Damian stared at her blankly, the information not registering. There was no way she could be immortal: he had watched her be stabbed and she had bled just like anybody else.
She leaned forwards even further and arched her back to give him a better view of her wound. He watched intently as the skin begin to suture itself back together, the blood ceasing to flow. The skin around the wound miraculously began to heal itself, leaving no scar or any trace of the deadly injury that had been there only moments before. Once finished she turned to face him, her expression anxious as she watched his reaction.
Swallowing heavily, he placed his hands on his knees to help support his weight, uncertain if he was going to pass out from the stress and high range of emotions he had recently been experiencing. "Well," he croaked. "I suppose that explains a lot."
Jane let out a chuckle and smiled at him affectionately.
The knocking against the door intensified, reminding them of the situation at hand. The captain's face drained of color as she realized what had happened, her eyes focusing on the blood covering Damian's hands.
"Triss is affected?" she asked fearfully.
"I killed her," Damian said.
"And your crew members aren't very happy with that," the Doctor piped in. The banging on the door accentuated his claim.
"Did you transfer the missile controls over to the Tardis?" Clara asked.
"Yes, so now we need to get back to the Tardis and transport it into the hangar room to pick up the missiles," Jane said.
"We're locked in here and you crew is intent on killing me," Damian warned, wondering how they would be able to escape. "Is there another way out?"
Jane rose to her feet, swaying slightly before regaining her composure. "No, this area only leads to my room." She glanced at her blood soaked back and ran her fingers over the tear in her fabric from the knife. "-Which is where I need to go to get changed." She glanced over at him and his bloodied hands, "And you need to wash up. By the time we're done with that the crew should be calmed down a bit and would have returned to their work. They know they need to keep the ship running so they'll just get back to their jobs; when we re-enter hopefully their tempers won't be as high."
They followed Jane down the long hallway to the elevator and quickly raised themselves to the highest level. She entered the top floor and strode to a pair of glass doors which she slid open with a wave of her wrist over the sensors. She stepped into her bedroom, which Damian examined eagerly. It was a homey atmosphere, with beige walls that were much more comforting than the stark white walls that surrounded the rest of the ship. Mahogany desks and shelves lined the open room, littered by odd assortments of memorabilia. The floor was covered with a lush carpet that was made of intricate patterns, the fibers sinking easily as Damian strode into the room. Paintings lined the walls, each of them expertly stroked to reveal all sorts of sceneries: grassy landscapes, tall buildings, leafy jungles. He looked about him in amazement at all of the luxurious artifacts, Jane quickly disappearing into the bathroom and closing the door behind her.
The Doctor strode to one of the shelves and picked up an ornately carved clock to examine it, his expression full of glee. Clara meandered around the room to peer at the paintings. "This clock is three hundred years old!" the Doctor said excitedly, holding his glowing screwdriver over the wood.
"Did Jane make it?" Clara asked.
Damian furrowed his brow, wondering how Jane could have made the clock when supposedly it was over three hundred years old.
"Perhaps," the Doctor confirmed, "though she normally doesn't keep her own works and instead gives them away anonymously. This probably belonged to some famous monarch of some sort that she charmed away from him."
The gravity of Jane's revelation began to sink in. I'm immortal. Does that mean that not only could she survive any injury, but she had also been living for centuries? That would explain why she was so good at fighting, if she had centuries to learn all the methods of fighting there was no question why she had been able to win the contest. It also explained why she was so smart and able to multitask so efficiently. She was immortal. Impossible. Stunning. Beautiful.
The bathroom door opened and Jane appeared in the doorway, wearing a clean captain's shirt, her hands and face washed. She really did appear ravishing: her face bright and her stance eager; so different from the unmoving form that she had been only minutes before. She really was completely healed. Damian wondered how she was capable of living multiple centuries, unable to die, forced to watch as those she loved died around her. He swallowed heavily, thinking of how terrible a fate the captain faced. She noticed his expression and smiled comfortingly, moving out of the bathroom doorway and letting him pass. He stepped past her and made his way to the sink, his boots sinking into the soft rug as he turned on the water and began to wash the blood off of his hands.
She remained by his side and watched his movements as he methodically washed and rinsed, the rust color dripping from his fingers to slowly trail down the drain.
"I'm sorry."
Damian glanced towards Jane in shock, wondering what she was apologizing for. Her attention remained focused on his hands.
"I should have told you the truth," she admitted regrettably.
"I wouldn't have believed you."
Her eyes lifted to connect with his, and now he could see how infinite the depths of her sapphire blue irises stretched. So many years, so many lives that she's lived through. His heart ached in empathy for her.
"I-" he paused, unsure of what to say. "Let's get back to saving the universe, shall we?" he asked instead.
He turned away from her and shut off the water before grabbing a towel to dry his hands. When he turned back he noticed that she had already left the room and was on her way towards the elevator. His feelings swarmed inside of him. He knew that he had fallen in love with her, that fact was irrefutable after witnessing her death and realizing that he had no desire to continue living without her. He was glad that she was alive, but the staggering truth of the matter was hard to bear.
How could she love him when she knew that one day he would eventually die and she would continue living? To deal with the pain of loss was too much to bear. He couldn't do that to her. He wouldn't press their relationship, knowing that no matter what happened the end result would be the same. He tossed the towel to the side and began following after them.