A/N: Am I done yet

"Theta Sigma!" Her shrill voice pierces every not good thing around her, at least in Theta's head. Innocet's given him the talk about how perpetually great she is multiple times, but it does not erase the fact he's trying not to shove her to the ground and run away screaming for dear life because it's the fiancée. Who wouldn't actually be that bad out of context, but to him is the symbolism of everything gruesome, and that can never be something to make nice with. Much less make friends with. Or a proper husband, when the day he never speaks of arrives.

"Patience!" he calls in return, not trying to not sound sarcastic. "How have you been?"

She gives a fake pout. "Someone's swallowed a lemon, have they?"

"Nah, just got back from school." Quences hovers ever too old for his regenerations in the background, making sure Theta doesn't misbehave more than he already has. "Would you like some coffee?"

She laughs as if nothing's been wrong, which Theta supposes is in her job description as well. He could be kind to her all his days, the pair of them bonding over having to one day end up stuck with each other. It could work out at that level; just friends. But it won't, just because Theta has accepted his own bitter regard of other Time Lords and can't bring himself to try. So in the end, his discontent is his own fault.

"So what are you studying nowadays?" he asks her, sipping the bitter brown liquid he's never really cared for.

"I'm a bit of an artist, I've decided. Chemistry, aesthetic mathematics, 3D modelling, and you know, visual art. Those things."

"Chemistry. So you're not just making art, you're making the things to make art with."

She hums. "In a way. It's hard to find art supplies as a Patrex, so I thought I'd find something in the Matrix to help me with it." She sips her coffee, dark brown hair blowing slightly about her petite face in the wind. They've situated themselves outside as to avoid intrusions on conversation, nature alone giving the feel of hardly any intimacy for the birds and the ever-so-faint noises of the city not so far off.

"What are you studying, then?"

The lie unfolds. Not a whole lie, but enough to be just not Theta Sigma. "TARDIS mechanics and temporal physics. Engineering as well."

"A mechanic, then? I thought you were pursuing xenobiology."

"Well, a bit on the side. I've always had a liking for it, but not really as a career."

"I've got a friend going into xenobiology. Cerulean, too. They've always spent too much time around plants."

Theta forces a chuckle, the idea dull as a joke as much as a reality. "They in your House?"

"No. They live in the neighbouring city, small household of four. Some people wonder if they're born, but it's really a Warpsmith satellite."

Theta shifts his eyes down, tapping one foot against the dead-looking reddish grass beneath him. "I never understood how that actually worked. I mean, Pythia's curse got all of Gallifrey—"

"But not all Time Lords were on Gallifrey the whole time."

Theta nods, as if enlightened all of a sudden about his parentage. "Fair point. I hadn't thought about that." He has learnt in all his years to sound completely neutral on the topic, then sway whichever way everyone else goes.

She looks to the side for a moment, considering something not important enough for Theta to try and find telepathically. He was never really very good at it, anyways. "Makes you wonder…"

He sips his coffee, contemplating the slightly downcast stare on Patience's face. "Wonder what?"

She takes a breath, almost encompassing the about to have an edgy conversation demeanour as part of a conversation that cannot be very edgy in Theta's context. "Well, I wonder if they have unlimited regenerations. Or a different number or something. Because really, Time Lords have before been granted more by the government for whatever reason, and so they've got full authority over it. I mean, what if we were all just regulated and naturally born could live on forever?"

Theta leans back, taking two quick gulps of brown ick he's pretending to like. Similarly to everything else. "We'd be gods if we lived forever, don't you think?"

Patience settles back in her chair, reinstating the distance between Theta didn't realise they had lost. "I suppose we would."

"We all need to experience death, I think." Theta finishes the coffee, banishing his cup to their small table. He lets air escape his lips in a lazy wave, imagining the particles crashing into the atmosphere and causing waves around her coffee. "I think… maybe we've always had twelve. And they get extra lives from criminals."

She nods. "Could be. There are probably enough charges of murder to compensate for the number of added distributions."

"But they've discontinued extracting lives across Wild Endeavour, and they keep pumping it out."

She sets down the cup across from Theta's and folds her arms across her chest. "And they have huge stores of it in hospitals."

"They do! You just never consider—"

"It comes from actual people?" She winces when Theta tenses for a moment at being interrupted. But despite everything in himself, he manages a faint smile.

"Exactly."

They remain silent for a few seconds, tumultuous pros and cons of telling racing through Theta's head. It pains him to think so, but she's smarter than he thought. "You know what they have on the moons?"

"Enlighten me."

"High-security prisons, where everyone gets one life. You know how long ago they were built?"

"Centuries."

"If that's eleven lives per person, and they're constantly breeding,"

"Hospitals get the runoff."

"And biochemists, and anyone mass-producing medicine, and so on."

He has to smile at her fascination. "You just… never wonder with these things."

Theta shakes his head.

It took him more years it probably should have to figure out why his mother only got one life along with the rest of them. It's horrendous, of course, but at the same time peacefully satisfying. All their missing lives are transplanted in different lives, in small fractions. They need somebody to do it, so why not them? Which is a cruel justification for a farm of sentient species, but someone, somewhere, needs to do it.

###

To say they didn't pick fights, cooped up in a sketchy DIY laboratory with a whole lot of chemistry to mutually distract each other from for hours, would be an outright lie. Out of spite, the mattress would be wordlessly dragged as far away from the complete bed as possible, rotations of who sleeps where intentionally infringed upon for lack of a better excuse. They'd whine and bicker and fight and shout and sometimes come out with hoarse, unstructured hateful things that mean nothing, days starting with what the next project is supposed to be and ending with accusations of who did what to fuck up my whatever important aspect of life, followed by the why are you still here, then? that profusely begs forgiveness by morning.

Today falls in the mid-high of severities, an already strung-out Koschei being totally not directly picked on by Theta for forgetting this and breaking that and it's such a pain it has to be made or found or mixed or imagined again. It's the acidic sound in his voice that comes spitting out that usually starts the back talk, the sound beckoning to be challenged, to be mixed with detergent and turned into salt water.

If their lives were a dramatic film, the small dish of hydrogen peroxide would be falling in slow motion, impact in a perfect design of smashing and liquid spreading out across the floor in elegant spines. As it happens, it sort of spills a bit on the table and then rolls off and dumps the rest out before falling with a dissatisfying thunk, ignored by everyone as Theta has just been shut up by a smack to the face with the back of a hand that hasn't tried that before.

Being on the same side of the table has its disadvantages when you're no good at fist fighting and the cruelty hasn't given way for remorse to fit in yet. Koschei is immediately grabbed by the front of his getting-to-be-discoloured robes, wrestled to the wall, and had his head smacked against it. The previously perceived good idea turns into a desperate assault of limbs against the body trying to pin him down, pushing back the majority of all his attempts to kick and elbow and shove the body away and it's not working.

"For good reason, too," Theta dictates aloud, pulling Koschei off the wall.

He frankly should have known Theta would retaliate like that. What he was thinking otherwise, it would take some strong telepathy to figure out.

He stomps out of the room just barely as Theta starts to say or shout or sputter something, not even bothering to shut the door behind him. It makes Theta run at least a little bit after him, if only to prevent anyone from seeing their wall (or, lack thereof).

Magnus, the only one in their corner of the commons, briefly glances up from a number of maps strewn about the small coffee table, waiting to speak until his company sits precariously between two slightly curled pieces of informative cardstock. Koschei can make out some sort of militaristic terminology, but as Magnus routinely informs everybody listening, the Prydonian Academy doesn't teach anything about war.

Without looking up properly for some kind of dramatic effect, he casually announces "I'm dropping out." There's only a slight tremor in his voice, implicit of rehearsed announcement and prior thought.

Wait. "You're dropping out of the Academy?"

"No, Omega Xi. The farmer's market. The Academy hasn't done me much good, has it?"

Well, no, but reminding a militaristic soldier-or-something-to-be of his list of classes failed is not wise. "I thought you had to be a qualified Junior Time Lord to enlist."

"What, and stay cooped up here for twenty more years?" He rolls up one of his maps, regarding Koschei properly for the first time. He shakes his head a bit apologetically. "No, you don't have to be qualified. It's another tick in the application, but," he gestures to the expanse of maps before him. "Give me the people and equipment and I'll run a coup of all authority at this establishment."

"So all the classes you've missed have been spent creating a physical copy of material that, while impressive, could have you expelled?"

He shrugs, making some quick note at the bottom of the map underneath the just rolled one. "War is an endeavour to make peace. I could do a lot more out there than in here."

Koschei can't help but laughing, really, at the irony of it all.

"What?"

"We're on Gallifrey, the planet nobody's going to try and invade that's full of people not allowed to use our technology to mess with anybody else. And yet here you are, joining the military."

"And who says I'm staying in this one very long?"

Koschei shakes his head with a smirk. "Certainly not me."

"Whatever you say." Magnus checks a couple things on one map that looks suspiciously like the kitchen, adding one more point in the middle somewhere.

"When are you leaving, then?"

"Last day of classes this term. So like, three days. Signing up to go home and not arriving."

"What House are you from, again?"

"Redloom satellite. Quite the place; everyone popped out male. Pretty lenient. I'll be able to manage a year or two pretending to be off on summer adventures, but I need someone to fake correspondence, at least."

"Have anybody yet?"

"You and Thete probably could."

Right. Mad at Theta for nothing again. "We do accomplish things independently, you know."

"Yeah, but come on."

Koschei sighs. "How are you supposed to make the Academy believe you're still actually here?"

"I haven't worked that one out yet. I'll think of something."

The bell tolls three times for lunch, immediately drawing Theta out of the dorm room and walking past with a preoccupied glance to Magnus.

###

"Koschei…" Theta starts, walking up to him as he works away on one time-eating experiment or another that doesn't need to be done, but is more fun to do than talking about politics or the weather so it does happen at times. "This is a bad idea."

"What's a bad idea?"

Oh, right. Context. "Seeing Magnus off. You'll get in trouble."

"Nah, I won't. Only if I get caught."

"I'm serious, though! Suspension, possibly a court date for co-conspiratorialism with an underage renegade, anything…" his voice falters at the end, watching Koschei gradually stare up at him, looking unenergetically irked after a while.

"I've stopped caring, to be honest. Taking a break from this 'rules' nonsense." He glances at the clock on the wall, then does a double-take. "We've got the same class, right?"

"I believe so."

"In seven minutes." He picks up his slate, shutting the small flame off but leaving everything uncovered. "Come on, then."

They stride out of the room still basically side by side, Koschei slightly more fluent in the art of stumbling gracefully than Theta will ever be, most likely. "I'm serious, Kosch."

He turns around and winks. "You could help. And what's with the 'Kosch'? I think it sounds rather awkward."

"You'll have to deal. And I can't help."

"Please help? You're brilliant; we'd get it done no problem."

"I really can't. Quences is going to flip or something."

"He always does, doesn't he?" They turn a corner, Koschei slowing down to keep pace with Theta, who he tells himself to be more pissed off at. They're really good at ignoring things.

"Yeah, but." He raises a couple hands slowly, jerkily, trying to prove a point nonverbally. Koschei knows he can do that very well, but not with his hands over there. "Okay, fine. But no."

"And no what?" Vansell appears from behind innocently, simply walking the hallway to the sole class he shares with both of them. He might enjoy picking up a couple more just to torment them when it suits his fancy.

"Absolutely none of your business, Vansellostophossius." Koschei retorts.

"I'm afraid it is."

"How, exactly?"

He snorts, throwing one shoulder sloppily over Theta's in some sign of attempted-but-not-really-trying amity. "Of course it's not, I'm joking."

Theta ducks away from Vansell's arm. "All your jokes suck, Vansell."

"I'm hurt!" He looks about as hurt as an unwashed cup.

"Be hurt," Koschei grumbles.

###

He couldn't sleep anyways, which is what happens rather often when there is anything at all happening worth getting up for. And the noise. They could be battle drums, but then again he's not Magnus. He's… well, Omega Xi.

More of a precaution than necessity, Koschei leans over Theta and projects as great an image of perfect sleep as he can — which is admittedly quite difficult with a constant one two three four going on and on and on and on and on and

Already dressed in black, he creeps noiselessly to the opposite side of the room, cracking open the door and stepping into the dimly lit hall beyond. 0300 hours was considered the best, not needing too much time to get away and being sure nobody but those pulling all-nighters to study in their rooms have any chance of hearing.

"You have everything?" Koschei whispers to Magnus's back. Magnus currently faces the door, arms folded, head cocked to the side a little. He turns to face him with a cat's grin thought to be lost in the early days of his life, but has only been saved up for this day. "Of course." He jumps like a clunky, large spring, swinging his hiking backpack up with one arm and bowing slightly.

"Of course you do." Koschei pulls a cloaking mechanism borrowed from Drax out from under the chair, strapping it to the back of Magnus's head. No ill-effects near the brain, apparently thoroughly tested, but one never really knows where the accent of Drax's came from. At any rate, it'll have to do.

"Where's Thete, then?"

Koschei snorts at three days' worth of stubborn arguing, programming the device to have Magnus appear almost entirely invisible. A slight bending of light still passes around, the unavoidable shadow. It's a lot less noticeable than a tallish person wearing an oversized backpack. "He figures you should stay here and refused to help anything. Us two can pull it off fine enough."

"I don't doubt that, I just…"

"Just what?" Completely disguised.

"You two do everything together."

"Magnus, you are about to make a grand escape of the Prydonain Academy in favour of the military and you're gossipping?"

"Naturally," the air says.

Koschei takes one more deep breath, expecting some sort of similar reaction from Magnus. As if Koschei were the one leaving the dormitory for the last time. Well, that could very well be possible, but push comes to shove, he's abandoning Magnus alone to be expelled. Others would find it shameful to have already perfectly worked out a largely credible lie of what really went down at this time, but regrets like that have no longer crossed his path. There are a great many other things to worry about.

"Off we go, then."

They pace down the corridor, Koschei keeping to the shadows and Magnus checking hallways for clarity. Should someone spontaneously appear, Koschei will be engulfed in a mostly uncomfortable bear hug before they can wake up enough to shout anything. Probably.

Getting mostly out of the commons and classrooms was relatively easy, noise kept to a minimum. The noise internal always sounds louder here than anywhere else, and sometimes Koschei wonders if it'll ever seep into his partial telepathic capabilities. So far, nothing, but it may have well increased since those first days. Everything's increased since then.

There is one grand set of doors out of the Academy, little doors and obscure openings scattered throughout. In a route devoid of nostalgia or purpose, they are exiting the door usually reserved for people stocking the automated kitchen. The students that sit on tables and the floor with endless coffee, tea, and a strange assortment of foods won't give them away. It's just… the lights are on.

"03:11. Four minutes."

"We can go now, Koschei. It's not supposed to be meticulous." The lack of physical indicators of Magnus's presence is unnerving. There is a rough-edged, slightly off-colour blob before him, but talking to an opaque being is ultimately easier than talking to a smeared wall.

"You get caught, we both get caught. In fact, you can run off whenever it strikes your fancy with hardly a sound. I, on the other hand,"

"Are completely indistinguishable from the average student 1.8 metres in height. Cool it."

Magnus's warped camouflage begins the journey around better-lit halls and rooms, leaving Koschei with two options. Walk forwards or backwards.

Koschei internally curses, sidling up to the wall and following suit.

Vansellostopphossious is the last person anyone wants to see, especially at this time of day. However, there he sits, impatiently tapping away some measurement or another on a slate right around the corner. The hall is dim but not pitch black, and there's no reasonable way around to the hall by the kitchen. He's stuck, unless he is pressed up against Magnus and a wall under a smelly trenchcoat, which is not worth the awkward shuffling and compromised physical manoeuvrability that would ensue. Magnus appears to turn and make some kind of small gesture nobody can see towards Koschei, walking casually on tiptoe through the hallway.

Thanks.

Koschei counts on Vansell being positively enthralled with his stupidly timed project, only allowing the shallowest and faintest of breaths in a brand of idea exclusive to adolescence. He's surprised it works. Until he kicks a bench, a dull grunt ringing in the air for maybe a second. "Who's there?" Vansell asks, ears and head perked up and ready. What he's doing on the slate is a mystery, probably also to Vansell.

There are two things Koschei could do now. One, walk up and attempt to make causal conversation of a meeting at 03:15 while dressed entirely in black inclusive of a mask, or render him incapable somehow.

Easy.

It's quite unorthodox to carry weaponry around at a school, but blow darts have been obsolete for so many centuries, nobody clues in the materials for them are literally everywhere. A small bit of sedative no you can't make anything lethal in here venom to the neck would do well. On the leg, maybe, but it's slower. Not that Koschei's aim is the most finished of everyone, but it'll have to do.

One small spike picked up from a tree, a needle, toxin dipped on one end, pole to the lips and fire. It would be much more amusing with more venom but, unfortunately, has a higher expulsion value than sedative.

It's a pretty good sedative, is what he didn't tell Theta.

Magnus cracks open the door once he sees Koschei round the corner, pulling off the camouflage to step outside. Koschei checks over his shoulder once, delighted at the presence of nothing at all.

"Magnus." Koschei hisses as he steps into the air, letting the sweater-weather-at-midnight season leak through the cracked open door. Magnus holds out their precious cloaking device, an asset much more worthwhile and much more illegal in the hands returning it. Worth the golden ticket out, not worth being caught with. Koschei takes it, miraculous work of technology clamped awkwardly cold in his fingers and palm.

One of Gallifrey's uninhabited satellites burns through the sky just barely yellowish white, illuminating the tops of trees and patches of grass. Magnus already has a domesticated vortisaur tied up where it ought not to be, creature of the vortex that naturally appears at random and can't be traced back to them. Magnus extends one cloaked arm, giving a grateful, sleight of a bow. "It's been a pleasure, Koschei."

Garnished with a nostalgic sigh, Koschei shakes his hand in some odd gesture that's never really explained. Shake hands as farewell to… what? Feel the sensation of someone's opposing nerve endings one more time in an attempt to be prepared to retain the memory? A gesture of affection?

Koschei does it anyways, like many things in life. "Go be amazing for us, okay?"

Magnus's hand falls to his side, nerve endings entirely removed from Koschei's influence for decades now. "I'll miss you, I think. Hopefully I don't get shot before I can miss you enough."

Koschei smirks. "But wouldn't that be nicer? Assuming a painless bullet."

"We're on Gallifrey, Omega Xi. Nothing's particularly nice. The sky looks like it's literally burning up. That alone should steer away visitors."

"True." They stand in place for a roughly timed six seconds, both specifically not recounting memories, but simply revelling in a just-barely not awkward silence passing. The wind ruffles the hair that's been removed of its uniformity, favouring to keep moving East.

"Tell Theta I send my best regards."

"I'll do that."

"Of course you will."

Oh, to hell with it. Koschei pulls Magnus into a hug for barely two seconds before shoving him off.

"Any longer and we'll be caught. Now go join the army and do something with a point in the universe as we stay here and study physics."

Magnus nods once, killing another few seconds in place. It is all at once he looks back up, taking a good moment to absorb the darkened wall before him. "See you around, then."

He turns to the trees, turning back once to gaze dramatically at the Academy from a bit of a distance like anyone would before properly speeding off.

###

"How long were you out?" Theta whispers, labelling a diagram of some creature called the Menoptra.

"The tea was still hot when I got there, and we're already in second block."

Theta catches the inquisitive look on Koschei's face. "What?"

"Tea can't stay that hot in the middle of a table that long."

Theta holds out a still-pink hand. "Hot water can stay hot if it's really hot."

"Unless it's a gas."

"Which it obviously wasn't."

Theta receives a momentary glare from the professor, turns around, continuing the labelling on the electronic board.

Koschei leans in closer to Theta. "How did you find my blow gun?"

Theta rolls his eyes. "You keep everything in the sock drawer. Literally every suspicious item can be found in your sock drawer."

"No, but how?"

Theta remains unresponsive for the moment, revelling in the power silence can bring by just not answering at the desired time. He has two options, one could suppose.

"So last night at approximately 3 I had a dream."

"About…?"

"I had a dream I was sleeping." He looks at Koschei. "While asleep."

Koschei pauses for a second, pretending to studiously take notes on the diagram on the board and attempting to calculate lifespan and energy somethingorother while really just

"I thought I taught you how to do it properly."

"I was in a rush!"

"To do what?"

Koschei taps on the desk in sporadic thirds, attempting to throw of the rhythm. It's been louder since four that morning. "You know."

"But I told you not to."

Theta, brilliant as he is, is nearly done the diagram. Koschei has no idea where the foresight in Menoptra labelling originated, but he has managed to fill in several blanks the teacher has not.

"He was going to do it anyways, and you know that."

"But he wouldn't have made it without some help."

"I thought you wanted to be renegade, too."

"Yeah, but not that dangerously and unstructured and just…" he peters out, shaking his head and going back to the slate. "Whatever. I'll explain at lunch."

"Or now."

"We're in the middle of class."

"So?"

"People can hear us. And we're not that good at telepathy."

Koschei tries to summon a good comeback, but it seems all his tongue-in-cheek resources are taking the day off.