Did you hear about the DVD link? Apparently, the BBC accidentally released series 7.2 early, with the finale included in it. I've heard that people have been getting spoiled and I think it's a terrible thing. If you are one of the people who have received the 7.2 DVD I beg of you to not spoil anybody or gif any of the episode until it is broadcast. I am one of the many people to plan to watch it on the television and don't want to get spoiled.

On that note, on with the next chapter!

#

Alright, we're almost caught up, I think. And I'm going to try to do this quickly, or else we'll be in this perpetual state of never being current. And that could be very bad. I mean what if one day something happens to me and my last words are "I'm going to grab a sandwich, maybe go chat with the Doctor a bit. See you later."?

Not very good last words, I'm afraid.

I used to be afraid of death, I remember. I guess I still am, why else would I continue to run away from things trying to kill me? So, I'm still afraid of death, but I'm just not…intimidated by it? Yeah, I think that's the right phrase. It isn't a huge black robed figure that points at gravestones and spreads like a virus. It's just a simple thing.

I'm getting off track again.

I've been here an approximated 4-5 weeks. Time's funny here. Even the room full of clocks is confusing, using different measurements of time and different time zones. It's even got a working sundial, somehow. But after twenty minutes of concentration and recollection I'd say that I'm somewhere in the middle of week four.

So, video entries are going to be separated by weeks. No cliffhangers, no moments of dramatic influence, just a log of what happened week by week. Got it? Good.

Let's get this shit started.

Log: Week One

My bare feet traipse through the gray halls of the TARDIS. They're still the same, even after a century and half's worth of time. Still nice and clean, still cold and humming with energy. Nothing has changed too much, not even the rooms. The pool is still gigantic, and so is the dojo along with it. The library is still tall and elaborate. The books and bottles and the cabinets are all still arranged in their order, most untouched. And I still don't have a bedroom, it seems.

I turn a corner aimlessly and walk straight into a door.

I rub my forehead. "Shit," I seethe. "That's going to leave a bruise." I look up at the door before me. "What's this, huh? Are we back to the jokes?"

The TARDIS hums impatiently.

"What, you want me to go in there?" I ask. I frown. "What's inside?"

Another louder, more frustrated hum vibrates through the corridor.

"Alright, alright," I comply. "Quit your bitchin', I'm going."

I press my hand on the wall and the door slides away with a small whirring sound. I take a step in.

"Whoa," I exhale. I laugh. "No way."

It's a room. Not just a regular room, but a large room with stone walls that smells like an antique shop. There are bits and baubles thrown haplessly around the place, some of which I recognize.

"What is this place?" I ask. "Some kind of...storage shed?"

The place vibrates with approval.

I take a couple more steps inside and look around. On the shelves lined up next to me. They're covered mostly in boxes and papers, but there are solid, distinct objects sprinkled here and there. I walk up to the shelf and inspect it, picking up a thin piece of paper.

"A receipt for a fish and chips place?" I read aloud. I set the paper back down and look from side to side on the shelf, grabbing something that catches my eye. "A military cap. Huh." It looks important, like it would belong to a general or something. I put it back.

I turn around and place my attention on the opposite shelf, snatching the looking glass and holding up to my eye, spying through it.

"Why'd you bring me here?" I ask.

The TARDIS hums again, but it isn't an omniscient sort of thing; it's originating from somewhere. I follow to the origin, a dusty place in the back of the room that's much mustier than the more open, front area of the room. Here, things are crowded together, almost like a dusty mosaic.

I cough a little. "What's in here?"

The humming returns, coming from a haphazard pile of things tossed against the wall. It's strongest at the base of the pyramid.

I start digging through the assortment, tucking a loose strand of wet hair behind my ear only to have it fall back over my face again. I really should've cut it better when I did. I mean, the whole point of cutting it what so that it didn't get in my face like this. Maybe the Doctor can take me to a Supercuts later.

I continue digging until a small silver padlock catches my eyes. I reach for it and pull out my messenger bag, dirty and covered in layers of dust and grime.

I open up the bag and see a mix match of all my things crammed inside, like whoever put them in the pouch last was in a hurry. I pull out the various items inside, including my laptop and a few notebooks. There are a couple other things that I recognize.

"My hat," I realize, brushing the thing off and placing it atop my head. I look around, then shove all of the objects back into the messenger bag, slinging it over my shoulder. I stand up and brush off my sweatpants, tugging on the sleeves of the shirt I'm wearing so that they reach halfway down my hands.

Time to go talk to the Doctor.

#

He's piloting still, his back turned to me, flipping switches and tapping the time rotor here and there for some reason.

I don't think he notices me until he speaks. "How does it feel to be squeaky clean?" he asks.

"Oh, amazing," I tell him, padding down the stairs and onto the glass floor. "It's nice having hot water again. All the pool showers were like getting doused in the Arctic Ocean."

"Pool showers are the worst showers," he comments. "Would not recommend ever again."

"I had to choice," I remind him. "I know how gross and bad they are."

"Well, now you have a choice," he argues. "And that choice is no more pool showers."

"Don't have to make that decision for me, I already made it." I walk up to the console as he taps on the rotor again. "Whatcha doing there?"

"The rotor's not moving as fast as usual," he explains, looking at it with extreme concentration. "Might just need an oiling. After all, it's been running without heed for so long, maybe it needs a sprucing up."

"Possibly," I say, peering over his shoulder.

He looks back to me, then down at my bag. He frowns, turning around. I back up. "Where did you find that?" he asks slowly.

I shrug. "A room."

"What room?"

"The room with all the papers and boxes and shit. You need a maid, mister."

He goes wide eyed. "The room with the boxes…"

I nod. "Yeah, it was a storage room or something," I continue. "Filled with things all over the place. I found the bag in the back." I frown. "What was that place, anyways?"

The Doctor gulps. "Well…you see…um…I keep things. Mementos, really."

"Mementos?"

"Of companions; of…me." He flushes and straightens his bow tie.

I smirk. "Why so embarrassed?"

"I'm not embarrassed," he denies. "I'm just disappointed. That was one of my rooms."

I snort. "Your rooms? Aren't they all your rooms?"

"Of course they are, but a few select rooms are mine, nobody else's. Nobody sees them. And the memento room is—was one of them."

"Oh," I realize. "Well, I'm not going back in there anymore. Too dirty."

"What? The memento room, dirty?" He laughs. "Preposterous. I went in there and cleaned it."

"And how long ago was that?" I inquire.

He falters. "Seven, maybe…twelve years ago."

"Well, that explains the dust," I say, swiping my hand over the messenger bag and watching the cloud of gray bunnies erupt from the cloth. I look back up to him. "So, you said you had some questions?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. Firstly, did you sack the coat?"

I pull out the thing from my messenger bag. "I don't want to see it go," I explain. "I mean, it's been with me all this time, ever since the start."

"There's a time for memories and a time to let go," the Doctor advises. "Now, let's throw out the old thing."

I frown and hug the jacket defensively. "It's my decision on whether or not I do it, not yours."

He huffs. "My TARDIS, my rules."

I cross my arms. "Then I'll just leave your TARDIS."

"But you just got back!"

"Not everything revolves around you and your tiny little world you've got."

"It so does!"

"Doesn't."

He scowls and starts pacing around the console. "Oh, what do you know?"

I sigh. "And there it is," I analyze. "The denial of defeat by avoiding the subject." I drop the coat and messenger bag on the chair and start to follow him. "You know you are really easy to predict. Like how you're about to flip a switch to distract yourself."

He does just that. "It's necessary in the flight pattern," he grumbles.

"And you're acting like a kid," I continue. "Throwing a silent tantrum like a passive aggressive three year-old."

"I am not acting like passive aggressive three year-old," he denies. He glances at the monitor.

"Sure…"

"You know, maybe some people should accept the rules and not be stupid," he argues.

I scoff, stopping. "Hell will freeze over the day I accept any rules from you."

He stops and looks at me before grinning. "Good."

I shake my head. "You're ridiculous."

"I am. And?"

"And there are questions you had, right? That don't pertain to coats?"

"Yes!" he answers, still grinning. He claps his hands. "Yes, there are questions. Loads of questions."

I raise an eyebrow. "Planning on asking them anytime soon?"

He's silent for a moment. "How are you?"

I frown. "I thought that was already asked back at the bakery."

"Yes, but that was a lie," he clarifies. "I want the truth."

I stare at him for a couple seconds before sighing. "I'm…well, I'm not okay. I mean it was a while, that I was all alone. And I've seen things…heard things. On my first day solo I was almost a lab experiment." I laugh a little. "Popped out just in time."

He stares at me, and I take that as a sign to keep talking.

"I'm just kind of-I don't know-conflicted," I continue. "I'm feeling all these things at once. On one hand I'm happy and excited because I found you and I don't have to jump around anymore or worry about messing up your timeline." He smiles at that. "And on the other hand I'm downright furious at myself and even more so you." The smiles drops. "After all, you're the reason why I ended up like that, but I'm the one who jumped off of the building in the first place. And it's because of my very existence that this happened, you know? But it could've been simpler if I was just left being dead."

"Yes," he says quietly. "Yes, it could've been."

I blink. "You're agreeing with me? What happened to 'at least you're living' or 'look on the bright side'?"

"One hundred and fifty-nine years," he repeats. "A lot of time to think, to reflect. Somewhere around the second year searching for you I realized my mistake."

"You seemed fairly stubborn on your opinions when we last chatted here," I say.

"Opinions change. And this around, I agree with you. In retrospect, I was..." He mumbles the last word.

I want to smile, but the temptation to soak in the moment is too much. "I'm sorry, you were what?"

"I was..." Another mumble.

"Ha, sorry," I apologize. "Kind of hard of hearing at the moment. Could you repeat that just a little louder?"

"I was wrong," he finally admits. "Happy?"

"I'm less angry," I confess. "If that helps."

"Of course it does, you have every right to be angry." He smiles at me sadly. "You've been through a lot, for somebody your age. A tough time, but you'll get past it. People like you always do."

"People like me?"

"The people I choose."

"I stowed away, idiot. Not everything comes down to you."

"And I kept you here, didn't I? Then again, I didn't have much of a choice. If I tried to force you out you would've gone kicking screaming." He winces. "Probably biting as well."

I smirk, considering the idea and wanting to laugh because it's true. "So.." I shift my weight around on the balls of my feet. "Any more questions" Because I've had a long, long day and I'm in the mood to sleep."

"Questions, questions. Yes, one more question," he answers. "Or many more, depends. Conversation's funny like that." He stops in front of me, leaning on the railing and crossing his arms. "Tell me, Quigs. What do you know about the Silence?"

"Some facts here and there," I admit. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, some time around year three I decided to look into things," he explains. "Because if there is one thing I remember from the night you were misplaced, it's that prophecy you mentioned. I thought that maybe it would help take care of some things while searching for you."

"Kill two birds with one stone."

"Exactly!" He launches off of the railing and grabs the monitor, pulling it over and typing something into the typewriter. "So I searched the TARDIS database and pulled up..." He types in a couple more words and slammed his hand onto the 'enter' key. "This."

Words start rolling onto the screen until the monitor is covered in tiny cerulean letters. I walk up to the monitor and squint, trying to make out the words.

"The Silence are aliens from an unknown planet..." I read aloud. I skim the next couple of paragraphs, coming to the realization that the entire page on screen in extremely familiar. I laugh. "Oh, you've got to be shitting me."

The Doctor frowns. "Pardon?"

I start laughing even harder, putting a hand over my eyes. Brilliant, just brilliant. Figures this would happen at a time like this, with all that's been going on. It still goes back to that.

"Jenna, are you alright?" he asks. He seizes the monitor. "Is there a typo? Oh, what am I saying, the TARDIS doesn't make typos."

"No," I say, still laughing. "No...no that's not it."

"Then what is it?" he inquires.

The laughing gradually fades and stand up straight, eyes watery. I wipe them with the back of my hand. "It's just..." I giggle. "Just...back at Farringham, with you MIA and everything, I didn't have much to do. I mean, I couldn't interact with you too much or do anything, really. And I felt kind of useless. But then I came up with this idea. Well, not me, exactly. The, uh, the voice in my head." He looks at me, concerned. I flush. "Which, if you think about it, is actually me. So I came up with this idea. I mean, I had a key and nothing to do, so why not?"

"Jenna, what did you do?"

I grin lopsidedly in pride. "Well, you said I couldn't walk inside the TARDIS, but there was never anything against opening the doors," I continue, shrugging. "And I needed information. I had just as many questions as you had, maybe even more. So, the interface and I chatted a bit and I was able to get her to fish for some answers for me." I tap the monitor. "Which stayed exactly where they were, thanks to the fact that you don't delete your internet history."

He grins at me. "Oh, Jenna. Brilliant Jenna, amazing Jenna." He rubs the top of my head. "Wonderful, brilliant, amazing Jenna."

I slip out from under him. "Alright, no more noogies."

"You are fantastic," he compliments. "Of course, the idea was extremely risky and idiotic in retrospect, but look at you! Solving things on your own, doing your own thing."

I knit my eyebrows together, but keep smiling. "I was already doing that a for awhile."

"Yes, but this is just...I never expected this, and I always expect things. Oh, Jenna Quigley, you are one smart cookie."

"Am I?" I ask. "Funny, you were just calling me stupid earlier."

"It is quite possible to be both stupid and smart at the same time."

"Oh yeah, I'd almost forgotten. I mean, that's what you are all the time."

"Oi!"

I smirk. "Like having me back?" I ask mockingly.

He scowls at me. "Having doubts, but doubts are good to have." He shuts off the monitor. "So you know everything?"

I nod. "Everything."

"Great," he says, rubbing his hands together. A whirring noise rises around the room and he springs into action, tinkering until the cacophony dies down. "That's great. Good. We mutually understand, mutually ignore. Cool."

I frown. "Wait, mutually ignore? So you just want to forget all about it?"

"Not forget, per se. Just put off for a bit."

"Why put off?" I question, leaning against the console with the palms of my hands. "I mean, you and I both know about it, the exact same things. There's no reason to not talk about it."

He stops piloting, looking at me through the time rotor. "You've just gotten back," he explains. "This is supposed to be a happy time, a time to rebuild and recover. And since it so, talking about things like prophecies and Cages and Silence aren't going to help, don't you think?"

I gulp. "No. No, I guess not."

He smiles. "Now, you said you were tired?"

I yawn. "Just a bit."

He fiddles with a couple things on the console. "Walk up the stairs, and there should be a nice bedroom three doors down on the left." He continues fiddling and his hand slips on a switch. "Er...make that the right."

I laugh. "Moron."

"Irritating."

I walk up the stairs. "See you in eight hours, more or less."

#

The wind is howling against my ears. It's harsh and pushing up against my back, threatening to throw me off balance. I grit my teeth until they ache, trying to carefully keep my stance. I attempt to move my feet and regain some better balance, but there's stuck to the ground. I can't move.

Before me is a concrete rooftop, practically barren. The rusty ladder leading down the fire escape is visible to my left, and excluding the wind he air around me is silent. No talking or cars or airplanes. Just...silence.

My, my. You're quite the one to stall, aren't you?

My eyes snap over to my right. It's no longer a vague mist or ghost, no. It's a person. It's a person with hair and clothes and limbs and eyes and feet touching the ground, moving and pacing madly. It's no longer an idea. It's him.

"What are you doing?" I ask. "What's going on?"

Don't you remember, Jenna? You were about to jump. Fulfill the pact we made. He failed, and now it's your turn to keep the promise.

"But...but he saved me," I argue. "I remember, I got it right. He pulled me away. I stepped inside the TARDIS, I'm done with this. I finished."

And how reliable are memories? They're all...finagled inside of each other, mixing up and creating new thoughts that never were. They're liars, memories.

"But he saved me! He did, I know it!"

They're dreams, Jenna. Simple dreams. Now come on, we have things to do. Places to see, selves to kill. Chop, chop!

"You never wanted me to kill myself before," I observe. "You were against it."

Ah, but people change! Figments of people, too. And I'm ready for you to go, I really am. Such a damper to be in your head.

My breathing becomes uneven. "He'll come for me, he always does. He'll find me, this is just a dream. He'll find or I'll wake up."

You're so sure it's a dream? Tell me, does this look like a dream to you? Does it feel like it? He grins. Feels pretty normal, doesn't it? Now, I don't blame you for going completely mad, you already were halfway bonkers. But escaping into the idea that you've been saved is useless. You can't run from the truth, Jenna.

"I'm not running," I state through gritted teeth. "This isn't real."

Oh, it's real, Quigs. Very real.

I gulp. "And if it is? I could step down right now if I wanted to."

No, nope! Sorry, no can do.

"Why not?"

I'm not going to allow it.

"You can't tell me I can and can't do."

He rolls his eyes in exasperation. Oh, Jenna, you don't get it. I am you! I'm sick of living in your head day in and day out. And you're going to die whether you like it or not.

"No, he's going to save me. The Doctor always does, he'll save me." I'm beginning to shake.

Then look around. He gestures to the rooftop before us. Where is he now, eh?

"He'll be here, he will be," I protest.

He tuts, shaking his head. Oh, Quigs. You have so much faith in him-me-him. It's pathetic.

"He going to be here, he'll save me."

Jenna. He looks me straight in the eyes, putting both hands on my shoulders. They're solid, not a pulse of nonexistent warmth. It's real. He is never going to save you. In the end, the Doctor will never, ever save you.

I keep silent, afraid to say anything more.

He looks down at his watch, smiling. Oh, will you look at that. Time to die. His grip on my shoulders tightens. See you later.

And he shoves.

And I'm falling. Falling falling falling falling falling-

Awake. My eyes are open. It's dark. Where am I?

My face is wet. I've been sweating and crying. Still crying, actually. Why, though?

Falling falling falling-

It's pathetic...He is never going to save you...

It's real.

I start to hyperventilate as the dream replays before me, and halfway through it I realize that all this time I've been screaming and choking on my own voice simultaneously.

And as the replay finishes I sit up and begin to sob even more, my voice cracking as I cry for somebody, anybody. As long as they're real, and I can that the dream wasn't. Because it truly wasn't...right?

I feel a hand on my shoulder and I jump, scrambling away from the dark figure standing in front of me. It's him.

"Get away from me!" I order. "Get away, I don't want to listen to you, he's going to save me, I won't have to...have to..." The sobs start all over again.

"Jenna, it's going to be fine," he soothes. "You need to calm down."

"No, stop talking, He's going to be here. The Doctor's going to be here. He'll save me, I won't have to jump."

"What?" he asks. "Jenna, what are you talking about?"

"What you said, you said he was never going to save me," I explain. "You said I'm pathetic, you said those things and you were real so they must be true, he must think that, right?"

The figure pauses, reading my face and deciphering my words until his face becomes one of complete disappointment. And, for some reason, it doesn't look like it's aimed towards me. "Oh, Jenna," the figure whispers. "I am so sorry."

"You're not, you looked too happy to be," I argue.

"Jenna, that was a dream," he says. "This is reality."

"That's what he said," I retort. "And he felt real, it all did. He pushed me. And I was falling, falling..."

"Jenna, look at me," the figure orders. There's a whirring noise and the lights are on. His face his clear and in sight, and it mirrors what I just saw not a couple minutes ago. "I'm the real one, I never pushed you. That's all in your head."

My breathing evens out slightly. "Prove it," I request with a cracked voice.

He holds out the sonic. "Did your friend ever have a screwdriver?"

I stare at the thing, flipping through all my memories, one after the other. "No, no he didn't."

"Exactly. Jenna, I am real."

I keep looking at the sonic for just a couple more seconds before looking up a his face. It's sincere, no trickery or hidden scowling. If he's anything else, he's terrified.

I launch towards him and latch around his chest, because fuck it; he reals feel and reality's getting trickier and trickier as of late.

"Oh, hugs," the Doctor says in surprise. "Hugs are cool. Much better than getting punched."

"Shut up or I will punch you," I threaten, but I'm too disoriented to make it a solid promise. "You don't think I'm pathetic, do you?"

"Now why would I think that?"

"Have you seen me lately?" I remind him. "I'm surprised that you haven't kicked me out by now."

"Jenna, you're not pathetic. You're human."

I laugh bitterly. "Thanks. That helps."

"You know what I mean," he says.

"I do," I admit. "And I'm sorry."

"It's okay, I don't mind." He pats my back and steps away. "Here, follow me."

I sniffle a little. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere new," he says. "Somewhere different."

I slide off of the cot and stand up. "I thought we weren't going to be travelling anytime soon."

"We're not," he says, skipping out of the door. I run to catch up to him. "We're staying here."

I frown. "That makes no sense."

He stops and turns around. "Transcendental technology! The ship is infinite! I bet there are some rooms even I don't know about."

"Oh, right," I say, wiping my eyes. "Duh."

"And you call me a moron," he mutters.

"Hey!" I protest.

He smiles, full of himself. "Come along!" he orders, starting to run. "Got to have some cowboys in here, somewhere."

I follow him, and somewhere between losing to him at Cluedo in the game room and discovering an infestation of piranhas in the aquarium I kind of forget that I was ever gone in the first place.

#

I still don't sleep, though.

Or I try not to. When I do, it's the same thing, over and over again. Falling over and over again. I don't sleep in a bedroom anymore, if I do sleep. It's here, underneath the console in the hammock. That way I don't freak out too long before somebody, sometimes even the TARDIS at times, wakes me up. It's usually a shock my arm or something. Anyways, it hurts. But it's effective.

But before I came down here, I just sort...collapsed, anywhere and everywhere. The library, the kitchen. And it's always for only a couple hours. No more, no less. I always wake up just before I fall.

The Doctor suggests a mental block, but the thing is I don't want to forget. It's a whole year of my life, I'm not going to shove it under the carpet. I'm not him.

The week passes by smoothly, if you don't count the occasional panic attack. He travels, when I fall asleep, and not for too long if possible. He comes back with souvenirs or injuries. It's one or the other or even sometimes both in some instances. I continue to get a feel around being back in action again, and continue wearing long sleeve shirts two sizes too big. Even when the cooling systems break down I keep it up.

"When are they going to be fixed?" I ask.

"In time, in time," the Doctor dismisses. He's lost the coat and shoes. He comes up from his working station underneath the glass floor and pokes his sweaty head over the railing. "And if you're going to complain I'd suggest you change first."

"What's wrong with what I have on?" I ask.

"It's suited better for the Oodsphere, that's what."

"I'm comfortable," I lie. "Just a bit...toasty."

"It is almost 35 degrees centigrade in here and you're 'just toasty'?"

I blink. "Isn't 35 degrees freezing?" I ask.

He rolls his eyes and ducks back down under the floor. "Americans."

I sneer. "Time lords."

"Fixing this up will take a couple hours, so I suggest you either get out of that stuffy thing or sit in the walk-in freezer."

I consider my options. "Do you know where the freezer is?"

It's silent for a moment before his head pops up again, fraught with concern. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," I say. "It's just that I...like this sweatshirt."

"Enough to threaten death by heat exhaustion?"

"The trials and tribulations of fashion know no bounds."

He concentrates on me for a couple more seconds before speaking. "It's in the same corridor as the garden," he tells me skeptically. "Last time I checked."

"Thanks," I say, walking up the stairs to my escape from the heat.

"Jenna," the Doctor calls when I reach the entrance to the hallway. I turn around. "You are fine?"

"As fine as I can be right now," I tell him. "See you in an hour."

#

He says he needs to make a stop on the sixth planet of Shafaram System for a wrench when we next talk. The heat's gone down, but only by so much. He says that the wrench is needed to replace the one he has just broken, and when he gets it he'll be able to put the cooling systems right back in order. I say fine, go ahead and go wherever you need to go. He says he'll be back in about an hour.

So I take the opportunity about five minutes after he leaves and peel off the sweatshirt that's been clinging to me for the longest time. I straighten out the tank top underneath and smile.

"Finally," I breathe out. I look down at the scars on my arm. "You guys suck."

I sigh in relief and tumble onto the chair. The coat's still hanging off of the side.

Maybe it's the heat exhaustion or maybe it's just general exhaustion, but one second I'm staring at the console and next wind is howling in my ear and he's back with new taunts.

Pathetic...

Weak...

He doesn't even want to save you. You're too damaged, too grown up...

You've grown to rely on him, you've become the opposite of what you wanted. You. Are. Lifeless...

End yourself...

There's a hand on my shoulder, in reality. It wakes me up and I spring into action, the reflex easily coming back to me. I grab the person's arm and twist it, getting up in a flash and aiming for what I think is the stomach.

The wrench the Doctor was holding drops.

"OW!" he grits, breathing in through his teeth. "Ah, blimey. Mother of..." His voice becomes indistinguishable and at one point I think it switches over into another language that, for some reason, I can't understand. He looks up at me. "What was that for?!"

"Sorry!" I apologize, mouth covered by my hands. "Sorry, sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to punch you."

"Well obviously you did!" he yells back, doubling over.

"It was instinct, you shithead!" I defend, removing my hands from my mouth and bringing one of them up against his head.

"Ah!" he winces. He rubs the point of impact and then stands up straight, looking at me. "Ow!"

"Yes, and?"

"And why am I getting hit all the time this week?" he asks angrily.

"Because it's what I do, you're just not used to it yet!" I tell him.

"But why hit me in your sleep?"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures!" I fire back. "It was a tough four months, always sleeping in bus stops or homeless shelters. You never knew when somebody was going to pickpocket you or doing something worse."

"I've woken you up before, why is this any different?"

"You touched my shoulders," I supply. "They always did, it was a standard thing, I guess. All of them were too drunk to balance straight anyways."

"Ah," he responds curtly. "I see. Good job, clever thing to do. Just don't practice it on me."

"I can't promise you anything," I shrug. "Just don't...surprise me. Like jump me or prank me or anything. Unless you want to get hurt."

He taps the side of his nose. "Got it."

I sigh and lift my arm to bring a hand through my hair, pushing back my poorly cut bangs. "Good."

The Doctor frowns. "Jenna, what are those?"

I frown back at him. "What are 'what'?"

"The marks," he clarifies. "On your arm, you have marks."

I go wide-eyed and stick my arm behind me. "I don't have any marks."

He nods and walks towards me. "Yes, yes you would. Lines on your arm." He reaches for the limb and I sidestep him, rotating a good 90 degrees away from him.

"I don't have any marks," I lie, laughing forcibly. "You must've gotten a concussion or something-"

"No no no, I saw them," he denies. "Now show me your arm." He reaches and I rotate again.

I flash a smile. "There's nothing on my arm to show."

"Yes, there is."

"No, there isn't."

"Show it to me!"

"Why should I?"

He reaches and I attempt to sidestep, but he ends up going behind me, grabbing the arm. I turn to face him and try to wriggle out, but it's no use.

"Haha, yes! See, marks," he observes triumphantly. I try to pull away before he actually gets a good look at them. "White lines or...scars..." He frowns in concentration, and I know that the jig is up. I stop fighting.

He looks up at me. "Jenna, where did you get these?"

"I was...in a fight," I lie.

"No, no," he dismisses, shaking his head. "These are too uniform for a fight. Were you tortured?"

"What? N-"

"Who did this to you?"

"Doctor, you've got to-"

"Jenna, you need to tell me."

"I did it!" I confess. His grip on me weakens and I pull away from him. "I...did this."

The expression on his face can be summed up as utter confusion. "Why?"

"Like I said...desperate times call or desperate measures," I explain. "I had the problem before, way back in my own universe. And I kept it off, most of the time, but it was hard. And then I stowed away here and...I don't know. I guess the adventures became my fix and I just sort of forgot about it." I gulp. "But then I was on my own again and it reappeared." I snap my my fingers. "Just like that."

"Jenna, you should've told me about this."

"One open adrenaline junkie is enough for this ship, I didn't think it would be good to have two." I look down at my arm. "I don't do it anymore, if you wondering. Haven't for a while, really. I was just kind of scared to tell you. I thought that you would see me as inadequate and you'd leave me somewhere. And now that doesn't look too bad, but back when this all started this was a new universe, you know? And I just..." I sigh through my nose and look back up at him. "Well, at least we've taken care of that and I don't have to wear sweatshirts now. Thank god, too, I really hate the things sometimes."

"Jenna, I think we should talk about this," the Doctor suggests.

"I don't," I reply. "It's done, it's over with. Not going to happen again, hopefully. And if it does, I will talk to you. But for now, I'm starving and boiling up, so how about solve those problems before they go borderline catastrophic, hm?" I pick up the wrench off of the floor and hand it to him with my scarred arm. He looks at the limb while his hand goes for the tool.

"Okay then," he mutters. "Fine by me."

The cooling systems are back online within the hour, and he tells me not to go food hunting just yet. I ask why and he doesn't answer the question, responding instead by telling me to go put on something nicer than tracksuit pants and a tank top. I start to ask why, but there's a banging noise from the time rotor and I decide to leave the Doctor to his own devices and do as he says.

I come back twenty minutes later in jeans and a t-shirt only to find him waiting by the doors. We've landed in Chicago, he tells me. He then proceeds to criticize me for bringing a coat, saying that it is winter outside. We argue about it for ten minutes before I groan and stomp back into the wardrobe for a jacket. He grins when I come back but it quickly fades when I compare him to middle-aged soccer mom.

We go out for pizza. He tells me about some of his adventures and I supply some of the happier ones of my own. He spills his drink on himself and I end up laughing until tosses a piece of pepperoni onto my face.

He keeps staring at my arm, the one that's marked up and down on its underside. And he continues to do so whenever he sees the scars, always displaying an equally confused and sad face that he's been looking at the rest of me with lately.

But we never talk about it. Still haven't. And it's better that way.

#

I'm so sorry for the wait, but I just acquired a new computer that kept deleting my documents instead of saving them, so I've had to write some segments of this fic almost four times in a row.

Homestuck has been on hiatus for a month now and lemme tell you it's a scary thing to experience. Also, I have an essay to write, so I'll see you later.

Reviews are still highly appreciated!

-JustStandingHere