Her name, whispered into her ear, wakes her. She jerks, finding his palm covering her mouth.
"Be quiet," he murmurs, releasing her now he is certain she will not cry out. "We've got company."
"Outriders?"
"No."
"Plan?" she hisses.
Silence; his breath, warm on the back of her neck. She cannot help but roll her eyes.
Other voices are audible now; low, clipped. "There's footprints in the mud down by the river, Rob. Someone's out here."
"Outriders?"
"Maybe. But it's a small group if so. If we take them by surprise…"
"Hmm. I'm sure they're saying the same about us."
Clara twists awkwardly to face the Doctor. "Rebels!"
"Yes," he whispers back, "I've got ears too!"
"Stand up."
"What? No, no, no… They've got guns. They're probably going to be trigger happy maniacs."
"Doctor, I'm not lying here waiting from them to find us like lost hitch-hikers." Especially in a shared bedroll, she doesn't add. The pooled body heat has been useful above the snowline, not to mention his grounding presence when she loses her sense of self in the waking nightmares. She's just not sure either of them is prepared to explain that to armed strangers. "If you don't stand up I will."
He almost growls in frustration, but stands nonetheless, hands up high. "Don't shoot!" he says, loud and clear. "We're not Outriders. We're hiding from Outriders. And we're unarmed."
Silence, for a moment. "We?" someone asks.
"There's two of us," Clara adds, standing at the Doctor's side now a hail of bullets seems less likely. "We escaped the King's prison."
"You're spies, then," says a man, stepping out of the shadows and into their ember-lit circle. His gun is trained on the Doctor's chest. "No one escapes the prison."
"We did," replies Clara, "during the black-out."
The man whistles and two shadows detach themselves, resolving into more scouts. "You going to let us search you?" says the shorter of the two; a woman.
"Like I said, we're unarmed," says the Doctor, wincing at the pat-down.
"He's telling the truth," says the second scout. "No weapons."
"How'd you get up here?" asks Rob.
"Stolen AG speeder," says the Doctor. "It's shielded—"
"Turn off the cloak. Slowly."
Taking care to hold the sonic screwdriver in as non-threatening a manner as possible, the Doctor drops the cloak. To Clara's surprise the three rebels gasp in response.
"That-that's the Wanderer's AG," says the man.
"Impossible," breathes the woman, "he's a myth."
"Oh no," murmurs Clara, "not this again. I hate it when this happens."
The Doctor has the decency to look somewhat chagrined. "I've no idea what they're talking about."
"You stole it from the Wanderer?" asks Rob, looking genuinely disturbed.
"What? No! I am the Wanderer!"
"You're not the Wanderer," scoffs the woman. "They say he fought his way through an entire outpost of Meanwhile to steal the afterburners for that thing."
"Yes, I did!" returns the Doctor hotly.
"No offense," says the man, "But you don't really look like much of a warrior."
"You do realise that saying 'no offense' before you say something really offensive doesn't actually make it any less offensive?" snaps the Doctor. "If anything, it merely telegraphs the incoming insult."
"And you can take his word for that," mutters Clara, "he's really conducted thorough research on that score."
"All of you, be quiet!" Rob, attempting to inject some sanity back into proceedings. "This is madness. The longer we stand out here talking, the more chance we bring a patrol down on our backs. Bring the speeder and bring our… our guests. We're heading back to the high camp."
They sit at a trestle table near the mouth of the cave. After a while someone brings them a hot drink, sweetish to taste. No one seems sure if they're prisoners or new recruits. Rob, grizzled and pale in the greenish phosphorescent lighting of the camp, is arguing in the corner with more rebels.
"There's more of them than I anticipated," says the Doctor, shifting in his chair to take in their surroundings.
"Hmm?"
"Are you okay?"
"Yes… I just. I think I've seen him before."
"Who?"
"The tall one with the big nose. Rob, I think."
"Really?"
"I'm positive I remember his face from… somewhere. Don't look like that!"
"Like what?"
"Sceptical!"
"I'm sorry," he says, raising his hands in supplication. "But you've been through a lot recently; seen a lot of faces from other people's lives. Are you sure—?"
"Yes," she scowls, "I'm bloody sure."
Some of the colour drains from the Doctor's face. "If he's a plant…if he works for the King…"
"No, it's not that. He wasn't a guard or a scientist."
"Then who?"
She bites her lip, trying to think. "He was running…"
"What?"
"When we were split up. In the cabbage field. Before the Meanwhile, there was a group of escaping workers. A man, a woman, a baby."
"He was the man?"
"No, he was the baby," she deadpans, and rolls her eyes again at his confused expression. "Of course he was the man."
"Hell of a coincidence," he says slowly.
"Now, what are you thinking?"
"Nothing."
"Not nothing," she says, flicking his arm. "Even with that beard you could hide a chicken in, I still know that face."
"Hide a chicken?"
"No, look, don't get distracted. What were you thinking about before I said chickens?"
"Oh, there's more than one in there now is there?"
"Shut up! Stop talking about poultry!"
"You're the one that bought it up!"
"A-hem." As one, they turn from their argument to the owner of the polite cough. The short scout. "My name is Hari," she says. "We were wondering… if you'd like something to eat?"
They stare at her for a moment. "Anything," says Clara, "that isn't smoked rock lizard."
There isn't a room for them as such, but convenient alcoves in the cave have been screened off by the simple expedient of hanging sheets. There's even a mattress on the floor; heaven as far as Clara was concerned.
He sits, slightly hunched, at her feet. Watching the steady rise and fall of her breathing under the blanket as she sleeps.
"You can come in," he says after a while, to the shadow behind the curtain.
Rob, slightly shame-faced, twitches the sheet aside. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. You're sensible to be sceptical."
"She's safe here," Rob reassures, "If you want to join us outside." He falls into silence at the Doctor's expression.
"Rob, Rob, Rob," says the Time Lord, rolling the name around his mouth. "Short for Roben, yes?"
The rebel commander stiffens. "How could you know that?"
"We have a… a friend in common." He'd still like to think of Sen as a friend, even if their last encounter did involve her trying very hard to kill him. "Seren."
"You… you met Sen?"
"Yes. When I left her she was very much alive and well and trying to find out what had happened to you."
"Where is she?"
"Well, that's the rub. On the Perdition plate, which was at least five decades out of alignment with this one when I last travelled through."
"The Perdition plate? To cross back you'd have to get past the Citadel."
"Then neutralising the Citadel is our first priority, no?"
Rob laughs, until he realises the Doctor is serious. "Wanderer… I know you've pulled off some daring feats in your time; I've heard the stories. But taking down the Citadel is… well, it's impossible."
"No," says the Doctor. "That's what he wants you to think. It's difficult, dangerous and I don't yet have a plan. But impossible? Never."
"You've met him, haven't you? The King."
"Yes."
"Then you know how dangerous he is."
"Yes," the Doctor repeats. "He has to be stopped."
"And you're the man to do it, I suppose?"
"He tried to take something from me," says the Doctor, voice softer now as he watches the sleeping Clara.
"Your… friend?" Rob inclines his head.
"He imprisoned her, he tortured her, and he tried to change me so that I would kill her."
"He didn't succeed."
"In getting me to kill her? Of course not. In changing me? I'm not so sure."
Roben can make no sensible reply to this. "If you're comfortable here, then I will bid you goodnight."
"Actually, there is one thing you can help me with."
"And what's that?"
"I don't suppose anyone would be willing to lend me a razor?"
