He remembers the little things first, noises and faces, smells and sounds. Nothing makes sense out of context but it's subtle enough to be bearable.

And then the headaches start. Those are tolerable too, until they turn into migraines, and those get him sent home from work for three days straight. He lies about them, sometimes, because working is the only thing that saves him from the images, sounds, memories that come with the pain.

He's not sure what drives him to open the watch. Weeks after, he's still not sure. It calls to him. Not in words, exactly, it just...resonates with him, buzzes softly when he holds it, whispers things when he brings it close.

He opens it one day when he's in the midst of a migraine that's so bad he can barely see straight. Everything changes after that. Everything.

"London," Ember hums as she bustles around the console, pushing and pulling at the buttons and levers splayed across the dash. "London, London, London."

Ciara stares at her.

Ember is...complicated, she's gathered that pretty quickly, but something's off about her now, has been since she woke up from her nap and came backinto the main room. In anyone else she'd say it was anxiety, but Ember doesn't seem like the type to worry about just anything.

Then again, nothing about Ember makes sense. Absolutely nothing. So she could be wrong.

Ember trips as she makes yet another round. Ciara looks down and realizes the girl's shoe is untied. Both shoes.

"Uh, Ember-"

"Busy!" Comes the shrill response. "Landing a TARDIS isn't exactly easy, you know. Well. Guess you wouldn't-"

Ciara snorts. "Yeah, but-"

"Busy!"

"Clumsy!" Ciara shoots back, rocketing up from her chair to grab at both of Ember's elbows, stopping her instantly. "You're going to faceplant if you don't fix your shoes."

"But-"

"I'm sure the TARDIS is more than capable of making sure we don't die," Ciara says, glancing pointedly down at the console. She grimaces. "I dunno how you manage to fly this thing at all-it's all just...buttons and levers to me."

"You didn't understand it when we learned it either."

Excuse me? "I know how to fly a TARDIS?"

"No, you don't. That's the whole freakin' point, Ciara."

"Of what?" Does Ember even care about making sense?

"Don't worry, you'll get it later."

Ciara sighs, drops her hands as Ember bends down and nimbly ties her shoes-beaten, rubber-toed sneakers, worn and ragged at the edges, the laces stained brown in places, snarled and fuzzy in others. "If you're one of these 'Time Lord' people, can't you afford to get better shoes?"

Ember stands back up, her lips twisting into an irritated pout. "I like my shoes!"

"They look like they've been through a war!"

"Maybe they have!" Dark eyes blazed. "I can dress however you want-"

"Whatever."

"Say sorry!"

"For what?"

Ember's arms are crossed now, and she looks exactly like an enraged puppy-adorable, but not at all intimidating-ready to bite and snarl in any attempt to look scarier than she is.

Ciara grins at her, and Ember turns away with a huff.

They sit in silence for a second. The exchange feels...familiar, somehow. Like they've done it before. Like they've done it lots of times.

The TARDIS hums. In Ciara's head it's a wordless sound, almost toneless but not quite-she gets the hint of a feeling more than anything-but Ember nods, stops tearing at the console, going still for the first time in several moments.

Well, however still she can be-Ember's always moving, always fixing something, adjusting her jacket, picking at her fingernails. She's impatient, antsy. Ciara's learned that quickly too.

"Where are we going again?" Ciara asks when the silence lapses for several minutes.

Ember hums, her expression distant as she turns toward the door of the TARDIS. "London. It's where the Scythe is."

"The...Scythe?" Ciara blinks. "That's not a name."

"It's his name," Ember says, "he picked it. Never explained why. Never asked, actually."

"Why not?"

She smirks. "You'll see, when we meet him. He's not the type to tolerate unimportant questions."

Oh. Ciara's stomach flips. "He sounds fun."

"The best kind."

Silence again. Ciara frowns. She's only known Ember for a few hours-hours? Minutes? Does time even work on the TARDIS?-but she hasn't been this quiet the entire time.

And Ember's still mumbling to herself-something about a coat, and boots with no ties-as she finishes with the blinking lights on the console. The whole ship goes still, quiet, like it's waiting. "You ever been to London?"

Ciara blinks. "I-I don't think so?"

"Cloudy memories?"

Ciara winces, then nods.

"Another symptom of the truth," Ember says, and Ciara's scowl deepens. "Nevermind that-I've been to London once or twice. We should be fine."

"Don't we need, like, a map or something?"

"I said we should be fine." Ember shoots Ciara a look that very clearly means something along the lines of "I don't do maps."

Ciara rolls her eyes.

"Coat," Ember mumbles, disappearing into the shadows. "Here!"

A lump of gray flies through the air toward Ciara. She barely manages to catch it, unfolds it clumsily until it flops into its natural form-a pale gray...thing that reaches down to her ankles, big, deep pockets, and black stitching. Nothing fancy. It fits her, though. Fits her perfectly.

Something tickles at the back of her mind. Familiarity. Deja vu. A wrongness-she doesn't like it, but she knows for a fact that this jacket, this rumpled, wrinkled thing in her hands… is hers.

And well, that changes things.

She's starting to believe that Ember might be right about all this. About everything.

"Are you going to keep staring at it, Ciara? Or can we go?" Ember snaps at her.

Ciara puts the coat on, snorts. It really does fit her well. It's not too short anywhere, and it's not too long. It's not quite her style, but it'll do. Better than potentially freezing, at least, and it's not so thick that it'll be absolutely smothering if it is hot.

"Sorry," she says finally, because Ember's still staring at her, growing ever angrier. "Just thinking."

"About?"

"Didn't you say we had somewhere we needed to be?"

Ember's eyes narrow.

"What?"

"Well…" Ember winces, walks toward the door then stops. "Finding you was sort of an accident," she says, "I'd just landed in DC, saw the cafe and thought 'hey, coffee sounds nice' when I walked in and saw you. Things spiraled from there."

That...doesn't make any sense. "How'd you know it was me?"

"I just did," says Ember, something unreadable flashing through her eyes. No, not unreadable, exactly, just...pained. The kind Ciara can see but not understand. The kind that makes her older than she looks.

"We can go now," Ciara says, softly, and Ember nods, heads out the door.

She casts one last glance at the TARDIS after they leave, shakes her head as they walk down the block.

...her life's bizarre now, beyond bizarre.

Strangely, she doesn't care.

There's a Time Lord approaching.

It's been far, far too long since he's sensed this sort of energy-the golden kind, bright and frenzied, capable of being anything and anyone. Changeable. Giddy. Excited.

The Ember, then.

Scythe smiles. She's awake too, then-it's about time.

Then again, she always was the most impatient of them-of course she'd be the first to wake up. Rare were the moments when she wasn't winning something.

He stands up, slides his mug across his desk, and pushes his chair forward. He gives the window a sideways glance; it's gray and drizzly outside, but it's not raining yet, so it's probably safe to pop outside and wait for Ember to arrive.

Except that-

-he opens up his mind again and the presence is closer than before.

Someone knocks at his door.

"Come in," Scythe says, resting both hands against the top of his chair. "Ah, Ada," he says, offering the fair-haired secretary a smile as she enters. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine!" Ada steps sideways, revealing the ginger-haired girl standing beside him and-ah! There's Ember-the dark-haired girl just a step behind. "These two say they're former students of yours, is that true?"

"Yes, yes it is." Scythe keeps away the smirk that tugs at his lips. The very idea of Ember being a student of his… "Ada, if you wouldn't mind shutting the door again?"

Ember and her friend-still human, Scythe notes, a bit confused-walk into the room. Ada shuts the door, offering the red-head a pensive smile as she walks down the hall.

As soon as the door is closed, Ember locks eyes with him and whistles. "That secretary doesn't like you much," she says with a grin.

Scythe clears his throat. "She-"

"What did you do?" Ember asks.

"If we could just-"

"Sorry, wait." The redhead interrupts, one eyebrow quirking upward. "You just told me you didn't know where to find him, and then we walked out of the TARDIS and here we are? And he knows you?"

"Right, sorry-Time Lords, we can sort of...sense each other-"

"'Sort of?" The look of pure confusion on the red-headed Time Lord's face is amusing.

"It's a lot to explain, Ciara." Ember says, sighing.

"Ciara?" Scythe questions.

"Jade," Ember answers, shrugging in a silent apology. "Still human."

"You've regenerated since the last time I saw you," Scythe says. He instantly regrets it-Ember's eyes widen in warning, and Jade's eyes go hazy, distant, pained for a second before narrowing into the blazing slits Scythe knows to be Jade's. And yet.

"Ciara hasn't regained her memories," Ember says pointedly, the emphasis-and warning-clear. Then she looks at Jade. "If you start to get a headache-"

"I'm fine," Jade says quickly, though she doesn't look it. "Really, Ember, I'm okay."

Scythe stares at them both for a second, unsure of how to continue.

"Ten years went quick," Ember murmurs, leaning against the door. "Are you-will everything be okay here without you?"

Jade-no, he thinks, amused, Ciara. Jade always was stubborn-looks at Ember, puzzled. "What are you-"

"Lots of students? Friends?"

Scythe shrugs, gestures to the mostly empty office, uncluttered desk. "Once I started remembering, I mostly pushed away my responsibilities. I kept teaching." He looks at her, lip twitching. "Had to do something while I was waiting for you."

"Keep talking, old man."

"Forget how to fly your TARDIS again?"

Ember huffs. "Can we go?"

"Go?" Ciara questions, blinking. "You're just...going to drop everything and leave?"

"It's not as if I haven't been expecting this," Scythe says. "We planned it all, before. Has Ember told you nothing?"

"I have," Ember begins, but Ciara shakes her head. The look Ember gives her is absolutely withering.

But Ciara ignores it, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she says, "Nope, not a thing."

"Rude," Ember mumbles, chastised.

"Annoying," Ciara shoots back with a grin.

He'd take notes, if he had a pen. Their banter is amusing, but it's deeper than that, identical to the way they used to be before everything, before the war debacle, before a lot of things. And Ciara's human, her memories suppressed, her personality suppressed, seemingly. So the fact that she's so quickly lapsed into her old routine with Ember… hm.

"Doesn't seem like he's got much going on here," Ember says, ignoringCiara as she glances out into the hall. "Slow place."

"Classes let out hours ago." Scythe says. "Yes-let's be going. The sooner the better." He nearly chokes on the last word. A bird flies out of the corner of his peripheral, its black wings a shadow over the glass. It's just a bird, but he thought...it looked like-

He forces himself to remain calm, but when he looks back at Ciara, she's staring at him, obviously concerned-confused. Good-she's still as perceptive as ever. However long it takes her to open that locket of hers, at least he can trust that she's still got good senses.

Won't be long now.

The second the Scythe joins their group, Ciara becomes the third wheel.

She walks behind Ember and Scythe as they walk down the hall, stands behind them on the elevator down, and as soon as they're back on the street, she has to fight through the people passing by

She nearly loses sight of them twice and only manages to find them again because Scythe towers above everyone else. Good for him.

She's bitter about it the whole way back, but really, she should have expected this. After all,she's the only human out of the three of them, now, and she's practically disappointing them by refusing to open her locket. Why should they try to include her? Why should theybother to explain anything to her at all?

She slips past Ember and Scythe after they get back to the TARDIS. They don't even notice her. Well, Ember might-she sort of feels the Time Lord's gaze on her as she walks past, but Scythe doesn't bother with a glance. They're too busy talking.

Time Lords. Are the rest of Ember's friends going to be like this? Is she like this? Her real self, with her real memories?

Mid-step, she stops.

When did she start thinking that way?

She's...she's still herself, right? She's not faking. She's not doing anything wrong-she's just living, breathing, and she's still human but that wasn't a crime before meeting Ember and Scythe and she refuses to believe it's wrong now.

This is the problem with it all, she knows. Everything that's going on around her is proof that what Ember has said, has explained, is real. She's not human-she's only been playing the part of one, voluntarily. For...some reason.

Why is she still here?

"Your poor TARDIS is in terrible shape," Scythe rumbles from the console room.

Ember's retort is high-pitched, but incomprehensible. The ship shudders. Ciara gets the barest sense of a conversation going on between the two Time Lords, but she still can't hear anything. Scythe can, though, probably. Because of course he can.

Ciara curses.

The locket's still in her pocket.

It's broken now, but it still burns in her hand as she takes it out, feels almost...heavy-or maybe she's just imagining it.

She holds it in both hands, inserts her nail into the tiny gap between the two halves. Stands in the hall, frozen, her heart hammering in her chest.

She can't do it. Something's still holding her back.

Not yet, something inside her whispers, not time.

She bites her lip, lets out a soft, hissing sigh. When she shuts her bedroom door, she can't hear Ember and Scythe anymore, and the ache in her head finally starts to go away.

She tosses the locket onto the floor.

Soon, she thinks in its direction, rolling over to face the wall. But not yet. Not yet.

The TARDIS settles down and Yaz watches the Doctor blink back to reality, her gaze having wandered during their flight.

She's nervous, now. She hadn't thought this far, before. The idea that the Doctor might still be upset, bothered by something even after being rescued, hadn't occurred to her.

And she's not sure what to do.

They've never been good at this, the two of them-never been good at small talk, dallying.

So she gets straight to the point. "Doctor, where are we?"

"Earth," the Doctor says. "Home."

An image of a burnt-out city and a landscape withered raw by wind and sun flashes through Yaz's mind. What would it feel like, to know your world is gone? To know everyone you love is-

"Thought maybe we'd see what Graham and Ryan are up to," says the Doctor, some of her old cheer seeping back into her voice. It's shallow, though, fake. "We can-"

And Yaz, generally, isn't one for interrupting people, but the sparkle in the Doctor's eyes is bright and pure and so, so genuine that it hurts, so she steps forward and shakes her head, frowns. "Doctor, Ryan and Graham…"

"Yes?"

"They-this whole time, they thought you were dead."

The Doctor goes very, very still.

"We had...a fight, of sorts," Yaz says slowly, "they wanted to move on. I-" her throat goes tight and her voice trembles, wobbles, breaks until she settles for eye-contact instead, hoping it's enough. Judging by the look on the Doctor's face, it is.

"Oh, Yaz," the Doctor says. "I'm sorry, I really am."

Yaz blinks. An apology wasn't what she was expecting either. "You don't have to-"

But the Doctor waves her away, slips past her to the door. She swings it open, letting in the sunlight, and smiles, nose scrunching until her whole face is sort of wrinkled, joyful. "Come on, Yaz! Let's go find Ryan and Graham."

Yaz's stomach twists, but she follows the Doctor anyway. And why shouldn't she? She's travelled with the Doctor before-everything always turns out fine in the end.

This is different, logic tells her, but Yaz ignores the voice. This is the Doctor she's with. Everything is going to be fine.

Probably.

"Is she always like that, now?" Scythe queries, and Ember looks up to find him staring off into the distance, his eyes on the TARDIS' doors. "Distant-confused."

"I haven't exactly known her for long," Ember says, fiddling with the screen displaying their next coordinates. "She's...well, you know. Quiet. Moody."

Scythe clears his throat. When Ember looks at him again, his eyes are on her. "She's regenerated recently."

Ember's face flushes. "A lot happened while you were away."

"Oh?"

"I don't exactly want to talk about it."

"If we're to be a team again, searching for Sage and Stele, I'd like to know what happened in my stead." Scythe's gray eyes narrow. "Or is there something you'd prefer not to tell me?"

That's it-he knows her far too well. "Later," she says, dancing around the question again-much to Scythe's annoyance.

He nods, his jaw set. "Well, then. If that's the case, we'd best be off."

"Why?"

"Later," he says, with a pointed look in her direction. "Now-if you don't mind, I'll be flying, this time."

"We'll fly together," Ember snaps, "she's my TARDIS."

Scythe's eyes twinkle. "Indeed. And she's got a lot to say about you."

Ember groans-she really, really should have saved the Scythe for last-but agrees. This is what she wanted, after all. Regardless of the time-and sanity-lost in the process.