I really like this one and it was done more recently, so it's still pretty fresh for me. Just thought it'd be interesting and, as you can see from other posts, I like immortal characters. Hope you all enjoy it too!

(June 1692, Massachusetts)

What do you think would happen if suddenly, everything in your life changed? What would you do if it was all turned on its head? Where nothing made sense and you suddenly had nothing left. Just one minute you were on your way to work and then… you weren't. Everything in your life gone, like breath on a mirror.

I paused, tapping the tip of my quill on the desk and tipping my head. The last few words were familiar somehow which meant I couldn't use them. I crossed them out with a soft sigh, eyes drifting towards the window that was being battered on by rain, limiting my usual outdoor excursions.

"Writing another letter?"

I glanced at the woman who stepped in, getting up and bringing her a shawl to warm her up.

"Memoirs, Bridget," I replied, earning a raised brow from her.

"Memoirs? Are you expectin' ta die soon? You're only a young'un."

I cracked a small bitter smile. "Course. Just… thought it'd be nice for people to read later. A story to tell 'bout my life an' everything."

"You're strange, you are. Best be careful, or people gonna start looking at you like you're a witch."

My smile faltered as I watched her stoke the fire, eyeing the woman that would soon become the first victim of the Salem Witch Trials. "Yes… Wouldn't want that."

(April 1775, Virginia)

What would you do if one day, your life was turned upside down? If you stepped out of your home full of the luxuries of modernity and suddenly, it was all gone? Walking on the street on the way to work, mask on, and following the precautions given for the pandemic, only for something to happen between one step and the next. The world to suddenly shift and the pavement to vanish from under the soles of your shoes.

You blink and realize that you're standing in dirt, in the middle of the forest, with nothing but the sound of your own breathing and the creatures' hiding around you echoing through the air. You walk and find no sign of civilization anywhere. You keep walking until exhaustion seeps in alongside panic. Then, you run, begging for someone, something to be around because something is very obviously wrong.

Days pass. The panic is gone, replaced by an overwhelming sense of hopelessness and devastation. Survival presses against your mind and you get up and search for food. You accidentally eat something poisonous that you had thought was all right. You're sick for another few hours before your body gives in and you collapse; dead.

"It's a bit… dark, isn't it?"

I huffed, nose wrinkled, and lips lifted in a disgusted sort of grimace as I put my quill back in the inkpot and folded my arms over my chest. "I thought so, but how else would I phrase it? Something more fanciful, you think?"

The man in the white wig picked up the paper, eyeing it with a critical look. "More fanciful? I say, this is already fanciful enough, wouldn't you say?"

I sighed. "Thomas, that is the point of it."

"I thought you said it was your memoirs?" He countered, putting the papers back onto the table and lightly tapping them with a finger. "That, my friend, is nothing more than fairytale. A man who vanishes from his life and appears alone in a forest only to die a moment later?"

"You're right. It's a bit short. More detail maybe?"

"Detail?" He threw up his hands. "I don't know how Alexander deals with your fantasies."

Someone pounded on the door then, drawing our gaze before Thomas answered it. An out-of-breath young man stood there, half-doubled over.

"M-Mr. Jefferson, sir. A-A battle has broken out. At Lexington a-and Concord. Sir, w-we're at war."

Thomas looked at me and I stood.

"I'll get the horses ready."

(April 1865, Washington D.C.)

Now, what would you do, if you didn't die? Didn't age? If you got back up after being hit by that musket ball? If you clawed your way out of a casket just as it was being buried? Would you be scared? Terrified? Bitter? Lonely? I started out that way. Angry at the world, cursing the demons who put this spell on me. Those who dragged me from my time, my world, and pushed me into this harsh reality. I kept my distance. I felt that I had to, in order to keep myself safe. Safe from being witness to those friends I made who died while I never would. I wanted to be bitter and alone. Then, I began to think of what I could do.

I could be a lonely God. Altering history, ruining a future, or creating one just by stepping in the path of a carriage. By hunting down those men who would grow up to become wicked. Then, I was forced into war. I couldn't dare reveal I was a woman and that came with a price. The price of being known as a man with all the responsibilities that came with it. Being a soldier was one. The first time I took a life, I watched the soul leave from an eighteen-year-old boy and knew I would never be able to be so evil again.

My path changed in that instant. Diverting from one of chaos and destruction and instead towards one of hope and dreams. The life of an angel, not a devil.

"Poetic," the man reading the paper muttered, lifting his grey eyes towards me.

"It is hardly poetic, Abe," I replied with a soft smile, pulling on my coat before grabbing his and his infamous top hat. "Come, now. Your wife will be upset if you're late."

He smiled and stood, towering over me with his six-foot-four stature and accepting his things as he placed a hand over the papers I'd given him.

"A woman, disguised as a man, who can never die," he mused, as I waited patiently. "Tell me. In this story of yours… what happens to her?"

I cracked a soft, sad smile. "She moves on and keeps moving on. Learns to do things she might never have done before. Meets people, tells stories, writes and plays and lives as every other person in the world."

"You called her an angel," he noted, accepting his hat as we stepped out of the office and towards the doors where his wife would be waiting in their carriage.

"Some think she is," I answered easily, pulling on some gloves to keep my hands warm in the mildly chilly weather.

"What does she do that they believe her to be such?" He asked curiously, pausing beside his carriage, looking down at me with a spark of curiosity in his eyes. "Someone who was bitter enough to consider changing history. Someone who grew kind."

"She waits." I shrugged. "She waits for those people who get the wrong end of the stick. She finds a way to… to stand beside them until the end. She doesn't stop their deaths, but she… comforts them. Reminds them that they will always be remembered by someone, even if they believe they have no one."

He smiled and nodded, climbing into his carriage as I clambered up as well to lead the horses. I snapped the horses into motion, bringing the carriage to the theatre and handing over the reins to someone else so I could join him and the other couple that would be in the presidential booth to watch the play Our American Cousin. It was late when John Wilkes Booth stepped into the box unnoticed and fired at the back of Abraham Lincoln's head.

Henry Rathbone attacked the man the same instant I disarmed him—ignoring the slice of pain that went through my arm from his dagger. Booth fled with Rathbone trying to stop him and I turned to where Mary Todd was crying and where Lincoln was bleeding out. I knelt down and gripped the man's shoulder, wishing there was more I could do when his lips moved—forming words.

Angel indeed.

(1941, England)

I hummed as I strolled down the halls of the War Office under London, glad that I was able to work here instead of on the front lines where I'd initially been stationed. The building rumbled, making dust fall from the ceiling. I eyed the roof but felt little unease even as the warning sirens outside rang loud and clear, even in here.

"So, you changed your face again?"

I raised a brow but spotted Winston Churchill approaching and stepped out of his way with a small salute. It was the two people behind him that caught my gaze though. A childish-faced man in tweed and a young woman wearing clothes that were definitely not from this time. Curious.

"At ease, Owens," Churchill said, pausing before me and removing his cigar. "I do believe I've told you to stop saluting me in the halls. Do we need to have another intervention?"

I cracked a wary smile, seeing what appeared to be recognition when the man behind him looked at me. Does he know me? I don't recognize him. "Course not, sir. Just a habit, is all."

He nodded gruffly as another woman hurried up and handed him a clipboard.

"Requisitions, sir."

"Excellent."

They headed off as I eyed the two following Churchill, curious but reining back my more inquisitive nature to return to the break room for tea. I froze though, at the olive-green painted robot that was already in there, sending tendrils of unease through me. I stared long and hard at the creature, blinking tight in the hopes that I was imagining it. Yet, it was still there when I opened my eyes and it noticed me. The lens in its eye orbit narrowed and widened before it turned back to where it was getting tea and I slowly backed out of the room and walked pointedly away.

I'm losing it. I must be. Strange robots making tea, odd people showing up in clothing from the wrong century. I need a vacation. Could I request one now? Churchill is known to be rather lenient to his soldiers. A day off would be nice. I headed for the man's office after speaking to someone about who I should ask. Being a higher rank officer, I only really answered to him while I was here and begrudgingly settled in for a half-hearted explanation for why I suddenly wanted a break. I found the office and rapped on the door that was already open.

"They're Daleks. They're called Dale—" The floppy-haired man stopped upon hearing my knock.

"Sorry, sir. I was hoping to request something of you, but I can come back if you're busy."

"No, no. No need. Come here, Lieutenant. I could use your input on this as well."

I hesitated but stepped into the room, coming up beside his desk where blueprints for the robot I'd seen in the break room were being looked at by the man before me.

"They're called Daleks," the man said again, and Churchill sighed.

"They are Bracewell's Ironsides, Doctor. Look. Blueprints, statistics, field tests, photographs. He invented them."

A doctor? Still, why didn't I know about this? I silently wondered, taking a blueprint myself and looking over the schematics. This is too advanced for current times. This goes far beyond simple computers and into far more advanced technology. I don't even think these would have been invented in my time.

"Invented them? Oh, no, no, no," the doctor argued.

"Yes. He approached one of our brass hats a few months ago. Fellow's a genius," Churchill countered. "Have you met Bracewell, Owens?"

"No, sir," I answered. "I've only recently been transferred here, sir. I… saw one of these in the break room. Thought I was hallucinating and came to request some time off. These can't honestly be ours, can they?"

Churchill smirked. "They can. As I said, Bracewell invented them."

"He didn't invent them," the doctor snapped. "They're alien."

"Alien?" I questioned, gesturing to the ceiling. "As in space alien?"

One robot rolled by the door, making the doctor eye it.

"And totally hostile."

"It was making tea," I mentioned, more than confused, but Churchill was beaming.

"Precisely. They will win me the war." He moved away from the desk and turned to me. "And you wished for time off, Owens?"

I blinked, eyeing the victory poster before my gaze snapped back to him. "Ah, yes, sir. Sorry for the short notice. Just a-a day, perhaps?"

"You were just transferred," he mentioned, and I nodded.

"Again, sorry. However, I've not slept, sir. It was a quick transfer. From the front lines directly to here."

The building rumbled again, drawing my eyes hesitantly up and he sighed, dropping ash off his cigar.

"Very well. Return home, for now, Lieutenant. I'll see you in three days."

"Three—Sir, one is fine."

"Don't argue, or I'll make it a week," he scolded, making me close my mouth with a small smile and a salute.

"Yes, sir. Of course."

"One thing. Owens, was it?"

I looked over at the doctor as he eyed me. "Yes, sir?"

He grimaced. "No. Don't call me 'sir.' Just the Doctor is fine."

Again, I blinked, confused. "Doctor? Of what?"

He cracked a smile at that. "Just the Doctor. I'm curious though. I said 'alien' and you immediately went to space alien. Wouldn't one normally think of an immigrant?"

"Well, a metal machine is hardly an immigrant, si—Doctor."

His smile widened. "Ooh, you're as cheeky as ever. I love that. Hang onto this one, Winston. He's sharp."

Churchill nodded, giving me a small grin as well. "Oh, I plan on it, Doctor."

'As cheeky as ever'?

(March 2006, England)

What if the world you ended up in simply wasn't your world? It was like it, but there were differences you hadn't noticed at first. Creatures that roamed that weren't human but went unnoticed, unseen. Events in history that had rumors or stories about them that were impossible or strange. Winston Churchill in 1941 with robot machines. 1969 when bulbous grey-headed aliens walked around until you turned your back and forgot about them. 1987 where flying bat-like creatures turned everything into nonexistence.

I remember them. Some of them, anyway. I wrote them down, drew pictures, and added them to this: my memoirs. Think of it what you will. These will always be my memoirs; the truth of my life. To you, it might just be a story, which is fine. I don't blame you. I can hardly believe it myself, and I've lived in this world far longer than I can remember.

The Doctor, for instance. Completely forgot about him until I was reading back through my own books and came across his first appearance in those War Offices in 1941. Heard mentions of him on occasion, but I brushed it off as someone speaking of a doctor and not the man who called himself the Doctor. Perhaps, I should have paid him more attention. After all, things started to get a lot stranger as the 21st century approached.

I eyed the large ship that had crashed into the Thames, pausing on my walk to stare at it in surprise before lifting my coffee cup back to my lips and sipping it. Strange things just keep on happening, don't they? I mused, tucking the cup into the crook of my arm and drawing out a pen to write in the small book I'd been reading. Spaceship crashing into Big Ben and the Thames. March 6, 2006. I glanced back at the previous entry regarding possible aliens, a full year ago, to when plastic mannequins were suddenly alive, and hummed before closing the book as I continued my walk.

I didn't get very far before I reached my flat and was immediately having soldiers stopping me before I could go for my keys.

"Hello. Can I help you?" I asked, tipping my head a little before one of the men approached, checking a notepad in his hand.

"Gray Douglas?"

"That's me," I hummed, sipping my coffee again.

"You're needed at Downing Street."

"Oh, for the big ship thing, right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Douglas is fine," I waved off, before frowning at my cup. "You think I can get more coffee on the way?"

The answer was 'no' as I was sent in a car to Downing Street and soon had to pass through a number of reporters before getting brought to a man with a set of badges.

"You're…"

"Gray Douglas," I hummed as he handed over an ID badge once he found my name on the list.

"Here's your ID card. It's to be worn at all times during the briefing and any follow-up briefings."

"Yeah, okay. Coffee?"

He sighed softly. "There's a station inside."

"Right. Thanks, um…"

"Ganesh," he said, and I nodded.

"Yeah. Ganesh. You wouldn't happen to know who specifically put me on that list, would you?"

He shook his head. "No. I'm only here to show the experts where to go."

"Huh. Alright. Thanks."

I stepped into the room where other experts were waiting, and I spotted the coffee maker nearby and made a beeline for it. One refilled coffee cup later, and I was taking a seat and adding to my book. Invited to Downing Street by someone who's aware of me, which is new. May have to look into moving elsewhere if London is going to continue to be a hotspot for alien activity. I tapped my pen on the book and sighed, slipping it back into my coat. I picked up the pamphlet I was supposed to be reading, giving it a look as someone sat beside me—keeping his back pointed firmly in my direction—flipped through the pamphlet as well.

"Nothing interesting," I said to his back, making him peer at me from over his shoulder as I tossed the file to the empty seat on my other side along with my ID badge. "Same stuff they said on the news. Ship crashed, one pig-like occupant. I don't know about you, but I'm hardly an expert in what to do when an alien ship crash lands, so why summon a bunch of clueless scientists and military here?"

He turned around, grinning. "What's your name?"

"Gray Douglas," I replied, curious as to why he was suddenly asking me about myself.

"Well, Gray Douglas, that's an excellent question."

"Now, ladies and gentlemen," the man at the front called out, drawing all eyes to him. "If I could have your attention, please. As you can see from the summaries in front of you, the ship had one porcine occupant—"

The man beside me suddenly started to speak. "Of course, the really interesting bit happened three days ago, see, filed away under Any Other Business," he rambled on, getting up and walking towards the front of the room as if he owned the place. "The North Sea. A satellite detected a signal, a little blip of radiation, at one hundred fathoms, like there's something down there. You were just about to investigate and the next thing you know, this happens. Spaceships, pigs, massive diversion. From what? Douglas, what do you think?"

"Me?" I questioned, feeling all gazes shift to me at the back of the room.

"You asked the question first. Why summon a bunch of scientists and military here who have just as much of an idea of what to do as anyone else?" He remarked. "So, tell me. If aliens fake an alien crash and an alien pilot, what do they get?"

I was confused for a second, wondering where he got the idea that aliens faked an alien crash, but pushed past that thought to answer him. "Us, apparently?"

He pointed his rolled-up summary at me with a grin. "That's right. They get us. It's not a diversion, it's a trap."

I sat up in my seat, eyes wide. "Oh."

"Oh, is right, Douglas. This is all about us. Alien experts. The only people with knowledge how to fight them gathered together in one room."

A loud fart rang out and I leaned over to look past the man explaining all this and towards the man seated at the desk at the head of the room.

"Excuse me," the alien expert who'd been speaking scoffed. "Do you mind not farting while I'm saving the world?"

"Would you rather silent but deadly?" He asked, exchanging a smirk with the military man at his side who removed his cap and reached up towards his head.

Laughter rang out as the man stripped himself of the flesh suit, sending me to my feet as I eyed the strange green baby-like creature now standing before us with large claws. I wasn't the only one standing now; some backing towards the doors leading out.

"And thank you all for wearing your ID cards," the man beside the alien declared, pulling something from his pocket. "They'll help to identify the bodies."

Everyone cried out as they were electrocuted but me, and the man at the head of the table scowled before I grimaced and rushed for the man who'd figured the plan out before anyone else. Oh, this is going to hurt. I grabbed his ID badge, forcing my contracting muscles to send me falling back, yanking it off his neck. The electricity was excruciating, but he was freed, and he quickly grabbed the card from me and rushed for the alien.

"Deadly to humans, maybe," he grunted out before my vision went dark.

(December 2006, England)

I sighed, breath fogging up the air, feeling a headache coming on at the dark ship hovering overhead. Again? What the hell is up with London? My phone started to go off and I closed my eyes with a breath of exasperation before answering the call.

"This is Marley Russell."

"Miss Russell, you're wanted by UNIT and the current Prime Minister. We've sent a car to your home address, but you're not in."

"Probably because I want nothing to do with another alien invasion. Don't you have other people for this? I don't even know why I gave you my number after what happened in March."

"Ma'am, the Prime Minister, as well as two of our experts, have both been teleported onto the ship."

"And what do you expect me to do?" I hissed into the receiver as I passed by a row of flats where a family was having a domestic. "I've got nothing to work with here. If I was called in earlier, maybe, but right now? I'm even more useless than they are, and they're up in the ship!"

The family was growing louder, shouting at one another and drawing my attention only to frown. It was a young blonde woman and her possible boyfriend, heaving a very unconscious man across the parking lot while an older blonde hurried after them with her arms laden with groceries.

"Ma'am, if you could just—"

"Yeah, no. Sorry. I'm not helping you this time. I shouldn't have even given you my phone number after my... aunt died last time. Goodbye."

"Ma'am, wa—"

I hung up the phone and begrudgingly dropped it to the ground, stomping on it so they wouldn't be able to track me.

"I liked that phone too," I grumbled, but easily let the bitterness fall away before I hurried over towards the group. "Hey! Hey! What are you doing!"

The young man hesitated, looking at the person in his arms and back at me before his eyes went wide. "W-Wait! It's not what it looks like!"

"Not what it looks like? There's an alien ship in the sky, people are standing on rooftops, and you lot are just carrying around an unconscious man. What am I supposed to think!" I countered, standing beside him and the blonde who looked upset.

"Just stay out of it!" She snapped.

"Sorry, if I'm not going to just stand by and watch you two kidnap someone and stuff him into a…" I paused, eyeing the blue box they held open. "I'm sorry. Are you stuffing him into a police box?"

"We're not stuffing him nowhere!" The older woman bellowed, drawing my attention to her as she dropped a grocery bag and the two hurried into the police box.

"Ah, here." I hurried over to help her, picking up the grocery bag before turning to the blue box the trio had disappeared into, realizing I'd let them get away when I went to help the woman. "Damn. Hold on. How can the three of them fit in there?"

The woman I was helping scoffed. "Trust me, sweetheart, you don't want to know. And we're not kidnapping anyone. He's a friend of my daughter's but he's sick. We're just trying to get him safe."

"By putting him in a police box…" I muttered; brows furrowed in confusion.

"Mum! Hurry up!" Her daughter called from inside and she huffed.

"I'm coming! Honestly. Would you mind carrying that for me?" She asked and I blinked, but nodded, walking with her into the police box with some concern as to how we'd fit before my feet met metal grating and my jaw dropped.

"R-Right. Not a police box then," I breathed, trailing after the older woman and setting down the groceries I had been carrying. "This isn't yours, is it?"

The older woman shook her head. "Oh, no. It's the Doctor's."

The name rang a bell in my head, reminding me of the blurred face of a childish man facing Winston Churchill. I didn't see him though.

"The Doctor?"

"Mum! What are you thinking!" The woman's daughter shouted, suddenly pointing a finger in my direction. "You can't just let people in here!"

"She was helping me with the food!" The woman argued back. "More helpful than you lot."

The daughter whipped to me, eyes blazing. "Get out! You can't be in here!"

"What? Why not?" I blurted out.

"You just—You just can't, okay!"

"Leave? You want me to just leave after seeing this?" I scoffed. "Mind you, I've seen a lot of things over the years, but this is the most interesting thing I've seen in a while."

"You shouldn't have even come in here!"

"Oh, okay. So, I'll just walk out and tell the first person I know about a bigger-on-the-inside blue police box."

"No!"

I snorted; brow raised. "First off, no one would believe me. Second, I suppose this means I'm staying."

She opened and closed her mouth a few times, but I knew I'd caught her. Honestly, kids these days.

"If it makes you feel better, I know the Doctor," I admitted.

"You're joking."

"Nope. I do. Met him and Winston Churchill in 1941."

"You traveled with him?" She questioned, looking hurt.

"No. Does he travel?" I paused thinking back. "I suppose he would have to, wouldn't he? Where is he, by the way?"

She turned and pointed to the man they'd carried in. "He's right there."

I blinked, looking at him and even kneeling by his side before pointing and looking up at her.

"This is him?"

"Ugh, yes! He… He did something weird. Changed his face o-or something. He used to have big ears and shorter hair."

"Ah! I met him twice! I didn't even know it was him at Downing Street."

Her eyes widened. "You were at Downing Street? With the Slitheen?"

"Big green babies in skin suits?" I questioned, getting a nod. "Yeah. I was one of the experts they brought in. Lord knows why."

"I thought all the experts died!"

"Ah, well, suppose I got missed." Not really but she doesn't need to know that. "Do you… still want me to leave?" I asked, pointing at the door and she sighed.

"Guess not. You're an expert though, right?"

"Depends on what you mean. I'm an expert at a lot of things. Archery, sword fighting, dancing, cooking—"

"In alien things," she specified.

"Ah, well, I probably know more than others on the subject." On most subjects, really.

"Then, do you know what's going on? What those alien things are doing?"

"Oh. No. Not really. I was outside when everything happened. Taking a walk."

"Ugh," she groaned, turning away and back toward her boyfriend and the center console. "You're useless then."

"Rude," I muttered as her mother stepped out to go get something she forgot. Maybe I should head out too.

My gaze shifted to the unconscious man at my feet though and I sighed, resting my head on my arms that were resting on my knees. The Doctor, huh? Not the Doctor I met back in 1941, nor the one I met earlier this year. A new Doctor. Though she did mention something about him changing faces. Wonder what she meant. Could they be the same Doctor? The same but with different faces?

"Why change faces though? Got bored of the last one?" I mused out loud.

Must be nice. There's only so much I can do with hair dye and contacts. I twisted a bit of brown hair around a finger with a small frown. Then, the daughter spoke up again.

"Hey. What's your name again?"

I looked over at her, standing up and brushing myself off. "It's impolite to ask for a name before you've given yours."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm Rose Tyler. This is Mickey Smith and my mum, Jackie, just left. Better now?"

I smiled. "Sure. I'm Marley Russell. Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, look. I don't know why you're sticking around. Don't you have like… friends or family to worry about? People are standing on the roofs, you know."

"I saw, but to answer your question, I don't have anyone. All on my own, me," I replied with a soft smile as I leaned against the console.

"Oh," she muttered, but I waved it off.

"Don't worry about it. We only just met, right?"

She managed a small smile before frowning at the door. "Where is my mum?" She sighed, heading for the door. "I'd better give her a hand. It might start raining missiles out there."

"Tell her anything from a tin, that's fine," Mickey teased, earning a chuckle from her as she went for the door and I started to take a look around more thoroughly.

It's nice. Bit… goth? Dim the lights and… I closed my eyes, hand on one of the coral pillars, and felt I could imagine it. Lying on the jump seat with the lights dimmed, mind at peace with a book lying over my stomach. My arm over my eyes until someone headed over, smiling softly and lifting my arm gently. I only saw their fond smile before I snapped my eyes open at Rose's scream.

"Rose!" Mickey called out, rushing for the door and knocking over a thermos.

I eyed the flask in uncertainty as it spilled whatever was inside it onto the grating, reaching down and picking it back up with a wince as something sparked and began to smoke under the grating. Hope that doesn't short something out, I mused before rushing back for the closed door. When I tugged on the handle though, it remained shut and I frowned.

"I understand getting locked out of somewhere, but locked in?" I leaned down, peering at the keyhole. "Is there even a latch?"

I heard a hissing then and turned, scrambling back to where the Doctor was and lying on the grating to try and look below it. Something's definitely sparking. Should I be worried?

"What can I do about a sparking spaceship though?" I grumbled, sitting on the floor and crossing my arms over my chest with my legs folded. "Can't even get out the door."

There was a subtle shifting beside me, and I looked over to see the unconscious Doctor breathing in deeply.

"Ah! Wait! You probably shouldn't be inhaling fumes like that," I blurted out, hands waving at the smoke though it was too late.

He let out a deep breath, allowing gold particles to drift up until they vanished in the air. My brows furrowed, eyeing where the wispy trail had been before looking back to the Doctor.

"Right… Alien."

Echoes of muffled shouting and possible laughter came from outside, drawing my attention to the doors. I wasn't sure what trouble Rose and Mickey had rushed out to, but it didn't sound good and a stirring in my gut had me wrapping my fist around the fabric of my shirt. It was a familiar feeling of uselessness and guilt. The very same feeling that I had to stifle when I sat in that seat in the presidential booth in 1865 before I watched Abraham Lincoln get assassinated. When I befriended Bridget Bishop knowing she was going to be hanged for being framed as a witch in 1692, and the many other moments when I grew too close to those good people who would perish in an important, unchangeable, moment of history.

"Oh, hello!"

I turned at the voice, blinking in surprise at the now conscious man who had sat up off the floor. He gave me a curious look, making me silently wonder how long he'd been awake and watching me before he chose to speak up and announce himself.

"Have we met?" He asked with a tip of his head.

"Ah, possibly," I managed to get out, as he got to his feet. "1941. War Offices?"

His brows furrowed. "Hm, no. Nope. Doesn't ring a bell."

I met a future version of him then? I wondered before continuing. "Then, Rose mentioned Downing Street earlier this year. I was one of the experts."

He leaned forward, eyeing me with a small frown. "Hm…" Then, he abruptly leaned back and made for the doors. "Still nothing. Oh, well. It'll come back to me. Only just woken up, after all."

"A-Ah, wait!" I called out, hurrying after him. "They were locked before, and Rose and Mickey just sort of rushed out and screamed. I'm not entirely sure what's out there."

He glanced at me from over his shoulder with a grin, hand on the door. "Well, I suppose it'll just have to be a surprise then, won't it?"

I let out a soft sigh but smiled a bit as he somehow opened the doors and stepped out. I trailed after him curiously, eyeing the interior of what could only be the spaceship that had been hovering over Britain. It's a bit… archaic and caveman-like. Is it just decorative though? They obviously have superior technology, so maybe it's just to look threatening? Or familiar? I had inadvertently ignored the shouting of the alien leader as the Doctor dealt with him, and the chit-chat that the Doctor had with the other people who'd been gathered on the ship. I was too busy prodding a rock formation to see how real it was before my gaze shifted back to the blue police box.

A little bit of curiosity had me circling it, trying to figure out how the interior fit in the one-and-a-half-meter wide box that encased it. My fingers trailed softly over the wood and a warm hum seemed to echo back fondly. Yet, this all seems a bit familiar somehow. I hummed myself, standing before the police box and bringing a hand to my chin in thought. Something from this life? My past life? Man, it's hard enough remembering things from this decade much less something from millennia ago.

Shouting interrupted my musing and I turned as the Doctor had apparently upset the humans he was friends with. I tipped my head curiously, dropping my hands and heading over to stand near Rose as the Doctor talked about fighting the leader of this group of alien invaders.

"What's happening? I wasn't paying attention."

"Wha—" She saw it was me asking and sighed. "The Doctor pushed a button to stop hypnotizing the people on the roofs. Now, he's fighting for the planet, I think."

"Sounds fun. Should he really be doing that after he just woke up?"

Laughter echoed around us then and I vaguely gestured at the mass of aliens.

"See? Bit ridiculous, really."

"Oi," the Doctor complained, having overheard me.

"Sorry if I don't take the man in pajamas seriously," I countered, holding out a hand. "I can do it if you want."

He raised a brow as the humans gaped. "You?"

"Probably have more strength than the man who's been unconscious until this point." Not to mention more experienced too, probably. "I'm pretty good at fencing if that helps."

He seemed to hesitate before shrugging, holding out the sword. "Okay. I don't see why not."

"Doctor!" Rose called out in disbelief and the other woman beside her did much the same as I stepped forward.

"Doctor, you can't be serious!"

"She seems confident enough," he replied, stepping back as I tested the weight and balance of the sword he'd taken from an alien guard. "Besides, I'm curious. Aren't you?"

Ignoring their complaints, I settled into position and gave the alien leader a look.

"You don't mind, do you? This substitution?"

The creature scoffed, eyeing the Doctor instead of me. "Your defeat is even more apparent with a woman fighting for you."

"And it's really rude to ignore your opponent," I replied back with a hint of annoyance. "Especially when said opponent is already prepared to start."

I rushed forward and the creature's eyes widened before he blocked my jab with a hiss.

"En garde."

The fight began and Rose's mouth dropped open in surprise as the woman seemed to be holding her own rather well. The leader of the Sycorax appeared to be almost struggling.

"So," the Doctor spoke up, drawing the blonde's eyes to him. "What do we know about her?"

Rose blinked, sort of stunned. "Y-You don't know her? But she said she's met you!"

He rubbed the back of his head. "Her face is similar to someone I may have met back at Downing Street, but I'm still cooking. Either she doesn't look exactly the same or she's like me and just isn't the same person she's claiming to be."

"Is she? Like you, I mean."

He shrugged. "She's not Time Lord, that's for sure. I'd be able to tell, up here." He tapped his temple. "Still, she could be just about any species of shape-shifter humanoid. There aren't too many species to pick from. Hm, have to consider long lifespan too."

"What?"

"Ah, she mentioned meeting me in the War Offices in 1941. I haven't been there yet, so it was probably a future me, but that would still make her near 65 years old."

Rose looked back at the woman who was fighting easily, looking as though she wasn't even breaking a sweat whereas her opponent appeared to be getting desperate. Her body was young though, not sporting anything like what one would expect on a 65-year-old woman.

"But she doesn't look older than thirty!"

"Perception filter perhaps?" The Doctor said, talking to himself mostly. "It could hide her age and appearance easily but then that widens the list to all species with a lifespan over 65. If only I had my sonic."

The Sycorax leader suddenly opened a door leading out and the group of humans and the Doctor headed out after the fighting duo.

"Do you know her name at all?" He asked Rose, who faltered at the sudden subject change.

"Um, she said it was Marley."

"Hold on," Harriet Jones abruptly cut in. "Marley? Marley Russell perhaps?"

"Yeah, I think that was it."

The Doctor raised a brow at the Prime Minister. "You know her?"

"Yes, actually. She works for UNIT as a consultant of sorts. She's an expert in her field."

"And what field is that?"

"Mainly? Anything extraterrestrial. She had an aunt who was working at Downing Street until the incident with the Slitheen. She died with all the others, unfortunately, but Marley offered to take over after her purely as a consulting position. I was going to ask for her to be brought in before I got beamed up here," Harriet explained.

The Doctor grinned. "Interesting. Either she actually had an aunt—which is unlikely—or she somehow survived that whole thing. Why offer to help afterward though? Most people would aim for self-preservation. Avoid the obvious danger that would come with returning to somewhere that nearly killed you. Oh, this is getting rather intriguing. Who are you, Marley Russell?" He turned to Harriet. "What was her aunt's name?"

"I believe it was Gray Douglas."

"Ah! I remember now!" He said loudly with a snap of his fingers. "She was the clever one. I can definitely see the resemblance now. Same eyes, though the hair has changed a bit. Different color maybe? It was definitely shorter back then."

"Doctor, you're talking as if they're the same person."

"It's quite possible," he informed Harriet. "If she somehow survived that attack and made it out, why can't she be the same person? Wouldn't take much to dye her hair and let it grow out a bit. Has she changed clothing styles too? Clever. She's definitely an expert at blending in and disguising herself."

"Ah! Look out!"

The Doctor turned back towards the fight at Rose's shout, being sure to grab her by the arm to prevent her rushing out as Marley was hit. Even he had to wince at the hard elbow she'd received to the face, drawing blood from her nose that may have been broken in the swing.

"You can't interfere, Rose, or the Earth will be forfeit."

"But he's fighting dirty!"

Yeah, but it's not exactly a fair fight, to begin with. Marley's skills aren't anything to sneeze at. He started losing the second they crossed swords. The Doctor gave the woman a glance, curious as to what made him hand over his position to her so easily. If it were any other human, he would have protested but she seemed comfortable and confident. As if a sword fight with an alien on a spaceship was like any other day.

"You all right, Marley?" He called out, just to be sure.

"Broke my nose, but yeah. Not the first dirty fight I've been in," she answered, spitting a glob of blood out of her mouth and wiping the red from under her nose only for more to flow out.

The Doctor was probably the only person who saw her change in tactics though. Her smooth, by-the-books fencing style had changed to become faster, more unpredictable. Her expression went from something bored to annoyed and calculating. She's definitely been in rough spots before. She still had the advantage though, and soon had the Sycorax leader stumbling back while desperately trying to still defend himself. Then, he blocked and she twisted her sword, managing to jerk his sword out of his fist. His eyes went wide and he growled, starting forward as though to continue the fight until the edge of a sword rested against his jugular.

"Surrender," Marley commanded, eyes cold. "Because I won't hesitate to finish this if you continue to threaten this planet."

The leader hissed but understood defeat as the sword pressed a bit harder against his neck. "I… surrender."

"And swear you'll leave," the Doctor added, stepping forward slightly. "Leave this planet, and never return. What do you say?"

"Yes," he grumbled as Marley eyed the Doctor.

"Swear on the blood of your species."

"I swear."

He smiled as Marley lowered her sword, tossing it aside for now and massaging her wrists. "There we are, then. Thanks for that. Cheers, big fellow."

The humans all cheered except Marley herself who was more hesitant about joining in the festivities. They were still on an alien ship, after all, with a leader who'd just lost a fight for a planet. She knew better. Just word of mouth wasn't enough to ensure that this wouldn't happen again. The Doctor waved her over though, smiling with the others and she sighed softly, not understanding their need for festivities but willing to go along with it for now. Before she could take a step though, she froze.

Cold, sharp metal pressed against her throat and she winced at the smell of the Sycorax leader's breath washing over her cheek. The Doctor's eyes had gone wide before turning sharp and cold.

"What are you doing?" He said shortly, calming the cheers as everyone realized Marley's predicament. "You lost. Swore on the blood of your species."

"I swore to leave the planet, not to let this… woman walk away after insulting me."

"Insulting?" Marley complained, not even wincing when the Sycorax leader hissed in her ear and tightened his grip.

"You don't want to do that," the Doctor pressed, being careful to move slowly in order not to startle the alien into taking the woman's life just yet. "We're willing to let you leave in peace, but if you hurt her—"

"Peace," the creature spat in disgust. "There will never be pe—"

The creature let out a yell as Marley slammed her heel into the top of his foot. She followed that up with an elbow to his stomach and the Doctor's eyes widened at the splash of blood that streaked across her neck from the blade.

"Marley!"

The woman didn't even notice and continued her assault on the larger creature, not realizing how close to the edge of the ship they were until the creature's foot slipped over the side. His eyes widened and he let out a roar as Marley attempted to take a step back. He reached out though, grabbing her by her clothes and dragging her down too. The Doctor hurried forward just as they disappeared over the edge, desperate to save them.

His knees skidded over the rock, sending pain up his legs that went ignored as he grabbed Marley's arm. He grunted as her weight combined with the Sycorax still clinging to her, threatening to pull him over the side as well if Rose and Mickey hadn't grabbed hold of him too.

"Let go," Marley hissed at him, face still splattered with blood from her nose and blood slipping down into the collar of her shirt from her neck.

"I'm not going to let you go," the Doctor grunted back, a part of him in disbelief that she'd demand he let her fall to her death.

It was one thing to try and be a hero, but if he could pull her up—even if he pulled up the Sycorax leader with her—she would live and he could deal with the aftermath.

"It's fine," she pressed. "Really. It's my own fault."

"I won't let you," he argued, hating that her arm was already slipping through his grasp. "I'll pull you up. Both of you. We can deal with him after, ensure he won't hurt anyone again."

"You're very optimistic," Marley scoffed, earning a small smile from him before there was a flash of light off metal.

The Sycorax leader still had his sword and upon hearing what the Doctor said about saving them, he'd had enough. Pain flickered through the Doctor, but not more than the ache that ran through his heart as Marley and the Sycorax leader fell—the Doctor's hand still wrapped around her wrist.

"Marley!"