Chapter Fourteen: Countdown to Bondmas
Three Days to Bondmas: Arcadia – True Dining Restaurant
"Welcome to True Dining. My name is Avrin, and I'll be your waiter this evening. Have you had a chance to decide on your drinks?" the Arcadian man asks, his tone polite and measured.
The Doctor nods, glancing up, "I'll have your True Burgundy, thank you."
Avrin turns his attention to the Alchemist, "And you, ma'am?"
"The Merlot, if you would," she requests, smiling softly.
"True Merlot?" he clarifies.
She nods, and Avrin inputs their selections into his sleek wrist device before gliding away, shutting the door behind him.
The Doctor leans back, his menu just below his chin, "What do you think makes it 'True'?"
The Alchemist shrugs, "Perhaps one isn't entirely natural? Or maybe it's a blend of something artificial?"
"That would track," he replies, his eyes flicking back to the menu, "What are you thinking? The Vulajoren risotto with New Earth vegetables and langostino sounds intriguing."
She hums appreciatively, scanning the options, "Mm... Arcron oxo-algae and cheese pasta."
The Doctor lowers his menu slightly, his eyebrows raised in playful disbelief, "All the way to Arcadia, and you're ordering macaroni and cheese?"
She rolls her eyes fondly, "I like what I like."
Avrin returns, carrying two elegant bottles of wine and glasses. He pours for them with practiced ease.
"One True Merlot, one True Burgundy. May you find clarity in truth. Are you ready to order?"
They place their orders, each taking a sip of their wine without the usual preamble of sniffing the bouquet.
The Doctor grins as the rich burgundy dances on his palate, "I don't have a favorite color, but I love it when you wear forest green—like tonight."
The Alchemist blinks in surprise, "I know, but why are you bringing that up now?"
He frowns, glancing around as if seeking an answer in the restaurant's ambient glow, "I... I don't know."
They both grab their wine bottles, flipping them to read the labels.
"True Wine," the Alchemist mutters, her eyes widening, "As in Truth Wine. It makes you tell the truth!"
The Doctor's eyes narrow, "Well, that shouldn't be a problem. I don't lie to you, and you don't lie to me. Right?"
"Right," she agrees.
Her stomach tightens as she realizes it's not working due to her immunities, and she wonders if she should just go along with this; she'd tell him the truth regardless.
The Doctor smirks devilishly, "What do you really think of Rose?"
She gasps theatrically, covering her mouth, "I can barely stand the jealous little brat. Oh, my Alpha!"
The Doctor bursts out laughing, "I knew it!"
The Alchemist points at him with mock indignation, "And what did you think of Smelly Jack?"
"I was jealous until I realized you saw him as a brother," he admits, "Actually, it's kind of nice to get that off my chest."
She leans forward knowingly, "Did you forget we can't be attracted to anyone else but each other?"
"Yes," he shrugs.
She grins, "Did you ever read the manual for the sonic screwdriver?"
His expression shifts to guilty amusement, "Every page but the last. I tore it out... but I still have it."
The Alchemist laughs, shaking her head, "That's why you don't know the best settings!"
"That's what I have you for."
Her cheeks flush faintly. "You're too sweet sometimes."
The Doctor's grin softens, but then his expression turns contemplative.
After a pause, he speaks. "What did you do to the Cybermen on that parallel Earth?"
Her gaze drops to her wine, "I had just enough power to reverse their timelines. They returned to their original bodies. It's part of my current lesson—reversing time on my own. I've been practicing for months, mostly on broken teacups. It was my first time trying it on something alive... but it worked."
"That's incredible, Ally," he breathes, awed.
She shrugs, embarrassed by the praise.
The Doctor nods thoughtfully, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the tablecloth, his mind racing. He realizes they could use this time to discuss it; there are no barriers. They'll have to answer.
"Do you miss it?" he asks quickly.
The Alchemist pauses mid-sip, "Miss what?"
"Gallifrey."
She sighs, setting her glass down carefully, "I miss our homeworld, but not what it became or what it was before—not the rules and regulations. I miss our people. I miss having the option to visit our Great House. I miss them. So yes, I suppose I do miss Gallifrey. Do you?"
The Time Lord leans back, his gaze distant, "Yes. Every Gallifrey evening... I... I recall the numbers."
She tilts her head, her voice quiet but steady, "2.47 billion... 23.82 billion... ten thousand..."
"You did it too," he whispers, his tone a mix of sorrow and relief.
"I do it, too," she replies. "Count. Every night when the dual suns would have next set."
"8:23 pm," he murmurs, and she nods.
"Will you do it with me?" he asks, the vulnerability in his voice catching her off guard.
Her expression softens, and she touches his hand, "I'll do everything with you. Yes."
A glimmer of tears shines in his eyes before he blinks them away. She notices but doesn't press.
The Alchemist takes a deep breath, "We shouldn't be discussing such sadness over dinner, Doctor."
He offers her a faint smile, "You said we're grieving. Well, let's grieve—abseiling, right?"
She glances toward their private dining room door, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face.
Then she nods, "We should start at the beginning, then. Why did you join?"
The Doctor exhales slowly, his shoulders sagging under the weight of memories too heavy to share casually.
"I... I was trying to save someone named Cass. She traveled with me for a time after you left before deciding to help her own people."
The Alchemist tilts her head, her expression unreadable, but her eyes watch him intently, dissecting every word.
"Cass' ship was damaged," he continues, "She sent out a distress signal. I picked it up. But when she saw me..." he swallows hard, "She didn't recognize me as anything but a Time Lord. She told me to 'go back to my battlefield.'"
The Alchemist's mouth tightens into a thin line, but she says nothing, her silence urging him on.
"She deadlocked the door between us, and I stayed on the ship. I thought I could save her, but we crash-landed. I... I died," the words fall from his lips as though relinquishing them makes them less painful.
"What time code?" she asks, her voice low, almost too calm.
He blinks at her, "Why does that..." The wine's influence forces the truth out before he can stop it, "A35871DY7."
Her fingers graze the stem of her glass, "What happened next?"
His jaw tenses. He hates this. Hates that he has no choice but to relive it aloud. But then, didn't he want this? Isn't that the point of this so-called "truth?"
"We crash-landed on Karn," he continues, "Ohila retrieved my body and revived me—barely enough to Regenerate. She said I could choose. Choose what I would become. She gave me an elixir..." he falters, looking away.
"To become the War Doctor," she finishes for him.
He nods reluctantly, "She said I should stop running from the war and give up my reasons for staying out of it. Give up being the Doctor. That I could end it when no one else could. She said..." he hesitates, his throat tightening, "She said you were there."
The Alchemist's gaze turns steely, "That's a lie."
The Doctor blinks, taken aback, "I can't lie right now. What are you talking about?"
"Doctor," she says firmly, "There's no such thing as an elixir of life. The whole Sisterhood of Karn is built on lies. The Karns were known for their trickery—especially Ohila. They didn't revive you; no one but the Time Lords could. You would have Regenerated as him next, regardless of anything they told you."
His mind reels, struggling to reconcile her words with his memories, "Why would they..."
"To manipulate you. They needed a weapon, and you were it," she interjects, her voice sharp, "But you would have chosen that path anyway, wouldn't you? Because deep down, you'd already decided you had no choice."
His hands grip the edges of the table, knuckles white. He stares at his wife, his mind reeling.
"And you still trust me?" he breathes.
"Of course. Why would you ask that?"
"Because I don't trust myself," he admits, "Not after everything I've done. Everything I've been."
The Alchemist leans forward, her eyes locking onto his, "You may not trust yourself, but I do. And I always will. Because I know who you are, Doctor. Better than anyone else ever could."
He looks at her, his expression a mixture of awe and disbelief, "Even after all we've lost?"
"Especially after all we've lost," she says firmly.
The Doctor's lips quirk into a small, bittersweet smile, "I don't deserve you."
"And yet, here we are," she replies, a hint of humor breaking through the somber mood, "Ask me a question," she says softly.
He breathes in sharply, composing himself, and nods. He's finally ready to know the answer to this.
"The programming... How did it work?"
Her eyes darken, and her voice carries the weight of unspeakable horrors, "He used an access source code programming device, converted with an elogen amplifier. But first, he blocked our Regeneration energy to weed out the weak. It took out 4,937 of us."
The Doctor's chest constricts. He closes his eyes briefly, unable to face her as the magnitude of her words sink in.
"You survived," he finally says, his voice rough, "Every time."
The Doctor's hand trembles slightly as he adjusts his cutlery; the motion is almost imperceptible but not unnoticed by his Bondmate. She reaches across the table, lightly brushing his wrist, grounding him.
"I didn't want to," she admits softly, her gaze dropping to the untouched glass of wine before her, "Not at first. Every survival felt like a betrayal of the ones who didn't make it. I couldn't understand why it was me."
"But you did," he mutters before asking quietly, dreading her answer, "How many times?"
"5,214," she replies without hesitation.
He flinches as though struck, his hearts pounding painfully in his chest, "How did you... How could you..."
"I didn't have a choice," she interrupts, "He took everything. My memories, my identity, my will. I only got pieces of myself back by sheer force. And after all he did... I wasn't the same."
He opens his mouth to respond, but the words catch in his throat, silenced by the raw vulnerability in her voice.
"I tried to fight it, you know," she continues, tone steady but still weighted in her pain, "But there was no room for resistance. He stripped away everything—memories, emotions, my identity. I wasn't me anymore. Just... a shell."
The Doctor's jaw clenches as he forces himself to meet her eyes, "He couldn't take everything. You held onto something."
"I held onto you," she says simply, the quiet confession cutting through the haze of grief and guilt between them, "It wasn't much. Just flashes of a nightmare that turned out to be real and faces I couldn't fully remember. But it was enough to keep going, to break through."
He reaches over and clasps her hand between his own, lifting her delicate wrist and pressing a reverent kiss to her wedding band.
"You said I survived every time," she murmurs, watching him, "Do you know how?"
He doesn't hesitate, "Because you're stronger than anyone gives you credit for."
"Not strong," she corrects gently, "Stubborn. I survived because I refused to give up. Even when the programming stripped away everything that made me... me."
The Doctor swallows hard, guilt washing over him, "I should have been there. I should have stopped it."
"You couldn't have," she reminds him, "Don't you dare blame yourself for what he did to me."
The Doctor reaches for his wine glass, his hand trembling more visibly now. He takes a long sip, trying to steady himself, but the weight of her words bears down on him.
"You said you remembered me and the children," he whispers, "Even through all that?"
She nods, "You were the only constants I had. The only things he couldn't erase, no matter how hard he tried. I held onto the idea of you, even when I couldn't remember your names. You were... hope. All of you, my hope that I would make it."
His breath hitches, and he closes his eyes briefly, overwhelmed.
"I didn't deserve that," he says hoarsely.
"You did," she counters, her voice soft but unwavering, "You still do."
They sit in heavy silence for a moment, the air between them thick with unspoken pain, before the Doctor breaks it, "What did he do first?"
"Mithridatism," she replies, holding back a smirk.
"Poison immunity," he mutters, "To how many?"
The Alchemist shrugs, "Most of them... A few million, I think. If it stops Regeneration or causes it, I'm immune."
"Are you immune to this wine?" he asks, sensing their bond carefully.
"Yes. Another."
"You're doing this for me?"
"Yes. Another."
He smiles softly at her, knowing she's not saying a single lie, "What's your favorite memory of Gallifrey?"
"I have a few. As children, Meeting Eyes and every step in our Bonding. Our Bonding Ceremony, despite how stuffy it was. Every time I told you I was pregnant and then seeing you hold our babies for the first time. Helping our children get ready for their Bonding Ceremonies..."
The Doctor takes over, "Finding out that Jessamy was pregnant, holding Susan in my arms for the first time. Stealing the TARDIS with you. Coming back and bringing our granddaughter with us..."
The Time Lady continues, "The look on Susan's face when we took her to another planet for the first time. Seeing that face on our future companions."
"You, all of my best memories involve you," he tells her.
"Likewise, love," she says with a grin.
Avrin reappears, placing their meals before them with the same graceful efficiency, "Please enjoy. If you need anything else, do not hesitate to call."
They murmur their thanks, their focus remaining on one another as the waiter exits.
The Alchemist takes a deliberate bite of her meal, savoring the comforting taste of the pasta.
"You know," she begins, her tone lighter now, "For all its simplicity, I'd argue this is worth crossing galaxies for."
The Doctor chuckles, "Well if macaroni and cheese is the way to your hearts, I'll ensure the TARDIS is always stocked."
"You're already trapped in there," the Alchemist reminds him, "I don't see you ever leaving them."
The Doctor laughs softly, "And why would I want to? I'm exactly where I need to be."
She smirks, her gaze flickering to him fondly, "You've always been where you needed to be, Doctor. Even when you didn't know it yourself."
He reaches across the table, gently squeezing her hand with quiet reassurance. The weight of everything still lingers, but at this moment, it feels a little lighter, shared between them.
They allow the silence to stretch between them, now more peaceful than before, as they enjoy their meals. The Time Lady watches her husband take another sip of wine, and a thought hits her.
Tilting her head curiously, the Alchemist asks, "Have you ever wondered if there's more to the truth than we're willing to face?"
He raises a brow, "What are you getting at?"
"This wine—it doesn't just compel honesty. It removes the barriers we build, the ones that protect us. I'm not sure I'm ready for what might come next."
His voice softens as he gazes into her eyes, "We've faced so much together, Ally. Whatever truths this wine reveals, we'll handle it."
The Alchemist reaches over and squeezes his hand, her gratitude evident even as she changes the subject, "Alright, my question. What's the one thing you wish you could change about your past?"
He flinches slightly but doesn't pull away, "Just one?"
She nods, her expression patient but expectant.
His voice drops to a whisper, "I wish I'd found a way to save them all. Gallifrey. I replay it in my mind, wondering if I missed something."
Sighing, she considers his words, "We did try, and then we did what we had to, Doctor. It was Gallifrey or the universe; what choice did we have?"
"It doesn't make it easier," he admits, his voice thick with emotion, "But you're right. And for what it's worth, having you here... it's more than I deserve."
She smiles faintly, "You always say that, but you're wrong. You deserve more than you'll ever let yourself believe."
They fall into another companionable silence, the clinking of utensils and the quiet hum of the dining room filling the space.
The Alchemist glances at her Bondmate before taking a sip, "Are you worried about what will happen with our future children? Since everyone is gone, they won't have Bondmates?"
"Every day. I think about that every day, but it's worth it. I want to hold them, raise them, and know them. We're not even trying yet, and I'm certain about it," the Time Lord answers swiftly.
"It is worth it. It's selfish of us, but it's worth it," the Alchemist says, and they continue to go back and forth as they eat, time passing at a steady rhythm.
"Did you get anything from the Great House?" the Time Lady asks, biting her lip, her tone casual, but her eyes betraying a flicker of hope.
He smiles, mid-bite of his cake, and after swallowing, he nods, "I emptied the place. Our room was gone. Not sure how or why, but I have everything in the TARDIS."
"Everything?" she gasps, leaning forward, the incredulity evident in her voice.
The Doctor grins, his expression near smug, "Everything."
Her hand darts out, smacking his wrist. He yelps, pulling it back dramatically.
"How long were you going to wait to tell me!?"
"Bondmas, actually," the Time Lord admits with a chuckle, rubbing his wrist, "But I suppose this is as good a time as any... I have another question."
"Go on, Doctor," she prods, raising an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by his attempt to dodge the conversation.
He sobers slightly, leaning forward, "With the Cybermen... you said something about if they recognized themselves, what they've done... they'd go insane. Why?"
Her expression falters, the shift in mood palpable, "Because I thought I did," she confesses quietly. "When I heard the Vortex, I thought I'd finally gone mad. I was the only one who ever gained some form of awareness and... I honestly believed, after everything, that I'd lost it. I can only imagine what would've happened if the rest of the Ten were rescued after all that."
The Doctor studies her intently, his brow furrowing, "You're not, though," he reminds her gently.
She shrugs, her shoulders heavy with the weight of memory, "I know. But I didn't at first. It took a lot of convincing for me to believe Teacher wasn't all something I made up to keep myself grounded."
Her gaze grows distant, as if replaying fragments of a past she can never entirely escape.
After a beat, she looks at him, "Did you ever see them on the field?"
"No," he says, shaking his head, "They separated family lines. I just received the Death..." He hesitates, his voice catching, "Missing in Action reports."
They're momentarily silent, the unspoken weight of their shared history filling the space between them. Then, the Doctor picks up his fork, taking another bite of cake as if to break the tension.
"You know," he adds, with a faint attempt at humor, "Next time, remind me to tell you these things sooner. My wrists will thank you."
She smirks, the hint of a smile playing at her lips. "I'll consider it. If you promise not to wait until Bondmas next time."
"Deal," he replies, his grin returning.
"Can't say your head will be safe, though," she quips, and he groans in frustration as they return to their treats.
"Twenty-five," the Alchemist says after finishing her wine.
The Time Lord looks up in confusion and places his glass on the table.
"Twenty-five what?" he asks.
She meets his gaze, "The answer to the question you've been so terrified to ask. That's what Regeneration I'm on. Twenty-five."
He clenches his jaw, "I missed that many?"
"I missed that many too, Doctor," the Alchemist reminds him.
"You lost over an entire cycle... Alchemist, please tell me how," he begs.
She debates for a moment, "The Gauntlet."
The Doctor takes a few deep breaths, pushing down his fury, and his Bondmate sends over a sense of calm, relaxing him.
"Who didn't I see?" he asks softly.
"Nine and twenty-three. I didn't know what my ninth self was like, but my twenty-third? She was strong," the Alchemist says and steals the cherry from the Doctor's cake.
"You remembered then," he realizes.
The Alchemist nods, "And I helped you stop it. My father and I devised the plan in that body, and I took control."
"Then how..."
She interrupts him, "I forced the change. There was a lot of damage after I removed the chip. I could have healed myself and removed the brand, but I needed to change my face. I ripped it out, left it behind, and became my last self. But twenty-three?" she shakes her head, "I wish you knew her, and I wish I knew her better. She lived five hours, 38 minutes, and 17 seconds, but she was strong and brave... She may have been my shortest life, but she was braver than all my lives combined."
The Doctor stares straight at her, "I disagree. You're always brave. You're brave enough to remember and make me do it because of that. You're brave enough to acknowledge the truth."
The Time Lady looks away, her hearts tightening as her own unbearable truth threatens to surface. She buries the pain once more, retreating behind walls of silence, holding onto the secret that she'll never be able to admit to unless forced.
The Doctor leans back in his chair, the edges of his smile soft but lingering. His hand traces the edge of his wine glass again, but it's more out of habit than anything else.
The Alchemist watches him, her gaze affectionate and knowing.
"What are you thinking?" she asks.
He looks up at her, blinking, almost like he hadn't realized how deeply he'd been lost in thought.
"I was just thinking about how long we've been doing this," he says quietly, "I think... I think I've forgotten what it's like to be without you. Even when you left for the war and after. I was alone, but... I knew where you were, and I think I may have known you were out there still."
Her smile deepens, though there's a hint of sadness in her eyes, "We've always been together. From the very first moment we met, haven't we?"
The Doctor nods, "Even when we didn't know it. Even when the universe tried to tear us apart. We always found our way back."
"Always," she agrees, "Because we were never meant to be apart."
He leans forward, "Sometimes I forget what life was like before you. It's like the years before we became... well, us—those don't even matter anymore."
"I know," the Alchemist says softly, "It's strange, isn't it? How some bonds just feel like they've always been there. Like we've always known."
The Doctor gives her a wry smile, his eyes full of affection, "I suppose I should thank the universe for that. Though, knowing it, it probably only did it just to mess with us."
She laughs softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement, "It wouldn't be the universe if it didn't try to keep us on our toes."
"We'll always be together," he says, the certainty in his voice unshakable.
"Always," she echoes.
[Abisko, Sweden: Boreal Forest Clearing — Summer, Daytime / Bondmas Eve Eve]
The TARDIS materializes with a familiar wheezing hum, and out step the Alchemist and the Doctor, each burdened with large boxes.
"This is an instant setup, right?" the Doctor asks, eyeing his box with concern.
"That's what they said," she replies confidently, "Just open the boxes, press the buttons, and the nanites will handle the rest."
The Doctor hums thoughtfully, glancing around, "Where should we put it?"
"Not too far from the cabin," she says, walking a few steps ahead, "Close enough to walk to but far enough not to see it."
The Doctor shoots her a curious glance, "You don't think you sent them here, do you?"
She shakes her head quickly, "No, it's not safe enough for them here. I wouldn't have sent them to Earth. They're probably in one of the private galaxies... I'm just not sure which one. We can't exactly search all of them." Her voice drops to a frustrated murmur. "We'll just have to dig through the memories."
"Can I help with that?" he asks gently.
She steps over a root, sighing, "I don't know. Maybe? It's worth a try. Having two signatures might lift it more easily."
"Here," the Doctor declares, gesturing toward a clearing. "This spot looks good."
She surveys the area and nods, "Yeah, this works."
They place the boxes a few meters apart, pressing the buttons in unison before retreating side by side to watch. The nanites activate with a faint hum. Bricks begin assembling themselves first, aligning and duplicating, held together by heat-activated mortar. Steel beams emerge, inch by inch, and the fireplace dropdown grows into place, supported by a sturdy roof brace. Glass cubes form the windows, igniting briefly before solidifying into crystal-clear panes, gleaming in the sunlight.
The Time Lords share a triumphant grin and dash inside to explore. The interior is exactly as they'd ordered—pre-designed, cozy, and comfortable. Two neutral-colored sofas frame the room, complemented by two armchairs facing the newly built fireplace. A large coffee table anchors the space, with a self-cleaning rug beneath it and side tables neatly arranged.
"Now," they say in unison, "trees."
[Abisko, Sweden: Boreal Forest]
They venture deeper into the boreal forest, hand in hand, their footsteps muffled by pine needles and the soft, mossy ground.
"Which ornaments should we use?" the Alchemist muses.
"Hmm," the Doctor considers, "Definitely Susan's first Bondmas ones."
She nods in agreement, "And Nightingale's first Bondmas too."
"It's going to smell like Christmas in there!"
"That's the point, love."
They stop, eyes brightening as they spot their prize: two perfect pine trees standing side by side, about seven feet tall, dwarfed by the surrounding giants.
"Those!" they exclaim together, hurrying over.
"I like how full this one is," the Doctor says, fluffing the branches, "And that one's almost identical."
She nods, examining the second tree, "Just a bit narrower, but it'll do."
They pull out their sonic screwdrivers, slicing through the narrow trunks with a flash. The Alchemist hoists her tree onto her shoulder just as the Doctor shouts, "Timber!" followed by an "Ow."
The Time Lady rolls her eyes, "Are you alright under there, Doctor?"
"Fine," he mutters from beneath the fallen branches, "Just... a little help?"
The Alchemist props her tree against a larger one, moving over to free her husband from the tangle of needles. Once he's clear, she helps him to his feet—only for the Doctor to mischievously pull her down on top of him with a playful yelp. They both burst into laughter.
He tugs at the end of her dress, eyes gleaming with amusement. She arches an eyebrow, lips quirking into a smile, and playfully tugs his hands away. He tugs back, rolling them over.
"Are we wrestling now?" she laughs.
"Seems like it," he replies with a grin, flipping her again.
They roll and grapple, laughing, until they bump into one of the fallen trees. It crashes down on top of them, with the Doctor taking the brunt of the hit.
Both groan in unison.
"Let go so I can move this thing, Doctor," the Alchemist mutters, struggling beneath the tree's weight and her skinny husband, "It's digging into my side."
With a sigh, the Doctor releases her, and she immediately lifts the heavy fir off his back with one arm, tossing it aside with a thump.
He stares at her, wide-eyed, still amazed by her strength, "That was... something."
"Yeah, something that scratched up my arms," she pouts, inspecting the marks, "Can we just teleport these back? I'm not in the mood to carry them all the way."
"Fine, fine," the Doctor agrees, dusting himself off.
They prop the trees upright, shaking off the debris. The Alchemist places her hands on each tree, preparing for teleportation.
"So... how exactly does this work?" the Doctor asks, watching curiously.
She gives him a teasing smile, "Oh, right, you've never done this before. Just... touch me."
"Where?" he asks, a little unsure.
She rolls her eyes, exasperated but amused, "You're my Bondmate, Doctor. Anywhere will do."
He shrugs, placing his hands on her hips. Her eyes light up with energy, and in a flicker, they vanish, trees and all.
[Bondmas Greenhouse]
"Well, are you going to..." the Doctor starts, but his voice trails off as he glances around the room.
"Didn't feel a thing, did you?" the Alchemist asks knowingly, her eyes returning to normal.
"Nope," he replies, still looking a bit bewildered.
"Come on, let's set up the trees and lock them in stasis."
They place the trees into the baskets the Alchemist prepared, securing the stands around their trunks. Stepping back, the Time Lords exchange glances before each presses a button on Jessamy's device, locking the trees into a constant state of life. The Alchemist pockets the small remote-like gadget and turns to her husband with a playful grin.
"Decorations are in storage," the Doctor informs her with a wink.
Leaving the greenhouse behind, they head back to the TARDIS. The Alchemist can barely contain her excitement, eager to see what her husband has been hiding from her.
[TARDIS]
The Doctor leads her down a series of corridors she hasn't explored before. The Alchemist carefully reads each door's label, her emotions welling with every step. By the time they reach the door marked "Bondmas," tears are streaming down her face.
The Doctor glances back at her, his expression softening. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and gently wipes her tears away.
"I know," he whispers, his voice filled with understanding, "I know."
She remains quiet as he opens the door, and when they step inside, her hearts melt.
The room is enormous, filled with rows of shelving units. The Alchemist walks to the first shelf and picks up a white acrylic-like box. The label reads: "Bondmas: Year One / Alchemist & Doctor."
"From the very beginning? You kept all of them?" she whispers, running her fingers along the edge of the box.
"All of them," the Doctor confirms.
He moves toward another shelf, retrieving the needed box, and places it on a table by the door. The Alchemist follows, her eyes still scanning the room in wonder.
She reads aloud from the box: "Bondmas: Year 302... Alchemist, Doctor, Archē, Anthosa, Méli. "
The Doctor is already reaching for a second box as she lingers over their children's names, repeating their Academy names to herself.
When he brings the second box, she reads it aloud: " Bondmas: Year 893... Alchemist, Doctor, Titan, Semine, Jessamy, Niam, Koraxa, Nightingale, Loki. "
"Our little blue-eyed raven," the Alchemist laughs, wiping away fresh tears, "She screamed so loud when she found out her hair could change color!"
The Doctor grins, "I remember! She was so dramatic about it!"
The Alchemist gasps as a memory hits her, "Wait, it didn't!"
"What? What didn't?" the Doctor asks, puzzled.
Her eyes widen as she grabs his hands, "Her hair! It didn't change! It's still black! I remember—her hair is still black! Look!"
Excited, the Time Lady opens the door to that memory, sharing it with him, and the Doctor bursts into wild laughter.
"She's got so many curls! And they're still raven!" he exclaims, his joy palpable, "Oh, Amara, this is..."
In his elation, the Doctor sweeps her into his arms and spins her around in a circle before they both collapse onto the floor, laughing. He quickly pulls her into his lap, pressing his face into her ginger waves with a contented sigh.
"Thank you," he whispers.
The Alchemist shakes her head, "This is a gift from them."
The Doctor hums thoughtfully, "Mm, you're right. Thank you, kids."
"Thank you," the Alchemist echoes softly.
[Bondmas Greenhouse]
After some debate—primarily over the finer points of whether to read left-to-right or right-to-left—the Time Lords dedicate the left tree to Bondmas 302 and the right to Bondmas 893.
"We read outward and clockwise from the top!" the Doctor declares triumphantly.
The Alchemist clamps her mouth shut, rolling her eyes as she moves the boxes into place, "Good thing it's almost Bondmas, or we'd still be arguing."
The Doctor rolls his eyes in turn but chooses to ignore her comment, opening the box for the right tree.
"Let's start with this one."
He inhales deeply, his grin widening, "Mmm, smell that?"
The Alchemist steps closer, her smile spreading, "Like you wouldn't believe. Cinnamon sticks, dried oranges, fir trees... You're in charge of tying the ribbons this year, sandshoes."
He scoffs but accepts his fate. "Fine. Plenty of practice anyway—lights first."
The Alchemist hands him the string of solarin lights they'd picked up on New Earth the other night. He starts wrapping the tree, and after a moment of adjustment, they step back and clap as the lights flicker on, bathing the room in a warm, magical glow.
"Cinnamon garland!" the Alchemist calls, holding out her hand.
"Cinnamon garland," the Doctor echoes, handing her the first length as she begins wrapping it around the tree.
They work together seamlessly, hanging orange slices and tying on velvet red ribbons with practiced ease. The second tree follows much the same pattern, though with the addition of stasis-locked rose garlands and jasmine flowers.
"Oh, it smells divine in here," the Alchemist swoons, breathing in the fragrant air.
The Doctor laughs, reaching out to pull her onto the sofa beside him as she passes.
"You just love Christmas," he teases.
She nods, eyes twinkling, "And so do you."
"As do I," he agrees, smiling.
After a beat, he says, "We should make some tree toppers—like snowflakes."
"Like we make the kids decorate with?" she asks, amused.
"Exactly. They'll be perfect for our private Bondmas Greenhouse trees."
"Perfect," she agrees with a bright smile. "Now, where should we go for Pre-Bondmas dinner?"
[Bondmas Eve: The Doctor's Birthday]
They had passed out hours ago, tipsy and flushed from champagne after returning from the bubble soirée on Castrovalva. Now, as the effects of the alcohol linger, the Alchemist groans softly, her head pounding with a fierce hangover. Still, she can't muster the energy to move.
"Theta, wake up. We have hangovers," she mutters, voice raspy.
A sleepy hum comes from beside her, "No. It's my birthday. You get up," he mumbles back, refusing to open his eyes.
The Alchemist cracks open one eye and turns her head. The Doctor is wrapped tightly around her, his legs tangled with hers and his arms holding her in a near-immobilizing embrace.
"How exactly do you expect me to do that when you've got me in a full-body chokehold?" she grumbles.
The Doctor huffs in reluctant amusement and loosens his grip. With a groan, she slowly manages to sit up, her head spinning. As she swings her legs over the side of the bed, she notices two glasses of water and a bottle of Elysian pain pills on the bedside table.
"Bluette's got us covered," the Alchemist mutters with a smile, "Thanks, Old Girl."
The ship hums softly in acknowledgment, knowing well not to say anything in her pilot's mind.
The Alchemist taps out two pills and hands one to the Doctor and a glass of water before taking her own and downing it in one gulp.
She flops back into the bed and hears the soft clink of his empty glass hitting the bedside table. Without warning, she's pulled back into the Doctor's arms, her body folding into his familiar warmth. His steady hearts beats thrum against her ear, and her eyes flutter shut again as sleep overtakes her.
But it doesn't last long. The Alchemist jolts fully awake at the feel of a nibble on her earlobe. Reacting instinctively, she twists free of his grasp, flipping around to pin him beneath her, securing her "attacker's" limbs in place with an automatic fluidity.
"Amara, it's me," the Doctor says calmly, well used to the move.
She blinks rapidly, shaking her head to clear the haze of the nightmare still clinging to her. With a sigh, she collapses onto him, melting into the comfort of his embrace.
"Sorry," she mumbles, "I was still waking up from the nightmare."
"The Siege of Terror again," the Doctor recalls, "Odd though, it felt like our memories overlapped before they split apart."
"Time Vortex," she replies, rubbing her temples, "That's when they interfere. I remember every single battle, remember? I can usually block those and keep us from fully reliving them, but alcohol... alcohol seems to mess that up."
The Doctor's fingers gently tilt her chin so he can meet her gaze, his brow furrowed in concern, "When you say every single battle..."
"All the temporal ones," she confirms, "If I was there once, I was there again. I didn't forget."
He swallows heavily, guilt creeping into his expression, "I should've known..."
"You couldn't have," she interrupted softly, "It's not something that would come up unless you have these abilities. It just makes things... harder sometimes," her somber tone shifts as she forces a grin onto her face, eager to change the subject, "But enough of that. Happy Birthday, Theta!"
He raises an eyebrow at her deliberate avoidance but can't help smiling.
"Thank you. And Happy Bondmas Eve."
She kisses his cheek, then tugs him to sit up, "Come on. Shower, then breakfast."
"No birthday kiss?" he teases with a pout.
"Not until we brush our teeth," the Time Lady scoffs.
With a playful roll of his eyes, the Doctor leaps out of bed, pulling her up with him. Laughter bubbles between them as he leads her up the stairs and into the bathroom, the weight of the nightmare momentarily forgotten in the light of the new day.
[NYC 2038: Bryant Park Winter Village]
"We need to pick up more soap. We're running low," the Alchemist reminds him, shifting the bag with their ice skates higher on her shoulder.
"Alright, alright... soap, hot cocoa, skating, socks..." the Doctor hums thoughtfully, "What else?"
"Whatever you want!" the Time Lady laughs, her eyes twinkling.
"Stroopwafels," the Doctor declares with sudden enthusiasm, making a sharp turn toward a nearby stand.
He orders two hot stroopwafels and three bags to stock the TARDIS kitchen. The Alchemist hands over her card to pay, shaking her head fondly at his excitement.
With their warm treats, they stroll through the festive market, savoring the sweetness before going to Max Brenner for hot cocoa, complete with oversized marshmallows.
The Alchemist takes a sip and lets out a contented moan, "Oh, I forgot how amazing their hot cocoa is."
"I know, right? It's like we haven't had it in centuries," the Doctor laughs, earning a playful hip-check from her.
[Ice Skating: Bryant Park]
"I desperately hope I still remember how to do this," the Alchemist mutters nervously as the Doctor crouches to tie her skates.
The Doctor laughs, "You can do aerial leaps in mid-air, and you're worried about ice skating?"
She sighs, "It wasn't exactly high on the priority list, Doctor."
He chuckles, wincing slightly, realizing, "Yeah... fair point. Don't worry, though, I've got this. If you've forgotten, I'll teach you, Ally."
She smiles warmly at his words, affectionately ruffling his hair.
Once her skates are securely tied, the Alchemist stands up, testing her balance before heading to the rink's entrance. With a deep breath, she steps carefully onto the ice, one cautious movement after another. Just as she begins to find her rhythm, a little boy zooms past her, causing her arms to flail wildly. In an instant, she's down—sprawled in a full split.
The Doctor's laughter echoes behind her, "You..." he can barely get the words out between bouts of laughter, "You can't skate... but you can do a perfect banana split!"
"Will you help me up, please ?" the Alchemist groans, trying to pull her legs back together, her gray stockings slipping slightly on the ice.
The Doctor, still chuckling, walks over and points playfully, "No pouting on my birthday. Only I can cry if I want to," he misquotes with a mischievous grin.
She blinks at him in exasperation, simply holding her hands in surrender.
It takes nearly twenty minutes, but eventually, the Alchemist finds her balance, her skating improving with each attempt. She manages a slow, steady glide without falling.
"Alright, I think you've got it now," the Doctor says with a proud grin, "Let's try a spin."
"Spin? As in... a circle?" she asks, her voice laced with hesitation.
He rolls his eyes, smiling, "Yes, a circle. Come on, I've got you."
With both of her hands in his, the Doctor guides her gently into a slow spin. They circle once, then again, and soon, the Alchemist laughs with delight.
"I did it! I mean, we did it, but still..." she beams, her eyes sparkling with triumph.
Just as she starts to feel confident, the same little boy from earlier glides past again, causing her to lose her balance. Once more, she takes the Doctor down with her in a tangle of limbs.
"Okay," he groans from the ice, rubbing his side, "We're done here."
The Alchemist can't help but laugh as she helps him up, "Happy Birthday, Doctor."
[TARDIS]
"I'm wearing my Converse," the Doctor declares.
"We'll be kicked out if you wear those. You're wearing dress shoes," the Alchemist counters with a smirk.
"No," he insists, stomping his foot stubbornly.
She raises an eyebrow, "Are you Loki now? That's a very Loki move."
The Doctor gasps in horror, suddenly realizing she's right.
"Fine! I'll wear the shoes!" he squeaks.
"Good boy," she quips, handing him the black dress shoes with a knowing smile.
[Dinner: Jean-Georges at The Leinster - Dublin, Ireland]
"Two under Lady Ally Starlight-Smith," the Alchemist says smoothly to the maître d'.
The hostess nods, "Of course, Lady Starlight-Smith. And may I wish you a happy birthday, Doctor Smith?"
"Uh... thank, thank you?" the Doctor stumbles over his words.
'Free dessert,' the Alchemist reminds him telepathically.
'Ah,' the Doctor responds, catching on.
They're guided to a cozy, curved booth beneath an elegant faux tree. Sliding in, they exchange a glance, settling into the refined atmosphere.
"Here are your menus. Your server tonight will be Gus. Please enjoy your evening," the hostess says before departing.
The Doctor looks at the menu, "Tasting menu? Or separate dishes?"
"I was thinking the tasting menu," the Alchemist suggests, "You get the omnivore, and I'll take the vegetarian—if they still have one. What do you think?"
"Perfect! I bet there'll be lots of tastythings to try," he says, grinning as she rolls her eyes fondly.
Gus arrives at the table with a welcoming smile, "Good evening. Any questions so far, or would you like to go ahead and order your drinks?"
"Do you still have a vegetarian tasting menu?" the Alchemist inquires.
"We do," Gus confirms, "It's not listed, but I can arrange it. Would you like me to bring it over?"
She smiles and shakes her head, "No need. I trust the chef. I believe we're ready to order entirely then."
"Excellent choice. And for you, Doctor Smith?"
"The regular tasting menu, thanks," the Doctor says, flipping through the cocktail list.
The Alchemist chuckles softly, "He'll have a Banana Highball on the rocks. I'll stick with the Butter, stirred."
"Would you like it warmed, Lady Starlight-Smith?" Gus asks politely.
"She would," the Doctor answers for her, grinning.
As Gus leaves, they exchange another glance.
"Maybe we should've gone somewhere more casual," the Alchemist admits with a sheepish smile, "It's a bit... prim in here."
The Doctor shrugs, leaning back in the booth, "Eh, Banana Highball? Totally worth it."
Very worth it, as it turns out. The Doctor goes through four Banana Highballs and caps it off with a banana cocktail alongside dessert. When they leave the restaurant, his arm is wrapped lazily around the Alchemist's shoulders, and both stumble out into the night.
"Almost time for Bondmas," the Alchemist reminds him as they approach the TARDIS.
[TARDIS Console Room]
The Alchemist settles her husband into the jump seat and starts setting the controls for their destination: the Greenhouse in Abisko.
"Bananas... bananas are good..." the Doctor mumbles, eyes half-closed as he watches her expertly fly the ship.
She laughs warmly, "Yes, I know, love."
Once they land, the Alchemist pulls out a small bottle of Folicide, an instant-inebriation relief, from behind the console and hands it to him.
"Here, drink this," she orders.
The Doctor's eyes light up as he downs the tincture.
"Ah! Folly cider!" he exclaims with a chuckle.
She rolls her eyes fondly and waits as he blinks rapidly, clearing the alcohol from his system.
"Okay, those drinks were amazing, but maybe I should stick to non-alcoholic stuff tonight," he mutters, running a hand through his untamed hair.
"Probably for the best," she smiles.
The Doctor returns the grin, "Time?"
"10:05 pm. We've got just under two hours to make those stars," she says excitedly, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
[Bondmas Greenhouse: 10:16 pm, December 24]
The Alchemist drops the scissors, white paper, and stapler onto the table, the same tools the children once used to make snowflakes before the war. Nostalgia lingers in the air. She sets the picnic basket beside the pile, and the Doctor, already sprawled across the sofa, grins up at her, tugging her down into his arms.
"What did you pack, anyway?" she laughs, settling against him, "Banana cupcakes and pancakes, I'm guessing?"
He gasps, feigning offense, "I try other foods, you know! There's plenty in there that isn't banana-related."
She raised an eyebrow, "Like banana daiquiris, banana cocktails, and banana highballs?"
He taps her nose, and she crosses her eyes to see it, "Alright, alright, one cupcake. Just one!"
The Alchemist rolls her eyes, amused, before kissing his cheek.
"Come on, let's make those snowflakes so we can get our presents under the tree," the Alchemist declares.
The Time Lord nods and slides the paper and scissors toward his wife. She begins stacking the sheets seven high and carefully cuts lace-like patterns. It isn't long before they are covered in paper snow, sharing a look before bursting into laughter.
"I thought the snow was supposed to stay outside," the Doctor quips.
She shrugs, "Guess we've got some cleaning to do."
As the Alchemist brushes the paper bits from her lap onto the floor, the Doctor mischievously flings a handful of snowflakes at her, many of which land in her hair.
"Why?" she whines, swiping at the paper stuck in her locks.
He grins. "Why not?"
Pouting, she shakes her hair out, watching the confetti vanish into the rug while the Doctor staples his snowflakes together.
She steals the cone topper he made, perches it on his head, and snaps a telepathic photo.
"Perfect."
The Doctor crosses his arms, "Oh, is this my birthday hat now?"
"Exactly. And it suits you perfectly," the Time Lady teases, laughing as he tickles her side.
With a roll of his eyes, he removes the hat, attaching it to the star instead, and passes her the stapler for her turn. She swiftly crafts her star, and they race to their respective trees.
He's quick to top his tree, beaming at the ornaments the children had chosen years ago. Meanwhile, the Alchemist frowns, standing shy of the top on her tiptoes.
"Doctor, I need a lift," she calls, waving him over.
Laughing, he scoops her up by the waist and hoists her high enough to staple the star in place. When she taps his hand to be let down, he drops her, and she lands lightly on her feet.
"Was that necessary?" she asks, brow raised.
"Just curious to see what would happen, cat lady," he replies with a mischievous grin, pulling something from his pocket.
"That's Catwoman, I'll have you know," she corrects before her eyes catch sight of the mistletoe dangling above her head, "Oh, really, now? Mistletoe?"
"Really," he smugly answers, "Now pucker up."
She rolls her eyes but complies, letting him dip her dramatically as they kiss. He's ready to carry her off for more snogging when she pulls back, eyes twinkling.
"I have a birthday present for you," she smirks.
The Doctor frowns, "We only do Bondmas presents."
"Call it one for both of us, then," she shrugs and fetches the package from her bag.
It's wrapped in forest green paper with a silver velvet bow. His curiosity piqued, the Doctor takes it and leads her back to the sofa to open it.
"You made another quilt," he realizes, looking up at her alarmingly.
She laughs, rolling her eyes, "It's for us, you idiot. I'm not pregnant."
"It's beautiful," he smiles, "When did you have time to make this?"
"A while ago, before I left. I thought it'd be nice to have another quilt for the TARDIS, but I've decided that this—this is for here. For this space."
The Doctor smiles warmly and sets the folded blanket, featuring their boreal forest in Abisko, colorful sky included, aside before pulling her in for a deep, lingering kiss, his hands cradling her face.
"Thank you," he whispers, his forehead resting against hers.
The Alchemist kisses him once more before bouncing up to place her pile of brown-paper-wrapped gifts under his tree.
"I didn't go crazy, I swear! They just all go together," she defends as he approaches.
Laughing, the Doctor sets his brown-paper packages under her tree, "Neither did I. Two and three gifts seem fair, right?"
She nods eagerly, skipping back to the couch. The Time Lady unfolds the quilt she's made, draping it over their legs as the Doctor slides beneath it beside her.
"Time?" the Time Lord asks.
"11:29. Plenty of time for snogging before Bondmas officially starts," she replies, crawling into his lap.
"Ohh, so that's what the blanket is for," the Doctor teases.
She hums contentedly, pulling him close, "Exactly."
[Bondmas Greenhouse: 11:55 pm, December 24]
The Alchemist pulls away with a groan, her lips swollen from kissing, "Five minutes. We need the hats and the champagne."
The Doctor mutters, "Didn't pack it. You'll have to settle for fizzy cider."
She laughs, her voice hoarse, "Fizzy cider it is."
He rummages through the basket, producing their green Santa hats. Placing one on her head first, he pulls his own on with a grin, and they drag the quilt to the space between the trees, bottle in hand.
"Do we bother with glasses?" she asks.
"Nah," the Doctor replies, unscrewing the cap, "Let's go old school. We always just shared the bottle back in the day."
She snorts in agreement, accepting the bottle before passing it back after a sip.
As the clock approaches midnight, the Alchemist gathers the pile of presents from under her tree while the Doctor does the same.
"No peeking," she warns, "Just one more minute. Happy actual birthday, Theta."
He rolls his eyes playfully and pulls her into a bruising kiss.
[Bondmas Greenhouse: 12:00 am, December 25]
The Doctor breaks away and smiles softly, "Happy actual birthday, Amara."
"And Happy Bondmas," they say in unison, diving into their gifts.
The Alchemist's breath catches as she unwraps a green cameo, her eyes misting, "This is... oh my, Theta..."
The Doctor beams, "You're my angel wings, right?"
She laughs tearfully, nodding as she pins the cameo to her dress, "Malachite and pearl with gold! You really went all out."
He shrugs modestly, "And the meaning, Amara?"
She wipes her eyes and whispers, "The Stone of Transformation. Gold for Alchemy, pearls for beauty and new beginnings. Six pearls—numerology, the mother."
"A new beginning for us. For you, mother and protector of our family."
She nods, motioning for him to open his next gift. The Doctor tears through the paper childishly, his face lighting up.
"It matches your hair! You got me something red because it matches your hair," he teases before his grin softens, "A sketchbook... I haven't drawn in years."
"I know. I thought you might like to pick it up again. I've seen your doodles on the corners of your notes," the Alchemist explains, caressing her new cameo fondly.
"You're right. I'll get back to it," he smiles, "Let's do our last one together, shall we?"
"On three," she agrees.
"One..."
"Two..."
"Three!"
They tear open their final gifts, both grinning down at them.
"Just how many pencils did you get me?" the Doctor laughs, "Oh, Staedtler Creta Polycolor! I love these."
"This malachite fountain pen is gorgeous," the Alchemist gasps in awe.
"You kept stealing mine. Now you have your own," he winks.
She smiles and returns his old pen. The Doctor accepts it back and pockets it with a grin.
They share a glance before the Alchemist leans in for a kiss, "Happy Bondmas."
The Doctor smiles softly, his hand resting over hers, "Happy Bondmas. I love you."
"And I love you," she replies, her voice tender.
The lights above began shifting as they lay back on the quilt.
"It's starting," the Alchemist whispers, her eyes reflecting the colors of the aurora borealis above.