I don't own Doctor Who. More's the pity.
GD~GD~GD~GD~
"Hold that one down!" The Doctor shouted over the crashing and banging of the TARDIS's flight.
"That's the wrong one! So is the one you're holding down!" The Guardian shouted back.
"I think I know how to fly my own TARDIS!"
"One would think!" She shouted back.
The Doctor jumped back as the TARDIS shocked him. "Ow!" He shook his hands and flexed them. The Guardian took advantage of his distraction and started hitting various controls that she knew were correct. The flight smoothed out immediately.
"See." She turned to a rather put-out looking Doctor. "I told you which ones were correct. You may have spent a thousand years rattling about time and space in this TARDIS, but I actually learned how to fly one."
"So did I." The Doctor defended.
The Guardian snorted. "How much attention did you give those classes?" At the Doctor's slightly sheepish look, the Guardian tapped her forehead. "Eidetic memory. And it was the only Academy class I was ever allowed to take. Of course I paid attention."
The Doctor smiled at the little piece of herself that she had shared. They had agreed to only sharing bits and pieces as they felt comfortable, just like they had in the early days. He had known that she hadn't gone to the Academy, but he hadn't known about the TARDIS-piloting classes.
"Well, then! What do you want to see?"
The Guardian thought for a moment before smiling. "You've told me so much about Earth Christmas."
The Doctor's grin widened. "And I know just the place. Earth. Naples. 1860. How does that sound?" Naples was always romantic, and even more so during Christmas. And the fashions of the 1860s would look good on her…
The Guardian smirked. "Anything sounds good to me."
The Doctor continued grinning as he punched in the coordinates. "Then you go to the wardrobe and get yourself a dress. You'd start a riot with what you're wearing right now." He glanced at her fitted top and trousers. Not that he was complaining…
"I'm not wearing a dress. Last time I wore a dress around you, I had to save you from some very cross Androzanis."
"How was I supposed to know they weren't bluffing?!" The Doctor frowned, remembering that little incident in his fourth incarnation.
The Guardian snorted in disbelief. "Androzanis can't lie."
"Any species can lie, just sometimes by its by omission."
She lifted one eyebrow and crossed her arms. "Who finds a loophole in a threat to burn a planet?"
He tried to find a clever response, but couldn't. "Go find a dress. The TARDIS will help you choose one from the right era."
The Guardian smirked and walked to the door to the hall. Mumbling to himself about lying Androzanis, the Doctor finished typing in the coordinates. A moment later, he felt the thud of the TARDIS landing. He ran over to the doors and glanced out at the Victorian buildings and falling snow. Absolutely perfect.
He hurried through the TARDIS to his room, which the old time machine had shifted to be just outside the console room. He quickly found a new jumper and went back to the console room, busying himself with some of the random wiring for the next half an hour or so.
"Why is it that I have to dress for the time period, whereas you can walk out those doors looking exactly as you always do?"
"I changed my jumper." He nearly hit his head sitting up.
The Guardian had managed to find a dark pink, almost red, off-the-shoulder gown. It was silk, but with very little trimming, lending the dress an air of sophisticated simplicity. Her hair had somehow been curled and left in a half-up, half-down style.
"The TARDIS refused to give me anything but dresses to chose from. Thanks for that." She commented drily. With a slight air of sarcasm, she spun around, making the dress flare out a little.
"Blimey..." The Doctor breathed. "You look beautiful."
She smiled a little at that. "Thank you. This may be the last time you get me in a dress, especially if things go as I expect."
"What do you mean?" The Doctor asked, a little annoyed at her lack of faith in his abilities to avoid disaster.
"You are a danger magnet."
The Doctor offered her his arm, which she took with rolled eyes. "Christmas Eve, 1860 awaits you, my Lady Amadahy. A nice, quiet Christmas Eve."
"Do you want to wager on that?" She asked in English as they stepped out onto the snowy streets of Naples.
"If I'm right, and this date all goes as I have planned, which is quiet, then I get to fly the TARDIS for a month without any interference."
"Done." She smirked. "And the same goes for if I'm right."
The Doctor spotted a man selling newspapers. "Oh, look." He pulled the Guardian over to the man and bought a paper, glancing at the date. His grin dropped.
"Why am I not surprised?" She smirked. "You got the coordinates wrong, didn't you?"
"Why did it have to be Cardiff?" The Doctor mumbled.
"Are you sure that you don't want to cancel our bet?"
"Certainly not." He responded quickly. From the Guardian's knowing smirk, he knew it had been too quick.
"Come along, Doctor. Let's find you some trouble."
The Doctor chuckled, just enjoying hearing her laugh, even if it was only a little. It almost didn't matter if he lost the bet. Almost. "Why is it so hard to believe that I just want a nice, quiet time in Cardiff with you?"
Suddenly, they heard screams from inside one of the buildings. The Guardian rolled her eyes at the Doctor's obvious excitement. "That is why." She took off running towards the screams.
"That's more like it!" He grinned at how fast the Guardian was running. If he was a danger magnet, she was even more so. He followed her to the building as screaming people poured out.
GD~GD~GD~GD~
They fought their way inside to find a screaming blue mist-like creature flying around a rapidly-emptying theater. A middle-aged man stood on the stage, calling for order, claiming it was a light show. In the middle of the empty seats, a pale old woman stood, the mist clearly coming from her.
"Fantastic." The Doctor ran over to the middle-aged man.
"Don't you just love new things?" The Guardian called after him sarcastically. She watched as the creature seemed to completely leave the old woman and she slumped over into the seats. An older man and a young woman ran over to the body and collected her.
She glanced over at the Doctor, who seemed to be getting a tongue-lashing from the man on the stage. She smirked a little, then followed the man and the girl as they carried out the limp woman right out of the theatre, to an undertaker's carriage outside.
The Guardian slipped up beside the carriage as they finished loading the old woman into the back. "So, what do you think you're doing?"
She noticed the man slip around the other side of the hearse, while the girl stammered in surprise. "Oh, it's a tragedy, ma'am. Don't worry yourself."
The Guardian tried slipping around the girl, but she blocked her view inside the carriage.
"Me and the master will deal with it."
The Guardian winced at the word "master", like the girl was some sort of slave. She pushed the girl out of the way and touched the old woman's face. She was long dead.
The Guardian weighed her options. Right now, it seemed the best idea was to let herself get captured, and lead the Doctor to these people. Clearly they knew something about what was going on.
On the other hand, she could always follow them with the Doctor.
Suddenly, an arm wrapped around her waist, and a cloth was shoved over her nose. Decision made. The Guardian stopped herself from breathing in the sweet-alcohol aroma, but gave a small fight just for appearance's sake before pretending to faint.
It really wouldn't do for these people to know chloroform wouldn't work on her.
GD~GD~GD~GD~
Meanwhile, in the theatre, the Doctor watched as the blue creature flew into one of the gas lamps and disappeared. "Gas! It's made of gas." He muttered to himself.
Suddenly, he looked around and noticed that the Guardian was nowhere to be seen. He ran outside just in time to see the older man and young woman shoving a dark-haired woman in a dark pink dress in the back of an undertaker's carriage.
"Guardian!" He shouted, running towards the carriage as it drove off.
The man from the stage had followed him, continuing his accusations of the Doctor having something to do with the creature.
Distracted, the Doctor responded, "Yeah, mate. Not now, thanks." He spotted an empty carriage. "Oi, you! Follow that hearse!"
The Doctor climbed in, the man from the stage following him, but stopping at the open door.
"I can't do that, sir." The driver protested.
"Why not?" The Doctor snapped, frustrated. He could feel the Guardian's presence in his mind, getting further and further away. If he lost her because of these stupid apes...
"I'll tell you why not." The man from the stage sputtered, indignant. "I'll give you a very good reason why not. Because this is my coach!"
The Doctor rolled his eyes and grabbed the man's arm, pulling him into the carriage. "Move!" He shouted to the driver. "Come on, you're losing her!"
The driver took off. "Is everything in order, Mr. Dickens?" He called into the coach.
Frowning, the Doctor looked around for a third person, just as the man beside him responded. "No! It is not!"
"What did he say?" No. He couldn't have just stolen the carriage of THE Charles Dickens.
The man turned to the Doctor. "Let me say this first: I'm not without a sense of humour."
"Dickens? Charles Dickens?"
"Yes," the man snapped.
"The Charles Dickens?" the Doctor asked, at the same time the coachman inquired about whether or not to remove him.
"Charles Dickens? You're brilliant, you are." The Doctor spoke fast. He had to keep Charles Dickens from throwing him out. Any other time, he would be ecstatic to meet one of his favorite authors. But not when the Guardian's life was in danger. "Completely one hundred percent brilliant. I've read them all. Great Expectations, Oliver Twist and what's the other one, the one with the ghost?"
"A Christmas Carol?" Dickens supplied, clearly moved by the praise.
"No, no, no, the one with the trains. 'The Signal Man', that's it. Terrifying! The best short story ever written. You're a genius."
"You want me to get rid of him, sir?" The driver tried again.
Charles Dickens chuckled as he called back, "Er, no. I think he can stay."
The Doctor breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Charles. Can I call you Charles? There's a woman in that hearse. Kidnapped by those people. She's very important to me, and I need to get her back."
Dickens frowned. "Who exactly is in that hearse? Your wife?"
The Doctor's smile dimmed a bit. "No, but I want to make her my wife. Just as soon as she is ready to be." He sighed in frustration. "I promised her a nice, quiet Christmas, and now she's in danger and it's my fault."
Dickens gave the younger man a knowing look. "Why, then, are we wasting my time talking about dry old books? This is much more important. Driver, be swift! The chase is on!"
The Doctor grinned as the carriage picked up speed. "Attaboy, Charlie!"
Dickens frowned at him. "Nobody calls me Charlie."
"The ladies do." The Doctor smirked knowingly.
"How do you know that?"
"Oh, didn't I say? I'm your biggest fan!"
He completely missed the confused look on Charles Dickens' face.
GD~GD~GD~GD~
The Guardian let the man—apparently a Mister Sneed—and the girl, Gwyneth, drag her through an old house.
"The poor woman's still alive, sir! What're we going to do with her?"
"I don't know!" Mr. Sneed snapped as they lay the Guardian down on a cloth-covered table. "I didn't plan any of this, did I? It isn't my fault if the dead won't stay dead."
"Then whose fault is it, sir?" Gwyneth asked quietly. "Why is this happening to us?"
The Guardian waited until she heard both of them walk away and lock the door, then she sat up. So, neither one of them knew anything. She frowned. That was a waste of a trip. It was fortunate that she didn't mind laying next to a dead body for the twenty-minute carriage ride. But now she was trapped in a locked room. Not too difficult to get out of, but it would still make quite the mess.
She turned around suddenly when she heard the gas in one of the lamps flare, and then whispered voices. She watched as the gas creature animated a red-haired young man in one of the coffins.
Great.
He climbed out of the coffin stiffly, growling menacingly the whole time.
Double great.
Distantly, she could hear the Doctor's voice, nattering about something in the walls.
Oh, for the love of Clom, could that man not stay on task?
Then the old woman was reanimated. The Guardian rolled her eyes. This day just kept getting better and better. She should get three months of uninterrupted piloting for this.
The two reanimated dead slowed slowly towards her. Okay, they were already dead, so killing them wasn't going to do anything. Better to incapacitate them. Swiftly, she moved forward, kicking the man's feet out from underneath him. The moment he hit the ground, she broke both of his legs, then did the same to old woman.
Jumping free of their grasping hands, she ran back the door, cursing as the old woman caught her dress. "Every time I wear a dress..." She kicked the old woman's hand, hearing another snap.
With another curse for her dress, the Guardian pulled the skirt up to her waist and kicked the lock right out of the door, grateful that she talked the TARDIS into finding a pair of sturdy boots to wear with her dress, rather than the ridiculous heels that were in fashion at this time.
She pulled the door open and ran down the hall, only to run directly into the Doctor. "Well, you took your time."
"I see that you're still alive." He countered, then pulled her back into the room with an arm around her waist. He took one look at the splintered door and the reanimated corpses dragging themselves along the floor with their hands and nodded at her. "You've been busy."
"Yeah, I've decided that you owe me an extra two months of piloting for this one."
The man from the theatre rushed in behind the,. "It's a prank. It must be. We're under some mesmeric influence."
The Guardian rolled her eyes as the Doctor responded, "No, we're not. The dead are walking."
"Where'd you pick this one up?" She asked him.
"Guardian, Charles Dickens. Charles, meet the Guardian."
"Guardian?" The man squinted at her. "What are you a guardian of, my lady?"
Oh, dear. The Doctor just had to chose a culture where women were looked down upon. She smiled tensely at Charles Dickens. "Most days? Him."
"Oi!" The Doctor protested, before stepping forward and addressing the corpses. "My name's the Doctor. Who are you, then? What do you want?"
The man responded, several voices mixed in with his, a child-like female voice quickly becoming the strongest. "Failing. Open the rift. We're dying. Trapped in this form. Cannot sustain. Help us." The voices screamed as the gas vacated the corpses, and returned to the gas lamps. The two bodies fell against the floor, limp.
"You're right." The Doctor said, looking at the Guardian. "I'm a danger magnet."
GD~GD~GD~GD~
Several minutes later, the Doctor stood in the parlour with one arm around the Guardian's waist still—partly because he liked the way that felt, mostly keep her from launching herself at the undertaker, Mr. Sneed, as he justified attempting to drug her with chloroform, feeling her up, and locking her in a room to die.
If he were to be honest, he would have loved nothing more than to strangle the man himself, especially when the Guardian talked about where his hands had gone with a bluntness that scandalized the Victorian members of the party, but they needed answers.
He had had enough of the old man's wittering, though.
"Just tell us about the gas, Mr. Sneed." He snapped. "My patience is wearing thin, and so is the Guardian's."
"It's not my fault! It's this house!" The man cried, seeing the fury in the man and the woman's faces.
"You're really going to try and blame the house?" The Guardian asked, incredulous.
Mr. Sneed nodded, then continued quietly. "It's always had a reputation. Haunted."
The Doctor heard the Guardian mutter something about humans and their superstitions, and he couldn't help but grin.
"But I never had much bother until a few months back, and then the stiffs—" There was a disapproving sniff from Charles. "—um, dear departed started getting restless."
Another disapproving sniff from Charles. "Tommyrot."
"You witnessed it!" Sneed cried. "Can't keep the beggars down, sir. They walk. And it's the queerest thing, but they hang on the scraps."
Just then, the maid, Gwyneth, walked over carrying two teacups. She set them on the mantle beside the Doctor and the Guardian. "Two sugars, sir, just how you like it. And hot water and lemon, ma'am, since you don't like tea."
The Doctor felt the Guardian stiffen beside him. He didn't even know that she didn't like tea. Granted, there hadn't been much chance for him to find out on Gallifrey, since tea wasn't really all that common there, but how did the maid know, if he didn't?
Though curious, he refocused on Mr. Sneed just as he was talking about how the old woman had planned to go to Charles' performance before she died.
Charles scoffed and stood. "Morbid fancy."
"Oh, Charles, you were there." The Doctor replied. Surely a brilliant mind like that of Charles Dickens wasn't going to deny the evidence right in front of him?
"I saw nothing but an illusion."
"If you're going to deny it, don't waste our time." The Guardian replied. "Just shut up." She ignored the offended Charles and turned her attention back to Sneed. "What about the gas?"
Mr. Sneed winced. "That's—that's new, ma'am. Never seen anything like it."
The Guardian looked back at the Doctor for an explanation. "Means it's getting stronger. The rift's getting wider and something's sneaking through."
Mr. Sneed asked what the rift was at the same time that the Guardian said, "You knew there was a rift here, and you still didn't call off our bet?"
"Maybe I just liked the idea of losing a bet to you." he teased, kissing her hair. He enjoyed her surprised expression, before turning his attention back to Sneed. "A rift is a weak point in time and space. A connection between this place and another. That's the cause of ghost stories, most of the time.
"That's how I got the house so cheap. Stories going back generations."
Charles finally left the room, slamming the door behind him as he went.
"Echoes in the dark, queer songs in the air, and this feeling like a shadow passing over your soul."
"Less poetry, Mr. Sneed." The Guardian grumbled. The Doctor grinned.
Mr. Sneed cleared his throat and cast a wary glance at the Guardian. "Truth be told, it's been good for business. Just what people expect from a gloomy old trade like mine."
The Doctor was pretty sure he heard the Guardian huff, "Victorian values."
GD~GD~GD~GD~
While the Doctor tried to talk sense into Charles, the Guardian sought out Gwyneth in the pantry. Upon seeing the tea things waiting to be washed, the Guardian moved over and began the work.
"Please, ma'am." Gwyneth protested. "You shouldn't be helping. It's not right."
"Never mind that, Gwyneth." The Guardian looked at the girl. Her Time Lady senses told her that the fate of this world rested on this simple Welsh maid. "How did you end up working for a man like Mr. Sneed? Did you go to school?" Her speech didn't sound very educated, but that could have been the sound of educated speech in Cardiff at this time.
Gwyneth smiled, but there was an edge of offense to it. "Of course I did. What do you think I am, an urchin? I went every Sunday, nice and proper."
Once a week? "That's all?" Certainly, it was more than she ever did, but that didn't seem like a lot.
Gwyneth didn't seem to notice her confusion. "We did sums and everything." She leaned a bit closer and dropped her voice. "To be honest, I hated every second."
The Guardian smiled weakly. What she would have given to go to the Academy, to know even half the things about the Universe that the Doctor did. "I wouldn't know much about that, Gwyneth. I was never sent to school. At least, not what you'd call school."
Gwyneth winced a little and frowned, something… knowing… in her eyes. Then her expression shifted to one of pity. "Poor, poor child. To lose your mam at such a young age." She murmured.
"How old were you when your mother died, Gwyneth?" The Guardian asked, confused as to why the girl would be speaking about herself in the third person.
Gwyneth looked startled. "I lost my mam and dad to the flu when I was twelve. But you were much younger. Five's such a tender age. Then to be sent away by your dad." She murmured the last bit, speaking almost to herself.
The Guardian stiffened. "How did you know that?" Her voice hardened against her will.
Gwyneth looked flustered. "Oh, I don't know. Must have been the Doctor." She pretend to busy herself.
The Guardian watched her carefully. "I don't talk about my family, even with him. How do you know all of this?"
The girl smiled reassuringly. "Mister Sneed says I think too much. I'm all alone down here. I bet you've got dozens of servants, haven't you, ma'am?"
The Guardian finally smiled a little. "No, I don't have any servants. I was a servant of sorts myself, before I started traveling with the Doctor." She watched for the girl's reaction.
But Gwyneth didn't seem surprised. "And you've come such a long away."
The Guardian cast Gwyneth a curious glance. Just how much did the girl see? Clearly she was a visionary, or at least a minor one.
Gwyneth seemed to take her curiosity for permission. "You're from so very far away. From a place with two suns. A beautiful city under a dome of glass. All those people rushing about in long robes, living so long. And those machines! Those tiny machines with those big rooms inside. The ones that fly through time as well as space." Gwyneth's voice took on a note of horror, and the Guardian's hearts and gaze sank with each word that she whispered. "The things you have seen. The things you will see. The people you will lose—oh, those most precious to you. The darkness. The cruelty of your master. The big bad wolf!"
The Guardian's gaze flew back up to meet Gwyneth's. "Where did you hear those words. 'Bad wolf'. Where did you hear them?" Her voice was louder than it needed to be.
Gwyneth backed away, shaking, terrified at the Guardian's reaction. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, ma'am!"
The Guardian put her hands up, so the girl could see she was not going to be struck. "I'm not angry, Gwyneth." She hesitated, then explained for the girl's sake. "Long ago, where I come from, in that strange world you saw with the two suns, another woman with a gift like yours told me those words. 'Bad wolf.' I've been trying to understand them for longer than you can imagine. But I didn't expect to hear them here, on Earth."
Gwyneth nodded, still shaking. "I can't help it. Ever since I was a little girl. My mum said I had the sight. Told me to hide it."
"But it's getting stronger." Both women jumped and turned to see the Doctor standing in the doorway. "More powerful, is that right?"
Gwyneth nodded again. "All the time, sir. Every night, voices in my head." She touched her forehead, like it hurt to remember.
"You grew up on top of the rift." The Doctor said quietly. "You're part of it. You're the key."
"I've tried to make sense of it, sir. Consulted with spiritualists... table rappers… all sorts."
The Doctor looked at her compassionately. "Well, that should help. You can show us what to do."
The Guardian shot him an annoyed look. "And what is that?"
"We're going to have a séance."
GD~GD~GD~GD~
An hour later, the five of them were still in the parlour. The Guardian sat to one side, thinking.
The Gelth. Yet another species that she had destroyed, only these ones didn't just lose their home planet, but their physical form too. What was the probability of meeting two species that she had wronged within her first two trips with the Doctor?
And both of them on Earth, no less.
The Guardian turned her attention to the other four people in the room. Gwyneth lying on the sofa, resting after allowing the Gelth to speak through her. Mr. Sneed was still trying to understand the whole thing, as was Charles. Only the Doctor seemed ready and determined to help the Gelth.
Now, if only the Guardian could just shake off the nagging feeling in the back of her mind that it was a bad idea.
As Gwyneth stirred, the Guardian moved over to her. "You'll be fine, Gwyneth. Just feel a bit dizzy."
"But my angels, ma'am. They came, didn't they? They need me?"
The Doctor spoke from behind the Guardian. "They do need you, Gwyneth. You're their only chance of survival."
"She needs a moment." The Guardian warned him. She could understand why he was so determined to get this done. This was a chance for some small redemption for her. So then why didn't it feel like that? Why did the Gelth's praising of the Doctor feel wrong?
Mr. Sneed asked the Doctor to explain the whole thing for the third time that hour. The Guardian just tuned out the entire conversation, going to the pantry to get a pitcher of water and a glass for Gwyneth. She timed her trip to return just as Charles spoke for the first time since Gwyneth fainted.
"Which is why they need the girl," he said.
"She can help." The Doctor nodded. "Living on the rift, she's become a part of it. She can open it up, make a bridge, and let them through."
"Incredible," Dickens sighed, still not quite believing it all. "Ghosts that are not ghosts, but beings from another world, who can only exist in our realm by inhabiting cadavers."
The Doctor nodded. "Good system. It might work. It's like recycling."
The Guardian poured Gwyneth a glass of water. "What do you say, Gwneth? It has to be your choice."
"The angels need me." Gwyneth replied confidently. "Doctor, what do I have to do?"
"You don't have to do anything." The Doctor said softly. "The Guardian is right. It's your decision, and yours alone."
"They've been singing to me since I was a child, sent by my mam on a holy mission. So tell me."
The Doctor smiled. "We need to find the rift." His voice was confident again. "This house is on a weak spot, so there must be a spot that's weaker than any other."
The Guardian nodded. "Mr. Sneed, where is the place that most of the ghosts have been seen?"
Sneed thought for a moment. "That would be the morgue."
The Guardian's bad feeling became a hundred times worse.
GD~GD~GD~GD~
Mr. Sneed led them down to a cold, corpse-filled basement.
"Urgh." The Doctor winced. "Talk about Bleak House."
No one spoke for a moment. Then, Charles whispered, "Doctor, I think the room is getting colder."
Whispers filled the air.
"Here they come," the Guardian said.
One of the Gelth, the girl with the young voice, appeared under a stone arch.
"You've come to help. Praise the Doctor. Praise him."
"Don't you dare hurt her." The Guardian warned the creature.
Another flicker of alarm rose up when the Gelth didn't reply, but said, "Hurry! Please, so little time. Pity the Gelth."
The Doctor moved from the back of the room. "We'll take you somewhere else after the transfer. Somewhere you can build proper bodies. This isn't a permanent solution, all right?"
"My angels. I can help them live." She looked to the Doctor, a flicker of doubt in her eyes.
He nodded. "Okay, where's the weak point?"
"Here, beneath the arch."
"Gwyneth," the Guardian took her arm as she moved toward the arch. The girl turned to her. The Guardian swallowed. "I can't promise you'll survive this. Just communicating with them exhausted you. Becoming a bridge between the two places might completely drain you." The Guardian took both of Gwyneth's hands. "I'm not saying this make you doubt. You are an intelligent young woman, and you deserve to know everything. If you want to back out, we can find another way to build a bridge."
Gwyneth smiled. "You're a kind woman, beneath that mask that you wear, the one that you show the world. Let me atone for some of the things you wish you could regret."
The Guardian blinked as Gwyneth released her hands and stepped beneath the arch, into the cloud created by the Gelth.
"Establish the bridge. Reach out to the void. Let us through!"
Gwyneth stiffened, as did the Guardian. Something was wrong with the girl. The Doctor slipped his arm around the Guardian's shoulders.
"Yes," Gwyneth said. "I can see you. I can see you! Come!"
"Bridgehead establishing."
"Come to me!" Gwyneth cried. "Come to this world, poor lost souls!"
"It is begun! The bridge is made!" As the Gelth spoke, Gwyneth opened her mouth and more Gelth came out, flying around the room. Then, the Guardian saw it. The fixed gaze of the girl, the lack of expression when she should be happy to save her angels.
"She has given herself to the Gelth. The bridge is open. We descend." Suddenly, the blue gas turned to red flames and the apparition grew sharp teeth. "The Gleth will come through in force." Gone was the child's voice, replaced by a dark and demonic one.
"You said that you were few in number!" Charles protested.
"A few billion." The Gelth corrected. "And all of us in need of corpses."
The Guardian and the Doctor exchanged horrified looks before turning to see the Gelth reanimating the cadavers in the room.
"Oh, Gwyneth," Sneed whispered, before charging up to the girl. "Stop this! Listen to your master. This has gone far enough. Stop dabbling, child, and leave these things alone, I beg of you."
"Mr. Sneed!" The Doctor shouted as a corpse grabbed the old man and snapped his neck. A moment later, a Gelth took him over.
"I think it's gone a little bit wrong." The Doctor said, staring at Mr. Sneed's possessed corpse.
"You think?!" The Guardian snapped, as Sneed spoke.
"I have joined the legions of the Gelth. Come, march with us."
"No!" Dickens breathed.
"We need bodies. All of you. Dead. The human race. Dead."
The Doctor backed towards a metal gate, pulling the Guardian with him. "Gwyneth, stop them! Send them back now!"
"She can't." The Guardian told him. He looked at her, confused, but was distracted when the Gelth spoke again.
"Three more bodies. Convert them. Make them vessels for the Gelth."
"Doctor, I can't." Dickens stammered. "This new world of yours is too much for me. I'm so—" A scream cut him off, and he ran up the stairs to the house.
The Doctor pulled the Guardian behind the metal gate, locking it with the sonic screwdriver. The corpses couldn't reach them, though they crowed outside the gate. Behind the Doctor and the Guardian was another iron grate, but this one was fixed into the stone. No way out.
"I trusted you. I pitied you!" The Doctor spat. He seethed.
"We don't want your pity. We want this world all it's flesh!"
"Not while I'm alive!" The Doctor snapped.
"Then live no more." The corpses reached through the doors.
"It's all my fault," the Doctor whispered. "I brought you here. I promised you a nice quiet Christmas on Earth, and yet here we are."
"Yes, this is your fault."
The Doctor flinched at her cold words.
"I could have incapacitated the corpses if you hadn't dragged me in here, Doctor." A part of her hated herself for what she was saying, but he had to know. "If we survive this, then never do that again. I've trained to fight for over fifteen hundred years. I've fought more trained assassins than this at once. But I can't do it from a weak point. Like this." She gestured to the alcove.
He looked away, ashamed. "So, because of me, we're going to die in a dungeon…" His expression turned horrified. "In Cardiff."
The Guardian nodded. "Well, I'm not going to die cowering in a corner. But first..." To the Doctor's shock, she pulled her dress off, revealing a black, strapless, corset-like top and dark trousers were beneath.
She rolled her eyes at his stunned look. "I was betting on there being danger. I was hardly going to leave the TARDIS without wearing something I could fight in. Now, ready?"
"No." She turned to the Doctor in surprise. "Amadahy, I..."
Her eyes widened at the Gallifreyan words, at his use of her name. They had agreed to never speak Gallifreyan outside of the TARDIS, and to never use each other's names unless they were alone. And they often didn't use them even then.
"What?"
He seemed to struggle for a moment, before pulling her to himself and kissing her. The Guardian stiffened in surprise for a moment, before she wrapped her arms around his neck. When he pulled away, just an inch or two, her lips tried to follow his.
"Amadahy, I—"
"Doctor, Guardian!" Charles ran into view, behind the crowd of corpses.
"Turn off the flame, turn up the gas! Now, fill the room, all of it, now!" He didn't even seem to notice the fact that they were embracing in a dark alcove.
"What're you doing?" The Doctor shouted back.
"So much for genius..." The Guardian muttered. For the love of Clom, did that man not realize how much danger he was in?"
Dickens ran over the wall, to a gas lamp. "Turn it all on! Flood the place!"
"Brilliant." The Doctor released the Guardian. He pulled his jacket off and handed it to her.
"The gas?" She rolled her eyes and put the far too-large coat on. Best to not scandalize poor Charles—he'd had enough for one night.
"Am I correct, Doctor?" Charles asked. "These creatures are gaseous."
The Guardian's eyes widened with understanding. "Oh… he is brilliant! And in a lot of trouble!"
The corpses, including the two from upstairs, began moving slowly towards Charles, surrounding him and cutting off his escape.
"Plenty more!" The Doctor shouted and ripped a gas pipe from the wall inside the alcove.
With a scream, the Gelth began leaving the corpses. The bodies fell to the ground. The Doctor sonicked the gate open again, and the couple rushed back into the Gelth-filled room.
"Gwyneth, send them back." The Guardian called, hoping against logic that there was still some of the girl left that could hear her. "They're not angels; they lied to you, to us."
"Liars?" The Guardian's eyes widened at the emotion in Gwyneth's voice.
"Look at me," the Doctor said. He moved closer to Gwyneth, stepping over corpses. "If you mother could look down and see this, she'd tell you the same. She'd give you the strength. Now send them back!"
Charles started choking.
"Charles, get out of here!" The Guardian pushed him towards the stairs. "We'll be fine."
"They're too strong," Gwyneth said.
"Gwyneth," the Guardian said. "The future of this planet depends on you."
"Remember that world you saw, Gwyneth? Our world? As fantastic as it was, the future of this planet is even more amazing. But none of it will exist unless you send them back through the rift."
"I can't send them back." Gwyneth replied firmly. "But I can hold them. Hold them in this place, hold them here. Get out." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a box of matches.
"Leave that to me." The Doctor reached for the box, but the Guardian grabbed his hand.
"I'm so sorry, Doctor, but she's already dead."
He looked at the girl again in horror, but this time, he really saw her.
"She's been dead since the moment the bridge was established."
He moved over to the girl and kissed her forehead. "Thank you, Gwyneth." He whispered.
Then he grabbed the Guardian's hand and they ran for the stairs. They ran through the house, barely making it out and away before a massive explosion demolished the building and threw them to the ground.
Charles ran over. As the Guardian stood, he finally noticed her different attire, and his eyes widened.
"She closed the rift." The Doctor said.
That seemed to distract him, as he turned back to the burning house and remarked sadly, "At such a cost. The poor child."
GD~GD~GD~GD~
Charles followed them back to the TARDIS. The Doctor unlocked the doors while the Guardian turned to their companion.
"Now, Charles." The Guardian smiled at the man. "I need to get a change of clothes. So, I must bid you farewell."
Charles kissed her hand, and she stepped into the TARDIS. The Doctor started as she threw his jacket back at him from just inside, hitting him directly in the face.
Charles chuckled while he pulled the coat back on. "What are you doing to do now?" He asked.
"I shall take the mail coach back to London," Charles said with conviction. "Quite literally post-haste. This is not time for me to be on my own. I shall spend Christmas with my family and make amends to them. After all I've learned tonight, there can be nothing more vital."
The Doctor grinned, remembering the bitter man from earlier that night. "You've cheered up."
"Exceedingly!" He chuckled. "This morning, I thought I knew everything in the world. Now I know I've just started. All these huge and wonderful notions, Doctor! I'm inspired! I must write about them!"
The Doctor smiled sadly, knowing what the future really held for the man. He would be dead in six months. "Good luck with it." He forced himself to say, offering his hand for Charles to shake. "Nice to meet you. Fantastic." The Doctor started to move towards the TARDIS.
"Doctor, I don't understand. In what way is this goodbye? Where are you going?"
"You'll see." The Doctor pointed at the TARDIS. "In the shed."
Dickens shook his head. "Upon my soul, Doctor, it's one riddle after another with you. But after all these revelations, there's one mystery you still haven't explained. Answer me this: who are you?"
The Doctor hesitated, wondering how much he should share with the man. "We're just friends passing through," he finally settled on.
"But you have such knowledge of future times."
The Doctor stiffened.
"I don't wish to impose on you, but I must ask you. My books. Doctor, do they last?"
The Doctor grinned. There was something he could answer. "Oh, yes."
Charles looked at him in shock. "For how long?"
"Forever."
Charles looked as though he didn't quite believe him, but said nothing.
The Doctor pointed to the TARDIS. "Right. Shed." He moved to the door and started to open it.
"In the box? Both of you?" Dickens asked him, scandalized. "But… she's changing her attire!"
"Down boy." The Doctor replied seriously, with a short nod, then a grin. "See ya."
He finally stepped inside the TARDIS, and promptly fall back against the doors.
The Guardian was waiting for him, still in her old clothes.
GD~GD~GD~GD~
"Let's give old Charlie boy one last surprise." The Doctor moved over to the console and pulled the lever to dematerialize.
The Guardian waited for him to speak first, but he didn't. "You kissed me."
He stiffened. "Yes, I did."
"You haven't done that since the last time I saw you before the War." She said quietly.
He sighed, not looking at her. "I know." There was a note of resignation to his voice. Or was it regret?
"I thought you hated me, hated what I had become after what you said to me on Karn."
He suddenly gripped the edge of the console, his knuckles turning white. He took several deep breaths, then: "I could never hate you, Amadahy."
"Then do you still love me?" The Guardian whispered.
He looked up, his gaze snapping to hers. "Of course, I do. I'm just… trying to give you space. We both need to heal from the War." He looked away and sighed in frustration, making the Guardian flinch.
"Look..." He said. "We promised each other long ago that we would find a way to get married, right?"
The Guardian stiffened. He was rethinking that promise, wasn't he? "Yes," she whispered.
"Then let's make it official."
"What?" She blinked. "You don't mean…?"
He shook his head, chuckling a bit. "No, we don't have to get married right now. No, let's make our engagement official. Tell everyone we see. Both of us call the other our fiances."
The Guardian blinked back tears. "That's foolish."
"So was falling in love with the Guardian of the Lord President, the one Lady on Gallifrey the High Council would never allow to marry. Over a thousand years later and I still don't regret it."
The Guardian smiled, one or two tears escaping.
With a grin, the Doctor moved over and took her hands. "Best do this properly. Lady Amadahy of Arcadia, do you consent to one day become my wife?"
She bit her lip, trying to control her tears, and nodded. "Yes." She took a deep breath. "Lord Eltanin of Lungbarrow, do you consent to one day become my husband?"
He grinned. "With both my hearts, yes."
Then he gently pulled her closer and kissed her again.
GD~GD~GD~GD~
So, we start to learn a bit more about the Guardian. I wonder why she was never allowed to join the Academy?
As for the Androzani bit… I literally have no idea if the series (old or new) ever said anything about their ability to lie, but I could totally see the Doctor being the ONE person who could find a loophole when someone threatens to burn a planet.
I shortened the conversation in Dickens' coach because I couldn't see the Doctor getting super excited about meeting Charles Dickens when the Guardian is in danger. But, of course, being the Doctor, he still gets distracted once he catches up to them…
I'll admit, I had a ton of fun writing the scene with the two zombies. During the week days, I'm writing another book where the main character is super afraid of everything, so the Guardian as been a welcome break from that with her "come at me, bro" attitude.
Also, I decided that this Guardian's (number has yet to be revealed) theme is "Guardians" by Two Steps From Hell. When I chose themes for all the Doctor/Guardian pairings, I tried to go for songs with titles that also fit the events.
And… since we finally have an official engagement, I get to announce their love theme: "A Thousand Years". Which it quite appropriate, considering that they have literally been in love for a thousand years. But more on that next chapter.
Oh, and there was a tiny hint at the time that the Guardian can't remember (a couple of them actually). Did anyone catch them? Well, you'll have to wait until the next book to find out if you didn't. (*evil laugh*)
Next time: A crash landing, a mad blonde, and a space pig.