Relict

by LizzeXX

12/OC -Time Lady- The Doctor and his Bonded, the Professor, have escaped Tenzalore with their lives, new regeneration cycles, and their unborn child surviving their 'Fall.' But with the Promised Land being sought and another woman vying for the Doctor's attention in the Nethersphere, what will become of the Time Lords? What of their child? Or…children? Ninth in the Academic Series.

8. Mummy on the Orient Express

Mummy on the Orient Express

"I don't understand why we're doing this," the Doctor muttered as he puttered around the console, the Professor double-checking the coordinates with one hand, her other on the middle of her back. Clara was off somewhere in the wardrobe, getting ready for this trip, the Time Lords were already all dressed and ready, having picked up their wayward companion (they weren't even sure Clara wanted them as grandparents any longer) prepared for the trip. He was wearing a typical suit though with a bit of a bigger and looser bowtie than his last self wore and, try as he might, he couldn't seem to look away from his wife very long.

She was glowing in her pregnancy, despite the scowl on her face as she focused on the controls. She was bigger than before, getting bigger every day it appeared to him, though he never said a word about it for fear of upsetting her. But with the changes came even more back pains that she'd been experiencing while on the moon. It seemed like every time she moved or sat or turned a spasm of pain would hit her. It was a constant for her now and it bothered him immensely that he couldn't do much to help save rub her back whenever he could. Her legs, he loved her legs, had hoped she would wear a shorter dress to show them off, but she was covering them up even more, claiming her ankles were non-existent now with how swollen her feet had gotten. He rubbed them every night for her, no complains at all, not even with a request from her, he just did it because he knew it was something bothering her and anything and everything he could do to make her more comfortable he'd do in half a heartsbeat. With her back pain though also seemed to come heartsburn as well, whether she'd just eaten or not or no matter what she ate she always seemed to get that tightening in her chest and a bit winded. So he was sure to always carry something in his pocket, a snack or a pudding packet or something that she could munch on no matter what time it was or where they were.

But, despite all that, she truly did look lovely as he gazed at her. Even though she had adamantly refused to wear a shorter dress, they had managed to compromise for a sleeveless one that showed off her arms and shoulders. It was a deep black dress with just a hint of a sparkle to it, making it seem like she was dressed in the stars she loved to look out through the doors of the TARDIS as they drifted in space. It wasn't the loosest gown, it showed off her stomach beautifully though, something he was infinitely pleased with, he loved being able to really see her stomach like that instead of partially hidden by her jacket at times. It collected at the top, near her neck and twisted behind it to hold the gown up, leaving her shoulders bare despite her wearing her hair down to cover them slightly. She had given him a bit of a fight about it, claiming that her arms were chunky and swollen and fat and a number of other synonyms till she eventually relented to his request…on the condition that she was allowed to strap her blaster to her leg just in case there was any trouble.

He had no qualms with that.

Because if she needed it, he might get a flash of her legs after all.

"Because we need to butter up Clara," the Professor reminded him.

The girl had been furious at them and, while at first, they had both been utterly lost and confused as to why, feeling like it had come out of nowhere and…well it really had. Clara had been in far worse situations than that and hadn't reacted quite so explosively. They truly couldn't fathom what was going on that would lead to her storming out like that. They'd talked about it for quite a while, trying to work it out, gotten a bit distracted in the midst of it all, but they were fairly certain that they knew what had happened now and why Clara had shouted and rushed out. But Clara was still fairly incised, it appeared, and they had offered her a 'farewell trip.'

They had no plans for it to be a farewell trip at all but they wanted to take her on just one more, a nice and calm one, a dinner that they could talk about what happened over. And, if they could get her out with them then she'd HAVE to listen to them or they simply wouldn't bring her back till she had.

The Doctor hadn't been fond of the idea at first. After the initial confusion wore off, his anger had taken root, very disappointed in the girl for shouting not at him but at the Professor as well. The Professor had tried to remind him that Clara likely still had no idea that something had been wrong with HER during that debacle, that from Clara's point of view it seemed very different than what THEY knew was happening. He had refused to listen to her for ages, had been perfectly content to let Clara stay on earth and never travel with them again. He didn't need some pudding brained human shouting at his pregnant Bonded and if Clara was going to be that way then she could stay with her Maths Teacher for all he cared.

The Professor knew it was just the anger talking and, once she'd gotten him to calm down with quite a few of his favorite trips and foods and stories and music and regaling stories to their children of him while he was in earshot…he'd finally agreed to give this a shot. But he'd made it very clear this was the ONLY chance he was going to give Clara again. If they couldn't get through to her and explain what had happened and, one of his demands, get a proper apology out of her, then she was going right back to Earth and they would find another human or perhaps give them both a reprieve and travel alone, just the two (soon to be four) of them for a while.

So this was a fairly important trip, to the Professor especially. Her emotions had just been completely shot and if she thought she'd been a mess before it was nothing compared to recently. She cried at the drop of a hat, she got angry for the smallest things, she laughed when it was completely not remotely funny…or at least that's what the Doctor was sure of. There had been a time only the other day where she couldn't look at his eyebrows without bursting into laughter. And he knew that she still saw Clara as a granddaughter even if the girl was upset and she wanted to mend that relationship if it could be, it was important to her, it was what SHE wanted…and he would not begrudge her that.

"Couldn't we have just taken her and Maths to a honeymoon spot or something then?" he huffed, "Given them a wedding gift or something."

"That would work," the Professor nodded, "If they were even close to being engaged," she reminded him, "He hasn't proposed to her so it would be a bit early to spring that on her. And…not exactly the best record when it comes to trying to gift companions with trips like that."

He chuckled slightly at that, thinking of the numerous flubs with Amy and Rory, "I suppose," he agreed begrudgingly. He watched her working for a moment before walking over to her and taking her hand from her back, moving his own there to kneed the muscles for her, smiling when she smiled and closed her eyes, resting her head on his shoulder as he worked, "Do you think it will work?"

"I hope it does," she sighed.

"And if it doesn't?"

"Plan B then."

"Which is?"

"Guilt," she mumbled, nearly moaning as he managed to work out the knot in her back, "Sad eyes. Remind her that Danny shouted at me and then she did the same for almost the same reason she got cross at him for."

He laughed at that, it would be something sneaky and underhanded she'd resort to if the first plan failed. And, they could tell, even with how still angry Clara seemed when they'd first picked her up, there HAD been a flash of guilt in her eyes, as though she regretted shouting at them, but not enough to apologize. The Professor was rather good at manipulation when she needed to be, so long as it got Clara to at least listen, he would help her.

"We there yet?" Clara's voice called as she joined them back in the console room, dressed reminiscent of a flapper, her hair in a bob to complete the look.

"Very nearly," the Professor nodded, pulling away from the Doctor to reach for a lever, pressing it down and landing the TARDIS with a soft thump.

The Doctor said not a word as he held out an arm to the Professor to take, leading her towards the doors and stepping out to see they'd landed in a train baggage compartment, suitcases stacked around the box. He held the door open a moment longer, waiting for Clara to step out before he shut it behind her, "Your train awaits," he gestures around.

"Wonderful," Clara looked around, not quite impressed with that particular cart.

"It's the baggage car," the Professor defended, a flash of near-exasperation striking her before she pushed it down, her hand rubbing her stomach as though to tell the twins to stop making her jump to the highs of her emotions so quickly.

"The real wonderful is through here," the Doctor agreed, leading them to a door and pushing it open, revealing a lounge car before them, music drifting from the band that was playing on a small platform where a young woman was singing 'Don't Stop Me Now' by Queen. People were walking about through it, it was that large, with rather plush chairs lining the sides of it, a bar at the other end, with an armed man positioned at each door, "There were many trains to take the name Orient Express," the Doctor mused with a smile.

"But," the Professor gently turned Clara to look out one of the nearby windows, revealing nothing but the black of space speckled with stars, "Only one in space."

"Of course it is," Clara let out a breath, trying to keep the awe from it and failing rather badly at it.

The Professor smiled at that, pleased, "It's a fair recreation of the original Orient Express."

"Except slightly bigger," the Doctor shrugged, "And in space. Oh, and the rails are actually hyperspace ribbons…" he trailed off, about to go on about more small discrepancies, when he caught sight of the look his wife was shooting him.

"But in every other respect, identical," she insisted, "Painstaking attention to detail…"

She let out an annoyed breath when a rather large man, with a big red beard but no hair on his head, shoved past them, dressed in a steampunk style, with an eyepatch over his eye.

"Most of the time," the Doctor fought not to laugh at the irritated look on the Professor's face.

"Hate you," she muttered, a bit of her last incarnation peeking through, her hand resting on her stomach.

The Doctor just grinned widely, knowing that it was in reference to half the things he said being proven wrong only moments later. This time it was HER that had been proven wrong, if in a minor way, all those sentences he should have stayed away from. Now it was her turn. But he knew she meant it as the children, because they were his but in her his habits and luck would affect her even more.

"No you don't," he reached out, putting a gentle arm around her shoulders and smiling at her. His own smile probably would have grinned if he hadn't caught sight of the slightly sad smile on Clara's own face, making him huff, the moment over, "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?" Clara wondered, glancing at him slightly.

"The smile."

"Yeah, I'm smiling?" she shook her head, not sure what that had to do with anything.

"It's the sad smile. It's a smile but you're sad. It's confusing. It's like two emotions at once. It's like you're malfunctioning."

"Sorry?"

"I make the sad smile sometimes too," the Professor reminded him.

"Yes but I can read your smiles," he countered, looking at her, "I know every single smile and what they all mean and why and it's not just because I can read your mind," he tapped her head, "It's because it's you."

"Shall I clarify her smile then, husband?" the Professor gave him a soft smile in return, the one he knew meant that she had been touched by his words and thought them sweet.

"I would be grateful, wife," he whispered.

She shook her head lightly at that, still smiling, "It's a wistful and resigned smile," she explained, "Bittersweet," he frowned at that, not making the connection to why Clara's smile would be like that. The Professor nearly laughed at the sight of it. He could interpret her smiles and know what it meant. If SHE had been wearing Clara's smile for Clara's reasons, he'd know instantly why. And even when she explained what Clara's smile meant, he still wasn't getting it, because Clara wasn't her, "She's bittersweet about being here, in this train, with us, right now, like this."

The Doctor seemed a bit puzzled still, "I just thought this would be a good one to…"

"To end it," Clara cut in quickly, as though she didn't want to hear him say that, making them look over at her, "Yeah. It is. It's a good choice. A good one to end on."

The Time Lords were silent at that, not about to tell her that they didn't plan to end it on this at all. But if they could keep that bittersweet feeling going, that sort of 'not wanting to let go' notion, perhaps they might be able to get Clara to listen more than before.

"Shall we?" the Doctor asked instead, taking a flute of champagne off a tray of a passing maid, handing one to Clara and keeping one for himself, offering his arm to a pouting Professor who couldn't join in the drinking in her condition.

They wandered a little more into the car, listening to the woman singing in the background till the Doctor scoffed, "Rubbish."

"What is?" the Professor looked at her as Clara sipped her drink.

"The entertainment."

The Professor glanced at the woman singing, "She's fair."

"But she's not you," he looked at her pointedly, "I can't wait till they come," he rested a hand on her stomach, "So that I can hear you singing them to sleep."

"YOU could sing to them too," she pointed out, though her cheeks were flushing.

He snorted at that, "I'm worse than a tone-deaf moose."

The Professor considered that a moment, "True," she nodded, laughing at his mock-offended expression, "You'd give them nightmares!"

Before the Doctor could retort, even playfully, a speaker chimed and a man's voice called over it, "Ladies and gentlemen. If you would be good enough to look from the windows on the right of the train, you'll be able to see the soaring majesty of the Magellan black hole."

The trio turned to look out the window with the other passengers, the Professor's smile growing nostalgic, "I remember when this was all planets as far as the eye could see," she remarked.

The Doctor nodded absently, rubbing her shoulder, that had been an adventure and a half, "All gone now. Gobbled up by that beast," he sighed when he caught sight of Clara's reflection in the window, that look back on her face, "And there's that smile again. I don't even know how you do that."

"I really thought I hated you, you know?" Clara murmured, turning to look at them, "I truly thought I hated the both of you."

The Professor looked at her for that, hearing a twinge in Clara's voice. As though the girl wasn't sure if she really did hate them at one point or wasn't sure how she could possibly have thought she did.

"Well, thank God you kept that to yourself," the Doctor rolled his eyes, his grip on the Professor tightening, not wanting her to be upset by Clara's words, so he changed the subject back to their past adventures, "Do you remember that planet, Obsidian?"

"The planet of perpetual darkness," the Professor nodded.

"I did," Clara seemed to come to a decision, "I did hate you two. In fact, I hated you for weeks!"

"Clara…" the Professor sighed at that, she knew hatred, the two of them did, Clara…whatever she'd felt for them, she was fairly certain it wasn't quite hatred.

"Good, fine," the Doctor seemed to be getting more than a bit irritated now, this was not a topic he wanted to discuss, this was not something he wanted the Professor to hear from the girl she thought of as a granddaughter. He was very much aware that this incarnation of himself was more distanced from the humans, more disillusioned by them, much closer and tied to the Professor than ever before. She was truly his whole world, their children included, and all others were more like moons that orbited her, not needed or entirely useful at times but good for company. He had been trying to find that closeness to Clara that his last self had had, really he'd been trying, but this was the first time he was actually happy for that loss of relation between them. Not caring the same way he had, so deeply, he wasn't as affected by the girl's words. She hated him? Fine, let her hate HIM, but he would not let her hurt the Professor, "Well, I'm glad that we cleared that up. There was also a planet that was made completely of shrubs…"

"I went to a concert once," Clara kept on, nearly making the Professor laugh at the flat out irritation on the Doctor's face at constantly being interrupted, "Can't remember who it was. But do you know what the singer said?"

"Frankly, that would be an absolutely astonishing guess if I did know," he muttered, not seeing a point in even trying to talk about something else if Clara was going to be like this. Best to just let her finish so he could finally talk.

"She said, 'hatred is too strong an emotion to waste on someone that you don't like.'"

"Were people really confused? Cos I'm confused. Did everybody leave?"

"Doctor," the Professor sighed, shaking her head. She knew why he was acting like that, why he was being a bit condescending. Clara had struck a nerve with him, and he was not happy with the girl for what she'd been saying before. She could see his thoughts, they were largely focused around her, around if Clara's words hurt HER.

"Look," Clara huffed, "What I'm trying to say is…I don't hate you. I could never hate you. But I can't do this anymore. Not the way you do it."

"Clara," the Professor shook her head, "The way we do it is the way we do it. The way YOU'VE done it in the past. What's changed since then?" she gave Clara a pointed yet soft look, "And don't say us," she cut in when Clara moved to open her mouth, "You travelled with us, the new us, you know how WE travel now. Maybe what you think of 'how we do it' isn't exactly what we're really doing."

"That didn't make any sense."

"Neither did your singer person," the Doctor commented, looking between the women, "Can I talk about the planets now?"

The Professor let out a long breath but waved him on, knowing that Clara would need time to process what she'd said, work it out what she'd meant, pushing too much wouldn't help Clara listen to them. But maybe confusion would. Maybe saying something that got stuck in her head and made her want to work out would.

"Thedion Four," he continued, "Constant acid rain. Had a lovely picnic there once, didn't we?" he smiled at the Professor.

"Oh yes," she rolled her eyes, "The gasmasks were a lovely touch and exactly how I wanted to spend our anniversary. Being unable to kiss my husband."

"We're not wearing gasmasks now," he remarked, leaning in to give her a kiss…and only managing barely a peck when another voice speaking caused him to pull away.

"That's a lie," a blonde woman spoke up beside them, she seemed rather pale and frail a woman, a bit fragile looking and jumpy.

"I'm sorry?" the Professor turned to her, feeling indignation rising at being named a liar when she and the Doctor both knew they'd spoken the truth.

"That's a lie," the woman repeated, "What you said. Thedion Four was destroyed thousands of years ago, so you couldn't have been there."

Oh, THAT sort of lie, the not-a-lie-at-all, not for time travelers at least.

The Doctor seemed just about to go on a rant about how it WAS possible to be there, when one of the guards came over, a bit of a shorter man with a uniform decked out in medals and gold decorations, a gun in his holster, the chief it appeared, "Miss Pitt, are you sure you wouldn't rather rest in your room?" he asked, speaking so gently, too gently, and too pointedly gentle for them to not guess that there was something off about the woman speaking to them that had to be dealt with lightly.

"Those two are liars," the woman, Miss Pitt, pointed at the Time Lords, the Professor seeming more amused now while the Doctor appeared exasperated.

"Perhaps you'd allow Mr. Carlyle here to escort you back," he gestured to another guard in uniform, less decorated than his own.

"It'll be alright, miss," the man reached out to offer her his arm, "Just come with me."

The chief nodded at the guard as the woman was led away before he let out a sigh and turned to the trio, "Sorry about that. I suppose it's understandable in the circumstances. I don't believe we've been introduced. Captain Quell," he held out a hand to them.

But only Clara reached out to shake his hand, "I'm Clara. This is the Doctor and Professor," she gestured at them.

"Ah, more of you," the man nodded.

"Sorry? More who?"

"Well, we've got doctors and professors coming out of our ears on this trip," the man remarked, "So, what are you a doctor and professor of?"

"Now, there's a question that's never asked often enough," the Doctor mumbled sarcastically.

"Ooh…lots of things," the Professor smiled, nudging him slightly, getting him to return it with a smile of his own, as though the two were sharing a bit of a joke between them that had Clara shaking her head.

"In this case, let's say intestinal parasites," he offered, making the Professor roll her eyes.

Quell eyed them with a frown, "I'm beginning to think Miss Pitt was right about you."

"What's wrong with her?" Clara asked the man gently, it wasn't hard to see that something had deeply affected the woman very recently, "Did something happen?"

"You mean you really don't know?" Quell nearly gaped at them before starting to regale them with the tale of the old woman, Miss Pitt's mother, and the curse of a mummy.

~8~

"There's a body and there's a mummy," Clara huffed as she followed the Time Lords down a corridor of the train, towards a set of sleeping compartments that the Doctor's psychic paper had gotten them. They were only meant to be there for dinner, but the second that the Doctor and Professor had heard about a supposedly cursed mummy that was being transported on the train, they'd wanted to stay a bit longer and that meant playing the part of actual passengers, "I mean, can you not just get on a train? Did a wizard put a curse on you about mini-breaks?"

"It might be nothing," the Professor reassured her, they just wanted to stay and make sure that no one else died. If it was a curse or something using a curse as a ruse, they wanted to be able to help protect the others. If nothing happened that night, then it would be fine and they'd leave, but they also didn't want to worry Clara, "Old ladies die all the time."

"It's practically their job description," the Doctor agreed.

"And the monster?" Clara crossed her arms, giving them an expectant look.

"Well, seen by no one except her, which suggests that it wasn't there."

"A dying brain, lack of oxygen, hallucinations," the Professor listed off, making Clara drop her arms at the tone in the Professor's voice, as though she had experience with that, with dying and hallucinating before the end, "People do just die sometimes. She was over a hundred years old. That's rather frail an age for humans."

"Says the two thousand year old aliens," Clara muttered.

"I'M not quite that old yet Clara," the Professor reminded her, a nearly-bitter tone in her voice at how that reminder had been brought up, that the Doctor had been without her for so many centuries to protect her.

"Clara, you actually sound as if you want this to be a thing," the Doctor mused, "Do you?"

"No," Clara said quickly, too quickly if the small smiles that began to form on the Time Lords' faces were anything to go by, "No, look, fine. You know, if you think that there is nothing to worry about, then that is fine by me."

"Are you sure?"

"Ah, yes, I'm sure," she nodded firmly at that.

They didn't believe her at all.

So the Doctor smirked and raised the last of his champagne in his flute to her, "To our last hurrah."

"Our last, yeah," Clara nodded, staring at the flute more than actually raising her own flute to clink against his, "I mean, it's not like I'm never going to see you again…"

"Isn't it?" the Professor inquired, the way Clara had been shouting had given them both the impression she wanted them 'gone and don't come back' sort of thing.

"Is it?" Clara started to frown now.

"We thought that's what you wanted."

"No," she frowned deeper, "What I mean…you're going to come round for dinner or something, aren't you? Do you…do you do that? Do you come round to people's houses for dinner?"

"Of course," the Professor nodded, thinking about visiting Amy and Rory.

"Why wouldn't we do that?" the Doctor asked.

Clara shrugged, "I don't know. I thought you might find it boring."

"Is it boring?"

"No," Clara cleared her throat, lying again, before she quickly raised her own glass to his, clinking it, "To the last hurrah."

"Perhaps we can toast this again over dinner," the Professor muttered, pouting at the flutes, "In a few months. When I can actually join you both."

The Doctor just chuckled at that and put his arm around her, downing the rest of his drink before leading her into the room that had been assigned to them for the night.

~8~

"You're thinking too loud," the Professor's voice murmured in the Doctor's ear from where she was lying beside him, turned towards him, half wrapped around in as she tried to fall asleep…but he was shifting a bit and his mind was racing with thoughts about the mummy and the supposed curse.

"It's nothing," he turned his head, pressing a kiss to her forehead in promise, "Nothing."

"Mmm…" she hummed, "Definitely."

"Sure?" he eyed her, her eyes still closed, her expression relaxed.

"99 percent sure."

"Really? 99 percent?"

"Not high enough for you?" her eyes fluttered open to look into his.

"…is that the figure you're sticking with?" he narrowed his eyes, seeing a playful look in her eyes.

"I could be persuaded to lower it to 75," she shrugged, grinning.

A smile formed over his face as well as he leaned over to kiss her deeply, resting his forehead to hers as he pulled away slowly.

"Hmm…" she considered, "Yes, I was mistaken. 75 percent."

"That's jumped quite a bit," he chuckled softly, reaching out a hand to stroke her cheek with the back of one finger, "Down 24 percent…"

"Shall I drop it lower?" she looked at him.

"I don't think it would be wise for me to attempt persuading you down to 0," he mused.

"And why is that?" she teased.

But he grew all too serious, "These walls are hardly as sound proofed as the TARDIS is."

A blush shot through her cheeks at his implication and her hearts raced, a pleased feeling coursing through her at the knowledge that he still found her that attractive despite her being practically a whale in size by now and getting bigger.

"True," she had to admit, clearing her throat slightly at how hoarse it had gotten at the thought of just what activities he would have used to persuade her to make it completely not-nothing, "Persuade me then," she flicked her eyes back to his, "Out-logic me soldier."

He laughed at that and nodded, "A curse, one that's been studied and unexplained for years now."

"50 percent," she encouraged him.

"A mummy that only the victim can see."

"25."

"Our last trip on the Orient Express."

She grinned widely at that, "Oh look…I think it IS something. Yes," she nodded, "It's very much not-nothing."

He beamed at that and the two were off their bed, ready to investigate once more.

~8~

There had been a moment of pause when the Time Lords had left their room, about whether to get Clara involved or not, but, well, the girl HAD insisted she didn't want this to be real so they decided to let her sleep. If it really was just superstition, then waking Clara would only make her more irritated with them. So they'd headed down the carriages, looking for whatever might help explain the mysterious death that had happened on the train just before they'd arrived.

According to Quell, the woman, Mrs. Pitt, a few of her belongings had been transferred to engineering, to ensure that they were working properly. Apparently she'd had some sort of device she'd been sitting on that had to be investigated to make sure it had been working properly, so they decided to start there as it was the last thing the woman had been touching when she died.

The engineering carriage was rather cramped, computer screens everywhere, blueprints scattered on a table, workbenches littered with tools…but the chair, Mrs. Pitt's chair, had been rather easy to find, especially when it was the only chair in the room affixed to another piece of equipment that appeared active, bubbling away and powering up, working perfectly according to the scanner it was attached to. The Doctor reached out and picked up a plastic wrapping lying over it to scan the substance with the sonic, not about to let the Professor touch it in case it had been tampered with and was now acid or something equally bad.

"Beautiful bit of kit, isn't it?" a voice called from the other end of the room, startling the Time Lords. The Professor winced as she straightened from where she'd been leaning over the Doctor, her hand to her back at the spasm, "Didn't mean to startle you," the man before them, dressed in overalls with an engineering cap on, holding a rather heavy piece of metal, nodded at the Professor in apology, before his gaze landed on the substance before the Doctor, "The Excelsior Life Extender. It's like driving around in a portable hospital."

"Yes, well, it didn't do Mrs. Pitt much good, did it?" the Doctor countered, putting the plastic back down and standing.

"Got me there, sir. Certainly got me there. Maybe it malfunctioned."

"No," the Professor shook her head, gesturing to the scan that was still running, a log of past scans beside it, "The records show that the machine did everything it could to keep her alive."

"Yeah. And almost drained the battery doing it."

The Professor eyed him a moment for his tone, "What do you know?"

"Well, I know that when I find a man fiddling with a chair that someone died in, it's best to play my cards close to my chest."

"Really?" the Doctor mused, "Well, I know that when I find a man loitering near a chair that someone died in, I do just the same."

There was a standstill for a moment before the engineer smiled, "Perkins. Chief Engineer."

"The Doctor," he introduced, "My wife, the Professor," he gestured at the Professor as well, "Nosey Parker and Inquisitive Investigator."

Perkins set down the metal on a table and stepped over, holding out a hand to greet them properly, "Pleased to meet you, Doctor," he shook the man's hand, turning to the Professor to do the same, "Professor," the Time Lords seemed to almost be waiting for something else, but the man didn't comment on their use of titles instead of names, which was refreshing, "Course, there's a rumor that someone or some thing else might be responsible."

The Professor nodded slowly at that, it was best to get as many perspectives on what might be going on as possible, "Do tell."

~8~

The Doctor and Professor slowly made their way into the lounge car of the Orient Express, pleased to find that it was relatively empty for the moment, only a few men and women straggling about. The Professor, however, was inordinately pleased to see that a desert table had been set up and quickly made her way over to it to get some treats. The Doctor was quite sure she'd quickly 'waddled' over there, but he wasn't going to breathe a word of that description to his wife lest she try to shoot him in his knees with her blaster for it. He moved to her side though when he saw her preparing more than just two plates and went to help her carry the rest towards a table where a man was sitting, absently stroking his thin moustache as he read a book.

"What's the most interesting thing about the Foretold?" the Doctor asked as they plopped down before him, startling the man.

"I'm terribly sorry, I don't believe we've met…" the man began.

But the Doctor didn't rise to the bait of it, what Perkins had told them was far more interesting now that they had a name for the curse and the mummy and a recommendation of who could tell them more about it, a Mr. Moorehouse, another passenger. There were SO many 'curse' theories and mummies out there that it was hard to keep them all straight in your head. He knew, just from glancing at the Professor's expression as Perkins spoke to them, that she was trying to think if she had heard of the Foretold before and, judging by how frustrated her expression had gotten, she either didn't know or DID know but couldn't recall. He hadn't asked her either, not wanting to make her feel worse. He knew how important her mind was to her, and having the twins, it was distracting her in a way she hadn't anticipated. It made it harder to focus and he didn't want to bring it to light or make her have to admit that out loud.

"You know," he shrugged, waving the man's opening off, "The Foretold. Mythical mummy. Legend has it that, if you see it, you're a dead man."

"Yes," the man nodded slowly, "I know what it is. You see, I happen to be…"

"Emil Moorhouse," the Professor spoke, her voice slightly muffled by the rather large bite of apple turnover she'd taken, swallowing hard so as not to be completely rude and free up her mouth, "Professor of Alien Mythology. I'm a Professor as well, also of Alien Mythology, but I can't recall having heard of the Foretold before. Ooh," she blinked and nodded beside her, "This is my husband, the Doctor."

"So," the Doctor picked up, seeing the man about to question them, unlike Perkins, about their use of title and not name, "The most interesting thing about the Foretold. Go."

"Er, well, it would have to be the time limit given before it kills you," Moorhouse supplied, "I can't think of another myth where it's so specific. How does it go? Er, 'The number of evil twice over. They that bear the Foretold's stare have sixty six seconds to live.'"

"Hmm…" the Doctor hummed, before looking at the Professor, putting his arm over the back of her chair, "What do you think?" he asked, reaching out for a cookie on her plate, only for her to slap his hand playfully, "Interesting?"

"No," the Professor sighed, "Not very. Quite atmospheric. But that's not really interesting," she glanced at Moorhouse, "Care to try again?"

"A cynical man might say that you were trying to pump me for information," Moorhouse remarked.

The Professor rolled her eyes at that, "The myth of the Foretold first appeared over 5,000 years ago," she began to rattle off the information very quickly, "In some stories, there is a riddle or secret word that is supposed to make it stop. Some characters try to bargain with it, offer riches, confess sins. All to no avail."

"You said you had never heard of the Foretold before."

"Doesn't mean I'm not a quick study nor that I can't brush up on the mythology," she countered, "Mythology which, in my field of experience, from time to time, turns out to be true."

"And that's the great appeal, isn't it?" the man smiled, quite taken to be able to passionately debate and talk about this, the Doctor leaning back and staring at the Professor as she handled this. She might not be able to run much or move as quickly as she'd like, not able to handle what she used to be, but she could do this, and he would not take that from her, "Earth legends are such dry, dusty affairs, and always fiction. But up here, in the stars, anything's possible. That's why I chose this field, to be honest. Hoping one day I might meet a real monster."

The Professor's expression didn't change at that but the Doctor placed a free hand on her thigh, knowing where her mind would go at that remark, that the man WAS meeting a real monster right now, because she was sitting across from him.

"You still haven't answered my husband's riddle," the Professor pointed out, "What's the most interesting thing about the Foretold?"

"Well, you can't run from it, that's for sure," Moorhouse settled back, "There are accounts of people trying, but it never works. No matter how far you run, it's always right there behind you."

The Professor pursed her lips and shook her head, "Nope. Not even remotely interesting."

"Alright, I give up, you tell me," the man urged, not sure what they wanted to know because that, to him, was truly the most interesting thing about the mythical Foretold.

"Mrs. Pitt, the old woman who died."

"She died of old age," Moorhouse laughed, "Nothing supernatural."

"No," the Doctor shook his head, "That's the answer. The most interesting thing," he smiled as his wife, "Knew you would work it out."

Moorhouse didn't seem to understand, "Her death?"

"No," the Professor remarked, "The fact that you were here to witness it."

The Doctor glanced back, hearing a small commotion begin to sound behind them and stood, "Excuse me, Professors," he gave the Professor a joking wink as he headed over to where Quell was speaking to one of his crew just outside the doorway.

"Hold on, hold on," the Professor huffed, pushing herself to stand and looking down at her plates of food. She'd eaten two just talking to Moorhouse but there were still two more and she wanted to go with the Doctor but it was always best to keep at least one hand free and…

She sighed, picking up both plates and gently shaking the contents of one onto the other in a precarious pile to take with her.

"I could have carried one for you, wife," the Doctor reminded her as they turned to go.

"My food," was all she countered with, tugging the plate playfully passively towards her, making him laugh.

"Captain Quell," the Doctor called as they reached the man just on the other side of the door, in the corridor, "I think we need to talk."

"This matter does not concern the passengers," Quell turned to him, clearly thinking they'd come to discuss what he had been speaking to his crew about.

"I'm not a passenger, neither of us are," he gestured at the Professor who, with a mouth full of powdered doughnut with a sprinkle of the white powder on her lips, gave the man a brief wave. He pulled out the psychic paper and held it up to the man to see, "We're your worst nightmare."

Quell's eyes widened in horror, "Mystery shoppers? Oh, great!"

"Really?" the Professor coughed a bit to swallow and took the paper to eye it, "That's your worst?"

"Ok," the Doctor just shook his head at that, "We're mystery shoppers," he agreed, "My lovely wife could do with an extra pillow, I'm sure you can see, and I'm very disappointed with your breakfast bar and neither of us are all too pleased with the dying..."

The Professor probably would have laughed at how pale Quell kept getting the more the Doctor went on, no…actually she did laugh, before quickly covering it with a cough as the Captain shot her a glare and turned to lead them off for privacy.

~8~

The Professor sat on a plush chair as the Doctor stood behind her, his hands resting on the back of the chair, watching as Quell pulled two glasses out and began to pour some sort of alcohol into them before turning to offer the Doctor one of the glasses, making the Professor roll her eyes. Even though she knew she was pregnant and couldn't drink it, the man hadn't even so much as glanced at her, it was irritating to be seen as invisible.

"This is not exactly within your job description," Quell remarked as he observed the two Time Lords, the Doctor drinking his glass quickly and setting it back down.

"Come on, Captain," the Doctor scoffed, "Where would we all be if we all followed our job descriptions, hmm?"

"Good question," the Professor mused, thinking about it a moment. If they held true to that, the Doctor would still be on Gallifrey healing the sick while she would have likely been some sort of teacher in the Academy. She turned her attention back to Quell, going along with the Doctor's line of thought, "In your case, you'd be doing something instead of climbing inside a bottle."

Quell straightened, not sure if he was being insulted or not, "I have followed the procedure for accidental death to the letter…"

"Yes, we're sure you have," the Doctor waved it off, "And I'm sure you do just enough of your job to avoid complaints."

"You don't know anything about me!"

"Wounded in battle," the Professor stated, so matter-of-factly that Quell almost seemed shocked that she would know given he'd never met the woman before, "Honorable discharge. Had the fight knocked out of you…"

"How could…"

The Professor nodded to the wall, just above his alcohol, where a certificate that described just that from the army was hanging in a frame, "I use my eyes, I notice everything."

She wasn't about to add that she really had only noticed it because she'd been thinking that one of his drink collections looked like apple juice and she started to really want some and had looked away to stop thinking about it, catching sight of the certificate in the process.

"I bet you expected this to be a cushy desk job where you could put your head down until retirement," the Doctor spoke up, "Well, sorry, as of today, that dream is over."

"There is no evidence of any attack or other parties," Quell disagreed, thinking back to how the Doctor had mentioned they weren't pleased with the dying, as in more than one person doing so.

"Yes, so let's just sit around and wait for the evidence while the bodies pile up," the Professor muttered sarcastically, pushing herself up from the chair, giving the Doctor a nod for his help when she winced, having moved too quickly and felt another spasm.

"Or," the Doctor looked at Quell, "Here's a crazy thought, we could do something to stop it."

"So why don't WE?" the Professor looked at him, "We've never needed permission of others before. Why start now?"

The Doctor blinked at that and turned to glance at Quell, as though just realizing how true that was, "Why ARE we even talking to you?" he had to wonder, before shaking his head and taking the Professor's hand to step out into the corridor…almost walking right into Perkins as he stood there waiting for them with a set of rolled parchment in his hand.

"Er, passenger manifest," Perkins held up one of the rolls, "Plan of the train, and a list of stops for the past six months…"

"Quick work, Mr. Perkins," the Professor commented, pleased by the efficiency and taking the roll of passenger names.

"Maybe too quick," the Doctor's eyes narrowed suspiciously at him.

"Yes, sir, I'm obviously the mummy," Perkins deadpanned, "Or perhaps I was already looking into this."

The Professor laughed at that, "I like you, Perkins."

"Hey," the Doctor frowned at that.

The Professor just turned to him and patted his cheek, "I love you, husband."

"Right, good," the Doctor nodded, straightening his jacket out, "Shall we?"

Perkins gave them a small smile and a nod and turned to lead them back to the Engineering room.

~8~

Perkins truly was rather efficient, the Professor couldn't help but think, as she and the Doctor sat before a computer monitor in the Engineering room, watching the security footage of Mrs. Pitt's dinner where she had died. Moorhouse had come to join them, watching over the aliens' shoulders with Perkins. The old woman was just sitting there, talking to her daughter, before she suddenly started to get more irate and flustered, starting to shout and point at something before leaning back, as though trying to avoid something, and slumping over, dead.

"Sixty six seconds," the Professor murmured, having timed it from the moment she noticed the woman's body language shift and tense when she spotted something only she could see, "It fits the myth," she popped a small handful of nuts into her mouth, the last of the small packet the Doctor had given her to eat while they watched some of the footage, her stomach having growled slightly moments ago.

"Did you see the lights flicker?" the Doctor mused, having noticed that detail.

"Mmm," Moorhouse nodded.

"Yeah, the lights went in the kitchen as well just before the chef saw it," Perkins agreed, bringing up the most recent attack. Another person had been targeted by something, apparently the Foretold, and died, had reacted exactly like Mrs. Pitt had as well and died the same way.

"In all of the accounts, conventional weapons have no effect on the Foretold," Moorhouse warned, "It's immortal, unstoppable, unkillable."

"Can we get a new expert?" Perkins looked to the Time Lords.

"I've only ever seen one thing that's unkillable," the Professor mused in thought, "And it's hardly this creature. There's some way to stop it, we just need to find it."

The Doctor looked over at the Professor for that remark and started to smile when he saw her looking at him, that HE was the one thing she knew to be unkillable. Funny, he could say the same about her. Even though they were Time Lords and they could be killed, could die and regenerate or be caught before that and truly be killed or die at the end of a regeneration cycle…it never stopped them, they had yet to truly be killed that permanently.

And he was not about to let that change any time soon.

~8~

The Professor honestly had no idea what had happened. She remembered sitting beside the Doctor and going through more footage and information on the datacore, her head resting on his shoulder…and the next thing she knew she was jerking up at the Doctor's shouts of 'Where are you!?' before he bolted out of the room. Somehow she had fallen asleep in the middle of it all though, looking at Perkins and Moorhouse, she hadn't been the only one. She was surprised that she'd fallen asleep though, she usually had such a hard time doing so unless she was practically cuddled against the Doctor and in a big comfy bed. Perhaps it was a lingering sleepiness from having been in a big comfy bed before but not been allowed to sleep due to his loud thoughts.

She had barely a moment to consider that though as she was, wincing quite a bit in the process and struggling more than she wanted to admit, on her feet and hurrying after the Doctor as quickly as she could manage, following him down the corridor to a cart at the end of it that led to one of the storage rooms, if she recalled the schematics that Perkins had shown her correctly.

"Clara!" the Doctor was shouting, hitting the door, "Is that you?"

"Yes," Clara's muffled voice called from the other side, making the Professor's eyes widen at that, both of them having thought that Clara was still sleeping, "Yes. Hello. Can you hear us?"

"Clara what happened?" the Professor moved to his side as the Doctor began to try and sonic the door.

"I'm stuck!"

"Yes, I can see that," the Professor remarked, looking to the Doctor as he focused on the lock…only for the computer system to shock him.

"Ow!" he hissed, yanking his hand away and shaking it, "Computer, can you open the door, please?"

"Call me Gus," a voice spoke from the speakers, the same voice that had announced them to look out the window earlier, "I'm afraid this door can only be opened by executive order."

"Oh, forget it," he huffed, trying to scan it again, but it just stuttered, beeped, and turned off, "Oh. Now the stupid sonic…"

"What?" Clara shouted.

"The sonic's not working," the Professor reached out to take it, turning it over in her hand to try and work out why. There was nothing wrong with it though…

"What? What do you mean, it's not working? Why?"

"We don't know," she frowned, turning to look at the lock, leaning in to get a better look, on hand braced on her stomach for balance so she didn't pitch forward at the loss of balance, "The lock has a suppression field to it," she straightened, "Clara what are you even doing in there?!"

"Well, I was looking for you Mr. and Mrs. Nothing-to-worry-about."

"What, were we supposed to wake you up?" the Doctor rolled his eye at that, "Drag you out of bed because we had a hunch?"

The Professor put a hand on his shoulder and leaned in slightly more to speak to Clara, "We thought you didn't want to do this anymore," she was very careful to keep her tone pointed towards Clara, to make it clear that the girl was setting numerous double standards. On one hand she got all flustered that it wasn't something, had made a big thing that she didn't want it to be something because she didn't want to do this anymore, that this was it and it was over. Then she ended up getting curious and walking around on her own because it just might be something and she wanted to know what it was. She couldn't tell them she wanted out of the danger and then get mad at them for not including her on the danger of the adventure."

"Look, look, please," Clara sighed, "Can we just not do this now? I think we might not be alone in here. There's a sarcophagus…"

The Time Lords looked at each other a moment, the Doctor frowning deeply, "Is it in there?"

"I think we might just be about to find out. Turns out the sonic was working, just not on the door we need."

Just above them, the lights flickered, the same exact thing that had happened when the Foretold had apparently come for Mrs. Pitt and the chef, "Clara," the Professor warned her as the Doctor pulled out the sonic to try and get the lock open, to bypass the suppression field, "It's coming."

"What is?" Clara fell silent a moment later, scaring them half to death, before she was back, her voice relieved, "It's ok. It's er…it's full of bubble wrap."

"Bubble wrap?" the Professor blinked at that, well…that was new.

"But the lights…" the Doctor agreed, that didn't make sense.

Before either of them could start to theorize, Quell's voice sounded behind them along with the sound of two other sets of footsteps as the man ran for them, "You two, move away from the door!" he ordered, the two men with them, guards, pointing their guns at the Time Lords.

"Our granddaughter is inside," the Professor stated as they turned to face the men, perhaps saying the word 'granddaughter' a bit louder than necessary, but she wanted Clara to know that, no matter what she might feel or think of them, they (or at least she for the moment) considered her to be their granddaughter still.

"Then they're in trouble, too," Quell lifted his chin, "I spoke to Head Office. There are no mystery shoppers. You're not even on the passenger list!"

The Doctor sighed, realizing that this wasn't' going to end well and, if he tried to resist, it would undoubtedly make the Professor more defensive and the last thing he wanted was for her to try to attack the guards in her condition. So he turned his head slightly towards the door, speaking loudly so Clara could hear them on the inside, "Clara, we're going to have to call you back."

"Come on," Quell ordered and the two men stepped forward, handcuffing the Time Lords who just glanced at each other.

'What is it?' the Doctor frowned, seeing the Professor's face morphing into a scowl.

'My arms are fat,' she told him.

He would have laughed if she hadn't looked so serious, 'Your arms are beautiful.'

'No, Theta, my arms are FAT,' she gave him a look, 'They're bigger than normal, my arms, my wrists, my hands even…' she sighed, 'I don't think I'll be able to break out of these,' she shifted her wrists slightly, signifying she was speaking of the cuffs, 'Not the way I normally do.'

'Well good,' he stated firmly, earning a slightly confused look from her, it would be an advantage for her to be able to get out of them and he could tell she didn't understand why he was happy she couldn't, 'I hate it so much, Kata, when you do that. It always hurts you and, I know you can handle the pain, but I don't want to ever see you in it, not even the smallest amount.'

She gave him a soft look for that, 'Then you may want to be far, FAR away when the babies come.'

'Not a chance,' he told her firmly, it would be painful, undoubtedly, doubly so to do it twice, but that was not something he would ever, ever miss, not for all his lives, not for all the stars in the sky would he miss his children coming into this world and being there to hold his wife's hand when she needed his strength.

"You know," he looked over at Quell, pulled from the mental conversation when the soldiers began to shove them on, though being a bit more delicate and gentle with the Professor given her condition, "We're going to have to mark you down for this."

"You are not mystery shoppers!" Quell huffed, "For all I know, you're the ones behind the killings!"

"Oh, come on, Captain," the Doctor rolled his eyes, "How many people have to die before you stop looking the other way?"

The moment the words left his mouth, the sound of gunshots rang out from down the train, sending Quell, the guards, and, by extension, the Time Lords hurrying in that direction, stepping into the lounge car and ducking down as one of the guards within was firing wildly at something it appeared only he could see given his shouts to 'get back!' and 'stay back!' at whatever it was.

"What do you think you're doing, man?!" Quell demanded, trying to get closer, to calm the man down, but the guard was looking at something else.

"Please, please!" he begged, "Stop! No!"

And then, before their eyes, the man threw his head back, shook…and collapsed to the ground in a heap, unmoving.

"Get up, man, that's an order!" Quell cried, but the man remained motionless till one of the other passengers, what appeared to be a doctor in a stark white coat and a fine beard ran over to check for a pulse, shaking his head when there was none to find. Quell stood there in shock, staring at the body as Moorhouse crouched down and picked up the man's fallen gun, handing it to Quell in silence. The captain looked at it a moment before passing to off to another guard and glancing at the Time Lords, still standing there in their cuffs, clearly NOT the killers but, perhaps, the ones that could help stop it, "It turns out, it's three," Quell breathed, "The amount of people that had to die before I stopped looking the other way," he gave the guards on either side of the aliens a nod and the duo were quickly released.

"Thank you," the Professor offered Quell, the Doctor remaining silent but taking her hands and examining her wrists to make sure she wasn't injured in the slightest by the restraints, only letting go of her hand when she squeezed his hands back in reassurance.

"Same as the others?" Perkins asked quietly as he came up behind the Time Lords, looking past them at the body that was slowly being gathered by a few other guards who had also run there after hearing the shots fired.

"Excuse me please," one guard was directing the others, trying to get the body out of the room that had now filled with passengers as well, "Take his feet. Excuse me please…"

The Doctor looked over at the Professor who gave him a nod, her hand resting on her stomach, and so he stepped forward, only to hesitate a moment and step back, moving to her side and putting a hand on her back to urge HER forward, "You were the one in Intergalactic Relations," he reminded her gently.

She knew what he was doing though, he was trying to make it so that she felt useful. She couldn't run or fight much at the moment, but she could still use what was left of her mind when it was focused and use her skills at relations to help get everyone's cooperation, "Ladies and gentlemen, could I have a moment of your time, please?" she called, waiting till the others had looked at her before she continued, knowing that the Doctor was standing behind her with a smug smile on his face, his arms crossed as he watched her, she could feel his eyes on her, "There's a monster on this train that can only be seen by those about to die. If you do see it, you will have exactly sixty six seconds left in which to live. But do you know what's curious about that, about the potential victims this creature might find? Look around, look at all of you," she gestured at them, "All of you passengers are experts in alien biology, mythology, physics…if I was putting together a team to analyze this thing, well, I wouldn't need you, but if someone ELSE needed to, they'd pick you. And I think somebody has. Someone of immense power and influence has orchestrated this whole trip. Someone…who I have no doubt is listening to us right now," she looked up, "So, are you going to let us see the equipment we have to work with and give us our orders or not?"

The room fell silent, so silent that Perkins was able to hear something very out of the ordinary, "The engines. They've stopped…"

"Yes," the Professor nodded, waiting patiently before the room around them flickered, as though a shimmer were being released to reveal that they were standing in a very advanced lab filled with quite a few high-tech gadgets and scanners.

"And the facade drops away because what use are a bunch of scientists without a lab?" the Doctor nodded, moving to step beside the Professor again.

"You can cancel the rest of the holograms as well," the Professor shouted up, knowing that only a handful of the people in the room were actual scientists, others were images to make them feel like the train was fuller than it was. And so she wasn't surprised when quite a few people vanished with a flicker as well, "Hard light holograms," the Professor murmured, she'd been able to feel the tingle on her skin from it the moment she'd stepped into the lounge area, burning warmer than the other lights of the car. She hadn't thought much of it at the time, numerous expensive sites would use such tricks to make their exhibits and displays seem more popular, "Fake passengers to make up the numbers."

A moment later there was a binging noise and the speakers began to play again, "Good morning, everyone. Around the room you will find a variety of scientific equipment. Your goal is to ascertain the Foretold's true nature, probe for weaknesses with a view to capture, after which we will reverse engineer its abilities. Isn't this exciting?"

"You said capture," the Professor's ears perked at that word, "Implying that you can't control this thing. And yet, somehow, you got it onboard. How?"

"There is an artifact, an ancient scroll. I have highlighted it for your convenience. For reasons currently unknown, the Foretold appears in the vicinity of this artifact."

Across the room, on the other end of the car, a small light turned on in the wall, illuminating a portion of what appeared to be a scroll decorated in an odd version of cuneiform. The Professor made her way over to it, leaning in to examine it closer as the Doctor spoke up to their captor, "And kills at regular intervals."

"Then just maybe we should throw this thing out in the airlock," Quell suggested, striding across the room towards it.

"Don't," the Professor grabbed the man's wrist as he reached for the scroll, "You think no one before you has thought of that? It will be secure against attempts of the like. Would you be willing to risk your life to touch it?" it was why she hadn't. Something so important to controlling the Foretold wouldn't just be left in a wall unguarded. She wasn't about to risk touching it and ended up electrocuted, nor was she going to let someone else try the same.

"What if we say no?" Moorhouse called up to the speakers, "Down tools. Refuse to work."

"That is your choice, of course," the speaker agreed, "But it would be very upsetting were you all to die at the hands of the Foretold."

"So hurry up, before it kills you?" Perkins summarized.

"But even if they agree to this, how are they supposed to study a creature that they can't even see?" the Doctor reasoned, glancing at the Professor as she continued to examine the scroll, "We don't even know what the species is," they'd had experience in that before, being unaware of a particular creature and how to face it due to others being unable to see it. Like with Vincent and the Krafayis. The Professor had heard of them, had known about them, but they were one of many invisible species that were merely written about and not easily identified.

They both knew that the 'Foretold' was likely NOT it's actual name nor species. That made it even harder to identify. What the humans knew as the Foretold could be completely different than what it was actually called. With the mythology behind it, it was easy to imagine that, over time, even the name had been warped or changed. Without knowing the exact species or planet of origination, they wouldn't know what they were dealing with, not really.

They all fell quite, looking up when the lights flickered.

"Perkins!" the Professor spun around, grimacing at the strain it put on her back, but forced herself to walk forward, "Start the clock," she gestured at the man's wrist where he was wearing a watch. She knew she could keep track of the time, but she'd rather be able to focus full on what was going on instead of diverting part of her attention, even a small part, towards keeping time, "Does anyone see it?" she looked around, "Can anyone describe it?"

"Approximately 1.8 meters tall," Moorhouse breathed, staring past them towards the door opposite the scroll, "Actually, seeing it in the flesh isn't nearly as rewarding as I thought it might be."

"Oh, dear," the Doctor frowned, glancing at the door as though hoping he might see it, but there was nothing there, a quick glance at the Professor confirmed it was the same for her, "Hard cheese. What can you see? Details."

"Yes," Moorhouse shook his head, trying to focus, "Yes, of course, of course. Uh…well, it just looks like er, a man in bandages. I…"

"What kind of bandages?" the Professor pressed, needing as much detail as possible, age could help narrow it down, "Old? New?"

"Old."

"Whole? Ragged?"

"Ragged. Falling off in places. I don't know what you want me to tell you!"

"Moorhouse," the Professor moved near his field of vision but not blocking where he was looking, stepping after him as the man began to try and move back, "Listen to me," she insisted, "You can see this thing. We can't," and she was severely irritated by that, "Tell us what you can see. Even the smallest detail might help save the next one."

"The next one?" his voice shook, "You mean you can't save me?"

"Well, that is implied, isn't it?" the Doctor muttered, "Yes, this is probably the end for you. But make it count."

"Details, please," the Professor called. She was fast at making plans, she always had been, but she needed to know what she was dealing with, there had to be parameters and information to work with, she needed to know how it was targeting people and killing them and what its limitations were.

"Er, flesh," Moorhouse swallowed hard, his eyes flickering as he tried to look at whatever it was, "Some of it is visible…" he looked sick at that.

"Thirty seconds," Perkins warned.

"Er, leathery. Ancient looking. Peat bog preserved…"

"Good," the Professor nodded, "Keep talking."

"Don't waste this chance," the Doctor agreed, the Time Lords slowly following him as he moved back further.

"I want to bargain for my life!" the man suddenly shouted at the creature.

"What?"

"Well, it says…some of the myths say if you…if you find the right word, if you make the right offer, then it lets you go."

"This is not a myth," the Professor shook her head, far too serious, "This is real."

"Forget your superstitions," the Doctor shouted, "Tell us what you can see!"

"This is my life, my death!" Moorhouse snapped, "I'm going to fight for it how I want," he turned his head more, as though focusing entirely on the Foretold, "Er, I give you…"

"Ten seconds," Perkins murmured.

"My soul. I confess all sins. I give you all my worldly goods. Only…please, please, please," he began to scramble back, his hands up, trying to block something, swatting his arms around as though something were reaching for him. And, much like the guard, his head tilted back as if someone had grabbed it, "No!"

That was the last word he gave before his eyes rolled into his head and he collapsed to the ground.

"Zero," Perkins sighed.

"We apologize for any distress you may have just experienced," the speaker sounded above them, "Grief counseling is available on request. On the bright side, I'm sure you've all collected a lot of data. Well done, everyone!"

"It's recording every death," Perkins breathed, horrified.

"Of course it is," the Professor sighed at that, rubbing her temples as she felt a migraine coming. She was almost surprised she hadn't collapsed as well, that she hadn't felt her blood pressure go up or that the stress was gaining on her. But she supposed not being able to see it and, with all the victims having been human so far, somewhere in her mind, she knew she was safe and wasn't as frightened as she had been before. As long as no one truly threatened her, the Doctor, or her babies, or Clara, she was sure she'd be able to remain conscious through this.

"That's why we're here," the Doctor agreed, moving to her side, his one hand going to the back of her neck to gently massage it in an effort to help, "To study our own demise. So let's get to work," he looked around at the others, "Come on. Chop, chop. It can't be just my wife and I trying to save your hides. You're all experts in this field, start hypothesizing!"

"We need to check on Clara," the Professor murmured, reaching into a pocket of his coat to pull out the sonic, heading over to one of the train-provided phones on an examination table and soniced it, holding it to her ear, "Clara?"

"Ok," Clara cut in, "So, first things first. The sarcophagus is actually a secure stasis unit."

"What?" the Professor blinked, motioning the Doctor over to her to listen in, "You did some investigating?"

"Well I didn't exactly have anything else to occupy my time," she countered, "Best make myself useful. You were talking about the sarcophagus so I started there."

They exchanged a look at that, a small smile coming to their faces for it, Clara didn't even realize what she was doing, getting involved, getting right back into what they always did, just like old times.

"Yes," the Doctor nodded even though Clara couldn't see it as the Professor held up the phone between them, "It's where they want us to put the Foretold if we capture it."

"Well, that would have been good to know."

"Sorry. Teeny bit busy round here."

"Anything else?" the Professor cut in.

"Please terminate your call and return to work," the speaker went off above them, but the Professor just waved it off.

"We have some paperwork," Clara continued, "Passenger manifests from other ships. Maisie recognized a couple of the names. These are missing ships."

"Then we're not the first," the Professor nodded at the implication.

"No."

"Please terminate your call and return to work," the speaker repeated.

"Shush," the Professor put a hand over the bottom of the phone to huff up at the speakers before returning to the call.

"I've got some progress reports," Clara added, "The Gloriana spent three days getting picked off by the Foretold. All died. Performance marked as poor. The Valiant Heart. Forty two crew, four died. Performance, promising…"

"Please terminate the call and return to work."

The Doctor only barely managed to grab the Professor's hand to keep her from firing her blaster at one of the speakers. Whatever training they had given her during the war had been…well, something. Even pregnant, even having struggled with everything else (struggling with getting her shoes on in the TARDIS), she had been able to grab the blaster off her leg and lift it before he could even blink. Her face had been contorted in pain from both the hunching and twisting and moving, but she'd done it, and record fast. He should probably be concerned about that, that she had reacted so automatically to get to her blaster that it had caused her pain regardless of it, but right now he had more pressing concerns.

Like wrestling the blaster out of her hand without her accidently shooting him or the others.

"Professor…" he grunted a bit, "Let go of the blaster…"

"Just let me shoot…"

"No," he shook his head, "No, I think you need to calm down, wife."

"Don't tell a pregnant woman to calm down, husband!"

"Just…"

"Um…" Quell hesitated, making the two Time Lords look over at him from their position of both their hands grasping her blaster, "I think you should do as it says," he nodded at the phone, "And not threaten it…" he nodded past them for that last part, towards the window.

The Time Lords looked over, letting go of the blaster as they saw what appeared to be the catering staff and various bits of equipment floating outside, all dead.

"Clara," the Doctor reached out for the phone, "We have to go," he warned her before ending the call, taking the Professor's hand and squeezing it, feeling her shaking…if they didn't want her to threaten the speaker, then that was NOT what they should have done. Doing this? It would only make her want to kill their captor more.

"I'm sorry," the speaker pinged, "I know that must have been distressing for you. But if you are disobedient again, I will decompress another area containing less valuable passengers."

"Less valuable passengers," the Professor mocked, disgusted, "How does it choose?"

"Well, I'm assuming qualifications…" Perkins began, taking it to be her asking a serious question.

"Wait, wait, wait," the Doctor eyes widened something about the Professor's words striking him, "How does the Foretold choose who to kill?"

"It can't be random," the Professor agreed, "Otherwise it would have gone for us or Clara first, pick off the most dangerous or threatening to its quest."

"I want full histories on all the victims," the Doctor turned to Quell and Perkins, "Medical, social, personal…"

"Well don…" the speaker began, but a small explosion went off as the Professor fired up at it, cutting it off.

"Oops?" she gave a non-apologetic shrug but put her blaster back in its leg holster near her ankle. Some might assume, doing that, would make their captor retaliate worse than before, but she knew better. Someone as sinister and manipulating as the one that held them hostage would see the usefulness in leaving it be, leaving them all wondering who would be next, would THEY have the air decompressed from around them? Would the doors suddenly open and eject them? There would be no warning and so they'd work harder to keep themselves from disappointing their captor.

Or at least the humans would, the Time Lords had much more to focus on.

~8~

The Doctor, Professor, Quell, and Perkins stood before one of the monitors of the now-lab car, going through the records of the Foretold's last victims, trying to find something that they all shared that could clue them in to who might be next.

"Doesn't seem to be any pattern," Perkins sighed, "Their travel history, interests, health. It's all over the shop."

The Professor frowned, eyeing the profiles that had now spaced onto a split screen of the victims, "Health."

"Health?"

"Let's see their health," the Professor nodded, "Mrs. Pitt, the first victim. She was over a hundred years old. The frailest passenger onboard. She could be picking off the weak and injured," she glanced at the Doctor, "Like a certain siren," the Doctor nodded at that, recalling that trip, but he very much doubted the Foretold was actually a virtual nurse.

"Oh but the next to go, the chef, was young and fit," Perkins shook his head, "It's random."

"The chef was ill," Quell disagreed.

"What?" the Doctor looked at him.

"A rare blood disorder. Not contagious, but we kept it quiet."

"Because he worked with food," he nodded, understanding.

"And the next one, the guard?" the Professor turned to the man, understanding he might know more about the crew than the official records would state.

"He wasn't ill, as such," he added ,"But he did have synthetic lungs implanted last year."

"Professor Moorhouse," Perkins quickly made his way through to the man's records, "It seems he was physically fine but suffering from, here we are, regular panic attacks after a car crash last year."

"So that's what it's doing then," the Professor nodded, "Just like the siren, it's picking off the weakest first. Sensing the illness somehow. The fake organs, even psychological issues."

"Which is good news," the Doctor picked up, "Because it means we can work out who is next."

"We need the medical records of everybody alive who is still onboard."

"If anyone's had as much as a cold, we want to know about it."

Perkins nodded and got right to it, but Quell hesitated, shifting from foot to foot as he looked at the aliens, "You really think it can sense psychological issues?"

"It seems so," the Professor nodded, watching Perkins scrolling through data after data, before something struck her and she looked at Quell, "Why?"

"When you said I'd lost the stomach for a fight," he sighed, "I wasn't wounded in battle as such, but…my unit was bombed. I was the sole survivor. Not a scratch on me. But post-traumatic stress. Nightmares. Still can't sleep without pills."

The Professor looked away at that.

The Doctor reached out for her hand anyway, taking it, knowing her mind had gone to the war they'd both fought in as well. She couldn't sleep without HIM either.

"Which means that you are probably next," the Doctor told the man, it appeared, with how many of the victims had been human, the Foretold would pick them all off first before moving on to Time Lords. Humans were naturally frailer than a Time Lord was, basic biology, and their minds were less complex, basic psychology, so neither of them had to worry about the Foretold coming for them and their massive issues and complexes, not till all the humans were gone, "Which is good to know."

"Well, not for me," the man frowned.

"Well, of course not for you, because you're going to die. But I mean for us," he gestured to him and the Professor, "From a research point of view."

Quell's eyes narrowed at him, "You know, for a doctor, your bedside manner leaves…" his breath caught as the lights above them began to flicker, just as they had before the Foretold appeared.

The Doctor looked at the Professor with a frown, "Well, there's goes our head start," he sighed, earning a sorrowful nod from her, "Perkins, start the clock," he added when he saw the captain's gaze become fixed on something past them, the Foretold was there.

"Captain, what can you see?" the Professor turned to him, ready to take mental stock of anything else he could provide them about the creature.

"Almost feels out of focus," Quell squinted, "Gives me a headache just looking at it," he quickly stumbled back, pulling his gun from its holster in defense.

"No!" the Professor reached out to grab the gun out of his hand, too quickly for him to realize she'd done it, "It didn't work before, it won't now."

"Fifty seconds," Perkins called.

"Someone shut that man up!" Quell snapped.

"Where is it now?" the Doctor tried to look around, but Quell seemed to be trying to look anywhere BUT at the Foretold.

"Approximately twenty feet in front of me and closing," Quell glanced at it, still backing up.

"Forty seconds," Perkins announced.

The Professor moved over to where Quell had indicated, reaching out her hand as the Doctor soniced the area, both trying to get a feel of it, if it was even possible. She had felt something when the 'ghosts' had walked through them at the Powell Estates oh so long ago, maybe she could feel the Foretold even if she couldn't see it, "Are we close?" she asked him.

Quell just gasped, nearly hitting a chair as he scrambled further away, "It's passing right through you, like a ghost!"

Perkins quickly grabbed a scanner to the area as well, thinking that their captor must have provided them with equipment that would be useful against the Foretold, but it picked up nothing, "It's not a hologram…"

"If you move, does it follow?" the Doctor turned to Quell, the sonic was no help either and, judging by the shake of the Professor's head, she wasn't able to feel it.

"It has been," Quell gestured at himself, still moving away from it, yet the creature was obviously still coming after him.

"What if you move faster?" the Professor inquired, "Hurry back faster and see if it puts more distance…"

Quell did just that, half running backwards before spinning to actually run, only to jump back, "It's teleported away. It's behind me!"

"Twenty seconds," Perkins warned.

"I think this is it," Quell swallowed hard, "Still, suppose it's not a bad way to go. Blood pumping, enemy at the gates and all that. And thank you, Doctor, Professor, for waking me up. It's reaching for me," he began to tilt his head back, "Hands on my head…"

"Zero," Perkins whispered just as Quell screamed and fell to the ground.

The Professor looked over as the scanner that Perkins was holding beeped, "Teleporter," she looked at the Doctor, "It's picked up teleport tech. So it teleports something in and then 66 seconds later it…" she glanced at Quell's body, "It's a very, very specific number," she mumbled, something niggling in her head about that number.

"Too specific for organic," the Doctor agreed, "So, what, more tech?" he turned to her, "What? More? A countdown clock?" he looked around at the other scientists, "Something charging?"

"A man just died in front of us," Perkins frowned at him, "Can we not just have a moment?"

"No," the Professor said bluntly, "You don't have the time to mourn. You mourn and it gives the Foretold more time to come back for you and you less time to find a way to stop it."

"Everybody," the Doctor pointed around to all of them, "What takes sixty six seconds to charge up or to change state? Anyone? Am I surrounded by idiots?"

"Husband," the Professor gave him a warning look, crossing her arms.

"Not you, wife," he took her hand quickly and kissed it, "I can see your mind racing through the list now, but them," he gestured at the others, "Heads full of pudding. If only I could see this thing…"

"Do not even joke about that," she pointed warningly at him.

"I'm not joking about it," he crossed his hearts, "One minute with me and this thing, it would be over! 20 seconds with you and…" he made an exploding gesture.

"I can't tell if you're a genius or just incredibly arrogant," Perkins remarked as she shook his head at the Doctor.

"Well, ah, on a good day, I'm both," the Doctor shrugged, "Every day she's a genius though, trust me on that one," he nodded at the Professor, before snapping his fingers and pointing at her, "Show them."

"Ancient tech," she began, listing what they knew, "The Foretold's apparently been around for centuries."

"How?"

"Tech that keeps it alive."

"Tech that drains energy from the living?"

"Possible," she nodded, turning to Perkins, "Scanner," she held out her hand for it and moved closer to Quell's body, scanning it quickly, not…not really wanting to touch it, "Deep tissue scan, he's been leached of almost all energy on a cellular level. Theory strengthened."

"The heart attack is just a…is just a side effect," the Doctor murmured.

"Ok, it's not just a mummy, it's a vampire," Perkins reasoned, "Metaphorically speaking."

"But why take sixty six seconds to drain us?" he began snapping his fingers frequently, turning to the Professor, bouncing his ideas off her, "Why not just pounce?"

"Pounce…" she straightened at the word, "No…not pounce. Phase!" SHE napped her fingers now, pointing right back at him, starting to get excited as she always did when something worked itself out, "Moving energy out of phase. It takes 66 seconds exactly!"

"And that's why only the victims can see it!" the Doctor added on, the humans just staring at them, "It takes them out of phase so it can drain their energy. This explains everything!"

"Apart from what it is and how it's doing it."

"Ah, yes," he hissed in apology, "Sorry, I jumped the gun there."

The Professor just patted his shoulder for it.

"Um," Perkins spoke up, not sure if they were done speaking, "Do you two do that a lot?"

"Yes," they both said.

Perkins shook his head, "If I may?" he asked permission to speak and they nodded, "I think we know the next victim," he handed them a tablet with data of one particular passenger on it.

"Ah, of course," the Doctor nodded, showing the Professor it, "That makes perfect sense."

The Professor sighed and moved over to the train-phone once more, calling up Clara, "Clara…"

"There isn't much else here," Clara cut in, "It seems like it's the same on all the other ships, either all dead or most, progress either a failure or promising but nothing concrete and…"

"Clara," the Professor cut in, "We've worked out more about it, we've worked out how it picks its targets. It's going after people that are weak, either physically or mentally weak."

"Illnesses, psychological or bodily," the Doctor added, "Your little friend is next."

They could practically see Clara shaking her head in her next words, "Look, she's had a bad day. That's all."

"Clara, it doesn't care. Her bad day, her bereavement, her little breakdown puts her squarely in its cross hairs."

"She's next, Clara," the Professor told her.

"Ok, but…but we're in here and, if we stay in here, that thing can't…" Clara tried to find some way to protect the woman.

"This thing can teleport," the Doctor shook his head despite Clara being unable to see it, "We need her here."

"So you can save her?" Clara asked, hopeful, "You CAN save her, right?"

"Of course not," the Doctor scoffed, but gave the Professor a firm look not to say anything to the contrary, "Why would you think that? This is another chance to observe it in action."

"As it kills her!"

"Of course, as it kills her. If it happens in there, it'll be a waste so bring her to us."

"How? How exactly? She's never going to agree to this!"

"Well, I don't know. Lie to her. Tell her we can save her. Whatever it takes to get her here," and with that, he ended the call.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" the Professor gave him a look.

"She deserves it," he countered petulantly.

"She doesn't deserve to think she's leading that girl here to the slaughter," the Professor shook her head. He'd just lied to Clara, there was a way, there might be a way to save the woman, Maisie, but she'd have to be there for them to test it. She had been confused, for all of a moment, why he was lying to Clara that Maisie was coming there to die, that they were just going to use her as an experiment, when it hit her.

The Doctor was still very hurt and angry with Clara for how she'd acted and treated them after they'd saved the moon. This was his little means of revenge. Clara had looked at them as though they were despicable, as though they were monsters, as though they'd gone too far. This was a test, this was him trying to show Clara that SHE could be the very same way when push came to shove. He was testing her, to see if she'd come with Maisie. If she did, then everything Clara had had against them was null and void. She couldn't look at them as though THEY were despicable or monsters or went too far if she willingly led Maisie back here, knowing (or thinking) the woman would die like that. Because then Clara would have 'gone too far' as well, would have done a despicable deed.

He wanted Clara to see that no, they were not perfect, yes, they made mistakes, but so did SHE, so did Clara Oswald.

"She deserves to realize that what she said to us was unfair," he crossed his arms, "You have your plan to get through to her, I have mine."

The Professor could only sigh at that, not having a chance to respond more as the doors opened just then, allowing Maisie and Clara into the lounge car. The Time Lords exchanged a look before they headed over to her, the two women meeting them in the middle of the car.

"Hello, again," the woman shook their hands with a wide smile, "I'm Maisie."

"Good for you," the Doctor responded shortly.

"We passed the TARDIS on the way here," Clara told them, "Thought about getting inside, hiding, pulling the levers, and hoping for the best. But we couldn't even get in. There was a force field around it."

The Professor just took the scanner Perkins had placed down and began to scan Maisie with it, "It's probably our captor trying to block our escape route," she sighed, "It's what I would do, cut off the exits."

"But how does he even know what it is? 'Cos if he knows what it is, then he knows what you two are."

"Well, he has tried to entice us here before," the Doctor murmured, "Not HERE exactly, not the Orient Express, but…to this situation. Free tickets, mysterious summons, he even phoned the TARDIS number. Do you know how difficult a number…"

"You knew," Clara cut in, her voice growing hard, "You knew this was no relaxing break. You knew this was dangerous."

"We didn't know," the Professor shook her head, handing the scanner to the Doctor.

"But we certainly hoped," the Doctor just HAD to add.

"Ok, this," Clara gestured at them, "This is why I'm leaving you. This. Because you lied. You lied to me, again. And now you've made me lie. You've made me your accomplice."

The Professor just looked at her sadly, "Are you channeling Danny?" she asked, making Clara's eyes widen at the…well, she wasn't sure if that was meant to be an insult or not, "Because YOU lied to him, again and again, and you've made him have to lie to everyone else to keep your secret travels secret?" the Professor, despite the harsh and brutal words, her tone seemed to be genuinely asking, "You're leaving us, so he won't leave you for the same reason?"

"I…" Clara could only shake her head, completely speechless, feeling like every excuse, every reason she'd built up against them was shattering with the actual reality of the situation that she was vehemently trying to deny in her mind, trying to convince herself was NOT why she was leaving them, it wasn't guilt. It wasn't.

The situation was made all the worse by the lights flickering above them.

Maisie's eyes widened as she started to point behind them, seeing something that wasn't there.

Perkins tensed and looked at the Time Lords, "Do we start the clock?"

"Not yet," the Doctor called from before Maisie, scanning her quicker, "Focus," he told the woman, "Focus. Focus! All of that is your grief, your trauma, your resentment. And now…" he glanced at the Professor and put the scanner to his own head, pressing a button to zap himself with it, "It's mine."

Maisie gasped, "It's gone!"

The Doctor looked in that direction, but it seemed like the Foretold wasn't there either, that it would take a moment to pop back down and come for him now, that it had been reset, "No. No, it's not. Not for me. Cos now it thinks I'm you…" he tossed the scanner on the table.

"No," the Professor swallowed hard, her hand on her stomach, "I don't think that's how it works. We might have made a bit of a miscalculation…"

"What…" the Doctor turned to her, only to see her staring past him, her gaze locked on the far door, "You see it, don't you?" his hearts stopped at the realization, "But it should be ME!"

It was meant to be him, it was supposed to be the Foretold coming for HIM because he'd taken the next target's complexes as his own. It wasn't supposed to come after the Professor.

"I think all you did was set it for Time Lord brainwaves," the Professor began to slowly move back, able to see a gruesome looking mummy starting to walk towards her, its arms outstretched, eyes black, one ankle broke and dragging behind it, looking very much worse than the others had described, "And I doubt Maisie's complexes and your own amount to my trauma from the war and everything else that went to hell in my life."

She didn't seem fearful, that much Clara could still see, her voice didn't shake, her walking wasn't scrambling, she was calm, but she could see the woman growing pale.

"Perkins start the clock," the Professor called, frowning in concentration as she looked at the mummy.

"Give me the scanner," the Doctor turned, wanting to grab it from where he'd placed it, "I'll take yours and…"

"I won't let you," the Professor shook her head, trying to keep breathing, trying to keep her stress down, trying to study the mummy as she moved, "You do that, I'll fight you as much as I can and you'll break my concentration and I need all the time I can spare to work this out."

"Kata…" he breathed in Gallifreyan.

"Not now Theta," she very nearly hissed back at him. She didn't blame him for this, they'd both planned this, both planned to use the scanner to replicate Maisie's brainwaves onto his, because she would be able to see the mummy through his eyes and help him. But now…now it appeared the roles were reversed. They hadn't expected this to happen and she didn't blame him but she WOULD if he tried to stop her working this out and distract her.

"Ok," she breathed, focusing, swallowing hard and roving the creature with her eyes, looking for new clues, "You can't hurt me until my time is up. So I have till then to…find the words that'll stop you. If all the other myths about you are true, that has to be as well," she squinted, "There's something visible under the bandages," she called to the Doctor, "Markings…" her eyes widened, a realization hitting her, "Like the ones on the scroll!"

"Forty seconds," Perkins called.

"But you wouldn't put markings like that on you from a scroll," she shook her head, glancing back over her shoulder at the scroll as she slowly moved towards it, "But soldiers…soldiers wear the symbols of their platoon flags on their armor…" she looked back at the Foretold, she knew that better than anyone and, if the armor had been carved with the symbol and he'd been partially burned in battle, it would become like a brand on his skin, "You're a soldier," she whispered, frowning at the Foretold, but it didn't stop moving, "A soldier wounded in a forgotten war thousands of years ago. But your body was tampered with," she swallowed hard, understanding that as well, "Phase camouflage, personal teleporter…"

"Twenty seconds," Perkins warned.

"The tech's forcing you to go," she realized, "The tech won't let the war end and you can't stop till the battle's been won. But the battle won't ever end," she nodded, "I know what you want to hear, I know what the words are."

"What?" the Doctor shouted, it was getting dangerously close, she was already against the wall and…

"Ten seconds," Perkins swallowed hard.

"Kata!"

She glanced over at him over the Foretold's shoulder, actually smiling, not scared, "He wants to hear what every soldier does when they can't stop fighting till they've won, what you want to hear from your enemy, the only thing they can say to make the fighting stop," she looked back at it, "We surrender."

And, just like that, the Foretold stopped walking, only a few feet ahead of her.

"Zero," Perkins looked up and gasped.

"I can see it again!" Maisie cried, the other gathered scientists staring as they too could see the mummy now standing before her.

"It's ok," Clara put a hand on Maisie's shoulder, "I think we all can."

The Doctor moved over to the Professor's side, winding his arm around her waist, understanding now why she hadn't been truly frightened, not since she realized it was a soldier. It was something they had both wanted during the war, they wanted it to stop, they wanted the fighting and the blood and the death to end. But the only way it would happen was if one side one or the other gave up…if they surrendered. The Time Lords would rather die, but then again, so would the Daleks.

"The clock has stopped," the Professor told the Foretold as the mummy gave her a stiff salute, prompting her to return a light one of her own, the Doctor doing so as well but not letting go of around her waist, "You're relieved, soldier."

Before their eyes the Foretold lifted its head, as though it would close its eyes if it could, and disintegrated into a pile of dust and bandages.

"Phew," Perkins remarked, "He's not the only one."

The Doctor knelt down as the Professor couldn't and pulled out a small blue box with wires sticking out of it, turning it over in his hand, examining it.

"We were fighting that?" Clara gave it an incredulous look, wasn't so threatening now.

"So was he," the Professor murmured.

"Listen," Clara began, shifting as though she were feeling rather guilty, "What I said…"

"Save it," the Doctor cut in, standing up, "We're not out of the woods yet. Well," he called up to the speakers, to one in the back and not the one the Professor had shot, "I think we solved your little puzzle. Ancient soldier being driven by malfunctioning tech."

"Thank you so much for your efforts," the voice spoke over the speakers again, "They are greatly appreciated. Unfortunately, survivors of this exercise are not required."

Neither the Doctor nor the Professor seemed very shocked by that, both had been expecting something of the sort given the results that Clara had been reading them. So the Doctor quickly pulled out his sonic and flashed it over the small box as the Professor moved to get a tool from another table.

"Well, there's a shocker," he muttered under his breath, the humans around them starting to gasp and reach for their throats as though they couldn't breathe, which they couldn't.

Their captor had already threatened to decompress the air once before and proven he would do it, luckily though, the Time Lords had a respiratory bypass system, they would last a bit longer than the humans, but they had to be quick.

"Air will now be removed from the entire train. We hope you have enjoyed your journey on the Orient Express."

The Professor shook her head at that and hurried over to the Doctor's side, lifting a bit of her skirt so as not to trip, not now, they had such little time and, while she was being relatively calm for the moment, knowing that the TARDIS would come for her and the Doctor if it reached critical levels, there were still so many other humans that needed help.

"I take it you know a way out?" Clara gasped, trying to stay calm, but choking with little air made it almost impossible.

"My enemy's enemy is my friend," the Professor murmured, helping the Doctor work on the box.

"Especially when he has a built in teleporter," the Doctor agreed, hearing Perkins and Maisie collapse behind them with the other passengers.

"Great!" Clara's voice went high as she tried to breathe, "So use it!"

"A little more work…"

"Doctor!" Clara started to gasp, falling to her knees, "Professor…"

"Couple of minutes," he continued to ignore her, needing to not react or freak out so that the Professor wouldn't, if he was calm, she would be too, "Max."

"Less with my help," the Professor reminded him, grabbing another tool and pulling the sonic out of his pocket to help.

"We'll give you a shout," the Doctor called to Clara moments before she hit the ground in a dead faint, the Time Lords working away on the tech when the train exploded moments later...

~8~

Clara woke slowly to the sound of a faint murmuring to find herself lying on a plaid blanket with another draped over her on some sort of beach or desert, a sandy expanse, the Doctor and Professor, still in their Orient outfits before her, looking down at something on the ground. As she sat up she could see that the Doctor was writing out what appeared to be circular objects with numbers mixed in, probably Gallifreyan Mathematics, on the sand, the Professor with her hands on her stomach appearing to quietly be explaining the equations to the twins.

"Oh hello, again," the Doctor called, catching sight of Clara now awake, "Sleep well?"

"Weren't we just on a train?" Clara frowned, not sure how she got there.

"Oh, that was ages ago."

"And?"

"And what? Oh, and we got off the train."

The Professor rolled her eyes at him, "We got the teleporter working," she explained, "Beamed everyone into the TARDIS. No casualties, just a majority unconscious."

The Doctor grinned, "And then my lovely wife tried hacking the Orient from the TARDIS, find out who set this all up. He really didn't like that."

"Set off a failsafe and blew up the train," the Professor grumbled, using the toe of her shoe to scuff some of the equations petulantly, irritated, "Took all the records with it."

"Blew up the train?" Clara blinked.

"Blew up the train," the Doctor affirmed, "But we got away."

"We dropped everyone off at the nearest civilized planet," the Professor gestured behind them, towards a city set up against the pinkening sky, tall buildings spiraling up towards the clouds, "Which happened to be here."

"You seemed happy asleep so we just left you," the Doctor finished.

"So you saved everyone," Clara stated.

"Are you really that surprised by that?" the Professor started to frown, not sure if Clara sounded shocked that they'd do that or knew they would.

"No," Clara shook her head, before a thought hit her, "So, when you lied to Maisie, when you made me lie to Maisie…" she looked at the Doctor.

"We couldn't risk our captor finding out our plan and stopping us," the Doctor nodded.

"So you were pretending to be heartless."

The Doctor was silent a long moment, "Would you like to think that about me? Would that make it easier?"

"Because if you really know him, Clara, you'd know he's nothing of the sort," the Professor put a hand on her stomach, "Especially not now," she rubbed her stomach slightly, the Doctor reaching out to place his hand on her belly as well, making Clara look down in shame at how she'd described him, feeling even more so when the Professor finished with, "Were you pretending to be heartless when you stormed out of the TARDIS without even giving us so much as a chance to speak to you? When you shouted at us just like Danny did for something you didn't fully understand?"

"We didn't know if we could save her," the Doctor admitted, "We couldn't save Quell, we couldn't save Moorhouse. There was a good chance that she'd die too. At which point, we would have just moved onto the next, and the next, until we beat it."

"Sometimes, Clara," the Professor let out a sad breath, one that spoke of far too much experience with all of this, "The only choices you have are bad ones. But you still have to choose."

~8~

The Professor slowed in entering the console room when she saw Perkins heading for the doors and the rather downcast expression on the Doctor's face, Clara walking below the console with her mobile in her hand, still in her flapper outfit. She had gone to the wardrobe the moment she could to change out of that dress. It wasn't that it wasn't a nice dress, but she missed her boots and her jacket and everything else. It was still a very long dress and even not doing much, she had been so nervous through the whole experience that she'd trip on the hem and end up falling and hurting the babies. So to be back in her regular shoes and no floor length skirt was a welcome change. It had meant she couldn't be there to show Perkins around or ask him to stay on as a companion as she knew the Doctor wanted to do, but it appeared that the man had made his decision and it was a no.

She stepped down to the console, coming up beside the Doctor and linking her arm through his, holding up the banana she was munching on, her other hand gripping a small jar of peanut butter that she'd been dipping it in. He looked over and gave her a soft smile for the offer, leaning down to take a bite of the banana and kissing her munching mouth as well, when Clara came back to join them, having wanted to give the Doctor some privacy with Perkins.

"Do you love it?" she asked them.

"Of course I love the Professor," the Doctor answered instantly, "She's my Bonded, my wife, my…"

"I mean being…being you," Clara corrected, though the Professor had flushed at his instant declaration and the fact that his mind had gone right to her, not even considering that Clara had been speaking of something else, "I know it's scary and difficult, but do you love being the ones making the impossible choices?"

"Clara," the Professor gave her a fond look, shaking her head, "Why would we?"

"Because it's what you do, all day, every day."

"It's what our lives have become," the Doctor shrugged, and really…if they didn't make those decisions, who else would? They'd already seen how Clara reacted to it.

"Doesn't have to be."

"Oh yes," the Doctor rolled his eyes, "Because the last time we left the impossible choice to someone else, it ended so well for us. The TARDIS still hasn't recovered from the slam that her doors suffered, you know."

Clara winced at that, but kept on, "You abandoned me."

"Clara," the Professor sighed, "He chose ME, he didn't abandon you."

"What?" Clara shook her head, it didn't make sense.

"I…wasn't well," the Professor looked down at the peanut butter, focusing on dipping the banana, not looking at Clara, not really wanting to admit that, but knowing Clara needed to know, "Hearing Lundvik talking about…about killing an alien baby, about blowing it up before it was even born, being pregnant and hearing a human so determined and vehement to kill an alien baby?" she shook her head, "I couldn't handle it and…something went wrong. The Doctor had to get me out of there," she glanced at her husband who was silent but looking at her with a soft look, but his eyes reflected the fear he'd felt at seeing her collapse like that, "He knew I didn't want the others to know I was having a hard time. So he didn't say," she looked at Clara, "He just barely got me into the TARDIS before I…fainted," she hated that word.

"What?" this time Clara sounded more horrified and startled than confused.

"I was ok, I…stress isn't good for a pregnancy," the Professor looked back down at her banana, "And I was feeling too much of it. It didn't work well. But the Doctor had to make a choice Clara, and it's one I don't think you fully understand."

"My wife, will always be my answer," the Doctor stated, picking up because he knew Clara needed to hear this part from him, "No matter what, no matter who I'm facing, no matter the choice, it will always be her. Clara…" he closed his mouth a moment, searching for the right words, "It was either see to her, or stay and help make the decision to blow up the moon or not. I couldn't stay there, WE couldn't…but there was one person, one person there, that we trusted implicitly to make the right choice when we couldn't be there to do it. There was one person we knew would make the right one, one person we had faith would make us proud and step in for us."

"…me," Clara breathed, her eyes wide and filling with tears as her hands flew to her mouth, "And I…" she swallowed hard, realizing what she'd said to them, what she'd thought about them, how she'd hurt them and accused them and… "Oh my stars…"

"You are our granddaughter, Clara," the Professor added, "Whether you still see us as your grandparents or not, we knew that there would be no one better to trust with the moon than you. We just…didn't get the chance to TELL you that before it all fell apart."

"I…" Clara shook her head, not sure what words could be said to express what she was feeling at the revelation. She hadn't been abandoned, she'd been put in charge, in their stead. They had trusted her judgment and character and intelligence enough to BE them when it counted…and she had gotten mad about it? The Professor could have been dying and she had shouted at the woman in the end and…

"We don't blame you," the Doctor told her, "Or at least the Professor doesn't."

The look on his face was one that Clara knew meant that he partially didn't blame her but it would be a while before he would get over that and forgive her. And she deserved that.

"We understand why you reacted that badly, even though you'd been in worse positions before," the Professor remarked.

"You do?" Clara's voice broke, because she wasn't certain she did. There had been times in the weeks between when she'd last seen them where, at times, she'd wonder WHY she'd gotten that mad, why she'd blown up so badly. Because it wasn't like her and it was so…they were right, she had been in worse so why had it been THAT trip that did her in.

"You lied to Danny," the Professor shrugged, "You made him feel bad about the travelling. You defend us against him. But it still hurt you to know you hurt him, to know that he didn't and doesn't approve of us and the trips we take you on. What happened on the moon? It was an opportunity to prove to him that you were picking him over us, to stop travelling, for him, to make it up to him for not having told him before."

It had taken a while for them to work that out, but looking at their own pasts, they could see similar decisions they'd made that had ended the same way or similar. When you hurt someone you cared about, all you wanted to do was make amends, to...reverse what you'd done to hurt them in the first place. Clara had hurt Danny by travelling with them, so the next chance her mind had, the next excuse and reason she had to not travel with them, she took it, even if she didn't realize why. Danny didn't want her travelling with them, but she didn't want to make him the reason why she stopped. But a part of her mind and heart didn't want him upset that she was travelling still, so that part had looked for any excuse to end things.

It had just ended them very badly and loudly.

"I'm…I'm sorry," Clara whispered, it did make sense to her, why her reaction had been so strong. The moon had been the first one after the two had hidden out at Coal Hill as a Caretaker and Tutor. And it had been weeks between then and the moon dealing with Danny and seeing the hint of betrayal in his eyes each time she talked to him. She'd just wanted to make that look go away and, some part of her knew it only would if she completely cut ties with the Time Lords. But she knew she never could, not unless she was very angry at them, not unless she hated them.

But that was just the problem, wasn't it, she couldn't hate them and…and she wasn't even sure she could stop travelling with them if she wanted to.

Did she?

Her ponderings were cut off by her phone ringing in her hand.

"Better answer that," the Doctor nodded at it, "Could be Maths boy."

Clara didn't even respond to the barb against Danny, just turned and headed up to the upper gallery to answer her call with some semblance of privacy.

"Do you think we got through to her?" the Professor turned to the Doctor, finishing up the last of her banana and starting to eat the peanut butter with her finger.

"You could get through to anyone with your sad eyes," he remarked.

"I'm being serious," she gave him a look for that.

He let out a long breath and nodded, "I hope so," was all he could offer her, before the two of them glanced at Clara, talking quietly above them, before turning to the console, starting to put in coordinates to take Clara back home. They were hoping they wouldn't be taking her there just yet, but she had been insisting through the whole adventure this was her last trip so it was better to be safe. They could only hope that, now that Clara knew the whole truth, that it hadn't been abandonment but trust, that she now understood the event from their point of view that she would reconsider. They didn't speak or look up from their work until Clara had turned on the gallery, her phone lowered, clearly done but lost in thought.

"Was that Maths?" the Doctor called up to her when she just…stood there, staring at them, "What did he want?"

Clara shook her head and took a deep breath, starting to smile widely, "He's fine with it."

"What?" the Professor blinked.

"Danny," Clara started to make her way down the stairs, a spring in her step, "He's fine with the idea of us knocking about. I mean, you're my grandparents and…it was his idea that we stop but…but he's decided he doesn't mind and neither do I. Oh, to hell with the last hurrah. Let's keep going!"

"That's an awfully big change of heart," the Professor eyed her carefully, getting the sense Clara wasn't being entirely honest with them, but…it truly was HER life and neither they nor Danny should have a say on whether she traveled or not. They could hope for it, argue for it, try to plead her into staying, but it was up to her in the end and it was her life.

"Yeah, they happen," Clara rolled her eyes playfully, but a bit too forcefully to not appear like she wasn't purposefully doing so to avoid looking the Professor in the eye.

"Really?" even the Doctor seemed hesitant to believe it.

"Look, as long as you get me home safe and on time, everything is great," Clara nodded, sounding more convincing this time, as though she were deciding that was how it was going to be, "I am so sorry," she told them, earnest this time, sincere, "I've had a wobble. It's a big wobble, but it's fine. Forget about it. Now, shut up Gramps and give me some planets Gran!"

"Well, I'm glad that you said that," the Doctor nodded, "Because you know that one that's made entirely of shrubs?"

"Are you sure about this?" the Professor just wanted to ask once more.

"Are you?" Clara challenged, "Have you ever been sure?"

"Yes," they both said.

Clara rolled her eyes, "About anything NOT related to each other," she gave them a pointed look.

"No," they both answered instead.

Clara laughed at that, "Then what are you waiting for?!" she cheered, "Let's go!"

The Time Lords looked at each other and smiled, turning to reach out, each of them taking a lever, and pulling them down, sending the TARDIS off to their next adventure.

A/N: I am SO sorry! I have no idea what happened this morning with me but I accidently posted my OUAT story first and, since I try to give a few hours between posting stories, this chapter had to wait :( On top of that my phone died and my parents insisted I get a new one today and we ended up spending about 3 hours in the crowded Verison store trying to get one. But! Good news! My new phone lets me get wi-fi even if I'm not logged onto a network or know the password which means I should always be able to post notes on tumblr even if my computer gets taken away! :) I'm sorry this is late, by the time I got my new phone we were on our way home and I thought 10 more minutes and I could post. But I DID manage to post this chapter today though, I'm determined for there to be no more true/days-worth delays this year ;)

Sorry for the mix up!

As for this chapter, I hope the Professor and Doctor were ok in dealing with Clara and remarks about why she acted the way she had in the last chapter. I wanted them to be able to explain to Clara what was really going on without being too harsh to her. The Doctor certainly has a bit of a grudge about the whole thing, but hopefully they can heal from that now :)

Also, for anyone interested, as yesterday was the next Once Upon a Time OC series sneak peeks on my tumblr's Upcoming Stories page, today will be 2 out of 3 sneak peeks for Lord of the Rings, Aragorn/OC ;)

Before the notes though, I just wanted to say thank you to you all, I am SO sorry that I worried you :( I kept trying to get my parents to even let me put a note on tumblr about what was happening, but they were stubborn :( I really am SO touched by all your concern though, I really love you guys so much. I'm definitely back and I'm very excited for the story to come! I'm so glad to be back with you all :)

Some notes on reviews...

I think the Professor was a bit in shock the last chapter, after everything that happened she just didn't have the energy to deal with Clara and, with her pregnancy hormones she might have made it all worse if she'd snapped at Clara then. But she definitely brought it up and explained it here :) I didn't want it to go too long with Clara having no idea what happened :)

I partially blame Danny as well, more in a Clara only cares about the lying now because of Danny. Like she lied to the Maitlands, to her own father and family, but NOW she's suddenly contrite about lying about her travels? It was a bit odd to me. But there'll be more moments talking about lying and honesty to come :)

I can't say when exactly the twins will be born just yet. But I can say here, the Professor is about at the start of her 8th month of pregnancy, so very near the date, but with time travel, the next chapter could only be days later ;)

Thank you for the advice! :) I'll take that into account in the future. I think I keep trying to get into the heads of the characters and, if they say something very harsh and hurtful, I want to immediately explain why they thought that and said that, which does break up the progression quite a bit :( I'll be sure to keep an eye out for that in the future ;)

I'm sorry your week was going so badly :( But I'm so glad the update was able to brighten it up a bit :) I hope you have a happy new year too! :)