Hey, so. Uh. Long time again. I finished this so, well. I hope you like it!
The sky seems endlessly blue, the faintest wisps of cloud barely grazing behind the leaves of the trees before coasting on to the distant right and disappearing. The air is comfortably dry, a kind contrast to the deluge of rain the last week had presented them with which had left the two foot tall grass nearly flattened and the small pond constantly rippling.
With the sunlight streaming over the garden and its menagerie of guests this memory of rain is almost forgotten.
It is the first sunny day of the school holidays.
Florence had known it would be, courtesy of the Mistress and the Doctor's advice on when it would be best to get everyone together, which had had her very excited daughters making sandwiches in the morning and cakes the night before.
She had watched them fondly, tilting her head just so as she supervised so that she could see them both with the vision remaining in her left eye. A quiet feeling of pre-wistful sadness had seeped into her chest, a certainty that over the next year her eldest would start that well-trodden passage into teenage awkwardness which would have her grow more distant and bring about the end of events like those.
The cakes and sandwiches now sat on baking trays, the largest they could find in the house, on the old picnic table, now bookended by two newer iterations of table and bench whose edges are not worn and whose surfaces are not mottled by the weather yet.
Her grandparents are sitting near the right end of the sets of benches and tables, cups of tea between them and the latest Doctor, very blond, very excited and very curious, who sits opposite them.
Sit, perhaps not being the most appropriate verb to go with how she is interacting with the chair.
She can tell by the expressions on their faces that Ian and Barbara are deeply confused by the young woman who the Doctor has become but can read from their minds and the occasional warm laughter from the pair the affection that still exists for this new incarnation.
Bill is sitting at the other end, straddled over the bench as she tells Anna and Chelsea thinly veiled accounts of her time with the Doctor, told as story. She knows her children hear the truth in the woman's mind but Florence appreciates the thought.
Through her replacement eye she can see her youngest sway a little, unable to keep still as always, while her eldest swings her legs from the low hanging branch of an oak tree.
Within the next three years her feet will meet the floor too soundly for her to continue the little gesture.
On the swinging bench that she'd installed a few years ago, a little further away from everything else to catch the light and sunset best, sit Aaron and the Mistress. There is a delicacy to how they are sitting, the Mistress' back straight, cane lying across her lap, hands folded over the top, body turned in just slightly to face her husband, and Aaron's reciprocation of that, turned similarly towards her, right leg crossing his left knee at the ankle, left leg moving the swing softly, a forgotten motion.
Their expressions are both easy, gentle, but careful.
The Mistress says something and Aaron looks over the rest of the group, hands reaching up behind his head as he mulls over an answer. He leans back on them and Florence, if she wanted, could pluck the thoughts from his mind.
She leaves them be and he speaks them to Missy who smiles in that small way that Florence is sure that only she notices.
The warm air drifts as hazily through the window as it does outside, carrying the muted conversations to her as background noise to the reality of the darker, cooler interior.
Ostensibly this is to celebrate Florence's newest released book.
Nardole mentions it as he brings her attention back to the present and Florence thanks him for the congratulations.
"Although I do think having knowledge of future scientific discoveries should be called cheating." He warns, as if he, with his chequered past, would be able to report you to any of the assorted time police without being arrested at least five times himself.
Florence plucks another stem of clover short so that only the puff-ball of flowers is obvious on first glance and puts it in the bowl of similarly prepared flowers that Anna and Chelsea have been picking to put in the lemonade.
"Bootstrap paradox, Nardole." She reminds him again, assessing the amount of flowers compared to the jug with her mechanical eye and deeming it sufficient.
"Very convenient for you." The man responds dryly, catching her wrist not unkindly as she almost tips the flowers onto the counter as opposed to the empty jug and adjusts for it.
"Yes. It has been." Florence admits, allowing him to take over, pouring in the lemonade she'd made earlier and adding the ice.
She collects ten glasses, looking to their right to compensate a little and squinting to make sure she's grabbing the ones with the smooth rounded sides and not the etched ones.
It's strange, after so much experience with bodily failure and renewal, for her to think that this can't be fixed. That after so many years something is finally going to stick to her and that that thing isn't some kind of bullet or laser or extremely fortunately placed piece of shrapnel.
It doesn't bother her as such, that her vision is projected to simply slide away from her, little by little, year on year adding up, eventually, to nothing. She supposes she is lucky really, to have lived the lives she has, to have the replacement vision waiting for her, as much as it is nothing like the real thing.
She didn't think that she was invulnerable.
Florence lifts the jug onto the tray, paying attention to balance it carefully, aware that she can't just watch for overspill anymore.
Nardole takes her arm and guides her around the kitchen counter and out again, into the kind summer warmth.
She feels the golden light on her and remembers ten thousand- one million- different warmths, both pleasant and unpleasant. For a moment she lets herself live them.
Then she turns, watches that same light settle in the hair of her girls, reflect off of the polished head of the Mistress' cane, shine in the Doctor's eyes.
She hopes that she can see them all like this so many more times, next month, next week, next year, a decade from now.
But for now it is this summer.
The children are going to be off school for a long while and it will be exhausting. This is the first sunny day and she is making the most of it.
The ground beneath her feet isn't flat but she is used to compensating for that by now and they manage to meet the middle bench with nothing spilled.
She sets the tray down and people start to migrate over.
Nardole pours drinks, chatting away again.
Florence stands back, watching for another long moment. Aaron helps the Mistress up, something ancient in her palms as she places them in his. She brushes him away as soon as she's on her feet, cane steady among the grass and he comes up to Florence, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her softly before unwinding to involve himself in Bill's discussion with their children. She lets him go easily, smiling at the lingering warmth.
The Mistress is quick to step forwards, linking the arm not taken by using her cane with Florence's.
"What were you talking about?" Florence asks her, curious, as they start the walk back to the kitchen, to the fruit salad waiting in the fridge and a very nice bottle of red wine.
"Nothing much," Missy tells her, "mostly you." She admits.
"You'll have to get a new topic of conversation one day." The companion tells her, "I'm sure I'm not interesting enough to keep you both going until the end of the world." She feels the humour reflect in her eyes as she smiles at her Mistress and sees her red lips quirk in amusement.
"Well she talks about you enough to me that I'm sure she could go on to the end of time even." The Doctor quips, linking her arm with Florence's unoccupied one, and then, "I thought I'd give Ian and Barbara a break. Things sure are different now." She says, breezily, the nervousness easily audible in her words.
"It happens." Florence tells her.
In return she is subject to one of the Doctor's unconvinced smiles as they step down onto the paving stones around the back of the house.
Florence is released so that Missy can grab the other Time Lady's arm, pull her closer and kiss her chastely but forcefully. The Doctor, instinctively grasping at the Mistress' arm lets go of her too.
"You're fine." She says as she pulls away and the Doctor blushes furiously.
"Ah-" Is the woman's rather unintelligent and flustered reply.
"You're fine." Florence teasingly echoes, placing both hands on the Time Lady's cheeks and kissing her nose, smiling for a moment into the dazed face in front of her before she pulls away.
The Mistress laughs as Florence steps backwards through the doorway into her kitchen, laughing too. Her back brushing the handle of the door is enough warning for her to avoid slamming into the wall. The Doctor lets out a strangled sound and what sounds like a complaining 'you can't do that!'
"Do what?" The other Time Lady asks dryly, amusement playing in her eyes as she too steps into the kitchen.
The Doctor follows, struggling for words, and gestures between the two of them.
"Bully me!" Is her chosen response, face still red.
"Into realising people don't hate you for changing?" Asks Florence.
The Doctor only blushes further, crossing her arms.
"Exactly." She mumbles in complaint as the human among them opens the fridge to a hum and waft of cool air.
The Mistress raises an eyebrow as she grabs down the intended bottle of wine and a handful of glasses.
"And you aren't thinking about us kissing you again?" She asks her best friend.
"Shut up." Is the terse and extremely embarrassed reply.
Florence laughs.
"Well Rome wasn't built in a day- I'm sure you'll get it sometime." Graham tries to tell his grandson.
Grace squeezes his arm in acknowledgement of the fact he really is trying as Ryan scowls, looking away.
"Yeah but Rome didn't have people like me building it, did it?" He retorts, crossing his arms as if it'll stop any further futile attempts to connect.
After a second Graham sighs and tries again, a well known pattern.
"Maybe not but it's not the end of the world and you are-" He moves towards encouragement, shoulders pulled up in anticipation of the next dismissal.
"It doesn't even matter-" Ryan starts, only to be broken off by someone else.
"Ryan Sinclair?" Asks a voice from behind them.
The three turn and Grace smiles. Graham takes this as his lead and relaxes, privately glad that the girl standing in front of them now, hand reaching out towards Ryan a little, has put a stop to their failed conversation.
"Uh?" Ryan says, face blank and searching.
The girl clearly sees this and gently knocks his arm.
"Yasmin Khan. Yaz. We went to Redlands together." She supplies, smiling, "Strange seeing you here- how are you doing? What are you in Devon for?" She asks.
The words jog something in Ryan's memory and he doesn't relax but does ease up slightly.
"Ah, yeah, sorry. Been a long time. Doing alright, yeah, not bad." He says and then tilts his head towards Grace, "Nan wanted to see the Agatha Christie museum so we thought we'd make a holiday of it. Just got let off at Sportstack so, yeah, seemed as good a plan as any." The young man shrugs awkwardly, hands in his pockets.
"What about you? Ever get to, you know?" He asks her, wrinkling his nose a little despite his attempts to avoid it.
Yasmin's nose also wrinkles. She interlocks her fingers in front of her, looking down between them.
"Ah, yeah. Police officer. Yeah." She nods.
She breathes out.
"Yeah, for a little while." The woman admits, still not looking at them, "Didn't quite work out. Turns out they'll find some kind of way to fire you for whistle-blowing." She shrugs, face carefully uncaring as she looks back up at them, glassy-eyed.
Grace snorts, smiling with half of her lips.
"I reckon you're better off without them." She tells the girl.
"Yeah, maybe." Yasmin says, noncommittally, attempting a smile all the same.
"But yeah, figured that I needed to find myself a bit. That's why I'm down here anyway. Far enough away from everything else I don't have to think about it, you know?" She admits.
"I know the feeling." Ryan says after a moment.
There's silence and Graham sees an opportunity and dives for it.
"Well, Yasmin, we're just taking a bit of a walk but you're welcome to come with us if you want. Don't have to talk or anything but sometimes new company is good when you've had such a big change." The offer feels out of place but he hopes that it can ease things with his grandson or at least keep them all away from more sore topics.
The girl thinks for a moment and then shrugs, smiling a little more earnestly.
"Yeah, sure. Why not?" She asks herself aloud.
Grace squeezes Graham's arm through the jacket again and smiles at him, pulling him a little closer as she lets Ryan and Yaz take the lead, chatting their way around various things.
"He'll warm up eventually." She assures him softly.
"I hope so. I'm really trying, Grace." He whispers back to her, squeezing the hand settled on his arm.
"I know." She tells him.
The second interruption to their walk also comes from Yasmin as they are passing a rather unkempt but pretty garden behind an iron fence.
"Wait." She says, stopping abruptly, reaching for her phone and stepping back a little to look over the fence. Her fingers find the way to the desired app easily and she pulls up the profile of a girl she's been talking to quickly, almost ducking down below the level of the grass.
"Ryan, please tell me that's not the same girl sitting on the bench there." She hisses, blushing, as she shoves the phone into his hands and clearly fighting the urge to look again.
"What's all this?" Graham asks, only to be ignored by both young adults. Grace laughs a little as Ryan inspects the images he's been given for what feels like a long time and then looks straight at the girl in the garden, talking to a very enthusiastic older blonde woman, and then back at Yaz's phone. He grins, ear to ear, squatting down next to her.
"Yaz, she's going to think you're stalking her." He informs her, delightedly.
"No- I don't- we haven't even seen each other in person- I thought she lived in Wales!" The woman hisses back at him furiously, gesturing for her phone back.
Meanwhile Grace and Graham look between the two on the floor and the people in the garden.
Graham raises an eyebrow daringly and Grace shakes her head, smiling.
"Not today." She tells him.
"Give that back!" Yaz hisses as Ryan begins typing something on the girl's phone, scrabbling for the device.
"No- you have to talk to her!" He laughs, stopping abruptly as a shadow passes over them and looking up.
The blonde woman looks down at the four of them, blinking in confusion.
"Are you lot alright?" She asks.
Ryan's finger slips onto the send button.
Graham and Grace quickly smooth over the situation, apologising for the disturbance to what must be a family gathering but the woman is warm enough, more concerned for how they're doing.
In the relative quiet surrounding them the ping of a notification is quite loud.
Yaz goes white, finally swiping her phone back from Ryan.
"God, what did you send?" She asks, frantically reading the message.
'Hey- are you in Devon by any chance?'
The three jumping dots beneath it turn into the reply of 'yeah. why?'.
The girl on the bench puts her phone down, looks up from typing and looks straight at the Doctor, then at Graham, at Grace, at Ryan and finally, finally, at Yaz.
There is a moment of quiet and then the shock of recognition passes over her face. She tries to act casual as she walks over to lean on the fence. Yasmin is the only one who falls for it.
"Oh shit! You! Uh- I've been talking to you for months! I thought you lived in Sheffield?" Bill says extremely awkwardly.
"Uh. Yeah- you know, I was saying about getting fired and all that and I thought I should visit somewhere else, you know? How about you? I didn't think you lived here either?" Yasmin asks woodenly, equally as red-faced as Bill is.
Bill looks around, as if she's forgotten where she is and then scratches at the back of her neck, laughing.
"Ah, yeah. Family friends." She says.
There's awkward silence as another woman approaches and the blonde backs away to explain the situation.
"Do you want to, uh? Come in?" Bill asks, sounding uncertain as she says it. She looks back at the dark haired woman who smiles easily, meeting her gaze and nodding.
"I uh- I guess? Yeah." Yasmin says, taking the lead.
"The door's just along the front- your left. I'll be out in a second." Florence tells them, gesturing in the right direction.
"Thanks." Grace tells her for the rest of them.
"It's no problem- the girls made too much food anyway and there's plenty of space." She says, voice as warm as the summer breeze.
"Well if there are sandwiches I'm in!" Graham declares.
Florence laughs.