DAY 142

Offspring of Unassuming Narcissists

Oswin

It was six o'clock in the morning. Oswin Oswald could not get back to sleep. She had been asleep, for a while, but truthfully sleep had been somewhat evasive of her these last few nights, even since she and Fyn had argued and he had gone off to Venus Zeta without so much as a goodbye. Flek had told her she ought to speak to him, but Flek was always trying to do conflict resolution and 'keep the peace.' She was lying awake in bed, exhausted, her right leg giving her no end of the same grief it used to cause her a year and a half ago, after being awake for all of the previous night and most of the day.

She lay on her side with her arm under her pillow and found Adam Mitchell's silhouette in the gloom. He was fast asleep on his back, his dark hair a mess and his glasses probably on the floor somewhere. She watched him and thought about what Clara had said the night before, about her perhaps needing to find a purpose. It was true, when she was busy doing something she was much better off, like when she built the Syphon 2.0 for Esther, or spent those weeks toiling away on Jenny Harkness' spaceship or those suits. But those things were never quite enough to occupy her mind, which now strayed onto that old notion of hers that she ought to build a memorial to all the dead of the Dust War. Would that really do any good, though? Projecting dead peoples' names into the sky? Nobody on Horizon would ever forget the Dust War, or what she had done. She had to do something… tangible. Clara was right – she was sure she could accomplish great things if she put her mind to it. Good things. But what things? The Cluster Spores always used to tell her what to build, assure her she was doing good, and now she had a sense of freedom she had never had before, not through her whole life. There was always someone, or something, to mitigate her – be that her own mother or the Dalek Asylum. And now her own neuroses, it seemed.

Oswin was still looking at her sleeping boyfriend. There he was, a boy who had also spent his life smothered by the moniker of 'genius.' But what had he done? Gone to university early; worked for an amoral CEO of a billion-dollar corporation cataloguing alien relics because he was just that fascinated with the stars; stolen anti-malware software from said company, rewriting it from memory alone, marketing it to the CIA and MI5 and the United Nations. Now he regularly donated at least half of his gargantuan income to a multitude of charities, he had used the information stolen from the distant future to cure his ailing mother. And now – perhaps most good-willed of all – he voluntarily put up with her. What was she, compared to Adam Mitchell? Was she even worth comparing to him? What good was all her genius when she never did anything worthwhile with it? They were the same age, as well, both of them twenty-six, and all she had ever accomplished was an early grave.

He would hate if he knew how she was measuring them against each other in her head. He would tell her to stop being ridiculous, say that donating money is no hard feat, and that he probably spent way too much of it on himself anyway. Undoubtedly he would cite that ostentatious and unnecessary yacht he had bought. But she still couldn't sleep, and she couldn't stop thinking, either. Her inability to stop thinking was really her biggest downfall.

She resolved that she might give up on the night and give in to the morning, might go hang around in her laboratory or something, see if she got any flashes of selfless inspiration while she moped about with Helix, playing with old bits of clockwork leftover from her creation of Clara's birthday present. She attached her prosthetic quietly, though Adam was a rather heavy sleeper and probably wouldn't be woken by her leaving, and muddled with her new cane out of their bedroom. For once she pulled her own dressing gown on instead of stealing his, and limped away with the relative ease that came with years of practicing moving without the proper appendages.

Again, she was wandering through the TARDIS at some ridiculous time in the morning. Yesterday, she hadn't run into anybody, until she had gone to fetch Martha and drag her to visit Undercoll and a certain unruly serial killer. But that morning it was different, because for a split-second she thought she had walked in on Jenny Harkness lounging about in the console room. It wasn't Jenny, though, it was some other blonde girl with pretty, blue eyes, one who looked at her funny when she caught herself almost smiling at the notion of Jenny's return.

"What?" Nios asked. She was reading.

"I just thought you were Jenny for a second," Oswin admitted, lurking by the door. Nios was sitting, alone, on the plush but worn-down beige leather chairs Eleven had installed in his funny, green-and-gold console room. She was rather a fan of it, though. It was more well-lit than a lot of the other console rooms had apparently been. She liked being able to see where she was going, especially when she was so liable to trip nowadays.

"Why would you want me to be Jenny?" Nios questioned, wryly. Oswin narrowed her eyes.

"…I don't want you to be Jenny, I just haven't seen her for ten days. I miss her, that's not a crime."

"Donna's got this theory that you're in love with her," Nios said.

"Oh, I'm definitely in love with Donna. Those auburn locks of hers are intoxicating. I'd just love her to be on top of me."

"With Jenny," Nios elaborated, putting her book down. Oswin, having nothing better to do, came limping over to sit next to her on the smallish 'sofa.' It was… cosy. To say the least. Cramped to say the most.

"That's a good theory. I ought to tell her, so that we can play up to it. It might be funny," Oswin mused, then she went to change the subject, "What are you reading?"

"You mean what was I reading before you interrupted me," she remarked.

"Yeah. That."

"Nietzsche," she answered. Oswin raised her eyebrows.

"Nihilism. How fitting…" she mumbled. And she'd spent the whole night thinking about her lack of purpose and meaning. Maybe they ought to go find Nietzsche himself, so she could give him a piece of her mind. And there was a lot of Oswin's mind to go around, it often seemed. "What is your stance on… all that? What do you think of it?"

"I'm not a performing monkey."

"I didn't say you were."

"You implied it – you want me to talk philosophy to you as a parlour trick," Nios said, then mimicked, "Look at all the things the wondrous machine can do."

"I would hardly say I'm any less of a machine than you are," Oswin countered, "What is it he says? 'God is dead – life is meaningless – existence is futile.' Some more anti-religious shtick."

"It's amusing."

"Amusing?"

"Knowing who created you doesn't give your life anymore divine purpose than not knowing. I was designed by a woman called Julie Smith – the least one could ask for in their creator is a more interesting name. She was born in Scotland in 2110. I could tell you every detail of her life, but what relation would that have to me? She is dead, and her creations run rampant and unchecked. What say you to that, anyway? You were made by Clara."

"And she doesn't tell me what I should be doing any more than some god might," Oswin slouched in the chair. "Do you think she knew what she was doing? This Julie Smith of yours?"

"Trying to ease the lives of humans? Give them more time to… lie around and… think."

"Isn't that all you do?" Oswin half-laughed, "Lie around and think?"

"And I enjoy that basic privilege. I assume that nobody has ever tried to stop you from lying around and thinking."

"You'd be right," she sighed. Nios opened her mouth like she was going to speak, then frowned. "What?"

"Are there synths when you come from?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Can't say I've ever looked into it, sorry. Presumably the same reason there aren't slaves, either. You know, if you want philosophy, my younger brother writes some hilarious books. Not that they're meant to be hilarious – you'd probably like them, is what I'm trying to say," Oswin said, then added more to herself, "Our dad used to write books, too…"

"And you're properly sure it hasn't just sunk?" the Ninth Doctor's voice floated into the room when the door into Nerve Centre slid open, revealing he and River Song in close conversation with Mickey behind them. He looked haggard, and he kept trying to get between them so that he'd be included in whatever they were talking about.

"Yes, I told you – it's dropped off the map. That's what my contact said," River explained.

"Well your last 'contact' turned out to be your ex-wife," Nine pointed out, and Oswin almost made a start.

"So what!? Her intel was good! Now, if she'd double-crossed me like Theresa – one of my other ex-wives – I could understand your inhibitions, but I never even married this one!" River protested, then she saw Oswin and Nios there. "What are you two doing?"

"We were making out," Oswin answered.

"You wish," Nios muttered, sliding off the sofa and nearly knocking down Oswin's precariously-balanced cane when she did. Oswin grabbed a hold of it, though.

"Oh, I do," Oswin said, "I'll give you a call if I ever need a substitute for Jenny. Now – did I overhear you two right?"

"What did you hear? About the Bermuda Triangle?" Nine inquired.

"No, forget that – what's all this about River having multiple ex-wives? Emphasis on wives. Wiiiiives," she dragged the word out, then addressed River Song directly, "If I'd've known you swung both ways earlier, you and I could have been having a lot of athletic sleepovers together!"

"You couldn't handle me," she shrugged.

"Try me," Oswin entreated. Nios cleared her throat.

"May I remind you that you have a boyfriend?"

"No you may not – I'm trying to get lucky here, Ni. You're cramping my style." Oswin went to flash a smile at River, leaning forwards to rest her chin on her hand as though there were a table in front of her. There was not, however, a table in front of her. She went crashing down to the floor. Nios kicked her lightly in her metal foot.

"Yes. Very stylish. If only all of us could hope to be as smooth as you."

"Shut it, Ni," Oswin, stuck on the floor, ordered. Then she said, "Wait," struggling to roll onto her back, "I've had a moment of inspiration; we should call you Os for short, not Ni. As in NiOS. I'm a genius."

"Oh, wow. We could have the same obnoxious nickname. What a visionary you can be."

"Thanks," Oswin grinned at her, then her grin vanished to an expression of pleading, "Will you help me up? I can't do it on my own. You know what that's like though, don't you, Mickey? Not being able to get it up on your own?"

"What?" Mickey exclaimed, Nios relenting and going to drag Oswin back to her feet and help her sit on the sofa, "What makes you say that?"

"It's usually my neuroses that make me say things," Oswin sighed with a trace of mocking sadness, "I'm so broken. Anyway! Um. Did he say something about the Bermuda Triangle just there? Don't they call that the Devil's Triangle? I'm no expert on triangles – but I thought the devil was supposed to be bad?"

"Someone contacted me to say that a ship belonging to the US navy went missing in the Bermuda Triangle, carrying very dangerous alien salvage," River explained.

"Why do you tell her but not me?" Mickey asked. Nine looked around at him and narrowed his eyes, then beamed.

"Mickey! When did you get here?"

"I've been here the whole time!"

"Why? It's six in the morning," Nios pointed out, standing next to Oswin and doing that creepy, synthy statue-thing she did. "Why are you awake? I would have thought you'd be asleep for hours; Donna told me you got stuck on the Titanic."

"Okay, since when were you and Donna best friends?" Oswin questioned, then she turned to Nine and stage-whispered, "Donna told her about the affair I'm having with your daughter."

"You're what!?" Nine demanded, "You're having an affair with Jenny?"

"Jenny who?" Oswin frowned.

"You're doing this on purpose," Nios muttered to her.

"I'm awake because Martha woke me up. I think she's sick," Mickey answered.

"What makes you think she's sick?" Oswin asked. Nine was still giving her a shifty look.

"She was sick."

"That makes sense…" she said thoughtfully, one hand on her chin.

"Is she alright?" Nine asked. Mickey shrugged. He seemed uneasy about the whole thing.

"She said she was. She went back to sleep. I'm just… I guess I'm worried, alright? She's been acting really funny lately," Mickey said.

"Yeah, I hate people who act funny," Oswin said, and everyone rolled their eyes at her, "So where are the three of you heading? Into the Bermuda Triangle? Seems like a pretty awful idea."

"There's nothing unusual about the Bermuda Triangle," Mickey said, "No more ships disappear there than in any other part of the sea. Torchwood always used to have people calling us to try and investigate it, there's nothing there. It's a myth."

"Well it can't hurt to look," Nine said, "Besides, we can't risk dangerous alien technology falling into the hands of the Americans."

"I agree – that's why Thirteen is my least favourite Doctor," Oswin remarked, "Damn foreigners."

"We just need to get a boat, but the Doctor doesn't seem to think my smuggler friends are trustworthy," River said, "Not that he has a boat of his own…"

"The TARDIS is seaworthy!" Nine argued. The TARDIS console flashed and made noises in response, Oswin raising her eyebrows at the central column. "I do too know how to fly you," Nine argued with it. Oswin then cleared her throat.

"You know," she said, "It's hilarious, but, my boyfriend actually owns a luxury yacht. But you'll have to let me come along if you want to borrow it, I'm not having any of you lot destroying more of his property. I'd bring him, too, but he's asleep. It'll be fun, anyway! Just me, River and Nios, together, on the high-seas. We could have a threesome in the Bermuda Triangle – now that's what I call a Pythagorean Triple."

"…Do we really have to bring her?" River asked Nine.

"No Oswin, no yacht," Oswin said firmly, "Take it or leave it."

Mickey then interrupted to ask a little meekly, "Can I come as well?"

"If this threesome goes ahead, I'm sure we'll all be cumming. Get it?" she nudged Nios with her elbow, grinning.

"Fine!" Nine declared, "We'll take the yacht. And… you."

"You won't regret it for one single second," Oswin said.

"No, I'm sure we'll all regret for lots and lots of seconds…" Nios mumbled.