3rd of April, 2024

AN: I forgot when I uploaded the last rewrites that I had also rewritten just the first two chapters Thirteen appears in, to characterise her more like I do today and to add more hints about the future.

Rewritten January 2024

646: Clock Strikes Twelve

Rose

"Sorry about the bathrooms," Rose apologised to Martha. Nerve Centre had become utterly unbearable, so they'd stolen away into the console room for some peace and quiet after making a fresh round of tea.

"It's not that bad," said Martha. "We'll manage. It'll be like student halls. Well, more like student halls."

"I wouldn't know, I never went to uni," said Rose.

"I actually didn't live in halls," Martha admitted to her. "Stayed with my mum the whole way through." Rose laughed.

"Just when you thought you'd escaped, here you are. Here we both are, I suppose."

"I hope making a mess in the shower was worth it."

Rose groaned, "I really don't think it was. Don't tell any of them that, though; if anybody finds out it wasn't the best shag of my life, I think they'll kick me off. Then again, would being kicked off actually be that bad?"

"Tell me about it. I'm seriously thinking about taking Mickey and running for our lives. Do you know, if I never have to talk to Oswin again, it'll be too soon," Martha sighed. "Speaking of which, are you ever gonna give her room back?"

"Do you think she'll want it?"

"Probably not. Not if you and him have got cake batter on every surface." Rose made a face. "Don't look at me like that, you're the one who did it." Rose leaned all the way back on her chair, looking up at the ceiling of the console room. It started to make her a bit dizzy, like the room was spinning. Unless…? It wasn't actually spinning, was it? She sat back up to check, when-

Sparks flew from the console and one of the panels burst into flames. All the lights went out, leaving only the illumination of the fire behind. But the lights weren't important, because the whole TARDIS veered violently to the side, the central column rising up and down and shrieking. Rose and Martha's tea went everywhere, all over the glass floor of the orange-green console room. Rose lunged for the column to try and steady herself and the ship, Martha copying.

"What's going on!?" Martha shouted over the sound of the TARDIS. Rose's eyes were burning gold again; something in the aether was whispering to her, a little trickle of information letting her know that something important was about to happen.

"It's the dimension stabilisers – careful you don't melt that!" Rose pointed out that Martha's hands were heating up dangerously again and threatening some of the levers. "We don't need any more fire!" Martha backed away but the TARDIS veered again. They slid around in the opposite direction, not helped by the tea all over the floor.

"How can it be the dimension stabilisers!? Everyone's here!" said Martha, clinging on for dear life while the TARDIS wrestled with the crushing weight of space-time. The console exploded again and Rose had to dodge the sparks, trying to tune into the time vortex and decipher what it was trying to tell her.

"Maybe it's someone who only went on the ship once!" said Rose, getting the horrible thought that it might be her mother on her way to join them. Or, worse, the TARDIS was pulling in even older companions. That would be the last thing they needed; the other eight Doctors? Dozens upon dozens of travellers? But, no. The time vortex was unclear on most things, Rose knew that she was wrong.

One last explosion and the TARDIS span wildly, throwing both Rose and Martha to the ground. Then, it all stopped. Darkness fell again for a few seconds and electrical smoke stung the back of Rose's throat. They were briefly blinded by the volatile shimmer of another intertemporal teleport before the TARDIS restored itself, and they were joined by a stranger.

It was a woman. Blonde, not very tall – maybe Martha's height – standing in a stupor in the middle of the console room with a shiny, silver flip lighter in one hand. She blinked long and hard. Rose and Martha caught their breaths, but neither of them recognised her. She had on a leather jacket with the hood sewn into it and a moth-eaten, navy-blue sweater, underneath.

"Um…" Martha began, "Hello?"

"What're you doing in here, Smudge?" said the woman. She had an American accent, but it had no distinct region attached.

"Pardon?"

She blinked again, and then forced a smile and clenched her fist around the flip lighter, putting it away in the back pocket of her dark grey jeans. On her feet she had a faded pair of high-top Converse decorated with the American flag: stripes on the sides, stars on the tongues.

"Sorry, Martha. I thought you were somebody else, for a moment," she shook her head a little. "And Rose! The two of you, here; that's a real Dynamic Duo. I feel like I haven't seen you in… well, I'm not sure. It could've been yesterday, it could've been a hundred years ago. But get a look at this place!" She started to realise where she was. "Green and gold, green and gold – I've never liked it. Except for when I did like it, obviously, or I wouldn't have done it. But I don't like it now, I can tell you that much. It should be more purple. And round. With books. Don't you think?"

"Who are you?" asked Rose.

The stranger clicked her fingers and pointed at Rose as if she was going to answer her question, but then she frowned again. "Good question… throw some names at me and see if I can't work it out."

"You want me to suggest to you what your name is?" asked Rose.

"Can't be that hard. How many names can there be?" she shrugged. "God, but it's right there – right on the tip of my tongue… starts with an 'S'… 'Sweetheart'? No," she scalded herself, then muttered, leaning on the console, "That's just what she calls you, get a grip… You know!" she shouted, addressing Rose and Martha again, "I really feel like if there was nicer upholstery in this place, I'd be able to remember things a little better!"

"Okay, this is too weird," said Martha. "I'm going to get the Doctor – any Doctor, I don't care."

"That's it!" the stranger clapped her hands. Martha stopped. "That's me! What did I tell you? You guessed a name, and you got it in one!" She was pointing at Martha, and Rose noticed she had three wedding rings clustered onto one finger.

"You're not the Doctor," said Rose.

"Aren't I?"

"You're American. The Doctor can't be American."

"I thought that, too! Believe me, I was very surprised to wake up like this. I see, I see," she nodded, "It's all coming back to me now, the sharks, and whatnot. Wait," she paused, "I shouldn't have mentioned the sharks. Forget all about that. You call me Thirteen."

"Who does?"

"All of you. Don't ask me why, because I'm not – whatshisname, with the tweed, he's before me."

"You're the Twelfth Doctor?" said Martha.

"Bingo!"

"But the Twelfth Doctor is just through there."

"I know. I think me turning up might really put the whammy on him." She paused again. "Did I use that correctly? Hm. I don't think so. She'd know – but where is she?"

"She who?" asked Rose.

"I don't know, I don't recall her name," the stranger – the Doctor – began to pace, waving a hand as she tried to conjure the next name she had forgotten. "Something clacky and annoying – you know her, she's the little one, with the face."

"Do you mean Clara?" said Rose.

"Yes!" she practically jumped for joy. "She'll know, she always does – except – wait – she hasn't met me yet… That's no good. None of this is any good. I was just with her, with the sharks-" She shook her head again. "No, not the sharks, that's something else. We were with the bear. But the bear's fine, she's fine…"

"Are you okay?" asked Rose.

"It's the teleportation, it always," she mimed like she was hitting herself over the head. "No good for me, never any good for me. Head's a little scrambled." She sighed. "Well. I'd better go and say hello, hadn't it? Are they all through there, the usual suspects?" She indicated the door to Nerve Centre.

"Well, yeah, just about," said Rose.

"It looks like I'm going to be here for a while. Better put my game face on." She smiled again, the same smile Rose had seen Ten do a thousand times. The one that didn't reach his eyes. Then, she headed off into Nerve Centre, ostensibly to introduce herself.

"That's odd, then," said Rose.

"I hope that doesn't mean we need to expect people from the future turning up now," said Martha. "Come on, let's go see how this plays out."

"I'd really rather not…" Rose complained, but then she remembered her tea was all over the floor. "But I'd better put the kettle back on."

It was already hectic in the next room.

"Okay, okay, okay," Thirteen announced her presence, walking right in and startling them all to silence. All of them other than Jenny, who couldn't see a thing. "First things first, it's me, here I am, I'm going to be in your lives forever. Second things," she clapped her hands again and looked right at Oswin. "Oswin! Old school leg. Gotta love that. Not used to seeing you without the chair, though. Third, hm, not sure, maybe check in on Blue…" She was talking to herself again. Everybody stared at her. Who was 'Blue'?

"Who is this, exactly? Have you found somebody wandering around out there on day release?" asked Oswin. She was next to Adam on one of the sofas. At the table were Clara, Amy, Donna, and Jack, playing cards, with Jenny – still blind – at Jack's side.

"It's me! C'mon, you guys! I can't have changed that much, other than the accent and the gender and the, the, the, the – gah," she made a strangled sound and shook her head again. "Never mind. It's me! It's the Doctor. Chin Boy, Pretty Boy, something else silly ending in 'boy'."

"She says she's the Twelfth Doctor," said Martha, "But we call her Thirteen."

"Paradox," said Thirteen. "I come back to the past and tell you that you call me Thirteen, you start calling me Thirteen, I come back to the past and do it all again. What am I like? Paradoxes everywhere! Just can't help it. Anyway, anyway – moving on, moving on – gotta get all my neurons firing again…" She kept pacing. Had she only just regenerated? "Didn't want to call me Twelve for obvious reasons."

"Oh, that's great," said Twelve himself, "It's that appalling to even be associated with me now?"

"I've never had strong feelings either way," said Thirteen, though she cooled down when she talked to him.

"Sorry, you're the Twelfth Doctor?" said Amy, setting her hand of cards down. "And he's the Twelfth Doctor?"

"Correct, Pond," said Thirteen. "Get all of your burning questions out now – I can't promise I'll answer them, though. Can't promise I'll even want to."

"Why are you different? Why didn't you turn into him, too?"

"That's a good one, a real doozy! But it's a boring answer, sorry. I'm in love, is all, with hot-stuff over there," she pointed at Clara. She winked at Clara. And then Clara dropped the cards she'd been holding, revealing her hand to everybody else at the table. "He's not and I am, hence the little diversion. But I don't think we're all that different if you scratch away the surface."

"Why are you here?" asked Jack. "I don't think crossing into your timeline is a good idea."

"No, well, you'd be right about that," she said, "But I didn't have a choice. Dimension stabilisers. I'll be here for a while, unfortunately. I'd really rather be getting back to…" She cleared her throat. "Anyway. Moving on, again. I'm here for a while. Did I say that already?"

"Yes," said Oswin.

"Yes," she repeated, nodding. "Sure. Okay. What to do, what to do... I oughta clean up a little, I suppose; get my head on straight. And what I was saying about the Gazpacho soup – don't worry about all that, not at the moment."

"You didn't say anything about Gazpacho soup," said Rose. Thirteen looked at her in shock.

"How did you find out about that?"

"Excuse me?"

"It's your future! You and that time vortex, I don't know what to make of it," she started walking off. "I'll be around. Don't worry about me. The old bathrooms are just through here, right? They always used to smell of lavender. Surprisingly clean for a WC… All of you, keep an eye on Blue for me! I'll make her a grilled cheese later!" She left, just like that, almost as suddenly as she'd arrived. Clara, wordless, stared at the door when it closed behind her.

"That was weird," said Amy. "She's the Doctor?"

"Apparently," said Martha, "She just appeared through there. Sounds like she's talking nonsense, though."

"Congratulations on the wife, then," Jack told Clara. "Seems like just your thing." Clara still didn't say anything; she was in shock.

"What was she just talking about?" asked Jenny, "Who's 'Blue'? And why was she going on about soup?"

"I don't know," said Rose. "But, I suppose we'll find out." Even if it took a very long time.


Rewritten January 2024

647: That Girl

Clara

Eleven didn't come back to their room that evening. Clara was alone while he hid himself away in the annals of the TARDIS, bitter about the authority crisis. She'd been hoping he'd come to talk to her, maybe try to have a real conversation about it all, but it looked like he wasn't ready. He was still deluding himself that there was a human-led clique operating, trying to push all the Time Lords and their infinite aeons of authority to the sidelines with their democracy. It made her sigh every time she thought it over.

But midnight rolled around, Eleven still wasn't back, and Clara couldn't sleep. It had been an exhausting, stressful day, but the cogs were still whirring in her mind. Another companion, another her, and not one, but two Doctors, one of them an old man, and the other… The other.

The other didn't bear thinking about. And Clara wasn't thinking about her, not really. She was putting that woman right out of her mind when she closed her copy of Villette and decided to go make herself something to drink. But if they did run into each other – not that Clara wanted that to happen – then, it couldn't hurt to talk to her a bit. To ask her a few questions, get her to clear something up. She'd arrived and then disappeared for hours, though, so there was no telling where she'd be with an entire TARDIS to play in.

But she was in the one place Clara was also going. Nerve Centre. When Clara walked in, dressing gown wrapped around her and an empty mug ready to rinse, she found 'Thirteen' sitting on one of the tall chairs with her legs crossed, laptop in front of her, eating a jar of pickled gherkins with a fork. She looked up right away when Clara came in. Their eyes locked. It was electric.

"Hello," said Thirteen.

"Um. Hi."

"Whatcha doing?" she asked easily, as if she'd asked it a thousand times before.

"Just rinsing this mug and trying to find something else to drink. Wondering if my husband had turned up."

"Where did you last leave him?" she joked with a crooked smile on her face. Clara realised she was staring at her again, and stopped, making a beeline for the kitchen sink. "He'll be fine. I doubt he can stay away from you for long."

"Uh-huh."

"Jeez."

"What?"

"I'm not used to the cold shoulder from you, Coo. That's all. Not this cold, at least. Then again, considering recent events…"

"Don't… I'd prefer if you don't call me that, actually."

"Why? Because you like the way it sounds? Like it far too much, I'll bet." She bit into another pickle, chewing loudly. The mug Clara had been rinsing in the sink was overflowing now. She drained it and set it on the side, trying to remember where she'd left the hot chocolate powder.

"Why are you eating those?"

"Well, I had them out to make a grilled cheese sandwich – my famous grilled cheese, with cheddar, stilton, ranch, and pickles – and then kept eating them. Ate a second grilled cheese, too."

"That was your grilled cheese for… Blue?"

"Jenny," she explained. "Forgot her name. Forgot your name, forgot my own name. Teleports, you know how it is. My little girl, and she's… oh, well. She was very confused about me making her a sandwich, in truth. Never expecting any kind of compassion from… well, they'll learn."

"Right," said Clara. "You're very strange."

"Don't I know it," she said.

"You're American."

"You've got a thing for it."

"That isn't…"

"And for blondes. I'm your nasty, teenage boy fantasy, brought to life – and entirely against my own will. I don't believe I ever gave you permission to erase my bodily autonomy, and yet, you can't help yourself. It's just one of the many things I hate about you, Clara. Do you remember how to use that kettle?" Clara had been holding it and staring at her again. She clenched her jaw and put it down, and then picked it right back up again when she realised she'd forgotten to fill it with water. "Sorry."

"Why do you call her that?" Clara asked. "Jenny, I mean."

"She's down, isn't she?" said Thirteen. "Melancholy." To Clara's immense surprise, the Doctor began to sing - she began to sing well. "Come to me, my melancholy baby, cuddle up and don't be blue…" She sighed. "But she can't help it."

"She doesn't seem that sad to me."

The Doctor laughed, "Well, don't go talking to her about it all. Believe me, I'm keeping my eye on you where my daughter's concerned."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Ah, you'll see, you'll see," she waved her away. "Seriously, do you want me to make the hot chocolate for you? Have you forgotten how to use all the kitchen appliances now? You're completely useless." She got up and took the kettle away from Clara completely, actually elbowing her out of the way slightly. She smelled like gherkins and cinnamon, a very odd mix. "I really have to do everything for you, don't I?" she chided.

"Why are you talking to me like this?" Clara asked quietly.

"Isn't it obvious?" she whispered back. "We've been married a long time. I know what you like. I know all your buttons, where they are, when to press them."

"Should you-" Clara began, but had to clear her throat when it was suddenly very hoarse. "Should you really be doing that? To my, um, buttons?"

"No, probably not. But it's hard to resist when you're right here."

"How old are you?" asked Clara abruptly. Anything to stop talking about buttons, while she watched the Doctor make her a hot chocolate in exactly the way she liked.

"Can't tell you."

"How do you regenerate?"

"Can't tell you that, either."

"Is there anything you can tell me?"

"Adam's going to get sick," said the Doctor. "But it's important you know that he's going to be okay."

"Noted," she nodded. "What was all that about soup, earlier?"

"Nothing to worry about at the moment."

"…Alright," said Clara after thinking. "I've got a question that maybe you can answer."

"Go ahead. I'm all ears." She put the kettle on to boil and then leant on the counter with her arms crossed, waiting for Clara to speak, but Clara was briefly lost for words. This woman was drop-dead gorgeous, and she'd turned up out of the aether and announced that she was Clara's wife.

"You're my husband, right? You've lived all this already?" Clara asked when she finally composed herself.

"That I am."

"You remember what's going on right now."

"Yessiree, Bob."

"But the other Doctors don't. The Tenth and Eleventh Doctors haven't got a clue," said Clara. "Surely, the Ninth Doctor should have lived all this, and they should both know? This should be your fourth time around." She'd been wondering this for a while.

"Well. I can answer that, actually," she said. "But you have to promise not to tell anybody. They'll work it out eventually, there's no rush."

"Okay. I promise," said Clara. Now they were in a conspiracy together. Clara would know something nobody else did, something about this woman. Her wife.

"They're not real Time Lords. The laws of physics aren't working the way they ought to – as far as I know, they'll never work the way they ought to again. Eleven's the epicentre, that's when the Crash happened, and it spread out in both directions. Retrocausal and anterocausal. They're echoes, a little like yours."

"Oh."

"I don't think they can regenerate. But it… well, it hasn't exactly been tested, even when I'm from," she said. "They're ghosts of the TARDIS." Clara was quiet for a minute. "Lucky you're married to me, though. I'm the best one. I'm the real one."

"You all think you're the best one," said Clara.

"You'll agree with me one day."

"We're really still married, then? In the future?" said Clara.

"Yes."

"And we're still in love?"

"Absolutely."

"That's a relief. I was getting paranoid it wasn't going to last, that it was all a bit flash in the pan."

"Don't be," said the Doctor softly. The kettle rumbled away. "It's funny, you know. I almost don't recognise you without your scar; you look like someone else."

"Scar?" asked Clara. "Why would you tell me I'm going to have a scar?" The Doctor shrugged. "Are you lying?"

"I suppose we'll see." Clara scowled. Why would she say that? What scar? She didn't want to have a scar. That was what the nanogenes were for.

"Can we expect any more guests from the future, then? God – I'm not going to turn up, am I?"

"I think we've all had more than enough of you," said the Doctor. "I'm the only one from the future."

"And you're going to – what? Stay here?"

"For a while. Until it's my time to leave."

"When's that?" asked Clara.

"I won't be telling you. But, listen, I don't want to make your life more difficult," she said seriously.

"How would you do that?"

"I know you're very attracted to me. But I don't want to get in the way of things. The less you think about me, the better."

"That's very arrogant," said Clara. The kettle finished and the Doctor turned away, finishing off the hot chocolate for Clara.

"I'm not going to talk in euphemisms with you, Clara. It's not an easy situation. But, he's… all I can say is, he and I, we can't co-exist outside of this bubble, outside of the Crash, the here and now. After I leave, when you next see me, it'll be because he's…" She stopped. "Don't take him for granted. You'll regret it if you do."

"I… okay," said Clara. She didn't want to talk about this, about her husband's death.

"Okay," the Doctor smiled at her, but that made Clara frown. "What?"

"Your teeth are quite sharp, aren't they?"

"Not the sharpest around here, but, sure, I've noticed that."

"Is that a Time Lord thing?"

"I don't think so. It's just a me thing."

"What's it like being so short, all of a sudden?"

"The Seventh Doctor was no giant, either," said the Doctor. "But, yeah, it took some getting used to. To go from towering over you to being relentlessly subjected to your direct eye contact, all the time." Self-consciously, Clara looked away from her.

The Doctor reached up into the top cupboard and took out a bag of mini marshmallows.

"You didn't ask me whether I want marshmallows," said Clara.

"You always want marshmallows."

"You're acting like you know everything about me." She hadn't even been with Eleven for three months; how long had she been married to Thirteen for? And did she, in the future, know the Doctor as well as the Doctor knew her?

"I wish I did," said the Doctor. "It would make things a lot easier."

"That sounds ominous."

"Don't listen to me. Don't listen to a single thing I ever say; you'll be happier for it. Here you go." Clara was handed a steaming mug of hot chocolate. The Doctor picked an egg spoon from the rack on the draining board and gave her that, too, to scoop up the whipped cream and the marshmallows. "Anything else I can do for you? Make an omelette with extra mayonnaise? Or I could add a squirt of mayo to your cocoa?" Clara went red. "He doesn't know yet, does he? About the eggs?"

"You tell me," said Clara. But maybe chocolate with mayonnaise was worth trying… She'd not yet found a food she didn't like more with mayo slathered all over it. The Doctor laughed. "What?"

"Just you. Daydreaming about your condiments. When're you gonna get around to telling them all you don't even like Star Wars that much? That it's a joke that's gotten out of hand?"

"I don't know. Before you come back from the future, I suppose – when's that, again?"

"You'll have to try a lot harder than that to trip me up."

"You're wearing three wedding rings," Clara pointed out. She'd noticed that earlier.

"I've married you at least three times," she shrugged.

"Can I see them?"

"No."

"But that silver one-"

"It's the one you think it is."

"And is that an engagement ring? Are we engaged again?" asked Clara.

"We're always engaged, Coo." Clara flinched when she said that. "Sorry. You should go back to bed. He might come back tonight."

"Will he?"

"No. But you should still go back."

"You're odd. I can't get over it. Surely, I'm not the only reason you're American?"

"Who's to say? Maybe I blame Jenny. She's American."

"No, she's not," said Clara.

The Doctor smiled, "She'll always sound like she's from London, sure. But she grew up in Louisiana, a very long time ago now. That's a secret, though; she keeps things close to her chest, that girl." Clara wasn't sure she believed her, but she didn't get a chance to press further.

The Nerve Centre doors slid open, and Clara's heart skipped a beat; she didn't want anybody to know she'd been talking to Thirteen late at night – not that they were doing anything wrong, why shouldn't they talk to each other? But it would still be much better if people didn't know about it. Just in case they thought anything untoward had been going on. Just in case it got back to her husband.

But to her surprise, it was the other Twelfth Doctor, back again, looking at them disdainfully.

"Are you collecting her?" he asked Thirteen, "You'll have one installed in every room at this rate."

"Wouldn't that be a dream come true," she said.

He shook his head, "I don't suppose you can tell me how long I'm going to be here for?"

"Ten days, or thereabouts."

"Eurgh. Too long in the universe where everybody's lost their marbles."

"Just count yourself lucky that you're only living through it once," she said.

"That's one silver lining. And what's going on with your voice? Are you unwell? Is it contagious?"

"Not at the moment," she said. "I've listened to too much noughties pop punk, and now I can't stop talking like this."

"You have my condolences," he said.

"Thanks."

"And what about the forgetfulness? Is that contagious?" he asked. Thirteen visibly tensed.

"I think it's a Twelfth Doctor thing. Forgetting." He narrowed his eyes at her.

"You shouldn't tell me things about my future."

"You shouldn't ask."

He relaxed, then shrugged, keeping his distance as he walked past them. "Probably not." He took a bottle of milk out of the fridge and drank from it directly. "Well, don't let me keep you from your fornicating. I wouldn't want to make the mood in here any less tawdry."

"It's always quite tawdry when Clara's around," said Thirteen.

"Hey!" said Clara. Twelve didn't say another word, taking the milk and leaving the room again. "Can't believe he took all that milk."

"You people and your milk. Get a little perspective, wouldja?" she chastised. "Non-stop milk runs in this place… It's no wonder Esther didn't want to stay."

"Who's Esther?" asked Clara.

"Ah, you'll meet her soon enough," she said, indifferent. Then she perked up again, "Anyway! I'm serious about you going to bed. You need your sleep, or you'll be cranky. Then again, I'm not the one who has to put up with it at the moment."

"Fine," Clara relented. "I'll go to bed."

"Don't invite me to join you."

"I wasn't going to."

"But you thought about it."

"I…" She had thought about it. "I'm going, now." It took a lot of effort, but she moved away from Thirteen, retreating to the Bedroom Circle where things were easier, where they made more sense.

"I'll see you in the future, Clara," the Doctor called after her as she left. The future. But when in the future? Try as she might, it was a problem Clara wasn't able to solve as she finished her hot chocolate and finally got herself to sleep.