Was rewatching the TV show Forever and got into the mood for this. Enjoy
We hadn't slept. Who could after what happened? The constables were confused and spent ages questioning us about what occurred since this was the second time we'd called them to take care of a dead body. When they finally left, I downed another ale and regretted it now that the alcohol was wearing off and my head began to pound. There was a soft clatter and I stared down at the meager meal in front of me.
"You should eat," the Doctor told me, tapping his temple. "It will help."
"I know," I grumbled, picking up the piece of bread and dipping it in the soup.
My stomach churned at the thought of eating right now, but after centuries of attempting to drink myself to death, I knew what was best for a hangover and food was the first step.
"Oh, sweet Dolly Bailey," Shakespeare murmured, drawing my gaze briefly to him. "She sat out three bouts of the plague in this place when we all ran like rats. But what could have scared her so? She had such enormous spirit."
"'Rage, rage against the dying of the light,'" the Doctor quoted.
"I might use that."
"Can't," I replied as the Doctor explained, chin resting on his hand that was propped up on the table.
"It's someone else's."
Shakespeare wrinkled his nose in distaste. Any other person might have used it anyway, but Shakespeare prided himself on being original. I cracked a small smile at the thought, lightly shaking my head and returning to my soup. Already, my head was clearing.
"But the thing is, Lynley drowned on dry land, Dolly died of fright, and they were both connected to you," Martha pointed out.
Oh, please don't. Don't say something stupid.
"You're accusing me?"
"No, but I saw a witch, big as you like, flying, cackling away, and you've written about witches."
"Hasn't yet," I muttered under my breath as Shakespeare frowned.
"Peter Streete spoke of witches."
That caught my interest.
"Who?"
"Our builder. He sketched the plans to the Globe."
The Doctor suddenly perked up at that, something about the Globe catching on something in his head. "The architect. Hold on. The architect! The architect! The Globe! Come on!"
I was grabbed by him, ending up getting yanked from my chair and nearly spilling what was left of my soup. "Hey!"
He ignored my shout and continued to pull me behind him until we reached the Globe and I was finally able to yank my hand from his grip in annoyance.
"You're damn lucky I'm used to running or I'd be half dead by now," I complained, still ending up slightly out of breath and wrapping a hand gingerly around my head that ached at the sudden exercise when it was still dealing with the alcohol.
The Doctor was ignoring me though, staring around the theater as Shakespeare and Martha hurried in to join us. Hearing him starting to mutter to himself, I sighed and went to rest on the stage itself, lying back and closing my eyes. I must have drifted off at a point, sighing softly as someone threaded their fingers through my hair. My mind flickered back to a soft loving expression hovering over me, dark green eyes watching my every breath as rough calloused fingers brushed over a scar on my right temple.
"What's this one from?"
"Don't remember. It was… a long time ago."
"You know, sometimes you sound like you're the older one. You're always trying to protect me too. Isn't that supposed to be my job?"
I cracked a small smile, leaning into the hand curling around my jaw and bringing my hand up to run over the scars on his battered knuckles. "King's knight or not, even you need someone to look out for you."
He chuckled and I laughed a little as well before something changed. The hand was wrapping around my throat. The laugh turned to choked tears.
"Why? Why would you do this to me?" He gasped, breath ragged from the chase as I grimaced and pulled away, clenching a hand tightly around my shirt where a dark stain was resting—not my own blood, thankfully.
That did nothing to make me feel better though, having just downed his comrades. Having felled his brothers in arms who'd turned their blades on me when that rumor went out. When no one would trust me after having heard—seen what I could do.
"I don't have a choice. Don't you see? They're trying to kill me. Are… Are you going to as well?"
His expression pinched, his eyes turning down to the ground before slowly returning to me. He took a steadying breath and drew his own sword, sending my heart into my torn, bare feet.
"Sam Bolton, by the name of our King—"
"Allan, please," I choked out, tears falling as the one I thought I could trust turned against me.
"—you are to be publicly executed for witchcraft—"
"Allan, I'm not—I can explain—"
"Should you turn your blade on me, I will have no choice—"
"You have a choice! We all have a choice!"
"—but to execute you myself."
"Allan!"
"I'm sorry, Sam…"
I sucked in a sharp breath, sitting up and out of Shakespeare's lap and bringing a hand to my chest. Under my shirt, a scar between my breasts burned in remembrance as even now I could feel his blood soaking my hands before Allan had collapsed with my sword between his ribs.
"Fallon?" Shakespeare said softly, a hand on my shoulder that I hastily brushed off, getting up and off the stage and stepping out for a minute.
The noises of those backstage helped ground me for the moment, giving me the chance to calm down and remember where I was and not where I had been. One ounce of kindness and those damn memories pop up. I didn't think… I still remember so much of him… I dragged a hand through my hair and tipped my head back to tap the wall I leaned on. I could still feel the scar on my temple, remembering nothing about it but the sharp pain of a weapon. Yet, I could still remember the soft touch of his fingers on my scalp.
I let out a long breath, flinching when the Doctor knocked on the wall nearby to announce his presence.
"You okay?"
I glanced at him tiredly but pushed off the wall. "You're going to ask that a lot, aren't you?"
"You've lived a long life." He shrugged. "Things will come up and I'll be worried."
"You barely know me."
"Doesn't mean I can't worry."
I sighed, shaking my head and moving past him. "I'm fine for now. Save your worry for Martha. She's more breakable than I."
I was sure he had more to say but stepped out before he could attempt to try and argue further. I just want to move on. Dwelling on these things… It doesn't do me any good. I've already learned what happens when I let things bother me too much.
"Just got to ignore it for now. I'll work it out later," I murmured under my breath, stepping back onto the stage to offer an apologetic smile to Shakespeare and wave off his concern.
The Doctor walked out only a moment later and, much like me, pretended that nothing had happened a moment ago, which I was grateful for. I didn't want to dwell on what I remembered, and having others pry was the last thing I needed.
"Where are we going again?" I asked as we left the Globe and I walked with the Doctor in order to avoid the flirting going on behind us.
"Bedlam."
My hand twitched violently. "I'm sorry. Did you just say we're going to Bedlam? As in Bethlem Hospital?"
"Yeah, we talked about this earlier."
I frowned at him. "I was busy if you don't remember."
He chuckled awkwardly before looking around and huffing. "They're going too slow."
I rolled my eyes as we stopped and glanced back at Martha and Shakespeare. "They're flirting. Of course, they're slow."
"Come on. We can all have a good flirt later," the Doctor called to them, earning a wicked grin from the playwright.
"Is that a promise, Doctor?"
The Doctor groaned as I snorted. "Oh, fifty-seven academics just punched the air. Now move!"
They picked up the pace, but I was quick to return to the Doctor's side.
"I'm not sure if I like this plan."
"You have a better one?" He challenged, making me wince.
"Well, no, but I'd much rather not step into what the medieval consider a 'mental institute.' I've had enough experience to know that nothing that happens in there is anything less than human torture and imprisonment."
"Yes, well, I know it's not ideal but we have to speak to Peter Streete since he's our only source of information on what's going on here. You can wait outside if you like."
I honestly considered it. It wouldn't be so bad to just wait outside while they get information and tell me about it later. It would be easy, really and I had decided to relax this life. While that wasn't going exactly to plan, I could make it work… Oh, who am I kidding?
"You know," I started, drawing his attention to me as we neared Bedlam. "You make it really hard to say 'no' to things. I hope you know that."
He grinned, looking rather pleased with himself as we were led in by the man in charge with a flash of the Doctor's psychic paper. Already, I wasn't pleased and reconsidered stepping back outside. The wails of the people in the building had goosebumps forming on my arms and I folded them protectively in front of my chest as I shifted my weight from foot to foot. I didn't like it here. It brought up memories I thought I'd forgotten, or hoped I had.
Everything hurt and throbbed and burned. Prison wasn't supposed to be like this. Not a modern prison anyway. This wasn't modern though. This was old. Ancient by my standards. Where punishment meant lashes and imprisonment meant long torture and torment before death. Being a woman made it that much worse.
The screams and wails from other imprisoned women. Cries of anguish as the guards had their way with them. No one was exempt. You could've been the ugliest hag in the land and they would treat you the same. There was no justice in this place. Just pain and agony and—
A hand grabbed mine and I sucked in a sharp breath through my nose. The Doctor squeezed hard, grounding me and tugging me along after him, past all the noise and rabble of the people trapped here. Once we reached Peter Streete's cell he shouted something at the guard with a furious look as I pinched the bridge of my nose with my free hand, doing what I could to push those memories back where they belonged.
"You all right?" The Doctor asked once things had calmed, giving me some space but holding firm to my hand until I lightly tugged it away.
"Yes, sorry. I'm fine."
He didn't look convinced of that, a frown marring his features, but he nodded and let it go. Damn. I was prepared this time too. Those stupid memories just crop up whenever they feel like it, don't they? I took a deep breath through my nose and let it out of my mouth, calm enough to turn my attention back to the matter at hand. Namely, the Doctor attempting to get Peter Streete to tell him about the witches.
It was a curious process. I wasn't sure what he was doing exactly. Something alien, obviously, but he seemed to tap into the man's mind somehow. To get him talking without all the chaos that came from an addled man's brain. Then, proper information.
"Where did Peter see the witches? Where in the city? Peter, tell me. You've got to tell me where were they?" The Doctor asked, calm but firm.
"All Hallows Street."
"Too many words."
Everyone whipped to the old woman who'd magically appeared in the cell, stunned. Even the Doctor had risen to his feet to put some distance between them as she lifted a wrinkled, liver-spotted hand.
"Just one touch of the heart."
"No!" The Doctor shouted as she touched Peter's chest and the man collapsed.
"Witch! I'm seeing a witch!" Shakespeare gasped, the words bringing another handful of memories I struggled to shove away.
Fire licking at my ankles.
"Now, who would be next, hmm? Just one touch. Oh, oh, I'll stop your frantic hearts. Poor, fragile mortals," the witch cackled.
Water choking my lungs as the rocks tied to my body pulled me deeper into the water.
"Who will die first, hm?"
The noose tightening around my neck as I squirmed and choked.
"Well, if you're looking for volunteers."
My view of the witch was cut off by the Doctor taking a step forward, understanding of the situation taking a moment to sink in for me as my mind fought not to fade back into the memories of the witch trials I'd experienced time and time again.
"No mortal has power over me."
"Oh, but there's a power in words. If I can find the right one. If I can just know you.," the Doctor pushed, making the witch hiss.
"None on Earth has knowledge of us."
Because she's an alien, my mind sluggishly supplied, hauling itself out of the muck it had been trying to drag me under since we stepped into this cursed place. Not a witch. I'm not—She's not a witch.
"Then, it's a good thing I'm here," the Doctor said, going off into a ramble. "Now think, think, think. Humanoid female, uses shapes and words to channel energy. Ah! Fourteen! That's it! Fourteen! The fourteen stars of the Rexel planetary configuration! Creature, I name you Carrionite!"
The witch wailed and vanished, surprising everyone in the room other than the grinning Doctor as he turned to us proudly.
"What did you do?" Martha asked him.
"I named her. The power of a name. That's old magic," the Doctor explained.
"But there's no such thing as magic."
"Well, it's just a different sort of science. You lot, you chose mathematics. Given the right string of numbers, the right equation, you can split the atom. Carrionites use words instead."
"Use them for what?" Shakespeare asked, somehow following all this better than we were.
"The end of the world." The Doctor frowned then, eyes on me. "Are you sure you're alright, Fallon? You're pale."
"I-I think I could do with some air, to be honest," I admitted, a bit light-headed as he nodded and brought the guard back to let us out.
Once in the open air, I tipped my head back with a groan of complaint. "Next time you try to coerce me into doing something I don't want to do, remind me to say no."
"But that would defeat the purpose of asking you in the first place," he challenged with a small smile, trying to ease up the tense atmosphere our trip had caused.
"Yes, but it would save me the mental trauma," I argued lightly. "Why did it have to be witches of all things?" I muttered, still feeling chilled and uneasy even now.
That was the problem with a long life. Any little thing could trigger once-forgotten memories. The witch trials happened all over the world at different times. Some more than once. I'd experienced quite a few firsthand. There was only so much one could do to handle that. Any little thing—a fight with a child, buying a loaf of bread someone else wanted, acting in any way strange—all of it could get you killed as a witch. Man, woman, child. It didn't matter. If someone suspected you, you were done for.
Encountering an actual witch—alien or not—had simply drudged back up those memories and trials. The lingering reminder to fit in or isolate myself if I wanted to stay out of trouble itched like a rash and I suddenly felt tempted to ask if I could wait back in the Tardis as we neared the inn once more. The request was caught in my throat though, held back by the embarrassment of old memories scaring me away and the mild curiosity to see what these alien creatures were up to and how the Doctor would stop them.
If the Doctor noticed my internal debate as we stepped in and started to come up with a plan, he didn't say anything. It was obvious to me though, since someone who had been hesitant to drink himself was soon pushing an ale over towards me without a second look. Maybe… Maybe talking it over would be best. He'll find out anyway if we keep doing this traveling thing… I lightly shook my head, taking another sip of the alcohol and setting the thought aside as we tried to figure out what the hell was going on.
"The Carrionites disappeared way back at the dawn of the universe. Nobody was sure if they were real or legend," the Doctor said, wincing when Fallon downed what was left of her drink as Shakespeare let out a scoff.
"Well, I'm going for real."
"But what do they want?" Martha questioned.
"A new empire on Earth. A world of bones and blood and witchcraft."
"How though?" Fallon spoke up, pink in the cheeks but only a little tipsy, it seemed.
"I'm looking at the man with the words," the Doctor said, staring firmly at a startled Shakespeare.
"Me?" The man gaped. "But I've done nothing."
"Hold on, though," Martha jumped in. "What were you doing last night, when that Carrionite was in the room?"
"Finishing the play."
"What happens?" Fallon asked, eyes alight with curiosity and seriousness.
"The boys get the girls. They have a bit of a dance. It's all as funny and thought-provoking as usual. Except those last few lines. Funny thing is, I don't actually remember writing them."
"That's it. They used you," the Doctor realized. "They gave you the final words like a spell, like a code. Love's Labours Won. It's a weapon. The right combination of words, spoken at the right place, with the shape of the Globe as an energy converter! The play's the thing!" He cheered. "And yes, you can have that. Maps. I need maps."
Fallon got up and helped him start searching for the right street, locating it far faster than he could have with her knowledge of the older streets.
"Fallon and I will track them down," the Doctor said, looking up at Shakespeare. "Will, you and Martha get to the Globe. Whatever you do, stop that play."
"I'll do it," Shakespeare said with a grin. "All these years I've been the cleverest man around. Next to you, I know nothing."
"Oh, don't complain," Martha drawled.
"I'm not. It's marvelous." Shakespeare beamed. "Good luck, Doctor, Miss Fallon."
"Good luck, Shakespeare," the Doctor replied, leading Fallon out. "Once more unto the breach!"
"I like that," Shakespeare said, before frowning. "Wait a minute, that's one of mine."
"Oh, just shift!"
They split up once outside the tavern and Fallon got them to the right street fairly quick.
"Which house?" The Doctor grumbled as she spoke up.
"Curious though, time is fickle, right?"
"Well, sure. Some things can easily mess up the timeline but the universe can compensate for a lot too."
"So, what about this then?" She asked, curiously. "Say we mess up. World ends in 1599, taken over by these Carrionites. What then?"
"Oh, how to explain the mechanics of the infinite temporal flux?" The Doctor groaned, making Fallon roll her eyes.
"I'm not a child, Doctor. I've lived long enough to figure out a few things and know a good bit more. You don't have to make it simple for me."
"I never know with you humans," he chirped, cracking a smile at her scoff. "It's like Back to the Future. Something big happens in the past and everything after it just disappears."
"So, Martha would vanish," Fallon concluded. "What about us? We were born long before this. I'm not even from this universe, so would we just be stuck here living it out?"
The Doctor hummed. "Probably. Martha would be gone because she was born in this world's future. You and I won't have that issue, but… hm. We have spent time in the future. I suppose we'd either retain the memories we had or lose them. You certainly ask the tough questions, Fallon."
"I may be immortal but I don't know everything," she replied, looking at the various houses around them in search of the one they were looking for. "Time travel and its effects are your specialty. Might as well learn a few things."
He smiled before a door creaked open ahead of them. "Well, seems we found the right house. Come on."
Fallon trailed after him as they headed into the home, climbing up the steps and into the witch's lair. A young woman in a dark cloak was waiting for them inside, making the Doctor raise a brow.
"I take it we're expected."
"Oh, I think Death has been waiting for you a very long time," she purred, glancing over at Fallon with a slight frown. "You even longer, it seems. Tell me. You're more than out of time like your companions and you hold so many names. Leon, Alex, Maggie, James. So many that none have an effect. Not a single one," she hummed, stepping closer and earning a raised brow from Fallon as the Doctor took a small step forward as well, shielding her almost from the approaching witch.
"The naming won't work on us," he stopped her, making her glance at him with a smirk.
"Why would a man hide his title in such despair?" She purred, undeterred. "Oh, but look. There's still one word with the power that aches. Your heart grows cold. The north wind blows and carries down the distant Rose."
"Oh, big mistake. Because that name keeps me fighting." The Doctor bristled, taking another step towards her, though more threatening until Fallon grabbed his wrist and held him back so he could calm down. "The Carrionites vanished. Where did you go?"
The witch's smirk fell as she turned and put some distance between them. "The Eternals found the right word to banish us into deep darkness."
"The Eternals," Fallon hummed. "I like that. Why couldn't you come up with a name like that?"
The Doctor sighed, knowing the joke was only to help him calm down further. The witch bringing up Rose had thrown him off his game. Getting angry here wouldn't do anything but hinder them in coming up with a way to stop the witches. Fallon was doing her part to keep him under control. Now, he just had to do his and get some answers.
"How did you escape?"
"New words," the witch hummed. "New and glittering, from a mind like no other."
"Will," Fallon noted.
"His son perished. The grief of a genius. Grief without measure. Madness enough to allow us entrance."
"How many of you?" The Doctor asked.
"Just the three. But the play tonight shall restore the rest. Then the human race will be purged as pestilence. And from this world, we will lead the universe back into the old ways of blood and magic."
"Hmm. Busy schedule. But first, you've got to get past us."
She smiled, giving them bother a look. "Oh, that should be a pleasure, considering my enemies have such handsome shapes."
Fallon raised a brow. "I'm a woman."
"I'm not picky," the witch mused, reaching out and sliding a hand down her arm.
The Doctor grabbed Fallon though, tugging her closer toward him and making her eye him as he frowned at the witch. "That's one form of magic that's definitely not going to work."
"Careful, Doc, your jealousy's showing," Fallon scoffed, making him whip to her in surprise.
This meant neither were ready when the witch took a snippet of hair from Fallon's head, cutting her hair at the base of her ponytail.
"Hey! I was growing that out, you know," Fallon complained, reaching back at where her hair had been shortened as the witch held up the tied-off ponytail.
"Souvenir," she hummed, ducking out the window and hovering in the air when the Doctor lunged at her.
"Well, that's just cheating," he complained, glancing between her and Fallon in concern.
He wasn't sure what kind of magic the Carrionites were capable of, but this meant they shouldn't have let their guard down the way they did. Fallon was at risk and knowing that it was partially his fault wasn't sitting well with him.
"Behold, Doctor. Men and women to Carrionites are nothing but puppets," the witch cackled, tying the hair to a small doll that Fallon eyed uneasily.
"Doctor, do I want to know what that is?"
"She might call it magic," he muttered. "I'd call that a DNA replication module."
"What use is your science now?" The witch asked, bringing the straw doll down onto a pin and making Fallon cry out.
"Fallon!" The Doctor shouted, grabbing her as she doubled over on herself and clung to her chest.
He took a look at the window, but the witch had flown off. Biting out a curse, he held tight to Fallon as she struggled to catch her breath and began to go limp.
"Fallon. Fallon, hey. Look at me."
Her gaze was already hazy and he bit out a curse, pressing his fingers to her neck, and upon feeling the smallest of pulses falling away into nothingness, he grit his teeth. He laid her down flat and started CPR, pushing air into her lungs and doing his best to try and get her heart going again. Was she immortal? Yes. Did he care? Not in that moment, no.
The Doctor knew better than anyone what it was like to die. How painful it was, how it affected a person, how it changed them. He wasn't immortal by any means, but he'd had his fill of death for a long time to come. He was sure Fallon had too. No one wanted to die, much less repeatedly. He had hoped… Well, the Doctor had hoped that bringing her with him would help change that. He might not live the safest of lives but surely he could protect her from some of it, right?
He pressed his lips to hers once more but pulled away and waited. She didn't breathe on her own. Her pulse was gone and had been for a minute at least. He'd tried and failed. She'd died in his arms, under his protection. He wasn't sure what to do now. He didn't understand how her immortality worked. Would she just suck in a breath and wake up? Would she still be in pain when she did?
A rumble of thunder made him glance up though. He was out of time. He needed to get to the Globe. Leaving it up to Martha and Shakespeare to deal with things wasn't the best choice but he'd been limited on options. I should've sent Fallon—He shook the thought from his head, knowing that sending Fallon instead of Martha could've proved even worse. Still, he needed to go. Now. He stood up and gave Fallon one last look, reaching down and holding her cheek for a moment.
"I'll come back for you, Fallon. I swear."
Then, he took a steadying breath and turned, rushing out of the home and out towards the Globe as quickly as he was able. Someone needed to stop the witches.
I woke up on the ground somewhere, head aching and chest throbbing. I groaned, rolling onto my side and trying to remember what had happened this time around.
"Carrionites…"
"The Globe!"
"Shakespeare…"
I sat up quickly, vision swaying as I gasped. "The witches!"
I scrambled to my feet, grimacing as I stumbled down the stairs of the witch's house we'd found. Upon reaching the bottom though, I leaned heavily against the outer wall near the door, struggling to catch my breath.
"Come on. I don't have t-time for this. It was a heart attack. Not like I was shot or dismembered," I bit out, pushing off the wall and making for the Globe theater.
I didn't get very far before having to vomit. My body was having trouble resetting after this death. Though the copious amount of alcohol I drank beforehand is probably part of the issue. So, by the time I'd retraced my steps to reach the tavern, I was exhausted, sweating, and ended up sitting outside leaning against the tavern door. A quick pulse check told me I wouldn't be going anywhere fast and I dropped my hand with a muttered curse, hoping the Doctor wouldn't need me to deal with the witch problem.
An uncertain amount of time passed as I half dozed on the tavern's porch, trying to recover my strength after dying. Given the world didn't appear to be ending while I rested, I'd assumed the Doctor had succeeded in saving the world from the Carrionites. Makes me feel a bit useless but that's what I get for not paying attention. I sighed softly, peering my eyes open tiredly when I heard the rush of footsteps heading my way.
"There's no need to rush, Doctor," I called, stopping him from running past back toward All Hallows Street. "What's one more death to me, huh?"
"Fallon," he breathed, hurrying over and pulling me into a tight embrace that made me let out a small groan.
"I'd appreciate not suffocating after having just woken up, thanks," I grumbled into his coat and he released me quickly, drawing his sonic to scan me. "I'm fine, Doctor. Just a bit worn out, which is normal for me."
He stopped; expression still a little tense. "You died."
"Heart attack," I agreed. "A little different, given I'm exempt from aging or having genetic ailments that would normally cause one. Still, equally unpleasant."
"It was my fault. If I'd been paying attention—"
That made me perk up. "Hold on. Your fault? How is this your fault?"
"If I hadn't distracted you—"
"Oh, no. No, no, no. We're not doing this," I argued, starting to push myself up with a grunt until he grabbed my arm and helped.
"Fallon, I—"
I brought a hand up, covering his mouth and frowning at him. "Yeah, no. Shut up and listen for a sec. I'm immortal, yes?"
He nodded.
"Right, and you know what that means? It means my deaths are my own. Every single one. If I die, it's because I did something that caused it. Not you, not Martha, just me, this damn universe, and whatever deity thought it'd be funny to make me this way. Got it? So stop blaming yourself like some bleeding heart superhero or some other such nonsense, okay?" I dropped my hand from his mouth with a heavy sigh, holding my head with it instead. "Honestly, only time my death would be anyone's fault is if they picked up a gun and shot me themselves… blaming yourself, bah."
The Doctor relaxed somewhat at that, cracking a small smile as he kept a good hold of my arm to support me. "You're sure you're okay?"
"Dying still takes its toll on me," I grumbled. "I was resting a bit but should probably take a few more hours. Deaths caused by organ failure or malfunctions take a little longer to recover from. Though not as long as more brutal options." I gave him a look. "Apparently, being resuscitated takes even longer."
He raised a brow. "Really?"
"Found that out in the hospital before bumping into you and Martha," I mused, letting him help me along as we walked. "Died on the way to the hospital but they brought me back before my body could try and recover. Put me in a coma for a year. Body eventually gave up and tried again. Woke up in the morgue after an autopsy."
The Doctor winced but I chuckled.
"Wasn't the first time, though I always love the look on their faces when the corpse they were just working on gets up."
"I can imagine," he said, though I pointedly ignored the uneasy look in his eyes.
It was a familiar one. Concern for my mental well-being, for the way I nonchalantly spoke of my experience. The first time, yes, I would've reacted differently. Even the second or third time, sure. However, when death is such a common thing, when I've woken up in far worse places, scaring far worse people, it wasn't surprising that I could find it amusing now. So, slowly, my smile faltered and we settled into an uneasy silence until he brought me to the Tardis and opened the door for me.
"Get some rest. I need to get Martha and finish up some things with Shakespeare," he encouraged. "The Tardis will lead you to a room."
"Yeah, thanks," I said, but stopped him before he could wander off. "Doctor?"
"Hm?"
I looked over my shoulder at him. "Don't blame yourself. Really."
He hesitated but soon nodded, turning away and heading back down the road as I watched him for a moment longer before shaking my head and disappearing into the blue box.
