"What the hell are you doing here?!" He smirks in the face of my indignation.
"Skiving off. Do you wanna come?"
"What part of running from your prior self suggests that I would want to spend any time with you?" I screech. I am done. Done. Done. Done. I just got free of one of them, damn it!
"Shhh." He cocks his head towards the door. "Bowtie-boy's very determined right now. And listening very, very hard for you." My heart immediately starts jackhammering and I dig my nails into the wall behind me, desperately wishing I could claw my way into it. "Stop that. You'll be fine if you stay quiet." He scolds, striding over to unlatch my hands from the plaster. His touch is clinical and brief, blessed and confusing relief from Eleven's smothering. "So, there's a thing. A very fun thing. A thing you'll like. I promise."
"I'd rather take my chances surviving Victorian London."
"I'm sorry, is that a no? Because that was a bit more 'maybe' to me." His eyebrows waggle hopefully and his grin widens to painful proportions, but I'm not falling for his shtick. No way, no how.
"You ain't fooling me, buddy. You know that's a solid no. I'm not going to help you with your thing, but thanks for the rescue. I gotta go." Even as I say it, I know it's a lost cause. Eleven is Twelve, after all. True to form, he dogs me as I start to search the dark for another exit.
"To your right about four steps." My hand hits a doorknob and I yank on it, revealing a dim corridor. Wait, did he just show me the exit? "Down and out. Just don't head back the way you came. Well, do, if you want, but I don't particularly like running into the things I'm running from. Never ends well. Usually, there's an explosion or tomatoes." He stands in the shadows as I edge towards freedom, eyes still gentle but…haunted.
"So I manage to leave you, do I?" Oh, I've hit a nerve. The attack eyebrows lower into position and a glower locks firmly into place, silhouetted by the blue glow of the screwdriver. Speaking of, isn't that…? "Where's Clara?"
"It's a very, very, very nice thing. Spectacular. Are you sure that you don't want to come with? Come on, live a little. I promise I won't stop you if you want to go. Cross my hearts. I'll even personally escort you to America. Though why you'd want to settle when you have this clever fellow at your disposal…well, I won't stop you, but I strongly suggest against it."
It's there, just for an instant, such profound grief that the blue of his irises turn almost to black. He's desperately trying to hold on after losing Clara, and floundering, by the looks of it. Well, come on feet! I head for the end of the hallway, where I can see a stairwell silhouetted. But I can feel that lonely gaze drilling into me. I stop and look back. He's still standing just inside the threshold, like a dog that's impatiently but obediently waiting for its master's command. He's not acting very Doctor-ish. I don't like it.
"You aren't going to follow me?" I glare at him suspiciously.
"Now why would I do that? You're free to go about your fleeing." He finally moves, casually sagging against the doorframe. His graceful unfurling of limbs irks me, a niggling feeling in the back of my mind that the predator has gotten even more stealthy. Well, until he flaps his hands at me, almost dislodging himself from his perch in the process. Yeah, he did it on purpose, but it's still funny. "Well, go on."
"I will. I am." And I'm on my way, ignoring the older, grayer idiot behind me. I'm not thinking what I think I'm thinking. No. Nuh uh. It's a total trap. Doctor-shaped and tied with strings I really don't wanna touch. My traitor feet hesitate for an instant before I drive them onwards and outside. I'm confident, I'm in control, I'm free, then it all goes to pot.
A loud roar rattles the casings of the gas lamps above me in the alley and dark scales, glinting in the low light, rush past the rooftops in a frigid blast of air, battering my hair and clothes and sending trash swirling in the street. Not a second later, the door behind me creaks open and a curly head pops out.
"I'm sorry, but was that a dragon?" Wonder and excitement push back the loneliness as he twinkles his eyes at me and flashes a charming smirk. "Now that's what I'm talking about! Oh-ho-ho! And just when you think your day couldn't get any duller. A dragon in London. So very, very far from its home." He promptly licks a finger and sticks it in the air.
"Dragons are real?!" Oh, dear. I just saw a dragon. But…but…
"Of course they're real, Devi! Well, possibly. At least on Earth. But who am I to know of all the beasties in all the billions of galaxies out there? Ha!" And he's off, jetting down the street towards trouble. I'm going to do the sensible thing and turn and go the opposite way. Away from danger and adventure and the Doctor. I can survive in this place and era. Can't go to Paternoster Row, but I can do this! Or maybe find Jack…oh, who am I kidding? Certainly not myself, though I can only dream and hope for the day. I sprint after him, managing to catch up at the head of the alley.
"You're going to drop me off in modern America as soon as this is done, Doctor." I pant. My legs are definitely going to be jelly by the end of this night. Twelve lights up at my concession.
"Yes, ma'am!" He laughs with American-sounding sass and grabs my hand. I'm hauled across the neighborhood as he trails after the creature. It snakes its way to a main thoroughfare, patrons bustling in and out of shops and buggies and carriages clacking down the street. Horses shy and rear as it swoops low, catching the attention of the crowd. But instead of mass panic, like the horses seem hell bent on, they clap and laugh at the dragon or, in my opinion, the massive winged death. How the hell does anyone survive in this universe?!
"A scary monster, a big scary monster. The stuff of legends, the stuff of nightmares, and they're cheering it on. At least the selfie hasn't been invented yet. Small miracles." I can hear it rattling around that big head of his: the happy atmosphere, the lack of surprise.
"They've all been warned." I muse. "Well, not really warned. It's a publicity stunt. They probably advertised it in the papers. Or do you think it's some kind of, what, mind control? Emotional…tampering?"
"What are you on about? Of course it's the papers." He scoffs, then whips one out from a bigger-on-the-inside pocket with a flourish. A sketch of the dragon's made the front page, along with the headline, 'Wonders in Orange's Mystical Carnival'. He seems proud of his little offering. I ignore that in favor of how new the newsprint looks. I left him alone for less than half a minute!
"Where'd you get it?" The smirk tuns into a scowl and the paper gets stuffed back into the pocket.
"There's a dragon on the front page of one of London's biggest newspapers and you're focused on that? Oh, come on. Adventure. Mystery. It's all so very exciting." He flutters his hands in a manner meant to be elegantly enticing but comes off as sideshow magician.
"Doctor." I slowly raise my eyebrow. He seems to recognize the gesture and, interestingly, he starts getting jittery. Huh.
"Well, it's not like he needed it. It took him ten seconds to read a sentence. Really, I was just doing his tiny little brain a favor. It'd probably overheat before he got to the classifieds. Probably wouldn't make it past the first…" he trails off as I plug my fingers in my ears. "Devi? Devi, what are you doing? Stop that." My hands are irritably swiped away from my head.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Were you trying to make a point? I couldn't hear it over your massive ego. It was rather loud." Our brows, mine proudly raised and his fiercely furrowed, lock in an epic battle. If only there were tumble weeds and a mariachi band, this moment would be perfect. Time freezes, the wind howls, and the dragon takes off. As it flies directly overhead, thrust buffeting my hair, I turn to try and catch a glimpse but instead get a face-full of navy wool. Arms longer and more sturdy than Eleven's wrap around my waist. Dang it. Not again! "Doctor, you have till the count of three to remove your arms from my person, or so help me…!"
His laugh rumbles through his chest as I'm lifted up and twirled around.
"Oh, I've missed you!" He carefully sets me back on my feet and steps away. There're no smothering gestures, no possessive twitches in my direction. Just a mad twinkle in his steely eyes and a gigantic smirk. That crafty bastard.
"That's strike one, you hear me? This is going down on the record as strike one. Two more and I'm gonna get violent." There. I gave him fair warning. My inner rage-monster smiles with gleeful anticipation, because knowing this idiot, I'm going to get a proper vent very soon. It seems he knows this, too, because there's a flicker of, not dread, but certainly anxiety born from experience in his eyes, in the thinning of his lips. But then the darn twinkle is back and giving Dumbledore a run for his money. Gah! But, hold on. Why's he looking behind me?
"No, no, no, boy! This won't do!" Holy crap! Strax is inches away, in period butler gear, with a gun that's definitely not period slung over his shoulder. "The honorable intention is admirable, yes, but tactical advantage is imperative. How else are you going to decimate your enemy's ranks?"
"The Doctor, an enemy? Now that's bleeding crazy, that is." Jenny scoffs as she slides out of the shadows, Madame Vastra trailing after her.
"Is it?" The Silurian's tone is dangerously velvety. "Devi. Hello, dear. We've just had a visit from his counterpart. Panicked. Angry. Desperate. He ransacked the house and left without a word. Tell me, Doctor, just what had gotten you into such a state?" Her veil remains solely pointed in my direction, her focus, her suspicion on me. No, that bowtied idiot didn't…
"Yeah, it was me," I confirm. "I kinda…left him and he went a bit…chasey on me? Sorry about that."
"Hush, now," she cuts into my worry, "the Doctor is a great man, but a man he still is. He certainly deserves to be kept on his toes." Twelve, who's been sulkily glowering at the trio, finally decides he's had enough interference.
"Yes, hello. Doctor right here. Doctor busy. Doctor leaving." He swoops in and starts dragging me off. "Bye." Oh, he's insufferable! I balk, my shoes squeaking against the cobblestones as he tries to resist my resistance.
"That's strike two." My words have the desired effect and he stops tugging, completely flabbergasted.
"Oh, come on! That was them, not you." His grip slackens. I rip my arm free and scurry over to the relative safety of Vastra. The Doctor shoots her what I can only interpret as a warning look and then flicks his gaze to me. She, in turn, is suddenly overcome by a soft sadness, something that doesn't sit well on her sharp features. And then, ever so subtly, she looks at me, too. What the heck is going on?!
"Is this," I wave at the strange stares, "because I left him? Because I'm pretty sure that cat's out of the bag. This is a one off and then it's off to America for me."
"Of course, dear." That knowing tone, the placating smile. Oh, boy. There's something big going on, here. And it's all to do with me and I don't like it. I take a nervous step back and it breaks the spell. The Doctor flies into action,
"So, dragon? Aren't you all astounded?" Crickets is all he gets.
"I'm married to a reptile." Jenny deadpans. Strax, on the other hand…
"It's invigorating! A beast of that size is sure to pose a small challenge to a warrior of my calibre. I'm thinking of mounting the head in the scullery. It'll be a fine distraction as I mop."
"Well, that's a lot less than astounded. Doesn't anybody get surprised, these days? Good for the heart. Good for the reflexes." He takes in his less-than-impressed audience. "No? Alright. By all means, be boring."
"So, it's off to the carnival, then." Vastra's already halfway into a shadowy alley, where I'm assuming her carriage is hid. Everyone turns to follow. It is, logically, the most obvious next move, after all. But Grumpy Face stubbornly plants himself where he stands and pouts like a little kid who's had his candy snatched away.
"Is everyone ignoring the obvious, here? I mean, really." More crickets. "Him. He's out there tearing apart half of London. So, Devi and I are going to the carnival. You're going to find him, somewhere near Chiswick Street, if I'm right, which I am, and then you're going to babysit."
"Pardon?" Vastra has a really wicked I'm-going-to-eviscerate-you-slowly-and-painfully look. Oh BBC, you gloss over the most kick-ass details, don't you?
"Distract. Incapacitate. Do what you do best. And we're going to find trouble. Right, Devi?" His eyes are smoldering irritably as he widens them at me. He so totally wants me to himself. So what do I do?
"Madame Vastra, Jenny, Strax, I'm sorry to impose, but I haven't eaten anything for decades, according to him, tea and some biscuits would be lovely. If you don't mind."
"Tea and biscuits? Staple though they may be, they're hardly constitutional. Jenny had just pulled a roast out of the oven when the Doctor called on us. A nice hunk of meat is much more stimulating to the palate when one is hungry. Come along." She pins the Twelve with a regal glare and then leads the way to the carriage. Hot damn, this woman's sharp as a tack!
And so, we're all sat at the dinner table in Paternoster Row cheerily eating a gigantic beef roast and an array of side dishes prepared expertly by the Silurian's wife. Well, except for the idiot next to me. He's mashing his potatoes angrily with his spoon and covertly trying to fling peas at Strax.
"He's going to be here any minute," he growls in my general direction.
"No, he's not. You said it yourself, and I quote, 'We should be fine for dinner.'" He's not getting between me and my beef. It's excellently seasoned. And god, the potatoes…
"That statement was given under duress. I've changed my mind. He's coming like a bloodhound locked onto a scent."
"Which would clearly explain why you're not trying to drag me out of here. Or at least gone yourself." I flick a pea at him. It sticks in his curls, right above his ear. Recognizing he ain't getting anywhere with me, the Time Lord huffily brushes it off and then tunes the dinner party back out, only moving to, funnily enough, pile more onto my plate when I run low, like a fussy nanny. I humor this, and his attacks on Strax, for the relative quiet it brings, his distraction and simmering irritation the only things holding back his gob thus far.
The dam breaks when Jenny brings out dessert. It's a layer cake, beautifully decorated with raspberries and cream. It's the custard filling that does it.
"Oh, that horrible. Where's the jam?" Jenny's proud smile wilts and Vastra stiffens. And that's strike three. As he argues and degrades and tries to make everyone in the room feel like three year olds in the face of his big brain, I calmly eat the yummy cake and drink the accompanying tea, a delicate blend of earl grey and darjeeling. It's a shame, really, I think as I fill my cup with boiling liquid again, to waste such good tea.
Twelve stutters to a halt as I dump my cup on his lap. Though I doubt it really did any damage, given his Time Lord physiology, it certainly has an impact since, as it soaks in, a whine claws its way past tightened lips. When his mind finally processes, he shoots out of his chair. Everyone's eyes zero in on his dark trousers, which now have an even darker stain in a very interesting position. It looks like…pft…it looks like…he piddled himself! Oh, the mere thought! I immediately almost keel out of my chair cackling. It's a domino effect and the rest of the room falls to mirth as well. Even Vastra cracks a smile.
"You look ridiculous!" States Potato Obvious. "It's like you have no control over your bowels. Like an infant." That's it. I'm officially rolling on the floor.
Said infant's head creaks towards me in excorcist-esque anger, "Devi," he whispers. I can hear thunder in the tone, an echo of the Oncoming Storm. Sorry, sucker, but you were warned. Not my fault you're an insensitive bastard, but I will certainly take advantage.
"Strike three!" I choke out as I stare up at him from the rug, cheeks wet, smile impossibly large. And just like that, the anger melts into that soft expression from before. Tea stain forgotten, he leans down, eyes so, so sad, and filed with an awe that should be reserved for the creation of stars, or everyone living, just once, or an impossible thing becoming possible, and I realize that the grief I see in his face is not all just for Clara, and that I might not be getting to America.
I stuff that thought into the denial vault as long fingers reach toward my cheek and ghost down my tears, trembling to a stop on my chin. A primal instinct of survival, my cornered independence, has me reaching up and violently slapping the contact away. The Storm comes roaring back and he straightens, lips curled in…is that disgust? Again, I'm hit with the feeling that there's something gone very, very wrong, here, and it has all to do with me. I start curling in on myself. He tries to ignore it, furrowing his brows to stoke the anger, but it fizzles, splutters for purchase and comes up short. His eyes flick down to the stain in annoyance, then he stomps out of the room. The front door slams shortly after.
There's an air of having dodged a nuclear explosion hanging heavy in the room. No one seems to want to speak in the face of the uncomfortably intimate and intimately terrifying thing they just witnessed.
"Jenny, your cake's excellent. Don't mind the idiot," I damage control as I pull myself back into my chair.
"Thank you, ma'am." The poor maid's doing her best to crack a smile. I try to encourage it,
"Seriously, though, this is awesome. Jam would have made it way too sweet." I point next to me to the pile of sugar with tea on it sitting puddled in its saucer. "He's well on his way to regeneration number thirteen, and the only explanation I can come up with is the taste buds in this one must be broke. Ick." This sets off another round of laughter. It's nervous and brief, but improves the atmosphere immensely.
"I think that might be a general condition, dear," Vastra gently quips. "You know his younger self's reaction to wine."
"I gave him a bloody excellent red, I did. And he spit it all over the french lace tablecloth. The good one!" Jenny moans, eyes darting across the clean linen in horrified remembrance. It must have been one hell of a spit take, judging by the amount of spots she stops on.
"He didn't!" Why, with all his superior Time Lord senses, he doesn't bother to smell something before throwing it down his gullet, I'll never understand.
"He did! I was ready to murder 'im!"
"And then the onions exploded! Ah, it was such an entertaining evening!" Strax chimes in.
And the good mood's back. Despite the turbulence, it's been freeing, this little episode. Just what I needed after getting spat into this universe and smothered and yelled at. I haul my over-stuffed self up and messily cut myself another piece for the road. Because, again, we're dealing with the Doctor, here. As much as he's trying to leave me alone, for what angle, god knows, but as much as he's trying, he pretty much took responsibility for this adventure as soon as he grabbed my hand and dragged me towards danger.
The door slams back open and he stomps back in the way he came out, head down, shoulders up, and expression sour. He's tried to button his jacket to cover his front, but it does little good. He hauls me up cake and all, despite vehement protest, conveniently covering his crotch in the process.
"I trust that between the three of you you can figure out why it might be a good idea that Devi and I aren't interrupted investigating? And before you say anything, a 'no' would be a very poor answer." Vastra's not cowed in the least by his temper, but she seems to see his logic.
"Devi, do you truly not want the Doctor to find you?" She stares at me, wedged between Twelve's arms; takes in my discomfort, the way he clutches me to his chest.
"Hell, no!" No way, no how, do I want bowtie-boy to find me. Especially with Twelve. The results would be catastrophic, to say the least.
"Fine then, we'll run interference. I daresay it will be good exercise after Jenny's deliciously rich spread." She sends a flirty smirk in the direction of the maid's tutting.
"Good. He's stuck in a barrel over at Greenland Dock. Or will be for the next thirty minutes." And with that, he trots me out.
"It was lovely to meet you all! Thanks for dinner!" I wave my fork at them as I'm carted through the door and into the night.
The last thing I hear is Jenny's, "Meet us? What did she mean?"
We travel in silence, which progressively gets more and more awkward as the usually social butterfly silently carts me around and I nibble on my cake. After a few blocks, I take a page out of the Doctor's book of avoidance and decide to act like our awkward rug-moment never happened. It's too important to forget, but for now, I just need to not think.
"So, do they actually manage to find you?" I ask with as much cheer as I can muster. Pedestrians discreetly and not-so-discreetly stare at our spectacle as we pass and he liberally doles out dark glares.
"No." So he's sent the competition for adventure and my attention on a goose chase. Why am I not surprised?
"Are you really stuck in a barrel?" I watch for the barely-there hesitation.
"No." That one was a lie.
"You totally are! So, how'd you get stuck?"
"No, I didn't! I told you I didn't." He shoots me a glower and I take a bite of cake in response, making sure to get a few crumbs on his jacket.
"Fine. Fine. Can you put me down now?" I squirm as he jostles us around a puddle and into a narrow alley.
"Well, you're impatient, aren't you?" The idiot hedges, but I'm having none of it.
"Down. Now!" I poke his shoulder with my fork. No reaction. I poke harder.
"Stop that! You can barely walk. You've stuffed yourself like a christmas turkey." True, but…
"And whose fault was that? I wasn't the one loading up my plate."
"And I wasn't the one eating it." Without me realizing it, he's managed to get us to the TARDIS. He backs us through the doors, dumps me on the jump seat and disappears. I stare lazily at the unfamiliar chrome and blue and books. He's right, I did stuff myself. I settle back into the leather, but notice the grease and dirt and the raggedy edges of my clothes. I haven't changed since my ill-fated landing in the desert. Well, when in Rome…I groan as I rock to a stand. A little table has conveniently appeared next to the chair and I plop my plate onto it. Patting the railing gratefully, I waddle down the stairs.
He's tucking his shirt into new trousers when I find him in his bedroom. It's different than before. Darker, colder. The desk is still chaotic, but in an organized way and the wall behind it is bare. The wardrobe's filled from one end to the other with dark suit jackets and crip white shirts.
"Do I die?" A deep, dark part of me tumbles the question out. But what can I think with all of the little signs I've been seeing? He just snorts and turns his attention to picking out a jacket.
"Do you know there's a galaxy out there that's set to collide with another? Happens all the time, in the grand scheme of things, but this one, it's spectacular in that all those rocks and planets dance. They brush past each other, time and again, coming closer and closer until finally, they're an inseparable swirl of gas and light."
"That's beautiful." And evasive.
"No, it's sad." He finally makes a decision and pulls a coat from the wardrobe with a flourish. It's the red velvet one, shuffled to the side and pushed back till it had almost been swamped by navy. "But then, the Milky Way has always been prone to doing things unusually."
"Wait, this galaxy? With which one?" I'm lured into the room. Stopping just short of the bed, I study him as he shrugs the top half of his Twelve uniform on.
"Andromeda. We can go watch it if you want to." He rounds on me. Unlike Eleven, he doesn't try to hide the fact that he's beyond pleased to see me standing next to his bed. He crosses his arms with a winning smile. There's something knowing in the steely blue sweeping me up and down, the ring finger gently tapping to make the band on it sparkle, that makes my stomach plummet. Abort! Abort! Abort! I retreat to the safety of the doorway.
"You're taking me back to America, remember? You promised."
"Ah. Yes." Skepticism must be wafting off me in waves, because he hurries to assure me in that insincere way of his, "Straight to UNIT."
"Straight to UNIT. But before that," I wave a battered sleeve at him, "I need to clean up."
"Do you?" He just changed his entire outfit because of a little stain and he can't process the actual holes in my shirt?! Geez.
"Doctor…" I stick a finger through my collar and shove it in his direction. I just get a blank look. Given his preference for holey sweaters, I probably should have used a different tactic. "Just show me where the wardrobe room is. And a shower…" a finger immediately points to a door in the corner, "that's not yours."
The finger drops in a huff, but he relents, "There's bound to be one in the wardrobe." And indeed there is. It's more of a locker room, but the hot water's glorious and the towels are fluffy. I hesitate over the mint soap as the Doctor hovers in the doorway.
"Out." The territorial hiss has him backing away, muttering something about fixing some buttons on the console, before making himself scarce. I carefully peel my clothes off and fold them onto a bench. Leaning down, slowly because of my full belly, I sniff them deeply. Unsurprisingly, they're a little ripe, but it doesn't stop me from savoring the faint smell of home still lingering on the fabric. Mixed in, almost drowning the memories out, is the engine grease and dust of the time ship and a little furniture polish from Paternoster Row. Soon, there won't be anything left to hang on to. Panicked, I find a fluffy robe and pull it on, then stick my head into the corridor.
"Doctor!" I shout. I have no doubt the TARDIS will alert him to my call. In under twenty seconds, he's there, eyebrows furrowed in worry. I hold my precious pile of memories out to him, pleading silently for this man to help me. "Is there anywhere I can put these?"
"Yes, of course." He doesn't ogle, he doesn't get smug, he just reaches into his jacket and pulls out a little blob of metal on a chain before looping it gently over my head. "That's the key to a hermetically sealed storage cupboard on deck three. It's slightly psychic, so just think about your clothes and it'll point you to them." He carefully takes the bundle of clothing, but pauses on the way out. "That's the only key and I'll lock the door behind me."
Why does he have to go and do things like this? It just reminds me that the fan's-best-friend that I so desperately wish for is in there somewhere. I shower numbly, resigning myself to the mint smell as I wash away the last bit of home from my skin, then hunt down the most jeopardy-resistant clothing I can. Sturdy boots, thick pants and layered sweaters, topped with a rugged bomber jacket. It's definitely not fashionable, but makes me feel like I have a little bit of armor between me and the world, which is infinitely better. Clutching my key for dear life, I decide to brave the console room.
However, before I can make it there, a door in one of the corridors opens as I pass. It's the medical bay. Equipment lines the room and a few tables sit against a wall to my right. In the back, locked onto a sturdy pedestal, sits a glass cylinder with a little pink dot floating in it. It's the least clinical looking thing here, I note as I go over to investigate. A warm feeling washes over me the closer I get, like the best hug in the world or the comfiest blanket. It's curious and familiar and enthralling.
Someone's been taking care of it manually, despite the TARDIS' cleaning protocols, if the spritz bottle and cloth I spy sitting off to the side are any indicator. Interestingly, a tag is attached to the bottom in Gallifreyan. Beautiful gold lines shoot through the tank, weaving themselves into a grid-like arrangement that thrums in some peculiar pattern. This close, I can make out a black dot in the pink. I stretch my hand towards it…
"It's a psychic shrimp. Got it on Saturnyne." His eyes are locked on the half inch of air between my fingertip and the glass. He glides into the room, focus never wavering. Clearly, he has issues with sharing his shrimp in a tube. "It's very rare. And very, very precious. One of the best aids to healing in the universe. It's said it can even mend broken hearts." Oh. No wonder he's nervous. This little thing, such a big deal? But…
"So that's why I'm getting the warm fuzzies." His hands pause in the gentle separation of my finger and the glass.
"What?" He whispers.
"It feels like…happiness. And love. All kind of rolled into one." He suddenly pales, looks queasy. "Doctor, are you alright?"
"Never better." A smile snaps into place and he drags me from the room. "But why are we standing around here discussing a shrimp when we could be finding a dragon?"
I'm nearly hobbling by the time we get to the console room. Oh, why did I eat so much? I collapse into the seat with a groan, lazily tracking him with just my eyes as he paces around, poking buttons and flipping switches. "I think I'm going to need a minute." Ow. My tummy. "Better make that an hour." He pauses and then actually stops when he realizes the implications.
"I told you you stuffed yourself!" Yeah, yeah. Gloss over the fact that it's partly your fault.
"Can't you just move us closer? Oh, wait, your driving." This sets him to clucking angrily,
"It's not my driving that's the problem. I don't just plop the TARDIS in the middle of a situation!"
"HADS. Oh, wait, your idiocy." I roll my eyes at him very pointedly.
"What's that supposed to mean?!"
"Hail. Rani. South Pole." When the eyebrows start lowering, I know I've got him. "Be a dear and leave me alone while I take a nap, will you?" I relax into the chair as he storms off.
"You and your stupid human metabolism, your stupid, backwards little caveman instincts, that's what's the problem!" Bounces out from the hall as he disappears. Oh, but that roast was good! Minutes later, I'm nudged from my dozing by a hand holding a little white pill.
"What's this?" I eye it skeptically as he dumps it into my palm.
"The answer to your problem." My problem? Oh, no. I'm quite happy to stay draped in this chair. It's awfully comfy for being so modern-looking. "It'll speed your up metabolism, just for an instant, so that you can work through all that food. Safe, efficient, and will only take a minute. And then dragon!"
I look at the pill the degree-in-cheesemaking doctor says will work. Do it for America, Devi. For the hope of a peaceful, Doctor-free life. I gulp it down. Almost instantly, I drowsily collapse into his waiting arms.
"That'll be the digestion kicking in. It'll be over soon." And it is. He helps me sit up. My body feels weird. Like it's balanced between just-stuck-a-finger-in-a-socket and strangely copacetic. My mouth tastes like parsley.
"Oh, I'm never doing that again. Who the heck would even use something like that?" I wobble to my feet.
"Humans." Ah, his favorite species to insult. "It becomes a fad around the fortieth century. Just like sleeping, they try their best to economize time and maximize productivity. Always in a hurry to get nothing done and everything missed. Now come on!" He takes my hands and backs us towards adventure, eyeing my increasingly stable steps with satisfaction.
"Can't you just take me to New York? We're already in the TARDIS. And we're already breaking Laws of Time liberally, here. What's one more?" It's a plea I know will fall on deaf ears. And sure enough,
"But, Devi, a dragon! In Victorian London! The odds alone are frighteningly exciting." So we're not counting the giant lizard in the Thames, then? Before I can comment, he's gone into the night, hell bent on galloping headfirst into danger and dragging me along for the ride.
I grudgingly follow, determination growing with every violently efficient stride to tear into whatever villainous plot lay before me in the bowels of Victorian London and kick some ass. After all, the sooner I'm free of this crazy man, the sooner I can finally have some peace.
I hope.
Probably should have mentioned this before, but I'm trying to stick to around every other week for my updates. If I get a new chapter done beforehand, then I'll put it out sooner. After all, as a reader, I hate to wait, so why should I make all of you? But yeah, hang in there. The dragon adventure is next and then Eleven will be back. Whoo, is he angry.
Which reminds me, I'm working on a painting of one of Eleven's rather impressive non-BBC approved looks. I put a thumbnail up as my temporary profile picture and a larger, finished version will be posted soon to the new Tumblr account I got. It's mainly an outlet for me to post any random thoughts, character artwork or updates on chapter completion for this fic and uses a similar pen name as on this site, writerwandrian. But, seriously, if you're feeling motivated, check it out. I like to kid myself into believing that I'm hilariously funny and I talk a lot about Doctor Who, which given that you're reading this fic, should entertain you quite a bit once I get some content up.
Anywho, thanks so, so much to my reviewers for your comments and encouragement! It really helps affirm that I'm heading this story in the right direction. And all you favoriters and followers - I see you out there. Your investment in my story is totally awesome! Keep reading, my lovely readers, keep interacting, the attention keeps me and this story going!
-Ria