The presence of bright, warm sunlight surprised Peter when he woke up.

Frowning and screwing his eyes tightly shut again, he groaned in protest and rolled over in his bed as he turned away from the window and the offending light that was now streaming in through it. How long had he been out? At least twelve hours, that was for sure as it must have already gone eight o'clock in the morning.

Opening his eyes reluctantly, he stared at the navy blue painted wall his bed was pressed up against. If it was as early as he thought it was, would there be any point getting up at this hour?

Something was draped over him, but it was not his duvet. Realising it was the grey throw blanket which usually remained folded across the bottom half of his bed, Peter peeped below the covering and saw that he was still wearing the t-shirt and jeans he'd had on the night before.

He needn't of lied about being tired. Having casually discarded his biking boots and jacket in a pile on the floor near his desk along with his helmet and rucksack, he had fallen onto his bed and must have passed out the moment his head had hit the pillow.

Surfacing from under the blanket, Peter caught a sudden whiff of cold tea and saw a large mug was sat on his bedside table.

His father must have come in, found him fast asleep and left it there in case he woke up. That explained the blanket being draped over him, and Peter noticed further evidence his dad's visit. Tiny details, but obvious now that he looked around his room properly.

His jacket was now draped across the back of his chair, whilst his boots were gone and presumably back in their proper place at the bottom of the wardrobe. His rucksack and helmet remained almost when he had left them, but the bag had been neatly propped upright against the drawers of his desk.

It was a replacement for the one he had blown up down in caves, packed to the brim now for everything that he was going to need for his next assignment. Not that, Peter needed reminding of it right now.

Groggy and with a slightly dry mouth that came from oversleeping, he knew that further rest would prove impossible even if he wanted it.

Kicking the blanket off him, he forced himself up and swung his legs off the bed. Sitting there for a moment, he stared around at his room. It had barely changed since he'd been a teenager, though his Green Day poster had long since disappeared. But then again, there had been no real need to do anything to it and he had alternatively not given too much thought to moving out.

With his job taking him anywhere at any time, and neither his parents nor him needing the extra room a move would produce, he simply hadn't decided there was any point. More importantly, he liked where he lived and had never known any other home but this one. Practically speaking, he had saved some money but on his current wage, Peter knew he would have to leave Milstead and the higher prices its desirability commanded and settle for somewhere perhaps closer to Maidstone.

Stefan and Emma had made their first home together in a small two-up two-down house on the opposite side of the village. But that had been inherited two years ago when Emma's grandmother had passed away, though Stefan had already been living were her there eight months before then.

Peter suddenly snorted at the idea of house hunting. The irony was laughable given where he was about to go. The thought of travelling to an entirely different planet made such a trivial thing such as looking for a flat seem almost idiotic. Maybe Valerus had some nice affordable penthouses worth considering?

But the joke only served to remind Peter of the news he still hadn't shared with his parents, and the knot in his stomach tightened again.

He had ducked out of it last night and he knew that he had to tell them today. The Doctor would be here in two days and it was going to be hard enough as it was to sum up the Time Lord and his TARDIS without having to admit that he was about to spend the next six months exploring the farthest reaches of the known universe.

"Okay, Argent." He told himself. "Come on. Man up and get it over with."

Fishing some clean clothes out of the wardrobe, Peter quickly changed and dashed into the bathroom next door to clean his teeth and attempt to comb his unruly hair. Glancing at his reflection, he still looked tired but it was a huge step up to how he knew he must have looked after escaping those wretched caves.

Content for now by splashing some water onto his face, he felt much better for it as the delicious smell of sizzling bacon soon enticed him down the stairs, prompting his hollow stomach to remind him that he had not eaten since the previous afternoon. Quickening his pace, the rug covering the hallway's wooden floor skidded slightly beneath him as he made his way into the lounge.

That was when he stopped dead in tracks.

Despite the early hour, both his parents were already up and dressed. So were Stefan and Emma, both of his friends were still wearing their coats and looked as though they had only just arrived. But they could have been there for five minutes or five hours, it didn't matter. Peter immediately sensed the trap he had just walked into. All four of them looked his way, yet no one greeted him. In fact, no one seemed keen on being the first one to speak up as a very awkward silence hovered around them all.

In the end, it was Stefan who broke it.

"Alright, mate?" He ventured. "How'd you sleep? I passed out on the drive home."

But though he smiled warmly at his friend, Peter could see a look in his eyes that was warning him of what was about to come.

"Yeah, I slept fine." He replied, not moving from the doorway. "How are you feeling? You face looks awful."

The bruises caused by the fall in the cave had turned deep purple, and Stefan's eye was still slightly swollen. Peter could also see a freshly applied gauze pad poking up just past the collar of his jumper where the infant creature had clawed into his neck. He was definitely on the mend, but it could have easily been so much worse.

"Yeah, I'm getting there." He replied. "On leave for a week. Desk duty for a while after I get back."

"Right, good to hear. Erm… Anyone else starving? That bacon smells deli…"

Making the mistake of turning to his mother, Peter didn't dare utter a single word more as he saw just how furious she was with him. Any chance of being able to tell her the truth in the way he would have liked to was long since gone, as was any hope of avoiding mentioning one destination in particular.

Stood next to the fireplace, Elizabeth wasn't in the least bit concerned with finishing off making the breakfast.

"Yes, Emma did mention the two of you had some time off." She stated. "Though I hear you've already been reassigned?"

Emma shifted uncomfortably, but she remained silent. Peter couldn't blame her. He should have told them last night, and now he was having to deal with the consequences. Opening his mouth to speak, he found himself unable to respond and instead turned to his father in the hope of some kind of reinforcement.

But the look on his face said it all, and Peter knew that this time he was on his own.

David was sat in his favourite armchair, his reading glasses perched on top of his thinning brown hair. Looking both furious and disappointed, it was a very unique expression reserved only for the childish, even stupid antics that even he wasn't prepared to let slide.

Peter could vividly remember the last time he had seen it.

Just a few days after completing his GCSE exams, he along with Stefan and several other friends had decided to celebrate by sneaking out into the woods with a considerable collection of alcoholic drinks they had pilfered from their respective houses.

Peter had arrived at the meeting spot on his very first motorbike.

It was a tiny thing compared to the Triumph he had now, with it having only a pitiful 50cc engine. But being a teenager in possession of such a machine, it had been the fastest and coolest thing on two wheels in his opinion. Several cans of cheap lager and a bottle of wine later, and this opinion had been put to the test when he had been dared to see if he could max it out on a nearby stretch of road.

Some of his more sober friends, including Stefan, had voiced some concerns as Peter had slipped on his helmet and revved up the engine.

Ignoring them completely, however, and despite the alcohol he had consumed he had felt nothing but a surge of adrenaline and a desire to prove himself. Speeding off down the tarmac, there was little chance of encountering anyone else at such a late hour, let alone the police.

To say that it hadn't ended well was an understatement.

In his haste, Peter had failed to turn the headlight on despite there being no streetlights this far out into the countryside. But that didn't matter, not when his eyes could see just as clearly through the darkness as though it might have been the middle of the day. No, his downfall had been his inexperience. Peter had not yet gotten used to the handling of the bike at such speeds, especially around sharp bends.

Coming across a hairpin turn he had not been expecting, he had still been travelling at over fifty miles an hour as he forced the bike to skid around the tight corner.

Thinking he had gotten away with it for a single fleeting second, Peter was soon proven horribly wrong as his front wheel failed to put enough pressure down which caused his rear tire to violently kick out. Trying to correct it, he had sped up. But this only served to shift the pressure onto his front wheel as it too jerked erratically from side to side. It was called a speed wobble, and it was easy to see why. No matter what he tried he could not stop the out of control machine as it weaved all over the road, shaking so much that it was rattling his bones.

It only ended when the laws of physics had sent him and his bike tumbling down.

The crash was big and loud. His friends had heard it from over a mile away and had gone running to his aid. Still, it took them over ten minutes to reach him. By which point, Peter had already regained consciousness and healed himself.

He wasn't quite sure, but after slamming into the tarmac and blacking out, he woke up to what felt like a broken right collarbone as well as a fractured left wrist and ankle from where the bike had landed on top of him before the machine had slid on ahead of him down the road.

With all evidence of trauma fading away and nothing but a few scuff marks on his helmet and jacket to show for the crash, Peter had laughed away his friends' obvious concerns and had managed to convince them all that he had been incredibly lucky. Only Stefan knew that this was not true, but he could be trusted not to say anything given what he had already seen the year before.

Peter's motorbike had not been as fortunate.

Trails of glass from the broken lights and one of the brake handles eventually lead them to the broken heap of metal that was now wrapped around a large tree just off the side of the road. It was a complete write-off, and he had been forced to wheel it all the way back home, which proved hard given the front tire had been severely bent to the left.

The sun had just risen by the time he reached his driveway.

But within seconds of coming within sight of the house, Peter knew that there was little chance of him being able to sneak back in unnoticed. The front door had immediately opened, and his mother had stepped out in her fluffy dressing gown and slippers.

Then his father had stormed past her. Already dressed for work in his suit and tie, Peter had never seen him so angry as he was that morning. David Johnson's face was flushed red and was contorted with fury. His nostrils were flaring dangerously and his eyes had narrowed into slits as he marched over to his son with clenched fists.

"Do I even have to ask!?" He had bellowed at the top of his voice. "What the hell were you thinking, Peter!?"

Peter had faltered under his father's rage and guessed that at least one of his friends must have been caught by their parents, or had confessed to them what had happened. Those parents wouldn't have wasted any time in informing those who weren't aware, including his own.

Even if they hadn't, however, the smashed up bike and missing alcohol was evidence enough to convict him.

"I..." He began. "I didn't -"

"Didn't what, Peter?" David questioned. "Didn't think? No, you did not. Do you have any idea how worried your mother and I have been? We were woken up at six o'clock this morning to be told that you'd come crashing off of that stupid thing!"

He pointed at the bike as though it was to blame for its careless rider's actions.

"I'm sorry, okay." Peter snapped back. "It was an accident."

"No, you wanted to show off." His father corrected. "What's makes it worse, you were drinking too!"

Peter couldn't deny that. But in his defence, he hadn't even felt tipsy when he had climbed onto his bike and even now didn't feel as though he had even had a single sip of beer. This had happened before the last time he'd had alcohol, and he was beginning to wonder if being what he was had causing this. After all, if his body could heal broken bones in a couple of minutes then was it entirely impossible to imagine that it could burn off the effect of drinking too?

Whether true or not, Peter could see that his father wasn't in the mood for any excuse he might have.

"I had a few beers." He admitted. "Same as everyone else."

David's attention had swiftly moved onto his lacking of any injures, which would otherwise have been impossible given the state the motorbike was in.

"I take it whatever damage has been done has gone?" He asked. "Nothing to show for your little stunt?"

"No, I healed," Peter mumbled. "Couple of broken bones, that's all."

"Yes, and what would have happened if any of those boys had seen it?" His dad yelled at him. "What if they had called an ambulance or taken you to the hospital? How would you have explained yourself!?"

"I don't know!" Peter shouted back. "But they didn't see anything, okay."

"This time, Peter. This time they didn't, and just because you can recover more quickly does not give you the right to go around risking your life on some stupid, pointless dare!"

"Alright, dad. You've made your point!"

"Have I?" David snorted. "I hope I have, son. Because I will not tolerate you wasting what you can do."

That hurt Peter more than the crash had.

"Well, that won't be a problem seeing as I'm always having to hide it." He countered. "How can I waste my talents, dad? I can't even talk about them to anyone else!"

His dad softened at this and calmed down significantly.

It had almost been a year since Peter had learned that he wasn't human and unlocked all that he could do after enduring his first transformation. Keeping it all hidden away from the world when he was trying to learn to live with it at the same time had led to a lot of frustration and caused some arguments, especially seeing as the main burden of it rested on the shoulders of a sixteen-year-old boy.

"Peter, I know it's hard." He told him. "But you have to be so careful."

"In case I turn into the big bad wolf?" Peter snapped. "I can't... I can't do anymore, dad. I don't wanna hide myself away."

There was a spark of yellow in his eyes now. David saw it and said nothing this time, instead he stepped over to his son and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Just because people won't see that side of you doesn't mean you have to hide away." He said. "Yes, being what you are has some advantages as well as disadvantages. But what I will not tolerate is you relying on them all of the time."

"Yeah, I suppose being a wolf isn't going to get me a job, is it?"

"You don't need it to. You're smart, and you breezed through your exams." His dad encouraged. "Once you complete your A-Levels you'll have your pick of universities, or if you still want to join the army then I know you'll do great things there."

Peter had already made enquiries at the local recruiting office. Given Peter's proficiency in languages, he even had the option of training to become an officer. There had even been talk of a UN peacekeeping authority that was recruiting in the area.

"Yeah, I suppose so." He admitted. "But -"

"But nothing, Peter," David told him. "Human or not, you are better than what happened last night and someday I hope that you won't have to conceal what you are. Until then, you only use it to do something far more worthwhile than showing off to your mates."

The wise words had stuck.

Over the following years, Peter had remained consciously aware of the consequences of using his wolf side unnecessarily and had chosen his moments carefully when he'd need to. With Stefan aiding him in the unpredictable environment their jobs at UNIT came with, he had felt much more at ease with maintaining the balance of secrecy and embracing who he was.

Were the people of Valerus so restricted in their own lives?

Peter doubt it. There, in a world where it was as normal as the sky on Earth was blue, they would be free to transform whenever they liked without anyone so much as batting an eyelid. They wouldn't have to hide away or lie when they injured themselves and neither would they be forced into going through it all without the company of someone who knew exactly what it felt like themselves.

The Doctor was right.

Holding back on what he could do, fearful of what people's reactions might be made Peter angry sometimes and it would make a nice change if that wasn't going to be a problem anymore. Whilst such freedoms were available to him at home, it was a small consolation when the rest of the world could never know.

But as he looked at his mother now, Peter felt sick to the stomach of even considering the idea of going anywhere other than the kitchen for his breakfast.

"Mum, I was going to tell you." He began. "It's just -"

"Sit down, Peter." His mother ordered. "We need to talk."