What Dreams May Come

Chapter Thirty-Four

In The Mood

Molly stood in the TARDIS, back in the blue gown, arms folded as she stared at the Doctor. "Can I at least sleep in between? It's a time machine."

"We really should just go. Don't you want a party?"

"I'm not really in the mood. I'm exhausted," she said. "Remember the whole Valeyard thing?"

"Do I remember almost being killed by the Silence? Yes."

"And then I did a little over an hour of warming up and dancing."

"Yes, I recall."

"Then why can't we-"

"Oh, it'll be fine," he replied. "It's much less formal."

"…You're worried you'll miss the time since it's a short hop, aren't you?"

He opened his mouth, clearly ready to object. But then he turned away from her to head up the stairs. "Yes," he confessed.

Molly followed him. "Fine. What am I supposed to wear to this?"

"There was a scene in the Ph – the show, where you went to some sort of dance club," he said. "It's essentially that, a little more on the formal side."

She thought back to what she'd worn when she went out clubbing. She'd worn pretty revealing outfits, a lot of bare midriff and leg, see through tops, bright colors, insane eye makeup. A little more on the formal side would probably involve more fabric. "Sexy but classy. This one I can do on my own," she said with confidence.

Molly passed him when he'd stopped on the stairs in front of her, and went straight for the wardrobe. It took some digging to find a section that contained appropriate clothing for a party like this, but she managed to find a dress and some heels, and went to her room to change. She took her hair down, and arranged it so the slight swoop caused by the bun was fixed nearly over one eye. A touchup on her lipstick (made tricky by the TARDIS suddenly shaking as it was moved), and she was ready, much quicker than it had taken her to get ready for the formal party.

She returned to the main control room and saw the Doctor leaning against the railing, doing some sort of work on the sonic. He wasn't exactly one to sit still for long. He also wasn't one to dress for a club, as he had opted just to remove the velvet waistcoat.

"Alright. Tell me how I look. And I expect compliments," she added.

He looked up at her, and she was delighted to see the way he froze for a second. He took in her look, the bright red dress that was decorated with large sequins that looked more like slices of multifaceted rubies, and the matching red pumps that could give the Ruby Slippers a run for their money, but with more height thanks to the five-inch heels.

"You look…" he paused a moment, searching for a word. "Uh, cute."

"'Cute'?" She felt like her brows were raised to her hairline. "I look like fucking Jessica Rabbit in a miniskirt, give me some credit."

He grinned as she approached. "Okay. You look hot."

"Why, thank you. So kind of you to compliment me so unexpectedly," she said. She stopped in front of him, and reached up to straighten the green bowtie. Though she hadn't needed to be this close to see it, she was pleased that he seemed to be blushing. "Red and green. We're going to look like Christmas."

"A hot Christmas."

"A very hot Christmas," she agreed.

"Are you going to be able to dance in those heels? They're really quite high."

She looked down at them. "Probably. And if I can't, the sparkle is worth the sacrifice."

"There'll be lots of dancing."

"I'll at least be able to sway back and forth," she responded. She hooked her arm in his. "Shall we?"

"Let's shall," he responded, and they headed out the door.

They were in a dark hallway, relatively plain though large, and Molly heard music coming from double doors up ahead, a deep bass echoing in the hall. In front of the doors stood two guards. "Are we still in the palace?" It didn't look like much of a palace.

"A secret club a couple miles outside the gates," the Doctor replied. "A lot of people will have skipped the formal party to come here. The Emperor will probably arrive in twenty minutes or so."

She looked at the guards up ahead. "They look like they're going to be waiting for a secret password."

"No password. They have a list of guests. There's just one little technicality."

"What's that?"

"The list requires one of the guests in a group to give their full name. There's a sort of lie detector installed that checks to be certain no one is coming in under a false identity. A safety measure."

"Okay, so you'll just tell them you're the Doctor."

He held up his hand to indicate something small. "Tiny problem with that."

"What problem?"

"It has to be the full name you were given from birth."

Molly turned to look at him with a frown. "You're joking."

"Not at the moment, no."

"How the hell would you get in without me?"

"Talk my way in, of course," he said. "Or wait for the Emperor. Luckily, you're here."

She stared, and felt the frown turn into a fuming expression. "Are you serious?"

He looked a little apologetic. "I know your last name is…unpleasant for you to remember, but for obvious reasons, I can't give my name."

She groaned. "My last name isn't what I'm worried about."

Confusion flashed across his face. "Then what are you worried about?"

Molly sighed, and turned and walked the last few feet to the guards, who seemed unmoved by the sudden appearance of a blue box in the hallway. "Name?" one of them asked as the Doctor stopped beside her.

She hesitated. "For fucks' sake," she muttered to herself, then said louder, "Molly Holly Phoenix."

She didn't need to turn to look at him to see the look of amusement on the Doctor's face as the guard checked the list, then turned and opened the door, and stepped aside to let them in.

Molly stepped into the party, but didn't have a moment to take it in before the Doctor said, "Molly Holly?"

"Shut up."

"Your parents named you Molly Holly?"

"Shut up."

"Whatever you say, Molly Holly."

She turned towards him with what she hoped was a suitably irritated expression. "Remember when River slapped you for using your regeneration energy to heal her?"

The Doctor winced. "How could I forget?"

"I will hit you twice as hard if you call me Molly Holly again."

"What if it just…slips out?"

"I will hit you so hard you go back five regenerations," she said.

He looked hurt. "But then you wouldn't have me anymore."

"I'd have Eight. Always liked Paul McGann," she said thoughtfully. "He was my first Doctor. I used Grace for my surname when I moved to New York. Shame he had such a shit movie, though it does hold a special place in my heart. I must've watched it over a hundred times. I killed the VHS tape."

"He got a movie?" The Doctor seemed to object to the idea that the Eighth would get a movie. "Did I get a movie?"

"No," she said. "You got three seasons. No movie. Just some audio dramas, novels, and comics."

"Wait, wait," he said, taking her arm before she could turn and look around. "I had comic books? You didn't tell me I had comic books!"

"I only read a few of them," she said. "They were pretty good."

"Comic books. I knew I was cool," he said, more to himself, proud of his status as a comic book character.

"So…" she started, then gestured with a thumb towards the crowd. "Party?"

"Yes. Party." He looked down where he still held onto her arm, and quickly let go, turning back towards the party. "Let's take a look."

It seemed to be about the average club. A large DJ booth across from them, a bar at one end, seating in another, a second floor that looked to be VIP seating. The lights were colorful, the music loud, but not so loud they couldn't have a conversation. The difference was mostly in the music. The bass hadn't been quite what she'd expected – rather, it was an opera singer.

"Uh. Music?" she questioned.

"They'll play music from all sorts of places throughout history," he said. "They have a collection of music like a library. They just don't quite know what was considered dance music and what wasn't."

"Got it," she said, turning back to the crowd. There were still a few dancers. Some danced in a way she was familiar with, others in ways that were as alien to her as the appearance of the dancers.

She hadn't been to a club since a few months before she'd been shot. This was going to take some warming up. "Drinks?"

"This way," he said. He turned and headed for the bar, with her following close. She was worried there would be nothing familiar there, but a menu made with holographic paper listed some drinks that she knew. She decided to play it safe with a vodka cranberry, thankful that cranberries were still a thing here.

The Doctor got a chocolate milk. Shaken, not stirred.

Molly downed the drink fairly quickly, and ordered a second one, glad that it seemed to be an open bar. As she sipped at it, she turned back to the Doctor. "Should we grab a place to sit?"

"Good idea," he agreed. They found an empty table by a wall, and Molly set her drink down. She was already starting to think two had been a mistake. She couldn't quite remember when she'd last eaten anything.

But a song came on that – while played with unfamiliar instruments – she thought she might be able to dance to. She looked over at the Doctor, and knew this would be potentially embarrassing. It didn't matter. "Alright. Drink, table, music. Ready to dance?"

The Doctor finished his sip of the chocolate milk in a tall, metal cup. "Absolutely."

The alcohol was, thankfully, starting to hit as they stepped out onto the dance floor. She looked around to try to take a cue for how to dance from the people around her, but each person seemed to be doing their own thing. Her own club dancing had always been simple: shifting her weight from one leg to the other, rocking her hips back and forth with her hands raised over her head, or stepping forward and back with her arms raised, or dipping down as she rocked her hips left and right…with her arms raised. She really was only one specific type of dancer. The Doctor's approach was a little more chaotic, to say the least. She thought of it more like flailing to the beat, but it was clear he was having fun, and that was what mattered.

At last, another song in, what she'd known was coming finally happened. The Doctor's arms lifted, and then there it was, the Doctor's signature dance move.

Oh, what the hell, Molly thought, and gave in. She took a couple steps back away from him so she'd have space, and did the move she'd never admit to practicing in the studio after everyone else had gone home: The Drunk Giraffe.

"Yes!" the Doctor exclaimed, pointing to her as he laughed with excitement. "Excellent!"

She was laughing, too. "Did I do it right?"

"Perfect," he said, and then demonstrated it again. She thought maybe she needed to straighten her arms out more, and joined him at the end of it. And it didn't matter to her if everyone was staring or no one noticed at all. She was having fun dancing like an idiot with her best friend. What did it matter what anyone else thought?

They did it in sync now, and Molly was briefly worried she'd be sick from how hard she was laughing.

The laughter died when she noticed someone out of the corner of her eye.

She saw the Doctor turn before her, and with trepidation she turned to confirm who she saw. Yes. There he was, standing right beside them, watching them. The Great and Magnanimous or whatever Emperor, with a small smile on his face. He was dressed significantly down, in something that looked like a cross between black jeans and black trousers, with a red button down that wasn't quite buttoned all the way to the top. She almost didn't recognize him without a crown.

The feeling of not caring what anyone else thought faded away, and she could only think I want to die, just kill me right now, where's great big lightning strike when you need one, over and over again.

She looked back over to the Doctor for some hint of what she was supposed to do, and when he didn't bow, she was grateful. "Bill!" the Doctor exclaimed, dropping the whole title. He seemed completely unashamed, because of course he did.

"Doctor," the Emperor greeted cheerfully in return, offering a hand to shake, which the Doctor did a little too enthusiastically. He turned and offered a handshake to Molly. "Miss Quinn."

Molly shook his hand, she hoped firmly enough without being overenthusiastic. Her mind scrambled for something appropriate to say, hoping she didn't need to be overly formal, given the Doctor had called him Bill. "Happy Birthday," she settled on.

"Thank you," he replied warmly. "Your dance was incredibly beautiful. It must take a lot of training for strength and poise to accomplish something like that."

Molly felt her cheeks immediately turning red, and lifted her hands to them to try to cover it, forgetting that it would just make the blushing more obvious. "Oh. Thanks," she replied, hoping her voice was loud enough over the music despite feeling a bit breathless. "I trained in ballet for about ten years, and then a little off and on after. It's difficult, but worth it."

"That's clear," he replied. "That dedication is to be admired."

The alcohol in her veins told her to hide behind the Doctor, though she resisted. Normally she lived off of compliments, but about her greatest passion, from an Emperor, was a bit much for her beginning-to-be mixed up head. The drinks were definitely stronger than she'd realized.

"Thanks," she said again.

"Great party," the Doctor commented, looking around at the growing crowd of people dancing and smiling and having a good time.

"Thank you, old friend," The Emperor – Bill – said. He clasped the Doctor on the shoulder. "Enjoy it."

"I certainly am," said the Doctor. Bill nodded his head in farewell and went to greet other guests.

"Oh, stars," Molly mumbled under her breath, burying her head against the Doctor's shoulder. "What a time for him to walk up."

"What do you mean?"

For once, she decided she'd teased him about his dancing enough, especially seeing as she'd been having fun with it. "The alcohol is starting to hit. The drinks are strong."

"Need to sit down?"

She thought about it. "Need to finish my drink."

"I thought you said they were strong?"

"Yep," she said, a pleased smile on her face. They headed back to the table, and she downed the drink. She hadn't been able to drink like this since she'd been shot. Her doctors didn't exactly prescribe her vodka. She wondered if she should risk a third drink, and decided it would be better to head back to the bar for plain cranberry juice instead. And 'accidentally' ordered it with vodka again. When she got back to the table, the Doctor had just finished his chocolate milk.

A new song came on, one Molly finally recognized. "Is this In The Mood?"

The Doctor listened for a moment. "It is! Did you know I helped Joe Garland write it?"

These sorts of things shouldn't have surprised her anymore. "You did?"

"Yes! Well…" he paused. "I turned the pages for him when he played it to make sure it sounded right, anyway."

"Of course you did," she laughed.

"Come on," he said, headed back to the dance floor.

Molly took a deep gulp of her drink and followed. "I don't know how to swing!"

He stopped suddenly and turned. "You don't know how to swing? You're a dancer!"

"A ballet dancer," Molly corrected. "I didn't really have the time to study ballroom dancing, too." She paused. "Do you know how to dance swing?"

"I have no idea," he replied. "Let's find out."

He took both her hands and spun them in a large circle, before bringing her in to put a hand on her back. They rocked back and forth and around some, and now and then he spun her in quick, small circles. Sometimes she'd be flung out, with both their arms outstretched. She tried to do the back-and-forth twisting motion she'd seen in historical movies, but it turned out swing wasn't her thing, at least not tipsy and in heels. The Doctor had to put his hand against her back again many times to keep her on her feet. He danced a little better, adding some style as he did the back-and-forth-twisty thing better than she did, as he put an arm around her and stood beside and did some sort of kicking move, slid now and then, and even lifted her and swung her around once, and the lightheadedness caused her to have a sort of giddy giggling fit.

As the song came to a close, the Doctor wrapped an arm around her back and twisted her around into a dip. She laughed as she looked up at him, but then the hand supporting her back slipped, and she felt herself falling back. She quickly grabbed onto his vest to keep herself upright, but was already falling back with such force that all she managed to do was drag him down with her.

He managed to put a hand on either side of her to keep from fully crashing into her, and then after a couple seconds, leaned away to land on the left side of her. Molly found that she couldn't stop laughing, no matter how she tried, no matter how much it made her stomach hurt (both those problems were probably also thanks to the alcohol, admittedly). Through the tears of laughter, she could see his face, and he seemed to be in the same predicament she was. Again she remembered that the look of delight on his face was one of her favorite things to look at, back when he'd been on a screen. Now here he was, in real life.

But still, she had to reach out and touch his chest to confirm that he really was real. That this really was her life. Lying on the floor of a birthday party for an Emperor of a galaxy, laughing herself breathless, with the Doctor. The thought made her dizzy, or maybe that was the lack of oxygen and too much strong vodka.

It took a few moments of laughter and other dancers stepping around them before they finally seemed to be gaining control of themselves. She took a few deep breaths to fight back the headache, and saw him do the same. Still, she found herself breaking out into little giggles as she tried to pull herself together, and he seemed to be staring at her with a smile, trying to keep his own giggles back.

When she was able to breathe again without laughter catching in her chest, she smiled back at him. The smile on his face faded, but the smile in his eyes remained. She could have enjoyed that look for hours (and would have, if this were all still a TV show), but another second later, he took a breath and said, "We should probably get off the floor."

"Right," she agreed, having to fight the giggles back again. "I think maybe I drank too much."

"Me, too," he said, beginning to stand, though all he had drunk was chocolate milk. When he got to his feet, he offered her a hand, which she gratefully accepted.

She grabbed his arm as it took a moment to keep the room from spinning. "Regretting the heels, after all," she said, looking up to see the smile in his eyes again. "You were right."

"They do look sparkly, though," he replied. He looked down, and noticed he was still holding onto her hand, and quickly snatched it away, folding his hands behind his back. "Sorry."

"Thanks for keeping me stable," she said. "The drinks were also probably unwise."

"Do you want to go back to the TARDIS?"

"I don't want to ruin the party for you."

He looked around the room a moment. "I had a drink, said hi to Bill, danced with the Molly Quinn, and dropped her on the floor. It's been a good party. I'm ready to go."

"If you're sure," she said uncertainly. He really seemed to be having a good time, and she would hate to ruin it, especially after all of the emotional turmoil they had just experienced. "I can find the TARDIS on my own."

The Doctor shook his head. "No, no, we'll go together. I could use some…quiet." 'Quiet' was spoken with a softer, almost regretful tone. Molly remembered that he hadn't had time to process Eleven being the Valeyard, really. He had a lot to think about. A lot of time with the Valeyard to remember and reexamine.

"Okay," she said, and took his arm. "Help me to my room, please. I'm a bit unsteady still."

He nodded, and they headed out the door and into the corridor. The cooler air of the TARDIS felt welcoming after the heat of the party, and though they were already mostly healed, it felt good on her burns.

The Doctor took the stairs up slowly. "Do you need help getting into bed?"

"Dirty," she mumbled, because she couldn't think of a better teasing comeback. She had the urge to laugh again. The vodka must have been some kind of space vodka. She used to be able to hold her liquor. "Hold on." She slowly lowered herself down onto the stairs and started removing the heels. "Help would probably be good. If you could grab something to sleep in and put it on the bed, I can just change there without having to get up." She'd have to sleep in her makeup, but the idea of standing longer than she absolutely had to felt dangerous.

"I can do that," the Doctor replied as she took off her other heel and stood back up. She decided to leave them behind. The mess she'd left on the TARDIS – her shoes, the playing cards – would probably annoy both the Doctor and the TARDIS, but they also both knew who she was at her heart: a mess.

She took his arm again and they made their way to her room, where she collapsed on the bed. As the Doctor opened one of the dresser drawers, she said, "It's been a really long fucking day."

"One of the longest," the Doctor agreed, and turned with the pajamas she'd put on the day she'd been sick. "How are you feeling?"

She thought for a moment. "Tipsy. If not a smidge drunk."

He dropped the clothes on the bed beside her head, then took a seat on the edge of the bed next to her. "I meant with everything else. Are you alright?"

She looked over at him, then tried to clear her head enough to search for an answer. Unable to find one, she instead asked, "Are you?"

The barest touch of a smile touched his lips, and there were so many emotions flashing and retreating in his eyes that she couldn't count them all. Regret, happiness, guilt, concern, and a hundred others, before they settled on a warmth she couldn't classify. Something like optimism. "I think so. I will be. I think I'll be…" He paused. "Well, it will all work out in the end. It usually does." But he didn't sound confident in that.

"The Valeyard, you mean?"

"And other things," he said. "Some things that will…hurt. But that's life. Pain is part of the experience of being alive."

"What hurts?" she asked, concerned. "If not the Valeyard, then…"

"There are things…connected to him. And my friends. And…"

"And?"

He sighed. "Just…concerns."

He wasn't going to tell her, but she should have expected that. It was unusually open of him to admit to her that he was experiencing pain, that there was something he was worried about at all. Maybe the chocolate milk had been alcoholic, too.

He was still staring at her. "Stop that," she said.

"What?"

"Staring. It's freaking me out. Is there something on me?"

He looked away immediately. "Sorry. No, sorry. I'm just concerned. You went through quite a lot today, too."

"I'll be fine," she mumbled, closing her eyes so the room would stop spinning. "I always am."

"You sound like me."

"You mean when you're lying?"

"Yes."

She opened her eyes, and he was looking at her again. "Well, there's no therapist that would understand any of what's been happening, so I have to be fine."

Alarm spread across his face. "You need a therapist?"

"It was a joke. Not a great one," she said, weakly. She attempted finger guns, but aimed them a little too high. "Alcohol actually makes me less witty."

They were both trying to avoid answering whether or not they were okay. Molly thought that maybe neither of them really knew.

It was time for her specialty: a subject change. "So, that was a pretty impressive birthday party."

The Doctor smiled. "Yes, it was. He's very popular, Bill."

"That's nice. Having a leader you generally like," she said, then frowned. "Genuinely. One of those words." Stars. She really was starting to sound like him. "I haven't been to a birthday party in ages. I think the last time I was like, fifteen, and they dragged me."

"You didn't have your own?"

Molly lifted a hand up, to examine her nails, so she didn't have to look at him. "I hate birthdays. Especially mine."

There were a few seconds of still silence. "Oh," the Doctor said, very softly. "Right. Of course you would."

She sighed, and sat up, too quickly for her head. She set her hands on the bed behind her and leaned on them while waiting for the room to stop spinning. "I sometimes bought myself a cupcake, though. No birthday candle or anything. Just as an excuse to buy a cupcake. Or make them, when I dared risking setting the oven on fire." She glanced over at him. "I liked Funfetti. With Rainbow Chip frosting. Sometimes I'd skip the cupcake and eat the frosting out of the container with a spoon."

"I'll have to try it," said the Doctor.

"We should pick a couple up. Eat them with a spoon until we feel sick." She wanted to do that right now, but she was already feeling a bit sick from the spinning. "Or maybe I should sleep the alcohol off."

The Doctor stood. "I'll bring you some water to help."

"Thanks," said Molly with a smile. As he left, she stood up and quickly changed, then collapsed back on the bed. Her thoughts were fuzzy, but there was something warm in them. A deep gratitude. A deep affection. A deep admiration that was dangerously close to a line. She needed to veer that off course. Their friendship was too precious to complicate.

Molly sighed, and collapsed into her pillow. She kept her eyes closed, and saw the Doctor's face. Maybe tonight she could admire him. After all, he'd made her dream come true. So many dreams. Tomorrow, she'd set it aside and be back to normal.

There wasn't much time for that admiration. A few seconds later, she was asleep.