Chapter Thirteen: Fury and Clarity
[TARDIS Console Room]
"Is she hiding, Old Girl? Can you bring me to her?" the Doctor asks softly.
The ship is silent.
He furrows his brow. He already knows where she is and chastises himself for even asking. With a heavy sigh, he heads down the corridors.
When he finds the new blue door, he almost walks past it, distracted by his thoughts. That realization unsettles him even more.
Testing the handle, he finds it unlocked and pushes it open.
[The Mickey Smith Rule #100 Room]
The room is a stark contrast to the rest of the Companion Collection rooms—its white walls are uncharacteristically plain, glaring in the light. A pile of taped boxes sits in the center, dominating the space.
On one side of the room, a comic book box decorated with Marvel designs lies on the floor, labeled 'First editions.' Above it, framed and signed Marvel posters hang neatly. In the far corner, a brown couch barely comes into view, partially obscured by the clutter.
Her voice cuts through the silence, calm yet unnervingly sharp.
"...You know, we never even took him to another planet. A few glimpses of the future and the past, and then we were thrown into another dimension. We didn't even start this room together. I did it myself. And now, it's done."
The Doctor freezes, her words striking deeper than he anticipated.
Her voice grows colder, more deliberate, "Tell me, Theta Sigma. What rule did you forget first? Name it."
He swallows hard, guilt evident in his tone, "Rule Eleven. Protect yourself and your companions. Look them up."
"Did you check Jack?" she asks, her voice clipped.
A pause.
"No."
"Mmhm. I did. Did you check Mickey?"
"No, Amara."
She laughs then, a sharp, bitter sound that chills him more than her anger.
"And Rose Tyler?" she asks, her voice light and airy.
He has no answer.
"That's right. You didn't. I even checked to see if you had. You didn't, not once. Do you even know why her middle name is Marion? It's after her grandmother on Pete's side. Bitterness. Fits her, don't you think?
"She broke up with Mickey via text while cheating on him with his bandmate—and he still took her back. She never officially ended things before running off with you and then us, cheating on him multiple times. And Mickey? He genuinely cares about her. He wanted stability, something real.
"And yet, you never even looked."
Her voice sharpens, cutting through his silence like a blade, "What also bothers me is this: there's no Rule Number 100 Room for Rose Marion Tyler anywhere on this ship. I couldn't add anything even if I wanted to. I don't trust her."
She gestures toward the boxes, "But Mickey? This is his room. His boxes. His comics—all first editions I had Stan sign for him as a gift. His couch. And this?" she holds up a small, neatly repaired blue-striped baby blanket, "He told me he lost this on the playground. I fixed it. Apparently, I can crochet now."
The Doctor finally speaks, his voice quiet, "Amara..."
She barrels on, not allowing him to derail her, "And you—you broke your promise to me. The one you made the morning after I returned. You used his name. The name Rassilon forced out of me! How could you..."
Her voice cracks, "I hate this body. I hated the last one, but I honestly believe I hate this one more. How fucking pathetic is that!?" she shouts in desperation, and something shatters against the wall.
The Doctor moves instinctively. It's a simple glazed blue mug from one of the kitchens and it's shattered on the ground against the wall to her left, a splash of yellow running down the white wall to a puddle on the floor.
The Alchemist sits on the couch, glaring at the blanket in her lap. With a wave of her hand, the mug reappears, whole and steaming.
"One tablespoon of honey, a quarter teaspoon of turmeric, three drops of milk, and over-steeped chamomile. Mickey's gran's secret recipe. He told me while we walked, searching for closure."
Her words are heavy, brimming with unspoken pain.
"You left the TARDIS door open," she continues, her tone dark, "Rose Marion Tyler didn't want you spending three days alone with your wife of nearly two millennia, thinking it half that, because you wanted to apologize. Can't you see how messed up that is? Imagine how she'll react when she learns about the children."
The Doctor freezes. His heart aches at her words, but he has no response. Instead, he drops to his knees before her, looking up into her tear-streaked face.
"Try it," she says, gesturing to the mug.
He obeys, grimacing as he swallows, "It's..."
"Terrible," she finishes.
"Awful."
"The worst tea I've had in all my counted lives," she concludes, laughing wildly.
The sound is manic, a release of everything she's held in. And just as suddenly, it stops.
"Amara, I'm..." he begins.
"No," she cuts him off, "I remember how it goes. I don't want your apology. You don't see me anymore. You don't even see your companions. You just show off," her tone trembles with anguish, "I can't take this loneliness anymore. Even you forget I exist."
He snaps, his voice raw, "You're all I see! All I've seen for centuries! All I ever needed—and you leftme!"
"I left to save you! To save our children!" she fires back, "And I'll never apologize for that!"
He's done entertaining this fantastical theory of hers.
"They're dead, Amara," the Doctor seethes, "They're gone. Our children are gone."
Her eyes blaze, cold and furious, "They're not."
She opens the mind-link, her memories spilling into him.
And he dives in.
[Gallifrey - The Time War]
He's looking at a list of Deceased reports of their children on a priacomm. Titan is first. Susan. Loki. Semine. Jessamy. Niam. Nightingale.
He's back on the battlefield on Gallifrey then, and he reaches out and grabs a very tall, broad-shouldered man with an extremely familiar pale hand, and they're gone in a flash.
"Titan," the previous Alchemist calls out, and the man turns around, his face shadowed.
"Mum! You're... I was about to be... but you... Forget it, just come here," Titan says in a South London accent, and he's in darkness.
"Titan, I love you, but even with a respiratory bypass system, a Time Lady needs to breathe," she replies, muffled.
He laughs and pulls back, "Sorry, sorry. I just... it's been so long. Longer for you, though. Damn, 232 years? I'm so sorry, Mum. It was Rassilon, right? That's who we saw? He increased your Vortex connection; I can sense it."
"Yes, he... he did some awful things, Titan. He turned The Ten into weapons, but now he has an even more horrific plan in mind. He intends to unravel the Time Vortex. We need to stop him. I came up with a plan with your Grandfather... the Leader. Your father and I are going to use the Moment for something... beyond terrible. We have to sacrifice all of Gallifrey to do it. All of our people but the Time Vortex is letting us live through it.
"I'm not sure if it's worth it or even if I want to but we need to make sure it works, that the universe is safe after. We're at the start of the war again. You have 132 years. This is Alpha Vera's hidden bunker, alright? I need you and the others to devise a way to hide yourselves. I need to get Susan next, but it needs to be the best tech you've ever made. I can't even know about it. You're going to have to block my memories, all of you. If I get caught? You need to be safe. You need to be safe, got it?" she asks, voice firm.
He nods, "I got it, and I'm already working out what to do. This... has to happen; I sense that as well. Go and get my niece, Mum. Go and get everyone. We'll stop that maniac, all of us. Alphavera and Akmespiritus combined, and I'll see you soon."
He jumps back to the battlefield, writes, and sends the report.
'ATTN: LORD WAR DOCTOR
I regret to inform you that LORD TITAN has been noted as M.I.A. as of 029893A8D
Missed but not lost.
ALPHA ONE.'
[The Mickey Smith Rule #100 Room]
The Doctor gasps as the memories fade, his consciousness snapping back to reality. He lunges forward, throwing himself onto his wife. Trembling, he lifts her into his arms, holding her tightly as they collapse onto the couch, narrowly missing the mug of wretched tea.
"Teacher said the return of these memories is a gift for the losses faced... and the pain yet to come," the Alchemist mutters, her voice distant and raw.
"I'm sorry," he chokes out, "I'm so, so sorry."
The Alchemist sighs, the sound heavy with exhaustion and heartbreak. Gently but firmly, she frees herself from his desperate grasp and rises, standing tall before him.
"That's all you ever say these days," she says quietly, her words cutting deeper than any shout, "But 'sorry' doesn't fix everything. It never has. You have to mean it, Theta. And you have to do something about it."
Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, but her resolve doesn't falter. She turns and walks toward the door, pausing only briefly.
"Sometimes," she says over her shoulder, barely above a whisper, "'Memories are the worst form of torture.' And believe me—I would know."
With a soft click, the door closes behind her, leaving the Doctor alone with the echoes of her words and the weight of his spinning thoughts.
[Alchemist's Private Sitting Room]
The Doctor takes a deep breath, steeling himself.
"I want to apologize and explain, and I'm not leaving until you listen," he declares, shutting the door behind him and locking it with a definitive click.
She doesn't look up. Instead, she sits on the sofa, her attention seemingly fixed on an old Gallifreyan storybook, the gold-edged pages glinting faintly in the light.
"Don't," the Alchemist mutters coldly, "I don't need your pathetic excuses anymore."
He scoffs, pacing in frustration, "Oh, are we ready to talk now? Or should I ramble for a few minutes until you feel like contributing?"
"I'm not giving you the silent treatment," she replies sharply, still not looking at him, "I never was. I just... needed to know why."
She flips a page with deliberate calm.
He frowns, his tone softening, "Why what?"
"Just... why?" the Time Lady's voice cracks slightly, "Why everything? Why do you even..."
He interrupts before she can finish, "Not everything needs an explanation. I love you. You and I are One. I don't need to sit down and figure out why—I just know."
"That's not what I meant, and you know it, Theta Sigma," she snaps, finally glancing up at him, "You just don't get it, do you? How many times am I supposed to forgive you? Did you ever forgive me for leaving in the first place?"
Her words hit him like a blow, and the Doctor stumbles, crying, "Of course I did! I forgave you the moment I saw you in battle, the moment you came back to me, the moment I knew it was you. Over and over, I forgave you, and I'll always forgive you!"
"I want to believe you," she says, "I do. But you do this so often. You lie so often. And now, I know it goes beyond what I feel through the bond. I was trained for it—mutilated for it."
"You... you never had a problem with it before," he replies weakly.
"Before isn't now," she says firmly, gripping the book tighter, "Before, you lied to our companions—not to me."
The Time Lord nods slowly, "Then we try to go back to..."
"We can't just erase the past," she cuts in.
"Then we move forward," he pleads, "We keep going. We run together. We work at it. That's what we've always done."
"I'll never be that way again," the Alchemist whispers, "She's gone. I can't even come close to her—or to any of them."
His brow furrows in confusion, "What do you mean?"
"You won't understand because you don't try to understand anymore," she snaps, "What he did... it's ingrained into every body I've had since. Over an entire cycle was like that! Do you honestly think it'll be different now that I can control my body and voice?"
"That's not true, Amara. You're you. You'll always be you," he insists, his voice breaking.
She laughs bitterly, meeting his gaze, "Do you ever mean the things you say, or are they just empty words like your apologies? Because I'm not the same, Theta Sigma. And for the record—neither are you."
The Alchemist is silent for a moment before finally continuing, her voice softer but no less resolute.
"I think I need to stay with Sarah for a while. Sort myself out. See a human therapist. I... I think that might help."
"What? No, no, no," he says, striding closer, panic lacing his voice, "I almost lost you. I'm not losing you again. I can't—I can't do this without you. I forgot our rules! I forgot Susan's rule!"
"I'm not saying this to hurt you," she replies, her gaze steady despite the pain in her voice, "I'm saying we need help. We need help. Not just me."
"We'll do it together," he says, his tone desperate but sincere, "Help you, help me—together. I promise. I truly promise."
She studies him, feeling the truth of his words through the bond, his scent, and the subtle movements of his face. But it isn't enough.
"Then you'd better start treating me—and everyone around you—with respect," the Time Lady says sharply, "Because lately, you've done none of that. All I see is you showing off for an infantile companion whose obsession with you grows by the second."
"I... she, she's not like that anymore!" he protests. "And I don't..."
The Alchemist cuts him off, rolling her eyes, "When don't you show off to her? She's trying to seduce you, and you're blind to it, making her think it's okay to continue!"
His denial comes in a rush, "We talked about it. I know what I did wrong, and I want to fix it! She's just a nineteen-year-old human—I don't see her like that! I can't see her like that. She knows we're Bonded. She knows nothing can separate us!"
The Alchemist's voice rises, her frustration boiling over, "Do you think it's all in my head? That none of this is happening?"
She rises to her feet, letting the book fall to the floor with a soft thud, "Do you think none of it happened? That I wasn't strapped down and cut open? That I didn't feel the agony of my Minalgidi being sliced into?" she scoffs, "My hyper-intense senses tell me otherwise. I can smell it, Theta Sigma—her pheromones spiking every time you give her a moment of personal attention. Whenever you mocked Mickey, she laughed, thinking you're clearing the way for her."
"I'm not making things up," she continues, her voice trembling but firm, "I've been studying human psychology, their mating processes. I see it. It's real, and you're doing nothing to stop it."
"You're not all-knowing just because of the Vortex," the Doctor retorts, panic flickering in his voice.
"I never said I was," she snaps, her hands curling into fists, "I didn't bring the Vortex into this conversation. I couldn't care less about those abilities. I'm saying I'm different! I'm not the same Time Lady I was before the war. He mutilated me. You saw the scans. My mind, my body—they're traumatized, Theta Sigma. And you need to see that."
"You're not some creation," he cries in desperation, "He didn't care about you—he just wanted to use you to..."
"Stop!" she interrupts, cracking under the weight of her anguish, "Just stop! Don't make me remember what he called me."
Her hands fly to her neck, scratching at the nape in a frantic, self-soothing motion. Without hesitation, he steps forward, gently grasping her arms and pulling her hands away. His eyes search hers, tears brimming.
His words come in Old High Gallifreyan, each one laced with conviction.
"Listen to me," the Time Lord says softly, his voice steady despite the storm in his chest, "You are none of that. You were made for me, and I was made for you. You are no monster. You are my Other Half, my wings, the one who makes me whole. The brightest star in my universe. And you will never, never be a weapon."
Her breathing steadies, but the tears don't stop.
"The others were," she whispers, "That's what he wanted, and that's enough. Just because I could break the programming doesn't mean he didn't try. He took everything—everything he could. I'm always there, Theta Sigma. In my thoughts, my dreams, my waking reality. The scars may have disappeared with that first Regeneration, but I never truly left the war."
She looks into his eyes imploringly, "I need you to help me heal. As my Bondmate and husband, you should need me, too. Don't you get that?"
His response comes not in words but through the bond—a gentle, reassuring caress of love, calm, and strength. She feels it washing over her, soothing the jagged edges of her pain. Beneath it all, she senses his terror. He's petrified.
"I'm... I'm not leaving," she murmurs, her voice softer now, "I should never have said that. It was cruel of me. But I need help... there's so much wrong with me now."
The Doctor nods, his hands trembling slightly as he wipes her tears away with his thumbs, "Are we okay?"
"I'm not, and you're not," she admits, heavy with exhaustion, "But weare, yes."
He swallows hard, "You're not?"
She pushes his hands away gently, wiping her tears with the heels of her palms, "No, I'm not. And neither are you. I'm done pretending otherwise. Jack was right—we're grieving. The intrusive thoughts might be gone, but I'm still... messed up. From everything I saw. From everything I lived. I don't know when it'll get better, but I know we need to work on ourselves. Together."
The Doctor pulls her close, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist as though anchoring them both.
"I was so scared," the Alchemist mutters against his shoulder, shuddering, "You just... you forgot all of them. Every rule."
"I did," he admits quietly, leading them to sit on the sofa, "But I needed you to remind me. For what it's worth, I really am sorry."
"For what it's worth," the Alchemist replies, leaning into him, "I still don't know who I am in this body. And that's not your fault."
They sit silently for a long moment before she shifts, laying across his lap, "You told her three days. Can we make it two weeks? For us?"
The Doctor hums softly, fingers carding through her hair, "I don't see why not."
"Bondmas is in eight days," she reminds him.
"We haven't celebrated since before the war," he says hesitantly, "It'll... it'll just be us."
"They're out there," she whispers, her eyes half-closed.
"They're out there," he echoes, a faint smile touching his lips.
"We'll get a place just for us," she murmurs, "We don't use the cabin until we find them."
"What do you have in mind?" the Time Lord asks.
"A greenhouse," she replies, "Made with finito glass to protect us from the cold. It won't shatter either."
He smiles faintly, "We'd get a great view of the aurora borealis that way."
"And when we find them..." she begins.
"We'll have a real Bondmas. With everyone," he finishes softly.