After the Dream Lord is driven away, the day passes normally. The Doctor takes them to a planet famous for its spas, the Doctor's way of apologizing after a particularly difficult adventure. Things passed serenely, as Sarah Jane said. It was just a day of rest, allowing them all to unwind.

El, however, even at the end of the day, is still tense.

So, when it finally came time for El to go to sleep, she found that she couldn't. Every time she tries to close her eyes, the reminder that the Dream Lord had been there, waiting to trap them in their own heads, crossed her mind, and her eyes snapped back open.

So, El didn't sleep. She got to her feet and left her room.

She had to find the Doctor. He was the only one who'd understand.

Wandering the corridors of the TARDIS, the girl eventually came out into the console room, the Doctor sitting on the little swing below, working on… something.

El walked down the steps. "Dad."

The Doctor's head shot up, before he smiled, but tilted it. "I thought you were supposed to be asleep?"

"I…" El played with her hands. "I couldn't."

"Oh?" The Doctor kindly asked. "How come?"

"…Dream Lord." El answered.

The Doctor sighed, putting the tool he held out of his mind for the moment. "Don't worry, he's gone now, not coming back."

El shook her head. "That's not…" She focused her mind, trying to remember how she learned to speak in the dream world. "Do you remember?"

"Remember what?" The Doctor inquired.

"The dream world." El elaborated. "You left me on Earth. Do you remember?"

"…yes." The Doctor eventually offered.

"Okay…" El nodded, that would make it a bit easier. "I remember too."

The Doctor looked at the girl, concerned. "You remember?"

El nodded. "Ten years."

Ten years of a life that never happened, where after she started to call the Doctor dad, it got too much for her to be on the TARDIS, and she asked him to drop her on Earth. Meeting Will properly for the first time, that very first date where they wound up soaking wet because it was just too fun playing out in the rain. Discovering that she actually had quite a way with words with the right teacher. The house in Hawkins, the baby…

"I remember it." El said. "All of it."

"Oh, El…" The Doctor breathed, pulling her into a hug. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry you had to experience that."

"It's… fine." El replied. "But why do I remember? Dreams fade."

The Doctor drew a breath. "Yeah, they do. But those weren't ordinary dreams. They were more like… simulations, induced only without technological help. Those ten years of memories, the ones from the other world where you left the TARDIS, those happened to you… they just happened in your head."

"But… why?" El asked.

"The Dream Lord needed to make the illusion real." The Doctor explained. "Otherwise… we wouldn't have had such a hard time choosing between dream and reality."

"Okay…" El slowly nodded.

"You alright?"

El swallowed. "I don't know. Dad, if Will was in there with us, and he was dreaming about being a kid back in Hawkins… was he real?"

"…I don't know." The Doctor admitted. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." El replied. "I chose." She turned on her heel, and went back up the stairs, towards her room.

"El," The Doctor called after her, "Don't worry. Things'll get better."


Things, as it turns out, do get better. The Doctor notices it, to his credit. For such a dense Time Lord, he really is perceptive.

The memories of the other world start to fade, either by their own accord, El making an effort to push them out, or the TARDIS helping the process along.

El doesn't seemed bothered by it, quite the opposite, like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

The Doctor smiles, as he notices that, even after the mess with the Dream Lord and ten years of a false life, El seems… happier.

There is, however, one thing.

El's looks down at her wrist, and scowls. That number is still there. Used to be, she didn't mind it, it was the only proof of herself that she had.

But after spending time with the Doctor, time in that dream, it no longer feels like her. Now, she even thinks she hates it. It's the last reminder of a place in her past, a place she tried to push away as far as she could.

So, she storms up to the Doctor, and simply says; "The number. I want it gone." She said, holding out the culprit arm.

The Doctor blinked, surprised at just how forward she was being. "Sorry, did you just say gone? What for?"

"Not Eleven anymore." She said. "El."

The Doctor looked down to her and smiled. "Well then, I'm sure we can come up with something. Removal might be an option, but, well… there's really no way to do that without cutting it off.

El sharply inhaled again.

"Hmm…" The Doctor thought, before snapping his fingers. "Got it." He glanced back at her. "If I stay with you, do you think you can overcome your fear of needles again?"

El said nothing but nodded.

"Then let's go." The Doctor set the controls. "There's an old friend of mine who I think can help."


Mickey the Idiot. That's what they used to call him.

Way back when, in the year 2005, he was just a kid living on a Council Estate, doing odd jobs around, working as a mechanic, trying to make his own way. He had a girlfriend, Rose, whom he actually did love quite a bit, and while they weren't very happy, they were content.

Then, the Doctor showed up. The one with big ears, the green jumper, the leather jacket… and then, Rose vanished for a year, Mickey took the blame for her supposed murder, and then they popped back into his life, expecting him to just go along with it, so, excuse him for being just a bit resistant. Course, that was a long time ago.

Mickey now recognized that the Doctor's jabs and name-calling weren't really because of a strong dislike, but more of a way to try and get Mickey to stand up for himself, to grow… however much Mickey himself got hurt because of it.

And grow, Mickey did. From a meek, even a bit cowardly man, into the man he was now. Mickey Smith, who fought against the Daleks and the Cybermen. Mickey Smith, married to Martha Jones (in a story that is way, way too long to regale you with here). Mickey Smith… with a tattoo parlor of all places.

Yeah, I didn't see that one coming either.

It wasn't too large of a place, just a little bit of shop space not far from Piccadilly Square, but he'd worked hard for it, earning it his own self, without UNIT or Torchwood's help. It was his pride, his joy… even if it was slow most days.

So, Mickey counted himself lucky when the door opened with a chime.

The man looked up from his Nintendo, towards the floppy-haired man with the ridiculous clothes, and the girl by his side, holding his hand.

"Sorry, mate," Mickey said, "It's by appointment only. Kind of a busy man." An understatement, with the horde of high-tech alien hunting gear in the back just in case something came up.

"Really?" The man asked. "Doesn't look too busy."

"I didn't say it was busy here." Mickey replied. "Sorry, but I don't do walk-ins."

"Oh, that's too bad." The man took a big brown paper bag, putting it down on the counter. "I came prepared and everything."

Mickey looked curiously into the bag, and his eyes bugged out, at what must have been five-grand, all in tens, in the bag.

Mickey glanced back up at the man. "…Alright, come on."


"So," Mickey grabbed his tools, "Sit here." He directed the man.

"Um, actually, I wasn't getting one for me." The man rubbed the back of his neck, before pointing to his kid, who sat down in the chair.

Mickey quickly shook his head. "I don't do kids."

The girl crossed her arms. "Strong."

"Don't care how strong you are, I'm not inking a kid." Mickey retorted.

"Mickey," The man put his hand on Mickey's shoulder, "Can I show you something?" The man gently grasped his kid's hand, and turned it over, showing off the number on her wrist.

"What the hell is that?" Mickey demanded.

The man threw an arm around Mickey's shoulders, pulling over to the side. "Look, I'm an agent from UNIT. I came here because they said you could keep silent. But, um… The long and short of it is, they found a ship heading from Spain to Saudi Arabia. In the cargo hold…" He looked to the girl. "A dozen kids just like her."

"Jesus…" Mickey breathed, looking at the girl.

"UNIT's helping the rest get to good homes, but she's in my care now. That number's a living reminder of where she came from. She wants to forget." He explained.

Mickey looked to the child, sitting in the chair patiently. She looked so tiny, and like she had just barely started to recover from whatever ordeal she'd been rescued from, buzzcut hair only starting to lengthen out.

And those eyes… They were not a child's eyes; they were the eyes of someone who'd been put through pain incomparable to anything else.

Mickey had only seen eyes like that once before.

"Alright," Mickey sighed. "Fine. But, you tell nobody about this."

"Done." The man nodded, as the tattoo artist went back over.

"So," Mickey sat down kindly next to the girl, "What have you thought about getting?"

The girl kept quiet momentarily, before handing Mickey a little scrap of paper, a tiny design etched on it. A little key, shaped like…

Mickey's hand subconsciously reached into his pocket. Even after all these years, he'd never let his TARDIS key out of his sight.

Still, it was nothing more than coincidence, and Mickey nodded, getting the equipment ready.

"Now, hold still." Mickey advised. "It's going to hurt a little, but it won't kill you."

The girl nodded as her caretaker went to the other side, holding onto her hand.

It was a rather simplistic thing, to make a key out of the number, but Mickey was a true artisan at his craft, taking the simplistic design of the key he'd been shown, interpreting it to make it look three-dimensional, even adding a little bit of grey.

The girl remained silent throughout the whole process. Far too silent.

"Alright," Mickey said at last, removing the equipment, switching it off. "You're going to want to leave this on for about five hours," He instructed, gently bandaging the girl's wrist. "When that's done, keep it clean, and don't pick the scab. Don't use scented soap."

The girl nodded.

"Right, scoot." The man ordered, sitting down in the chair.

The girl tilted her head curiously.

"What?" The man asked. "You thought I was going to take you to get a tattoo, but I wasn't going to get one? Tattoos are cool." He reached into his pocket, passing Mickey the pattern he wanted. "Same area as hers, if you please."

Mickey's eyebrows knit together, as he caught sight of the circular pattern. Odd. Something about it seemed… familiar. Never mind that, the whole design looked like star charts of some kind.

Still, Mickey turned back on the equipment, and set to work.


"Baby." The girl huffed, as the man finally finished receiving his tattoo.

"It hurt!" The man defended, before turning to Mickey. "Thanks, again."

"You paid well, and I have a soft spot for kids." Mickey replied.

"Right, well…" The man stood awkwardly, before nodding. "Goodbye." The door clinked as he pushed it open, walking out.

Mickey watched, as they walked, turning a corner.

He frowned. That was a dead-end. Why would they-?

That train of thought was cut off, as Mickey heard the thud, and the scraping noise that only one craft in the universe could make.

Instantly dropping what he was doing, Mickey sprinted out, following the two's steps, before stopping.

The key in his pocket grew hot as the TARDIS dematerialized, wind blowing out from it, before the ship faded into nothing.

Mickey blankly reached into his pocket for his phone. "Martha?" He spoke, still staring at the spot. "You are not going to believe who I just ran into."


"So," The Doctor said, placing a little bit of a blue-colored lotion-like substance on El's tattoo. "Whaddya think?"

El looked down at it as the substance quickly faded, leaving nothing more than the image of the TARDIS key, perfectly visible, with no sort of scabbing or scarring. "Perfect."

"I'm glad you like it." The Doctor replied, applying some of the substance to his own. "Still not sure about mine…"

"Pretty." El complemented, looking at the intricate lines and circles on the Doctor's skin. She frowned, eyebrows furrowing. "What is it?"

"Well, it's your name." The Doctor answered, showing it off to her. "In Gallifreyan."

El tilted her head. "My name? Why my name?"

"Because, as your father, you are now officially the most important girl in my life." The Doctor chuckled. "Well, that, and if I got my own name tattooed, that would mean Mickey Smith was one of the few people in the universe to know it."

El looked at the Doctor, inquisitive. "…What is it? Your name?"

The Doctor glanced away. "…Maybe I'll tell you, one of these days. But right now, as far as you're concerned, it's either Doctor or dad."

El nodded, before pulling him into a hug. "Thanks."

The Doctor smiled. "Anything for my little girl."


"You gave her a tattoo?" Sarah Jane quietly demanded, looking on the verge of anger.

"No." The Doctor replied. "We covered up the one that was already there. Big difference."

"Don't you know how damaging that is?" Sarah Jane questioned. "She's going to be stuck with it for the rest of her life."

"Not unless she gets it removed." The Doctor responded.

"So, why didn't you get the first one removed?" Sarah Jane demanded.

"Sarah," The Doctor told her, "Think of it as a… metaphor. Destroying that tattoo outright is simply trying to make a bad thing go away. But, by making a new tattoo out of the old one, it's turning a bad thing into a good thing."

Sarah Jane raised an eyebrow. "Oddly philosophical of you."

The Doctor shrugged. "That… and it did give me a good chance to mess with the idiot. I mean Mickey."