Returning Echoes
TARDIS Maintenance Technician 2nd Class Solarin slammed the panel she had been examining closed and shut off her diagnostic kit. The navigation circuitry was in quite a state, the main capsule computer seemed to be viewing coordinate inputs as something more like guidelines than actual rules. Well, at least the TARDIS personality was friendly and helpful, quietly directing her to all the problem areas.
There were other faults as well - problems with the fluid links and the emergency systems, as well as a blip in the Chameleon Circuit firmware. She had dutifully made careful notes on the diagnostic readouts for all of them on her data pad, repairing the ones she could, but most of them were above her pay grade and would be passed on to senior techs - 'Most likely Academy graduates', she thought with a dismissive sniff.
While she was Gallifreyan, with the dual cardiac system, time sensitivity and telepathy that implied, she had never qualified to attend the Time Lord academy, so she remained as she had been born, without the enhanced physiology of the elite of her society. Of course, those who ranked above her were quick to subtly remind her of her lowly status.
Gathering up her tools and equipment, she exited that particular capsule dock and moved on to the next in the row. She reached up to lightly touch the metal/crystalline skin, projecting her intent to help to the mind of the organic computer inside. This was why she had reached a fairly lofty position in the Engineering Corps for an ordinary Gallifreyan - she had a gift for communicating with the time ships telepathically, they responded to her better than almost anyone else, except perhaps their designated Primary Pilot.
The response she got back from this particular ship was... sullen, grudging. Like an angsty adolescent that refused to tidy it's room. Her telepathic broadcast took on a sterner note, like a chiding schoolteacher, and the capsule door grudgingly opened, allowing her inside. Her work in that capsule didn't take as long - it was a newer model, and hadn't suffered the same battering as the previous TARDIS.
Finally, she finished her work and packed her tools into her carry-all and stepped back out onto the capsule dock, straightening her red Prydonian standard-issue tunic as she did so. She stretched her tired muscles, it had been an interminably long shift, she knew full well that the log for this area would have shown that she clocked off over half an hour ago, but she had messed with the log. She shouldn't have been able to do that, the system was supposed to be above her clearance level, but she had discovered long ago that the allotted hours meant work was left undone, which made her Time Lord supervisors unhappy and if she worked over her allotted hours, that made them even more unhappy. So, necessity being the mother of invention...
Solarin smiled as she approached the exit of the capsule maintenance dock, bag over her shoulder. Then she stopped, bag dropping to the floor as she saw someone else coming in to the capsule dock - someone who definitely shouldn't be there.
Whoever he was, his psychic presence screamed 'Time Lord', even though he wasn't wearing any of the colours of whatever Chapter he was part of - in fact, he wasn't wearing much colour at all, just a black tailcoat and grey trousers with a white button-down shirt. Solarin grabbed her bag and scurried to hide behind one of the barrier walls, assuming he was here to catch her fiddling with the work allocation computer.
She watched anxiously as the unknown Time Lord approached the capsules that were under repair. He reached out to touch the first one and Solarin winced. That particular TARDIS had come here under Celestial Intervention Agency seal. They'd been characteristically cagey about what had happened, but someone with Solarin's sensitivity didn't need to be told, she had felt the grief and anguish rolling from the TARDIS in waves - it had clearly lost it's primary pilot. Solarin wouldn't step into that particular capsule on a bet.
The black-clad Time Lord recoiled from the capsule, a frown creasing his face as he moved on to the next one in the row, the one that had felt like a sullen teenager. The Time Lord's lips drew into a thoughtful pout as he looked at the capsule and the maintenance record attached to it, slowly rocking back on his heels.
A sudden burst of insight told Solarin what was happening. A Time Lord not in standard Chapter robes or tunic, sneaking around into the repair dock looking at Time Capsules - he was escaping. Along with that thought came a sudden overpowering urge to help him. She may never live a life away from Gallifrey and it's stultifying, chokingly stratified society, but she could help someone else live a different life.
With a sudden bold smile she stepped around the corner, straight into the Time Lord's line of sight. "Don't steal that one." she said, smiling, "Steal this one instead," she nodded towards the friendly TARDIS she had been working on earlier, "The navigation system is knackered, but you'll have a lot more fun."
She peered into the Time Lord's startled blue eyes for a moment longer as he said 'Hmm' a lot and tried to say something that was half thank you and half denial.
Solarin just chuckled, "Trust me." she smiled again, then simply turned, picked up her bag and left the repair dock.
'Run away, you clever boy,' she thought at him, 'and remember... remember me, the one who couldn't escape.'
Clara Oswald opened her eyes, the dream fading like mist in the sunshine. She tried to catch fragments, but all she could remember was the Doctor's face (oh, she knew it was the Doctor now, how could she not?) looking at her with wide, startled eyes, looking older and yet so much younger than the current version. There was something about a TARDIS as well... but it all faded away before she could grasp it.
Dismissing it as the vagaries of her subconscious, she got up and dressed for work, though her head felt oddly muddy, making it hard to think straight. She had to be extra careful as she applied her make-up, as her mind was still fuzzy and her hands felt clumsy.
"Great start to a morning, this." She said grumpily to her reflection.
The students seemed louder than usual today. Everywhere she went there was noise, from shouts to whispers, crashing through her ears and into her brain. By lunchtime she felt like her head was stuck in a vice that was being slowly tightened by some sadistic bastard who delighted in torturing time-travelling school teachers.
She slumped down in one of the poorly-upholstered seats in the staff room, clutching a mug of ginger tea, which she had inexplicably added lemon juice to. It tasted good, though. Relaxing. The spicy, lemony taste feeling somehow familiar and comforting.
She allowed her eyes to drift closed, just for a moment...
...A tidal wave of curiosity, attraction, guilt, anguish and a half-dozen other emotions suddenly cascaded over her, startling her so thoroughly that she spilled her tea, yelping when the hot liquid soaked into her skirt.
"Sorry!" Danny Pink said, quickly withdrawing his hand from her shoulder and grabbing some paper towels to help her mop up, "Didn't mean to startle you," he apologised, "You just looked like you were about to go to sleep. Are you ok?"
Clara managed to dredge up a half-smile, "Yeah, yeah," she said casually, "Just had some trouble sleeping, that's all."
He looked at her dubiously as he dumped the soaked paper towels into the bin, "You sure?"
"Course!" she said, not sure if she was lying or not, "I think I just need to remember to turn the heating off before I go to bed tonight."
Danny gave her a faint smile, "Yeah, I remember what it's like trying to sleep when it's too hot."
The bell rang then, cutting off the conversation, "Well, back to the salt mines," he smiled awkwardly, "Sorry about your skirt," he said, "I didn't want you to spill your tea if you fell asleep... that worked out well for me, didn't it?"
Clara waved off the apology, "It's a black skirt, stains won't show. It's not a problem." She grabbed her lesson plan from the table, abandoning the rest of her tea into the sink and following Danny out of the room, being careful to avoid coming into physical contact with him for reasons she didn't entirely understand.
Home should have been a blessed relief. Clara flopped inelegantly onto her bed, her head pounding, a strange buzzing noise seeming to fill her ears, like she'd gone to a rock concert and stood too close to the speaker stacks. Her apartment was utterly silent, yet still felt full of noise, the soft autumn light filtering through the windows felt like daggers in her eyes.
The pain increased, the not-noise boring into her skull. In desperation, she pulled the pillow over her head, squeezing her eyes shut as she did so, curling up into a small ball, pillow pressed over her eyes, tears of pain slowly leaking into the soft fabric.
Her stomach seemed to drop out from under her, like she was falling from a great height. The pain redoubled, making her cry out as it felt like an icepick was being rhythmically driven into her skull. Even through the haze of pain, she could hear the sound of the TARDIS.
'Oh, thank god,' she thought prayerfully, 'The Doctor will help me. He'll taunt and tease and take the piss, but he'll help.'
"Clara?" The Doctor called, bounding into her room without so much as a single knock, "It's Wednesday, y'know. You shouldn't be sleeping, too much to do. Honestly, you humans and..." he trailed off, taking in her posture, and the sense of something... something different. Something not quite right.
He reached out carefully to touch one shoulder, like he was reaching into a nest of angry cobras. "Clara?" he said carefully, still not sure if this was some kind of trap by one of his myriad enemies.
Something brushed against his mental shields, 'Hurts... help... Doctor...' the quiet mental broadcast said. He released Clara's shoulder and the mental touch ceased. The Doctor's eyes widened as the implications began to slowly dawn.
"Doctor," Clara gasped, pulling her head out from under the pillow, her face was pale, pinched with agony, her eyes clenched shut as one hand reach out gropingly for some comfort, "Doctor, please... please. It hurts. Oh god, I can't stand it." she whimpered helplessly and pressed her fingers into her temples in a hopeless attempt to ease some of the pain.
The Doctor's expression hardened. He reached over, gently moving her fingers away from her temple and replacing them with his own, "Shhh, Clara." He reassured her, "Stop fighting it. Just relax." as he spoke, he sent a soft, gossamer strand of mental energy into her mind, quickly weaving it into a blanket he could lay over her mind, to soothe the raw, stinging portions of her thoughts. As soon as he had done so, he felt her begin to relax, some of the anguish and pain in her expression beginning to fade.
"Oh, thank God." she whispered, though she still didn't care to open her eyes.
"That'll do for now," the Doctor muttered, "but I'll need to get..."
"What did you do?" Clara asked, half demanding, half in wonder.
"I gave you a temporary telepathic shield to protect your mind from unwanted psychic energy." the Doctor said, matter-of-factly, like he was giving her the weather forecast.
At that, Clara did open her eyes to stare at him incredulously, "What." she said flatly.
"I just need to get something for you from the TARDIS. Wait there." he said flippantly, vanishing into the living room where he had parked his box.
Clara stared after him, open mouthed for a second before she scowled, "I really wish I could hate you, sometimes." she said, flopping back onto her bed.
The Doctor returned shortly thereafter with a cup of some kind of hot drink. Clara sniffed it and took one cautious sip, expecting it to taste vile. It tasted of ginger, lemon and spices, much like the drink she'd tried to make for herself earlier in the school staff room. The remaining pain in her head began to fade from a sharp stab to a dull throb as she drank. Familiarity teased her memory, just out of reach.
"What is this?" she asked, taking another sip.
"It's called Lingal," the Doctor said, watching her intently, his voice oddly soft and gentle "It was given to young Gallifreyans to help them control their telepathic abilities."
Clara set the mug down on her night stand. "Yeah, you mentioned something about telepathy before, and I want an explanation now."
"You're so bossy." The Doctor complained, "Why am I getting all the bossy ones lately?" he picked the mug back up and pushed it back into her hands, "Drink your tea like a good British girl. It's good for you."
"It's not tea," she said, glaring, "It's some weird alien drink. A drink for controlling telepathy. Telepathy that I don't have!"
"Yes, you do. Or rather you do now." he corrected.
Her glare could have scorched the varnish from the bed frame, "And HOW am I now suddenly magically telepathic?"
"The TARDIS," The Doctor replied, his voice suddenly soft again, "When you interfaced with the telepathic circuits, it must have activated some latent telepathic ability."
Clara opened her mouth, but suddenly found that she didn't have a reply.
The Doctor, meanwhile, had bounced up off the edge of the bed, "Well?" he said.
Clara glared even as she took another sip of the strange, soothing Time Lord tea, "Well what?" she replied, trying to get a grip on the bombshell that had suddenly been dropped on her, she wasn't in the mood for the Doctor's games today.
"Well, are you going to pack, or do I have to do it for you? Fair warning, though, it's not like I know where you keep your knickers."
"You can keep your paws out of my knicker drawer!" she retorted without thinking, "Hang on, pack for what? I'm not really feeling up to going on one of your adventures just now."
The Doctor rolled his eyes, "Don't be daft. You're going to have to learn to control your telepathic abilities, which means being away from distractions - distractions like the minds of every pudding-brain in the metropolitan area."
Clara just looked at him, "So, what, you're going to take me to some alien guru who's going to teach me how to control it?"
The Doctor folded his arms, "Only if you consider me to be an alien guru."
Clara just stared, "You?"
"Of course me!" The Doctor snapped, "Who else would I trust with access to your innermost psyche?" he seemed to deflate a bit, "I'm not even entirely sure I trust myself with it... humans can be so... fragile."
Something in the Doctor's eyes just then, a flash of vulnerability, or fear, made Clara abandon her defensiveness.
"All right," she sighed, "You win. I'll pack some stuff." she set down the mug of Lingal and began to stand.
"Good." The Doctor said, "I'll go tell the TARDIS to get a room ready for you." he span on his heel and vanished out the door, leaving Clara to contemplate the contents of her drawers and wonder what on Earth had just happened.
The Doctor entered the TARDIS and glared at the console. A few long strides took him right to the controls as he punched a combination of keys and switches, bringing the telepathic access logs up on the screen. His eyes narrowed when a name appeared.
Last Access: Solarin of House Sawdawn
"You realise she's not really Gallifreyan?" He addressed the empty air around him. He didn't really get a reply, except that the TARDIS noise seemed to shift in pitch slightly. The Doctor shook his head, "Why am I bothering." he threw up his hands, "You'll do as you like anyway. I'm gonna go check on the Zero Room. Clara might need a neutral environment..." he walked off out of the console room still muttering to himself.
On the screen, the display changed to something showing both English and Gallifreyan characters. One entry read 'Primary Pilot: The Doctor'. Underneath it, another entry appeared: 'Secondary Pilot: Solarin'.
The TARDIS hummed to itself with an air of insufferable smugness as the display blanked out.
Author's Notes: The drink Lingal is from 'In The Widening Gyre' by Sophie Richard, which you can find on the WhoFic archive, though I added its effects on telepathy myself. Anybody may feel free to use Gallifreyan!Clara's name and house if they want to.