#the doctor's face when he's shaking nardole's hand gets me every time

[expelliarmus]

#mine #doctor who #dwedit #ksica #peter capaldi #pearl mackie #matt lucas #ok uhhh i apologize for the colouring #but also it's been like 4 years since series 10?!?! #the doctor's face when he's shaking nardole's hand gets me every time

[themasterisathirsttrap]

Putting Out Fire (With Gasoline) Ch. 2

Guess who’s still alive and just posted a new chapter of Putting Out Fire??

(Still sort of on hiatus, but now having some bursts of creativity, so sorry for the wait and enjoy!

Wow, this chapter took forever. I genuinely forgot how much plot setup happens in the first 10 minutes of 10x11. Very dialogue-heavy from the actual episode this time, but I promise for future chapters should have a better flow. Let me know what you think!

Chapter warnings: Nothing huge this time, aside from violence. But I will place warnings for future chapters))

@twistedgoddessoftimelords

@anteroom-of-death

@justaproudslytherpuff

@hallospaceboyy

@shawtyhadthemapplebottomjeans

--

As you stood huddled behind Missy, flanked on either side by Nardole and Bill, you felt far more apprehensive than you cared to admit.

Despite this, when you caught Bill’s uneasy look in your direction, you gave a small reassuring smile back at her. You moved closer and playfully nudged her with your elbow, causing her worried expression to soften into a small smile.

You could tell your friend was on edge and not keen on the idea of Missy taking the lead for the distress call mission the Doctor drafted up. You felt the thrum of nerves too, but you knew it was important to keep a calm face if there was any chance of showing the others what you had seen in the Time Lady.

It wasn’t even The Time Lady with whom you had something of a confusing relationship with that had you on edge. You had the feeling that she actually was wanting to take on the Doctor’s challenge to be him for a day, and do it well enough to rub it in his face.

Sure, you didn’t doubt she definitely would scare the lot of you just to make you squirm, but the root of your wariness was less the Time Lady and more knowing that you were jumping at the first distress signal the TARDIS picked up.

Despite knowing the Doctor for months now, you hadn’t quite gotten used to his cavalier approach to life-endangering situations. You had truly only been on a few adventures with him in the TARDIS. This partly had to do with the role you had accidentally adopted with Missy, and partly because you preferred your adventures with little bit more research and more calculated risks than jumping in and hoping for the best.

“Don’t you want to at least do a little digging before responding to the first distress call you find?” You had asked as the Doctor locked in coordinates to the distress signal. “Well, they’re in distress, there’s no time,” he responded brusquely, pulling down a lever beside you as you folded your arms. “You have a time machine. How do we not have time?” He huffed at you, turning his head to give a deadpan stare in response at the fault in his own logic, but you couldn’t help but shake your head and crack a smile as he waved his hand in dismissal.

“He thinks it’s more fun that way, ” Missy teased. To which the Doctor shot an annoyed look in her direction, but didn’t otherwise correct her.

“Figuring out what’s really going on is half the fun. If the Doctor wants to see how I do playing as him, we might as well go with full authenticity. Complete lack of foresight and all.”  Missy offered with a sly grin and spun her umbrella with a flourish.

The Doctor had rolled his eyes at her before letting them rest back on you. “It’ll be fine. I promise,” he assured with a quick pat on your shoulder as he passed you.

Yet, now, standing in quiet anticipation as the TARDIS landed, you felt far less sure.

Maybe you were being ridiculous. The Doctor had done this god knows how many times, and it clearly had worked out for him.

But you’re not the Doctor.

You tried to shake yourself off that sudden, stark thought.

“Showtime, ladies,” Missy announced, breaking you away from your thoughts. She met your gaze for a long beat, a smirk playing on her lips as she adjusted her feathered hat to tilt further forward on her head, and tapped the floor with her umbrella for emphasis.

You almost wanted to say something, but didn’t know what. The moment passed as she turned away and swung the TARDIS door open. Upon her first step out its doors, she struck an exaggerated pose, her hand resting on her hip with confident ease.

“Hello. I'm Doctor Who,” Missy said, drawing out the name and pausing for dramatic effect. She stepped out of the TARDIS with a small hop. “And these are my plucky assistants, Thing One, The Tolerable One, and the Other One.” She continued, seemingly addressing no one in particular into an empty control room.

The three of you step out of the Tardis behind Missy. Even you stop yourself from rolling your eyes, but otherwise remained quiet as you reached up and adjusted your, clunky earpiece that fit pressed uncomfortably against your ear.

Nardole sighed behind you and stepped to the side, gesturing to your little group. “Bill. Nardole. Y/n.” Nardole said in a flat tone. “--We picked up your distress call,” she continued, ignoring the bald android and offering an exaggerated wink towards the security camera above as it mechanically adjusted and appeared to zoom in to examine you and your companions.

“—and here we are to help, like awesome heroes.” Missy added, clearly enjoying herself as she swung her umbrella around and gave an extra twirl across the room as she approached the center. She must have felt your eyes on her, as her head suddenly whipped back towards you with a smirk and sent another wink in your direction.

“Yeah, we're not, we're not assistants—“ Bill corrected flatly, annoyed and unamused, but knowing that her words would likely have little influence on the Time Lady.

“Okay, right, what, so what does he call you? Companions? Pets? Snacks?” Any retort you might have tried to muster immediately died in your throat as an alarm began to blare around you, the room’s lights flashing from blue an ominous red. “Oh, someone's watching.”

Evidently unphased by the new development, Missy began to sway back and forth to the tempo of the alarm, kicking her heels out with each step to the rhythm. “Well, that's quite a good beat, really, isn't it?” “—Yeah. Maybe we should be moving on?” Nardole piped in, his wary voice a stark contrast from Missy’s apparent nonchalance.

“Yeah, and he calls us friends,” Bill cut in defensively, visibly shifting from annoyed to mildly offended. “Ew, Doctor. But think of the age gap. “

You knew she said it to irritate the Doctor. But that didn’t stop the quiet huff of indignance from slipping past your lips. It stung a bit more than you cared to admit, your heart sinking slightly at the comment.

You folded your arms across your chest and subtly angled yourself away from her in hopes that she didn’t catch a glimpse of your disheartened expression.

Missy set her parasol down on a nearby chair and unpinned her hat. “Stop mucking about and concentrate.”

The Doctor spoke up again through the earpiece. “Nardole, do something non-irritating. “

“On it, sir!” “Time Lords are friends with each other, dear,” Missy continued, ignoring the Doctor and sounding almost bored as she looked at her reflection in a glass panel. She paused at the reflection and adjusted her hair and examined the state of her makeup, before blowing an exaggerated kiss into the air.

“Everything else is cradle-snatching.”

At that statement, you were truly bothered.

“Sounds a bit limiting,” you shot back, an edge subconsciously creeping into your voice. You still avoided looking in her direction and studied the surrounding control room panels and monitors with feigned interest.

“Glad to hear you think so highly of our company,” you added, furrowing your brow.. Maybe it was stupid to think she saw you as a friend.

You only had visited her nearly every day for the better part of a year. You didn’t realize that you hadn’t even made her species requirement for friendship.

While attempting to mask the layered emotions connected with that realization hitting you, you barely even registered Nardole and the Doctor’s voices as you attempted to keep your expression mostly blank.

Part of you knew that she was likely saying it just to get under Bill’s skin. Yet, you couldn’t help but note that she spoke the words with a little too much conviction to make you think it was entirely a lie.

“Oh, it's a big one. Ship reads as four hundred miles long.”

You tuned out mentally from the rapid back and forth over the earpiece and quietly moved to sit on the nearby chair, ignoring the weight of Missy’s gaze on you.

You didn’t bother looking up and reclined into the seat, propping your elbow up on the armrest and supporting your head on your hand. You dimly realized you might have resembled a bored child as you kept your blank expression, your gaze drifted across the room and looking everywhere but at the Time Lady.

“And a hundred miles wide,” Nardole added. “It's big, even for a colony ship,” the Doctor’s voice sounded through the earpiece

“Anything else?” Your attention shifted again as Missy looked upward, something suddenly catching her attention. You followed the direction of her gaze and your eyes widened.

“Oh, wow.” “It's heading towards a black hole. “ “No….” Missy’s voice suddenly sounded pensive, as she stared up at the black hole through through the circular glass window. Her attention broke away from the black hole and you cursed yourself quietly as you made the mistake of meeting her eyes.

Her words were directed at the Doctor, but her gaze lingered on you. She studied you for another long beat, something unidentifiable flashing in her eyes as her lips twitched downward into a frown.

Whatever silent moment you might have just had passed as the Doctor chimed back in through the earpiece.

“No, it isn't!” “It was,” Missy corrected, studying the ship’s navigational readings overhead. “--heading towards a black hole, until somebody noticed. Now they're trying to reverse away from it. Engines are on reverse thrust, see?” Her tone came off a little less biting than before. You found yourself nodding idly and gazing up at the ominous vortex swirling above you.

“Oh. Well, it's succeeding,” Nardole noted. “Yes...very, very slowly. “ Missy added, seeming to almost float towards where you sat with a casual, predatory grace.

“Explains the distress call, I guess.”

“So, a four-hundred mile ship, reversing away from the gravitational pull of a black hole. Are we having fun yet?” The Doctor asked.

Missy hummed in a pleased sound of agreement, and you nearly jumped at her voice being suddenly close to your ear, teasing in a light voice. “See? We’re having fun. You can stop pouting now, pet.”

You blinked in surprise, tilting your head back and opening your mouth to retort, but a sudden crackle drew your attention back to the wall in front of you.  A large screen buzzed to life and the face of a man appeared on the monitor, his voice heavily distorted by static. “Hello? Who's there? Hello? Please report status. “ Missy had already darted half-way across the room towards the screen. You stood, your curiosity getting better of you.

“Oh, hello,” Missy chimed, “What have we got here?”

She studied the man on the screen, casually resting an elbow atop what you assumed to be a pilot chair.

“You're probably handsome, aren't you? Well, congratulations on your relative symmetry. “

You couldn’t help the scoffed laugh that emitted from you at the comment,  earning a sidelong look from Bill.

“Who are you?” the man on the screen said, almost accusatory, scrunching his face in confusion.

“Well, I am that mysterious adventurer in all of time and space, known only as Doctor Who,” she said with one arm raised in a dramatic gesture and gusto that wouldn’t have surprised you if she had rehearsed.

You had moved beside her to get a better look at the screen  and blinked in surprise as she suddenly wrapped an arm around you and gripped your shoulders with a squeeze. “And these are my disposables, Exposition, Sidekick, and Comic Relief. “ “We're not functions,” Nardole said with a grimace. “Darling, those were genders. “

“--Please, stay exactly where you are for your own safety,” the man on the screen continued, sounding unamused by Missy’s explanation.. “He likes me. So exciting,“ she looked to you with a conspiring look. “I'm coming through,” man on the screen said before the feed abruptly cut-out.

You looked towards Nardole and Bill in alarm, but Missy seemed not at all phased by the man’s brusque announcement. “Hurry, my stallion. And if I'm in the shower, just bring me some beans on toast. That's roughly human flirting, isn't it?” Missy offered you another wink, and you slowly shook your head in skepticism. Her hand briefly brushed across your shoulder as she stepped away. Bill’s face scrunched in confusion. “So, why do you keep calling yourself Doctor Who?” Missy tilted her head, hand resting at her hip as she narrowed her eyes at Bill’s question. “Because I'm pretending to be him. Because that's the whole point of this ridiculous exercise.” She spoke slowly, the scottish enunciations in her voice stronger with each word.

“It's not an exercise, it's a test.” The Doctor said, jumped back in, his voice distorted by a crunch heard on the other side of the line.

“Are you eating?”

Again, the amplified crinkle of plastic through the earpiece. “No. “ The Doctor countered unconvincingly like a child caught in a lie. “Yeah, well, don't test me eating crips!” Missy snapped in irritation at the notion.

You wandered over by Nardole to peer at the screen of the computer he was typing away at with a stern expression.

You couldn’t make sense of what any of it meant, all unintelligible numbers and alien code you didn’t understand, but it still felt more engaging than the listless banter that already was giving you a headache.

“—Yeah, but he's called the Doctor, so….” Bill continued, revisiting Missy’s prior  statement. Missy didn’t miss a beat, “--He says, I'm the Doctor, and they say, Doctor who? See, I'm cutting to the chase, baby. I'm streamlining. I'm saving us actual minutes,” she added, leaning into each movement and  snapping her fingers at each word for emphasis.

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” Bill scoffed, turning away from her. “—Also it's his real name.” “It's what?” Bill said, abruptly spinning back to face the Time Lady. You actually did roll your eyes that time at Missy toying with Bill. Missy slid into the seat beside her, ignoring Bill’s question.

“Slow today, Missy,” the Doctor commented. “All those screens have been angled to a single viewpoint. But not originally, they've all been moved. “ “Which means? “ “Giant ship, single pilot, but not designed that way. Something's happened to the others.” “Yes. And now It's time for you to figure out what. “ With an electronic whirr, the group’s attention shifted to the CCTV cameras moving abruptly and settling onto them. “Uh oh...Someone else has noticed us.” Nardole’s voice remained low, but he rose to his feet in alarm, glancing around with caution.

“Look’s like Big Brother’s not happy…” you attempted in a weak joke, eyeing the camera warily.

“Sorry, what do you mean, it's his real name? Nobody knows the Doctor's real name. “I do, because I grew up with him, and his real name is Doctor Who.”

“-Bill, she's just trying to wind you up.”

“--Chose it himself, you know, trying to sound mysterious.”

“And then he dropped the Who when he realised it was a tiny bit on the nose.”

“--and Mistress isn’t?” you countered. Missy raised a brow, regarding you and your sudden cheekiness with mild amusement. “Well, yes it’s my name, but I go by Missy now so it’s not the same, is it? It’s called subtlety. ”

“Missy, we both know subtlety isn’t in your vocabulary. Now stop teasing them and focus.”  “Is she serious, though, Doctor? Is your real name Doctor Who?” Bill pressed and you half-groaned, hoping they would just drop it and figure out exactly who or what was coming. As if on cue, you heard the soft ding of an elevator and looked up as a set of mechanical doors slid open at the far end of the room. You took a harsh  intake of air as a bald man with blue skin emerged through the doors, decidedly not friendly, as he raised a  gun and pointed it immediately in the direction of your group.

“Oh, you're blue! Nice. I should go back to blue. Ow!” Nardole began in a far-too cheery voice, causing you to jab your elbow harshly into his side to possibly improve your chances of not being shot.

“And armed…” you added under your breath, careful not to make any sudden movements as he visually swept the room and rounded the control panel. You now noticed his erratic, jerky movements as he circled back again, training the gun at each of you.

“Stay where you are!” he ordered. There was a desperate, wild look in his eyes.

You froze, eyeing the man cautiously  before stealing a glance at Missy. She appeared calm, but her expression was decidedly stoic. “Stay calm. He's very frightened,” the Doctor warned, his voice mostly even, but betraying his alarm at the situation.

“Deary me, I thought you were handsome, and now you've gone all cross and you're pointing a gun at me,” Missy’s voice dropped from teasing to low and threatening.

“Is this the emotion you humans call spanking?”

If you weren’t fearing for your friends and your own safety, you might have blushed at the way Missy’s eyes lingered on you at the word ‘spanking’.

But the moment was unfortunately undercut by the unhinged alien man pointing a gun at you.

“Are there only four of you? Are any of you human?” the man raised his voice at the word, an an anger and fear in his voice that made your stomach churn.

You sucked in a sharp intake of air as he stepped forward, jamming his gun in front of Nardole’s face. Nardole immediately held his hands up and started shaking  his head.

You cast a worried glance at Bill, who met your eyes with fear that you had no doubt was mirrored in your own.

Dragging your attention back to the man, you now noticed the sweat beading across the man’s brow and the slight tremor in the grip on his weapon. Behind his efforts to appear in control, you began to suspect that something happened here that had left him utterly shaken.

“What has happened to this ship and how long have you been here alone? You're looking very sickly,“ Missy pressed. “Two days,” he replied before turning towards Missy in an accusing tone. “Are you human?” “Oh, don't be a bitch.”

The man grimaced. “How did you get on board? Is that your capsule?” “Yep,” Missy replied without hesitation, pointing her thumb over her shoulder at the blue box.

“No.” the Doctor countered.

The man shifted away and up to one of the display panels. You realize  that he’s staring at the illuminated numbers above another set of metal doors.

“There, look!” the man pointed across the room, rushing towards a set of display panels.

You knew none of you were out of the woods yet, but you couldn’t help but release a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding at the new distance between you.

Now that he had taken his attention elsewhere, your eyes urgently surveyed the room. You needed to find something to distract him for at least long enough to knock his gun away to buy time. “Three lifts. They're coming,” the blue man spoke again, his voice laced with panic.

He appeared to be right. One hovered at level 0718, and the other two on 0930. “Who’s coming?” you ask. “Super-fast inertia lifts,” Missy noted, nodding towards the display. “Well, what's inside? What's coming up here?” “Things. I don't even know where they came from,” the man shook his head in dismay,  fidgeting and becoming more visibly agitated as the numbers dropped with each second. “One of you must be human. They only come up if they detect human life signs.”

Floor 350

“What for?” Bill asked. “They take them away,” the man replied.

“Away to where…?” you pressed, eyeing the man with skepticism. “I'll be right with you.” The Doctor announced abruptly, doing little to ease the growing dread in your stomach.

“Which of you is human?” the man shouted again, causing you to jump at the sudden intensity of volume and emotion in his voice. Training his weapon on each of you with an edge of desperation in his movements. you didn’t dare make a sudden move.

The doors of the TARDIS abruptly  swung open, the movement making  the blue man pivot and retrain his weapon towards the new arrival. You watched as the Doctor emerged, his arms raised and movements slow, but his keen gaze acutely trained on the danger in front of him.

You froze at the unexpected voice that spoke up. “Me. Me, me. I'm human,” Bill began, and your eyes snapped towards her in alarm. Immediately she locked eyes with you for a brief moment with a loaded look, making the sounds of protest die in your throat and fade into a mortified silence.

“I'm the only one. Just, just me,” Bill continued, her voice firm and assertive despite the fear evident in her eyes.

You bite your tongue. It was all you could do to stop yourself from shouting at her to stop talking and let the Doctor convince the man his systems must have made a mistake. Even that wasn’t enough to stop yourself from the mounting desire to tackle the man while he was distracted. Just to do something to stop this stranger from pointing a gun at your friend.

The only thing that muted the impulse was a sudden sharp sensation at your wrist. A sensation like a vice grip of needle points pressed against the flesh of your forearm and you didn’t need to look back to realize just who was responsible.

Missy stood silently beside you, her movement  obscured from the stranger’s view, and her grip stung as she dug her nails down with near bruising insistence. A silent warning to not do anything impulsive.

It was almost sweet, coming from her. But only when considering how little regard you knew she held for human life. You didn’t doubt your arm would be adored little half-moon bruises when she let go. Grimly, you realized you’d be satisfied with simply living long enough to even see them form, given your current predicament.

The Doctor froze at Bill’s proclamation, fear now morphing his shocked expression to one of horror. He nearly leapt forward in desperation, pleading with the blue man. “Please stop this. Stop right there, now.”

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but you're the reason that they're coming. “ The man raised his weapon again. “Put it down. Put that down now,” the Doctor repeated, his voice calm despite his fearful expression. The man shook his head, holding the gun steady with resolution. “They won't come if she's dead.”

Floor 45

“You don't need to do this,” the Doctor pleaded, slowly moving closer with his hands raised to show himself as unarmed. “I can get her off this ship. I can shield her life signs,” the Doctor continued his attempt at persuasion. “You know what, Doctor? I said this was a bad idea,” Bill said quietly, tearing her eyes from the man with the gun and addressing the Doctor directly.

Floor 26

“Please, listen to me. Look at me. Go on, look at me. That's good. That's very, very good. Now, do you see this mad woman sitting in this chair? Her name isn't Doctor Who. My name is Doctor Who.” “—It's not, is it?” Nardole muttered and you fought the urge to slap the friendly android in that particular moment.

The Doctor nearly stood within reaching distance of the man. You suddenly recognized something in this careful posturing that gave you a spark of hope for the situation.

The Doctor aimed to disarm him. Now, he just needed to buy a couple more seconds. Your eyes flicker back to the number display as the lift seemed to pause between floors 8 and 7.

Floor 7

“—I like it. You don't know it yet, but in a short time, you will trust me with your life. And when I save you and everyone on your ship, one day you will look back, and wonder who I was and why I did--”

Both you and Doctor knew he was rambling to buy time, but the sound of the lift’s ding at arrival caused the blue man to suddenly flinch.

You heard the gun discharge before registering what had happened, and your stomach dropped in horror.

“—Bill!”

“—You fucking bastard.”

#reader insert #missy x reader #missy dw #missy doctor who #missy #missy x reader fanfic #missy x reader x simm #gomez!master #simm!master #mostly exposition here but still #the master x reader #doctor who #doctor who fanfic #master x reader #Putting out fire #fanfiction

[isis-astarte-diana]

But None, I Think, Do There Embrace (Part 2)

Part 1 ‖ Part 2

Summary:  “The sight of Missy, conscious and walking, shakes loose a deep breath you didn’t realise you were holding.” The conflict isn’t over when the gun goes off.

Warnings: None? Unresolved tension, mostly!

Word Count: 1815

NB: The promised continuation of “The Grave’s A Fine And Private Place”!

“Please, please work!”

The TARDIS hums softly in an inarticulate but clear expression of disagreement. The screen you clutch at with shaking hands remains a blurry mess of jumping pixels, the sound a warbled static hiss. You have no insight into what’s happening on the bridge.

Before you’d even glimpsed the creatures in the lifts, the ship had slammed her doors so hard that you were knocked backwards and off your feet, landing painfully on the metal floor. When you’d scrambled back up and tried to open them again, they wouldn’t budge. You still know precious little about how she functions, but it’s apparent that she’s determined to keep her human cargo safe from whatever wants to take them away.

“Siege mode,” Nardole points out unhelpfully, still fiddling with the console. “Hostile life forms detected on the bridge. No communications in or out. Your life signs are shielded, at least.”

White-knuckled on the handrail, you glance around desperately for inspiration. “We can’t just wait here!”

“I know,” Bill groans, head bowed and cradled in her hands. She sits on the stairs, catching her breath, steadying her racing heart. “I know, but what can we do? The TARDIS won’t let us outside and even if she would I don’t think we could help, I mean - we’re human! Whatever these things are, we can’t fight them.”

“I don’t think we need to.”

You scowl at Nardole. “What do you mean?”

“If they really are only interested in you two, then presumably, once they realise you’re no longer on the ship, they’ll just... wander off, I suppose.”

“Yeah.” Bill sounds quite convinced. “I mean, that blue guy was there for, what? Days?”

At the mention of the armed alien, you wince. You’ve been trying to distract yourself from the image of Missy’s limp body, slumped in the navigator’s chair. “Days,” you agree flatly.

“Exactly. Just try and keep calm, and I’m sure they’ll be back very-”

The doors tear open, flooding the room with the colony ship’s bright fluorescent lights.

“-soon.”

“Chair! Now!”

Any relief you might have felt is drained immediately by the sound of the Doctor’s voice, sharp and furious and full of pain. He has one arm around Missy, supporting her weight, half-dragging her alongside him as he staggers through the doors. Even from across the console you can see the smouldering burn mark on her coat. It’s bigger than your hand and still smoking.

The sight of her, astonishingly still conscious and walking, shakes loose a deep breath you didn’t realise you were holding. You’ve grown to quite like Missy; her quick mind and deadpan black humour had endeared you to her when you visited the vault, and she’s proven herself a useful ally more than once with her effortless navigation of the TARDIS. In truth, despite Bill’s understandable trepidation, you’d been excited to see her at the helm of a new adventure.

Be careful what you wish for.

He drops her unceremoniously in the nearest seat and she lets out a heavy, pained noise at the impact. It makes you wince in sympathy. “Watch it! I’ve just been shot, or hadn’t you noticed?” She falls just short of her usual sardonic wit, too much strain seeping into the words.

“Shut up.” There’s no kindness in it. He works urgently at the buttons of her coat, pulling it open to expose her blouse and the wound left by the laser-barrelled weapon. He’s muttering angrily under his breath. “Missed all the vital organs.”

“Yes, well, if you want something done properly,” she mutters. Then, so sharply that you jump, “oi! What the hell are you doing, man?”

The Doctor has both hands poised over the injury on her side. At first you think it’s a trick of the light, an optical illusion triggered by stress and exhaustion, but as you watch they begin to glow in a vibrant, sickly shade of orange. Light pours from his palms and drenches her abdomen until the scene burns your eyes. It feels like staring into the sun.

“Be quiet,” he says calmly, ignoring her protests. “You’ll take weeks to heal on your own. You’re no use to anyone in this state. I’m just speeding things up a bit.”

You’ve heard of regeneration, of course, but this is the first time you’ve witnessed it. Despite the blinding intensity of it you can’t seem to look away. You move around the console as if in a trance, seeking out a better view. It is, at once, the most beautiful and most frightening thing you’ve ever seen, and you know with every fibre of your being that it is wrong, a violation of physical laws that you take for granted. What unfolds between the Time Lords in front of you spits in the face of everything you know about the universe.

Your normal Saturday has been resumed.

“Oh, for- get your hands off me!” She reaches down to knock him away but he’s already moving, stumbling slightly and bracing his hands on the back of the chair to steady himself. It’s clear that he’s expended some energy.

“Not quite good as new,” he observes. “You may actually have a scar.”

“I always fancied one of those.” She twists experimentally in her seat, testing the extent of her recovery. The only evidence of what should, by all rights, have been a mortal wound is a single low hiss through her teeth. “Consider it a touching memento of my full rehabilitation.”

“Rehabilitation?” He scoffs, cold and bitter. “Do you think this was a success?”

“I saved the humans, didn’t I? At tremendous personal cost, might I add.” She gestures to her side. “This is my favourite blouse, as well you know, and now it’s ruined.”

Provoked by her arch lack of repentance, he raises his voice. “You tried to kill a man! A frightened man, who asked us for help!”

“A stupid man, with a gun,” she bites back. Her hands are tight on the arms of the chair.

“I had the situation under control until you-”

“No you didn’t!”

You almost leap out of your skin when Bill interjects, her voice whip-thin and deafening even from across the room. All eyes turn to her. She’s a beacon of rage, practically vibrating, still fuelled by mortal peril and righteous fury.

“You had no idea what you were doing,” she seethes, pointing an accusatory finger at the Doctor. “You were just chatting away like an idiot, like you always do, thinking you’re so clever, and it nearly got us killed!”

He doesn’t take it well. “I was defusing the situation! It was a negotiation. I knew that-”

“Just shut up! You were negotiating for our lives!” At her side, one hand clenches into a tight fist. You can hear the angry tears making her voice waver as the adrenaline rush begins to fail. “D’you know what, Doctor? You made the wrong call. I never thought I’d say it but Missy was better than you today.”

She turns on her heels and heads deeper into the TARDIS, leaving her scathing words to hang heavily in the air. Shrinking in the face of conflict, you stand stock still, mouth agape, staring at the space she’s just vacated; Nardole makes an apologetic face and hurries after her. For a moment, you consider following, but think better of it. If it were you, you would want to be alone.

Face thunderous, the Doctor moves over to the console, manipulating switches and levers too forcefully until the ship dematerialises with a familiar mechanical screech.

“I think there was a compliment in there, somewhere.” 

Missy stretches out in the chair, apparently unfazed, folding her arms behind her head. You don’t miss the slight flinch as the change in position tugs at her newly-healed wound. He ignores her, working his jaw in silent fury. “Oh, do try and cheer up, Doctor. I’m sorry that your softly-softly approach wasn’t up to scratch today but if you’re waiting for me to apologise for saving-”

“Don’t.” His voice is low and dangerous. “Don’t pretend to care about my friends.” His eyes dart over to you for a moment and you look away, removing your earpiece and inspecting it as if it’s the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen. “You’ve never cared about anyone but yourself. You haven’t changed at all.”

Not waiting for a response, he stalks out of the console room, brushing past you on the way. One hand skims lightly over your shoulder as if to make sure that you’re really there. You allow it. After the day’s events you’re drained, eager for peace and reconciliation that seems far out of reach. Even this gentle touch is almost enough to bring tears to your eyes.

“Well?” Missy fixes you with her gaze and you blush, setting down the earpiece you’ve been fidgeting with. “Aren’t you going to run off, too?”

“I can if you want.” You’re aiming for jovial, but the words come out small and you wince. She raises an expectant eyebrow and doesn’t speak. “Actually, I wanted to say thank you. For saving us.”

“No need. It was all part of my devious plan.” She adjusts a stray lock of hair. Despite the flippancy in her voice it’s clear that his words have wounded her. You frown.

“He’s an idiot. Time Lord or not, I know a man with a bruised ego when I see one.” She chuckles wryly, looking down at the ruins of her blouse. Her hand uselessly attempts to smooth the fabric out. You move closer. Your pulse races when you reach out to touch her; she doesn’t pull away, watching from the corner of her eye as you rest your palm gently on her forearm.

Something changes in her posture. You think of the Doctor, of Bill’s hand crushing yours as you both waited to die, of how every living thing needs to be touched sometimes and your fingers wrap around her slender arm, the slightest pressure, your thumb sweeping back and forth over the thin cotton of her sleeve. She draws a sharp breath and turns to look at you again and you see a thin mist of tears glistening in her bright eyes. For the first time it occurs to you that she must feel as weary as you do.

“Thank you,” you say again, heavy with sincerity. “I’m pretty sure we would have died if you weren’t there. He’ll come around.”

Her face hardens almost imperceptibly and she clears her throat, blinking away the vulnerability with surprising ease. “The Doctor can do what he likes. I didn’t do it for him.”

“You didn’t?” Surprised, your fingers fall still. Her free hand leaves the armrest, coming to cover your own, and she looks up at you with something so akin to hope that your throat tightens.

“No,” she says softly. “I didn’t.”

#mine #missy x reader #request #the master x reader

[melodypond-thewomanwhomarriedme]

#20 river/doctor thanks ho

20. “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

It takes three seconds for his world to go sideways.

Somehow, in some way, the raomining worshippers of King Hydroflax had tracked River to Darillium. By the time they realised the threat they posed - they really have gotten slow in their retirement - it’s too late. They’re surrounded and under attack.

The first blast hits the window and it shatters, glass scattering like snow onto the floor and the couch in their living room.. River aims and shoots quickly as the Doctor gathers the essentials - their sonics, her diary, Nardole - and rushes to the door, peering through the loophole. An angry mob is quickly approaching.

“They’re about twenty feet away.” He turns to River. “We have to get into the Tardis.”

River scoffs as she reloads her gun. “Darling, even if we do manage to get to her in time, they won’t stop trying to find us. We’re just delaying the inevitable.”

“You can’t take down an army on your own, River.” The Doctor says, as she empties both her guns effortlessly.

The sound of bodies dropping and people groaning in pain only seem to agitate the group further. Their pace quickens and he hears Nardole whimpering quietly, but he ignores him and approaches his wife.

“There are hundreds of people of there,” he says sternly into her ear. “We don’t stand a chance. Let’s go.”

“I’ve taken out their leader and their strongest Generals.” River says, not even looking at him. Her eyes remain focused on the scene in front of her. She shoots one last time before turning to the Doctor, talking over the sound of a shrill scream filling the air. “That should buy you and Nardole enough time to get to the Tardis without getting hurt.”

“Have you lost your mind? I’m not leaving you here!”

“I wasn’t finished! Come and get me afterwards.” River instructs, firing off one last shot. “Got it? Do not go anywhere else, Doctor.”

“Of course not.” He presses a kiss to her cheek. “Stay safe, don’t die.”

River smiles as she hits another soldier. “I’ll be fine. Just hurry.”

The Doctor rushes back to Nardole, holding his sonic tightly in his hand just in case. “I’ll count to three, and we’ll run to the Tardis. Understand? Run as fast as you can.

Nardole whimpers. “You want me to run towards the people attacking us?”

“Once we’re in the Tardis, they won’t be able to attack us. She’s fool-proof.” The Doctor assures him. “Three, Nardole.”

One.

The Doctor straightens up. The mob is less than ten feet away now. The ones in the front are starting to raise heavy-looking guns at their house, and the Doctor curses River’s riotous curls for making it so easy to detect that it’s her.

Two.

Some of thems start to fire; they miss, and River takes them down easily. The Doctor sees one particular soldier aiming carefully. He’s sure that River will notice him soon - she’ll get him before he has the chance to shoot at her, the Doctor is sure of it.

Three.

A shot is fired. Nardole is off, running towards the Tardis. The Doctor follows, his eyes still focusing on the soldier, expecting him to groan and crumble any second now, but he lowers his fun with a satisfied smirk and the Doctor’s hearts lurches in his chest. He stops and swirls just in time to see River falling out of sight.

“River!” His cry pierces through the cheers of victory and all he can see is River, his feet moving quicker than he’s ever moved.

In the chaos of seeing that River has fallen, the angry mob is no longer shooting at them. They’re in full celebratory mode, but the Doctor doesn’t top hurrying. All he can think about is River falling, River crumbling, River dying-

His heartbeats quicken as he bursts through the gunshot-ridden front door and rushes to River’s side. She’s unconscious, bleeding profusely and there’s a bullet lodged in one of her hearts. He rips part of the drapes that fell during the shootout off and ties the material tightly around her, putting pressure over the wound so she won’t bleed anymore. Then, with a grunt, he lifts her off the ground, one arm supporting her neck and the other under her knees.

All he can think about is getting he to safety. Getting her far away from this brainwashed, violent mob so she can heal, and then he’ll come back and personally punch that soldier in the face. Hard.

Someone shouts, “He’s saving her!”

The confusion that follows gives the Doctor a head start. He’s halfway to the Tardis before the start shooting again, at him this time. He doesn’t stop. He sees Nardole’s round, anxious face poking out of the Tardis and only becoming more panicked when he sees a limp River in the Doctor’s arms. Thankfully, Nardole doesn’t fluster of flounder. He throws open the Tardis doors before running for cover.

Shots are coming from every direction but the Doctor doesn’t falter. He feels a bullet graze his cheek, a stinging pain rising as he starts to bleed but he doesn’t stop. Finally - finally - he runs through the Tardis doors and Nardole seals it behind them.

He sets River down gently on the ground and rushes to the console, inputting random coordinates and throwing the lever.

He says nothing as he picks River up again and races to their bedroom, laying her down and untying the drapes around her waist. There’s blood all over her but he doesn’t care. He places a hand on her wound and concentrates until golden light appears around his palm.

He watches as the regeneration energy heals her. Her skin is no longer bruised and she isn’t bleeding anymore, but she isn’t awake yet.

“River?” he shakes her gently, but she doesn’t respond. “River, please.”

Nothing. He licks his lips and tears start to fill his eyes as desperation takes over him and he presses his forehead to her middle.

“River, sweetheart, please wake up.” He whispers against her stomach. “River - I’m not supposed to lose you like this - not yet. We still have eighteen more years together. I’m not done with you yet, understand?”

She doesn’t move. He can’t tell if she’s even breathing. More tears cloud his eyes, falling onto her shirt.

“You need to wake up, sweetheart, because I can’t do this without you.” The Doctors says softly, honestly. He can’t do anything without River anymore. When these twenty-four years end, it will be utter hell. “Everything we were going to do together - I can’t do them without you. Please, sweetheart.”

“My love.” River rasps.

“River,” he breathes, scrambling to get off her. he lays besides her instead, pressing her body into his. “You’re okay.”

“I said I’ll be fine, didn’t I?” she asks, smiling weakly.

He smiles back. “You did.” He presses his lips to her briefly. “I love you.”

“Sweetie?”

“Yes?”

“Remind me to slap you when I recover for wasting your regeneration energy on me.”

#drfic #river x twelve #river song #twelfth doctor #anonymous #nat the writer #darillium #nat’s tumblr fics

[missyslittlepet]

*Finally got around to writing a part two. Since it takes place over the space of 10 years there's going to be a lot of time jumps (*****) so the layout might not be great 😂 I don't think it will end up as long as the first one but I'm probably going to write a part 3 to make up for it 😄 enjoy! (Gifs not mine)* "You're still hurting me." You were becoming increasingly more impatient as the elevator descended. To your surprise they loosened their grip on your arm and you finally felt the blood flow returning to normal. You dared not look at them again. Something about them were scarier that anything you had faced before. Maybe it was your fear of hospitals and all things medical that gave you the spooks when you looked at them. They did look awfully sterile and had what appeared to be drips attached to their arms. You felt a shiver run down your spine at the thought of needles and closed your eyes, trying your hardest not to throw up. Sooner than expected the doors opened and you were walked out of the elevator. You craned your neck to see if Bill was on the same floor as you. Sure enough your eyes caught sight of the still burning embers of her skin that surrounded the wound. You didn't have to look at it long before the metal cart with her on was wheeled away. You began to panic remembering the doctors words. "Keep an eye on Bill and wait for us." You managed to escape the loosened grip on your arm and ran after her. "Where are you taking her?" You asked the creatures. They moved forward slowly, your existence completely invisible to them. "Hey!" You shove one of them hard. Still nothing. "I'm talking to you!" You were about to strike again until a hand grasped your wrist mid motion. This hand was unlike the cloth creatures'. The touch was gentle but firm. Your eyes closed and you prayed that the grip belonged to Missy. "You don't want to be doing that my dear... they are strong, will break you like toothpick." A man spoke. And just like that the hope was crushed. You opened your eyes and turned to face the man who still had a hold of your wrist. He was a rather odd looking man. His appearance looked out of place against the sterile hospital ward as if he wasn't mean to be there at all. His long hair and beard stuck out at every angle, only being held in place by his oversized knitted hat. His clothing was old and tattered, matching his hat. How long had he been here for? You wondered. There was something off about him. You thought hard to pinpoint what it was but the only thing that came to your mind didnt make much sense to even you. He just didn't quite seem real. You didn't know how to explain it. There was also something very familiar about him. Something about the gleam in his eyes told you you had met him before. You brushed it off quickly, there was no way you could have met him before. He smiled and the gleam grew brighter. He let go of your wrist and took a step backwards. "My name is Mr Razor. What a pleasure it is to be meeting you." He bowed, took your hand and placed a kiss to your knuckles. "...Hi...erm... yes, I'm (f/n). You wouldn't mind telling me where I am, would you?" You looked down at him. He remained in his bow, your hand still between caught between his hand and his mouth. He looked back up at you and smiled again. "You are on the ground floor. It is very good, no?" You couldn't shake the feeling of unease. If traveling with Missy had taught you anything it was that you should always listen to your gut instincts. Regardless, he looked human enough and it gave you some comfort knowing you weren't just surrounded by those creatures. "Yeah, great." You smiled politely. "What are they?" You asked looking over his shoulder. "The future." He stated. "Nice and strong-" "Razor!" A woman's voice boomed from across the room, cutting him off and making you jump. "What are you doing?!" "Welcoming our new guest. All the way from surface layer, journey is very long..." He muttered straightening back up and turning to look at the lady. She eyed you suspiciously. "(F/n), she will work for me. Until her friend is much better, much more alive." He grabbed your wrist again and lead you away not wanting to wait for a response to his statement. He brought you to a large dusty door and swung it open. The air was stale and hot. Piles of junk were situated around the room along with a tv and a sofa. "Come come, much to see." He smiled pulling you further in. He walked you to the sofa and sat you down before offering you tea. "No, thank you. I had some earlier." You smiled, folding your arms in your lap. You watched as he walked towards what looked like a kitchen area and turned his back to you. "How long until I can see Bill? I need to know if she's okay." "Your friend will take time to heal. Big hole in err" He gestured wildly to his abdomen. "stomach is not easy to fix but not impossible either." He muttered over the sound of teacups being rearranged. "You come all the way here and I have tidied very little. I get visitors never, I had no time to prepare, excuse the mess." "I don't mind, just makes it very" You thought for a second eyes darting to what looked like a dead mouse in the corner. "...cosy..." "Ah, cosy is good, yes?" He sounded hopeful as he turned to face you again. "Yeah, it's great." You lied trying to imagine living here for god knows how long. ****************** "Bill?!" You shouted as Razor walked her through the door. You hadn't been able to see her. They had kept you confined to the small living quarters where you and Razor lived. You were somewhat glad, thanks to your fear of hospitals, but you still felt bad not being with Bill. True, the two of you had never exactly been the best of friends but you had your moments together. Not knowing and ignoring the Doctor's orders didn't sit well with you, even if you weren't his companion. "Hey, how long have we been down here?" She asked. You thought for a minute and then sighed. "A few months." "Months?!" Her eyes widened in horror. "Yeah... You gave us all quite the scare." "Where's the Doctor?" She braced herself for the answer. You just shrugged and shook your head. "I don't know." Mr Razor smiled and walked further into the room and switched on the tv. "We can find out if you'd like?" He flicked through channels before stopping on one. A still image of The Doctor, Nardole, Missy and the blue man formed on the screen. "When on earth was this taken?" You asked throwing yourself down on the sofa. You hadn't seen Missy in so long and it was starting to get to you. She looked exactly the same as when you left. "Taken? No not taken, it's live." Razor corrected you watching the screen intently. "Live?" Asked Bill also taking a seat. "Sorry to tell you but I think your stream is broken." "No, not broken. Perfect quality." He grinned. You and Bill glance at each other. "Definetly broken Razor... They aren't moving." You raised you eyebrow. "Bottom of ship, it moves err quicker than top. A minute there a month here kind of thing, you see? They move slowly, very slowly." "Oh, okay?" Bill said suddenly more alert. So that was how the three of you spent your time. Eyes glued to the almost still image on the beat up television set. ****************** The master had become impatient with your unwillingness to talk about the woman on the screen. It was clear that whoever she was, you wanted to keep her identity unknown. When ever he brought it up with you you would just shrug it off and change the conversation. Bill never spoke about her either, only about The Doctor and the things they had done together. He had his suspicions of course, on who the woman was, but he wanted to be sure. He had plotted ways in which to get the information from you and had finally settled on the old fashioned human way. Alcohol. Finding it wasn't hard. He had some strong stuff hidden away at the back of his TARDIS that he knew would come in handy. "I have big surprise, come come." Razor grinned holding up three glasses and two large bottles of green liquid. "So, the woman on the screen... She is your sister?" He asked refilling his own glass. "Heavens no!" You laughed taking another sip of your drink. "Not my sister." You could feel the warmth from the alcohol filling your body. How long had it been since you had truly gotten drunk? "She used to have bottles of this stuff in her ship." You smiled reminiscing about the times the pair of you would drink and blow things up together. "But she means a lot to you, yes? You spent two years of your life watching her look shocked." The Master pushed. "I think she loves her." Bill chimed in with a laugh from across the room. You could tell by the way she swayed from side to side that she was already drunk. "I do not!" You hissed trying to focus on her. "Even if I did, you've heard the way she talks to me. I'm just a pet, if anything." "True true... but that doesn't make your feelings any less important. I've seen the way you look at her (f/n), like she's the most amazing thing in the universe." "Becuase she is." You hiccuped downing the rest of your glass. "Who knows. Maybe she feels the same about you... She's so protective and never goes five minutes with some kind of flirty oneliner. Look, I know we never really saw eye to eye when it came to Missy but I know love when I see it and that's about the closest thing I can imagine she's capable of." Bill let out a sigh and crashed on the sofa. "Maybe you should tell her." "Tell Missy?!" You laughed. "What and have my brains blown out by a laser, or worse, be dropped back off at home? No thank you." "Missy? That is her name?" The Master asks. "Short for mistress." You snorted and tried to hide the blush covering your cheeks. Bill practically choked on air as she tried to silence her giggles. "...Mistress?" "Yeah... She isn't actually my mistress; although I wouldn't mind if she was." You laughed again slapping a hand over your mouth. "I can't believe I just said that. "Who is she to you?" He questioned further. "She's my... I don't know... she's my time lady? My glorified tour guide?" "Your crush?" Bill smirked. "As of now...My closest friend." You corrected her "Who I do love with every fibre of my being but don't tell her that if she ever comes down here." The master grinned, finally knowing all he needed to know. Missy was his future and now he had a (f/n) shaped bargaining chip for when the time came. "Don't worry my dear... your secret," He pounded his chest with his fist. "It is safe with me." ****************** They were planning on sneaking into the operating room. You had told them it wasn't a good idea but they wouldn't listen. Bill was preparing in another room to go full on mission impossible while you were stood looking out onto the city below. "You're sure you won't join us?" Razor asked. "Yeah, I hate those things. Don't want any part of it." You replied keeping your back to him. You closed your eyes. For ten years you had watched this fume filled city fall to ruins beneath you. More and more of those things walked the streets; the brilliant white of their clothes a stark contrast to the thick black smog floating through the air. You pitied the people you saw hoping that when the Doctor finally did arrive he could fix it all. "Shame..." You heard Razor laugh before you felt a hard object collide with your head. Your eyes opened briefly as you fell to the floor from the impact only to see his grin hovering above you. "Such a shame..." He muttered as everything went black. ****************** "Where's (f/n)?" Bill asked poking her head into the room. "She still not coming?" "No, not coming." Razor replied "She went out for a walk. Said she needed some fresh air." "Fresh?" Bill laughed looking through the window behind Razor. "As fresh as it can be. Come come!" He smiled standing up and walking out of the room with Bill. ****************** Missy sat at the control panel trying to ignore the strange little man lurking behind her. "Hello ordinary person." She was aware of how bored she sounded. "Please maintain a minimum separation of at least three feet." It had been a while since she had used her 'M.I.S.S.Y' voice. She still couldn't get over the look on The Doctor's face when she kissed him. The man walked closer and sat down behind her. She rolled her eyes and continued searching through the ships data bases. "I'm REALLY trying not to kill anyone today so it would be tremendously helpful if your major arteries were..." Something on the screen caught her eye. "...out of reach." The man's laughter and clapping caught Missy off guard. Last time she had checked threats of death were not meant to be funny. Had all that time in the vault made her lose her touch? "I have so been looking forward to meeting you." "...Right, well... I'm very happy for you." She shook off his comment and returned to reading. "I was watching you on the screen. It took me a while to work out who you were." "This ship is from Mondas?" Missy frowned blocking the man out. "Of course once I loosened (f/n)'s lips I knew all I needed to." Missy pounced up at the sound of your name. "What did you just say?!" Missy demanded. The man just grinned and pulled out a gun aiming it at her. "Would it help you concentrate if I removed some of your vital organs and made a lovely soup?" She threatened taking a step forward. "What have you don't to (f/n)?!" "You would never be so self destructive but then again neither would I." He threw the gun aside and watched Missy with wide eyes and a smile. "Where is she?" Missy frowned. "If you've harmed a single cell of her I swear to all things Gallifrey I will make you suffer." ****************** Your head hurt more than ever and you were pretty sure it was bleeding. You opened your eyes and saw nothing but black. Where the hell were you? Memories of Razor hitting you over the head came flooding back and you began to panic. Where was Bill? What would the Doctor do to you if he found out you let her get hurt? You shook your head (quickly regretting it when the pounding in it grew worse). You had to prioritise and think your way out of it. Missy always told you there was no use is getting hysterical. You took a deep breath and felt around. You were in a confined space it seemed like. You listened and heard a thick scottish accent making it's way closer to you. You knew that accent anywhere and you felt your heart practically burst at it's seams. "Missy?! Missy?!" You called. "You locked her in a storage compartment?" Missy sounded extremely disappointed as the tapping of her heels grew louder. As soon as your eyes adjusted to the light and you saw her actual face for the first time in ten years you couldn't help but smile. Then it dawned on you. "TEN YEARS MISSY! YOU LEFT ME FOR TEN YEARS!" "Oh don't get so dramatic. It was only half an hour." She tried to keep her face bordering on annoyance but even you could see the relief hidden in it. Without thinking you pulled her into a hug burrowing your face the crook of her neck. To your surprise she hugs you back digging her nails gently into the fabric of your clothing. She was scared that if she let go you would be taken from her again. "I've missed you so much." You whispered. Missy let out a small laugh as if brushing off your comment but she held you tighter nevertheless. When you finally let go of each other you noticed a man standing beside her looking disgusted by the display of affection. "Hello my dear." He spoke with Razor's voice, the grin you had gotten so used to reappearing on his face. You looked between the two in confusion. "(F/n), this is past me. Past me, this is (f/n)." Missy raised her eyebrows while she spoke. "Oh I know her very well." The man smiles. "Sorry about the head love," he was usomg what you presumed was his real voice. "had to get you out of the way. You know, since old Doc had you playing guard dog for him." "...How? What?" You struggled to string a sentence together. Missy let's out a sigh and pats your arm nodding her head. "You might want to sit down somewhere." Missy inhaled sharply. "This might take quite a bit of explaining..."

#missy x reader #missy imagine #the master x reader #doctor who #doctor who fanfiction #part 3 anyone?

[tangle-of-ivy]

I Feel Like I Know You

12TH DOCTOR / OC

10,599 WORDS

THIS IS THE FIRST FANFIC I’VE MANAGED TO FINISH FOR A LONG TIME.  I WROTE IT IN ONE LONG 7 HOUR STRETCH A FEW DAYS AGO, THEN SPENT SEVERAL DAYS EDITING IT AND DEBATING WHETHER OR NOT TO PUBLISH IT.  I’VE NEVER PUBLISHED ANY OF MY FANFICS BEFORE, SO I’M A BIT NERVOUS.  PLEASE SEND ME FEEDBACK! (NO FLAMES PLEASE)

(Edited because I finally figured out how to add a “read more” link.)

(Edited again, several months later, as well as changing this Doctor/Reader fic into a 3rd person POV story.  I think I like it better this way.)

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Mal was running and laughing as she outstripped her pursuers. Their heavy purple armor slowed them down and made maneuvering through the thick trees difficult.  She heard the sound of a breathless chuckle echoing hers.  The person running with her ducked between two trees, his shock of white hair flashing in a ray of sunlight that had made its way through the leaves.  Mal jumped over a log and quickened her strides to catch up.  Suddenly the landscape opened up into a large meadow and she could see clearly again. The man glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled at the happy grin on her face.  The creatures behind them were still breaking their way through the last of the trees when she caught a glimpse of deep blue waiting for them at the other end of the meadow.  A feeling of homecoming fell over her as she reached out to grasp her companion’s hand and they raced over the last few yards…

Jerking awake with a start, Mallory Hart stared around her bedroom with confused, sleepy eyes until she remembered where she was.  With a disappointed sigh, she flopped back onto her pillows.  Just another dream.  That made the fourth time in the last two weeks.  

Mal was starting to get concerned.  The feeling of homesickness was starting to last longer and longer every time she woke up from the dreams.  And that’s not even mentioning the fact that every one of them included a man that she felt an illogically strong connection to, leaving her longing and heartbroken for days afterwards.  The man’s face changed often.  Sometimes he was thin, with a huge chin, and a childish grin. Sometimes he wore leather and had a haunted look in his eyes, even when he smiled.  Other nights he had hair that stuck up all over the place and wore a suit.  But the ones that concerned her the most were the ones like tonight, where the man was the spitting image of the mysterious professor that worked at the same university as her.  

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Mal yawned and tried to balance her coffee mug and stack of folders with one hand while she adjusted the strap of her heavy book bag with the other.  

“Professor, would you like a hand there?” came a voice from her left.

“Oh, hello there, Joelle.  Yes, that would be great.”  The student took the pile of folders from her hands and held the mug for her until she’d hitched the strap further up her shoulder.  Joelle handed back the mug and carried the papers as they walked to Mal’s classroom together, chatting about homework and lessons. 

“Are you going to keep teaching part time after this semester, or will you take on a few more classes?” the younger woman asked.

“I’m not sure yet.” Mal admitted.  “I haven’t had nearly as many migraines lately, but I don’t want to commit to something and then have to back out later.”  In a practiced move, she lifted her long, soft skirt to avoid tripping as they both climbed the stairs.  

“That’s probably smart.” Joelle agreed.  She then glanced at the professor out of the corner of her eye, smiling slyly.  “Are you planning on attending the lecture this afternoon?”  

 Mal avoided her eye as she picked imaginary lint out of her long, graying hair.  “Which one?”

“Oh, don’t be coy!  You know what I’m talking about!” she protested.  

Mal sighed and muttered, “I don’t know…” but stopped talking abruptly as she saw him.  

He was exiting the library, fierce eyebrows low as he argued with his bald teaching aid, Nardole.  Mal couldn’t help but stare as he ran his hand irritably through that shock of white hair that she’d dreamed about only a few hours before.  He glanced in her direction for a split second before striding away, Nardole trotting quickly to keep up.

“Professor?”

She blinked and glanced back at Joelle, who was smirking openly.  Still a bit befuddled, Mal looked back to where he’d been, only to see him disappearing down a corridor, the tip of his coat whipping out of sight.  

“No.  I’m not going today.”

“Why not?”

Mal started walking again, gripping the strap of her bag tightly.  

“Because I have the rest of those essays to grade this afternoon.”

“Ross said that he’d finished doing those for you yesterday.” Joelle pointed out.

She mentally cursed her assistant’s efficiency. “I’m busy.  Maybe on Friday.” She insisted.  

She was still confused and embarrassed about her most recent dream and didn’t want to take the chance that either her interest or her misgivings would show on her face.  Not that he ever sought her out.  He never really showed much interest in talking to any of the other professors, even though many of them attended his lectures out of curiosity.  His lessons were popular with both the staff and the students because they never quite knew what he would talk about.  Sometimes he’d start a piece on calculus equations and end up on a tangent about ancient ballads about sea serpents.  Mal had never been able to find anyone who actually knew what sort of class he was supposed to be teaching.  He’d been there for several semesters and seemed to do pretty much whatever he wanted. At least she’d never heard of administration disciplining him for any of his practices.

Joelle rolled her eyes.  “You love going to his lectures.  Why are you always so unwilling to just admit it?”  

Mal shrugged noncommittally, hoping the subject would drop as she entered the classroom and placed the folders on the lectern.  For a minute, she thought it had worked as she pulled her book out of her bag and found the page she needed.  But then…

“He is rather handsome.”

“W-what?!” she sputtered, almost choking on a mouthful of coffee.

Joelle grinned as she watched her professor’s flustered expression.

“You know…in a mature, wise, crabby old man kind of way.”

Mal tried to play off her reaction by teasing the student. “I didn’t know you were into older men, Jo.  What does your boyfriend have to say about that?”

“Oh, I’m not.” She shrugged.  “But he seems about right for you.”

“Are you calling me old and crabby?”

“Maaaayybe!”

That girl’s grin would have made the Cheshire Cat proud as Mal glared half-heartedly and told her to take her seat so that she could start the lesson.  

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A tall figure stood to the side of a window, peering around a dark curtain. A pair of icy blue eyes watched Professor Mallory Hart as she walked across the grassy lawn, deep in conversation with a group of her students.  They studied her face as she motioned for the young adults to sit down in a circle, doing so herself and gracefully arranging her skirt and tugging down the hem of her sweater. He wondered if she still wore leggings or trousers under her skirts as she used to when there was a high chance of having to run from something.  Shaking his head in an attempt to ward off old memories, he studied the circle again. Soon it would start to get colder and she wouldn’t be able to bring her study group outside anymore.  The figure sighed as he watched her eyes flash with passion and her hands wave as she delved into a lively discussion with her students.  One of his thumbs absently stroked a simple band around his left ring finger.

“Sir?”

The blue eyes blinked in surprise and their owner turned around to see a frown on a round, babyish face.  

“What do you want, Nardole?” the Doctor asked irritably.

The short, bald man crossed his arms.  “You miss her.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He snapped.  But he still glanced out the window at the study group one last time before stalking moodily back to his desk.  He brusquely pretended to sort through a pile of papers, hoping the subject would be dropped.

Nardole stood in front of the desk and looked at him sternly over the top of his glasses.  “You need to stay away from her.”

Apparently he wasn’t going to be lucky today.  

“You’ve been watching my every move for the last eight months.  You know I’ve not gone near her.” The Doctor snapped.

“Yeah, but you think about her all the time.”

“There’s nothing I can or want do about that.”

“You’re the one who said that we needed to keep our distance.  You went on and on about the risks and what might happen if she relapsed.  Then the months go by ant you get more and more…”  Nardole waved his hand absently and scrunched up his nose. “…moody.  I’ve seen you watching her when you think I’m not looking and it’s dangerous!  You could put her in serious danger-“

“I know!” the Doctor yelled, flinging a handful of pens at the man. “I care about her more than anything! I won’t let anything hurt her, even me! So leave me alone about it!”  Shoving his sonic glasses onto his face to hide at least part of his expression, he flopped down in his chair, crossed his feet on top of his desk, and pretended to read from a large leather-bound tome.  

Nardole watched him silently for a few minutes, then gathered up the pens and replaced them on his desk as a kind of peace offering.  When the Doctor still ignored him, he fiddled with a loose thread on his jacket and huffed, looking around for something to do.  Catching sight of an old-fashioned record player he wandered over and began looking at the stack of records beside it. Selecting an interesting looking one he placed it on the machine and moved the needle into position.  

A soft waltz filled the air.  The sound was one of love and contentment.  Nardole smiled to himself and began to sway back and forth, unaware that the Doctor had gone stock still and tense.  

“Shut that off!” he snapped.

Nardole jumped in surprise and glanced over at the man.  “Why?”

“Just turn it off!”

Nardole frowned as he turned off the music.  “It was good dancing music.” He sulked.

“Well I don’t dance.” Said the Doctor flipping angrily through his book so hard that he almost tore the pages.

“Yes, you do.” Said Nardole, looking confused.  “You never once turned her down when she would ask you to-“ He stopped talking abruptly as the Doctor tossed the heavy book onto his desk with a loud crash.

“Don’t you have a vault to check on?” the Doctor growled.

Nardole frowned.  “Nah. I thought it was your turn-“ He stopped talking as the Doctor glared at him over the top of his glasses. “Actually, you’re right!  You’re very right!  I’ll, uh…go and…do that now.”  He stuttered as he scuttled out the door, closing it behind him.

The Doctor stared at the tips of his shoes for a while, then sighed and stood.  He glanced at the window again, but resolutely turned his back to it.  He wandered over to the record player and fiddled with the needle.  After a few minutes, he placed it back on the record and listened to the music fill the air once more.  He stood stalk still and his expression didn’t change one iota, but his hands were clenched into fists.  And though he would have denied it vehemently if anyone had seen, there was a sheen of tears in his ancient blue eyes.

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“…I don’t know if I agree that the reason Agatha Christie never told anyone where she’d been when she disappeared was because she had amnesia.  I’ve always been skeptical of that theory.  Or maybe I just like the idea of her choosing to vanish and leave this big mystery for her fans to speculate about.  It seems like a very brave, independent thing to do for a woman in that time.  I mean, the amnesia idea is interesting too, but the Doctor wouldn’t give a very satisfying answer as to why or how that might have happened.  But I guess the mystery of it is what makes the topic so interesting.  And to think that he started the class talking about the differences between bees and wasps.  Do you think that-“

“Mallory!”

Mal stopped midsentence and glanced around at the woman sitting next to her. Professor Nancy Neelson was rubbing her eyes in a frustrated manner with her lips pressed tightly together again. The woman was younger than Mal by at least ten or fifteen years, but with six children and a full-time job, she seemed older.

“I’m sorry.” Mal apologized.  “I was doing it again wasn’t I?”

The woman sighed.  “I was hoping that when you said we should have lunch together that we could talk about more than the Doctor’s latest lecture.  They can be fascinating, but they’re a bit random and disjointed.  No one but you seems to keep up with half of what he’s saying.”

Mal tucked her chin, feeling guilty for rambling.  “Sorry.”  She picked at her food, which had gotten cold as she’d talked.

“Don’t give me that sad puppy look.” Nancy teased, trying to lighten the mood once more.  “There’s nothing wrong with being passionate.  I often wish some of my students were more like you.  But if you like the Doctor’s lectures so much, why don’t you go talk to him sometime?  You two would probably get along like a house on fire.”

Mal mumbled an excuse under her breath.  It wasn’t as though she hadn’t thought about approaching the Doctor. Joelle had suggested it often enough in her not-so-subtle, prodding way.  But Mal was always too confused about her own feelings to give it any serious consideration.  She dreamed of this man she’d never even spoken to, over and over again.  Even she knew that went a little too far beyond creepy.  She wanted to talk to him so badly that it scared her.  She’d tried to dissect her own emotions for months, but couldn’t understand this overwhelming feeling of longing.  She was desperately missing a man that she’d never formally met, and it scared and confused her to no end.  

However, as Mal went about her day, Nancy’s suggestion kept bouncing around inside her head.  Later that night when she woke from yet another dream and felt that overwhelming sense of homesickness, she decided enough was enough.  She sat up in bed and tugged angrily at her hair.  She wasn’t a coward.  She wasn’t about to let embarrassment or fear control her. Tomorrow she would talk to the Doctor. They both worked at the same university. Maybe he’d already wondered why she’d never introduced herself.  Maybe he thought her lack of forwardness stemmed from dislike.  She couldn’t have that.  

Tomorrow.  She thought. Tomorrow I’ll do it.  

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I can’t do it.  Mal thought as you shifted from one foot to another in front of the Doctor’s office door.  She could hear the muffled sound of a student asking another question about the midterm through the thick wood.  The Doctor’s office hours may not have been the best time to approach him.  Maybe I should wait until lunch tomorrow.  But he doesn’t usually eat in the mess hall…  She fretted, trying to find an excuse to leave.

Just then the door opened unexpectedly.  A young student stepped around her and walked off down the corridor, leaving the door partially open.  

“Are there any more idiots out there waiting to ask the same questions I answered during class?” called an annoyed male voice.  

The rude question made her fight back a sudden smile.  That spark of humor lit her courage once more, and she squared her shoulders before pushing open the door.

“I may have a few questions, but I’ll try to keep them as un-idiotic as possible.” she said lightly, smiling at the surprised expression that sent the man’s eyebrows shooting for the sky.  

The Doctor had been reclining back in his chair, resting his feet up on his desk, but he stood quickly when he saw her, almost tripping in his surprise.  

“Mal?” He stared at her with an emotion she couldn’t name roaring behind his eyes.

“Oh, you know who I am?” she said with a hesitant smile.  

The Doctor blinked, and the unnamed emotion cleared from his expression.  He straightened his suit jacket and stepped around his desk.  

“Of course, I know who you are, Professor Hart.  Your students speak of you fondly.  And Dean Elliot praised your research for his project last April.”

“Oh.” She blushed.  “Well I know you of course.  The famous Doctor.  I’ve never seen a lecture of yours that wasn’t standing room only.”

“Yes, I’ve seen you there quite a few times.”  The Doctor said, studying her calmly.

“I’m sorry I never came up to introduce myself.  Perhaps we could start over?” she asked, holding out her hand. “Hello!  My name is Mallory Hart and I teach part time here at the university.”

The Doctor appeared to hesitate a moment before reaching out to shake her hand. Something in Mal’s chest loosened at his touch.  Like she’d been partially holding her breath until that moment and hadn’t realized it.

“And I’m the Doctor.” He said, his voice soft and deep.

She cocked her head.  “I’ve always wondered about that.  Doctor who?”

The Doctor smiled a bit sadly and she could have sworn he squeezed her hand before releasing it.  “That’s a good question,” he muttered under his breath.  

“I’m sorry, what?” she asked.  

“Just the Doctor.” He said, louder.

“Oh.”

They both stood there awkwardly for a moment.  The Doctor was studying a scuff in the wooden floor and Mal let her gaze wander until it fell on a wooden police box in a corner of the office.  It was a very deep, familiar blue…  Suddenly the Doctor cleared his throat and walked back behind his desk without meeting her eyes again.

“So, what can I do for you, Professor Hart?  You mentioned that you may have some questions for me.”

“Just Mal is fine, Doctor.” She said, then paused, wondering why she’d instinctually given her nickname.  All of the other professors and staff called her Mallory.  Shaking away the confusion, she took a seat in the chair in front of his desk, smoothing down her cardigan.  “And I mostly just wanted to introduce myself and say that I really enjoy your lectures.”

The Doctor grunted and shifted some papers around, avoiding her gaze.

“I’ve heard lots of people say that they like them.  Those that aren’t complaining about the topics anyway.” He opened a drawer and poked around inside for a minute before pulling out a yo-yo.  

“Sometimes they’re a little random, but I like them that way.”

He still didn’t meet her eyes.  “Is that so?  Well did you have any specific questions for me?  Because I have some…erm…things to do.”

“What kind of things?”

“Thingy things.” He said absently, fiddling with the loop in the yo-yo’s string.

She was almost about to shake her head and take her leave, when she saw a novel partially hidden under a map of New Zealand.  Pulling it out she studied the cover for a moment.

“Actually, I was wondering if you could expand on your lecture from yesterday.” She placed the book in front of him and he glanced up to see his copy of Death in the Clouds by Agatha Christie.  

“What about it?” he asked, his fingers stilling on the yo-yo.

Taking a deep breath, she dived in.

“If Agatha really did have amnesia after she reappeared, how do you think that happened?  There was no evidence of a blow to the head.  She was definitely stressed, but would you say that was enough to cause the amnesia?”

The Doctor finally met her eyes as he put down the yo-yo, folding his hands in his lap.

“People might not ever know for certain.  Stress is a possible contributor…”

“But what do you think?” she asked, leaning forward.

“Me?  I think…” he studied her for a moment.  “I think she threw an amulet into a lake to drown a giant wasp.”

Mal laughed softly at his absurd answer, but her laughter faded away as the image of a giant wasp stinger stuck in a wooden door, a sassy red head, and the man from her dreams with the sticky-up hair floated in front of her mind’s eye.  Suddenly pain shot through her temples and she suppressed a groan as she rubbed her forehead.

“Mal?” The Doctor’s voice was suddenly urgent.  “Are you okay?”  

His voice was soothing, even though it sounded worried.  The pain in her head faded and she looked up to see him kneeling at the arm of her chair.  His expression was concerned, almost frightened, and he was half reaching for her.  

“Yes, Doctor.  I’m fine.” She whispered.  

He studied her closely for a long moment before pulling back and standing once more.

“If you are unwell then perhaps you should go and lay down.” He said, avoiding her eyes again.

But Mal shook her head.  “I’m all right.  I just get migraines sometimes.  It’s why I can only be a part time professor at the moment.  But the pain is gone now.”  She leaned forward once more.  “But if you won’t be serious with me about your Agatha Christie lecture, what about that claim you made about the pyramids last week?”

The Doctor seemed to be debating with himself.  He buttoned and unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt as he stared blankly at a bookshelf.  Mal waited, wondering what was going on in that strange head of his.  

Finally, he sighed and sat down once more.  He placed his feet back up on his desk and crossed his ankles, leaning back in his chair.

“Are you talking about the pyramids in Egypt or the ones in South America?” he asked, and he had a twinkle in his eye now.  

Mal grinned.

Hours later they had touched on all sorts of subjects, from Van Gogh to J.K. Rowling, Mexican cuisine to the best way to tie-dye a shirt.  The sun was getting lower and she really needed to get to a dinner meeting with another staff member, but she couldn’t tear herself away.  Finally, he noticed her looking at the clock a little too often and indicated that he needed to go and hunt down Nardole about tomorrow’s lecture.  

Mal stood and tucked her hair behind her ear, unsure of how to end the encounter.  It was the best time she’d had for ages, but her old confusion was slinking back in as she prepared to leave.  She felt more drawn to him than ever before, but wasn’t sure how to read his impressions of herself.  In the end, she simply shook his hand again and left with a simple goodbye, once again admiring the color of the police box in the corner of his office as she closed the door behind herself.  All the way back to her office Mal berated herself for not asking when she could see him again.  Still muttering angrily at her insecurity, she grabbed her coat from the bedroom adjacent to her office and the car keys from her desk, preparing to leave for the meeting. She only paused when a blinking icon on her open laptop screen caught her eye.  Reaching over, she clicked on the icon to open her email, and saw that she had a message from an account called doctordisco12.  Suddenly excited, she opened the message and smiled at what she found.

I enjoyed talking to you.  Perhaps we could do it again sometime.

Stay safe.

~ the Doctor

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The next day Mal was getting some juice from the machine in the mess hall when she saw the Doctor come in and order a plate of lasagna from the meal counter. Taking his food, he got a glass of water before walking over and sitting at a small table near the back of the room.

She debated with herself for less than five seconds before gathering up her own lunch and making her way over to him.  He raised his head when she stood across from him, and he didn’t look at all surprised to see her.  

“Mind if I join you?” she asked.

A small smile twitched at the corner of his mouth and he waved a hand at the empty seat.  “Not at all.”

Smiling, she hung her bag over the back of the chair and sat down with her food.

Mal talked with him nearly every day after that.   He often ate lunch with her, sometimes in the mess hall and sometimes he convinced her to eat outdoors when it was nice enough.  They’d sit together in the grass or on a bench and talk about all sorts of subjects as they ate.  He’d stop to say hello when he passed her in the hallways now, and she’d seen him sitting in the back of a few of her own lectures.  When they hung out in his office together, he’d even play his guitar for her sometimes, to her amusement and delight.  

Nardole didn’t seem to like her.  Several times when she was talking with the Doctor he’d turned up, arms crossed so tightly that they looked like they’d never come unstuck, and pertly told the Doctor he was needed somewhere else.  Another time she’d seen him physically pull the Doctor down a side corridor when he saw her coming.  She didn’t know what to make of it.  But when she brought up the subject with the Doctor he’d simply waved away her concerns. So eventually she’d stopped asking and just enjoyed the fact that the Doctor cared enough about spending time with her to risk the wrath of his angry little teaching aid.

One day when they’d both headed outside in search of a place to each their lunch, Mal saw the Doctor eyeing a nice oak tree off one side of the green. He saw her looking at him and averted his gaze.  But she elbowed him and whispered conspiratorially, “Only if you give me a leg up first.” Hiding a delighted grin, he’d boosted her into the branches and they’d ended up having a lovely picnic nearly 15 feet above the ground. When she’d jokingly asked him why he’d zoomed in on this particular tree he said that the tree felt old and friendly. She almost laughed at him, but she’d placed a hand against the bark and somehow, she found herself agreeing with his observation.  The serious moment was broken as they spend the next half hour debating over what kind of a name the tree would have.  She was all for Fredrick, but he was insisting on Marvin.

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“You’re gonna get her killed!”

The Doctor ground his teeth together as he pretended to ignore Nardole who had been fussing and yelling at him for the past fifteen minutes.  

“You have to get her transferred or something!  You obviously can’t keep away from her and you can’t leave the vault.  It’s the only solution!  You said yourself that keeping her in an induced coma won’t help with the healing process.  If you keep getting closer to her you’re going to have to let her go for her own safety!”

The Doctor’s pencil lead snapped for the third time and he angrily sharpened it once more.

“I’ve told you again and again, but will you listen to me?  No!  Of course not!  No one ever listens to me.  Even when I’m trying to be helpful.  I thought the whole point of this whole mess with the experimental cure was to save her life!  And here you are putting a strain on the mental lock every time you see her!  Do you want her to die?”

“SHUT UP, NARDOLE!!” The Doctor leapt to his feet in all of his Oncoming Storm glory, causing Nardole to literally cower against the side of the TARDIS.  Dozens of words, excuses, and threats pushed against the Doctor’s lips as he started down at the man.  His fury at being provoked and accused of harming the one person he would do anything in the universe for, blazed behind his eyes.  But his own doubts and fears, as well as a prick of guilt caused by Nardole’s obvious terror, slowly melted his anger until he’d sunk back into his chair with his face buried in his hands.

For a long time neither of them moved.  It was only when Nardole saw the subtle shaking of the Doctor’s shoulders that he gradually stood and made his way over to his boss.  Hesitantly, he patted the Time Lord on the shoulder. Finally, the Doctor leaned back in his chair, not bothering to wipe away the tears on his lined face.  

Almost absently, he pulled a chain out from under his shirt.  From it hung what seemed to be a flat, empty cloth pouch, but when he pulled the bag off, what used to be an antique gold pocket watch swung from the end of the chain.  Someone had added bits and pieces to it, including a tiny vile of some liquid, several gears, a few electronic chips, and a piece of glass that encased a strand of graying brown and a strand of white hair, braided together.  Several different colored lights blinked or pulsed from various parts of the contraption.  It still looked like a cross between a steampunk art project gone wrong and something from a scrap metal yard.

Nardole hesitated, then asked, “What are you thinking about?”

The Doctor didn’t answer for a long moment.  Then he sighed and fingered the gold chain.

“Regrets. ��Over two thousand years of them.  But a few in particular.”

Nardole nodded.  “That last trip?”

“That trip.”  The Doctor scoffed.  “It was supposed to be our last hurrah before settling down to guard the vault.  Just one quick adventure.  One little vacation.  But…they caught her…  I didn’t know those creatures were telepathic.  They almost destroyed her mind by the time I found her.  I don’t even remember what I did to them.  I just remember walking over their corpses as I raced with her back to the TARDIS.”  More tears slipped down the Doctor’s cheeks.  “The brain scans…they were so confusing.  I’m still not sure what they all mean.  I couldn’t enter her mind through our bond…  That’s what scared me the most.  I tried everything I could think of, but she was slipping away.  Then I thought about the chameleon circuit.  I couldn’t put her into a coma.  That might have stopped the spread of damage, but she wouldn’t have healed.  Her brain needed stimulation to regrow old pathways.  I thought…taking away a few years of memory…just for a while…might allow her mind to fix itself.  I experimented with the watch and the chameleon arch for as long as I could. But she was dying!  I had no choice after a while.  I had to try it on her.  I’d hoped that what remained of our mental bond would allow her to keep at least some of her memories…but obviously that didn’t happen.  She became human.  She had a normal life.  And she has gotten better.  The school nurse said that she hasn’t been suffering from nearly as many headaches and migraines.  She’ll recover.  She has to!”  The Doctor’s grip on the chain was so tight that his hand was shaking. A simple wedding band, too small for his own finger also hung from the chain, and it swung slightly with the movement. The Doctor touched the ring with a single finger as another tear slipped from the corner of his eye.

Nardole dithered for a moment, but then swallowed and said, “Sir?  You do realize…  I mean, it is possible that…that she may never be able to recover her memories.  Her mind might have been permanently damaged enough that that kind of shock may…may cause a relapse…or even…kill her.”

The Doctor set the watch down on the desk and wiped at the tears on his face…but he didn’t answer.  

Nardole chewed on his lip before adding, “Or it may not be possible for her to get her memories back.  You basically made this thing up on the fly.  It’s completely experimental.  She was human a long time ago…it may be hard to change her back again.”

The Doctor didn’t react.

“Sir, are you listening to me?”

The Time Lord sighed.  “I’m listening.”

Nardole narrowed his eyes at him.

“What did I say then?”

“She was human a long time ago…” he muttered.  How could he forget?

When he’d met young Mallory Hart, he was still the War Doctor.  He’d just been in a huge battle and it was becoming clearer and clearer that there would be no happy ending to this war.  He’d slipped away for one last visit to his precious Earth. Just one last trip to be surrounded by people living ordinary lives, worrying about petty, everyday things. To sit in the grass and watch the clouds for a bit.  

That’s when she’d found him.  Sitting on a deserted swing set, in a small park.  She’d only been about seven years old at the time.  She’d talked to him.  She had no clue who or what he was.  She had no idea what he was going through.  But she’d listened.  She’d talked. She’d empathized.  She’d held his hand, the hand of a complete stranger…the hand of a murderer.  She’d been the reason that little spark of hope left in his chest had refused to die throughout the rest of the war.  Because she was proof that there were some things out in the universe worth fighting for.

After he’d been saved from destroying Gallifrey by his past selves, Clara Oswald, and the consciousness of the Moment, he’d regenerated into Nine.  Nine had no idea that Gallifrey was safe. He’d had to forget all that.  He’d had to live with the belief that he’d killed his entire race.  He wanted to die too.  He’d tried. But that spark of hope just wouldn’t die.  He’d gone back to find her, not really knowing why.  He’d miscalculated the timing and ended up over twelve years farther down her timeline, but she still remembered him.  The sad man with the kind eyes on the swing-set.  In almost no time, she was traveling in the TARDIS with him.  Mal helped him heal.  She brought him back from the darkness.  Soon after that they’d both run in to Rose and she joined them.  As time went on, he fell more and more in love with her.  He swore he would never tell her.  That he’d return her to Earth rather than saddle her with a broken, murderer of a Time Lord.  But then she told him that she loved him…and he’d found that he didn’t have the strength to leave her.  

Then Bad Wolf had happened.  She saw his overwhelming dread of losing Mal to the unstoppable waves of time.  She saw how many more people he could help with her by his side providing him with the strength and love he needed to keep going through the centuries.  So, Bad Wolf changed her.  She gave her the time she needed…and an extra heart.

He’d asked Mal to marry him when he was Ten.  She’d returned the favor by asking him to bond with her.  He gave her the human wedding band around her finger, and she’d bonded her mind and soul to his in the Time Lord way.  

She’d stayed with him through his regenerations, and he’d been there for her through a few of her own.  Since she was a Time Lady she had a bit more control over her regenerations. For the most part, she tried to keep the changes to a minimum, though she did influence the age a bit here and there to match more with his current body.  He’d been very touched when she’d shown no qualms about giving herself gray hair the last time she’d regenerated in order to match this older looking body of his.  She’d never left.  Never stopped loving him.  Never stopped saving him.

And look what had happened to her…

“Sir?”

The Doctor blinked, and came back to the present.  “What?”

“I asked if there was any way to tell if it’s working or not?  Besides the reduced headaches…how are we supposed to tell?”

The Doctor opened his mouth to reply, then hesitated.  He thought for a moment…then a smile slowly grew on his face.

“The only way to tell, is for me to unlock our mental bond and look at her mind from the inside.”  He stood. “And the only way to do that is to slowly gain her trust again.”

Nardole frowned.  “I’m not sure about that, sir.  You said that the bond hurts when it’s constricted like this, so are you sure you’re not just looking for an excuse to get some relief-“

“Do you really think I would risk it before I was absolutely sure?” the Doctor snapped.  “Yes, it hurts.  It feels like I have only one lung.  Like I can never get enough air.  Like I’m having a constant hearts attack!  Like half of me is missing.  Because half of me is!  The bond connects us so tightly together that sometimes it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.  I feel myself fading away without her here to ground me.  Seeing her like she is now, when she has no clue who I am, it hurts! But it’s better than not seeing her at all!”  

All the energy seemed to drain out of the Doctor once more and he slumped back into his chair.  

“I miss her, Nardole.” He almost whispered.  “I have to believe that she can come back from this…  But like you said, the whole thing is experimental. For all we know she’s already ready and we just don’t know.  I promise I’m being careful.  But I have to be close enough to judge when the moment is right.  Otherwise I give up hope that she’ll ever be able to come back to me.”

Nardole stared at the Time Lord before him.  At the extra lines and the dark shadows under his eyes.  At the subtle shaking of his hands.  He looked and he nodded softly.

“Well then…  Just…be careful, sir.”

The Doctor gave a crooked smile.

“When am I anything else?”

“That is not encouraging, sir.” Said Nardole, and the Doctor chuckled weakly in agreement.

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Mal still had the dreams, but the constant homesickness had eased a bit.  

Spending time with the Doctor made her feel content and brave.  The horrible, guilty longing she’d felt for so long eased.  She could relax again.  

It wasn’t perfect all the time though.  The confusion was still there.  So many things didn’t make sense.  When she was with him, it felt as though she was exactly where she need to be.  The worrying questions disappeared and she just concentrated on everything feeling right.  But once he was gone, the doubts returned.  The half memories continued to haunt her until it felt like she was walking along a curtain with half visible memories pressing right up against the fabric, but impossible to see or touch.  They eluded her, and haunted her like invisible ghosts, hovering just out of the corner of her eye.  

Mal spent more and more time with the Doctor.  They were even talking about co-teaching together after the end of the year, once the new semester started.  He always had time to spend on her.  But there were times she’d catch certain looks he gave her…certain emotions that would flicker behind his eyes…  They both scared her and drew her in.  Sometimes he seemed so sad, at other times conflicted.  Her favorite moments were when he was free from the dark thoughts that plagued him and he allowed himself to be happy.  It would be hard for an outsider to tell, because his happy moments often involved just as much eyebrow action as when he was cross.  Sometimes he was just happy being cross.  But she found it fairly easy to interpret his moods, even when others ducked for cover.  This feeling of understanding and closeness was another thing that both delighted and terrified her.  She felt like she’d known him for forever.  But Mal was an educated, grown woman.  She knew she was playing a dangerous game.  She didn’t want to have her heart broken because she delved too far into something that was all in her head.  

He wore a wedding band.  She’d asked him about it during one of their first lunches together, but he’d said that he didn’t have a wife at the moment.  It was vague, half-answers like that that she knew should have sent up red flags and had her running for the hills.  And yet, she couldn’t help but put her faith in him.  It was as instinctual as breathing.  

Mal’s students and friends on the staff had noticed her new friendship with the Doctor.  Her colleagues were happy to see the close friendship that she’d developed and sometimes asked questions about the man that puzzled so many.  Her students were the worst.  They switched back and forth between teasing her, pestering her with questions, and pressuring her to ask him on an official date.  She sometimes worried that some of the gossip would reach the Doctor’s ears and make him uncomfortable enough to avoid her. But either he never heard any of it, or he didn’t give it enough credit to bother bringing it up.  She wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or hurt if it were the latter.  

Time passed.  It was the Christmas season and there was snow on the ground outside.  The Doctor nearly made her heart pound out of her chest the few times he’d straightened collar of her coat against the wind or wrapped his scarf around her when she’d forgotten hers.  The faculty Christmas party was fast approaching, and she’d only gotten a vague “maybe” from the Doctor when she’d asked him if he would be attending.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The night of the Christmas party, the study tables had been moved out of the reading area in the library to make room.  Some of the students who stayed over Christmas had volunteered to decorate and serve food for the teachers.  Twinkle lights hung across the ceiling and from the bookshelves.  A Christmas tree had been set up in one corner with simple red, gold, and silver baubles hanging from the branches.  There were tasty treats lined up on the buffet table and music filled the room from a large pair of speakers.  

Mal talked a while with one of her students who was working at the food table before wandering around the edge of the room.  The party had started 45 minutes ago and she hadn’t seen any sign of the Doctor.  The music is beautiful, switching from catchy holiday tunes to softer, classical instrumentals.  Several people are dancing in the middle of the room, which seemed to have been designated as the dance floor, but she was too busy watching for the Doctor to consider joining them.  

Taking a sip from her glass of warm cider, she glanced around the room again. Suddenly, she caught a glimpse of white hair and a stern eyebrow.  She tried to edge her way around a pair of professors to get a better look, but by the time she had there was no sign of him.  Sighing, she stood on her tip toes, trying to see over the crowd, but with no luck.

“Lose something?” said a low voice in her ear.  

A small squeak escaped her lips and she almost spilled her drink. Turning, she saw a smirk upon the Doctor’s lined face.  She opened her mouth to rebuke him, but paused as she took in his attire.  He wore a suit often enough, especially when teaching. But tonight, he was wearing a burgundy bow tie above a crisp white shirt, and a black suit jacket.  She’d probably seen him wear every one of those items at one point or another, but somehow this was different.  Maybe it was the twinkle lights’ warm glow that made him seem especially handsome tonight.  But she didn’t care.

Suddenly Mal realized that the Doctor was watching her stare at him with one eyebrow raised.  She blushed and set her glass down on a nearby table to give herself time to clear her muddled thoughts.

“You look lovely tonight.” His voice was soft enough to be almost tender.

“Thank you.” She said.  She was wearing a white turtleneck and a long, flowy red skirt.  Her only jewelry was a pair of pearl earrings and a gold and crystal snowflake hanging from a chain around her neck.  Her hair was partially pulled back from her face, and she was pretty sure one of her students had stuck a crimson poinsettia in it at one point during the party.

“I was worried that you would find an excuse not to come.” she teased.

“Oh, I did.” He said, with a touch of half-hearted grouchiness.  “I came up with approximately 87 and was on a roll, when…” He looked suddenly embarrassed.

“What?” she asked.  

“Well, I knew you wanted me to come.” He muttered.  

A smile spread across Mal’s face as she placed a hand on his arm.  

“Thank you.  I really do appreciate it.  But I don’t want you to be miserable because of me.  Go get some food or dance or something.”

“I’m not hungry.  I came here to see you.  And I don’t dance.”

She felt herself blushing again, but tried to hide it by teasing him.

“Don’t dance?  Or won’t?”

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes!  But either way, I am determined to see you on the dance floor at least once before the night is out!”

He gave her a condescending smile.  “Not gonna happen.”

“Please?”

“Nope.”

“Pretty please?” she asked, trying to make her eyes sad and large, sticking her bottom lip out like a toddler.

He chuckled at the childish move, but stopped as something seemed to catch his eye.  He frowned and Mal turned to follow his gaze.  She caught a glimpse of Nardole whispering something to the student in charge of the music.  The young woman was in a few of her classes, and she saw her grin mischievously in her direction before turning to the sound equipment.  Mal glanced back at the Doctor to see him still frowning at Nardole, eyebrows dangerously low.  

Then an instrumental song came on over the speakers.  It was soothing and romantic.  The instruments included only a piano, a few violins, and a harp, but Mal instantly felt a tug from one of those just-out-of-reach memories.  For a split second, she was afraid her eyes would tear up, but she blinked rapidly until the feeling past.  Turning, she saw the Doctor scrutinizing her face with an unreadable expression.  Taking a deep breath, she tried one last time.

“Look Doctor, I don’t dance either, but this is such a lovely song.  Could we perhaps brave it together?”

There was a pause, then the Doctor sighed.  

“Something tells me you dance just fine, Ms. Mallory.” he said as he took her hand and led her to the dance floor.  

Mal couldn’t remember ever dancing before, but she kept this to herself as the Doctor placed a hand against the small of her back, making her breath catch. She grasped his hand more firmly and placed her other on his shoulder.  Looking up into his face, which was several inches above hers, she stared into his eyes.  He held her gaze, took a deep breath in through his nose…and they were off.  

She barely registered that they were moving at first.  It was so effortless that they were gliding across the floor before she realized what had happened.  Her body responded to his out of pure instinct, or was it memory?  She’d never waltzed before, but she stepped in time with the Doctor over and over again like she’d been doing it since childhood. He spun her out under his arm and back in such perfect time to the music that it felt choreographed.  They turned together and moved in a wide circle, never once stepping on each other’s toes.  Her chest was pressed to his as she spun around the floor, sometimes breaking briefly apart for a spin, before coming effortlessly back together.  She’d never felt so graceful in her life, but she hardly noticed…because the whole time, the Doctor never once took his eyes from hers.  

The song eventually came to an end, and the Doctor slowly dipped her with strength uncharacteristic of a man of his age.  But again, she hardly noticed.  As he brought her back up to a standing position she realized that no one else was on the floor and that many of the party-goers were now clapping.  Even so, it was almost impossible to wrench her eyes free of that blue gaze.  Only when someone patted her on the back did she manage it.  The Doctor released her waist and her hand as several people came forwards to gush about their dancing skills.  Turing her head to acknowledge the praise, she glanced back at the Doctor to see him slipping away into the crowd.  

Frowning, Mal tried to follow, but found it difficult to escape her new fans. When she finally wriggled her way to the edge of the room again she ran in to Nardole.  He didn’t say anything, just pointed towards a door leading into the hallway with an expressionless face.  She nodded gratefully and slipped out.  She looked both ways down the corridor and only just saw the Doctor’s back as he rounded a corner.  Taking a steadying breath, she followed.

Mal trailed him up several flights of stairs to the floor that his office was on. He paused, then continued past the door to open one at the end of the hallway.  Following, she found a set of stairs there that led up to the roof. The door at the top was partially ajar.

Pushing it open she stepped onto the snowy roof, barely noticing the fresh snow falling as she stared at the Doctor’s silhouette.  He was at the edge of the roof, looking up at the moon.  He didn’t react, though he must have heard her as she stepped through the snow to stand a few feet behind him.  The Doctor didn’t speak for several minutes.  When he did, it was in a musing tone as he studied the large white globe above him.

“It’s strange…no matter how much we learn about it, it never gets any less beautiful.  There aren’t many things like that.”  He sighed and looked over his shoulder at her.  “There’s something you want to say.”  It was a statement.  Not a question.

The words were on the tip of her tongue and they rolled out of her mouth of their own accord.  

“I feel like I’ve known you for a hundred years.”

The Doctor hummed, turning back to look at the ground far below him.  “Many more than that by now.”

“But how can that be?  We’ve known each other for less than a year.”

“Have we?” It was almost a whisper and she barely caught it.

Mal opened her mouth, then paused.  She was getting more and more confused, even as she became more and more certain that there was so much more to this man and what he meant to her.  As she struggled internally, the Doctor continued to inspect the snowy campus below.  After a while though, he sighed.

“I’m sure you have questions for me.”

And just like that, Mal felt certain again.  She knew exactly what she wanted to say.

“No.  I don’t.”

The Doctor finally turned to face her, one eyebrow raised.

“I don’t have something to ask.  I have something to say.”

His eyes flashed as he stared into hers once more.  She felt like she was a book he was reading.

“Before you do, think about this…  You will be much safer if you stay away from me.”

She believed him.  His eyes were full of danger, and time, and weariness.  The ghosts of memories behind the veil in her mind swirled in agreement.  She could walk away now.  She could go back to ignoring the pull she felt toward him and find a way to struggle with the dreams on her own.  

But that same feeling, the one that was telling her to run, awakened a part of herself that seemed to have been sleeping.  Strength entered her limbs and her back straightened.  She held her head high.  

“I don’t care.”

The words were solemn and firm.  There was no way he could doubt her.

The Doctor’s eyes blazed with all of the emotions he seemed to be constantly hiding from her.  Fear, pride, power, grief, hope, vulnerability, and…she dared to hope…love.

Mal took a step forward.

“Doctor, I want to say that I-“

“I love you.”

Mal stopped, frozen.  The Doctor’s mouth was still open, as though the words had leapt unbidden from his lips. He swallowed, then cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I always promised myself that if I had the chance to do it again that I would be the one to say it to you first this time around.” He looked almost guilty now, kicking at the snow with his shoe.

“W-what?”

The Doctor suddenly was right in front of her.  His arms wrapped themselves with no hesitation around her waist, pulling her flush against him.  Mal’s hands fell to rest on his chest.  A small part of her brain was wondering if there was something wrong with his heartbeats, but the rest of it was too busy drowning in the Doctor’s fierce gaze.  

“I.  Love.  You.  Mal.  I have for hundreds of years.  And I promise you…I’ll never stop.”

Mal didn’t stop to puzzle through his confusing statement.  She didn’t stop to think.  She simply grasped the lapels of his jacket and pulled him down to her level.  Except that she didn’t have to pull, because he was already bending down until his lips met hers.

The memories behind the veil keened and sang all at once.  Something inside her mind resonated like a gong that had been hit.  The ground felt unsteady beneath her feet.  But she hardly noticed.  The world had narrowed to the man in her arms and his lips on hers.  He was tentative at first, because in many ways, it was a first kiss.  But both of their bodies soon took over in a familiar pattern that left her dizzy. Mal knew exactly how to turn her head to get him to hum against her lips.  He knew exactly how tight to hold her as her knees grew weak.  She knew just where trace her fingers along his jaw and cheekbone to get him to press her even tighter against his chest.  He knew just how to bury his fingers in to her thick hair to get her to tremble and clutch at him even more.  They played each other like instruments they’d been playing their whole lives.  

Slowly the Doctor pulled away, letting his lips caress hers one more time as he did so.  They were both breathing hard as he pressed his forehead to hers.  Neither of them noticed the cold, or the snow slowly melting into their shoes.  

Finally, the Doctor let out a watery laugh.  Mal peeked through her eyelids to see that there were tears sliding down his face, and that he was looking at her with so much love that she thought she’d spontaneously combust.   He caressed one of her cheeks, wiping at some tears of her own that she hadn’t noticed until now.

“I’ve missed you so much, Mal.” he whispered, his breath making a temporary cloud of vapor between them.

“I missed you too, Doctor.  I don’t know how, but I did.  So much.”

The Doctor groaned and pulled her even closer so that their faces were pressed in to the crook of each other’s necks.  

“Mal?  Do you trust me?” he whispered in her ear.  His voice deadly serious.

“Yes.”

“Do you trust me with your heart?”

“Yes.”

“Do you trust me with your life?”

“Yes.”

And she did.  There was not a single cell in her body that doubted it.  

The Doctor took several deep breaths before pulling his face away. Mal saw hope and fear mixed evenly in his expression.  Cupping her face in his hands, he slowly bent down to press his forehead to hers once more.  This time though, something was different…

Mal felt a soft caress, but not on her body.  A gentle presence touched a part of her that she didn’t know existed. Was it her mind?  Her soul?  She couldn’t tell.  She didn’t have the words or the knowledge to describe what it was.  But the touch was familiar.  It rang with music, and love, and power.  She knew it was the Doctor.  She relaxed this newfound part of herself, letting down walls she hadn’t even known were there.  She clawed at them until it hurt and then she felt the Doctor’s presence flow over her frantic motions, soothing and stilling them.  Together they gently pulled down the walls until there was nothing between the two of them. As their inner beings wove together, Mal recognized every part of him that she encountered.  The homesick feeling that had plagued her for months died a happy death as she drowned in relief...strong, overwhelming relief. She felt like she’d been suffocating and only now could breathe properly again.  Like she’d been blind but hadn’t realized it.  

So many things were still a mystery to her.  The memories were still thrashing behind that mental veil.  But she knew several things for sure.  

She knew this man’s name.  His real name.  Its power echoed through her mind. 

She knew who he was.  Every dream.  Every insecurity.  

She knew who he was and she loved him for it.

In return, he knew her better than anyone else. Better almost than she knew herself.

And he loved her for who she was.

She was his.

And he was hers.

As the sensation of the bond reforming began to lose its overwhelming edge, Mal found her physical body again and managed to gain control of her lips.   She whispered his name.  His true name.  In response, he sobbed in to her shoulder, holding her even closer than before.  They were both crying, embracing each other’s minds as well as each other’s bodies.  How long they stood like that, she never could tell.

Eventually they’d separated, slowly unclenching tight muscles and letting their minds release their vice-like grip on each other. Wiping each other’s faces clean of tears they walked to the edge of the roof and stood staring at the moon, arms wrapped around each other.  

Mal let the Doctor follow her train of thought through their bond.  She was alternating between admiring the moon, sorting through the holes in her mind that she could now see were missing years of memories, and basking in the affection she felt from him through the bond.

“I can help with the missing memory part.” Said the Doctor, absently plucking at a chain that Mal could now see was hidden under his shirt.  “But it might be best to do it in a more private and safe location.”

Only then did she realize her limbs were trembling with cold as well as emotion.  She laughed as he instantly took off his suit jacket and wrapped it snuggly around her shoulders, helping her slip her arms through the too long sleeves.  

“Yes, I definitely want those memories back, a wood fire, and a warm, chocolaty drink, not necessarily in that order.” She said. “But I want one more thing first.”

The Doctor glanced down at his wife, then a roguish smile spread across his face as he felt her meaning through their bond.  Sweeping her up off the ground, he ravished Mal’s mouth with his.  His lips attacking hers with a passion and precision that left all of her limbs feeling like jelly.  She threw her arms around his neck and gave as good as she got.  Their tongues danced and plunged in and out of each other’s mouths with a familiarity born of hundreds of years of marriage.  She wanted to go on like this for quite a while more, but the sound of cheers suddenly broke through the pounding in her ears and the two of them broke apart.

Down on the snow-covered grass below stood a small crowd of students and faculty who were all looking up at the couple and cheering wildly.  There were a few wolf-whistles and Mal was sure she saw money being exchanged by several people.  

She wondered if the Doctor would be embarrassed, as averse as he normally was to PDA in this body.  But nothing could dampen his spirits tonight.  He laughed loudly, waving to the crowd below as Mal pressed a cold hand to her blushing cheeks.  The Doctor egged on the crowd even more by dipping her back and kissing her soundly again.  By the time he pulled her upright, she was dizzy and more flushed than ever. Laughter echoed from the crowd as she placed a hand on the Doctor’s chest to keep her balance.  

“Ahh!  Yer just jealous!” the Doctor crowed, wrapping an arm around her waist.  “Go home ya gawking idiots!”  

The crowd laughed again and slowly began to disperse, but not before several of Mal’s students shouted up and promised a thorough grilling for the details at a later date.  Nearly everyone was gone before she realized that Nardole had been standing in the middle of the crowd, hidden by the waving arms and number of onlookers. He had his arms crossed, as usual, and was looking up at the Doctor with a concerned expression that was almost fearful. The Doctor gave him a thumbs up. Nardole nodded and relaxed, his shoulders untensing.  He uncrossed his arms and smiled up at her.  With a wave he strode off, a little skip in his step.

“I suppose that will make more sense once I have my memories back?” Mal asked, looking up at the Doctor.  

He chuckled and nodded.  “Let’s head down to my office for that fire, hot drink, and your memories.  There’s a certain sassy, blue box I think you should get reacquainted with.”  He guided her towards the door with the arm around her waist.

Mal nodded, not even bothering to puzzle over his strange words, and rested her head against his shoulder.  “Sounds perfect.”  

A thought struck her just before they started down the stairs and she pulled back to look up at the Doctor, a question in her eyes.

“Yes, dear?” he asked.

“I’m not sure if this is my memory already starting to come back or not, but I have a strong urge to say something rather odd.”

“What is it?”

Reaching up, she fingered his bow tie as she grinned widely.

“Bow ties are cool.”

The Doctor groaned dramatically.

#doctor who #doctor who fic #doctor who fanfic #12th doctor #12 #12th #12th doctor fanfic #12th doctor fic #twelve #twelfth doctor #twelfth #doctor/oc #doctor x oc #Doctor #peter capaldi #nardole #doctor who season 10 #whovian #amnesia #chameleon circuit #tardis #professor doctor

[winterromanov]

can we just have this - twissy human nature au

The Family are back, and it’s up to Bill Potts to make sure two very human professors don’t end up shagging and giving the game away.

They’re running. They’re running so hard that Bill can feel her heart pumping brutally in her chest, the sound thudding round her ears like Big Ben on the hour—boom, boom, boom. She can taste bile in her throat, acidic and bloody, hot pain racing up her legs every time her feet collide with the concrete floor. The Doctor is just ahead of her, hand gripped tightly round Missy’s forearm. Her dress has ripped round her feet. A long stream of indigo fabric trails behind her like a bloodstain. It’s all going too fast for Bill to know for definite but; yes, she’s convinced of it, Missy has terror on her face.

“Come on!” the Doctor yells, his voice a harsh growl cutting the sound of distant explosions and relentless panting. A shaky mass of blue appears in Bill’s eyeline. The TARDIS. Thank God, something familiar, something that will fix everything—nothing can get in the TARDIS. Nardole makes what she can only assume is a laugh of relief from behind her. They’re fine. They’re going to make it.

Missy shouts hysterically as the Doctor manically tries to insert the key into the lock. “For Christ’s sake, we’re not on holiday here! Get a move on!”

“What do you think I’m doing?” he hisses vehemently. Bill certainly wishes they were on holiday. Barcelona would be nice. Perhaps the Maldives. Space Maldives? Sun, sea, anti-gravity sand…

“Miss Potts!”

Two fists banging loudly on the desk in front of her wake Bill from her daydream, right into the icy blue eyes of Professor Saxon. A blank ream of paper lays untouched in the typewriter. She smiles—well, more grimaces—and prepares herself for a bollocking. It’s not her fault, really. She’s not a bloody secretary in real life.

“Sorry,” Bill apologises, burning under the Professor’s glare. “I got…distracted.”

“You’re always bloody distracted,” Professor Saxon scolds. She eventually rises from the table, wandering over to the window. The view outside is of the back building of Queen’s College, beautiful in its archaic architecture, leaking history into the present. The sky is grey and swollen with rain and the grass all the more greener for it. At least he picked somewhere pretty, Bill thinks. He could’ve dropped them in fucking Carlisle. “It’s a wonder what I even pay you for.”

Bill resists the urge to scream. All the money in the universe wouldn’t be adequate payment. She’s only doing this for the Doctor. “Yeah, I’m sorry, Professor. What were you saying again?”

For a moment, Professor Saxon seems lost in her thoughts—but she’s quickly swept back out of them, like the tide returning to the shore. “I want you to write to Professor Coverley at Newcastle and to thank him kindly for his invitation, but I’ll unfortunately have to decline.”

Bill absent-mindedly clicks out a reply. She’s used to the keys, now, rather than the sleek board of her iMac. Even if she can still hear the tapping at the back of her brain on a night like her own internal loop-pedal. “And what should I give him as a reason?”

“Make something up,” Professor Saxon barks flippantly, “Write because I don’t want to see your stupid misogynistic fucking face if you’re feeling unimaginative.”

Bill pouts, considering it. “I’ll just say you have a prior engagement.”

Professor Saxon shrugs, throwing herself in the chair opposite her desk. “Whatever. And when you’ve done that, get me a coffee. Black as you can get it. Actually, scrap that—get me the coffee now, reply later. The wanker can wait.”

Bill sighs, abandoning the typewriter. Professor Saxon is no longer interested in her, rather thumbing through an aging tome on The War of the Roses, reading heavily highlighted paragraphs intensely. She’s not going to complain. Any time where she doesn’t have to sit in a room with the Professor is time well spent, a breath of fresh air, like she’s not going to be chained to her ankles for the next two months.

She’s doing this for the Doctor. She’s doing this for the Doctor.

By now, she’s fairly used to the layout of Queen’s, but mainly the nexus of offices between the Professor’s study and her preferred lecture theatres. Bill’s essentially her skivvy, running between rooms with books and papers and coffees. She certainly never leaves her without something to do—Bill doesn’t know whether to be annoyed or grateful for that. Silence means her mind wanders. Silence means she—

“Bill!”

She’s greeted cheerfully by the small, round shape of Nardole, clutching a small briefcase. Every time they collide a feeling of intense relief floods through her, because Nardole is proof she isn’t going absolutely insane. “Nardole! Hey!”

He blinks, eyes huge behind his glasses. “How…are you?”

Bill narrows her eyes. “You mean how is she, don’t you?”

There’s no point in attempting to look anything other than sheepish. “Yeah, but I’m concerned about you too. I heard that you were…”

Bill knows instantly what he’s insinuating without the words escaping his mouth. Even in the seventies, it’s not easy being a woman, and it’s especially not easy being a black woman. The posh wankers that walk Queen’s’ halls make that especially clear to her at every opportunity. God knows what would happen if any of them discovered her sexual preferences—spontaneous combustion, perhaps? “No, it’s fine, really. It’s only two more months, right?”

“Right!” Nardole says, but there’s a thick layer of uncertainty in his tone that makes Bill feel uneasy. “Mi—the Professor isn’t working you too hard, is she?”

“She’d have me down on my hands and knees and scrubbing her lav if she could,” Bill snorts. “Even as someone else, she’s determined to make my life a misery. The chameleon arch doesn’t change that much.”

“But other than that… She’s not, y’know? Been suspicious?”

“No! God, no, she hasn’t,” Bill reassures her friend, “I’ve shoved the watch in her filing cabinet. She’s barely even looked at it. What about…Professor Smith? Has he…?”

Nardole shakes his head decisively. “No, not an inkling. He’s been having some dreams, but nothing remotely incriminating. He’s a bit angrier as a human. Threw a blackboard rubber at my head because he didn’t like how shiny it was. I know they’re a bit iffy on corporal punishment in this decade but that is taking the biscuit.”

Bill smothers a giggle under her breath at the image. “He’d get on with Professor Saxon. She’s been tempted to throttle me a few times.”

“Not like her to have any self-control when it comes to brutality. Maybe we should keep her as a human after all this is over. Could be better for the whole universe.”

“Certainly tempting, but I think if she ever found out she’d definitely kill us. Speaking of which,” Bill pushes past him, “She’s sent me on a coffee run. She’ll get suspicious if I’m not back soon.”

“Right you are,” Nardole smiles, gesturing in the direction of the staff common room. “Remember, if you—if anything about her behaviour troubles you, come find me. And if you feel like we’re compromised, give her the watch. Just give her the watch.”

She’s had the debrief etched in her memory ever since that day. Every word carved into her soul, eyes blurry with unshed tears, fear burning in her blood. She’s not going to forget that in a hurry. She’s not going to forget their faces, their desperation, in a hurry.

“Of course,” she offers Nardole one last hopeful smile. “I’ll catch you later, yeah?”

Nardole nods in agreement, before turning and walking in the opposite direction. Bill lets out a breath, so loud it echoes round the empty corridor, a shiver rushing down her spine. God, she just wants this all to be over.

Two more months. Just two more months.

#twelve #missy #twelfth doctor #twelve x missy #twissy #doctor who #dw #fanfic #fic #dw fic #twissy fic

[butterflyinthewell]

Palimpsest (autistic!12th Doctor fanfic)

TITLE: Palimpsest SUMMARY: Disability does not equal tragedy, and love is a promise that endures beyond missing memories. (Set after the episode ‘Oxygen’. Blind!autistic!12th Doctor, Whouffaldi) RATING: T GENRE: Angst / Hurt-Comfort / Humor PAIRING: Whouffaldi (Wait for it...trust me.) LOCATED: FF.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12493583/1/Palimpsest AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10938483 (Whouffaldi Forever) and also under the Tumblr cut TRIGGER WARNINGS: Unsanitary moments, food, graphic description of suffocation in a vacuum, eye scream, body horror.

I wanted to play around with blind!12 using a mobility device and being independent. The Doctor losing his sight doesn’t have to be tragic and I don’t think he would see it as such. 

This story is an acknowledgement of Face the Raven from the Doctor’s POV, and it’s meant to point towards Every Love Story. That makes it kinda-sorta an AU, yet I wrote it with a “could be canon if you squint” mindset. 

Bring tissues, you might need them. Allons-y! 

[Still image from the Doctor Who episode Hell Bent. Taken from inside an old-fashioned diner. There is a juke box and red booths on the left-hand side of the photo. On the right-hand side are red stools, the counter, a drink machine and other diner-type knick knacks. The 12th Doctor is outside the glass doors, poised to step inside. He’s carrying his electric guitar and wearing his sonic sunglasses.]

“Had to let you know just what would happen. Yes, I had to let you know the truth. I know I've got to do this. Would you hold my hand right through it? Would you...”

--Gloria Estefan, “I See Your Smile”

.o

People died because of his recklessness. But not Bill. Not today. Not if he could do something to prevent it.

The Doctor inhaled deeply and blew all the air out ten times in a row. Hyperventilating left him tingly, but it would buy him time. Chaos reigned around him, yet he remained calm. He removed his space helmet with a decisive snap-click.

Frigidness bit into his skin like fangs. Pain slammed through his ears as they popped in the negative pressure, and they rang so loud he hardly heard his own hearts pounding. The last breath he inhaled rushed out in a cloud of thick, white mist. It seemed to shape like a bird before evaporating.

Bill’s eyes fluttered and rolled; she had lost consciousness. Ice formed where she sweat from fear. Her brown skin looked ashen and the membranes inside her twitching mouth turned a terrifying blue-gray.

The Doctor’s chest burned. He shoved the helmet over Bill’s head, twisted it into position and grabbed her arm. Ringing continued inside his skull while he pulled Bill’s space suit panel open and rerouted its circuitry. His body gasped spasmodically for air, but the strength of his diaphragm couldn’t overcome a vacuum. What little breath he dragged in got violently sucked out before he fully inhaled it. He swore his internal organs were on the verge of bursting through his nostrils.

One more twist and Bill’s suit began to march in the same instant he felt the spit in his mouth become froth. He gestured at Nardole to get Bill outside. Ivan and Abby had already gone ahead to clear the way.

The Doctor hunched his shoulders, which pressed the rim of his space suit over his ears and mouth. Somehow, that helped the pain. He staggered outside. Now there was nothing to inhale, like having plastic wrap pressed over his nose and mouth. Flashes of light lit his visual field. Just cosmic rays, not too dangerous in small doses.

His eyes stung, then burned. So did his eyelids. The lack of oxygen triggered a brief myoclonic seizure-- his whole body jerked and flailed. Nobody saw that, thank the stars. 

Nardole kept stopping and looking back. The Doctor stumbled ahead of him when Bill’s suit took her off-course. Another seizure wracked his muscles. Darkness pricked the edges of his vision. Details began to disappear as if his retinas lost resolution. Everything swam around him. Who turned his vitreous and aqueous humor into carbonation? Oh, right, vacuum.

Bill came closer. She was still too out of it to correct her course. The Doctor caught her shoulder and redirected her towards Nardole. Their destination was ten steps away. Nardole didn’t look back when Ivan and Abby disappeared into the other open airlock with Bill. Maybe they thought he was right behind them.

Pain became unbearable agony. The Doctor’s skin went numb. Pressure built up in his muscles and a feeling of irrational anguish heated his bones. How ironic, he was going to have a meltdown in the vacuum of space and probably die right after.

But he saved Bill. That made the pain worth it.

The Doctor spread his arms, squeezed his eyes shut and screamed. It didn’t matter that his lungs had no air to produce sound. Screaming felt good. Screaming gave that energy somewhere safe to go. He curled his fists and thrashed his head backwards. There was nothing to bang it against, but his body did it anyway.

Reality turned dizzying as his eyes rolled. Now his entire visual field bubbled as he cried the tears that always followed the peak of a meltdown. Euphoria flooded through him. Reality became decidedly less real. He didn’t care about the pain anymore. Endorphins were kicking in. If dying felt like this, it wasn’t the most horrible thing in the world.

Consciousness began to leave him as someone grabbed his arm and hauled him forward. Visions of a petite woman wearing a pale blue sweater danced through his head. Briefly, he glimpsed the edge of a smile on her lips. 

He noticed himself shouting something. It didn’t make any sound until the chamber pressurized.

“C-Cl-Clara! Clara? Clara!”

Mid-shout, he noticed something missing. Then he passed out. When he woke up later, he realized he was blind.

.o

.o

Palimpsest 

.o

.o

A search for solitude drove the Doctor into what he always did-- he ran. He needed to get away from Bill and Nardole for awhile. Bill wasn’t much of a bother. Nardole’s overabundant concern after the events aboard Chasm Forge wore on his last nerve. He tried to be helpful without it seeming obvious...and it got annoying!

The Doctor hated other people imposing limits on him. Rules were one thing. Rules needed to be followed, and he understood the utterly painful consequences of breaking them.

But limits? Limits were, well, limiting! How did anybody expect him to adapt as a blind man when they tried to do everything for him? Everyone bumped their head, banged their knees and tripped over things. Why did he hear sighs of pity if he did it a little more often than sighted folks? Blindness, shimdness!

So off the Doctor ran, and here he was, materializing the TARDIS in Nevada yet again. He liked Nevada. A huge, rocky nowhere similar to Mars. Somebody could wander the highway forever and never see another living person unless they sought them out on purpose.

He’d been coming here for a month now to practice independent blind travel. Being careful to park the TARDIS back in his office exactly zero-point-zero-zero-zero-one seconds after departing made his exits and re-entrances almost undetectable.

The Doctor tugged his coat lapel for a reassuring whiff of chalk. The electric guitar strapped to his shoulder shifted against his back. He saw the TARDIS so well in his mind’s eye that he forgot he wasn’t actually seeing until he opened the door. 

Hot, dry and dusty desert air stung his nostrils. Everything looked like what he saw if he pointed a flashlight at his eyelids while they were shut, except they weren’t really shut and the haze had more white than red in it. Light perception was all he had. Ironic, his eyeballs didn’t hate light until they couldn’t see properly anymore. They focused instinctively whenever they sensed bright illumination even though his brain knew they weren’t going to see anything useful. Old habits died hard. 

Cutting out vision reduced his chronic sensory overload and absolved him from worrying about bothersome social cues. Actually, going blind made his tendency to miss social cues a little more understandable. Only one dilemma remained: the anxiety of chronic sensory under-load. No problem-- his previous incarnation was prone to hyposensitivity. Doing something stimulating filled in the void.

And a long walk in the hot desert sun would do just fine. Nardole might tear out the hair he didn’t have if he found out about this. The Doctor chuckled at the mental image without regret. 

He whipped his sonic sunglasses out of his breast pocket and put them on. A tap from his fingers turned the already-dark lenses nearly opaque. Dimming the perception of light forced his eyes to relax. Next, he reached into his side pocket for his white cane. The rigid cane fit in his pocket the same way he fit inside his TARDIS. Pocket dimensions were awesome like that. 

Folding canes didn’t work for him. They were nifty, however they didn’t transmit enough tactile information. Also, they weren’t sonic.

This cane was the coolest thing he ever asked the TARDIS to design, if he said so himself. The long white cane looked nearly identical to the typical white canes used by blind humans. Black golf club handle, white body and a reflective red strip near its mushroom tip. It nearly reached his nose when he let the tip touch the ground. People who walked fast needed longer canes.

The Doctor arranged the leather handle comfortably in his right hand. Leather, because rubber felt disgusting to his hands the same way unevenly lumpy foods felt disgusting on his tongue. He held it as if shaking hands with the handle, slid his index finger down until it rested on the smooth fiberglass length and positioned his hand in front of his navel. This pushed the cane tip forward at an angle outside the TARDIS door.

Faint blue light shone in the cane’s tip, the glow overpowered by the sun. The same blue light erupted off the top of the handle. Information traveled telepathically from his hand to his brain-- there were plants and rocks ten meters ahead. Fifteen meters beyond them, the highway. He grinned as he received input about the position of the sun and the direction he faced.

Not the first sonic cane I ever used, but definitely the best! 

“Nice work, Sexy,” The Doctor patted the TARDIS’ door frame.

After he emerged onto the dusty desert soil, he marveled at how everything sounded clearer without walls blocking the sound waves. He swung the cane to the left and tapped the tip against the ground as his right foot took a step. Then he swung it in a low rightward arc to tap the ground again when he brought his left foot forward. Clear a space, step into it, clear the next space, step into it. Each swing arced slightly wider than his shoulders. 

Wait, there were rocks around, weren’t there? He switched to sliding his cane instead of tapping it. Instantly, he found himself gathering more information about the hard-packed dirt that felt like cracked clay. The repetitiveness of exploring the ground wore itself familiar in his mind. He hardly had to think about using the cane just like he hardly thought about blinking, breathing or stimming.

Thinking about stimming prompted the Doctor to bring his left hand up to his face. Few people knew of the stim toy he kept literally up his sleeve. He chewed the stem of his black No Gloom ‘Shroom, which he wore on his wrist via a clear key ring coil. His sleeve concealed it perfectly when he wasn’t using it. He continued forward with the ‘Shroom poking out of his mouth. Gnawing the hard food-grade silicone felt similar to chewing the bottom of a well-worn tennis shoe. Biting that instead of his fingers redirected his urge to chew his fingernails until they bled.

Lots of toe-smashing rocks peppered the area. The cane warned him of each one. He stepped over them without breaking his stride. Hot tar scents wafted towards him. Loose, rough dirt gave way to hard smoothness. He put the No Gloom ‘Shroom away and slid his cane in a wide arc to seek obstacles. Asphalt had a much different rattle than the dirt. Ah, the highway. Newly re-paved since his last visit, judging by the feel and smell of it. He knelt and gave it a quick lick so he wouldn’t burn his tongue. It tasted strongly bitter and a tiny bit earthy. Yup, re-paved exactly one week ago.

“South,” said the Doctor. He knew which way was south, but he wanted to see if the cane did, too.

The cane shifted slightly left like metal trying to reach a magnet. Perfect. Excellent. He hopped onto the road, letting his cane lead him to the double yellow line in the center. The seemingly endless asphalt radiated the sun’s heat like a furnace. He welcomed the warmth.

Being able to go any direction he chose without being shouted at to watch out for something in his path felt like liberation. So what if he looked a little silly when he stumbled? Did sighted people really think he experienced the same discomfort they did about his blindness? 

Sure, things were hard and frustrating at first because losing a sense took getting used to. Honestly, he had more trouble shaving than he did walking, but he figured shaving out eventually. 

Regeneration was harder than going blind. Learning how to use a whole new body with all new sensory issues, differences in hand-eye coordination, being taller or shorter than before and learning to recognize a different face in the mirror definitely took more getting used to than being blind.

Maybe that was the tragedy to the sighted-- they thought of all the things a person never got to see before they went blind and they forgot that life experiences came from more than vision. The Doctor had already seen a great many things. In his mind, there wasn’t much to miss now.

Loud, fast rattling noises made him pause mid-stride. Its rhythm was snake-ese for back off, stranger.

“Oy, Hissy, I’m not going to step on you. You’ll get run over if you stay there.” He gestured to his right with his cane. “Go on, go find a rock to sun yourself on.”

The snake hissed in protest. She got here first, this was her spot. The Doctor stood his ground.

“You won’t attract a boyfriend if you’re road pizza.”

This stubborn snake didn’t relent until he sent her a weak telepathic nudge. Using barely-functional telepathy without touch required immense focus and effort. All he did was appeal to the snake’s instinct for safety. Finally, the reptile came to her senses and slithered off the highway.

The Doctor resumed his former stride and recalled the entertaining outing he yesterday. He popped into the early 1950′s for a visit with an old friend who happened to be blind. The moment he told her he lost his sight, she sprang into action and taught him a few tricks that made eating a much cleaner affair. His only issue was understanding some of what she said. She spoke with the unique pattern of a deaf person and read his lips by touching his mouth. They had a fascinating conversation about politics over dinner.

Then he accidentally left his Rubik’s cube behind, yet didn’t have the hearts to retrieve it when he went back and discovered her fiddling with it. He wondered if she ever figured it out. She probably did-- that cube had raised patterns as well as bright colors.

Nothing about her seemed tragic at all.

And last week, a present-day pal gave a guest lecture on physics at the university. The Doctor held the elevator for the esteemed visitor while he and his entourage filed in. There was a lot of beeping and soft hissing while the elevator whirred.

As they emerged, the Doctor said, “Don’t get tired up there, Stephen.”

A long pause followed. The Doctor waited patiently. 

Stephen’s synthesized voice replied, "Dream on, Doctor.”

Nothing about him seemed tragic, either.

The Doctor surfaced from his thoughts and listened to his cane clacking. Colors and shapes swirled through his ‘visual’ field. On some occasions they resolved into elaborate multicolored grids on a solid gray background. Other times, they were swirling blue-white blobs much like what he experienced when he closed his eyes to sleep. More often than not, it resembled old analog TV static. 

Humans called it prisoner’s cinema, the hallucinogenic response of a brain amusing itself when its eyeballs couldn’t relay visual input for long periods. It got its name via the experiences of prisoners kept in dark solitary confinement cells. The Doctor learned to enjoy the 'visual’ stimulation whenever it happened.

Freedom like this had his feet itching to dance, so he did! He took a diagonal forward step with his left foot, crossed his right leg behind the left one so the toes of his right foot pointed to his left heel, bounced off his right foot and immediately opened up again by landing on his left foot. Another dance step followed, this one beginning on the right foot. A hop punctuated every step in perfect syncopation. His cane stayed centered in the road, almost acting as a pivot point while his skipping had him hopping from one side of the double yellow line to the other. 

He did an absolutely perfect imitation of Judy Garland following the yellow brick road in The Wizard of Oz. Being able to dance like a total goof without hearing someone chastise his carelessness greatly lifted his spirits. He skipped half a mile down the highway without a care in the world. 

Normal walking resumed once the Doctor worked the excess energy out of his system. Exerting himself caused sweat to bead on his forehead. His cane alerted him to a TARDIS a hundred meters ahead. Oh, that ridiculous thing, it still thought buildings were TARDISes?

The Doctor detoured off the highway. His cane gently tugged him towards the door. He shifted to hold his cane like an extremely long pencil and choked up on his grip to shorten his swing. The tip clanked against the metal on the bottom of the door. He extended his arm until the cane lay flat against the door and slid it side to side until it hit the handle.

Air-conditioned coolness wafted against his face as he stepped off grit and onto smooth laminate tiles. Outside the diner, he had zero idea of why he woke up in the middle of the night panting with desire or longing to kiss the lips on a face his mind refused to see.

Everything rushed back whenever he entered here, and it would leave him again when he exited. Very similar to dealing with Silents, except no suggestions got left behind. Neural blocks never liked the overabundance of neurons in autistic brains. Time and neuroplasticity would eventually restore everything the way nature overtook abandoned towns. Until then, he had to play mental peekaboo.

A sigh escaped him. This was the one place where his loss of sight wasn’t horribly tragic. His first stop-in brought a ton of questions. He explained that being exposed to the vacuum of space boiled his eyeballs like eggs and that was that.

Here it came, the memory flood. He let it wash over him. 

Her smile. Her laugh. Her face. Their adventures together. The trap street. Darkness. Feeling time fracture and snap back. A flash of light as the raven plunged into her chest. Hearing her shrill scream of agony. Watching black smoke emerge from her mouth. The way she fell to her knees, her arms still stubbornly outstretched. The way he nearly rushed forward to stop her head from hitting the cobblestones. Being held back only by his honoring her wish to face the raven alone. How helpless he felt at seeing her slump backwards. Her body convulsing in a death spasm. Approaching her and kneeling amid the leaves littering the cobblestones. Seeing her last agonal gasp. The shock, the silence, the utter pain. Finding pebbles from Gallifrey caught in the treads of her shoes. Feeling the end of his own timeline in those pebbles and realizing he could still save her. The hell within his confession dial. Those billions of years he gave up for her sake. His rage at the Time Lords. 

He plucked her out of time like he swore he wouldn’t. He broke every rule laid out for him and almost tore apart the universe because she meant more to him than his own existence. His duty of care nearly ended everything. 

Somehow, mere days afterward (relatively speaking), he found himself in the past, blabbing to a stranger named Erwin about the whole thing before his last memories of it faded away. After hearing the rant, all dear Erwin wanted to talk about was cats in boxes.

The Doctor mentally derailed his own spiraling thought patterns and refocused on the present moment. He came here on Wednesdays for...well some memories weren’t so clear. Habit, perhaps. 

Telling stories about his adventures over a snack or drink showed her he was wasn’t wandering the universe alone. He needed her to know that, but couldn’t tell her why without jeopardizing their future.

She sought desperately to see any sign that he remembered her. He worked desperately to convince her that he didn’t. Breaking the facade needed to be done carefully or not at all. No tidal waves allowed.

The diner door swung shut behind the Doctor. Ice cubes crackled into a glass cup, followed by the slush of liquid being poured over them. He smelled tater tots fresh out of the oven. His mouth watered. When did he last eat? He couldn’t remember.

“You’re early,” said a woman’s voice.

A brief, brilliant smile lit the Doctor’s face as he propped his cane up against his shoulder. “I beat my old record by--” he licked his lips, tasting the air, “exactly ten-point-two minutes.”

She snickered. “What did you do? Run the whole way?”

“Nope. I skipped.” He demonstrated for her upon approaching the counter.

“You’re daft.”

"Mmhmm.” The Doctor waggled his eyebrows behind his sunglasses. “Tried to be normal once. Worst ten minutes of my life.”

His guitar and cane got propped up against the counter while he eased himself onto the stool. The sunglasses came off next. He placed them beside the radio. She liked to see his eyes, so he wouldn’t deny her that even though it meant being irritated by the daylight filtering through the windows. The colorful prisoner’s cinema show dissolved as the left side of his visual field turned uniformly gray. By contrast, the right side was hazy black.

Always the perceptive one, she closed the blinds on the windows framing the door. The bothersome brightness cut in half. He followed the sounds of her movements with his eyes. Just a reflex he allowed to “run” without interference-- the exact same reflex that prompted students to glance up whenever someone slunk into class late. People born blind lacked it because those pathways never formed in their brain. The same wasn’t always true for those who lost their sight.

Footsteps crossed behind the counter again. Water ran. A damp towel wiped down the counter top. A plate clunked and slid audibly closer. Near it, a glass.

“Lemonade is at twelve o’clock, napkins are at two and the tater tots are at three.”

“Thank you.”

The Doctor brought the warm plate to six o’clock, placed the napkins at three o’clock and shifted the cold, moist glass to two o’clock. The greasy tater tots were already arranged end to end in concentric circles with the ketchup in the middle. Just how he liked them.

He started on the outermost ring of tater tots first. “Your lady-friend mentioned you’ll be heading out soon the last time I came here. Are you flying back home?”

“No...I’m going to travel for a bit to clear my mind.” She sighed. Her shoes squeaked softly on the tile floor. "The man I told you about still has amnesia.”

“Oh. Nothing new? At all?”

“Nope.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Clara,” said the Doctor with sincerity. He offered her a tater tot. 

Clara’s small, soft fingertips brushed his when she accepted his offering. The brief touch rippled across his nerve endings like fireworks. He absentmindedly rocked back and forth a few times to avoid reaching for her hand. Instead, he pulled his lemonade glass closer and sipped generously. His eyebrows went up in pleasant surprise.

“Oh, this must be the pink lemonade. It’s sweet.”

“Yeah? A sour drink and tater tots don’t sound appetizing.” She smiled-- it was remarkable how easy it was to hear smiles in peoples’ voices-- and poured herself a glass. Then she cleared her throat and took a sip. “How are classes going?”

“Fantastic. Did I mention I’m the professor and not a student?”

“Huh. No, you didn’t.” Clara leaned on the counter. “I was a teacher once.”

The Doctor tilted his head to make eye contact with her. Not hard, he followed her voice and measured a few centimeters upward. His eyes instinctively focused. Sometimes it made Nardole forget briefly that he wasn’t actually seeing. He liked that it unnerved some people.

“You were a good one,” he said. Silently, he added, You taught me, so I teach the world.

Something dripped on the counter. She wasn’t holding the towel or anything drippy. He made her cry again. That wasn’t good. He pretended to reach for a napkin and knocked over his lemonade, causing it to spill everywhere.

“Oops!” The Doctor leaped to his feet and tried unsuccessfully to contain the spreading mess with his hands.

“I’ve got it.” Clara seized the wet towel that plopped on top of the sticky spill.

“Sorry, I wasn’t watching what I was doing.” The Doctor joked. He reached for the towel. “Did I ruin anything?”

A barely perceptible giggle entered her voice. “No, no, it’s fine. Eat your tater tots. I’ll clean this up and get you a fresh glass.”

Success, he steered her away from feeling bad for now. He let her clean while he finished off the delicious tater tots. She took the plate and set his new lemonade in its place.

“Ah, thanks. So...” The Doctor sipped generously, using it as an excuse for his sudden, awkward pause. His mind scrambled through a list of ‘small-talk’ phrases. Talking at people was easy. Talking to them proved challenging. “Where do you plan to travel to?”

Clara was at the counter again. Her gaze felt like a physical presence. One that wasn’t unpleasant.

“I don’t know yet,” she said, “Maybe somewhere far away and not like here. Somewhere different.”

Faint crackles issued from the radio when the Doctor settled his guitar against his body and began absently strumming chords. Each note transmitted through his sonic sunglasses to emerge loud and clear despite the tiny speaker.

Lately, he’d been on an embarrassing Gloria Estefan kick. He caught himself strumming the vocal line of I See Your Smile. Then he decided that wasn’t so bad and kept playing.

Clara tried to move stealthily closer. She forgot how sensitive his ears were. Their sensitivity hadn’t changed since he went blind, but he paid more attention to the information they gathered. He feigned obliviousness as he ‘accidentally’ turned his eyes towards her. Only a blind man could look into the eyes of the woman he loved without her realizing it.

All at once he switched to the song she wrote across his hearts in the cloisters. That song was love, and love was a promise. It sounded slightly more elaborate than its first incarnation. He still hadn’t finished it yet. Maybe he never would. How did anyone finish a song still being sung for the first time?

The Doctor’s fingers stilled, letting the dissonant chord he just played fall silent without resolving. Somehow, in two swift movements, he set the guitar down, grasped Clara’s shoulder and stood up.

Rather than pull away, Clara clutched his coat lapels and stepped forward to wrap her arms around his waist. He returned her embrace. The crisp, stiff fabric of her waitress uniform almost burned his fingertips, yet he couldn’t make himself care. She felt so small in his arms. Was she always so tiny?

Time to drop the bomb.

“Clara,” said the Doctor, “I won’t remember much --or any --of this when I step outside.” 

Clara’s arms tightened. Not feeling her heart quicken became unsettling. Unsettling wasn’t the worst thing in the world, though. 

“So you’re heading out?”

The Doctor nodded gravely. If he stayed any longer, he knew he wouldn’t want to leave.

"I may not recognize you if we cross paths outside this diner.” He turned his head and spoke against her hair, “I’ll always be around, Clara, but this is when we talked.”

“So that’s it? Goodbye forever?” She sounded slightly cross, and he didn’t blame her.

He snorted disdainfully at fate. “What’s ‘forever’ to an immortal?”

Clara slipped her hand past his coat’s collar to cup the back of his neck. Her warm, soft skin suffused a myriad of emotions through his body. Tears welled in his eyes when he tried unsuccessfully to see her face. He sensed her looking back. What irony-- he struggled to make proper eye contact with her when he had perfect eyesight. Now, he couldn’t stop doing it.

"Clara, there’s something I didn’t get to say to you.”

Clara’s other hand joined the first. She didn’t care that he couldn’t see her. “You said goodbye when the neural block kicked in.”

“I’m not saying goodbye again.” A teary-eyed half-smile appeared on the Doctor’s face. “I wanted to say hello. Hello, Clara Oswald, it’s so very nice to meet you.”

He cupped her cheeks in his palms. They were wet with tears. Another fell as he touched the corner of her mouth.

“There has to be something I can do.” She swallowed hard, struggling to maintain barely maintainable composure. “Something to help you remember.” 

The Doctor expected heartbreaking sadness. Instead, he felt the same warm joy he got after seeing Rose one more time. Hope worked miracles on broken hearts.

He wiped her tears away. “Smile for me, Clara. Go on. One last time.”

Clara gave him a little, impatient shake. Such an endearing human response.

“How could I smile?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“Because love is a promise,” the Doctor’s half-smile finished unfurling, a reflection of the joyful hope he felt inside, “and I promised you that I’ll remember your smile.”

Finally, Clara, by virtue of being Clara, picked up on why he asked. The Doctor noticed her tense facial muscles relaxing. Her cheekbones softened and rounded. Feeling her smile form was as glorious as seeing it happen. 

He slid his hands inward, his long fingers tracing all the details of her lips, cheekbones and the corners of her eyes. Time had no grasp on her skin. Like a photograph, the way she looked now was how she would look forever. Only death had the power to corrupt the smile beneath his fingertips, and plucking her out of time meant she decided when to meet her ultimate fate.

“I won’t forget,” whispered the Doctor.

Fresh tears dribbled onto his thumbs. Clara’s uniform rustled when she leaned closer to him. He bent towards her. They bumped foreheads once, nuzzled noses twice and exchanged three brief pecks on the lips. A perfect Wednesday kiss.

The Doctor drew back for a breath and returned to kiss her properly. Clara slid one hand up into his curly hair, keeping him close. No tongues, just the silken slide of soft lips and warmth.

When their mouths parted, she asked, “Will you be okay, Doctor?”

He brushed his lips against her brow. Her hair smelled like strawberries this time.

“Of course,” he said, “I’m the king of okay.”

A total lie. He was going to resume feeling empty and lost without knowing why. A grief different than he felt for River. He knew what became of River. He wasn’t going to know what became of the hole in his mind where someone very important to him used to be.

“The sun’s going down,” said Clara.

“Hm, describe it?”

She stepped out of his embrace to open the blinds. They creaked a lot. He squinted instinctively in the light.

“It’s bright yellow at the horizon, orange higher up and fading to dark blue. Kinda reminds me of an ocean.”

“Visit Europa in 9990. They have a great seafloor cafe if you like sushi.”

“Space sushi?”

“Clara, you can’t put ‘space’ in front of everything that isn’t on Earth. I thought we went over this.”

“Right, space-man.”

The Doctor had no comeback for that. He closed his mouth and put on his best grumpy old man frown. Rather than speak, Clara leaned against him with her arm around his waist. He relaxed and awkwardly slipped his arm around her shoulders.

People treated sunsets like endings. The Doctor hated endings, so he saw sunsets as sunrises somewhere else. Planets turned and life went on. Sometimes part of continuing onward included painful separations. He couldn’t sit around doing nothing for a thousand years. Stagnation ruined people. What good was he if he let his skills get rusty?

The Doctor watched his ‘gray’ world go dark as the sun sank below the horizon. He reached past Clara to gather his guitar and cane. She handed him his sunglasses. He put them on with flare.

Clara offered her elbow even though the distance to the door was less than ten steps. The Doctor accepted and let her guide him. 

“Let me be brave, let me be brave,” He heard her mutter to herself. She worked up the admirable courage she showed on the trap street. 

They paused just inside the closed door, hugged and exchanged another long, lingering kiss in the last moments of dusk.

Clara cupped his cheek in her palm, her soft hand like balm on his aching hearts. “Run, you clever boy, and remember your promise.”

Smiling-- a sad, hopeful smile-- the Doctor turned and said something he always wanted to say to her. 

“Run, you impossible girl, and remember me.”

She laughed. It was music that made his hearts dance. His throat ached at knowing he wouldn’t remember that sound five seconds from now, but he got her to laugh one more time. Her happiness became his hope.

The Doctor pushed the diner’s glass door open. Stinging pain screamed across his skull and faded. Everything that took place inside sloughed away. A small pang tightened his throat. He frowned and pursed his lips, trying to figure out why he remembered what he ate and drank, but not who he talked to. 

Who was that girl again?

“Hm.” The Doctor absentmindedly stepped without tapping his cane.

Lucky for him, the cane caught a rock long before his foot did. That reminded him to start tapping. Wait, wasn’t he testing this new cane?

“TARDIS,” he said. 

The cane’s mushroom tip and handle glowed brilliant blue in the darkness. And the damn thing tried to turn him around towards the building he just exited. 

“No, no, no, not the diner. TARDIS.”

But the cane insisted a TARDIS was present. Apparently, the programming still had some bugs. Pesky, annoying bugs. 

Suddenly, the diner emitted a groaning noise that rapidly faded. The Doctor gasped when air rushed in to fill the empty space. He walked across the vacant ground, reaching with both his hand and his cane. Nothing, like a diner never stood there at all.

A strange sense of familiarity washed over him. He tugged on his coat lapel and breathed in the reassuring chalk scent.

“You’re going senile,” muttered the Doctor. To his cane, he said, “And you are, too, you silly thing! Take me to the TARDIS.”

Now it began leading him in the right direction. Arriving here required going south on the highway, so the return trip took him due north. 

The cane informed him of which prominent constellations were present in the sky. Remembering the stars caused grief to wash over him. He traveled among them with someone special, and he couldn’t remember what she looked like or how she sounded. 

No, Doctor, get away from the hole in your brain. It hurts to poke. Just leave it.

Making his brain think of something else often helped. He thought about his cane. The sonic cane proved a rousing success. A success to be proud of, bugs notwithstanding. He gripped it properly, grinned at the night sky and ‘Dorothy-skipped’ his entire return trip to the TARDIS. In fact, he got so into skipping that he would’ve overshot his destination if the cane didn’t alert him.

The Doctor pocketed his cane and removed his sunglasses once inside. He twirled around the console room, shifting dials and pulling levers. The TARDIS wheezed around him as he sang under his breath.

“I get a little tongue twisted every time I talk to you...”

Ding went the cloister bell. A perfect landing less than a second after he took off. He cracked the door, waited for signs of Nardole and stepped out when there weren’t any. For effect, he brought along a broom. Brooms provided great excuses for being in strange places.

The Doctor hurriedly swept his shoes clean, then swept the floor around the TARDIS until he didn’t feel any grit under his feet.

Satisfied, he left the broom leaning on the TARDIS and crossed the room to his desk. Daylight poured through the windows, so he put his sunglasses back on to block it out. Then he sat, spun his chair around once and laid his hands on the heavy book atop his desk. Still open the way he left it. Of course it was, he hadn’t been gone a full second!

Raised dots peppered the page like tiny bubbles. Grade two Braille was way more efficient and quick than grade one. Grade one Braille spelled out entire words. Braille cells were six dots high and two wide. And whole words filled a lot of page-space. Books written in it were enormous. 

Now, grade two Braille? It took long words and shortened or abbreviated them. Syllables and even whole words got condensed into fewer cells. It had a lot of similarities with text-speak, but grade two Braille abbreviations made more sense.

The Doctor’s Braille reading speed wasn’t as fast as he read while sighted. He annoyed himself by continually trying to look down at the book, so he closed his eyes. Wiggling the toes on his right foot as his fingertips glided across the page helped him process the dot patterns. Funny, his brain didn’t fully absorb the information unless he did something with his right foot. 

He considered himself a quick study, though, so he fully expected to be an expert by tomorrow morning. Besides, knowing Braille would let him read in the dark if he got his eyesight back. Why wasn’t it required curriculum in every school on Earth? Braille was cool.

“A-hem!” Nardole announced his presence. He didn’t sound pleased.

The Doctor did his best to appear distracted by Edgar Allan Poe’s poetry. He turned the page when he realized he was reading The Raven. That poem upset him for reasons he couldn’t pinpoint.

Nardole cleared his throat again, louder. “Doctor, you did it again.”

“Did what?”

“Traveled.”

Oh, great. Did Nardole find out about his trek on the highway? The Doctor removed his sunglasses and squinted at him.

“I didn’t go anywhere.” 

“Liar.” Nardole stomped forward and plopped something paper on the desk, “That’s a photograph of Helen Keller.”

“Yes, and it’s a very nice photograph. But I can’t judge a photo as much as I judge thoughtless potato-heads who wave photos in a blind man’s face.”

“That’s not the point!” Nardole’s voice rose in pitch. “It’s a photograph of Helen Keller solving your textured Rubik’s cube! This is...Doctor, this-this-- this is an epic fail!”

“It didn’t change history, did it?”

“Again, that’s not the point!” Oh, the poor bald bloke’s face had to be redder than his clothing by now. “Stephen Hawking just sent me an urgent email. He wants an explanation for the monster truck tire delivered to his house yesterday afternoon.”

The Doctor slammed his Braille book shut and burst out laughing. 

.o

Groaning-wheezes issued from the TARDIS engines. Such a comforting, hopeful sound.

“...so wait, you’re like, I dunno-- Rain Man?” asked Bill.

The Doctor had just spilled a secret to Bill, a test to see what she knew about the information he gave her about himself.

“Actually, the character of Raymond was based off a man named Kim Peek. Kim Peek wasn’t autistic. He had FG syndrome, a condition that results in learning disabilities due to partial or complete agenesis of the corpus callosum.”

“Oh! I saw a documentary about him in high school. I don’t remember much about it-- I kinda, uh, fell asleep in that class.”

The Doctor smiled and shook his head. “Kim’s memory was exceptional because his brain tried to work around its own unusual structure. Not everyone with FG syndrome has abilities like he did. Nice fellow, by the way, much smarter than people gave him credit for.”

“What makes autistic brains different, then?” 

“Autistic brains have an excess amount of connections that don’t get trimmed away over time. Some areas have stronger connections than others.” He shrugged his shoulders and cocked his head. “Simply put, my ‘socializing’ and ‘recognizing social cues’ connections are dialup, but my mystery-solving connections are fiber optic. Splinter skills, basically.”

“Really?” She was asking questions. He liked that. It meant she didn’t pretend to know things when she didn’t. “Doesn’t life get hard, though? I thought autistic people were sensitive to noise and stuff. Are you?”

“Yeah, sometimes. I have more trouble with touch than hearing.” He followed her pacing with his eyes out of habit. 

“Let me put it another way: Autistic brains constantly search for symmetry and asymmetry. Then they try to avoid asymmetry as much as possible because they prefer symmetry. Symmetry makes sense. Symmetry is safe. Sometimes, if symmetry isn’t present, I create it myself-- that's the repetitive behavior known as stimming.” 

“Stimming, that’s what you’re doing with your hands.” Bill smiled-- she absorbed what he said like a sponge. What a great student.

“Yes, actually, I am. I do it a lot.” The Doctor twisted his clasped hands against each other to put pressure on the joints. “Every autistic person's inner balance is unique to them. Some people don’t prioritize socializing because their brains are too analytical to chin-wag about somebody’s new baby. Sometimes sensory issues make focusing on conversation a chore if the lights are too bright or flicker too much. It’s like you trying to have a conversation with someone constantly taking your photo.”

“Ugh, that happened to me at a party once. It was annoying. I finally shouted at him to clear off before I broke his camera.”

“See? Autistic people can have a similar reaction to things that seem totally innocuous to you.” The Doctor waved his hand in a ‘there you go’ gesture. 

“And all those ‘difficult’ behaviors you see so-called ‘martyr autism mums’ complain about? They’re what happens when somebody mucks up the mental symmetry an autistic person creates for themselves. Maybe it’s a routine, maybe it’s a form of stimming, maybe it’s an interest-- and these mums wreck it all the time because they think it looks too abnormal. Then they blame the child for being difficult or misbehaving. 

“Guess what? A teetering tightrope walker flails to keep their balance, and so do autistic brains. If either loses their balance, they fall. For autistic people, falling means meltdowns or shutdowns.”

“But what about people who are...um, I dunno, really severe?” Her jacket’s zipper clanked against the console. “You know, the ones who wear diapers and can’t communicate at all?”

Amusement crinkled the corners of the Doctor’s eyes. “That form of autism doesn’t exist.”

“Why?”

“High functioning, low functioning. Mild, severe.” He opened his hands in a sweeping gesture, “All arbitrary observations from the outside. Autism is autism. Nonverbal autistic people communicate in their own way. They’re not locked up in another dimension-- they’re right here, waiting to be treated like real people instead of problems. Someone who can’t talk or feed themselves can still be smart. Just because you can’t see what’s going on in their head doesn’t mean nothing’s going on.” 

“Like Stephen Hawking,” Bill said, smiling, “He isn’t autistic-- he has ALS-- but I went to his lecture a few weeks ago. What an amazing man. He has eyes like yours.”

“Blue?”

“Wise.”

“Ah. There! Wait! There you go! Stephen Hawking is a fine example of what I’m talking about. Take his computer and fame away, and all of a sudden people will start treating him like he’s an infant incapable of complex thought and lamenting how tragic his disability is. The same thing happens to autistic people. I was one of those, as you put it, ‘really severe’ ones when I was a kid. Not everyone ‘grows out’ of being nonverbal or needing help with basic tasks. But I know first hand what that’s like to be talked to as if I’m stupid. It’s offensive.”

Rustling noises from Bill’s coat. The puffy yellow one. He could tell by how it sounded. She was scratching the back of her head in thought.

“But you talk. How did you learn that?”

“Painfully,” he answered, “It isn’t something I like to talk about. Let’s just say damage was done.”

“I’m sorry...”

“Bah,” He shrugged, “it’s not your fault.”

“How can I help if you need it?”

“For me, personally? No light touches. It hurts. Firm is better.” His eyes crinkled at the corners even though his mouth didn’t smile. “And in general? Listen to autistic people about autism. They know what it’s like.” 

He blinked, “Oh, and avoid Autism Speaks and anything ‘light it up blue’ in April. That ‘charity’ doesn’t represent what autistic people want. They operate like Chasm Forge, so barely any of your money goes to autistic people who need it right now. Donations fund marketing, advertising, fundraisers and research that may lead to eugenics later. Autistic people may end up like a lot of Down’s syndrome babies.”

Bill stayed quiet for a long moment, taking it in. A rail creaked when she leaned on it. 

“Blimey, I had no idea about any of that. I just did a walk for-- oh, wow. Never again. I hope I didn’t offend you or anything.”

That time, he smiled. “You wanted to help. That’s a good thing. Sometimes good intentions go bad. That doesn’t mean you’re bad. You know better now, so do better. Wear red next year and you’ll be fine.”

“Red instead of blue. Gotcha.”

And that was that for the conversation.

A light flashed on the console. The Doctor sensed it and instinctively looked down towards the source as he eased the locking mechanism into the upright position. Deeper wheeze-groans sounded while the TARDIS rematerialized.

They were in Nevada again. The Doctor crossed the console room and stepped outside. It wasn’t as hot out this time. The air smelled wet.

Bill hesitated in the doorway. Good, she was learning to be cautious and curious. Her rich, low voice almost blended into the wind when she asked, “We aren’t going to run into robots that speak Emoji, are we?”

“Nope. Not in that timezone. We’re still in the present.” The Doctor snapped his fingers to close the TARDIS doors. “All we’re doing is taking a walk.”

“Ah, like a Sunday stroll?”

“More of a ‘Wednesday wander’ if you want to get literal.” 

The Doctor pulled his cane out of his coat pocket and held it in the pencil grip. Bill joined him, her shoes crackling on the dry soil.

“Good thing I brought my umbrella.” She jiggled her umbrella. It squeaked. Ah, one of those huge clear ones that four people could fit underneath. “The sky looks dark.”

“Over there?” He pointed south.

“Good guess.”

“Tch, no. My cane told me.”

Bill chuckled and zipped her coat up all the way. Dirt crackled when she scuffed her shoes over it. “Does it make coffee, too?”

“Har-har. It’s not a Starbucks, but it can find the nearest Starbucks.” He beckoned her closer, a gesture of trust. “C’mon, elbow.”

More coat rustling. The Doctor felt Bill’s elbow brush his knuckles and lightly held onto the back of it. His fingertips rested just above the joint in a manner that wouldn’t obstruct its free movement.

“I’ll assume you already know about the rocks.”

“Mmhmm. Let’s get on the highway. It’s straight ahead.”

Bill stepped cautiously over the rocks. The Doctor’s cane bounced off a few. They hopped onto the highway and walked south. Their footsteps nearly got lost in the desert’s vast openness. Bill stayed close to the highway’s edge rather than venture down the center. The Doctor edged her inward.

“Don’t worry about vehicles, Bill. It’s flat for miles, you’ll see one coming long before it gets here.”

“It’s a two lane road.”

The Doctor released Bill’s elbow and dodged ahead of her. He spun around to face her while walking backwards, clasped his hands behind his back and tapped his cane just as he would if he were moving forward. A big, silly grin lit his angular features.

“We’re fortunate, then. I have great hearing.”

Oh, he could almost sense her momentary alarm at seeing him walk backwards like that.

“You’re weird,” she muttered under her breath.

He stopped squarely in front of her and curtsied elegantly. She laughed and whacked his arm in passing. Chuckling, he pivoted on his heel to grasp her elbow again. 

“There’s a truck coming towards us,” said Bill, her voice still light with a smile. She edged over to the opposite side of the highway despite it being a long way off yet.

The Doctor heard its engine. Typical knock-knock noises. It was a semi.

“Oh? Big truck, little truck? What’s it look like?”

Engine noises rumbled closer. Now the truck would be close enough to see details.

“Big truck. Not sure of the make. The nose curves sort of downward and there’s three pipes on each side of the cab. There’s a silver grill and bumper.” Bill slowed her stride as the truck noises approached. “It has a really cool custom paint job. The background color is blue, but there’s stencil work that looks like red flames on the front and sides.”

“Ah, an old friend.”

“You know the driver?”

“Yeah.”

He raised his hand in a wave when the semi was less than a hundred meters away. The truck honked its horn as it rumbled by, its huge tires vibrating the asphalt.

Bill stopped and twisted to look at the departing truck. “Um...”

“Problem?”

“I didn’t see a driver.” She faced forward again. “Probably too much glare from the sky. Anyway, speaking of tires-- did you really get a tire delivered to Stephen Hawking’s house?”

“Yup.” The Doctor grinned at his own impish wit. “You could say I ‘tired’ him out.”

Bill wiggled the elbow he held back and forth. “Doctor, you’re impossible. Absolutely, ridiculously impossible.”

That word. Impossible.

An impulse in the back of his mind had him releasing his grip on Bill’s elbow before he realized he’d moved. He turned abruptly right. His cane slid off smooth asphalt to rattle over hard-packed dirt as he ventured into a large, empty space beside the highway.

Something important happened here. But what? Why? How?

“Doctor?” Bill hedged.

Mysteries. The Doctor loved mysteries. He grinned as he rubbed his chin in thought.

And froze.

Here. Here, on this spot, he touched and kissed another smile. The owner of that smile didn’t materialize in his mind. He propped his cane against his shoulder and extended his hands to trace an invisible face. 

A tsunami of grief slammed through him. In its wake, an incredible, comforting love stretching beyond time or space. A love that eclipsed his sadness and shone around the hole in his memory like an ethereal solar corona.

Tears trickled out from beneath his sunglasses. They weren’t sad. Sad tears meant endings, and this didn’t feel like an ending. 

Bill, sensing his concentration, came closer without talking. Her unobtrusive presence subtly shifted the air flow on his right. He could hear her breathing.

“Brains forget people, but hearts remember the feelings those people gave us,” said the Doctor. He remained poised, his fingertips mapping the air. “It’s why you never doubt that your mum loved you, isn’t it?”

“I was too young to remember her,” she said back, her voice soft.

“Your heart beat inside your mum’s belly for nine months. It knows things your brain doesn’t. Sometimes, I think people would be better at listening to each other if hearts had ears.”

“Really?”

“Mmhmm.”

A cool drop hit his face. Not a tear. Another landed in his hair. Splat-splat noises began around him. Within seconds the sky opened up with a full-on downpour that drenched everything it touched.

“Oh!” Bill’s umbrella squeaked, then snapped open. Rain pattered noisily on the plastic. “Doctor, you’re getting soaked.”

The Doctor pocketed his sunglasses to keep them clean. He pushed Bill’s umbrella aside. She got the picture. Her umbrella plopped on the wet ground as she opened her arms to let the downpour swish over her coat.

“See? It’s just water falling from the sky.” He grinned, invigorated by the hope rising inside him. “The best parts of life are experienced, Bill. So be still. Close your eyes. Experience the rain with me.” 

“Wow.” She was smiling, too.

“Yeah. Wow.”

The impact of each chilly raindrop twinkled like stars against his skin. He ran both hands through his wet hair, tilted his head back and spread his arms. The hope in his hearts spiraled upward into the rain pouring down. 

Once, he told Missy that love was a promise. And Clara’s smile-- the tactile memory of its wrinkles and curves-- had embedded itself in his fingerprints where the neural block couldn’t wholly wipe it away. The rest of her face escaped him, but not the smile. He must have promised to remember it because he loved her.

And love always found a way to continue, regardless of time and space.

“Doctor...are you crying?”

The Doctor totally forgot Bill was still there. Rain pattered off her umbrella-- she picked it up when he wasn’t paying attention. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. They were wet. It wasn’t rain. 

“Yeah, I am, but it’s not sad.” He sniffled, “I was having an experience.”

“I can tell. I didn’t want to interrupt. Aren’t you cold?”

Light wind blew against his face. The downpour began to let up. They were both soaked to the bone.

“Me? Cold? Nah.” The Doctor said, feigning offense. “I have a lower body temperature than humans. Now come along, Potts. Let’s get you somewhere warm.”

She automatically stepped ahead of him. He sped up and walked beside her, opting to tap his cane rather than hold onto her elbow.

“Have you seen The Wizard of Oz, Bill?”

“Of course. Who hasn’t? Why?”

“Oh, no reason...just this.”

The Doctor showed Bill his Dorothy-skip. She was greatly amused. Then he taught her how to do it. They skipped back to the TARDIS together.

.o

“...‘Cause when I close my eyes, I still can see your smile. It’s bright enough to light my life, out of my darkest hour...”

--Gloria Estefan, “I See Your Smile”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FTd1r_6lfrE

A palimpsest is a piece of paper that has been written on, erased and written on again. The old writing that gets erased to make room for new writing is still faintly visible and may be legible. An old grade school spelling test with erase marks that were later written over is a fine example of a palimpsest.

#12th Doctor #Clara Oswald #Whouffaldi #actuallyautistic #autistic headcanon #Twelfth Doctor #Nardole #Doctor Who #blindness #autistic!Doctor #fanfiction #my fanfic #okay to reblog if you want

[cupcakeshakesnake]

Watching The Return of Doctor Mysterio for the first time

Ayyyy long title.

-SERIES 10!!! SERIES 10 IS HERE!!!!!!!

-SDALDFHGALSDHFGAS,LDHFASLDFGASLDFHASLDJFGASLDHFALS

-LASGFLERN283WQUR’QSEI;RWQER;WIERXIUI;I::weif:weif:eifE;IQUGWIF

-*cough* okay... Let’s watch this

-(I just realized the episode I’m watching is flipped horizontally because of copyrights or something, so the screenshots are gonna be flipped too because I’m too lazy to edit them)

-Ah, this takes place in the U.S.

-WUT

-What’s swinging outside his window

-DOCTOR WHAT ARE YOU DOING

-Well this is a dangerous situation for him, I doubt that even Timelords can regenerate if they fell from the sixtieth floor, there would be no piece of body big enough to regenerate from

-Pardon me if I’m wrong on that though, I’m not the best at Doctor Who science

-His voice what happened to his voice

-WELL OF COURSE CLARK KENT IS SUPERMAN DOCTOR PLEASE KEEP UP WITH AT LEAST SOME OF THE MEDIA

-Well this is a weird start to an episode

-”Vomiting, hair loss and death, fat lot of use.”

-What is that those

-”How did you even get a glass of water in your pocket?”  “Skills.”

-I’m calling it, his pockets are bigger on the inside.

-All this fucking Christmas shit again

-Annnd I’m dead

-But seriously, I grew up in an un-religious household in Asia and Christmas was just this little holiday with trees and presents and--

-GEMSTONES THEY’RE TALKING ABOUT GEMSTONEs I should shut up

- --Anyway it was this little holiday with trees and presents and department store sales--

- -- HOLY SHIT DID HE EAT IT

-"What are you, 36?”  “Eight.”

- --AHEM anyway yeah, that little holiday, and--

-HE’S FLOATING??!?! WHO THIS? WHAT?

- -- UGHHH anyway, yeah. I grew up with that and then there’s this Western Christmas culture where it’s such a big thing and it’s, just, really, strange.  Initially that little rant was gonna be a bit longer and better articulated, but interesting things kept happening in the show.

-”YOU’RE A SUPERHEROOOOOOO”

-IS THAT NARDOLE

-Okay what is happening and what is wrong with these people

-BRAINS WTF

-Why do science fiction lights always turn on so loudly

-”Donated to the facility by our benefactors”  “DONATED”  yeah.  Looks like he murdered those benefactors after all.

-What’s the Doctor even eating

10/10 face

-What’s with the guy coughing blue milk

-WHAT

-For some reason I am inclined to pet this brain creature (pf which, by the way, I failed to upload a screenshot because everything else would be uploaded except that image, even with the quality lowered), but because there are many hideous monsters in Doctor Who that are not to be judged by their appearance, I’ll keep a neutral opinion on this guy until further progress in the plot is made to prove either its hostility or its friendliness.

-Yep, I’m not petting you, brain dude. You’re not friendly. You get no pet.

-”I had a change of mind”  WAS THE JOKE REALLY NECESSARY

-And were those surgeons just standing there doing nothing 24/7 until someone came in

-WELL THIS IS TERRIFYING ALRIGHT

-Who’s the writer again... *takes a look* Yep, Steven Moffat.

-”No one will believe that, this is America.”

-”Special Agent Dam Dangerous Schgsfilurfylas”  My English hearing’s not the best, okay

-Dude’s hand is shaking, that yells terrible aim

-”o on, tell them you shot us in the back for self-defense.”

-Heyoooo, it’s the boy with the glasses, except he’s not wearing glasses anymore and I’m NOT talking about Harry Potter.

-God damn I wish someone would turn down that guy’s accent, it’s like he has a swollen tongue and is trying to decide whether to spit out or chew a hot piece of bacon

-Where did Nardole even come from

-Heyooo

-WHY DID THAT KID GROW UP TO SOUND LIKE EVERY PARODY OF BATMAN’S VOICE EVER

-Flashback?

-So is he gonna sh-t out the gemstone or

-nevermind what I just said

-HE GREW UP WITH A THESAURUS AS WELL APPARENTLY

Pffft

-what’s with the wind noises

The Doctor with a baby is the best thing ever, it doesn’t even matter which reincarnation he’s in

-BUT WHAT’S WITH THE WIND NOISES

-Nardole with that elephant lol

-Wait... Isn’t that the reporter girl?

-WHAT IS WITH THE FRICKING WIND

-ACTUALLY I JUST REALIZED THAT THIS WIND SOUND SPANS ACROSS THE ENTIRETY OF THE EPISODE, IT’S NOT THE EPISODE ITSELF IT’S THE GUY WHO UPLOADED IT

-OR SOMETHING

-GOD I WAS FREAKING OUT ABOUT THIS STUPID THING

-IT HURTS MY EARS

-I’M WEARING HEADPHONES AND THIS WIND NOISE IS TORTURE

-X-ray vision would actually be great because everyone would be spooky scary skeles

A HA HA HA HA HA

-Did the Doctor just drink alcohol from that bottle

-Yep, he’s getting wasted

-*unholy squealawking* ”This is Mr Huffle. Mr Huffle feels pain. Meet me in the kitchen.”  what the fuck was that

-I DON’T LIKE THIS WOMAN NOR THAT LITTLE RUBBER DOLL

-I DON’T LIKE YOU AT ALL

-I HOPE YOUR LITTLE MR HUFFLE DRAGS YOU DOWN INTO HIS SPECIAL HELL WITH YOU

-You can just see how those soulless eyes of his are begging for the sweet release of death

Wake me up (wake me up inside) Can’t wake up (wake me up inside) save me

-He is screaming, free me, free me, free me from this pain

-look here lady you are clearly very clever and all but you better close your bedroom doors securely at night and make sure that lil guy is outside or you might never wake up one day

-Change of subject: I thought this guy would be the one called Dr Mysterio but instead it turns out he’s called the Ghost. Not this Ghost either.

(Image from Star Wars Rebels)

-The deathly stare of Mr Huffle is refusing to leave my mind, help, what do I do, I have been cursed

RUN DOCTOR RUN, HE BLAMES YOU AS WELL AS HER

DOCTOR: THE HORROR GAME Do not let him look into your eyes!

-IT’S THOSE OPEN BRAIN MEN FROM HUSBANDS OF RIVER SONG, THEY’RE BACK AT IT WTF

-”Good to keep an open mind, ha!”

“I am totally against bantering.”-

-Ah, back when his floof was still flat, calm and level one.

-Woohoo speech

-WAIT WHAT THE TARDIS SHOWS UP AT WHISTLES TOO

-Oh, so that’s why that guy’s wearing jewels in the trailer, I tought he was always like that.

-And apparently the Doctor got him out of the robot king to keep him as a companion.

-”I’m not avoiding anything, I’m just trying to save a planet.”  “Which is what you always do when the conversation turns serious.”

-”Hello Doctor nice suit”  “Hi”  “Good morning”  “Whatever”  “So uh.. what happened to Clara”  “WHOOPS GOTTA GO SAVE A PLANET BYE”

-Bet that guy wanted to rip his shirt open to reveal the supersuit inside for years

-Why are they suddenly in Japan

-”I flooded downstairs with Pokemon.”  1. I laughed at that bit in the trailer, but it’s somehow even funnier considering they’re in Japan.  2. BBC doesn’t even care about copyrights anymore. In fact, they haven’t careed for quite a while.  3. favorite scene in the episode so far.

-FUCKING TEA

-WELL IF THIS ISN’T BRITAIN

-Oh yeah, brilliant plan, have the creepy stare-y surgeons march along down the street in a line, no one will ever notice

-An ambulance? Okay, less stupid plan

-Random question: Why are those guys’ heads split diagonally and not vertically or horizontally? It gets on my nerves. Besides, what if one of them is left handed?

-That mask reveal took a turn, and uh  but uh  “Grant, the man I took for granted”  SHE’S MAKING PUNS EVEN WHILE GRIEVING

-That’s awkward

-”What do the rich old men always do when the fighting starts? They’ll find the safest place to hide themselves away and send all the young people to die.”  I feel bad that this is too true to be taken lightly.

-”Oh, there’s the smile, I don’t like the smile!”

-”You’re completely out of your mind!”  “How is that news to anyone?”  I love the dialogue in this episode

-WOOHOO

-”He’s actually left handed”  So I was right, crackheads can’t be left handed?

-GRANT, THE BOMB

-Welp

giving up on life like

The Doctor’s having none of your shit

sarcasm.jpg

-WHOA BITCH THAT HEAD IS BLANK

-”Put in a call to Osgood.” Nice reference.

-WHOOPS THAT SOLDIER

-”I’ve been away for a while but I’m back”  Also nice reference to the previous episode (that I CRIED ABOUT)

-DAMMIT STOP TORMENTING MR HUFFLE IF YOU WISH TO AVOID A PAINFUL DEATH

-OH GOD NO

SHE’S PASSING THE CURSE TO THE DOCTOR

-HE MUST BE SAVED

-REBLOG TO PASS THE CURSE TO SOMEONE ELSE OR WHATEVER

-#SAVETHEDOCTOR2017

-OH DEAR GOD THE CURSE IS WITH HIM, NONONONONO DOCTOR DON’T TAKE IT WITH YOU SHE’S TRYING TO DEFLECT ITS RAGE TOWARDS YOU

The... shirt... That’s a first.

-Oh jeebuz crisxenz now Mr Huffle is in the Tardis and he will bring bad luck to us all and he will be the reason we will be crying in any future episode ever and he will cause Twelve’s regeneration mark my words

-Dear Lord protect us

-Oh wait Moffat’s not gonna protect us is he

-We’re screwed

#watching for the first time #reaction #review #long post #whovian #twelfth doctor #peter capaldi #doctor who #the return of doctor mysterio #nardole #dw series 10 #soulless eyes #dead inside #mr huffle #is cursed #save him