The dining room was rusting and bustling. It seemed like the scene for every occasion, or just the scene for everything. Everyone was sitting around the dimly lit room as usual, at the usual time, and the Étrange family was sitting at the head of the table as usual waiting for their two very unusual guests.

You know who they are.

"Can you stop stepping on my heel?" the Doctor hissed as he and Tristan walked into the dining room.

"Sorry!" She whispered back, "I can't see my legs!"

They walked over to the head of the table and Clive immediately stood up politely, "Please, take a seat, we saved two here for you."

And there were, in fact, two empty chairs on opposite sides of the table. He gently held the back of the chair beside his daughter and swept a hand in the direction.

"Please sit." He said to Tristan, taking her waist.

"Yeah, thanks." She smiled and looked at him.

She looked at him square in the eyes because that's just the way she did things. He immediately hissed, let her go, and looked straight at the ground.

Glancing a look at the Doctor, she sat down.

"So, Doctor," Clive said quietly after he sat down, "we need your help."

Even in the quiet hum of the room, Tristan still couldn't hear what Clive was saying to the Doctor.

She sighed, 'He'll just tell me later.'

Constantly stabbing a chicken breast with her fork, her eyes flickered back and forth slowly and awkwardly. She looked across the table at her companion, but couldn't seem to catch his eye due to the intense listening session he was having with Clive.

"Hello," she smiled and turned right to Clive's daughter, "how are you? My name is Tristan."

"Hello," the little girl Emily replied with a tiny smile, "Je m'apelle Emily." And with that, she turned back to her food.

Tristan's eyebrows collided for a second. Pulses of static flew through her ears. Static, no static, static, no static. She closed her eyes and it stopped.

"So, um." She turned back to Emily, "Do you like it in France?"

"Yes," Emily replied, "I spend a lot of time with my family—"

Static.

"—Et ma mère dit les histoires pour moi et mon frère et—"

The static stopped.

"—We listen to her stories in the garden sometimes when it is sunny outside." Emily finished.

"Oh, yes?" Tristan asked, trying to keep the conversation, "what is your favourite story?"

Static.

"L'histoire du grand mauvais loup." Emily answered.

That's when the static took over Tristan's hearing for a good five minutes. She rubbed both of her ears with each hand and closed her eyes. It felt as if the room was spinning, or it was just her that was spinning. The sound was so intense and her eyes were so tight she could almost see static noise against the eyelids as if she changed the channel on the telly to zero. The static and spinning finally paused and when she opened her eyes and looked around, it was as if nobody noticed her odd behavior, like nothing happened and everything was completely as normal as usual. Except for the fact that everyone was speaking French.

That's when she realized the TARDIS was no longer translating for her.

"You need…my help?" the Doctor asked Clive, "with what?"

"I am pretty sure you know our true identities Doctor." Clive answered calmly, "And I assume you know of our abilities."

All the Doctor did was nod.

It was worth a listen, he thought, because he liked to look like he was interested before turning down an offer. Plus, the curious Time Lord in him had an itch that couldn't be scratched until he found out why he and Tristan needed to be here. Once he found out, they were on their way back to time and space, because there was only one thing that he was sure of was that if you survived the Time War and are stranded, you are a stranded survivor. He was prepared to say "no" to the questions "can you take us back in time to our home planet?" and to "can you go back in time and save our race in the Time War?" Those questions would definitely earn a scoff from him. Not that he took pleasure in being cold or rude, but he felt as if he was the only one in the entire universe who understood how history worked, and that even if you are a Time Lord, you cannot go back in time to save the rest of them. They would be wiped out some other way.

But he did not see this coming.

"We need your help to control the Royal family and take over planet Earth." Clive continued.

"I'm sorry," the Doctor jolted, "what was that?"

"We need the mind of a Time Lord to fix our Brainwave Synthesis Machine, it's broken." Clive said.

"But you're a Hypnotic," the Doctor was clearly confused, "You don't need a Brainwave Synthesis Machine…and you definitely don't need to brainwash the Royal family for that matter."

"Doctor," Clive cleared his throat, "Our home planet was destroyed in the Time War, and I know that yours was too. If we control the Royal family we can control the government, Britain, eventually the world! Then we can rebuild our planet using this one. If you help us, we can split it, how about that? Half of this planet can be a new Gallifrey."

Clive had obviously hit a sore spot. A very soft, sore, bruised, spot on the Time Lord's two hearts.

"No."

"Then…how about we ditch this planet, hop into your time traveling machine, and change the history of the Time War?"

"Listen Clive," the Doctor leaned in closer, "there is absolutely no way planet Earth can ever replace your planet or even mine. Don't you think that as a Time Lord I have thought and thought and thought about going back in time and saving Gallifrey from burning in front of my eyes? Don't you think I know the consequences of changing history already? It was my job to fix time. It was my life. But now it's gone and I have learned to deal with it. So my answer is no. You can stop trying to fix your machine, you won't be needing it."

"You must be very lonely Doctor."

"No I'm not," the Doctor argued, "if you haven't noticed, I have Tristan now."

"I fear the day when you will not want her anymore."