"In we go," he said suddenly, a small fragment of pride in his voice.

He loved this bit.

The face each new companion made when they saw the grand vastness of the Tardis for the first time was like a drug to him. The shock, the awe. It made him feel grand too, the old fool. In spite of all the running and losing, in that moment, it always made him feel like a part of something bigger than even himself. Bigger than time. These little humans, they depended on him to save them from themselves, most of the time, or whatever nonsensical life form that had decided to cut its teeth of domination on the small blue and green ball hurtling through the black chill of the solar system.

And even when he knew he might lose, at least a little bit, or have to leave someone behind, he answered the call anyway.

He loved sharing the vastness of the world and time that he knew just boiling around in his immense volume of information held in his Time Lord brain, and the slight glimmer of excitement at not being alone anymore kept him going.

Now, as he watched Gilda gently touching the wooden doorway, an almost reverent gaze upon her pale face, his brain kicked into gear, abandoning the scream of the raven that had become insistently louder in his head, and the nagging thought that he had forgotten someone - "I'm a Time Lord, we never forget"- and as she leaned her oddly marked forehead against the old box, something settled into place in his head.

She's not human nor alien. Something else. The Tardis seemed bothered, and it annoyed him. They couldn't both be off their feet. Be careful, we don't know what we are dealing with yet.

I know that, he snapped at the Tardis's cautious revelation. Stop helping. Rubbish advice, shut up.

You stole me, remember? I didn't ask for this. Anyway, she's made of the dust of home. I can feel it. It feels familiar and terrible all at the same time. She is the very essence of Gallifrey.

Impossible, he responded flatly, painfully, crooking a grey eyebrow at the sentient box. Now you are speaking in riddles. It is not becoming of you.

Careful, Time Lord. Listen well. It also feels as if she should be here, the Tardis continued, slightly annoyed. She feels like I did when I became part of Idris. When I became real. She's here. But yet not here.

Time energy, he replied. She's nearly glowing with the stuff. She's a figment of our imagination, perhaps, yet she is as real as you and I. The Time Lord's perhaps have done this to test my will in keeping my promise to guard Missy. Wouldn't put it past them.

Only fifty years into a millennium of vigil and they are already testing you? The Tardis paused, and he could almost imagine it snorting and rolling its eyes in dismissal of his theory. They would have at least waited a few centuries until you were really truly tired of the daily chats with Missy. Fifty years, that's basically one sunrise in their world.

"Can I go in?" Gilda asked softly, waving toward the box, disrupting his silent chat with the Tardis unknowingly. "I can feel it, your beautiful box - it's calling to me, as if it were alive."

You are made of the same energy, he thought to himself. Time energy knows itself. He grinned broadly, a smile both fatherly and terrifying. "Be my guest. Don't track dust in, I've just mopped."

With a wave of the Doctor's hand, the Tardis door opened, amber light spilling outward, casting its warmth over the pair. The Doctor pushed past the incredulous Gilda in his brusque way, and turned with a flourish and swish of his coat, then backed into the vast space beyond, throwing up his hands in a grand gesture. "Welcome to the Tardis, Time and Relative Dimensions in Space."

Gilda stepped forward slowly, the door swinging shut behind her. "It's - it's-"

The Time Lord smiled broadly, and leaned against the center console, crossing his arms. "Go ahead, say it. Everybody does."

"Its not a portal."

The Doctor's grin faltered for a second and he blinked. "Of course it's not a portal, pudding-brain! Who ever heard of a portal made of wood? You rubbish creatures, always going off on tangents!"

Not human, the Tardis corrected.

Shut up, Doctor speaking.

"I have a word branded on my face," Gilda replied flatly, rolling her eyes at him. "Anything is possible, me thinks at this point, Doctor."

"Yeah, well, stop thinking," the Time Lord grumbled, whirling away to study some of the controls. "Thinking causes nonsense and questions, and we already have a history of asking the wrong ones, and it's only been a day and a half. The less questions to mess up, the better off we will be." His voice trailed off, then he turned quickly upon Gilda, towering over her, his massive eyebrows knit together above tense, deep eyes. "Alright, here is what we are going to do. I am going to ask the questions from here on out, and you are going to answer them, and only answer them. No asking. And don't even try to run, you can't escape from the Tardis unless I wish it to be so."

Gilda raised her eyebrows at him. "A creepy dark shadow alien is trying to kill me and you tell me I can't go outside. Is that supposed to, I don't know, scare me?"

The old man froze in place, eyeing her contemplatively. "Yes. Does it?"

"No."

"Oh. Well, then, no."

"Do you want to know what does?"

He frowned, crossing his arms. "Know what does what?"

"What scares me?"

His face relaxed for a moment, as he eyed her expectant face for a moment, a little bit of kindness seeping into his lined features. His half smile was almost gentle. "What scares you?"

She pointed at her face. "This. And the Neverwas. They came for me, and I don't know why. Someone put a freaking word on my face, and I don't know why. Doctor, what are those creatures that came for me? What have I done?"

He hesitated a moment, breathing heavily, his eyes distant in thought. Then he turned away, and clasped his hands behind his back. "Wrong question. Not what. Question is why." He paused, head lowered, glaring at her from beneath his brows. "Why do they want you dead?"

"Wait, dead?"

"Yes, dead!" He exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. "What did you think they wanted with you? To invite you for beans on toast and some little biscuits with tea? No, they are called the Neverwas. They make things become as if their existence never was. And I have a little bit of experience with them. They will go to great lengths to achieve whatever it is they have set out to do. Your name, Gilda, comes from old Celtic origins, eventually being translated down to mean sacrifice, and you have scapegoat written on your face. All of that points to death, dying, destruction, the long sleep, final goodnight, expiration, passing, departure from life, whatever you want to call it."

"I call it time for you to stop talking about dying, you are making my head hurt and I'm afraid."

"Why do I do this to myself," he muttered, rubbing a rough hand across his long face. Compassion wasn't his strong point, never had been, at least that was what he convinced himself of. But as he looked into those frightened eyes once more, he saw another set of eyes looking back. Eyes of his companions, all through the centuries, all looking at him, pleading for help, frightened, hurting, some gone forever. He hated the idea of starting again. Except this time, she wasn't a companion. She was star dust. Dust of time. And he would just end up getting hurt again. Maybe it was time to go live on a cloud again.

No. That one hurt the most.

"I'm a daft old man, and I hate this," he muttered to himself.

Shut up. You like this.

What about this is likeable, he grumbled. Pudding brain doesn't even understand what is happening to her! Her life could have been snuffed out and she would never have known who or why made it happen. Look at her standing there like a statue, no memories, no idea what is going on. Empty headed humans. Wet eyes, wide, begging, like a child wanting something but it being just out of reach.

She's not human. We have already established this.

I know, I know, shut up, shut-titty up about it. Whatever she is, she would have easily been killed today, had I not been there.

That's why she was sent to you.

Who sent her then. Another question.

You are good at those, the Tardis replied mildly, a small hint of humor in its tone.

I am going to leave you on the next planet and get another one, the Doctor grumbled, further annoyed at the whir of laughter that echoed in his head from the Tardis.

"What are we going to do?" Gilda interrupted his thoughts, and she looked nervous as she stood there, leaning her weight from one foot to the other. In that moment, her eyes reminded him of someone else in a equally scary time. Someone else facing death, facing something bigger than herself.

He just couldn't place who.

The raven screamed in his ear and he flinched, a retorting grumble dying in his throat as he realized the raven was not in the Tardis.

All he could remember was that he lost the game that time.

"Wrong question," he replied weakly, turning to lean on the console, head bowed. "Right question, always ask the right question."

Gilda took a tentative step forward. "Right question, where are we going to go?"

He raised his head and nodded once. "Gotcha."

His ancient hand fell upon a large handle and he slammed it down, as a groaning, squealing intense song began to pour from the gleaming center column of light. She had been sent to him, the Tardis seemed to think.

That only added more questions.

Who sent her to him? Wasn't Missy this time, she was locked in the vault. Could it have been the Time Lords?

There weren't any. They were dead.

Except for the Neverwas, apparently.

And they wanted her dead.

But why?

The raven screamed again, and then a familiar slamming sound reverberated around them as the Tardis settled into its new location.

The Time Lord grinned crookedly at Gilda and strode to the Tardis doors, slamming them open.

"Honey, I'm home!"

He stepped out of the Tardis, and Gilda followed closely, nearly running into his back as he stopped suddenly, merely a couple steps outside of the Tardis door.

"What the..." She stepped around him and froze as well, her eyes travelling upward along with his. Before them stood an old mansion, its creaking iron gate looming skyward like a lonely sentinel, that would have prevented their entrance except that is stood open, its warbling cry of rusty hinges hovering in the air as a slight breeze made it flutter in suspended existence.

"Where are we?" she asked softly, leaning around the lanky Doctor to see better.

He threw up his hands in excitement, and turned to face her, grinning broadly.

"The gate known in Gallifreyan as the gates of death. Come on, let's go. Danger awaits!"

With a flourish, he grabbed her hand and rushed toward the dark, towering entrance, stepping over the masses of weeds in the brick walkway. His behavior was almost gleeful, and to Gilda this looked absurd, but to an experienced companion, they would have know he was in his element.

Questions, darkness, death, defying the enemy, this was his bread and butter.

Just as his fingers touched the iron gate, it faded away, and they stood on a wide, expansive battlefield, random pieces of metal piled around them, dust billowing like a barren desert. The ground beneath their feet was black, and as far as the eye could see, there was nothing but blackness and metal parts.

The Doctor took a step back, in confusion, his hand tightening around Gilda's. She moved a step closer to him, and he pulled out his sonic screwdriver, scanning their surroundings. But before he could study the readout it offered to him, a deep bell began to toll.

The Cloister bell. It could only mean one thing.

The ultimate level of danger.