Disclaimer: Recognizable characters are not my own - I just borrow them.

Pairing: Twelve/Mels

Summary: Funny, her last night of freedom and she spent it with him.

Rated: Mature

Notes: Written: 5/1/15 - 1/18/16

Title from "Amaryllis" by Shinedown

This is the final part of a 3 part series: "I'll begin, but I'll start at the end".

Ridiculous amounts of thanks to Beverly, Alyssa, Megs, and Bree for their astounding support on this series and this fic. All remaining mistakes/madness are not their fault.

When I started this series it was as a "what if" exercise, and it turned into a three-part saga that demanded to be told.

Please be sure you've read the first two parts of this series: "Start the car and take me home" and "A good excuse to be a bad influence" or else this fic won't make any sense at all.

Now here we are, you and I, on the last page.

(/Not sorry)

Do I remind you of someone you've never met?

She thought that would be the last time, the night in the club. The night of her parents' wedding and her own conception. The night killing him went from a vague promise in the distant future to imminent.

Funny, her last night of freedom and she spent it with him.

Mels has no illusions. She's a weapon, a precision instrument, raised and conditioned for one thing only: to kill the Doctor.

After that, if her own parents don't kill her, she figures her minders will. Her usefulness complete.

She almost welcomes the oblivion.

Not that Mels intends to go down without a fight.

The last few months have been torture, watching her parents mourn her while she is stood right next to them. Amy gritting her teeth and claiming to be fine while the shadows under her eyes grew darker and her skin paler. Rory hovering anxiously by her side, looking alternately lost and livid.

There's no room for Mels in their private world. The Doctor has stolen them away from her, just as always.

He's also stubbornly absent. How is she supposed to kill the bloke when he won't bloody well show? She's caught Amy phoning him, demanding answers.

It wasn't the last night after all - merely a prelude to months of waiting. This might be the actual last though; she thinks that Amy has a plan, all her mother's shock and misery giving way to a firm determination that leaves her and Rory huddled together whispering secrets.

Mels has no intention of missing the Doctor again but, if this is to be her literal last night, she is also not about to while it away moping.

Life, after all, is for living. And she has precious little of that left.

It's easy enough to catch a lift into London. Easier still to help herself to the alluring forgetfulness of a pub or club, where she could drown herself in liquor or men, whichever she fancies.

Only Mels has forgotten enough of her lives already, and she doesn't fancy the kind of anonymous oblivion such places have on offer.

There's an itchy feeling crawling up the base of her spine, demanding that she run while she still can. She used to indulge it, when she was younger and willing to brave the wrath of her keepers. When there was still a point. There's no point now, when her fate is set. Tomorrow or the next day or the day after that, she'll kill the Doctor and consequently herself.

She imagines what her keepers would think if they knew of all the chances she had to kill the Doctor and what she did with him instead.

There's nowhere to run, but at least she can go out with a bang.

Mels wanders the dark streets of London, torn between picking a fight or jumping off a cliff. Either way, she's sure she'd come out on top. After all, she's still a little bit immortal for just a little bit longer.

The choice ends up being easy when she spots him, leaning against a dark alley wall and smirking like he's been expecting her.

Her hearts race. This is it. She should kill him right here.

"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" The Doctor gestures to their decrepit surroundings, teasing.

Mels tenses, stalking toward him, but not too close. "Looking for trouble."

"Seems such a waste of time to go looking for trouble. I just wander about and trouble finds me." He pushes off the wall and one corner of his mouth curves up as though he's fighting against a grin.

She stops just out of reach, propping her hands on her hips. "What a coincidence, running into me."

The Doctor lets his eyes trail across her body, blatant and lingering. "Must be my lucky day. You are definitely trouble, my dear."

"You have no idea."

He chuckles at that, as though he's in on a joke and she's missing the punchline. "So what shall it be this time? More crowded, noisy clubs? A spot of car theft? Something new?"

Mels clenches her fists, thinking about the gun in her pack, thinking about his lips on her skin. "What makes you think I want to do anything with you?"

He shrugs, unconcerned with her dismissal. "I don't see any other volunteers."

"It could be dangerous, spending the night with me." She feels dangerous, her body vibrating with an emotion she can't name.

There's a half-grin on his face again as he offers his arm like this is some goddamned gothic fairy tale. "Looking forward to it."

Well, if this is her last chance to laugh in the face of her destiny, she'll take it and him. Mels takes his arm with a snort, feeling the razor slash of life racing through her. "Let's go to the Eye and jump off."

To her surprise, he laughs, genuine and unexpected. It's a warm sound, in contrast with this body's usual gruff exterior. "Some things never change."

She tries to pull away but his grip on her elbow is deceptively solid. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing," only his eyes are still sparkling with mirth and secrets.

There're not terribly far from the London Eye, down by the docks. They walk along the water as though it were a boardwalk - slow and unhurried - past the grand aquarium, silent in the dark. The Eye is closed when they reach it, of course. It's the middle of the night. It's still lit up though, the colorful lights glaring and bright from the safety of the ground.

Mels ignores the signs and the lights, stalking boldly up to the silent machine and climbing, pausing only once she's on top of the lowest carriage, one foot on the metal beam of the Eye itself. "Coming?"

"Ladies first."

He's infuriatingly smug, and it's impossible to resist the desire to show him up. Mels climbs the outer scaffolding easily, bypassing the other carriages and climbing until she's reached the one at the very top.

The Doctor is hot on her heels, keeping up with the same surprising agility she remembers from their previous encounters. He's not one to be underestimated - appearances are often deceiving, as Mels knows firsthand. He's dressed all in black this time, as though he's headed to a funeral. She wonders if he realizes it's his own. The red lining of his coat flares out as he climbs, obscene in the night.

The carriage is locked, of course. The Doctor pulls out his sonic screwdriver from his coat pocket, dangling with only one hand supporting him on the scaffolding, and it would be so easy to push him over.

He knows that she knows who he is, though neither have explicitly acknowledged it, or else he wouldn't be using his sonic. It's one of his more recognizable tells - who else would have a sonic screwdriver, of all ridiculous things?

The lock clicks open and Mels pulls open the glass door, swinging inside, the Doctor right behind her. The view is as spectacular as she expected - London by night, spread out before her.

It's too quiet in the carriage - the Doctor is too quiet. It makes the glass box feel small and claustrophobic, and Mels regrets bringing him here, her fists clenched at her side and the air between them charged with tension.

The Doctor is watching her as though waiting for her to make the next move, and Mels hasn't decided what that move should be - she should kill him, but it's not the right him to kill - so Mels turns toward the window, where she can track his reflection but his eyes are obscured.

All the little lights below look picturesque, like a postcard. "Everything is so far away from up here. It looks so small and unreal."

"It's real, Mels, it's just missing all the details because it's far away. I prefer to be up close, where everything is huge and important."

Mels suppresses a shiver that has nothing to do with the cold. He's just behind her, not quite touching her. Up close. She spins to face him, turning her back to one view and watching him lit up in the soft light of the other, tinted blue from the Eye's current color scheme and the aquarium behind them. "Why'd you come all the way up here then?"

The Doctor shrugs, a helpless, self-depreciating gesture, his hands shoved in his pockets as he feigns annoyance. "You wanted to."

"I also said I wanted to jump off," Mels challenges, flicking open the latch and the door behind her, the cold shock of wind whipping at her braids. "You gonna do that too?"

He steps closer, glancing over her shoulder at the water far below. "Wouldn't be the first time." Blue eyes watch her carefully, searching for something that makes Mels want to squirm away. "What do you expect to find down there that you didn't find up here?"

Mels avoids his gaze by shoving at her clothing, stripping it into an efficient, if messy, pile at her feet. "I don't know. Let's find out."

Predictably, the Doctor's eyes follow her newfound nakedness, which has the additional effect of rendering him momentarily speechless. It's almost frightening how easy it will be to kill him.

Shaking that thought off, Mels winks and in one quick motion opens the door and throws herself out of it.

In the few seconds before she hits the water, she can hear the Doctor swearing as he leans out of the Eye almost as if he's reaching for her. Not that he had any hope of catching her.

The water is cold and rushing, engulfing her in a muffled roar that blocks out the cursing from above. It blocks out everything.

Mels keeps her eyes squeezed shut, holding her considerable breath and wishing it were all as simple as that. It would be quick and peaceful, at least. She doubts her deaths will be either.

She can feel the change in the current when the Doctor hits, and then his hand closes over her arm and he drags her to the surface. Mels sputters and blinks river-water out of her eyes, trying to shove him off.

The Doctor lets her go; pushing his drenched curls out of his eyes with rough hands, his eyebrows dripping water. He pulls a face. "I'd forgotten how disgusting the Thames is in this century."

"Oh don't tell me you're frightened of a few germs." Her immune system is excellent thanks to her Time Lord DNA - she imagines the Doctor's is even better, though it galls her to think that he's better than her at anything.

She wonders if his concern for germs is some misplaced concern for her, then shakes off the notion as ridiculous. Maybe he's still just playing at being John Smith, after all.

The Doctor scowls at her across the waves. "Not in the slightest. This is hardly my first encounter with the Thames - I drained it on top of my head once to flush the last Racnoss back to the center of the earth."

"Looks like it's still here to me," Mels counters, a bit too sharp perhaps, but then she already knows all about the Doctor destroying the Racnoss. It's a sharp reminder of who he is that he recalls such a chilling tale with a glib tone. No more pretending for either of them, then. Not tonight.

The Doctor's amusement fades, as though he's caught some of her inner turmoil. "Yes, well, there was a thing and - the important part is that I put it back. Good as new. Or, well..."

Neither of them quite meet the other's eyes for a moment. At last Mels sighs, wrinkling her nose at the omnipresent stench that is starting to grate on her nerves as she treads filthy water. "You could've at least cleaned it up a bit first."

"Oh, just you wait and see - just give it a few centuries. The Thames will be glorious."

Shame that she doesn't have a few centuries, not anymore. The thought sobers her, and she almost misses his gruff, "Now what?"

"Huh?"

Not her cleverest moment, but she's still shaking off the weight of reminders that it's both of their last nights.

The Doctor is watching her closely, and his voice is surprisingly gentle for all his griping. "What's the plan? We can't very well wander the streets of London soaking wet and filthy in the middle of the night."

Mels smirks at his phrasing and the Doctor scowls. "Why do I have to have a plan?"

The Doctor curses under his breath and then over it. "You're the one who wanted to jump into this bloody cesspool."

"And we did. Plan achieved."

He curses again, eyebrows drooping from the weight of his glower and water. "Right then. With me."

They climb out of the Thames via the dock under the Eye. Mels is dreading the climb back to their clothes, and considering hotwiring the controls, when the Doctor ducks into the nearest carriage. He returns with a flannel and his coat dangling from one hand, and Mels realizes it's the same carriage they were in at the top. Now where he got the flannel is the question.

"That's cheating."

The Doctor raises an eyebrow and shakes his coat more vigorously in her direction. "Gonna report me? Here - Take it."

Feeling unaccountable shy, she does, drying off as best she can with the small piece of fabric and wrapping up in the warm wool and soft silk that she's undoubtedly still ruining with Thames water.

The Doctor had kept his undershirt and pants on - both now soaked - and he emerges from the carriage with his trousers and Docs back on, left carelessly unlaced. He scoops her clothing and his shirt into his arms, trying to keep them mostly dry, and eyes her fiddling nervously with his coat. "No point riffling through the pockets. That's the only flannel I had and everything important is locked up."

"Your pockets have locks?" she asks, incredulous.

"Some people can't keep their hands to themselves." He gives her a look as though it's entirely her fault, and she can hardly deny it when she was considering just such a thing.

The Doctor takes her hand as though it's the most natural thing in the world, or maybe he's just smart enough not to test his locks on her, and leads them around the aquarium and tourist center.

He marches them right into some fancy hotel, where they drip filthy Thames water on the opulent tile. The Doctor ignores the horrified concierge, heading straight for the lifts as though he owns the place. They almost make it too, before the poor peon catches them up, all but leaping into their path.

"Excuse me, Sir, may I be of assistance?"

Mels bites back a flash of annoyance that the Doctor is the only one addressed. They must be quite a sight for a hotel this posh. The Doctor in his Docs and undershirt, and her in his coat. Both of them soaking wet and bedraggled, probably looking fairly accurately like they just washed up out of the Thames. Between that and the age difference, well, she'll be impressed if the coppers aren't already on their way.

"Yes. You can go away." The Doctor glowers, flashing something that looks like a wallet from his pocket in a magician's slight of hand to wave in front of the concierge's face.

He doesn't wait for the man to respond, brushing by him and into the lifts, Mels right behind him because she never has been able to resist a keep out sign or order. And just a bit because she doesn't fancy spending her last night banged up in jail.

He presses the button for the top floor and then seems to think better of it, pressing another button only a few floors up.

"Afraid I'll jump off the roof?" she teases, eyebrow arched.

"Yes." He scowls, but she thinks he likes the idea.

He uses his sonic at a door halfway down the hall, seemingly at random and, to Mels' immense disappointment, the room appears to be unoccupied.

"Shower," he all but growls, pointing in the direction of the loo.

Mels shrugs out of his coat and lets it puddle on the floor, taking her time to raid the hotel bar. It's almost like she imagines a normal clandestine affair might go - alone and anonymous in a posh hotel. She wonders if he planned it that way. "Going to join me?"

He smiles at her indulgently, his eyes fixed determinedly above her neck. "You go on. Give me a 'mo to tidy up."

Mels bites back a sliver of disappointment. She's naked for the second time tonight and he's more worried about getting clean. "Whatever. Your loss." She supposes it's going to take her ages to figure out how to wash Thames water out of her hair with just hotel conditioner anyway.

By the time she's sorted out her hair and scrubbed every last drop of Thames water from her skin, Mels is in a better mood. A nice long, hot shower all to herself is a luxury she doesn't usually get, and she's all about luxuries for her last night. The scented lotions look expensive enough to match the shower stall big enough for ten. Shame she won't have a chance to bring a party back and test out its exact capacity.

When she opens the door, her clothes are folded in a meticulous pile just in front. Cleaned, Mels realizes when she retreats to pull them on.

She lingers, scoping out the suite and raiding the food and drinks trolley. There are more rooms than she expected and she can hear the telly on in one. Judging by the non-televised swearing, the Doctor is in there. Knowing where he is gives her the freedom to explore - she's not about to let him get the drop on her again.

Still, she's feeling bored and restless and a bit put out. Jumping off the Eye seemed fitting to her last night. Milling about a hotel room less so, no matter how posh it is. When she steps into the other room, the Doctor is cursing at the footie, lounging indolently in a chair fully dressed. Pity, that. He seems so completely normal and completely alien all at once that Mels doesn't know how to reconcile the two. Doesn't know how to reconcile this him with the one in a bowtie that she's meant to kill.

"Whaddya say we blow this joint? Fancy nicking another car?"

His eyes light up and he bounces to his feet, ignoring the television completely - his focus on her and his grin wicked. "I thought you'd never ask."

Mels stops him with one hand on his chest, and the heat of his skin is warm under her palm even through his clothing. This close, he smells like the high-end hotel soap, freshly laundered fabric, and something deep and otherworldly that seems to always cling to him. He freezes at her touch, the look in his eyes dark and heavy. "This time, I drive," Mels demands.

"Of course," there's a hit of a smile playing about his mouth as he says it, though his voice is roughened.

Mels snatches back her hand as soon as he agrees, hearts racing and not entirely certain that touching him was a good idea. Moment broken, she moves quickly out of the rooms and to the hallway, spinning around at the last minute to find him right on her heels once again. "Which means I get to pick the car."

Now he's definitely hiding a grin as he holds the door to the lift for her. "Naturally."

Mels leans against the farthest mirrored wall and watches him through lowered lids as he glances at her out of the corner of his eye. They're both on edge in confined spaces tonight, that strange tension only building between them. Mels has to laugh, after their last encounter. "This is getting to be a habit."

He looks at her properly, wary. "What is?"

"You, me, stealing vehicles."

"Oh, you have no idea."

She wonders if he means the theft or the dates. She wonders which he's replying to.

They're interrupted by the lift doors opening. Mels pushes off the mirror and marches into the lobby, her heeled boots clacking firmly across the marble in time with the Doctor's heavier stride next to her. He's close enough that she can almost feel him at her side, though she doesn't look at him, her hands balled into fists as she carefully catalogues the happenings of the lobby, eyes fixed on the exit.

They make it without any further interrogations from the concierge - whatever the Doctor's little piece of paper said clearly did the trick. As soon as the cool London nighttime air settles over her skin, Mels takes a breath, feeling more at ease.

She's all for causing a bit of trouble, but she's just as glad to be out of that hotel.

They turn the same direction without having to speak, headed toward the higher end shops. Mels eyes the cars parked on the street like candy until she spots it, beautiful and sleek and red even in the dark.

"She's beautiful," she admits, running one hand along the smooth metal lines of the car as she slides up to sit on its bonnet.

"Yes, she is," the Doctor agrees, something wistful in his tone.

When she glances up, his eyes are fixed on her instead of the car. He has to stop being so... this. "Stop it."

Something flashes across the Doctor's eyes and his voice is a low rumble of thunder and promise - the very promise they've been skirting around all night. "Make me."

It's a dangerous invitation - the kind that is impossible to refuse. Mels grabs him by his lapels and hauls him onto the car with her, crashing his lips against hers.

They scramble a bit for purchase, his weight slipping and crushing her momentarily before he gets his knees under him, wedged firmly between her legs.

Mels is busy shoving off his coat and digging her nails into his shirt, rocking her hips for friction against his. There's far too much clothing in the way, but she can still feel him straining for her, his need pressing deliciously against her.

The Doctor's hands are everywhere, running across her arms and tits, rucking up her dress, sliding under her stockings to grip her arse and drag her hips roughly against his.

Mels makes an encouraging noise that she'll deny later, her mouth still occupied claiming his - all Scottish and demanding against her tongue. Her hands are unbuttoning his shirt when they break to gasp in needy breaths, and she's determined that she won't be the only one starkers this time.

Not that he has the patience to wait for either of them to finish undressing - he doesn't even get her stockings all the way off. When he realizes she's not wearing any knickers - left pointedly abandoned on a hotel worktop - the Doctor slides off the car and buries his head between her legs, licking a filthy line up her cunt with a groan.

Mels bites her lip and lets her head thump back against the windscreen, wiggling out of her stockings as the Doctor eats her out upon a cherry red corvette.

He smirks up at the sound, his lips around her clit, and Mels presses her palms flat over the sleek metal as she watches him.

Now that he's between her legs, the Doctor takes his time: as though they have all the time in the world; as though they weren't on top of a car on a public street on their last night. His hands undress her with a sort of unhurried reverence that is hard to miss, even with the distraction of his lips and tongue teasing her, working her up and open for him. He unbuttons her dress without breaking eye contact, undoing her until the fabric parts completely, falling to her sides. His fingers linger at her navel, playing with the bit of jewelry there until she is left wiggling and gasping against the hot bliss winding tight, centered between his hands and tongue.

The stories always said the Doctor had a wicked tongue, but Mels thinks that the stories didn't know the half of it. Not when it's inside her, each thrust and twist sending sparks of pleasure zipping along her spine.

Mels fumbles with the snap to her bra, an indistinguishable curse slipping through her lips when the Doctor's freed hands resume roaming her body, one pinning down her hips and the other joining his mouth against her cunt. He crooks one finger inside her to replace his tongue as that talented mouth refocuses on her clit.

It's almost too much, the sizzling coils of pressure and pleasure radiating up from her sex. She's wound up from the adrenaline of the night, close already.

The Doctor must know, of course, because he redoubles his efforts, the languid exploration of moments before replaced by purposeful touches and strokes, each designed to edge her that much closer to the abyss.

Mels' hands find their way to his hair, holding his head in place as his teeth carefully graze her clit and her eyes roll back in her head. She makes a noise that might be a moan or a whimper, but she can't be bothered to bite it back when he presses a second finger into her, pressing up just so that she can't tell if the stars in her vision are the sky or a hallucination.

Mels comes hard and fast, her breath short and gasping as the Doctor works her through it, his fingers replaced with gentle laps of his tongue and her hands fisted in his hair.

Before she's even caught her breath, Mels hauls him up with a harsh grip in wiry curls, taking no pains to be gentle.

Instead of the smug remark she expects, he kisses her. It's not the first time he's kissed her, and Mels refuses to flinch away now at what must be one of the last. Only his kiss is a far cry from the rough passion of their previous encounters. It's thorough and possessing and so achingly tender that Mels feels undone and made raw by it more so than their couplings so far.

She chases away that feeling by tearing roughly at his remaining clothes, breaking their kiss to yank his undershirt over his head. She leaves him to fumble with it, the two of them slipping and scrambling to keep their balance on the car as she undoes his trousers and shoves them to his knees. "Take off your clothes," she purrs in her best command.

The Doctor swears vividly, hurrying to obey. Which is a pleasant enough thought to send a new rush of wetness between her legs. He fights his way free of his undershirt and bends to undo his shoelaces while Mels tugs at him impatiently, trying to avoid any space to properly think between her racing pulse and aching sex.

At last he manages to kick off his shoes and trousers and she drags him over her, thrusting her body up against his and refusing to meet his eyes. He hesitates, holding himself away from her with some effort. "Mels..." he trails off, as though he wants to say more but can't find the words.

She takes the time to let her eyes roam his body: he's pale and thin, toned in a way that speaks to far too much time spent running.

"What are you running away from?" Mels bites her lip as she boldly meets his eyes, defiant and curious, even though she wishes she could swallow back the question.

There's something terribly kind in his eyes, something she wishes she couldn't see. "Who says I'm running away?"

"Are you running away from me?" From death? From her killing him? Her voice comes out small and thin, strangled under the weight of her questions and the dawning realization that this is far too intimate for shagging on the bonnet of a corvette.

The Doctor's response is immediate and fierce. "I would never run away from you."

"You should."

"I never do anything because I should. I do things because I want to. Remember that." He's trying to tell her something, but Mels is afraid to ask what.

Instead, she kisses him, marveling at how willingly his lips meet hers every time.

This time he willingly settles his body against hers, one of his hands holding onto the corvette windscreen for balance. Mels arches her body against him again, parting her legs until his cock slides across her wet cunt, and the Doctor makes a strangled, needy sound. There's a thrilling zip of adrenaline and danger and lust in this, and Mels gives into all of it. Might as well live dangerously on her last night. She reaches a hand between them before he can protest again, and then he's properly inside her, no needless barriers separating them, and Mels has to break away from their kiss to remember how to breathe.

There's an electricity with him that she's not felt with anyone else. It takes her breath away.

The Doctor moves in a smooth, slow rhythm - something building between them that leaves Mels feeling more than naked under his steady gaze.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?" His voice is low and gravelly with the exertion of every long, slow thrust. "Being gentle?"

She hates that he has to ask because she's not certain what exactly has her so disconcerted. It should be everything about being with him, every time, but it's almost... too much rather than not enough. "Just... get on with it."

Mels pulls at him roughly, bucking her hips.

But the Doctor holds her and his pace steady, the blue of his eyes boring through her. "Not used to gentle? Oh Mels, I've so much to show you."

"Not at this rate," she huffs, trying not to feel shaken. This... this isn't what she expected from him, with him, not... he's making love to her and she should stop him. Stop this.

He can't love her. She kills him in the morning.

"Patience."

She wants to agree - something in his voice or the way he's looking at her all but begs her to. That frightens her as much as anything else, so she argues on principle. "I'm not a patient girl, or haven't you noticed?" Her nails dig into his back to echo her point.

The Doctor hums, a low sound that is neither an agreement nor an argument, and kisses her quiet before she can think up something awful to say to put some distance between them.

It's hard to think properly, like this. Her back pressed up against the shiny red bonnet of the corvette and the Doctor over her, inside her, surrounding her. There's nothing to tear her focus from him, from the steady thrust of his hips and the heat building into an inferno between them.

Mels rakes her nails across the Doctor's skin rather than the paint of the car, wanting with a desperate ferocity to mark him physically the way he's marking her. She wants to hit him and hurt him and turn this back into something she can control, like shagging a stranger on the side of a motorway or a quick fuck in a public toilet.

She doesn't want his free hand sliding reverently across her body, his tongue gently caressing hers in time to the deepening strokes of his cock. She definitely doesn't want the slow burn of impending orgasm that promises a delicious sort of oblivion, not at his hands - not like this.

But she doesn't push him off or away. Her legs tighten around his hips, hands leaving nail marks like tracks across his back. She arches her breasts into his chest and lets him bury his head in her neck when they stop snogging long enough to catch their breaths. He murmurs something into her skin that she can't make out, his lips trailing reverent kisses over her racing pulse.

Their bodies are pressed so close that she can feel his hearts racing alongside hers. They rock and shift together, a sticky slide of skin on skin. Somehow the Doctor pushes even deeper inside her with every thrust until the head of his cock brushes against that perfect spot and everything in Mels starts to quiver, pleasure tingling and zipping across her skin, almost but not quite bursting free.

A strangled sound tears its way from her throat, wordless and demanding. More. She bites her lip against a building scream.

The Doctor doesn't shush her this time. Instead he lifts his head to her ear, his voice a filthy, low growl that almost breaks her self-control entirely. "That's it, scream for me, sweetheart. I want to hear you - I need to hear you."

It takes more effort than she'll ever admit to manage to gasp out a shocked, "We'll be arrested!"

"That's a distinct likelihood, yes." His chuckle is wicked and his voice is still low and growly.

Mels lets her head drop back against the windscreen with a bang, her eyes slipping shut and her entire body caught in a hedonistic war. He could whisper whatever he wanted in her ear in that voice and she could probably come from that alone.

Just when she thinks that maybe it's all too much, his hand snakes between them to tug sharply at her piercing, and the glorious tension in her body pulls taut and snaps, leaving her awash in screaming, scorching carnal oblivion, driven on by each deep thrust of his cock and rough brush of his lips and fingers against her skin.

By the time she's aware of herself again, her throat is raw and there are spots in her vision that have nothing to do with the stars. The Doctor is collapsed over her, breathing heavily, his nose nuzzled into her neck. Their skin is sticky with sweat and they've slid halfway off the corvette, dangling at a precarious angle.

Mels wiggles tentatively, slowly unlocking the vice-like grip her limbs have around the Doctor, and they slide even more. The Doctor grunts, rolling carefully off of her with something that seems like effort, and they manage to drag themselves back up the bonnet until they can collapse without the danger of ending up in the gutter.

Mels hesitates, not sure what to do now, her mind already rebooting and racing to catch up with alarming speed. She doesn't look at the Doctor, feeling uncharacteristically shy. He huffs and slips his arm around her, encouraging her to curl into him. Mels tries not to think too heavily on how right it feels to rest her head over one of his hearts, her leg draped over his. If it's a stupid indulgence, then surely she's allowed tonight. Just one more, just a moment longer. Besides, there's no one there to see it except him.

"Hello, Doctor," Mels murmurs, low against his chest, though it's her hearts that skip a beat to acknowledge it out loud, here and now.

"Hello, sweetheart," the Doctor replies instantly, voice deep and warm, though it cracks a bit at the end.

Again with the sweetheart - he's unbelievable. Mels lifts her head, "Sweetheart?" but the moment is broken with the movement, the world rudely intruding into whatever calm had existed between them.

"Would you prefer 'sugar'? I've always found that a bit trite, but it is your surname in Deutsch."

Rolling her eyes, Mels offers, "How about: sweetie?"

The Doctor winces and immediately covers it, gruff and teasing again. "Isn't that what I said?"

"We didn't get arrested after all," Mels muses, belatedly looking lazily about them to find a distinct lack of flashing lights and sirens. It must be their lucky night.

After a moment of confusion, the Doctor glances up at the lightening sky and still empty street. "Well how about that - no sirens," he muses half to himself before nudging her up. "Let's not push our luck."

"But that's half the fun," she pouts with something that feels like disappointment. Ignoring that feeling, Mels rolls off the Doctor and the car, landing gracefully on her tiptoes on the ground and searching for her bra. She finds it in the backseat. The rest of her clothing is scattered amidst the Doctor's on the ground around the bonnet. She reaches for her stockings and boots.

The Doctor joins her there as he starts to dress with slow, precise movements that make him look something closer to his age. "Aren't you due back in London?"

Mels glances up sharply at that, wondering if he knows. "Why would I be?"

The Doctor doesn't quite meet her eyes, busying himself with his clothing. "I don't know. It's almost morning in the middle of the week. Most people have things to do, don't they? Work, school, something?"

She frowns, calculating the time and thinking of the map of a cornfield in Amy's room that she wasn't supposed to have seen - the one that read: Doctor. She's cutting it close if she doesn't want to risk missing them - missing him - even if she speeds. It's almost funny - hurrying to leave him so that she can meet him - except this is anything but funny. "I'm not most people."

He grins at her, unexpected and genuine. "No, you definitely are not." There's that fondness again, but then he nods to the car, straightening his coat and tucking his hands in his pockets, the gruff exterior returning. "You should take the car."

Despite everything, it's Mels' turn to grin, glancing between him and the car. She'd already planned to keep it - it's easy enough to hotwire, it's fast, and it will make quite the memento after what they've done to the bonnet. "So you approve?"

"Not in the slightest." But he flashes out his sonic and she can hear the door lock click open.

Mels slides into the driver's seat, bending to hotwire the car. "Liar."

She can't resist showing off a little - the car roaring almost instantly to life with a mighty growl. It takes her a moment to realize that the Doctor has neither replied nor joined her in the corvette. "Aren't you coming?" And she hates herself immediately for asking, for imagining for a moment that they could hop in the car and head everywhere and anywhere, like he'd promised her once upon a time.

"Nah," the Doctor shakes his head, draping his arm over the top of the car and leaning into it so that he's still far closer to her than he should dare. "Don't want to get in the way of all the things you don't have to do."

He's just a little too casual to be convincing, and a weight of finality settles in the pit of Mels' stomach.

"I'm going to kill you," Mels confesses, all in a rush.

The Doctor brushes one of her still-damp braids back, surprisingly tender. The last thing she would have expected. "I know."

"How?" She lets the question hang; too many possible endings.

Typically, the Doctor answers her questions and none of them, all at once. "I've read the stories." He peers at her, kind and curious and not at all what he is supposed to be. "Have you?"

She hasn't read them, and suddenly that's all she can think about. All the stories she was told were handed down from the lips of her keepers: recitations from historical documents and dry facts. She's never seen them - the originals - in their entirety.

"And what do the stories say?"

"That you're the woman who murders me... or marries me." He's trying for teasing but doesn't quite hit the mark.

Mels responds in kind and thinks that maybe it ends up more of an admission than flirtation. "What if I don't want to do either?"

He sighs, voice painfully kind. "It's just a story. You don't have to do what it says. They're all just stories - doesn't make them true."

Of course he would want to believe that. Want her to believe that. "Some of them are."

"Some of them, yes," he turns, eyes fierce in their conviction, "but which ones are up to you."

Mels fidgets in her seat; not a habit she usually allows herself. "You say that like it's easy." Her voice comes out small and she doesn't meet his eyes.

"It's not. Nothing worthwhile is."

He sounds so sad again that she's relieved she can't see his face, not sure what she'd find there. On the face of the murderer she's meant to kill.

In the quiet of their last night, Mels feels a dangerous thread stretching between them, binding them. Not for the first time, she wonders what the Doctor knows that she doesn't.

For the first time, she wonders which of the stories are true.

Fin

Final Notes: I know this whole series has been ret-conned by the glorious Xmas special. All I'd like to say in my defense is: there's a regeneration, at least one parallel timeline, and a few encounters with the memory-wiping powers of the Silence between here and THORS. And those are only the things we know about. So perhaps this is AU and perhaps it's not as far-fetched as all that.

Thank you to everyone who took the time to read and comment and show this series such love, otherwise I doubt it would be anything other than an odd WIP sitting on my HD.