WARNING:

LANGUAGE,MENTIONS OF SUICIDAL THOUGHTS

This is a heavy chapter, ya'll. Let me know what you think.

EDIT: This chapter has been up less than 12 hrs, and Ive already come back to edit it. I don't think Ill ever be happy with this one.

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Chapter Eighteen: Some Seen, Others Missed

~0~0~0~

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The warm lights flickered nonchalantly in time with the pulsating music, giving the room a cozy yet busy aura without completely dominating the atmosphere. We were at a classy sort of alien club, complete with humans and aliens meandering about in elegant, semi-formal dresses and sharp suits. I sat at a high topped table, happily sipping at my fruity drink, watching some kind of alien ribbon dance that was being performed by a blue woman with five arms. The Doctor, naturally, had wandered off. I glanced his way from time to time, checking up on him as he ambled around, talking to anyone who would tolerate his presence.

Warmth flooded my body as I watched him.

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~0~0~0~

"Sit down!" The Doctor ordered, pointing to the small wooden chair in the corner of the room.

I scowled at him moodily, crossing my arms across my chest and trying to ignore how soaked I was.

"I'm fine-"

"Sit!"

I grumbled and stomped over to slouch into the chair. For a royal castle, the place sorely lacked comforts. Or maybe that's a Fifth Century thing.

The Doctor matched my scowl and dug out a package of baby wipes from the depths of his coat pockets.

"You just carry those around with you?"

"Really? That's what you surprises you? Time traveling aliens dressed up as dragons and you're worried about the wipes?" The Time Lord huffed and pulled one out with a flourish, leaning in and trying to wipe some of the mud and smeared makeup from my face like an exasperated parent.

I snatched it away from him and began scrubbing at my own face. The Doctor heaved a long suffering sigh and began attacking my hair, coming his fingers through it roughly in an attempt to tug it into some kind of order.

"Quiddit!" I whined, squirming.

"You look like you've been dragged backwards through a bush."

"That's because I was!"

The Doctor plucked a tiny green burr from my red tangles and held it in front of my eyes. "Clearly."

"They don't care how I look!" I cried, trying to duck away from his hands.

"Yes they do. That's why they told me to get you cleaned up."

"Fine, I don't care."

"You will when they try to kick you out of court for lookin' like a wild thing."

"Well, it's their fault, anyway."

The Doctor scoffed. "I've had children that fussed less than this."

I pouted as the Doctor gave up on my hair and came back around to check on how I was doing on my face.

"I think you're makin' it worse." He winced and held his hand out for the wipes, which I relinquished with a scowl.

"It's fine," I whined, squirming as he scrubbed at my under eyes roughly.

"You look like a raccoon."

"That's not my fault!"

"Yes, it is. I told you not to wear makeup, 'cos we were gonna have to get wet at some point on this trip."

"Hey, I don't tell you what to do with your face, you don't tell me what to do with mine."

The Doctor sighed and tossed the soiled baby wipe away carelessly. "That'll have to do."

I bounded back up to my feet. "Do I pass?"

"No. Well, for a milkmaid, maybe. Someone that works with the livestock."

"Thanks."

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~0~0~0~

A soft pulse of concern flickered in my chest when I saw him leaning up against the bar, chatting with a hulking mass of feathers and teeth. Not that I thought he was any danger from the alien, as I knew the Doctor well enough to know that he could both handle himself and that he could read a situation well enough to know when he was aggravating someone. I frowned slightly, running my eyes along the Time Lord's face, noting how pale and strained he looked despite the smile he had plastered across his features.

A tall waitress with insect eyes refilled my drink. I thanked her distractedly and returned my attention to my friend.

My observation was not a new one, it was something I had noticed several weeks prior. By my estimates, I had been on the TARDIS approximately six months, though I honestly had no idea. After you've been in the Time Vortex for a while, you begin measuring time by trips and locations instead of days, weeks, and minutes. The change in mentality didn't cause me much bother; I had never been very good at keeping track of time, anyway.

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~0~0~0~

I slipped sideways with a frightened yelp, missing the sharpened blade by a hair's breadth. Thankfully, regular exercise, both in the Otherside and in the normal world, if you could call it that, had made me fast. The armored man, an important person's guard from whatever century this was- I wasn't even positive which country we were in - was bulky, so I could use my much smaller mass to my advantage.

I ducked around an impressive looking chair, so impressive that it was probably some kind of throne. The guard's blade slashed down, missing me and biting deep into the carefully polished wood. I danced away, using the few stolen seconds to locate the Doctor.

The Time Lord was faring better than me, but was too preoccupied to be any help. There had been two guards in the spacious stone room when we had broken in, one had gone for the Doctor - who, with centuries of experience in a vast variety of forms of combat - had snagged the human's blade, tore it from his grip, and promptly knocked the attacker out cold with the hilt. Frustratingly enough, it was up to me to keep the other one busy while the Doctor tried to diffuse what he referred to as a 'Temporal Hyperscope'- which was basically a kind of Time Travel Escape Pod. Long story short, the occupants were dead, the pod was set to self destruct- which made sense, I guess; you didn't want future technology falling in the hands of people from the past- but the important Lord guy of this region had found it in the middle of the forest and brought it back as a trophy. Now, in the middle of town, a lot of people would die.

"Are you done yet?" I called breathlessly, starting to tire.

"Nearly there," the Time Lord grunted. He cast the barest of glances at me before shouting, "Duck!"

I had been so caught up with what he was doing that I had nearly forgotten about my more immediate problem. The guard I had been avoiding swung the blade in a wide arc, aiming for my head. More out of instinct than anything, I slipped into the Otherside.

It was a fantastic trick. Useful for last-ditch escape routes, awkward to explain to people who believed it was witchcraft. The guard's sword sliced thin air, and I watched his Blank-form stumble to the ground in shock, gazing around the space where I had been with what I imagined to be awestruck expression.

I slipped around behind him and recrossed the dimensions. He was still kneeling on the floor, groping the air before him like he might be able to discover where I'd gone.

I tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me?"

The man whipped back around. All the blood drained from his face. Instantly, sword forgotten, he took off at a sprint, legs spurred faster by absolute terror.

When he was gone, the Doctor glanced back at me from where he was tangled in wires. "You couldn't have done that sooner?"

I shrugged.

~0~0~0~

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However long it was, I had come to know the Doctor fairly well, and most certainly in ways that even the biggest Whovians couldn't imagine. If I could find a way to contact them, the first thing I would inform them of would be that the Doctor does, in fact , wear clothes other than the stereotypical outfit. That's not to say that he doesn't wear his usual leather jacket and jumper a lot, because he does. But it wasn't uncommon for him to wander about the TARDIS, tinkering with this and that, in a t-shirt and sweatpants. I almost had a heart attack the first time I walked into the console room to see him in a bright yellow sweatshirt, looking very much like the bananas he loved so much.

And yeah, the banana thing is entirely true.

As it turns out, the reason he wears different combinations of the same outfit so often is because, beyond that one style, he has absolutely no idea how to dress. Is it acceptable to wear pajama pants and a plaid button up in public? Do humans in the Twenty first century normally wear chain mail and viking helmets? Who knows? Certainly not him. I had to stop him from wearing some ludicrous combination of clothes on more than one occasion, and if I tried to explain it to him, he would only get annoyed and confused.

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~0~0~0~

This part of the department store was dark, the only light filtered in from the warped glass of the shop windows. I moved carefully, picking my way around clothing displays, my boots scarcely making a sound on the laminate floors so as not to disturb any other people that might've had the same idea. The thought sent a shiver down my spine.

I jumped three feet in the air when my train of thought was interrupted by a loud clang followed by assorted clattering. I turned around to see the Doctor in the ruins of a clothing rack, frantically trying to disentangle himself from the hangers and undergarments that had fallen on his head.

I couldn't help but laugh when he got stuck on a large bra, it being caught in a hanger with the strap wrapped around his head.

He scowled a little and managed to extract himself from the offending object, only to blush when he realized what it was.

"Uhh…" followed by awkward eye contact with me.

I smirked. "Booby trap."

He rolled his eyes.

~0~0~0~

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I'd grown a lot in the last few months, I'm proud to say. While I could still be a bit slow when put on the spot, I discovered I could act pretty well on gut instinct. This had been useful in dealing with hostile aliens and the Chronomites. As long as I didn't have to verbally respond or think about what I was doing too much, I was fine. The Doctor occasionally commented that I overthink on social encounters, to which I retorted that that was his job.

Then I'd remember how many times the Doctor's people skills had landed us on death row or in some kind of prison, and realize that we both sucked.

Although I would sometimes find myself ducking behind the Doctor in intense or bewildering situations, I wasn't nearly as frightened as I used to be. Though I suppose having to confront weird alien monsters from the outside of the universe increases your fear threshold.

Most of the time I could trick the Chronomites through the rifts the way I had in China, other times I wasn't as lucky.

I tried not to think too hard about the moral implications of killing them.

Sometimes they would lunge for me instead of the bait. The tactic at that point was similar to the one a bullfighter might use. Jump out of the way at the last possible moment. And stab.

It was pretty effective.

I refuse to look up the frequency that matadors are gored.

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~0~0~0~

Most of the time, I was fast enough.

The Chronomites, as scary and quick as they were, I was faster. They were single minded and easy to trick back to the other side of reality.

Like I said, usually.

I winced as the Doctor ran the whirring green instrument up and down my arm, soldering and growing back my flesh as he went. Not because it hurt anymore, as the Doctor had already given me one hell of a painkiller. It was just really, REALLY unpleasant to look at.

Despite the Doctor's best efforts to stop the bleeding, crimson red still oozed from the deep gashes that ran vertically almost the entire length of my arm.

I hadn't been quick enough.

I had been lucky, really. It could have been so much worse. Instead of going for the bait, the monster had gone for me instead. The blow had been aimed for my chest. If I hadn't moved, it would've torn my heart out like my rib cage had been made of butter.

"You're getting careless," The Doctor broke the silence. I realized that was the first time he'd spoken since I'd stumbled back out of the Otherside, bleeding and going into shock.

No, I take that back. The first thing that came out of his mouth was my name, followed by this tiny little, barely whispered 'Oh, God'.

"Yeah, I guess."

The Doctor was angry, it was etched into every line on his face.

"You're gonna get yourself killed." A statement. A fact.

I shrugged, unsure of what else to say. "I mean- I'll try not to-"

A growl rumbled in the back of his throat. That's all he did for a solid five minutes. Fix my arm and growl. And yeah, Time Lords can growl. They sound like cats. At least this particular one did, and he did it quite a lot.

When he finally did speak again, it wasn't kindly. "You're not goin' back in there again."

I let out a startled laugh. "I HAVE to!"

"No. You're too clumsy. You humans are all thumbs and left feet. You're done."

I shook my head, getting angry as well. "That's not what you said when you BEGGED- no- ORDERED me to do it before, and we knew how dangerous it was then!"

A muscle twitched in the Doctor's jaw and he returned his attention to my arm, which was finally starting to mend.

I watched him for a few moments, my own anger fading. The look on his face when I'd come bursting back through to the regular dimension, bleeding and on the verge of losing consciousness, would forever be seared into my mind.

He had ran toward me before I could fall, scooping me up bridal style and taking off at a run. The trip passed in a haze, and the next thing I knew was the TARDIS medbay, where I was sitting upright, completely free of pain.

We hadn't been parked close, either. We'd walked a long way to get to the tear. He'd carried me several miles, just to make sure I didn't bleed out.

I reached out and cupped his face, brushing my thumb rhythmically along his cheek. He raised his eyes to meet mine. The normal ice blue of his eyes had transformed into soft baby blue. He was able to communicate a hundred lifetimes worth of emotion through that single look. Things I wasn't sure I was even capable of feeling.

I'm not sure how long we stayed like that.

"This is gonna happen again," he said eventually.

I nodded slowly, not having anything to say to ease his worry.

~0~0~0~

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The more time I spent with him, the less I saw him as an intimidating, god-tier, fictional character and the more I realized that he was just a person. Just a big, stupid, lovable, hulking, puppy dog of a person. Sure, he was even more brilliant than the tv show could ever portray, but it also left out an entire dimension of his personality, one that could only be seen in the down time that most tv shows leave out. He got frustrated and cranky. He was constantly forgetting things, so much that if I saw his sonic laying abandoned somewhere I would shove it in my pocket for when he came bustling through looking for it. Sometimes in the middle of the night I would be woken up by the Doctor barging into my room and flopping down on the bed to show me some neat new gadget that he'd just made and was oh, so excited about. Once he spent a solid week sprawled out, unmoving, in the kitchen floor, attempting to put together a million piece puzzle. He would occasionally come up and ask for a hug, but wouldn't say why. At least once a week he would jump out from behind a door or around a corner to scare the daylights out of me, and then usher me to an already made cup of coffee or tea. He was incredible. He was brilliant. He was lonely. He was sweet. He was sad. He was the best friend I'd ever had.

Despite all this, there was still so much I didn't know about him.

But, then again, how could you ever know everything about a creature that had lived for nearly a thousand years?

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~0~0~0~

When I woke up, I knew it was the middle of the night. Even in the TARDIS, which doesn't actually have a designated day or night, I could tell I hadn't been asleep nearly long enough for it to be considered time to wake up. The stars on my holographic ceiling still shone brightly, not yet competing with the artificial dawn.

One of my bedside lamps was on, the one that sat, often untouched, on the opposite side of the bed than the one I usually used.

The bed beside me was dipped down, telling me that I wasn't alone.

I knew who it was.

I rolled over anyway to face the Doctor. He was sitting on top of the blankets, leaning back against the headboard. He was still in his day clothes, though he had shed his jacket and boots. His toes wiggled in their maroon socks.

As odd as it might've once seemed to wake up with the Doctor in my bed, this wasn't the first time it had happened. In fact, it wasn't even entirely uncommon. More and more since my injury in the Otherside, I would wake to find the Doctor sitting chastely beside me, wide awake, guarding me from the night.

I never asked why. He would probably stop doing it if I did. I always supposed that it was because he was lonely, or had a bad dream, or just felt like I shouldn't be alone. Whatever the reason, I was starting to appreciate it.

The Doctor met my eyes. He always looked so much older like this. Maybe it was the shadows cast by my lamp, or the way the fake stars reflected in his eyes, but he always looked a thousand years older than he did in the day.

I would always have to remind myself that he really was that old.

The Doctor reached out and brushed a strand of hair that had escaped my pony tail away from my face, fingertips grazing my temple.

I instantly went back to sleep.

~0~0~0~

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The Doctor was very, very old. Sometimes you could see it, sometimes you'd swear he was a gigantic puppy in a Time Lord costume.

These days, it was usually the former.

The Doctor was struggling. The more time I spent around him the more obvious it was. The instability that I noticed during my first days with him was more prominent than ever. There were bad days. Days when I wouldn't see him at all, no matter how hard I searched for him in the TARDIS. Days when he would have horrible mood swings and go from giggling like a schoolgirl to surly and verbally aggressive. There were times when he would just stare, lost in his own mind.

I returned my worrying stare back to my friend. You wouldn't think it to look at him now, all casual lounging and smiles, but he was exhausted. I saw it every time he thought I wasn't looking. I only wished that I could be of more help. Sure, I tried to be as supportive as I could; to be forgiving every time he was more rude than necessary or had one of his funny mood swings; tried to cheer him up to the best of my ability.

But it wasn't enough.

Thankfully, I was both watching the Doctor and thinking about his funny behavior, because if I hadn't, I might've missed it.

A new alien, presumably male, human-ish except with an extra arm and no apparent mouth, was slinking up behind the Doctor. The Time Lord, who was still pretty engaged in the conversation with the feathery person, didn't notice the newcomer tip a small vial of yellow liquid into his drink.

It took me a moment to process what I saw, and another moment to decide whether or not I had actually seen it. And unfortunately, in those few measly seconds, the Doctor let out a bark of laughter at something the feather-creature had said, plucked up his half-forgotten beverage, and downed about half of it in one gulp.

I was frozen at my table in horror, unable to do much beyond let out a breathless gasp and watch as the Doctor frowned down into his glass, immediately noticing that something wasn't right with it. His eyes widened and he glanced around frantically until his eyes fell upon the mouthless alien.

I couldn't hear what the Doctor said from across the room, but I imagine it was angry and accusatory. I wasn't sure if the alien said anything in response, but the creature roughly grabbed the Time Lord's upper arm and pinned it to the table so their faces were only a few inches apart.

I was suddenly at my friend's side, having snapped out of my stupor and crossed the room without realizing it.

"Hey! Fuck off!" I snapped, trying to wedge myself between the pair to push the aggressor away. But my demand was nearly lost in the beat of the music and the conversations between people that either hadn't noticed the situation or didn't care.

I suddenly realized how stupid my aggression was, and just how much bigger this alien was than me. I barely came up to the Doctor's shoulder; the top of the Doctor's head only reached the alien's chin. The thing ducked its head down in my direction and snarled mouthlessly in my face, which was barely level to the creature's chest.

"Leave her out of this!" The Doctor demanded, his voice strong despite the pain on his face. "Buffy, back!"

I flinched behind the Doctor's broad shoulders, hardly daring to peer around him at the aggressor. The alien had a crushing grip on the Doctor's arm and I heard the air rush from the Time Lord's lungs as the creature squeezed.

I let out a squeak of protest. The Doctor's face had gone very pale and had taken on a green tinge.

"What've you done?" He protested, words beginning to slur together a bit.

The alien gave a rumbling, empty sound that sounded strangely like rocks tumbling around in a metal bucket. The Doctor had explained the fact that the TARDIS couldn't translate every language for me, as some languages were so different from mine that my brain literally couldn't make sense of it. Apparently this was such an occasion, and I'd never hated it more.

Fortunately, I guess, the Doctor could understand. He frowned, looking a bit shocked and, oddly, a little hurt.

"Fatal?" The Time Lord pressed, getting paler by the second.

God, no. Please, no, I mentally panicked as the creature garbled out another reply.

"But, why?"

For me, time was passing at the speed of molasses as I waited for the alien to gurgle it's response. Panic beat furiously in my chest like a caged bird, worsening exponentially as the Doctor looked more and more like he was going to be sick.

"Why not just kill me then?" Was the Doctor's quiet reply. The pain, guilt, and sadness in his eyes floored me. "You could've. Just been done with it."

The alien used its free hand to retrieve something from its coat pocket. Another vial. It was the same size and shape as the one he'd used to poison the Doctor; about the length of one of my fingers, bowed out at the bottom with a skinny neck and a small red stopper to keep the fluid from leaking out. Unlike the yellow one used before, it was Gatorade blue.

My hand twitched toward my knife, which was concealed within the small bag that I kept strapped to my leg, it's handle just beyond the mouth of the leather purse, perfect for a rapid draw.

The Doctor's beautiful blue eyes followed the vial as the creature set it carefully down on the wooden bar top, directly beside where the Doctor's arm was still pinned.

"Yeah," The Doctor admitted, his voice hardly a whisper, "I've thought about it."

Alarm bells were going off in my head. My hand slipped into my bag, my fingers wrapping around the leather handle as I weighed the possibilities of what the Doctor could be referring to.

I didn't like the way my mind filled in the blanks.

I flinched when the Doctor began to gag. I could feel his body, usually so sturdy beside mine, as it began to heave and shiver.

"Let me go," the Time Lord pleaded, tugging feebly against the alien's grip. "You got what you wanted. Please, just let go."

The alien growled again, gripping my friend even tighter.

I'd had enough. The gleaming silver blade, which I kept carefully sharpened, slashed out and across the creature's forearm, biting deep and trailing green blood in its wake.

The alien gave a shout, or maybe a squawk, of pain and instinctively released the Doctor's arm. The Time Lord recoiled, newly freed hand clamped over his mouth and the other over his gut as he stumbled away, almost doubled completely over.

More angry than scared, I snarled up into the alien's disgusting, mouthless face to give the Doctor a moment to escape. Every curse, swear, and insult I could think of came tumbling out of my mouth in a wrathful rush. I wasn't sure if the alien could understand me, but he seemed too startled to offer any response, as he just stood there clutching his bleeding arm and staring at me with bewildered yellow eyes. He almost looked upset.

I made a rude gesture with both of my hands before whirling around and taking off in the direction that the Doctor had left in. I paused halfway across the room, staring around frantically for any sign of the leather clad alien.

The waitress that had been serving me earlier pointed towards the back left corner of the room. I gave her a quick nod and sprinted off, ducking around and behind the laughing and chattering aliens as they sat transfixed by the beautiful ribbon dancer.

The bathroom signs were weird for this place, a creature with five legs or a creature with two, each indicating a different preference of restroom. Beyond those two, which each had a line consisting of equally bizarre aliens, was what I supposed was probably either a family restroom or a handicap one, because the sign was different. Besides that, what drew my attention to it was the fact that it was still swinging back and forth on its hinges, like it had just been flung open hurriedly and not been closed back. A woman with tentacles was squirming away from it in a huff, looking embarrassed.

I pushed past her with the barest glance, ignoring the curses that the TARDIS was choosing not to translate.

"Doctor?" I called out, pushing the heavy door open. "Are you in here?"

The Doctor's dark figure contrasted starkly against the sterile white of the bathroom tile. He was on his knees, heaving over the toilet. I winced at the sound of sick hitting the water and his accompanying quiet gasps and wet sobs as he emptied the contents of his stomach.

I made sure to close the door properly and locked it before going to hover over him, unsure of how to help. I settled on squatting behind him and resting a hand between his shivering shoulder blades, rubbing large, soothing circles around on his broad back.

The Doctor stayed there for a long time, still heaving long after there was anything left to puke up. I gingerly rubbed the back of his head with my palm before lowering it to massage the nape of his neck, feeling the muscles there spasm and twitch as his body continued trying to dry heave up the toxin, just to make certain that done of it was left in his now-empty stomach.

Finally, mercifully, it seemed to end. The Doctor sagged forward, resting his forearms on the toilet seat, resting for a moment with his head bowed.

I stood, feeling a little shaky myself. Spotting a disposable cup dispenser on the wall, I helped myself to one and filled it up with water from the sink.

The Doctor scarcely glanced up at me when I offered him the small paper cup. He took it with a trembling hand. While he swished and spit, I took the liberty of digging through my purse for a mint. I'd gotten some while at some kind of interstellar gas station a few weeks back. The Doctor had teased me for it, claiming that I was the most stereotypical tourist ever while getting hot dogs and popcorn for himself.

The Doctor grimaced down into the toilet bowl at the contents, of which I was trying to ignore the smell. He flushed the toilet decisively before slowly finding his way back to his feet.

The Time Lord stepped past me to get to the sink, where he spent a great deal of time splashing water into his face.

Since he no longer seemed to be in any immediate danger, I didn't press. I hopped up on to the grey marble counter beside the sink, sitting with my back to the mirror, the outside of my left thigh brushing against his hip.

The Doctor turned off the faucet and I offered him a mint, which he declined with a shake of his head. The Time Lord braced his hands on either side of the sink, staring at his reflection.

"Doc?" I said, shattering the silence that had settled between us. I winced and lowered my voice even further. "Are you okay now?"

"Yeah." He didn't give me so much as a glance.

"What the hell was all that?" I wanted to reach out and touch him, but something told me that it wouldn't be well received at that particular moment.

He didn't answer right away. I couldn't read his full expression, as the angle I was sitting at only left me privy to half of his face, and it seemed inappropriate to turn all the way around to look at him in the mirror. But what I could see was pained, like he was dreading the coming conversation.

"You know about the war," he said eventually, keeping his eyes on himself. "That show, or whatever, mentioned it."

"Yeah." I held my breath. We hadn't really talked about the Time War since our first encounter in the alley. It was too close, too fresh for him, and I had no desire to make whatever he had been going through any worse.

"You know what I did, then? On the last day. Why I'm the last."

My heart fluttered anxiously in my chest. God, I hated where this was going. I hated it so much.

"Yeah," I forced myself to say. If this was hard for me, it was a thousand times worse for him. I could at least do him the dignity of playing my part in the conversation. "I know."

The Doctor's eyes cut across to mine, piercing me with his icy blue stare. "And you're okay with that?"

The question took me by surprise. Okay with the destruction of an entire planet? Sure, I knew that he'd gone back to save it, but the Doctor, this Doctor, didn't. And I couldn't tell him, or at least I didn't think I could. There were rules about foreknowledge, but I wasn't one hundred percent sure what they were yet. What would happen if, by telling him, it caused it not to happen? I didn't know how or if it even could unravel events like that, but it was too important to risk it. I had to pretend that Gallifrey had burned, and the Doctor had been the cause. And he would have done it, wouldn't he? He was willing to, as hard as it was. And that was nearly as bad. Or was it?

A flicker of fear crossed the Doctor's eyes, making me realize he was awaiting judgement, and I was taking just a bit too long to answer.

"I- I don't know," I said honestly. The Doctor ducked his head again, glaring into the sink.

"You don't know," he snarked, though his bitterness wasn't directed at me. "You know I burned an entire planet. Billions of lives, gone in an instant, because of me. I'm a murderer." His voice was losing its bite, settling into deject resignation. "What isn't there to know?"

Sadness seeped through me. I reached out and gently lifted his chin, meeting his gaze more surely than I had before.

"Asking if I'm alright with it isn't the right question," I began, not sure where I was going with the statement. I only knew that I had to say something. "Because I'm not. It was a horrible, terrible thing. The whole war was." My other hand slipped up so I could rest them both on his shoulders. The Doctor let me pull him closer, only watching me nervously as I stroked the sides of his neck with my thumbs.

"But I think I know what it really is you want to ask," I continued, struggling to find the right words. "You want to know if I'm okay with you. Right?" He offered no response, so I pressed on. "I don't know much about the war, but I do know you, Doctor. And you are the most insane, wonderful, caring, person I have ever met." I swallowed. "You had a choice, and you made it. Now, I don't know if it was the best or the right choice, or whatever… or even if there was a choice. But I don't think it matters now."

I poked him the chest. "What matters now is that you're here. And you're my friend. So really, Doctor, what the hell did that alien do to you?"

The Doctor watched me for a second, blinking. There was moisture in his eyes, but I knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't let it fall.

"Alvioris," he said after a moment.

"Huh?"

"That's what his lot are called. They're a bit pretentious, mind you. Bookkeepers, mostly. They keep history."

"That guy didn't look like a librarian. He poisoned you."

The Doctor nodded grimly. "They're a race with a strong sense of justice. If they come across someone that didn't pay for their crimes, they try to make it happen. Killers. Maniacs. The people they judge to need punishment."

"That's not up to them to decide," I protested, disgust bubbling in my stomach.

"It was genocide, Buffy," the Doctor said gruffly. "I-"

"You did it because you thought it was for the best! The Daleks-"

"It doesn't matter, Buff," the Doctor interrupted, voice rising. "Ask Hitler or any of the other people that start genocide! They'll all say it was for the best, too."

"You're not freaking Hitler!" I cried, appalled.

"You're not a Dalek… or a Time Lord." The Doctor snarled. "It's not up to you to decide! When I'm a monster to your people, then… then you can decide!"

The statement hung in the air like stale perfume. Silence fell over us. The Doctor paced a few steps away and scrubbed at his face with his hands. His anger resonated in me. His guilt.

"You're not a monster, Doctor," I said quietly. What the Doctor said had my mind spinning, but I would fight tooth and nail over this. "You really, really aren't. I'm not sure you ever could be."

The Doctor didn't answer, just rubbed his eyes and paced back to where I still sat on the counter with his hands shoved in his coat pockets. "The Alvioris came to me because of what I did. They encourage the death of people to bring justice."

Sadness sliced my heart like a knife. I couldn't stand talking- or even hearing- about the Doctor like this. On the show, monsters and villains would call the Doctor all sorts of things. But those were the bad guys.

This was coming from the Doctor.

My throat was so tight that I couldn't swallow. I worked my jaw for a second before I could speak. I forced my way past any more moral protests and focused on facts.

"But he didn't kill you," I struggled to say. "He made you sick."

The Doctor nodded. "They're a peaceful race, in all. They threaten 'n scare. But they won't kill anyone outright. Just make it easier for them to… to..."

"To what?"

"Do it for themselves."

"The blue vial." Bile rose in my throat and tears were welling in my eyes. I forced both back.

"The blue vial," the Doctor confirmed, face blank. "The yellow was just to get my attention. The blue would kill me. No regeneration. They take species into account."

"So when you… when you said… you thought… thought about it." I couldn't make myself say the rest. Couldn't bear to think about it.

The Doctor glanced away quickly, staring determinedly at a scuff mark on the pristine white tile.

"Oh, Doctor." I leapt off the counter to throw my arms around his neck. I placed a quick kiss between his eyebrows, two on each cheek, and three across his wrinkled forehead before burrowing my face into his neck, holding onto him with all my strength.

"Don't you dare," I growled softly. "Don't you ever dare. I won't let you. And if I ever see that Alvio-whatever again, I'll cut its fucking head off."

The Doctor wrapped his arms around my back as he returned the embrace, a perplexed and slightly wet chuckle finding its way out, surprising us both. "He could've crushed you with one 'and. It was like watching a chihuahua yappin' at a rottweiler."

I knew he was trying to use humor to brush off the whole warped situation. I didn't want to drop it, but I also didn't know how to safely proceed without making him more upset, and maybe making everything worse. So I let him diffuse and divert, for better or worse.

"I would've got a few hits in. Chihuahuas scare me a lot more than big dogs."

"Me too."

The Doctor's arms tightened until the hug was almost painful. I felt a kiss placed against the side of my head as he rubbed my back.

"I'm okay, Buff. I really am," he murmured into my hair. "Promise. I'm alright now."

"Would you tell me if you weren't?"

I'm not sure how long we stayed like that, curled into each other's warmth, but it was long enough for someone to get impatient enough to start hammering on the door, demanding that we hurry up.

The Doctor snorted and released me ruefully, his small smile almost reaching his eyes as he pulled away, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

I kept my hands on his neck for a moment longer, taking a second to study his bloodshot, but still gorgeous eyes. He was so tired. His face was pale from being so violently ill and his shoulders were slumped.

"Want to go home?" I asked, ignoring another impatient flurry of knocks from whoever was still waiting outside.

He nodded. "Yeah."

"We could watch a movie." He needed sleep, but I wasn't about to let him be on his own, not after everything. From now on he'd probably be hard-pressed to ever be in a room without me. The movie room was cozy and had a giant, comfy couch we could curl up together on and lots of squishy blankets. "I'll let you pick."

"Sounds good to me," he agreed quietly, some of the tension in his shoulders melting away.

"And if you happen to fall asleep," I vowed, " I promise not to draw inappropriate things on your face."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

"It was one time. You really need to let that go."

We left the bathroom hand in hand. We had to go past the bar again to get back to the TARDIS, but the alien from before was nowhere to be seen.

There was something else I didn't see, but would later wish that I had.

The blue vial was still on the bar, right where the alien had left it.

Carefully, so I didn't notice, the Doctor snatched it up and pocketed it in one swift motion. He gave my hand a squeeze and I squeezed back, none the wiser.

Later we would be curled up together, watching a kids movie from a few hundred years in the future. The Doctor would be asleep, his arms wrapped around my legs and head pressed into my stomach, a position he subconsciously rooted into after dozing off sitting up.

I would still be sitting, playing with his hair while I dazedly stared at the movie I had already forgotten the plot of, blissfully unaware that the damned vial was still in his jacket.

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~0~0~0~

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Let me know how this chapter sits, cause I'm not really sure how I feel about it. I know it's heavy and a lot is going on. So don't be afraid to tell me if something seems off or weird or whatever.

~M