleasure beneath him, hands roaming across the Doctor’s back before burying in his hair. He nearly purred in pleasure . . .

When a scream from the street interrupted them.

Humans. Always the bloody humans, wandering off. Getting into trouble.

Both he and Tal froze for a second, listening. He was about to ask if the Kryptonian heard anything else, when more screams followed, punctuated by loud, tinny crashes. It sounded like rubbish bins were being knocked over and mailboxes crunched.

The Doctor sighed, sliding off Tal.

“Rao, damn it . . .” Tal muttered at the ceiling.

The Doctor couldn’t help smirking as he glanced down at the obvious arousal straining against the front of Tal’s trousers. Shimmying closer to the window, he flicked the corner of the curtain, glancing down onto the street below.

Amy and Rory’s neighbours were running in terror from a hulking mass of twisting vines that lurched unsteadily up the lane. His brow rose as he watched the vegetation churn and swell. It was eight feet tall and had become such a round, twisted mass that the original human form of Moss was no longer visible.

“It’s Moss . . .” he said, glancing back at the bed.

Tal was dragging himself up, apparently trying to will away his erection with deep breaths. “Doctor . . .” he said, frowning. “That device you were working on . . .”

“Any chance I inverted the polarity, so that the signal which was meant to detect her whereabout actually produced a low-level signal detectable by the Varga, inadvertently giving away our location instead?” he clicked his tongue. “Well, maybe.”

Tal, sitting up against the headboard, gave a put-upon sigh.

“Accidentally!” the Doctor’s hands flapped.

The Kryptonian appeared to be staring at the wall, but since he had x-ray vision, the Doctor had no doubt he was watching the monster’s rampage. Indeed, a small line creased between his eyes. “Doctor, you said the Varga absorb other forms of organic life . . . would there be any advantage to it consuming synthetic material?”

“I shouldn’t think so,” he frowned, turning back to the window.

The mass of vines and leaves had come to a car parked in the neighbor’s driveway. It hesitated before the vehicle, appearing contemplative. Tendrils lashed out, wrapping around the metal and plastic frame.

A moment later the vehicle was pulled toward the mass and the Doctor winced at the crunch of metal and shattering glass. “On second thought . . .”

The Varga reared back, now it was fourteen feet tall, with gleaming shards of metal visible like armour plates between its flowering leaves. A pair of headlights emerged near the top, glowing like beaming eyes and the metal grilled was repurposed forming a sort of mouth.

Vine-arms lashed out, and the creature flailed, tearing chunks of masonry and siding loose from the nearest houses.

A fist banged on the bedroom door. “Doctor!” Amy shouted. “Stop making out with your sexy spaceman and do something!”

Outside, the Varga lumbered in drunken circles across the front garden, stomping and thrashing. The other Varga had been capable of coherent thought, so the Doctor was unsure what to make of this erratic behaviour. But Moss had seemed unwell, even back at the couples’ seminar, and he wondered if the ‘seeding’ process hadn’t worked properly with her.

Hurriedly gathering his jacket from the floor, he put it on, patting the pockets to find the sonic screwdriver. He was certain he would think of something extremely clever in a moment or two . . .

A rush of air ruffled his jacket and hair, and then Tal stood beside him, dressed in his black Kryptonian battle armour once again. The silver crest which stood for the House of Rho emblazoned upon it. Tal arched an eyebrow. “Shall I . . . destroy it?”

“Um, no,” the Doctor frowned. Still, he was pleased Tal had asked instead of just incinerating the poor thing. “There may still be a way to save Moss, or . . . whatever she’s become.”

“You want to save the plant monster?” Tal gave him a pained look.

“Well . . .” the Doctor thought about it for a second, retying his bowtie. “Sometimes, monsters are just friends you haven’t met.”

The Varga emitted a cry that was something between a roar and a car backfiring and the Ponds’ entire house shook.

“Doctor!” Rory shouted. “Anytime now with the brilliant plan!”

They met Amy and Rory on the landing. Amy clutched a frying pan. The front door lurched on its hinges. Cracks appeared in the brickwork around the doorframe. Pictures slid off the walls and shattered.

“Oh, I’m going to kill it!” said Amy, readying the cast iron.

Plaster shook loose from the ceiling.

The Doctor had to admit that he didn’t have any inspired ideas right at the moment. He was about to tell them to go out the back, when the door – and a large chunk of the wall – caved inward. Tal shot past them, grabbing the door mid-flight and shoving it back, into the seething mass of vegetable and metal.

The Varga screeched as it was slammed flat into the street, the door on top of it. The vines continued to scramble, and the bulk of it bucked and writhed, so Tal hadn’t squished it. He forced it away from the houses, using the door as a barrier until it shattered to splinters around him. Vines wrapped around his wrists and arms and the Kryptonian frowned, floating above it.

It took a moment for the Doctor to realize what was happening – the Varga’s vines couldn’t hurt the Kryptonian. But Tal had taken to heart the Doctor’s desire not to kill Moss, so he wasn’t doing anything to fight back. He kept the creature distracted, busy tangling uselessly around him in the middle of the street, rather than going after the nearby houses.

Up and down Primrose Hill, lights turned on and families huddled in doorways and at windows, watching. The Doctor raced back to the kitchen and scooped up his Varga summoning device. He began yanking out wires and rearranging bits. He was sonicking things back into place, when Amy caught up with him.

She hung in the doorframe, gesturing impatiently. “You can’t make him do all the work, Doctor! This is no way to start a relationship!”

“I know, I know!” he waved the sonic. “I just need to recalibrate, and I should be able to use the wavelength the Varga picked up to track us here to knock her out.”

He followed Amy back to the front of the house, stumbling over debris. It looked as though a bomb had gone off in their front room. There was a jagged hole where the front door had been. Bits of broken wall and shattered glass littered the floor, along with plaster dust. The Doctor waded through it, brandishing his improved device as it whirred and beeped.

Heading out onto the street, he approached the fight cautiously. A wiry tendril shot out from the Varga, wrapping around the Doctor’s ankle. It yanked him off balance and he fell flat on his back, the air knocked out of him and the device flying from his hands.

Amy and Rory ran for it. Amy battered the whiplike vines away with the frying pan, as Rory skidded to his knees, fumbling for the device.

Moss dragged the Doctor toward her. He twisted around, digging his fingers into the sticky vines, but they cut like wire through his trouser leg and into his skin.

“Doctor, what do we do?” Amy shouted.

Above him, Tal finally realized the Doctor was caught, but he was so entangled in green lines himself, that he couldn’t get free without hurting Moss. Her round, headlight eyes burned like searchlights at them.

“Hit the button!” the Doctor shouted. The vines pulled him closer. And he realized he had been wrong. The car grill wasn’t Moss’s new ‘mouth.’

A thick leafy veil parted before him, revealing a massive, tooth-lined maw. Thick coils of silvery saliva splattered the ground on either side of him. He scraped against the asphalt as the vines pulled him closer. “The red button! Hit the red button!”

Rory jabbed the button repeatedly. Finally, the box lurched to life in his hands, sending out a wave on a frequency only the Varga could hear. The creature shuddered, the headlights dimmed, and the vines went slack.

The Doctor hurriedly untied his foot. Tal pushed the limp coils off his arms with a disgusted scowl. He softly alighted near the Doctor. “. . . Alright?”

“Mm. Yes, that was completely, entirely how I planned it . . .” he dusted off his pants. “Now, we just need to -to -”

“Build an awfully big terrarium?” Tal asked, tilting his head contemplatively as he watched the heaving, twitching mass of vegetable and rearranged car parts.

“Oh, don’t get clever.”

“I could just toss it into the sun, you know.”

“I like that plan,” said Amy.

“No,” he shook his head, taking the device back from Rory and twisting the dials. “The Lovegood’s assistant, Moss, didn’t ask for this. If there’s a way to save her, I have to try.”

“Alright, Doctor, but whatever you’re going to do, better make it fast,” said Rory. “We’ve got company.”

He looked up, following Rory’s gaze to the end of the street.

Black vans were pulling up, sliding into place to block the way. A glance in the other direction showed that they were intending to barricade the street in both directions. “UNIT.”

Amy frowned. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

He ignored them. He couldn’t do anything about the black-suited figures running out of vans and jumping down from jeeps, and they wouldn’t be able to do anything to help him. So, the Doctor went back to working on the device. Now that he’d rendered Moss unconscious, he should be able to . . .

The alien lurched back to life. A vine lashed out, knocking the box out of the Doctor’s hands and smashing it to pieces against the road.

Tal placed himself between them before the bulk of the tendrils shot forward. They wrapped around the Kryptonian, covering him completely. He flew up, dragging the twisting Varga with him above the street. Metal bits crunched as it switched tactics, unwrapping itself from Tal, only to slam a chrome fender into his face. The metal smashed around Tal, who was unharmed but clearly growing annoyed.

Watching from the ground, the Doctor saw that he was fighting to keep the Varga aloft – where it had limited opportunity to hurt people. It didn’t work – vines unfurled in all directions, curling around Amy, Rory, and other people who had come out onto the street to watch.

People were lifted into the air, screaming. Amy and Rory stretched out their arms, reaching for each other – The ends of the vines smoldered and burst into flame, snapping off. The Varga’s would-be victims tumbled a few feet to the ground, bruised but otherwise unharmed, as fiery bits of plant matter fell around them.

Moss made that strange half-way metallic cry again.

Tal looked down at him. “I’m trying not to hurt, her, Doctor, but -”

“No, no, you did the right thing!” Bystanders could have been slammed into the ground, or pulled into the Varga’s hungry mouth. He wanted to save Moss, but not at the expense of more innocent lives.

In the sky, Moss was a ball of green with sharp silver glints of metal, heaving and undulating. Tal spun her, trying to keep her out of reach of the crowd below. More people emerged from their homes, checking on those who had almost been taken by the vines. Others stood in harms way, recording with their phones.

Amy and Rory gathered up the pieces of his device. “Can you do anything with this?”

He frowned, pulling out the sonic and scanning the smashed circuit board. “Maybe, if I can pull the correct biometric data and send it into-”

The smattering pop of gunfire, like fireworks, shattered his concentration. Moss’s green vines stiffened in pain. She roared and screeched. Tal dipped in the air, clearly trying to keep the twisting mass in hand.

The Doctor turned to the soldiers. “Stop it! You’re not helping -”

They ignored him and a second round of fire snapped through the air.

Something was very wrong. The bullets struck Tal, and he dropped Moss. She fell, writhing, only to smack into the middle of the roadway. She lay stunned as UNIT soldiers swarmed around.

But that wasn’t even what the Doctor was concentrating on, because Tal was sinking and then he was falling. “No! No, no, no -”

“How?” Amy gasped, as they ran to where Tal had collapsed beside the bulk of Moss.

“Doctor, he’s bleeding,” said Rory.

His hearts were trying to climb out of his throat. Breath burned. Tal, crumpled beneath them, face turning grey. Bits of bullet showed through the holes punched in his armor, glowing faintly – green.

Kryptonite.

The Doctor’s hands tore at his hair.

Rory, going into nurse mode, knelt beside Tal, checking his wounds.

The UNIT soldiers approached cautiously, their guns still drawn. Still pointed at them.

But they still thought of the Doctor as an ally, didn’t they? They wouldn’t shoot him – would they?

“Run,” he said.

Amy glanced at him. Their eyes met and he knew she knew what he was thinking – back garden, only a few yards, just a quick sprint across the road –

She slapped at Rory’s arm, looping her other hand under Tal’s shoulder as the Doctor shouted: “NOW!”

“Tal, you have to help -” Amy screamed.

Somehow, with Tal semi-conscious and stumbling, and the three of them all supporting him, they managed to move. Luckily, Moss had landed between them and UNIT, providing a bit of cover. Luckily, the TARDIS was close. The Doctor wondered how long before his luck would run out . . .

“Freeze!” someone shouted. Not Kate. Not Kate, but someone who worked for her.

“Not likely!” he shouted back.

So far, he was right, they weren’t firing directly at him. Maybe Kate still saw him as a friend. Or maybe the kryptonite bullets were too expensive to waste.

Moss twitched, and the soldiers were forced to be careful navigating around the still-moving vines. He felt bad for her, he did, he was so sorry, but . . . Tal’s blood spread across his hands.

He had saved everyone on Primrose Hill, and they were going to put him down like a rabid animal. Because they were afraid.

They trampled Amy’s flowers.

“Tal, Tal, hang on,” she was saying again and again, bracing him like a crutch on one side. Rory was on the other. The humans stumbled under the Kryptonian’s weight and that was with Tal helping as much as he could.

“Keep going!” the Doctor shouted, darting around them.

Tal’s eyes were half-open, bleary. He gasped, pale and sweating. Mumbled something like, “. . . shed?”

The TARDIS stood there, in the Ponds’ back garden. Serene and utterly safe. Gunfire behind them – either they were putting Moss out of her misery, or they had changed their mind and were firing at him and his friends. He didn’t stop to check, unlocking the TARDIS and throwing the door open.

Tal, shuddering and trembling, couldn’t keep himself up anymore. Amy and Rory couldn’t hold him. Luckily, the TARDIS was there. He slipped from their arms and fell through the door, landing heavily on the infirmary floor. Amy and Rory leapt over him, the door swinging shut behind them to the sounds of gunfire and men shouting.

Instantly, the chaos, the noise, was cut-off.

Amy collapsed against the wall, gasping and sobbing, holding her waist. Tal’s blood cut a bright streak across her shirt. “Oh my God . . . is he . . .?”

Rory examined Tal. “No exit wounds. We need to turn him over.”

The Doctor nodded, trying to wrestle the mess of his thoughts into order. Trying not to think how Tal trusted him, Tal trusted him, and liked him, and maybe even . . . Ran his hands through his hair, tugging his fringe out of his eyes. “Yes, yes. It’s kryptonite, in the bullets. Poisonous to Kryptonians. We have to get it out. All of it.”

Rory glanced around them. “We’re in the sickbay. The door doesn’t normally lead to sickbay.”

“She knew, the TARDIS knew -” he muttered, kneeling beside Rory at Tal’s side. With the two of them pushing and Amy pulling, they were able to wrestle him onto his back.

“We’re not going to be able to get him onto the table,” said Amy.

“Doesn’t matter,” he took a deep breath, exhaled shakily.

Despite the name he’d chosen, he rarely did much medical-related work. “Get me the laser cutty thing with the red handle.” He couldn’t take his eyes off Tal.

The Kryptonian’s breathing was shallow, skin taken on an ashen pallor.

“And the electric scalpel – it’s the one that looks like -” he made a squiggly sort of gesture.

“What’s the cutter for?” Amy asked, lifting it off the shelf. A hot blue light erupted from the end when she turned it on.

“We’ve got to slice the armour off. I know it looks like leather, but it’s tougher than that.”

Rory quickly washed his hands and returned, meeting the Doctor’s panicked gaze with calm assurance. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s alright. You’re the Doctor, I’m a nurse. We can do this.”

The Doctor swallowed, took a deep breath, and told his hands that they were definitely, under no circumstances, allowed to shake.

“We can save him,” said Rory.

“We will save him,” said Amy, bringing the laser up to slice through the material of Tal’s black coat.

The Doctor nodded, picking the scalpel off the tray.

~*~

Tal-Rho awoke in a strange place.

The lights were too bright, and after a moment of blinking, he realized he was in some kind of hospital room. He hated hospital rooms.

He was lying on the floor, though. And he was alone.

After a moment, he sat up. He was shirtless, his torso had been bandaged, though he could tell he no longer needed the wrappings and gauze. His Kryptonian healing must have kicked in as soon as the kryptonite was removed.

Kryptonite bullets . . . again! . . . he scowled.

Humans . . .

His head throbbed with a residual effect from the poisoning. He rubbed a hand over his chest. Last time humans had shot him full of kryptonite, his brother had removed it, saving his life.

They’re never going to accept you, always going to hate you, said a voice in his head.

But . . . someone had saved him. And he didn’t think it was Kal-El this time.

His memories following the fight with Moss were fragmented by the trauma of his Kryptonite injuries. He remembered UNIT’s vehicles pulling up, their uniformed soldiers spilling out, stomping over the carefully kept gardens of Primrose Hill. Civilians scattering. But he’d been too distracted to pay them proper attention, trying his best not to hurt the creature, while also keeping it from attacking the Doctor and his friends.

He'd been foolish. UNIT had kryptonite bullets, too.

Slowly picking himself up off the floor, Tal looked around the room. He didn’t like medical rooms. The shiny equipment in clean glass cabinets reminded him of the “doctors” who had examined him in his cage in the air raid shelter. Sharp and gleaming tools of torture and dissection. They’d broken his fingers just to marvel at how they healed. They’d cut him open to see if his organs matched theirs.

As he thought that, the glass occluded before his sight.

Tal blinked, staring at suddenly opaque white cabinets, and frowned harder. 

There was a medical examination table, and he used it to support himself. A bank of monitors displayed some sort of diagnostic tool, though the symbols that floated across the interface were circles and spirals. Two overhead scanners rested inert against the ceiling. And something that looked like it would be fastened over someone’s head with metal and wires and screws. He grimaced, pushing the object out of his way.

Tal circumnavigated the bed, past a washing station, and found the door. There was a split-second where he was afraid that he would be locked in. Afraid that this was somewhere in the Black Archive, and he was trapped.

The door slid open automatically at his approach and he let out a breath of relief. There was a long corridor with odd, hexagonal walls. The metal was decorated with geometric patterns; the shapes raised in bronze. Some kind of metal, he thought, realizing he couldn’t see through it. Lighting was provided by gently glowing circles embedded in the walls. Tal regarded them for a moment, before deciding he was well enough to walk.

The corridor ended up being longer than he had first suspected, without any windows to provide a clue as to his location. He had a vague memory of Amy and Rory supporting him between them, of trying to stay on his feet long enough to help them move him. He remembered UNIT shooting at them, worrying that they would hit the Ponds . . . and the Doctor urging them forward.

Flashes of images then: the green of the garden, white trellis, and the blue garden shed . . . They were carrying him to the garden shed. But that couldn’t be right.

Tal rubbed his face. His thoughts were jumbled, his mouth dry. He couldn’t look through the walls, but there was an oddly pleasant feeling about the place. A gentle hum hovered in the air.

Circular portals led off the corridor in branching directions. Taking one at random, Tal found himself in an immense library. The warm glow of a vintage chandelier spilled from above. The walls appeared brick-lined, but once again, he couldn’t see through them. The metal floor gave way to stone tile and green carpeting.

Rows upon rows of stacks in handsome oak shelves stretched out before him. There were wooden tables and chairs for study, including vintage bankers’ lamps. A glass-fronted curio cabinet contained several colourful bottles and other artefacts, but it was the books that drew Tal’s attention.

Thousands of books.

A Shakespeare first folio and, less rare but still no doubt valuable, leatherbound classics, giving way to pulp science fiction and a rather alarming amount of Agatha Christie paperbacks – but when he pulled one off the shelves, the title was in Kryptonian.

Kryptonian.

Tal’s heart lodged in his throat. It wasn’t possible. When he looked again the text was in English. He frowned, dropping the book. It seemed to fall for a long time before it struck the carpet with a muffled thud.

Dizzy . . . but, he didn’t get dizzy. Tal collapsed into one of the chairs at the study table.  

Was he dreaming? Hallucinating? His x-ray vision wasn’t working on anything. He couldn’t hear beyond the strange thrum and buzz of – a generator? Or engines?

His powers were cut off. But someone had removed the Kryptonite and he had healed . . . He peeled the bandages off. As he suspected, the wounds were clean and closed.

Unless this is all one massive hallucination. The writing on the books looked Kryptonian one minute, English the next. It wasn’t possible.

After waiting a few moments in the silence of the library, he got to his feet again. Leaving the crumpled bandages on the table behind him, Tal found himself back in one of the endless corridors.

Through one door, he glimpsed an Olympic-sized swimming pool with a vault of cobalt sky overhead . . . except, it wasn’t the sky. He wasn’t outside. The air felt the same, no breeze, and the thrum of the generators persisted. He guessed that some manner of illusion hung over the place, creating the sky.

The humans could not have built all this. There was no way that what he was seeing fit beneath the Tower of London, no matter how much stolen technology UNIT had at their disposal, no matter how deeply their tunnels burrowed. And there were no red solar lamps, so why were his powers so diminished? He experimented, trying to fly, and found himself grounded.

There were symbols in the corridors similar to the ones he’d seen in the hospital room – circles and shapes like pieces of clockwork gears, spirals within spirals. He studied them for a few moments, wondering if it was some kind of language, and what it could mean.

But if the humans hadn’t built this place, then . . .

There was a control room. His footsteps echoed on metal and glass gangways and the walls were glowing – soft golden and honey-orange and warm. It wasn’t like the red lights of his cage at the DOD. Safe, the light said. Tal shook his head at such a fanciful notion, and yet . . .

His eyes were immediately drawn to the centre of the room, where a large glass pillar stood, surrounded by a many-sided console. It was suspended on glass panels, surrounded by a railing, and Tal approached slowly. The consoles appeared cobbled together out of bits and pieces from everywhere. The cases were transparent, showing complicated nests of wires within. Dials and switches and buttons were scattered over every surface with seemingly no rhyme or reason. An old-fashioned flip calendar, a typewriter, a hand-crank . . . and yet despite some of its pieces being recognizably scavenged from Earth, it didn’t feel human.

The ceiling glowed overhead, an inverted bowl of warm, white light.

On a couch beside the console, the Ponds dozed together. A blanket was thrown over them. Rory’s head tilted back, and Amy was cuddled against his shoulder. Tal felt something in his chest loosen at the sight of the two, safe. The bullets hadn’t hit them. He didn’t have to add that guilt atop all the rest.   

Amy stirred, seeming to feel Tal’s gaze, and sat up. “Tal!” she jumped, jostling Rory who snorted and came awake, blinking blearily.

“The Doctor said you’d be alright, but . . .” her gaze went to his bare chest. And lingered there.

Rory nudged her and cleared his throat.

Tal raised an eyebrow, amused. “You left me on the floor.”

“You were heavy, okay?”

“Sorry for wandering off,” said Rory. “We were going to head back after a cup of tea, but . . . must have dozed off,” he yawned.

“We were worried about you,” Amy took the blanket and draped it around Tal’s shoulders. He didn’t need the warmth but was touched by the gesture. “Even though the Doctor swore you’d be okay when we got the nasty green stuff out . . .”

“You removed the kryptonite bullets . . . ?” Tal stared at the humans in disbelief.

“Of course we did, you big dummy!” said Amy, slapping him on the arm.

Tal winced. He actually felt that.

“Well, the Doctor did most of the surgery,” said Rory. “But I am a registered nurse, you know.”

Tal couldn’t speak. He liked the Ponds, but he had never believed humans would help him. Especially knowing who he was, what he was, what he had almost done to their planet . . . “You . . . why?”

“You’re our friend,” said Rory. “And even if you weren’t. You’re still a . . . a person.”

“We weren’t going to let anything happen to you,” said Amy, wrapping him in a tight hug. Rory patted his back.

Tal swallowed. He looked around them again, at the glass column, the eclectic consoles. “Where are we?” he asked quietly.

Amy, still hugging him, said, “it’s the TARDIS, silly.”

Which, alright, he had rather suspected by this point. “But . . . I’m not . . . he doesn’t . . .”

“Like I said, we weren’t going to let anything happen you.” She leaned back, squeezing his arms and looked him dead in the eye. “And neither was he.”

Tal’s throat was thick. “Where is he?”

“Engine room,” Rory nodded to a set of stairs leading down. “I think he wants you to see.”

Tal’s brow crinkled. “He goes from not wanting me on his ship at all, to wanting me to see it’s inner workings?”

Rory shrugged as though to say he didn’t understand it, either.

“Just go,” Amy shook her head. “Show him you’re alright. Let him show off a little. He loves doing that. Oh, and you’re half-naked. That doesn’t hurt.”

Tal left the warm lights of what Amy called the console room, and descended a staircase bathed in a bluish green glow. He found a room full of glowing orbs, they were milky-white and seemed to sprout from cables that formed a large synthetic tree.

It was beautiful, so utterly removed from Earth and humanity. How had he ever feared this place was operated by UNIT or the DOD? He huffed at himself, shaking his head.

Tal stretched his hand toward one of the pretty baubles and felt it stir, oddly lifelike. He quickly moved his hand away, not wanting to accidentally hurt it. The room tugged at something buried within him, almost nostalgia.

Not that he’d seen such a ‘tree’ before, but it felt closer to Krypton than Earth. He sighed, walking beneath the lights. But everywhere he looked, there was no Doctor. Not the engines, then.

Just how big was the TARDIS?

He went down another staircase, another long corridor, found a lift and took that down.

Finally, he found the Doctor, leaning against the wall as though waiting for him. “There you are!” He approached, eyes roving appreciatively over Tal’s bare chest. “Looking no worse for wear, I see.”

“I could say the same . . . Doctor, how big is this ship?”

The Doctor paused for a moment, frozen in the act of reaching for Tal. He gave him a mysterious, pleased smile. “Oh, you know . . .”

Tal shook his head. “I really don’t.”

“No, you don’t.” The Doctor’s hands reached his chest, the touch cool and light and making Tal shiver. It felt so good to be touched. The Doctor watched his reaction knowingly, and his eyes danced. “Ooh. Well, we were interrupted before, weren’t we? Still . . .” he snatched his hands back and spun on his heel, facing further down the corridor.

More of those strange symbols lined the walls. “We’ve a bit of . . . housekeeping to take care of first. Come along.”

Tal swallowed. He couldn’t believe he was saying this, but . . . “Wait.”

The Doctor half-turned back to him, eyebrow quirked.

“Doctor, you brought me onboard your ship.”

“Well . . . Yes. Yes, I did.”

Tal opened his mouth, but gratitude and worry collided in his throat. This was all so much more than his fortress in the desert.

The Doctor smiled, observing him once more in that slow, head to toe sweep that made Tal blush. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions. People usually do. But it’s easiest to just show you,” he inclined his head toward the nearest portal.

Tal nodded, took the Doctor’s offered hand and followed.

The chamber was vast, the metal gangway trembling beneath them.

“We can’t stay here long,” the Doctor shouted over solar winds.

And Tal looked above them and stared. And stared.

They stood beneath a black void. A vault into nothing, the abyss, holding, impossibly, a seething red supergiant as it frothed and burned, actively, before them.

The Doctor squeezed his hand. “It’s the Eye of Harmony. An exploding star,” he shouted. “Suspended in time, infinitely in the act of becoming a black hole.”

It was almost too much to take in, even for a Kryptonian. He felt the heat of the blaze, although logically he knew he must be experiencing sensations that had been filtered and dulled many millions of times, or he would have been obliterated in his current, powerless, form.

The Doctor’s face was slick with sweat, turning red, his hair a wild, sweaty mess around him.

“They’re always red, before they collapse,” he shouted.

The space around them roared and thrummed and trembled with barely contained energy. Tal’s other hand gripped the metal railing, slick with sweat. His heart roared in his ears along with the sounds of the star.

“That’s why your powers don’t work inside the TARDIS,” he continued. As though this was normal. As though staring at an exploding red star squeezed inside a spaceship was anywhere near rational, or explainable.

Tal reeled, staring at the sun. Rao . . . yes, like Rao the sun that had shone down on Krypton. Stars and sparks exploded in his chest.  

The Doctor tugged on his hand. “Come on, we can’t stay in here long . . .” He yanked again, sharper and Tal reluctantly released his death grip on the railing and allowed himself to be pulled away from the absolute majesty of the Eye of Harmony.

Back in the adjacent corridor, the heat and sounds of the previous chamber somehow immediately cut off, the Doctor wiped the sweat from his face with a towel and continued his stream of commentary: “yellow sun energy fuels your metagenes, but red sun energy – arton energy – powers the TARDIS. Well, it’s actually quite a bit more complicated than that. I could tell you about the endlessly dynamic equation-”

“Stop,” Tal managed to push the word past dry, cracked lips. He stared at the Doctor, horror and admiration and awe all crashing and mingling together. “You have . . . a sun . . . inside your spaceship.”

The Doctor leaned back, allowing his sweat-slicked fringe to fall into his eyes. “Ah.”

He breathed and stared at him. Time Lord. No, Tal had another name for him. “On Krypton . . . before,” he licked his lips. “When I was a child. There were stories. Fairy tales, I thought. About the sun-makers.”

The Doctor smiled faintly. “Well. I haven’t heard that in a very long time.”

He reached for Tal, pulling him over to sit next to him on the bench. “I perhaps underestimated the effect that seeing the Eye would have on a Kryptonian . . .”

“It’s alright. I just . . . you’re . . .” Tal stared at him.

“Don’t idealize me, Tal. I’m not a being from Kryptonian myth. Our two cultures evolved parallel in many ways.”

He wasn’t entirely sure if he could believe him, because the Doctor appeared so harmless, but he wasn’t, not really. “I understand why you didn’t want me to see this,” he said.

The Doctor’s expression was pained. “Tal . . .”

“If Zeta had had access to this level of technology –”

The Doctor cupped his face, staring him in the eyes. “You are not Zeta,” he said firmly.

Tal didn’t know what to say to that, so he took one of the Doctor’s hands and kissed the palm.

The Doctor leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. “You are Tal. And you belong here. With me.” He gripped the back of Tal’s neck and kissed him. "This is only the beginning."