Heart of the Storm

by Sonny13

Hartley had made a living on impossible heroes and faraway places, she'd grown up daydreaming and wishing for the days when she could be living her adventures, instead of just writing about them. But when the chance to run far, far away from her boring old life is dropped in her lap, is it something she has the courage to do? And who exactly is The Heart? Eventual Doctor/OC

34. Gridlock

GRIDLOCK

"Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness."

Desmond Tutu

---

"How about a different planet?" the Doctor offered with a slightly maniacal grin that Hartley couldn't help but match. His excitement palpable, like a feeling buzzing in the air around her head.

Martha's eyes widened with excitement, and she leant towards him eagerly. "Can we go to yours?" she asked hopefully. Immediately the mood of the room crashed, all but falling to the floor and shattering into bits.

Inhaling sharply, Hartley looked at the Doctor to find his expression had dropped into something flat and detached. Pain that wasn't her own prickled at her skin. It lasted a moment that was just short enough for Martha not to notice before he was grinning again, bouncing on his toes like the moment had never happened.

"Ah, there's plenty of other places," he said brightly dismissively, dancing around the console with all his usual enthusiasm.

"Come on, though," Martha argued, stepping closer to the alien who just carried on flying his ship. "I mean, planet of the Time Lords. That's got to be worth a look. What's it like?" she asked eagerly.

"Maybe we shouldn't-" Hartley began to say, measured and wary.

"Well, it's beautiful, yeah," the Doctor spoke over her, and she turned to look at him in surprise. He was wearing a frown, brow furrowed down at the console. There was pain in his eyes, and Hartley wondered how Martha couldn't look at him without seeing it.

Maybe it was that she just didn't want to.

"Is it like, you know, outer space cities, all spires and stuff?" she continued blithely, stepping away from him with a faraway look, just imagining the planet of the Time Lords. Hartley had wondered about it too, wondered what the place was like that had made the Doctor who he was – but she'd never been brave enough to ask him, too afraid of what damage she might cause if she did.

"I suppose it is," the Doctor said noncommittally, feigning attention on the console.

"Great big temples and cathedrals!" she mused, heedless of the impact her words were having.

"Yeah."

"Lots of planets in the sky?"

Hartley wanted to bring a stop to the train of thought, stop the Doctor from hurting at her words, but suddenly the look in his eyes wasn't one of guilt-ridden agony but rather a thoughtful nostalgia. He gave up the pretence of flying his ship, instead looking up to the arched ceiling of the console room, expression wistful in a way that made Hartley's heart bleed.

"The sky's a burnt orange, with the Citadel enclosed in a mighty glass dome, shining under the twin suns," he began to tell them, a heartbreaking kind of yearning in his voice that had Hartley's eyes burning with tears. He turned his head in her direction but his eyes never strayed from above, where she knew they weren't just seeing the ceiling of the TARDIS but something else altogether, something she never, ever could. "Beyond that, the mountains go on forever. Slopes of deep red grass, capped with snow..." he trailed off quietly.

Hartley wanted to do something, anything to help him, but before she could try Martha was speaking.

"Can we go there?" she asked, innocently oblivious.

Hartley reached up, gently curling her fingers around the Time Lord's arm, holding firmly, a silent reassurance that he wasn't alone – not really. And if she had anything to do with it, he never would be again.

"Nah," he crowed suddenly, such an explosion of energy that both Hartley and Martha shifted backwards in surprise. Her hand slipped from his arm as he bounced wildly around the console, setting them on a course for a new destination. "Where's the fun for me? I don't want to go home. Instead, this is much better. Year five billion and fifty-three, planet New Earth. Second hope of mankind. Fifty thousand light years from your old world, and we're slap bang in the middle of New New York. Although, technically it's the fifteenth New York since the original, so it's New New New New New New New New New New New New New New York," he chirped, pulling his coat back on and directing his human companions towards the doors.

Hartley attempted to catch his gaze, just make sure he was okay, but he stubbornly refused to meet her eyes. Disappointment curled in her gut, sadness pulling at the corners of her mouth. She wished she could help him; but even with an Empath by yours side, grief had to be dealt with alone.

"It's one of the most dazzling cities ever built!" the Doctor continued brightly, pressing his hand to the small of Hartley's back, the steady weight of it bleeding through the yellow faux-leather of her jacket.

The pair were corralled out onto the new planet only to be met by a heavy downpour of rain. The smell it gave off was odd, almost apple-like, but not at all appealing – like fruit that had rotted over time.

"Oh, that's nice," Martha cried sarcastically, flinching at the brush of the cold rain. "Time Lord version of dazzling," she added to Hartley in an undertone.

"Nah, a bit of rain never hurt anyone," the Doctor argued, persistently cheerful. Hartley snorted as she flipped up the hood of her jacket, protecting her face against the sleeting rain. "Come on, let's get under cover!" he called, leading them through to the mouth of the alley they'd landed in.

"Are you sure we're on another planet?" Martha asked skeptically, arms wrapped around herself tightly to combat the chill of the weather.

"Of course it is!" he cried indignantly, offended by the question.

"We wouldn't lie," Hartley rolled her eyes.

Martha frowned skeptically. "Well, it looks like the same old Earth to me – on a Wednesday afternoon."

The Doctor huffed. "Hold on, hold on," he said, pulling out his sonic and aiming it at a nearby monitor. "Let's have a look."

The screen flickered to life to show a pretty human woman behind a desk, looking very much like a news reporter of the twenty-first century might. "...And the driving should be clear and easy, with fifteen extra lanes open for the New New Jersey expressway," the woman informed them in a chirpy, artificial voice.

Then the picture shifted to reveal a breathtaking city, cars flying in and out of the image, spires climbing up high into the sky.

"That's stunning," Hartley admitted, reaching out a hand to touch the screen as if she might be able to reach through and touch the skyline, but then the screen flickered and the news reporter reappeared, telling them something uninteresting about the weather.

"Oh, that's more like it," the Doctor said primly. "That's the view we had last time. This must be the lower levels, down in the base of the tower. Some sort of under-city," he mused, glancing upwards.

It was impossible to see anything through the torrential downpour, and the rank smell of it was beginning to make Hartley's feel woozy. Despite this, their surroundings were interesting. Sometimes to experience the real culture of a place, you had to go down to its underbelly.

"It's still cool," she assured the Doctor, running her eyes over the immediate area.

She wasn't particularly street-smart – everything she knew she'd either learned from a book or the Doctor himself. She'd been relatively sheltered growing up in that big house full of old money. She didn't know what the real world was like; or she hadn't, until she'd started travelling. So she wasn't lying, it was cool to see the city beneath the city, the kind of place people didn't usually like to talk about, or even write about in anything other than the fantasy novels she held so dear.

Martha, apparently, didn't feel quite the same. "You've brought me to the slums?" she asked, wholly unimpressed.

"Much more interesting," he sounded defensive. "It's all cocktails and glitter up there. This is the real city."

She smirked. "You'd enjoy anything."

"That's me. Ah, the rain's stopping," he said as the heavy rain began to let up, slowing to nothing more than a drizzle. "Better and better," he grinned like Christmas had come early.

"When you say last time," Martha began as they stepped out onto the street, her eyes darting between the eccentric alien and his human companion, "was that...you two and Rose?"

The Doctor hesitated, the silence thick with tension. "Er, yeah," he finally murmured. "Yeah, it was. Just Rose and I, though. Hartley wasn't with us for awhile in there," he added quickly, eyes sliding across to rest on Hartley's for a moment before he looked away, almost guilty, which made Hartley wonder what exactly he had to feel guilty about.

"You're taking me to the same planets that you took her?" Martha asked carefully, tone implying that this clearly was not acceptable.

It was growing more awkward by the minute, and Hartley wrapped her own arms around her waist, the material of her jacket slick with rainwater. The air was cold against her wet skin and it made her shiver.

"What's wrong with that?" the Doctor asked, thoroughly confused.

"Nothing," Martha shrugged. Hartley didn't need to be an Empath to spot the lie. "Just, ever heard the word rebound?" Martha muttered with a hint of bitterness in her heart.

Hartley didn't regret wanting Martha to come along, but the attitude they were receiving was staring to grate on her. She opened her mouth to say as much only for a piece of what looked like wall to suddenly peel back to reveal a dirty but grinning man in a stained white coat, interrupting her retort.

"Oh! You should have said. How long you been there?" he asked them in a thick Brooklyn accent. "Happy. You want Happy!" he declared brightly. It wasn't a question.

More hatches opened up all around them. Hartley stared in bewilderment as all the newly appeared people began to shout at them, holding out packets of something small and colourful. She'd always disliked salespeople and the way they pressured her into buying things she didn't need.

She looked up at the Doctor to find him frowning deeply. "No, thanks," he told them, the words dripping with forced politeness.

"You want some Tired?!" asked one of the salespeople to Hartley's left. "Or how about a little Glee?"

She was confused, some part of her wondering whether these people somehow knew she was an Empath. Because why else would they be shouting emotions at her like a menu list? Martha, on the other hand, seemed to understand perfectly. "Are they selling drugs?" she asked, voice thin with shock.

The Doctor shook his head. "I think they're selling moods," he finally said, lips pursed in blatant disapproval. Hartley understood now, and she couldn't help but feel the same sense of distaste at the idea.

"Same thing, isn't it?" Martha countered smartly, and Hartley couldn't help but agree with the valid point.

A stranger walked listlessly into view, head ducked against the mist of rain still clinging to the air. Her sudden appearance made Hartley stop, peering at the newcomer with concern lacing her insides. The way her young shoulders we slumped made Hartley sad, not to mention the waves of grief that were rolling off her like a bad smell.

All the merchants began to shout over one another in a desperate attempt to gain the woman's business. The newcomer looked uncertainly between the stalls before floating over to the one closest to the trio of curious travellers.

"And what can I get you, my love?" the woman behind the counter asked, her tone sugary sweet.

"I want to buy Forget," the stranger replied, thready at best.

"I've got Forget, my darling. What strength? How much do you want forgetting?" the merchant asked keenly. Hartley tried to piece together what was happening. Forget wasn't an emotion – and the realisation of what that meant made dread drop into her gut.

"It's my mother and father," the weary woman revealed, quiet and heartbroken. "They went on the motorway."

"Oh, that's a swine," the merchant said, and for the first time there was a note of genuine sincerity to her saccharine voice. "Try this. Forget Forty-three," she added, handing over something that looked like a small, black sticker. "That's two credits."

Hartley knew the Doctor wasn't going to be able to resist sticking his nose into the situation, and she was promptly proved right. "Sorry, but hold on a minute," he interjected, edging closer to the skittish woman. "What happened to your parents?"

"They drove off," she said miserably.

"Yeah, but they might drive back," he countered gently.

She was already shaking her head. "Everyone goes to the motorway in the end. I've lost them." The pain she was feeling was almost too much for Hartley to bear. She wondered what life here must be like here, for someone so young to have such a heaviness on their heart. She thought that the weight of it threatened to crush her into nothing.

"But they can't have gone far. You could find them," he said, innocently hopeful, and the woman looked convinced for maybe a fraction of a second before she abruptly pressed the small sticker to the side of her neck. "No, no, don't," the Doctor begged, hand outstretched to stop her, but it was already too late.

There was a beat, and none of them were quite sure what to expect next.

Then the girl smiled, happy and unbothered, such a sharp contrast to how she'd felt only moments before. The emotions rolling from her now were different, and Hartley was surprised to find that she could tell the difference between what was genuine and what was manufactured – like the difference between acoustic and electronic music. It had a different sound – or maybe it was closer to a taste.

She felt it in a way that went beyond her physical senses; in a way that transcended logic.

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?" the young woman asked them pleasantly, blinking up at them with hazy eyes.

"Your parents," the Doctor's voice was steely. "Your mother and father. They're on the motorway," he reminded her tersely.

"Are they?" the nameless girl asked without so much as a glimmer of recognition in those pale eyes, "that's nice." A few seconds ticked by, her face and heart dazed, like she'd inhaled too many chemicals, or downed an entire bottle of happy pills. "I'm sorry, I won't keep you," she murmured before wandering off with sloppy, uncoordinated steps.

They watched her go in silence, their reactions ranging from concerned to disgusted. "So that's the human race five billion years in the future?" Martha demanded, the one towards the end of the scale, a judgemental grimace on her face. "Off their heads on chemicals?"

Hartley stared after the girl, opening her mouth to argue with Martha on her behalf, feeling herself grow protective over the poor girl. She'd felt the pain she'd been in. She was hurting, the kind of hurt that saturated your ever fibre. Knowing the strength of her pain, Hartley couldn't find it in her to blame the girl for her actions.

Only she never got far enough to say anything in the nameless girl's defence – a piercing scream rang through the alley they were stood in, and Hartley whipped around fast enough to give herself whiplash.

A man had grabbed Martha from behind, and Hartley felt his desperation like a bullet. Martha was struggling wildly in an attempt to get free while a woman stood beside them, a gun trained on the Doctor, dismay in her heart.

It had been over a year since she'd seen Jack, over a year since she'd trained with him, but her body was as lithe as ever, limber from all her activity, and with one well-aimed kick the woman was crouched, holding her bruised leg in pain, her shaky fingers still clenched tightly around the grip of her weapon.

The man she was with darted to her side, but his arm was still hooked threateningly around Martha's neck. Moving more with instinct than with knowledge Hartley leapt at him, ignoring the Doctor's shout from behind. Everyone was yelling over one another, shouting in a desperate attempt to be heard, but Hartley was only focused on saving Martha.

In that moment it was her only concern.

The man gave a cry of despair when she gripped his arm, twisting his wrist until he let Martha go. In a heartbeat the woman was on top of her, coming to her partner's aid, and a strangled yelp left Hartley's mouth as she attacked, pinning her arms uselessly to her sides.

"Let her go! You let her go this instant!" the Doctor was screaming, his voice full of an authority that bled swiftly into panic.

Turning in her attacker's hold, Hartley took in the Doctor's wide eyes and Martha's alarmed stare, but she had no time to do anything before she felt something smooth and cool press to her neck. There was a flush of cold through her veins before her vision went black and she slumped forwards to the ground. She was caught by a pair of strong, unfamiliar arms just as she surrendered to unconsciousness.

When she finally came to it was to the jarring sounds of gentle laughter and soft, cheerful music. Absently she smiled, her first thought that she must have fallen asleep on the couch in the recreation room again, and that the Doctor and Rose were giggling over something or other.

It was a beautiful, peaceful few moments – like her own tiny slice of self-made perfection. Such a shame it had to come to an end.

Remembering where she was and what had happened, Hartley flew upwards with a gasp, hands held out in preparation of a fight and her eyes still blurry with sleep. The laughter came to a stop but the music kept playing, something futuristic and techno with no distinguishable beat. Blinking her eyes until the blurriness faded, she was finally able to see where she'd been taken.

It wasn't what she'd been expecting: maybe a kind of creepy torture dungeon, or some kind of villain's evil lair. It ended up being neither of those things.

It was a small room, maybe about two by four metres, and it was full of the kind of survival supplies that suggested whoever these people were, they were planning to be in this room for a long time to come. Glancing up, she saw the man and the woman from the alley staring at her, trepidation in their eyes.

"Oh good," the woman said, smiling sweetly, "you're awake."

Hartley could only stare back at her, utterly confused. The unnamed woman neither laughed nor scowled, she just continued to stare, as if waiting for her to react. Sensing that she was going to need some prompting, Hartley cleared her throat.

"Where am I? Who are you? Why did you kidnap me?" she asked shortly. Her tone was steely, but she believed it to be justified.

"I'm Cheen," the woman introduced herself, still smiling like they weren't holding Hartley against her will in a tiny room that smelt of rank oil and stale biscuits. "This is Milo," she added warmly, reaching out to brush her hand across her partner's arm. "We're on the motorway."

Hartley waited for one of them to elaborate but neither did, just casting one another a lovey stare across the cab of the vehicle they were in. "I have no idea what that's supposed to mean," Hartley finally said, her frustration palpable.

The couple seemed surprised that it had to be explained, but Hartley considered it to be simple kidnapping etiquette. She had a right to know why they'd taken her. Telling her was the very least they could do.

"We just needed access to the fast lane," Cheen began, slightly put off by the hard look in Hartley's usually-soft eyes. "We're really, really sorry about the way we had to do it," she apologised, and Hartley's angry resolve wavered at the sincerity she felt emanating from her skin. "We were desperate."

Hartley considered them both carefully. "So, you're not going to try and harvest my organs?"

Cheen and Milo looked aghast that the thought had ever even crossed her mind. "Why would we do that when we could just buy synthetic ones?" asked Milo, genuinely confused by her question. "They're going for barely three credits, these days."

"If you know where to look," Cheen added, and the two smiled at one another as though it were some kind of inside joke.

Hartley was more confused than she'd been in a long time – nothing they were saying seemed to make any sense – but she figured that may have been the drugs taking their time wearing off.

She was thrown for a moment before she remembered in more detail where exactly she was in time. "Future," she muttered to herself, "right." She glanced back up to see the one called Cheen still. Smiling sweetly. She was making it very difficult to be angry at her. "What's the motorway?" Hartley asked with a great deal more patience than she'd had before.

Now Cheen shared a look of deep confusion with her partner. Maybe they were beginning to realise that she wasn't from around here; or maybe they just thought she was thick.

"Assume I know nothing about anything," Hartley told them, "and start from the beginning."

They were bewildered by the strange request but thankfully didn't argue. Milo was the one to speak, voice even and measured.

"The motorway connects the lower city to the upper city," he began, and now that Hartley looked out the window in front of them, she realised she could see what looked like a thick, dark fog stretching out in every direction. Logic made an appearance, however, telling her that it was more likely exhaust fumes. "It's the only way to get from one to the other."

"The only way?" Hartley asked skeptically, and Cheen nodded her head. It wasn't that she didn't believe them, but rather that she thought it was incredibly poor work on the city planner's behalf.

"Down in Pharmacy Town the fumes are only getting worse. We're running out of supplies, and food and clean water. It's no way to live. Especially not..." he trailed off, casting a look over at Cheen who smiled brightly in response.

"I'm pregnant," she told Hartley, eyes shining with the same happiness she felt in her heart.

And suddenly Hartley understood. They did what they did out of desperation, out of a longing for a better life for their child. How could she blame them for that? Maybe their methods were wrong – okay, they definitely were – but she had to remind herself that this wasn't her Earth or her time. Different reactions were necessary in different circumstances; she knew that better than most.

Her demeanour changed, the tension melting out of her muscles. She sagged against the back of Cheen's chair, giving a smile that suddenly wasn't so forced. "How far along?" she couldn't help but, falling prey to her compassionate nature once again.

"Only a month, and we just found out last week," Cheen replied, one hand resting tenderly over her still-flat stomach. "Scan says it'll be a boy," she revealed in a whisper, like it were a carefully guarded secret.

Hartley smiled. "That's wonderful," she said sincerely. "Congratulations."

Cheen smiled and Hartley suddenly recognised the unmistakeable glow of pregnancy. Her skin seemed to shine and her eyes twinkled with the spark of new life. Milo looked across at his beloved with warm, adoring eyes, Hartley knew then that this child would be the luckiest kid on New Earth if he was going to have these two as his parents.

"You're a lot more agreeable now that you know about the baby," Cheen laughed lightly.

Hartley stood up self-consciously. Now that the tension in the air had been broken, however, she found it impossible to reclaim.

"I guess I'm just a sucker for babies," she admitted grudgingly as she peered out into the grey clouds around them. And it was true, kids had always been something of a weakness for her. They were innocent in all they did – and it helped that they were so damn adorable, too.

Looking at Cheen, Hartley suddenly felt like she owed it to her to be honest. "My friend – the Doctor, he's called – he's going to come for me," she told them, knowing in her heart it was true. "He'll find me, no matter what. And he won't be happy when he does."

The couple before her exchanged a pitying sort of look that made Hartley frown. "He can try," Milo said quietly. It wasn't any kind of threat but instead rather a simple truth, and Hartley found herself unable to hate him for it.

"But anyway," interjected Cheen, cheerful as could be, "as soon as we get to Brooklyn, we'll drop you off and you can go find your friends."

Hartley relaxed, shoulders drooping from their previous tensed position. It sounded far too good to be true – after all, how many kidnapping stories had she heard that went as smoothly as this was? "Seriously?" she asked, is if it were a foolproof way to make sure. Cheen nodded emphatically.

"I swear it," she promised. Hartley leaned against the back of her chair once more.

Though their methods could have used some polishing, she couldn't be mad at the couple for what they'd done. They had a child to provide for, and Hartley wouldn't have wanted to raise her baby back in that crack-den of an alleyway, either.

"I never asked," Cheen added suddenly. "What's your name?"

She paused, briefly considering lying before realising how stupendously paranoid that was of her. What were they going to be able to do with her name? It wasn't like she was giving them her bank password.

"Hartley," she finally said, and Cheen gave a gentle smile.

"That's a beautiful name."

They lapsed back into silence, but Hartley didn't like the quiet; wasn't comfortable enough with the pair to be left sitting without words.

"How far've we got to go then?" she asked conversationally, intent on keeping the mood light. She couldn't see anything outside to tell where they were, and it barely felt like they were moving. She supposed that was what it was like to own a car in New New York, however, inertial dampeners and all.

"Only ten miles," Milo told her brightly.

"Great," Hartley smiled back, finding it took less effort than expected. "Shouldn't be more than fifteen minutes, then, yeah?" The couple exchanged another one of those horrible, pitying glances. "Oh no," she muttered, "it isn't rush hour, is it?"

"Where're you from, exactly?" Cheen asked, but there was something behind the casual question, an answer Hartley didn't want to consider.

"Wouldn't believe me if I told you," she replied evenly. Or, considering this was billions of years in the future, maybe they were far more comfortable with the idea of time travel than they were back in twenty-first century England. Still, she stood by her reply – the Doctor tended not to like bringing up the whole 'travellers-of-time-and-space' thing; he said it caused too much trouble.

Best to remain unnoticed and overlooked by the masses. Made it easier to move around freely, he said.

"How mysterious," Cheen joked.

But Hartley wasn't in anything of a joking mood. "Go on then," she said, nodding her head in the direction of the cloudy path before them. "How long? Can't be more than a few hours at the most, yeah?"

"Well, with you here qualifying us for the fast lane, we should be there in about, oh..." he trailed off as if doing complicated sums in his head, "six years?"

Hartley froze, blinked, then blinked again. "Sorry, what?" she asked, staring at them hollowly as she tried desperately to understand, to convince herself that maybe she'd heard wrong.

"Lots of people want to get to the upper city," Cheen shrugged, her hands still covering her middle protectively.

"Are you telling me we're not even moving?" Hartley demanded, incredulous.

"But not many can afford a third passenger," Milo continued as though she wasn't stunned into horrified silence behind him, "so it's empty down there in the fast lane – it's below all the other traffic, you see."

Hartley could only gape at him, but neither he nor Cheen seemed to notice. "We stocked up for the journey," Cheen was saying blithely. "Got self-replicating fuel, muscle stimulants for exercise, and there's a chemical toilet at the back. And all waste products are recycled as food."

"Remind me never to eat anything here," Hartley muttered, but the sound was distant even to her own ears.

"You okay?" Cheen asked her sympathetically, reaching out a hand to grasp her own, squeezing reassuringly.

Hartley knew she was probably bone white by now. Was there really no way to get out? No way to find the Doctor? It wasn't like she aged, or could even die, so she wasn't physically in any danger – but the question had to be asked: how long would the Doctor wait? A while, she'd like to believe, but certainly not six years. Then what would she do? Live in New New York, never to see him or Martha or anyone she loved ever again?

"Oh, another gap," Milo said suddenly, startling her from her spiralling thoughts. "This is brilliant," he grinned, seemingly oblivious to Hartley's internal panic.

"Car sign in," the computer droned in a feminine but robotic voice.

"Car Four Six Five Diamond Six, on descent to fast lane, thank you very much," he smiled like he'd just won the lottery. Cheen shared the expression with every bit as much enthusiasm, and Hartley stared at them some more.

"Please drive safely," the automated voice said again. Hartley's stomach swooped as they began to drop, descending lower and lower into the cloud of fumes encompassing the motorway.

They moved ever lower, Milo and Cheen giant balls of eager anticipation. But their excitement was quickly drained away as the further down they travelled, the louder the sounds around them seemed to become.

It was a growling noise that enveloped them entirely, the volume of it rattling the frame of the car. Suddenly it seemed less like a vehicle and more like a tiny, tin coffin. Hartley gripped the back of Cheen's chair, knuckles turning an off-white.

"What in the Dickens is that?" she asked, her voice thin with false calm. There was another roar from all around them, and her ears rang with the sound.

"It's that noise, isn't it?" Cheen asked Milo shakily. "It's like Kate said. The stories, they're true."

"It's the sound of the air vents. That's all," Milo tried to cut off that vine of thought before it could grow roots. "The exhaust fumes travel down, so at the base of the tunnel they've got air vents," he explained as rationally as he could.

Hartley wasn't convinced, and it seemed neither was Cheen.

"No, but the stories are much better," she said eagerly. Mile groaned in frustration, but this only seemed to egg her on further. "They say people go missing on the motorway," Cheen turned to Hartley with a small smirk on her face, like someone telling a ghost story in the dark. "Some cars just vanish, never to be seen again – because there's something living down there in the smoke. Something huge and hungry. And if you get lost on the road, it's waiting for you..." she trailed off ominously.

For the briefest of seconds Hartley felt genuinely scared, like it was all true and they were going to die and did her immortality cover mastication by massive fume monster?

"What's your job, chief dramatist?" she asked with a grin to cover her falter. Nobody in the whole of this universe would understand the inside joke – nobody except the Doctor. Suddenly with every fibre of her being she wished he were there with her.

She wanted to believe he was searching for her – in fact she did believe it, even in spite of that horrible little voice whispering in her head. They'd come so far, and she wasn't about to go back to thinking he didn't care. Never again; because she knew better now.

Even still, finding her in all this mess seemed an awfully arduous task. Perhaps the universe would take sympathy and reunite them in its usual passive-aggressive, tunnel-of-golden-time-energy way.

"But like I said," Milo said decisively. "Air vents. Going down to the next layer," he announced, grabbing the controls and angling down into what felt disturbingly like the belly of the beast.

The descended down into the dark, and Hartley thought that, had their first meeting not been a kidnapping, she might have taken a bigger shine to the young couple before her.

She was just opening her mouth to ask if they had any non-recycled water when she felt something brush by her. It wasn't necessarily a physical thing, more like a prodding at her head, a whisper in her mind, or a nudge at her brain. Gasping at the sensation, Hartley instinctively turned away from Cheen and Milo to stare unseeingly at the floor as she waited anxiously for it to happen again.

The feeling had been familiar, in an odd sort of way, and she found herself almost hoping it would be stronger the next time.

A minute passed before it happened once more; the brush of another consciousness, the soundless whisper of her name. She latched onto the presence, vaguely aware of how fast her heart was beating.

"Who's that, then?" a voice asked conversationally, and it took Hartley a second to realise it had been said by Cheen and not the unnamed presence in her head.

"Hm?" she looked up, blinking the haze from her eyes.

"Jack," Cheen said patiently.

"Jack?" Hartley echoed in shock. How did Cheen know that name? Why bring it up now?

Cheen was utterly oblivious to her silent shock. "You said his name," she simply said, and Hartley blinked in surprise.

"Did I?" she asked, wondering why she did that. She hadn't remembered saying his name, either, almost like it had been thoughtless; something born of instinct rather than intent.

Cheen just continued to smile at her, patiently awaiting an answer. Hartley supposed there really wasn't much more to do besides talk within the limited confines of their small vehicle.

"He's my brother," she told Cheen quietly, turning back to face them both properly and leaning her weight against the back of Cheen's chair once more.

Cheen smiled peacefully. "Are you two close?"

"Very," she nodded, thinking of the handsome immortal – the only other person in the entirety of time and space that was like her – with a warm, familial fondness.

"Do you see him often?" Cheen asked casually, one hand stroking her belly unthinkingly.

Hartley looked away, pretending the question didn't make her eyes sting. "Not in a long time," she admitted, sadness trickling through her veins like cool water from a faucet, uncomfortable but somehow soothing in its familiarity. Sadness was good like that; it was predictable. The only sure thing in an unstable world.

They faded back into a silence more comfortable than Hartley had expected, but it wasn't long before they could all make out the sounds of something in the distance. It wasn't the hungry snarling of whatever lay waiting in the shadows, but instead a musical humming that took her by surprise.

"What's that?" she asked Milo and Cheen, peering out the window in an attempt to spot the source. It was pointless, the fumes so thick and dark that it was like looking into death itself. And she would know.

"It's the song of our people," Milo told her as the melody grew louder, until finally it was all around them. It was as if every single person in every single car were singing the same tune, the sound enhanced enough that Hartley could just make out the words. They were haunting and sad, but at the same time filled with a sort of hope that struck a chord within the immortal traveller.

The song sweet, powerful came to an end, the final note ringing out with a timeless beauty that left Hartley feeling humbled, and a quote came to her, as one always did.

"Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness," she said, her voice loud in the suddenly silent void. The couple turned around to look at her curiously. "Just something a wise man once said," she explained meekly, and they smiled softly, equally touched by the words, before turning back to the shrouded road.

"Fast lane access granted. Please drive safely."

The sound of the computer distracted them and Hartley look down at the screen, watching the number of their car drift down into the designated lane.

"We made it," Milo's smile could have broken hearts. "The fast lane," he said with the sort of reverence people usually reserved for their higher power. With another swoop the car began to angle downward, heading for the very bottom of the motorway. The couple exchanged wide, happy grins, eager as they began to drive through the mucky clouds obstructing their view. "Now all we have to do is turn off into-" Milo's voice was cut off by the unemotional chime of the computer.

"Brooklyn turnoff one, closed."

There was a pregnant pause filled with concern and awkward tension. Nobody seemed to know quite what to say.

"Try the next one," Cheen whispered, the desperation she felt leaking into her voice.

Milo tried to turn off at the next turnoff, only to be stopped by the computers robotic voice. "Brooklyn turnoff two, closed."

Silence again, and whatever was down in the dark was making those sounds again, the metal car around them trembling with its thunderous roar. "What happens now?" Hartley asked warily, eyeing the monitor, half expecting it to yell at her for asking.

"We'll keep going round. We'll do the whole loop, and by the time we come back round, they'll be open," Milo said with shaky reassurance, but neither woman believed him. Hartley doubted he even believed himself.

From below them there was another guttural growl, and yet again the force of it rattled the little tin can they were suspended within.

"What the hell is that?" Cheen demanded shrilly.

Milo swallowed, loud in the small space they were locked in. "It's just the hydraulics," he said, utterly unconvincing.

"It sounds alive," Hartley disagreed just as the car gave another heart-stopping shudder.

Milo turned around in his seat to frown at her. "It's all exhaust fumes out there," he argued stubbornly. She wondered if maybe the denial made him feel safer. "Nothing could breathe in that."

"But not everything in this universe needs to breathe to be alive," she countered without missing a beat. But the debate could last no longer, the metal they were encased in rattling, a haunting groan echoing from all around them. It was the kind of thunderous noise that could only come from something very, very big.

"Calling Car four six five diamond six! Repeat, calling Car four six five diamond six!" a new voice poured from the radio. Everyone in the car flinched as it cut through the tense air.

"This is Car four six five diamond six. Who's that? Where are you?" Milo answered the call swiftly, and the desperation in his voice was impossible to miss.

"I'm in the fast lane, about fifty yards behind," answered the voice.

Out of instinct Hartley looked behind her, only to realise there was no rear window. Even if there was, though, what good would it do when they were surrounded by black fumes? She wondered how this could be allowed to go on – surely someone up above would have done something about this by now?

"Can you get back up? Can you get off the fast lane?" asked the voice urgently.

"We only have permission to go down," Milo shouted back in an effort to be heard over the piercing roars of whatever lay in the dark beneath them. Hartley's mind was scrambling for an answer, searching for an explanation, some monster she knew to exist that could cause those kinds of sounds, that could cause such fear and destruction. "We need The Brooklyn Flyover!"

"It's closed," cried the faceless voice. "Go back up!"

"We can't. We'll just go round," Milo tried to say.

"Don't you understand? They're closed. They're always closed!" she yelled at them, her voice rattling with static across the channel. "We're stuck down here, and there's something else out there in the fog! Can't you hear it?"

There was another shuddering roar, and Hartley could feel Cheen's terror even without the sound of her small sobs bouncing around the cab like a bullet. She reached down, gripping the expectant mother's hand in her own and squeezing reassuringly.

She wanted to be able to guarantee that nothing bad would happen to them; that they were safe with her. But the fact of the matter was that she couldn't promise anything. Things were too dire, and she didn't see how they were getting out of this one without help from above. Without help from the Doctor.

"That's the air vents," Milo was insisting stubbornly even as another rasping growl reverberated around them. But Hartley knew there weren't any air vents in the whole of space and time that made those sorts of noises.

"Jehovah, what are you? Some stupid kid? Get out of here!" the voice shouted at them over the radio. Screams of horror travelled along the feed and Cheen's hands trembled violently. More screams filled the car, coming from the stranger's end.

"What was that?" Milo demanded, refusing to move his car, staring at the radio in muted horror.

"I can't move!" the woman shouted frantically, terror in her accented voice. "They've got us!"

"But what's happening?" he insisted. "What's got you?"

"Just drive, you idiots! Get out of here!"

Abruptly the line went dead, the cab filled with nothing but an empty, haunting static.

"Can you hear me?" Milo tried in vain to regain the connection, but it was lost. "Hello?"

Options flickered across Hartley's brain like colours in a kaleidoscope, but almost none of them were in any way feasible. She had no way of going back to rescue the people behind them, and any attempt to do so would only put the three of them in unnecessary danger, not to mention the baby growing in Cheen's stomach. She knew there was only one thing they could do, even if doing it went against every bone in her body.

"Just drive!" she shouted at Milo, who was dumbfounded by the order. "We can't help them, but we can help ourselves!" she hissed, grabbing onto his shoulder and giving him a shake. "Now go!"

"But-but where?" he stammered.

"Just straight ahead!" she yelled, shaking him again, desperate to get him moving. Finally he did as he was told, hands shaking as he put the futuristic car into gear and thrusted forwards. The vehicle gave another tremor as something slammed into its side. Hartley grabbed ahold of the back of Milo's seat, staring blindly out into their smoke-shrouded path.

"What is it?" From her other side, Cheen was a mess, tears running down her face as she gripped onto Hartley's hand like it was her tether to life. "What's out there? What is it?!" she demanded as though they could answer, growing hysterical.

Hartley tried to calm her, making the soft, shushing noises she made to frightened children, but it was lost over her frantic screams. Something smashed into the side of the car, throwing them sideways. It wasn't anything like the whimsical tossing of the TARDIS, this was violent and scary, meant to hurt, meant to kill.

Milo pushed them faster as Cheen gave a cry of dismay, the sound shrill and full of panic.

"Go faster!" she shrieked at him.

"I'm at top speed!" he argued helplessly, one hand steering while the other tried to input something into the interactive monitor between them. Something hit them again, and Cheen gave a another scream of alarm. The hand not holding Hartley's was wrapped protectively around her stomach, as though it would do any good against such an attack, but Hartley understood, gripping her back and praying there would be a way to save them. There had to be. Surely the universe wasn't that cruel.

"No access above," the computer droned in a plastic, cheerful voice that only infuriated Hartley further. Her pulse raced, her blood was hot with fright.

"But this is an emergency!" Milo bellowed at his communicator. He was ignored – if there was even anybody there to ignore him in the first place.

With a grunt he kept tapping, pulling up the number for the police. There was a beep, then, "thank you for your call. You have been placed on hold."

"What?!" Hartley shouted over Cheen's screams and the unnamed monster's hungry, deathly growls. "But they're the police!" she yelled, but she too was ignored.

There was another deafening bang, followed by a haunting snarl and a sharp jerk to the left. Hartley's left side slammed unforgivingly into the metal wall of the car and pain radiated down her entire body. Grunting, she righted herself, shaking off the ache from the impact.

"What would the Doctor do? What would the Doctor do?" she began to mutter to herself.

Trying her hardest to answer her own question, Hartley gripped a panicking Cheen even tighter. Telling herself to think like the Time Lord she cared for so much, she shut her eyes and tried to tune out the screams and roars around her, retreating into that one part of her mind – the new part that had only just begun to grow.

It was where she felt and understood things better than she ever had before, where she could pick up feelings in a room that weren't hers to begin with.

It was there, while she was trying her hardest to find some semblance of peace amongst the deafening blur of chaos, that she felt that sensation brush against her again. She latched onto it with everything she had, mentally grasping at it with all her strength and seizing hold. She refused to let go, not if there was even the slightest chance that whatever it was could save them.

Help me, she begged it, feeling ridiculous for doing so, but a feeling in her gut was telling her it was their best chance at survival. And right now she'd listen to a talking chipmunk if it meant they all had a chance at getting out of this intact.

She hadn't been expecting it to work, not really, but then it responded; not so much in words or even images, but rather as a half-formed idea, an answer to her problem that came without words or explanations. An instant passed, barely a tenth of a second, and she knew what they needed to do.

"Turn everything off," she said before she had time to second-guess herself.

Milo still had enough sass in him to turn and pin her with an incredulous stare. "You've got to be joking," he told her in disbelief.

"I can't explain how I know it'll work, I just do!" she yelled as he turned his attention back to steering, shoulders taut with tension.

"Gonna need a bit more than that!" he shouted in response.

Huffing, she had no choice but to relent. "Whatever's down there, it obviously can't see through the fumes – otherwise we'd be long since dead already! Something's got to be giving us away, like the heat, or sound, or the light, or something!" she called, flinching when again the car was pushed off course.

A dint appearing in the metal a few inches from Hartley's head, and her mouth went dry with fear.

Immortal or not, the prospect of being eaten and digested by a giant sewer monster would be terrifying for anyone to confront.

Milo still didn't look convinced. "Maybe they're like a T-Rex or something," she added, loud enough to be heard over the thunderous snarls below them, "and they can only see us when we're moving. Maybe if we go still, so will they!"

"What if you're wrong?" he shouted back.

"We're not exactly swimming in options right now, Milo!" she screamed back as the car was hit again. Hartley's arm twisted at a painful angle, but she kept from crying out, knowing if any damage was done it would heal itself in good time.

The car suddenly went completely and utterly silent. The lights went down, plunging them into near-darkness. The only source of light was the yellowish emergency lighting of the motorway itself, pouring in through the thick windscreen, bathing them in its eerie glow.

The menacing snarls and growls from below them slowed to a stop, the motorway drifting back into a haunting silence, leaving nothing but the sound of the three humans' heavy breathing.

"Try not to hyperventilate," Hartley told Cheen in a barely-there whisper, the woman still clutching her hand so tightly that she was slowly beginning to lose circulation in her fingers. "It's not good for the baby."

Cheen did her best to stop hyperventilating, but her grip on Hartley's hand never wavered. "They've stopped," she whispered, leaning closer to the window as if to try and peer into the depths below. It was still just as dark as ever, and Hartley wondered whether they'd ever know what was really down there.

"Yeah, but they're still out there," Milo muttered, eyeing the shadows below with angry trepidation.

"How did you think of that?" Cheen asked her, and Hartley lifted her shoulders in a vague shrug.

"Dunno," she said with a frown. She didn't like lying but she knew the truth would be too much to believe, particularly with the day they'd all had. "I probably read it in a book. Do a lot of that – reading books."

"Well, what are we meant to do next?" Milo asked, his worry like a stench Hartley couldn't ignore. "We've lost the aircon. If we don't switch the engines back on, we won't be able to breathe," he told her, and she grimaced at the thought. Suffocating or death by faceless monster – she wasn't loving their options.

"How long have we got?"

"Eight minutes, maximum."

Dropping her head onto her arm, Hartley inhaled shallowly, not wanting to use up too much air. Her heart was still hammering away within her chest but she was good at controlling her panic, forcing her body to begin calming itself using the meditation techniques she'd learnt from Jack so long ago.

"What are we going to do?" Cheen soon asked, arms curled around her stomach, skin damp with sweat and hair beginning to frizz from the heat.

"The Doctor will come," Hartley said without thought, her head still bowed, eyes shut as she tried to relax.

"This Doctor fellow," Cheen asked wearily, "he your beau?"

Hartley scoffed, the question as astonishing as it was preposterous. "Not even close," she said lowly.

"You sound disappointed by that."

"Hardly," she argued. Cheen didn't look convinced though, smiling at her knowingly, the expression tense from the stifling fear.

"Who is he, then?" she asked, staring out into the unnatural glow of the emergency lighting.

She chewed on her answer for a few moments before replying. "He's my travelling companion," she said, satisfied with the response, "and my closest friend." She paused, considering it further. "He really will come for me," she told them with the utmost conviction. "He's not going to rest until I'm back by his side and every single person stuck on this damn motorway is free."

"You really think so?" Cheen asked, a spark of long forgotten hope finally appearing in her kind eyes.

"I know so."

The hope rising within Cheen disappeared as quickly as it had come, and she sagged into her seat tiredly. "He's just a man, though. How can he do such a thing?"

"I've been travelling with him a long time," she told them gently, a small smile curving at her cherry-balm coated lips, the taste stale after all they'd been through. "I've seen him save royals and deities and countries and planets and whole, entire solar systems. He can do that which is deemed impossible, and he can do this too. I swear it."

"You hold a lot of faith in someone who let you get taken in the first place." Milo said it lowly, reluctant to put his hope in such a stranger.

Hartley understood; to trust the Doctor without knowing him was a leap of faith not many would take. But she knew, like she knew the TARDIS was bigger on the inside or that the Doctor had two hearts, that it was their only shot at getting off the motorway alive, or in her case, in one piece.

"Whose fault was that, though?" she countered instead, keeping her thoughts to herself, and Milo at least had the decency to look a little ashamed.

"You saved your friend," Cheen spoke up, curious. "That woman. We were going to take her, but you went in her place. She must mean a lot to you."

Hartley considered the question. What did Martha mean to her, exactly? She was nice. Had a bit of an attitude, but she was young and human and thrust into an alien world like none she'd ever imagined – who could blame her for having a little culture shock?

Hartley always tried so hard to make friends, always strived to be kind above all else. She had what the experts called a compulsive need to be liked. It wasn't the healthiest of traits, and it had gotten her into unsatisfactory situations more times than she could count – but it was there nonetheless. She wanted to be Martha's friend, wanted to have a friend, period. A friend who wasn't the Doctor. She missed human companionship; missed having real, proper friends.

She supposed that was the price of life with the Doctor. But she'd be damned if she wouldn't try to make it work anyway.

"Only just met her, really," she finally admitted, her voice distant, full of a thousand thoughts she didn't know how to put into words. "Don't think she likes me very much," she added sadly, thinking back to Martha's barrage of frowns and narrow-eyed stares.

"That seems unlikely," Cheen smiled again, the expression both exhausted and rueful. A thin sheen of sweat had begun to coat Hartley's skin. She was sticky and uncomfortable, shrugging off her jacket even though it did very little to cool her off. "This Doctor, then," Cheen continued lightly. "How's he going to save the day, do you think?"

Hartley smiled at the doubt Cheen felt, strong and unyielding. She was humouring her, letting her have hope even when she thought there was none. It was sweet, and Hartley felt a sudden rush of warmth for her kidnappers, kind as they seemed to be.

"I've no idea. But he'll think of something," she told them with unshakeable faith. "He always does."

"We only have two minutes of air left," Milo said, voice hollow as he glanced nervously over at his beloved. Hartley could feel his guilt, his self-hatred. He was blaming himself for their supposed fate. She wanted to tell him he shouldn't have been, wanted to promise him he'd done the right thing, but she didn't know how.

"Well, I for one, intend to go out fighting – not suffocating to death in a two-by-four flying car," she told them instead, her chin raised high. She decided not to add that her 'going out' at all wasn't likely to ever actually happen. She would survive the loss of air, but these two wouldn't. They were running out of precious time, and the only way Hartley saw to keep the two expectant parents safe was to start the engine back up, even if that meant risking being dinner for the unknown beast in the dark below.

"What's the alternative?" Milo countered. "Turn everything back on and get eaten by whatever's waiting down there in the darkness?"

"The Doctor will save us," she insisted.

"I can't take that chance."

"You have your beliefs," she told him, voice more serious than either of them had yet to hear. "You've got hymns and songs, things that give you hope and guidance. Things that give you strength." They stared at her and she stared back imploringly, faith unwavering in her eyes. "I have the Doctor. I've always had the Doctor. And he's not going to let me down. He just won't."

The pair exchanged a long, weighty glance, careful and considering in their own silent conversation, before Milo finally gave a loud sigh and reached up to turn the power back on. Cheen reached up with shaking fingers to grasp at Hartley's hand again. The immortal gripped back with everything she had, shooting the mother-to-be a reassuring smile, one that promised everything was going to be okay.

"Systems back online," droned the computer and as one, all three took a deep, steadying breath. Then they began to drive.

Just like before, it was no easy journey. Cheen's screams filled the car, along with Milo's shouts as he attempted to steer them clear of trouble, even blind as he was.

Hartley was quiet for the most part, focusing on trying to remain upright and comforting Cheen with her tight grip. Still, she couldn't help but shriek in fright when something seemed to clamp down on the car itself. The walls collapsed inwards and an unknown vapour began to fill the cab from the ruptured walls surrounding them. Hartley threw herself to the floor to avoid being punctured by a piece of broken pipe.

The longer time went on, Hartley began to doubt herself more and more. Was the Doctor coming to save her? Wouldthey survive this? Was her faith misplaced? There had been a time – not even that long ago – when she'd have lost all hope long ago.

But things between her and the Doctor were changing for the better. She was beginning to believe that she mattered to him almost as much as he mattered to her. And to her that was everything.

She glanced up at the ceiling of the car, eyes wet with tears as she silently begged the Doctor to appear and save them all. Please.

There was a flash of light on the monitor in front of them, and Hartley glanced up, expecting to find the news reporter from earlier. Only, it wasn't the woman from the newscast, but instead a beautiful, handsome, spectacular, lovely, familiar, brilliant face.

Hartley cried out in pure delight, free hand punching the air in success as she stared tearfully at the Doctor's image, relief like a balm to her frayed nerves.

"Sorry, no Sally Calypso. She was just a hologram. My name's the Doctor," his wonderful, wonderful voice said, the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips. Hartley thought that if her heart swelled any larger it would surely choke her. "And this is an order. Everyone drive up. Right now. I've opened the roof of the motorway. Come on. Throttle those engines. Drive up. All of you. The whole under-city. Drive up, drive up, drive up! Fast!"

Hartley very nearly wept with happiness, the sound of his voice like the best music she could have ever imagined.

"We've got to clear that fast lane," he was saying impatiently. "Drive up and get out of the way!"

Then it was like he wasn't just speaking to a monitor anymore, it was like he was actually looking at her. She knew it was impossible but she couldn't help but feel it, deep in her chest, like their eyes were meeting through the screen.

"Oi! Car four six five diamond six. Hartley! Drive up!"

"Doctor!" Hartley shouted in delight, even knowing he couldn't hear.

"We can't go up! We'll hit the layer!" Milo argued.

"Listen to him!" Hartley yelled at the man, almost vibrating in her glee. "Drive up!"

"You've got access above. Now go!"

And they did, they drove up and up, so fast that Hartley's stomach swooped again, but this time the sensation was welcomed – it meant they were alive. She tilted her head back when natural sunlight flooded the car, heating her from the outside in. She smiled, relief again so strong it was like a drug, and she simply let it consume her.

"It's daylight," Cheen gasped, letting Hartley's hand go for the first time in what felt like a small eternity, and the older woman wriggled her fingers to get the feeling back into them. "Oh my God, that's the sky. The real sky."

Hartley grinned so wide it hurt, bringing her hands up to her chest where her heart was working double-time in her joy.

"And Car four six five diamond six, I've sent you a flight path," the Doctor added with just a hint of smugness, but Hartley welcomed it, because it felt like home. "Come to the Senate."

Hartley didn't say anything, knowing it wouldn't be heard, but she smiled at the image of the Doctor, so large and happy that she thought it must be impossible for him not to be able to, on some subconscious level, feel it.

"Been lost without my Heart," he added cheekily, and she couldn't help but let her head fall back as she released a loud laugh.

His image disappeared but Hartley continued to grin, turning to Milo and Cheen, who were still staring dazed and teary-eyed at the stunning, never-ending carpet of blue sky stretched out before them.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Hartley murmured. Milo wiped self consciously at his eyes before fixing his attention on steering as he directed them along the flight path set out by the Doctor.

"Best get you back to your Doctor, pronto," he said, voice light in a way she hadn't known it could be. "It's the least we can do."

"I can't believe this," Cheen whispered, stupefied by how suddenly her entire world had changed.

"Your baby is going to grow up in the sun," Hartley told her happily, and Cheen gave a half laugh, half sob of pure delight.

"That's all I've ever wanted," she cried, and Milo looked away from their path to kiss her briefly before pulling away with a grin and continuing to steer. "What – what are you going to do now?" Cheen asked with a self-conscious sniffle, rubbing at her nose until it went a soft red. "Are you staying in the city?"

Hartley smiled a little ruefully. "No," she told them with a shrug of her shoulders. "We'll move on. We never stop travelling, the Doctor and I."

"Why not?"

She shrugged again. "The quiet life just isn't for us." Cheen appeared doubtful that this could be true, but Hartley only smiled. "Thank you for bringing me back to him. I'm really glad it didn't take six years," she added mirthfully.

Cheen grimaced apologetically, remorse leaking from her pores. "We shouldn't have taken you in the first place."

"It all worked out in the end," Hartley waved it off, smiling at her brightly. "But, in the future, please remember that kidnapping is never the answer. This is the one and only exception," she added and Milo laughed. The car gave a tiny, gentle jolt and Hartley realised they'd landed.

"Will we ever see you again?" Cheen asked with another sniffle, hand still pressed over her barely-there bump.

Hartley smiled widely. "If I'm lucky," she told them. Cheen's answering grin was slightly sad, but she still climbed to her feet and gathered the shorter girl in a tight, affectionate embrace. Hartley chuckled, holding tight and rubbing her hand up and down her back. "You're going to be an amazing mother, Cheen," she assured her, and the woman pulled back, eyes still teary.

"We'll name him Hartley," she promised. Hartley's face flushed pink and Milo laughed at her expense.

"Don't be silly," she said with a shy huff. "There're plenty better names out there than 'Hartley'."

"Nah," Milo said, reaching out to slap her gently on the shoulder, filling her with a sense of warm camaraderie. "Hartley's a great name."

She grinned at him, watching as an emotional Cheen wiped at her eyes again. "Go on, then," she prompted her, pushing at the traveller's chest impatiently. "Go back to your Doctor."

"Yeah," Hartley agreed with a grin. "I think I will."

Milo threw open the door and Hartley stepped out onto the floor of a building. She turned back to look at the young couple to see them grinning with glee. She was filled with such a sense of hope for the pair that all she could do was smile, blowing them a large kiss as they shut the door and took off again, disappearing within moments. Hartley sincerely hoped they would see one another again, one day, somehow.

Now, standing alone in the middle of a room without a roof, she wasn't sure where to go. Cocking her head, she could just make out the sound of soft voices filtering through a door to the right and turned, moving slowly in that direction.

"Doctor?!" she shouted, hoping they'd landed on the right building – however else would she find him again?

"Hartley?!" the Doctor's voice answered her, and she gasped, speeding up until she was practically tripping around the corner, coming to a rearing stop. Finally she laid eyes on the Doctor in person; he was already rushing towards her, his chucks slapping against the dusty marble floor.

She was swept up in his hug much like she might have been swept up by a wave in the ocean. He encompassed her, wrapping his lanky arms firmly around her middle and hefting her up into the air. Helpless to do anything but hold on tight, she let out a pealing laugh as he swung her around in delight, her face tucked into the junction of his shoulder, breathing in his scent of marmalade and motor oil.

"You're okay!" he shouted in her ear, swinging her around one more time before setting her back on her feet. His hands were gripping her hips, but as he pulled back he brought them up to her face, cupping her cheeks in his large hands, long fingers splayed against her warm cheeks. A bright grin sat on his face, like nothing had ever elated him quite as much as her getting back to him in one piece.

"'Course I am," she said, trying not to sound like the way he was smiling at her was stealing the very breath from her lungs. "I'm always okay. You know that," she reminded him, tapping her finger against his chest playfully.

His smile faltered, and then he was looking at her with less elation and more concern. "The fact you can't actually die doesn't matter," he told her in a low voice, the words creating a bubble around them. In that moment it was only them in the world, every other person on that planet might as well have been invisible. "You can still be not okay," he said, soft and sincere.

His words melted her insides and she reached up to where his warm hands were still cupping her face, grabbing onto them, threading her fingers through his and holding on tight.

"They said it would be six years before I saw you again," she told him in a near whisper, staring up into his bright, warm brown eyes and just allowing herself to feel. He was exuding happiness and relief, the strength of which nearly brought her to tears. "The thought of waiting that long again..."

"But look at us," he crowed suddenly, pulling away from her face to instead twist their fingers together, letting their connected hands swing between them exuberantly, "we found each other again."

"As we always will," she vowed, and his smile grew to an almost painful intensity before someone interrupted with the clearing of a throat. Hartley reluctantly let go of the Doctor's hand, turning to see who it was.

Martha was standing nearby, her arms crossed and staring at them with wide eyes.

"Martha!" Hartley danced away from the Doctor, swooping Martha up into a tight embrace. The medical student seemed to relax under her touch, muscles unclenching as she squeezed her back. "You all right?" she asked into her new friend's shoulder, pulling back to look over her in concern.

"Me?" Martha asked, pitchy and incredulous. "You're the one who saved me from those people! You sacrificed yourself for me, Hartley, and I haven't even been..." she trailed off uncertainly, the weight of the unsaid heavy on them both, but Hartley only smiled, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly.

"Don't mention it," she told Martha easily. She opened her mouth to ask what had happened during their time apart, but was interrupted by a word that wasn't spoken aloud, but rather inside her head, familiar in an unexpected way.

"Hartley..."

Spinning around in a rush, Hartley gasped at the sight of the Face of Boe laying on the floor, surrounded by the shards of broken glass from his smashed container. His large, ancient eyes were drooped with exhaustion, and she felt a pull of pain at her insides.

"Face of Boe," she rushed to his side, dropping down into the dust on the floor to his left. She held out her hands as if to touch him but stopped, suddenly unsure whether that would be allowed.

A half cat, half human alien dressed in nurses' gear was knelt beside him, pain and concern warring in her heart.

The Doctor reappeared, crouching on the dusty ground beside her. Hartley mirrored his stance, the marble floor cold through the thin material of her jeans. She stared at the the Face of Boe with sad concern.

"My lord gave his life to save the city, and now he's dying," the nurse on his other side said, her voice shaky with emotion.

Eyes turning misty from the force of the cat's sadness, Hartley twisted her hands together in her lap, staring at Boe's face with sorrow.

"No, don't say that," the Doctor muttered in a forced state of cheery denial. "Not old Boe. Plenty of life left."

"It's good to breathe the air once more," Boe's deep, lilting voice said from inside their heads. The feeling of it was warm, the same brush of a presence she'd felt down on the motorway when they'd been an inch away from death.

"It was you, wasn't it?" she asked him softly, holding a hand up to her throat in her surprise. "You saved us." The Doctor was staring at her in surprise but she couldn't look away from Boe, his thin eyes slowly closing before painstakingly opening again, like it took everything he had just to blink. "How did you know I was in trouble?"

"You reached out to me," he breathed into her mind. "I wasn't sure you yet knew how, but you always do surprise me, even now, at the very end."

Hartley stared at him, still baffled by the way he spoke to her, as if they knew one another as well as any two people could.

"But, I didn't mean to," she said faintly. There was a soft chuckling in her head. It was a gentle sound, relaxing and familiar in a way she couldn't understand.

"Who is he?" Martha asked them quietly, confused by the conversation taking place.

The Doctor didn't say anything for a long moment, staring at Boe, before he looked up at Martha, and Hartley saw the tiniest glint of glassiness to his eyes.

"I don't even know," he finally admitted. "Legend says the Face of Boe has lived for billions of years." He looked at the being himself. "Isn't that right? And you're not about to give up now."

"Everything has its time," he told them, and even his inner voice was crackled and aged. "You know that, my old friends, better than most," he added, large eyes rolling towards them from inside his head.

"The legend says more," the nurse interjected ominously.

The Doctor's gaze snapped up to pin her with a glare. "Don't," he said sternly. "There's no need for that."

"It says that the Face of Boe will speak his final secret to a traveller," she continued without heed for the Doctor's ire.

This was news to Hartley, something the Doctor hadn't told her before, but she couldn't take it in; not when Boe was dying right before their very eyes.

"Yeah, but not yet," the Doctor's voice was hard, refusing to listen. He did so hate endings. "Who needs secrets, eh?"

"I have seen so much. Perhaps too much," Boe told them in his weak, wispy voice. "I am the last of my kind, as you are the last of yours, Doctor."

The Doctor's eyes were wet with emotion, and Hartley's were stinging too. Tears threatened to spill over at any moment, and she leant into the Doctor's side, curling her arm through his and resting her temple on his shoulder, seeking his comfort. They both stared at Boe with deep, wretched sorrow.

"That's why we have to survive," the Doctor said, not leaning into Hartley's comfort but not pulling away from it either. "Both of us," he said, imploring and hopeful. "Don't go," he begged rawly, and Hartley felt her heart ache with his pain and her own.

"I must," Boe said tiredly. "My dearest Hartley," he added softly, surprising her with the emotion held within his telepathic voice, "you are the Heart. Never doubt that."

She didn't really understand what it meant but she pressed her lips together to keep the emotion from bubbling out as she nodded her head obediently. Suddenly it didn't matter if it were somehow inappropriate, she lifted a hand and pressed it against his lined face. His skin was dry and cracked under her touch, but he seemed to sink into it like it were a welcome move, so she didn't pull away. He deserved comfort in his final moments; and she knew it was all she could give.

"And know this, Time Lord," Boe said bracingly, then opened his mouth, the next words spoken aloud for the first time since they'd met."You are not alone," he told him, eyelids sliding shut as he exhaled for the last time.

His nurse began to weep, crouching down and pressing her furry head to Boe's still face, mourning the loss of her charge. Hartley sniffled and felt an arm wrap around her, pulling her to her feet. She relaxed into the Doctor's hold, wrapping her own arms around his middle, clutching him tightly.

As he held her she began to cry harder, more heavily than she could remember crying for a long time, her body wracked with sobs.

She felt Boe's loss as though they'd been close, not just someone she'd met once in passing on a viewing deck at the end of the world. Back then she'd felt a connection, and he'd told her himself that they were more than she could understand at the time – that they were family.

How did that work? Would she meet him one day, sometime earlier in his time stream, and live with the knowledge that this was how he died? How was that fair? Nobody should have ever had to bear that burden.

It didn't matter, not really, not in that moment. In that moment all she knew was the pain of losing him, such an ancient, kind being, who she felt deserved more. She wondered suddenly if they were the people he'd have chosen to be surrounded by when he died, if he'd had the choice?

She found it hard to imagine they were.

---

After Boe's burial they stuck around an extra hour or two to get the nurse – Novice Hame – settled and safe as head of the new city rebuild, and then they wandered back down into the bowels of the city, the Doctor leading them back to the TARDIS.

"All closed down," the Doctor called out as they walked, noting that all the stalls were now abandoned, devoid of activity. Everybody was now up rebuilding their lives in the upper city. Even though Hartley's eyes were still red from crying, she was filled with a contentment at knowing they'd helped all these thousands of people start afresh.

She'd left her jacket in Cheen and Milo's car so the Doctor had given her his overcoat to keep warm in the damp under-city. It smelt strangely of cat – which he told her not to worry about – and she curled into its warmth, the ends brushing the ground with her short stature, but the Doctor didn't seem to mind if it got dirty.

"Happy?" Martha asked the Doctor, an amused smile playing on her lips.

"Happy happy," he grinned back widely. "New New York can start again. And they've got Novice Hame. Just what every city needs – cats in charge," he added in a playful sneer. Hartley managed a smile; he never was much of a cat person. "Come on, time we were off," he said, jerking his head towards the TARDIS, which sat tall and brilliantly blue in the distance.

The sight of it warmed Hartley from the inside and she snuggled deeper into the Doctor's coat, following him towards it like a beacon in the damp bowels of New New York.

It had been a long and difficult day. The warmth and safety that the TARDIS offered was more valuable than anything else in that moment, and she shuffled on faster, eager to make herself some tea and curl up in the library.

"But what did he mean, the Face of Boe?" Martha called out from behind them, and the Doctor stopped, turning back to frown at her. "You're not alone," she recalled with a puzzled frown. Hartley reluctantly stopped walking, turning to look at her curiously.

The Doctor took a moment to glance down at Hartley who met his stare with pursed lips and questioning eyes. She wanted to know too. Boe's words had been cryptic at best, and if she wasn't so tired she'd press for more. She always did love a puzzle, and this one seemed to be more important than most.

"I don't know," the Doctor answered her honestly, shoving his hands into the deep pockets of his trousers and rocking back on his heels.

"You've got me," Martha said, stepping closer, and Hartley felt the Doctor tense up. "Is that what he meant?" she asked keenly. Hartley felt her hope like a torch, burning in her gut. It was sad, and although Hartley wasn't the type to feel pity, she suddenly came awfully close.

The Doctor smiled, but the expression was off. "I don't think so," he replied, gentle and patient. Despite his care it still made Martha's smile dim with disappointment. "Sorry," he added softly, but she just looked away. Hartley wondered exactly what it was about the exchange that made her stomach twist with unease.

"Then, what?" Martha pressed, intent on answers. Hartley was learning that about Martha Jones; she didn't stop until she got what she needed, particularly if it involved answers of some kind.

"Doesn't matter," the Doctor shrugged as though he didn't care. His emotions were carefully sealed away behind an impenetrable wall where she couldn't reach, but she knew instinctively that that was anything but true. "Back to the TARDIS, off we go," he said flippantly, strolling off towards their mobile home like it were any other walk through the garden.

Hartley paused, torn in between an unmoving Martha and an oblivious Doctor, looking between them both uncertainly. The human to her left picked up a chair, brushing it off and taking a seat. She crossed her arms and legs then stared across at the Time Lord defiantly. He finally noticed that neither woman was following him and turned back around, squinting at the pair of them in confusion.

"Oh, right – are you staying?" he asked, dry and sarcastic.

"Till you talk to me properly, yes," Martha insisted, full of stubborn impatience. The Doctor's eyes shifted to Hartley, who knew then that she had to agree with Martha. She took a wary step back and picked up another chair, dusting it off so she wouldn't muck up his coat and settling down onto it, ankles crossed beneath her daintily.

She already knew what the Doctor was going to say, knew all about his planet and people and the war that wiped them out. But he'd been lying to Martha this whole time, lying about everything, because through his lie the illusion could remain firm – the false idea that his people were still around, just waiting for him to go back home.

But he never, ever could. And it just about killed him.

"He said last of your kind," Martha recalled primly. Hartley had to admire her courage, standing up to the Doctor in such a way. The alien could be intimidating when he wanted to be, closed off and stubborn when deemed necessary. It took a lot of guts to stand up and demand what he wouldn't willingly give. "What does that mean?" she pressed sternly.

"It really doesn't matter," he insisted, turning his frown onto Hartley as though she might convince Martha to let up. But instead she remained defiant. This wasn't for Martha's benefit – Martha wasn't owed these answers, these secrets the Doctor held dear – but instead it was for the Doctor's own good. He couldn't keep running, lying to himself and everyone else. He needed to stand firm or he'd be swept beneath the current of his own grief.

"You don't talk. You never say," Martha said firmly, beginning to grow agitated by his thread lies. "Why not?"

The sound of a beautiful, low melody trickled down through the buildings and fog above them. It was beautiful, haunting but somehow also full of such hope. Hartley stared upwards as if she might be able to see the people singing, her eyes glassy once more as she felt humbled by what she was witnessing.

"It's the city," Martha gasped, looking up as well. "They're singing."

A small crack appeared in the Doctor's steel wall, a sliver of pain leaking out. Hartley caught hold of it, turning to look at him with her big, sad eyes. She leant forwards on her dirty, uncomfortable chair, catching his gaze.

"It's time, Doc," she said gently, telling him nothing he didn't already know. She saw the instant he gave in, the way his shoulders slumped in surrender.

"I lied to you, because I liked it. I could pretend," he began, and the pure pain in his voice broke Hartley's heart. She was all cried out from Boe, but still her eyes stung with sorrow for her companion. "Just for a bit, I could imagine they were still alive, underneath a burnt orange sky," he sounded wistful, eyes far away, seeing something they never could. "I'm not just a Time Lord. I'm the last of the Time Lords," he said it with such conviction, such truth. "The Face of Boe was wrong. There's no one else."

The two women were quiet, letting the words sink in.

"What happened?" Martha finally asked. The Doctor seemed to consider not answering, Hartley could see indecision warring on his face. Then he walked closer, picking up the final upturned chair and placing it in front of them both. He hesitated only a second before sitting down, resting his elbows on his knees, slumped as if drained of strength.

"There was a war," he began, voice hollow but still full of the kind of pain she could barely fathom. So deep and endless was it that Hartley couldn't find its edges, not even with all her new empathic power. "A Time War. The last Great Time War. My people fought a race called the Daleks, for the sake of all creation. And they lost. They lost. Everyone lost," he sighed, dropping his head in defeat.

Hartley didn't hesitate. She picked up her chair, turning it around so she was positioned beside him, then she wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pressing her chin to the shoulder closest to her and just holding him as he spoke.

She half expected him to brush her off, but instead he simply continued to talk, ever so slightly leaning into her touch. She was warm with the knowledge he was accepting her comfort, however small it may have been.

"They're all gone now. My family, my friends, even that sky. Oh, you should have seen it, that old planet," his eyes glinted with reminiscence as he stared above them unseeingly. "The second sun would rise in the south, and the mountains would shine. The leaves on the trees were silver, and when they caught the light every morning, it looked like a forest on fire. When the autumn came, the breeze would blow through the branches like a song..."

And so Martha and Hartley sat in silence, listening to the old Time Lord's stories of his long since destroyed home. Hartley never once let him go, holding tightly, pressed against him in quiet support. And she knew, when he reached up and took her hand in his, that he was grateful.

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A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Leave a review if you feel like it, and know that I read and re-read everything you guys say, and use it as fuel to power through chapters. Your words mean the world to me, and you're all just so amazing. Thanks for the support!

Up next we're taking an original detour, spending some time on a little planet called Poseidon 83... I hope you guys like the water ;)

Coming up next: Sink or Swim