#composing my emails aloud

[womaninwinter]

working in the office really brings home how many annoying habits I've developed while working from home

[redroomreflections]

Gentle Hands Chapter Nine

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha suspects Reader is in an abusive relationship and tries to convince her to leave

9/10

W/c: 4.3k

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Warning: Domestic violence

Note: so close to the finish line

Mornings are anything but peaceful these days, a far cry from the calm you crave. You can’t help but question your decision to do this on your own. If anyone walked in right now, they’d probably wonder the same thing. Kaia, half-dressed and clinging to your leg, whines for attention as you try to focus on an important email about your financial aid, your heart racing with every word.

“Action required,” You read to yourself. With a smack of your lips, you pull Kaia into your arms, adjusting her on your hip, as you try not to let your frustration show. “Mama’s sorry, Kai. I know you want to hang out with me but we have a lot to do today.” You talk to her knowing it won’t help the cries coming from her. They’re dangerously close to your ear and you’re sure you’ll be hard of hearing by lunch. The smell of burnt toast mixed with the sound of Kaia’s wails filled the room as you fumbled with the stove, your phone slipping from your grasp and shattering on the kitchen floor. "Oh, fuck me." You sigh as you bend down to inspect the shattered screen. You could swear you heard the crunch of glass under your slipper, causing a shiver to run up your spine.

The toaster dings, startling both of you. You look up to the ceiling, mumbling something about a higher power as you try to compose yourself. You walk Kaia over to the highchair, placing her inside of it despite her hating the thing, and walk over to pick up the shattered pieces of glass. You hadn't even known such a thing could happen for a supposedly durable phone.

Kaia lets out a shriek and you're not sure how you don't go deaf. You look at her and she's staring back at you with big brown eyes, tears threatening to fall. A part of you feels bad that she has to sit and watch while you clean up and cook, but you need a few seconds to catch your bearings. You seem to be going a little too fast, as a shard of glass nicks you and you curse to yourself. You have to do so many things at once it's a little jarring. You quickly reach for the outlet and unplug the toaster. You turn off the stove, rejoicing in the fact that your scrambled eggs will only be a little dry. You rush over to the sink to rinse your bleeding hand. You can hear Kaia begin to whimper and you groan to yourself.

"Mama's coming, baby. Hold on." You call over to her. "I have to clean up this glass before I'm able to let you walk around."

Your chest is tight and you feel like a terrible mom, unable to provide comfort. Kaia voices her frustration with an even louder shriek. You sigh. What a mess.

"Miss, it seems your heart rate is elevated," JARVIS, Tony's omniscient AI thing reads aloud to you. "Do you request the services of Ms. Romanoff or Mr. Rogers?"

"What? No, no I don't," You speak into the air. It's the third time JARVIS has asked this week and it still takes you by surprise. He only listens to you half the time and this isn't one of them. You're unsure of the settings on this thing but you'd like to change them.

"As you wish, Miss. Please keep me informed if you need assistance."

You scoff and mumble, "You're not my therapist."

You hear a door shut and you know exactly who's behind you. You thought you told JARVIS not to ask her to come.

"JARVIS told me you need some help," Natasha says, her voice quiet and comforting.

You sigh, "I told him not to tell you."

"You know he's not really a good listener." She shrugs.

You don't say anything back to her.

"Why did you tell him not to tell me?" She asks.

"Because I can handle this myself."

"I know you can," Natasha says carefully. She assesses the situation with a quickness before starting out with the obvious. Kaia raises her arms to be held and Natasha obliges. "Are you sure you don't want help, though?"

You let out a long exhale.

"No. I'm just overwhelmed," You confess. "I have to get over to my school for orientation. All of the classes may be online but it's in person for whatever reason."

"Understandable. Do you need me to stay and help?"

You want to say no. You want to tell her you can do it all on your own. When you look over and see Kaia resting her head tiredly on Natasha's shoulder you know better. You've only been at the tower for a few months and you're already noticing the subtle differences in your baby. She's finding comfort in someone else. She trusts another adult to take care of her.

"I'd appreciate that," You nod, smiling lightly.

"It's no problem, Y/N."

You watch as Natasha places a kiss on Kaia's cheek and she smiles.

"Are you giving your Mama a hard time?" Natasha coos to the toddler. Kaia looks back at her with the biggest tears in her eyes and the cutest pout. "I'm sorry, baby. Let's give Mama a break, okay? She's going through a lot right now."

You're thankful for Natasha's presence, though you'd never admit it out loud.

With Kaia settled you can give yourself a few minutes. You need to find a bandage and a new shirt that isn't filled with baby tears and snot.

"Go," Natasha urges you softly. How was it she's always been able to read your mind?

With a silent nod, you rush off to your bedroom and into the ensuite bathroom. There are baby toys along the floor that you maneuver around. You kneel, reaching inside the cabinet for the first aid kit, before finding a small bandage. it's not a huge cut but it needs attention. As soon as you've put on the bandage, your phone begins to ring. It's the alarm reminding you to get a move on. Your heart races again and the room suddenly feels too small. You rip your shirt over your head and toss it onto the floor.

Being so messy isn't in your nature but lately, it's been a sort of power move. Keith hated it when you'd left anything on the floor. He'd berate you and nag about all of the things he disliked about the smallest things. You remember leaving your shoes in the hallway one night, just needing to rest your feet. When you woke the next morning, to see he'd thrown them in the trash you had been devastated. You had to wash them twice to get the smell of leftover tomato juice and onions out of it. You shake your head. You don't want to think about him.

The sound of Kaia babbling brought you back to reality. You had to get a grip. You sift through your dresser drawer to find a simple shirt. You chose a business casual striped button-up. You stood closer to the full-length mirror to get a look at the entire outfit together. You tried not to notice the weight gain. You're carrying a baby it's supposed to happen. You're supposed to be happy about the tiny swell of your belly. You are. That doesn't mean all of this doesn't still make you nervous. Another baby. This new life you have. You caress your belly, turning to the side to inspect yourself.

"You look great," Natasha’s voice cuts through the haze of your thoughts, grounding you before the negativity can take root. You hadn’t even noticed her slip into the room, her presence as subtle as ever.

You turn to meet her gaze, feeling exposed, not just because you're standing there in nothing but a bra and pants, but because of the way her eyes linger on you—steady, reassuring, and warm. A flicker of vulnerability passes through you, the thought of someone seeing you like this, both physically and emotionally, is unnerving. Yet, Natasha’s presence doesn’t add to your discomfort; instead, it’s oddly comforting.

“Sorry, it got quiet in here, and I wanted to check on you,” Natasha apologizes, her tone gentle, almost hesitant, as if she knows this moment holds more weight than a casual check-in.

“He’s growing,” you murmur, almost to yourself, placing a hand on your stomach. “I’ve noticed a bump.” The words hang in the air, a mix of awe and anxiety. There’s a new life inside you, and with it, a whole new world of responsibilities and uncertainties.

Natasha steps closer, her eyes never leaving you, her expression softening into something that feels like admiration. “You look wonderful,” she says, and the sincerity in her voice makes your chest tighten, a wave of emotion swelling within you. It’s been so long since someone has made you feel this seen, this accepted.

An impulse strikes you, and you’re surprised by your desire to share this moment. “Do you want to feel? I mean, it’s too early to start kicking…” you shrug, feeling a bit awkward, not entirely sure why you’re offering. But there’s a part of you that craves connection, that wants to share this journey, and in this moment, Natasha feels like the only person you can trust with it.

Natasha nods, her lips curving into a soft smile, her eyes alight with a childlike excitement that warms your heart. You find yourself smiling back, a lightness filling you as you gently place her hand on your stomach.

"I was smaller with Kaia," You muse aloud and her eyes travel to yours. "I didn't start to really show until the end of my second trimester. I guess this little person is eager."

"You're amazing," Natasha says and you blush. "I don't think I could ever do something like this."

You chuckle, "That's not true. Everyone's different."

"I was made for other purposes," She admits, her tone laced with a hint of sadness. She allows her hand to drop to her side.

"I'm sorry," You frown. "I didn't mean for this to-"

"No, it's okay." Natasha interrupts. She shakes her head, and when her eyes meet yours, the sadness is gone, replaced with a hint of humor. "Besides, I don't think I'd be any good at being a parent anyway."

"I don't think that's true," You reply. "Kaia loves you. I mean she's taken to you and you guys barely know each other."

"Kaia's a sweet girl."

Speaking of Kaia, you wonder why it's so quiet.

"I gave her a plushie to play with," Natasha answers. "I figured you'd want to eat breakfast with her."

"Yeah," You smile. "I'll just put this on." You raise the shirt in your hands and Natasha nods.

"I'll leave you to it. I'll make her a plate. Take your time."

You watch her leave the room and exhale, feeling your body relax. She's right. You do need to take a breather. You button the shirt with efficiency before heading back to the kitchen. Natasha has pulled Kaia's high chair to the breakfast table. She's also managed to cut up some fruit which the toddler is happily munching on.

She's already got your food on a plate, waiting for you. It's just a slice of toast with bacon and fruit, but you can't deny that your mouth waters at the sight.

"Thank you, Nat," You say again, feeling slightly guilty.

"No worries," Natasha smiles. "How did you make the eggs? I thought they triggered your morning sickness."

"While holding my breath." You joke. "Kaia likes them so I make them for her."

"You're a good mom." Natasha hums.

"Thank you," You reply. "It's not always easy."

"Mama," Kaia begins. "Up!" She holds her arms out, waiting for you to hold her.

"Hi, sweetheart. Thank you for being so patient with Mama." You say as you pull her out of the highchair and into your arms.

Kaia gives you a toothy grin, a piece of mango on her bottom lip.

"Oh, baby," You wipe the mess from her mouth and kiss her on the forehead. "I'm going to miss her while I'm at work."

"Steve or Darcy watching her?"

"Darcy," You answer. "They get along. I think she's the best choice."

"Darcy's a good one. Steve, too."

"I'm sure," You agree. "But I'll be right downstairs so it should be fine."

"Are you nervous about going back to work and school?" Natasha asks you.

"It's a bit scary. I know I'm doing the right thing, though."

"If it gets too much, you can always stop," Natasha says, her voice gentle, but the concern in her eyes is clear. "Or I can keep Kaia some days too."

"You guys are too nice to me," You say, a small uncertain smile tugging at your lips. "I know how busy all of you are. You're Avengers that can't be such a promising schedule."

"You're family, Y/N." Natasha insists. "It's no problem. And, as much as we love our jobs, we love her more."

“Thank you,” you murmur, looking down at Kaia, who’s now playing with a toy in your lap.

But even as the words leave your mouth, a pang of doubt tugs at your heart. You know you’re grateful, but a part of you struggles to accept that you’re worthy of all this kindness. They’re Avengers—heroes who save the world—and yet here they are, bending over backward to help you, someone who feels so… small in comparison.

You swallow the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to meet Natasha’s gaze. “Really, thank you. I just… sometimes I don’t feel like I deserve all this, you know? You all have so much to deal with already.”

“You do deserve it, Y/N. Don’t ever doubt that. We care about you, and we want to help.”

The sincerity in her voice wraps around you like a warm blanket, and though the doubts still linger, you allow yourself to accept her words, even if just for a moment.

************

*****************

Standing in the crowded financial aid office, waiting in line to plead your case, you can’t help but second-guess yourself, even though Stark has already given you a pay raise and bumped up your salary, your mind still convinces you that you won't be able to pay the bill. You're not used to such generosity, it's not something you're accustomed to, and it's difficult for you to grasp. It's even more difficult when the line moves slowly. There's a little less than ten minutes before you're called to the front and you can feel your palms begin to sweat.

"Hello, I'm y/n y/l/n, I'm here to fix a few things with my financial aid package," You inform the receptionist. "I received an email today about still owing."

The woman at the desk is young, probably fresh out of college herself, with a tired but kind look in her eyes. She gives you a sympathetic smile as she clicks around on her computer, searching for your information.

"Your file seems to have a mistake," The young lady explains. "Your scholarship isn't paying off for another semester, though it looks like your bill has been paid already."

"What? When?" You stretch to see her computer screen as she turns it around for you. "I was looking to do a payment plan but if it's gone."

"Someone has paid it in full. Do you have an idea of who could have done it?"

"No," You reply, baffled. Your mind immediately jumps to Natasha. It seems like something she would do, quietly taking care of things behind the scenes, always looking out for you in ways you never expect. But this feels different. Natasha isn’t one to step in without at least consulting with you first—respecting your independence, and knowing how much you’re trying to reclaim it. It doesn’t quite fit her style to make such a significant gesture without a conversation.

"Well, I'd consider it your lucky day," She smiles gently at you.

"Thank you," You mumble, still a little dazed.As you gather your thoughts, you wonder if it could have been Stark—he’s known for his grand gestures and might see this as a way to ease your burdens. But even that feels off. You can't shake the unease, the nagging feeling that someone has stepped in to help without asking, leaving you both grateful and unsettled.

"Is there anything else we can do for you today?"

"No. Thanks."

With that, you're sent on your way, thoughts swirling as you leave the office, the mystery of your benefactor lingering in the back of your mind.

*************

Your first day back at the office is nothing short of stressful. You feel incredibly out of place after not being at work for so long. There are two other receptionists for the front desk of Stark Tower and they've always had more experience than you. Now, however, it's the complete opposite.

You'd been in charge of the scheduling of everyone on the lower levels. It wasn't the most glamorous of jobs but it did help with the day-to-day.

"Ms. Y/L/N," A familiar voice calls. You look up and see your former supervisor.

"Hey, Miss Johnson. It's good to see you," You greet her.

"It's great to have you back."

"Thank you. I wasn't sure if I would come back or not."

"Well, I'm happy you decided to. How's your daughter?"

"She's growing. She's got a personality now."

Miss Johnson laughs. "I'm sure. Kids grow up so fast."

"They do," You agree.

"I've gotta get back to it," She says. "Feel free to stop by my office if you need anything."

"Thank you, I will." You say. That's about the only real interaction you get for the next forty minutes. People stop by only needing you to be directed to th other areas of the tower where the public is permitted. It's not bad, though. It's stable and easy. The first thing in your life you're able to do with ease you think. You'd just finished sending off a memo for one of the R&D developers when there's a clearing of a throat in front of you.

You look up and you smile.

Steve.

"Hi," You greet him. It's been a few days since you've seen your friend. He's been away on a mission in some random country.

"Hey, stranger," Steve grins. "It's good to see you."

"Good to be seen," You tease.

"So, this is your new spot, huh?"

"Yup," You say. "Just a few feet away from my old one." You joke.

"How's it been?"

"Easy," You tell him. "People are nice."

"Well, that's a given," Steve points out. "How is Kaia?"

"She's good," You smile, your heart swelling with pride. "She's with Darcy for the day. It's taken everything in me not to check on her."

"That's understandable," Steve chuckles. "She's a sweetheart. Have you eaten lunch yet?" He offers.

"I have," You raise a container filled with leftover pasta. "Though I could use a couple minutes to stretch my legs."

"Then let's go," Steve smiles.

"That's probably a good idea."

Steve waits for you to grab your jacket and you both head for the top-secret entrance and exit. There's probably a fancy name for it but that's what you call it. It's a given the Avengers would need their own space like this considering how much the public is usually crowded around the main doors.

"So, how was your mission?" You ask as you're riding the elevator down.

"Successful," Steve answers. "We had a lead and it was a solid one. It was just a matter of getting there in time."

"I hope that's good then," You nod.

"It is," Steve reassures. "Things are calming down."

"Good," You say, relieved.

The elevator reaches the ground floor and you follow Steve outside.

"How's the uh, the baby," Steve asks awkwardly.

You chuckle, "It's not contagious, Steve."

"No, I know," Steve sighs, blushing a little. "I just wasn't sure if you'd be comfortable talking about it or not."

"It's fine," You shrug. "The baby is fine. I think."

"Think?" Steve looks over at you, his expression concerned.

"No, not like that," You laugh. "From what I know the baby is fine and developing as he should be."

"That's good," Steve exhales. "I'm glad."

"You're not the only one," You walk so close you bump shoulders with him. "You're a good guy, Steve."

"I'm just me," Steve shrugs.

"And you're a great friend."

"I'd like to think I'm a good one," He admits.

"When are you going to settle down and marry or something?"

"Or something?" Steve laughs. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know, maybe find a girlfriend."

"I don't think it's for me," Steve shakes his head. You remember the story he told you about Peggy, the love of his life from a time long gone. It wasn’t just any love story—it was the kind of deep, unyielding bond that seemed to transcend time itself. Steve had spoken about her with a quiet reverence, his voice filled with both warmth and lingering sorrow. Peggy was the one who got away, the one he could never forget, and in a way, it felt like no one else could ever compare. For Steve, moving on wasn’t as simple as finding someone new. His heart had been spoken for long ago, and even though he’d found his way into a new world, that part of him remained in the past, with her.

And maybe, you think, that’s why he’s content to just be a good friend, the steadfast, loyal companion—because he’s already given the best parts of himself to someone he can never truly be with.

"What about you?" Steve asks. "Do you think you'll ever love again? You know after Keith."

"I don't think I'm ready," You admit.

"No?"

"I'm not," You frown. "My heart doesn't want to try. There's nothing left."

"I understand," Steve nods.

"It's hard to think about you know," You stop walking to gather your thoughts. "I was with him since I was eighteen years old. The past six years have been so interesting. I was in an abusive relationship that took everything from me. How am I supposed to trust someone else after that?"

"It'll take time," Steve offers.

"I wish it was easier," You admit. "I wish I could turn off that part of myself that cares."

"Yeah," Steve agrees. "Sometimes it's hard."

"But if I were to ever start dating I know what I want," You say with such conviction it has Steve raising a brow.

"Oh, really? And what's that?"

"To be treated like a queen," You joke.

"Well, anyone would be a fool not to treat you that way."

"I'm glad you think so," You nod. "In all seriousness, I want someone kind. Honest. Not only with me but with themselves. Someone who isn't fond of knocking me around is a good deal too. It's all bare minimum."

"That's not the bare minimum, Y/N," Steve's brows furrow together, a slight frown on his face. "You deserve the world. All the best things."

"Yeah," You scoff, your heart heavy with the knowledge that you haven't received such things before.

"And you deserve the truth," Steve says, his voice softening.

"What truth?"

"That you are worthy of love," Steve continues. "You deserve the best things because you are the best things."

"If I didn't know any better I'd say you were trying to propose to me yourself," You joke, trying to lighten the mood, but the words feel hollow, even to you. The compliment hangs in the air, heavy and uncomfortable, wrapping around you like an ill-fitting coat.

It’s not that you don’t appreciate Steve’s kindness—it’s just that you’ve never been one to accept compliments easily, especially not ones that cut this close to the bone. The idea that you could be deserving of love, of the best things in life, feels so foreign, so out of reach. The wounds from your past still linger, making it hard to believe anything good about yourself, let alone something so profound. Steve’s words, however well-intentioned, only serve to highlight how far you feel from the person he’s describing.

You shift uncomfortably, forcing a smile, but inside, a small part of you recoils, unsure how to reconcile the person you see in the mirror with the one Steve sees standing before him. It’s going to take time—more time than you want to admit—before you can even begin to believe any of it.

"Come on," Steve nudges your shoulder, offering you a warm smile. "Let's get you back to the tower."

You give him a grateful nod and walk beside him in silence, the weight of his words still heavy on your mind.

"Have a good rest of the day, Y/N," Steve says as he drops you off. You stand on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to hug him. Truly hug him.

As you hold him close, a warmth spreads through you, a comfort you haven’t felt in a long time. It’s not just the embrace—the realization that you have people in your corner, friends who genuinely care. For so long, you’ve been used to fighting your battles alone, to keeping your guard up, always expecting the worst. But here, in this simple hug, you feel the weight of that loneliness lift, if only a little.

It feels like you’re finally starting to understand what it means to have a support system and people who stand by you, not out of obligation but out of genuine care. It’s a feeling you’re still getting used to, but it also fills you with a quiet sense of gratitude. For the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re not just surviving—you’re being seen, valued, and cared for. And that, more than anything, makes you feel like you’re truly healing.

---> next part

[kairiscorner]

ok but like it's canon in the comics that miguel's not as good at tech compared to biology. so imagine...

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

lyla was apparently resetting herself and would be unresponsive for a few hours, but it seemed he had no choice. coming from the future, he has little clue about how technology in the 20th century was supposed to work, but luckily, you were a natural at using 20th century technology! unluckily, miguel was too prideful to ask you for any help. the rest of the society had decided to resort to cell phones to contact each other for the time being, though it wasn't as great as the watches, it was at least useful for something. however, only one person remained to be clueless about these cell phones, and ironically, it's the guy from the future, miguel o'hara himself.

he had asked jess and peter b how to use a phone, but they, unsurprisingly, only know how to use it when someone calls--they don't even know how to facetime properly. he asked ben to help him since he classified as 'part of the youth', but his explanation was full of onomatopoeias and edgy narrating that miguel was totally lost. you approached miguel as he was practically snarling at his phone's screen, not being used to calling an AI assistant who wasn't lyla to fetch him information on the anomalies you all were monitoring, but the only search results siri gave him were the definition of anomaly and earth-1218 search results from fan pages.

"hey mig." you greeted him as miguel sighed and tried to compose himself. "how are you holding up?" you asked him, knowing full well he was losing his mind over the countless notifications he was getting from his chats from peter b that were all just pictures of mayday and his keyboard mashing over how cute his daughter was. "i'm barely holding on, to be honest." he said as he forcefully scrolled on the screen, which ended up in it being scuffed and scratched on by his talons.

"puta." he muttered as he looked at the now scratched screen. you took the phone from his hands and asked him what he was going to do, with him explaining he just wanted to dismiss the incessant notifications from peter b. you set his phone on a 'do not disturb' mode and shut off his notifications from peter b in an instant. "that's all you have to do, really." you explained as you handed the phone back to him, with his eyes following yours as you smiled up at him. "ah, thank you." he said as he took his reading glasses and tried to read a text that came his way. "congratulations, you have won a 100,000 dollars. email this contact to claim your reward... but i didn't do anything?" he remarked aloud, confused. "oh, that's spam. just ignore it, delete i--" he was calling the fucking number.

"hello? yeah, i didn't play any game. you texted me about a prize i didn't win, i think you have the wrong number. ...what do you mean i have to email you? just forward the message to the right individual. ...no, i'm not gonna email you, we're talking right now! look, i don't even want your prize, i make more than six figures a month. ...what do you mean you need my credit card information? hijo de puta, i'm not the guy you're looking for!" miguel screamed into the phone as he spoke to the scammer. you wanted to tell him to drop the call, but seeing him scare the scammer had made you want to watch this unfold. he was screaming curse words in spanish and repeating how he doesn't need any prizes from these hacks.

"on second thought, always call the number." you murmured to him as he angrily put the phone down. "shocking idiots, is the 20th century full of guys who can't double check numbers and force you to email them when you're already talking to them over the phone?" he asked you as you nodded slowly with a slight grin. miguel shook his head as he checked the progress on lyla's update. "17 more hours of this madness." he groaned as he buried his face in his palms. "well, you can always go on... i don't know, tiktok?" "no. we're stuck on earth 1218's internet, i've been warned by peter b it's a scary place i should never visit." "i wonder why..." you muttered as you avoided his gaze and smirked.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @fiannee @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @arachnoia @melovetitties @ophanimgold

[emptymanuscript]

A New Polyrhythm Experiment Called "Hammer Waves": Relaxing And Calming Ambient Music by Lucid Rhythms

Well... this may oddly be the “relax” to sounds / music that has worked the best for me in ages.

I put this on in the background while I read last night and it was very nice. I actually DID relax to it, which I almost never do. Trying to relax is usually a sure method of INCREASING my discomfort and anxiety.

...I wonder if it is partially because it is discordant and uncomfortable at first. Like it is feeding into the on edge feeling to better affect it or something like that. 

Dunno. 

But I am going to have to keep track of it better than average somehow. Maybe look into more whatever this exactly is... polyrhythm... if that actually means anything. Or whatever. At least check out more of the composer's stuff.

Also gotta figure out how to read with a cpap on and all lights off so I can drift off instead of having to time it for I am exactly tired enough to be able to both get ready for sleep now AND go immediately to sleep but that's a whole different ballgame XD. I feel like it would be a lot easier if they hadn't nerfed the read aloud functions.

Though, I suppose, with the coming onslaught of AI, there really is barely anything at this point stopping someone from making a reader bot. No audiobook, pffft, I don't need your audiobook, I have a robot that will read me anything.

Speaking of all that and relaxing... I may be going into more of this than I need to just to avoid looking at my email. Avoidant? Me? Couldn't be...

[casspurrjoybell-31]

The Consort - Chapter 2 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Finn

Professor Adams pulls me aside after class.

The last few students trickle out, talking amongst themselves with tired, Monday expressions.

If it was a normal Monday, I might be doing the same thing.

But nothing about today is normal.

Not a damn thing.

He turns towards me when we're finally alone and frowns with concern.

Then his gaze flickers to the door and he walks over to shut it before speaking.

He's not ashamed of the fact that he's gay but the most sought after professor sleeping with one of his students isn't exactly something that can be shouted from the rooftops.

"I didn't hear from you," he whispers.

"How did it go?"

He leans against his desk and nods.

A handsome bit of stubble runs along the edge of his jaw.

His dark hair is brushed to the side and his blue eyes study me with a gentle kindness.

It's no wonder Fiona always jokes with Kelly that she'd be willing to leave him for Professor Adams.

He's a male unicorn, angelically beautiful with a personality that keeps you wanting more.

I approach the desk and sit beside him.

My frayed jeans look out of place next to his blue dress pants but he doesn't seem to notice.

Instead he reaches over and rests his hand on my knee, giving it an encouraging squeeze.

"It didn't go," I explain.

"We met at some place in the woods. He walked in, walked out and that was it."

"He didn't feed?"

"Nope."

I pop the 'p.'

It's a trait I picked up from Fiona over the years, over enunciating some consonants to show my irritation about the subject matter.

I decide against mentioning the most recent emails exchanged between Bray and I. 

As understanding as Leo is, this might push his buttons.

He's a history professor and much of what he teaches allows him to speak on the mistreatment of humans over the decades from our vampire predecessors.

Leo removes his hand from my knee.

His soft touch caresses the inside of my wrists, validating my words for himself.

His gentle touch sends a shiver down my spine.

The development between Leo and I is still pretty new.

We've only fucked twice and each time has been in his office.

Hot, I know but not exactly a recipe for an ideal relationship.

At least he gave me his number the last time I left his office with my asshole pulsing with pleasure.

We've only texted a handful of times over the weekend but hey.

It's progress, right?

"I'd like to tell you congratulations," Professor Adams mutters under his breath.

"But those blood-sucking leeches can't live without us."

"I dunno. He seemed pretty disinterested."

Leo raises a brow.

"He?"

"Yeah. Brayden."

When I say his name aloud, I can feel my cheeks flush.

Saying it aloud makes it feel more real.

Leo stands from the desk and comes to stand in front of me.

"Not many consorts know their vampires by name."

I want to tell Professor Adams that it doesn't matter, Brayden will be finding a new consort soon, anyway.

But I just shrug and try to get off the subject matter.

If Leo is getting this worked up over my first meeting with Brayden, he'd have a heyday if he read the emails.

"Can we maybe talk about something else?"

Leo's eyes are lit with a passion I've seen many times before during his lectures.

He wants to dive into an hour long anti-vampire speech and I just don't want to hear it.

He closes his mouth and his jaw flexes while he composes his features.

After a moment the look fades away.

In its place a lustful hunger begins to form.

I stand from the desk, my groin already twitching in anticipation.

"Agreed," Leo says.

"We should be making better use of our time together."

I smirk.

"What'd you have in mind?"

He opens his arms to me and I readily walk into them.

His hold tightens around me and my breath gets caught in my throat.

Leo drops his lips to my ear, his stubble rubbing against my cheek.

"Why tell you?" he whispers.

"When I could show you?"

[astro-lekha]

Hanuman Chalisa Chanting Benefits || AstroLekha

Chanting (reading or reciting) the Hanuman Chalisa is thought to invoke Shri Hanuman Ji's supernatural intervention to allay fear and resolve major issues in daily, material, and spiritual life. If you have more time, you can also recite the Hanuman Chalisa 108 times, which, if done faithfully and with mental purity, is claimed to have rapid results.

The advantages of the Hanuman Chalisa are numerous, regardless of whether you chant it once, seven times, eleven times, 100 times, or 108 times. The following are just a few, drawn from my own life experiences thus far.

gain physical and mental fortitude

Become wise and intelligent

increases your understanding

Gain self-assurance and respect

protects you from significant, life-threatening issues

gives you bhakti, which increases your devotion to God

will help you in a time of financial need

will fix any problems with personal or professional relationships.

provides you with comfort

offers health and well-being

Increase your physical activity Increase your capacity for compassion and service

makes you a better person by enabling you to experience unconditional love

It is best to read or recite the Hanuman Chalisa in the early mornings and late evenings, particularly before or during sunrise and during or after sunset. Like I do, you can also say it aloud as you drive to work each day or just before bed.

As long as your heart is full of dedication, your mind is pure, and you maintained good hygiene during the period of chanting, reading, or reciting, we think it doesn't really matter. Hanuman Chalisa's advantages EACH AND EVERYONE!  Download the Shri Hanuman Chalisa PDF (Hindi & English) Lyrics e-book

Author of the Hanuman Chalisa

The Hanuman Chalisa's complete lyrics were first composed in the 16th century by Sant Goswami Tulsidas in the Awadhi language (an Eastern Hindi dialect associated with the ancient city of Ayodhya, the birthplace of Lord Rama).

It exemplifies the virtues of Shri Hanuman Ji, including his unwavering love and devotion to Lord Rama and his immeasurable power, courage, knowledge, and wisdom.

To reach us out in offline mode do not forget to visit

Astro Lekha

G-36, G-Block, Outer Circle, Connaught Place, Delhi, 110001, India

Email:  contact@astrolekha.com

Visit Our Website- https://astrolekha.com/

[someone-else-entirely]

I DID IT I DONE DID IT IT’S A HAPPEN I SUBMITTED MY SONG AAAAAAAAAAAAA

[miekasa]

random armin/mikasa/jean headcanons (college au)

↯ pairing: armin x (fem) reader, mikasa x (fem) reader, jean x (fem) reader

↯ genres and warnings: college au, fluff, lets see how many times i can mention eren in writing that has absolutely nothing to do with him

↯ notes: this.... probably won’t be a regular thing, i don’t know that i can consistently continue writing for them, but this sure was fun and reminded me that i actually have feelings for someone other than levi :// didn’t ask for that, but here we are

ARMIN ARLERT

Would most likely get pretty good grades, but he can definitely be lazy about it and hear me out.

If it’s a class that he likes and is genuinely interested in (which is the majority of them), he’s going to put in the work—sometimes too much work—to make sure he’s doing well. He usually studies very meticulously, and stays on top of his game throughout the semester.

But if it’s one of those bs classes the university makes you take, or some kind of stupid elective that was the only course that could fit into his schedule? Well, Armin is smart enough to bullshit his way through anything, so he’s not going to exert himself for a class he doesn’t even care about. 

Oh, and he’s very vocal about complaining to you about said bullshit courses. (Completely justified, go off king).

“I swear sometimes the TA just lowers marks randomly to ‘keep the class average.’ Granted, I didn’t really study for the quiz, so I wasn’t expecting a stellar grade or anything, but I know they do that sometimes.” “Well, babe, why didn’t you study.” “Because I hate it, (Y/N).”

Like I said, takes school seriously and tries his best; but even he knows he doesn’t have to be at 100% all the time. It’s also kind of a flex how smart he is and how much he can get by on doing the absolute bare minimum.

Poor Connie is studying his ass off for their shared elective and Armin barely looked at the first page of the textbook, and he’ll probably get a 90 anyways.

Imagine he’s so caught up with his other classes, he actually forgets about a midterm for his stupid elective, and at first he’s freaking out, so you kind of have to remind him of who tf he is. You finally get him to relax and he blinks at you, “Oh right, I didn’t study because I didn’t have to haha nice.” 

Helps you prepare for presentations by letting you practice them in front of him. Actually gives good feedback, but sometimes he’s just watching you and not really listening.

Sometimes, you have to be the one to remind him to take a step back and take care of himself, before his schoolwork. He doesn’t like to worry you, and likely feels guilty when he sees you walking up to him in the library at 2am; so he won’t fight you on it, and just lets you help him pack up all his stuff and head home for the day.

Likes head massages. Maybe sometimes has faked a little bit of a headache to get you to massage his head and play with his hair. He’ll never tell.

If you rub his cheek while he’s laying on top of you, he will knock out like a baby. Almost immediately. It’s a surefire way to get him to go to sleep.

Schedules dates with you, and plans them out meticulously. Sometimes gets playful and sends you a whole ass e-vite.

“Armin, why do I have an email invitation for our date to the library?” “So that you don’t forget, of course.” “How could I forget, it’s later today, and you’re literally helping me study for my midterm.” “With popcorn!”

Probably the type to get a job on campus. You and your friends come to visit him when he’s on shift and annoy him. He secretly likes it.

Oh, he’s kind of shady. Scratch that, can be very shady. He complains about school to you, but also just complains to you in general; he doesn’t outwardly do that a lot, but you’re his confidant.

Sometimes you get surprised and call him out on it and you’re like “Oh my god, Armin, the poor girl didn’t mean to mess up the project,” and he’s like “Well. Sometimes people are idiots and it has to be said.”

Has a bad habit of rolling his eyes and he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. “Did you just roll your eyes at me.” “I don’t know, did I?” Bye.

His hands are always covered in some kind of ink/markings. Accidental brushes of his pens, streaks from his highlighters or markers, a little bit of lead from his pencil along the side of his palm.

Speaking of which, he strikes me as the kind of guy to keep a bullet journal. Not necessarily decked out and fancy with Polaroids and extravagant fonts; but definitely neat, and decorated to some extent, depending on how he’s feeling. It makes him feel organized.

He would pencil in important dates and markers of your relationship into said journal. “Friday night: museum date—remember to buy the tickets in advance.”

If anyone is going to buy, wash, peel, and cut up fruit for you, it’s going to be Armin.

Lowkey tutoring all of his friends, and might be the sole reason that Connie hasn’t dropped out yet. He likes tutoring you the most, though. 

Get this, sometimes he asks you to tutor him, even if he knows damn well he doesn’t need it. Maybe he’ll even sign up for a stupid elective if it’s a class you’ve taken before, just to have an excuse to get you to teach him something. 

Likes trying new things with you. He might not always like the new things that you try, but he’s open to trying them at least once. Well… most things anyways. Just don’t ask him to get up at dawn and go jogging with you.

I genuinely cannot tell if he would be a morning person or not. Maybe mid-morning. Probably not a rise-and-shine at 6am kind of guy, but is up by at least 10:00am every day. Very cute when he’s groggy though, and stumbles around a bit like a baby deer when he first gets up, especially if he’s hungry.

He likes to bike. And really likes when you go on bike rides with him. As long as you both are on your own bikes, you learned the hard way that tandem biking isn’t cut out for you.

Knows that all-nighters aren’t good for you, but sometimes you have to pull them anyways. If you both have a lot to get done, he’ll stay up with you and make sure you both take breaks and drink water.

Can twirl his pens in that really fast and fancy way, and can do the thing where he rolls it between all his fingers too. I’ll let you think bout the implications of that for yourself.

He likes watching cartoons, and reels you into all his favorites. Definitely likes to stay in on weekends watching cartoons with you and just chilling.

Will go to a party with you if you ask, or if his friends are hosting, but nothing beyond that. You didn’t hear this from me, but he’d probably like to smoke more than drink.

Sometimes you think he needs a break and you commission Eren to take him out for the night, but Armin still comes back looking more composed than him. A little sleepy and maybe a bit out of it, but not sloshed, much to your disappointment. “Eren, you really couldn’t have tried to be more a bad influence?? I was counting on you!!”

Eren’s confused, like, “Did you want me to get him white boy wasted??” “Yeah, kinda!! It’s what he deserves every once in a while. Ugh, next time I’m calling in Sasha, she knows how to drink.”

By the way, if you’re dating Armin, you’re kind of dating (or at least babysitting) Eren too. Or vice versa. Either way, they will also go on dates without you. (“Hanging out. We’re hanging out, and I’m tutoring him so he doesn’t fail Biology, (Y/N).” “Likely story, ocean eyes.”)

Can be touchy in a very absentminded way. He’ll reach out to play with your ears/earrings, habitually rub at your shoulders if you’re standing in front of him, mindlessly toy with the ends of your clothing. Half the time he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, he’s so cute.

Plays one sport—is on the soccer team. It keeps him busy, and forces him to focus on something that isn’t academics once in a while. He’s pretty good at it, too; he and Eren make a good team when they play together.

You and Eren tried to get him to join the baseball team too. Eren, because he likes playing with Armin. You, because, well… the uniforms. He would look so good in the uniform.

MIKASA ACKERMAN

Makes her classes look like a breeze, even though it’s at least 300 pages of reading and writing per week.

Kind of gives me Elle Woods “What, like it’s hard?” kind of vibes when it comes to schoolwork. You’re in awe of how she just did 75 pages of reading with a tiny ass font in one sitting, and she just blinks at you like “Was it supposed to be difficult?”

Speaking of which, she likes to read in general; for leisure, outside of her school work. She’ll recommend you books, too. If you don’t like to read, she’ll still try and rope you in with shorter stories, or just read them aloud to you herself. 

Sits at a table across from you while you both do your schoolwork independently. It doesn’t sound like much, but it’s a quiet, almost implicit sense of intimacy that she really likes.

Bundles you up when it’s cold, and won’t take no for an answer. You will wear a hat, whether you like it or not.

Always prepared—and by that I mean, she carries things on her that she realizes you might need. Tissues, extra pens, an extra pair of mittens. She strikes me as the kind of person to pay attention to details like those.

Likes to walk you to class, even if her class is very far away from your building. She doesn’t mind.

On that note, she knows your schedule pretty well, where it pertains to classes and personal interests.

If you’re the type of person who can slack off or even just get caught up in other things when it comes to school work, she’ll be there to keep you on track and hold you accountable. Usually through setting aside times to study with you, but can even be through small things like asking you how your assignment is going.

(Nevermind that you completely forgot about the assignment, and hadn’t even started it—but that’s the point; she knew that).

Hear me out: holding pinkies. Maybe not when you’re walking, but when you’re seated next to each other. The longer you’re together, the more likely she is to initiate it, too.

Would rather study at home/in her apartment than in the library, but if you like to study there, she can compromise a few days out of the week.

Makes you playlists, and they’re usually really good, because she knows you so well. Sometimes she gets cute and customizes the cover art to a picture of the both of you.

She’s your ride or die, so if you complain to her about a prof you don’t like or a TA you don’t think is fair she’s 100% on your side. She might not always be able to do anything about it, but she’ll definitely let you complain to her.

Texts you throughout the day to check up on you, but usually disguised through other questions. Asks what you want/had for lunch when she’s really checking to make sure you ate. Asks you what time your lectures end, just to make sure you didn’t skip it (again). Asks you what time you’re going to be done studying to make sure you don’t stay up all night cramming again.

Takes a genuine interest in your courses, and absolutely loves to listen to you talk about them.

If your classes are vastly different, she’ll still try and help you however she can, even if it’s only in small ways, like proofreading something for you.

Doesn’t use emojis alot, so your contact doesn’t have a bunch of hearts next your name on anything. But she does put your last name in as Ackerman. 

Has social media, but mostly uses it to keep up with her friends, and you. You’re in most of the few pictures that she does post, and she might not say it, but she really likes it when you post photos of/with her. 

Not sure why, but I think she’d be a pretty decent artist if she tried. That trend of doing glass paintings on TikTok? I think she’d be into that, and would plan out the whole thing as a date with you.

Keeps up with all your favorite shows to talk about or watch them with you. Sometimes she’ll purposely miss a few episodes so that she can spend the night and marathon them with you.

Likes to stay in and drink cheap wine and just watch or talk about whatever with you. You could watch a terrible show just to laugh and comment on it the entire time and she would be so happy. 

Doesn’t like to sit down on public transportation, and honestly would rather you didn’t either, but she’s not going to stop you from taking a seat. If you’re sitting, she’ll stand in front of/over you, and always keeps wire headphones long enough for you to share music that way.

The most insufferable human when she’s sick and she knows it. She hates being sick. And she knows you shouldn’t be around her or else you might get sick but she also just wants you to hold her. (You do).

Likes to sleepover at your place. Talks with you about your day while you lay down. Always smells good. Very cuddly when sleepy. 10/10.

Hates the act of doing her laundry, but likes doing it with you. Lowkey starts buying and using the same detergent and fabric softener as you because it makes her smell like you.

Gets very embarrassed if you kiss her in public. Very red in the cheeks, it’s kind of cute, so I wouldn’t blame you if you did it on purpose.

JEAN KIRSTEIN

Jean is… quite smart, if you ask me. Or, at the very least, analytical, which can be applied to a variety of academic settings.

The only thing is, he’s incredibly lazy about it. He wants to do well in school, and can definitely pull himself together for a midterm or an exam; but is horrible at keeping pace with all his other work and assignments on a regular basis.

He also can’t sit still, which is why even though he is very kind and chivalrous and brings many snacks to your study sessions, he is also competing for number one worst study partner. Right next to Eren and Sasha.

Gets pouty when you tell him you don’t want to study with him. “But… but… but I brought snacks! And bubble tea!” “Yes, but you also have the attention span of a rabbit, Jean.”

At the end of the day he understands… that doesn’t mean he’s not going to be bitter about it LOLOL. It’s fine, you can make it up to him by hanging out with him afterwards.

Is, like, classically trained in at least two instruments because his mom put him in lessons as a child. He used to hate it growing up, and he doesn’t practice much now, so he never talks about it.

One day you happen to mention something about comparing two songs, telling him they remind you of each other but you don’t know exactly why or why, and very nonchalantly he’s like, “They sound similar because they share the same major chord in the chorus, and they’re in the same key.” 

And you just kind of blink at him like, “Okay, Beethoven. How. How did you know that.”

Once you realize he can, like, actually play the piano and violin really well you’re always begging him to play for you. It doesn’t happen often—it’s not like he owns a violin anymore and he certainly doesn’t have a grand piano in his shitty college apartment—but sometimes you sneak into the music room when it’s empty and he’ll play something for you.

He’s a romantic at heart, so he doesn’t mind, and if anything kind of enjoys you watching him play. It’s much better than playing for random parents in a recital. You’re dead if you ever mention it to any of his friends though.

Also not a frat boy, but definitely likes to party. Everything with reason. If he crushed a midterm on Thursday, he deserves to throw back a few beers on Friday night, you know?

Touchy when he’s drunk. Well, touchier than normal; he’d be the most affectionate out of every one on a regular basis. But he’s touchy and messy when he’s drunk, so he’s all over you.

Messy, but happy. All smiles and giggles and red cheeks, with his arm around your shoulder, boasting you anybody who will listen about his super hot girlfriend.

He and Eren throw the best parties when they team up together. (Only slightly related, but those two, when drunk together, could probably pass as a couple; they’re so uncharacteristically happy, and affectionate. You may or may not be keeping some photo and video evidence of Eren and Jean drunk cuddling).

Sends you videos when you’re in the middle of class. And only then. He plans it to be annoying. Because he is annoying.

Also always sending you those in-messsage games while you’re in the middle of lecture or studying. “PLEASE play virtual pool with me!! I’ll even let you win one round!!” “I AM TRYING TO LEARN!!” “LEARN LATER 😡😡😡”

A fucking fiend in your Instagram comments. It’s a miracle none of them have been removed or reported for inappropriate content. Replies to OTHER people’s comments complimenting YOU!! He’s so much

@sashabraus: aww you look so cute @youruser!! that color looks so good on you 💕 @jeannotjean: omg omg tysm @sashabraus 😊 i picked it myself @youruser: SHE WAS TALKING TO ME @jeannotjean!!! ME!!! @jeannotjean: @youruser you have no proof 🙄 @youruser: SHE USED MY @!!!! GET OUT OF MY COMMENTS!!! @jeannotjean: you’re so hot when you yell at me via insta comments 🥵🥵🥵 would it be better if i slid into your dm’s instead 😫😫😉 @youruser: @jeannotjean BLOCKED!! EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY!!

You try explaining your coursework to him and he’s just looking at you with puppy dog eyes like, “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about, babe, but you look hot while doing it, so, please, continue.”

He’s another cocky annoying bastard (endearing). Always tilting you head up to look at him and smirk at you. Pisses you off just to put his arm around your shoulder and be like, “It’s okay, I know you love me anyways.” Winks at you in public just to embarrass you. He’s the worst. The worst.

King of picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder for absolutely no reason at all.

He lowkey wants to get an ear piercing and uses you to talk him into it. “Don’t you think I’d look hot with a piercing? I think I would.” “You would look good regardless, Jean. So, do it if you want to.” “Right. But, like.... do you think I would look hot.”

For as annoying and cocky as he can be, the second you actually genuinely tell him you think he’s attractive or talented or whatever, he gets kind of shy. It’s very cute. 

Likes trying new restaurants with you, even though he really should stop spending all his money on food. Sometimes trying new restaurants means ordering from a new place, but it’s whatever, you know.

Honestly… the two of you would probably have a ridiculously high Uber Eats bill. You really should go outside and, like, be people every once in a while LOLOL

Okay, but it’s mostly Jean’s fault. For as much as he likes to party, and doesn’t mind hosting a party, he doesn’t do much beyond that. He hangs out with his/your friends, and with you, obviously, but he’s not the kind of guy to have his weekend booked up all the time.

He would much rather stay in with you, and talk trash about his stupid group project partners, and lay on your stomach and try to teach you how to play his favorite video games.

Spoiler: he fucking lies and/or leaves out key parts of the gameplay!! Just so he can crush you and laugh about it!! Annoying, but you’re the one keeping him around, so, who can you really blame but yourself.

[seasonofthewicth]

quarantine questions

AN: this was inspired by the incredible @highqueenofelfhame ‘s fic everyone’s favourite teacher (which you can find here xxx and I 100% recommend). I absolutely adore that fic and couldn’t help but write my own spin on teacher Rowan and Aelin. 

p.s. one day I will write Aelin as something other than a teacher, today is just not that day. 

p.p.s. this isn’t a proposal fic I just can’t think of titles. Anyway, enjoy!

word count: ~2.2k

part 2 - part 3

------ 

Aelin loved her job, she really did, but Gods did quarantine make it difficult.

Normally she loved seeing the kids, they were great fun, and most of them wanted to learn and wanted to be in her classroom which meant the environment was positive and enjoyable. Even the kids that didn’t want to be there could usually be won over with a few tricks or promises of treats, which was always rewarding.

The interactions with the kids were what made her get up in the morning, the reason she had become a teacher in the first place was to satisfy her desire to help nurture children and to help them grow. But then the global pandemic had hit and the access to her students was reduced.

Not only did she have to adapt to trying to teach her lessons online, working out how the content could be explained using only her voice and a computer screen had pushed her in ways she hadn’t expected. While it was satisfying when she figured things out Aelin knew her lessons over zoom weren’t up to her usual standard.

That was the reason she had let her students know she would be at her desktop for an extra half an hour every day after school usually finished, for them to come to her if they had any problems or anything they wanted her to go through with them. Normally she would have operated her open-classroom-door policy, but a virtual replacement would have to do.

A good number of her students had taken up her offer of extra time to go through problems with her in the few weeks since she had started it, some came in groups for extra explanation for her lessons or some came individually for personal guidance.

As the clock struck 3:30 she joined the zoom call to wait for any students to join. It wasn’t long before a notification popped up telling her a student was requesting access to the call.

“Hello,” She called once the student had entered the call.

“Hey Miss G.” The student on the call was a young girl named Evangeline. 

Evangeline was an enthusiastic student and always tried her best. She sometimes struggled with the content, but her perseverance was what gave Aelin such a soft spot for her.

“Hey Evangeline, what can I do for you today?” She asked, making sure her tone was upbeat enough to invite questions.

“I just have a few questions about your lesson today I was hoping we could go through them?”

“Of course,” She said, grabbing her notepad and pen in case she needed to do any drawing of diagrams to aid her explanation, or make any notes for herself.

It didn’t take her long to go through Evangeline’s list of questions, they were all genuine and thought provoking, and it made Aelin smile knowing Evangeline had thought deeply about her teaching.

“Is that everything for today?” She asked capping her pen. “How are all the rest of your classes going?”

Evangeline took a deep breath, looking down below her computer screen and Aelin’s stomach turned nervously.

“They’re okay…” She started. “Most of them are fine, Spanish is even going well, it’s just Maths.”

Aelin shuffled where she sat, hoping the conversation wasn’t going where she thought it was as her student continued.

“I’m in Mr Whitethorn’s class, and his teaching in our lessons is fine, I’m just really struggling with the assignments. The class is huge too, so I don’t like to speak when I don’t get something.”

Mr Whitethorn.

Mr Rowan Whitethorn.

Aelin’s boyfriend of three years, not that Evangeline knew that, who was currently sitting in the room next door where he had been teaching his own zoom classes for the past few weeks.

She had met Rowan when she joined the school almost four years ago, she was newly qualified and nervous for her first proper teaching job. She had made friends quickly within her own department, the other history teachers Yrene and Elide were great fun and always up for a raucous night of drinking with Aelin. They had taken her under their wings when Aelin first started, which had led to her meeting Rowan.

The school was one of the largest in their district, meaning the different departments didn’t often mix, but one night Elide had brought along her boyfriend Lorcan, another maths teacher, who brought along his co-worker Rowan.

Rowan Whitethorn had not been what Aelin had expected. She remembered seeing him in the halls at school, dressed smartly in his button down and slacks, square framed glasses hiding most of his face.

In the bar Rowan Whitethorn had looked like a god. His tightly-fitted t-shirt highlighting his strongly-built arms and allowing her a long look at his intricate tattoo stretching down one of his arms that had previously been hidden. His silver hair shining in the bright lights as he towered over her to greet Elide.

He had flashed her a grin as he had taken the seat next to her and introduced himself and Aelin had been gone. Hooked on his slanted smile and the twinkle in his shining green eyes.

They had got along well all night, and he had bid her farewell with a chaste kiss on the cheek. The next morning she swallowed her pride and asked Elide if she could pass along his number. Elide had only replied with a phone number and a smirking emoji.

From there their relationship had been simple, but not boring. He drew out her fire and she loved him for it.

They had kept their relationship hidden at school, which had proven difficult once the quarantine kicked in and they had to hide the fact that their zoom lessons were taking place in the same house.

Aelin sighed, her attention only briefly drawn away from her student. “I’m sorry to hear that, Evangeline. Have you tried contacting Mr Whitethorn separately to let him know that you’re struggling? I’m sure he’d be more than willing to help you if he knew.”

She knew her boyfriend would be horrified to find out that a student was struggling and had been too shy to ask for help.

“No,” The young girl started, still blushing. “I’m not really sure what I would say.”

“I could help you draft an email if you wanted?” Aelin offered immediately and let out a soft sigh of relief as Evangeline nodded enthusiastically.

-----

Once her call with Evangeline had finished where Aelin had helped her to compose a draft email to Mr Whitethorn she shut her computer and left her office. She padded into the living room where she found her boyfriend lounging on the sofa, dressed in a pair of light grey sweats and a Doranelle University sweatshirt. 

Seeing him dressed so casually in their home sent a warm jolt through her chest, and an only slightly lesser rush of warmth headed somewhere slightly lower through her at the sight of him.

She flopped down next to him and burrowed her nose into his neck, breathing in his pine and snow scent.

“Hello, you.” His voice was soft as he pecked a kiss onto her cheek. “How was your day?”

She laughed, tilting her head up to face him. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen him today; they coordinated their breaks to see each other throughout the days.

“Fine,” She said with a sly smile. “I helped one of my students draft an email for her ever so wonderful maths teacher, Mr Whitethorn, to ask for some extra help.”

“Oh Gods,” He laughed, a loud and bright sound, and tucked an arm around her shoulders pulling her in tight. “What a nightmare. He sounds like a great teacher to me.”

She snorted. “And modest.”

He poked her side. “I think he’ll get back to them tomorrow, he’s busy now anyway.”

With that he pressed a more meaningful kiss to her cheek and peppered them all the way down until his lips were pressed against her own. She leaned into the kiss, twisting her fingers through his thick hair to pull him closer towards herself.

It was incredible how he still managed to ignite her blood with a kiss, her skin burned where he touched. He slid his hands down her sides, tucking one into the crook of her knee and hitching her leg up over his own.

After a few minutes she managed to draw herself back for a breath. “He is very busy.” She pressed one last kiss against his lips. “Cooking his beautiful girlfriend her dinner. She’s very hungry.”

He growled, face pressed tightly against her neck and nipped the skin lightly with his teeth, a promise for later, but stood up, nonetheless. He held his hand out for hers and tugged her up to follow him to the kitchen.

-----

She knew Rowan had seen Evangeline’s email, and had arranged his own one-to-one session with her over zoom to go through her questions. They mostly tried to stay out of each other’s teaching, knowing that everyone had different styles and used different techniques, but they shared general pieces of information about their roles and their students.

She knew Evangeline was feeling better about his class now, she’d told her a couple of weeks later in another one of her post-school hours drop ins that she had spoken with him and he had offered her guidance on the assignment.

She also told Aelin that Mr Whitethorn had opened up the chat facility for students who weren’t confident in speaking aloud to ask questions during his lessons. Aelin had to bury her smirk at the comment, hiding the fact that Aelin herself had made that suggestion to a worried Rowan.

She was currently on an extended drop in session with around fifteen of her students going through one of the larger pieces of coursework she was setting for the class. She had tried to avoid setting large pieces of assessed work throughout the pandemic as she knew how difficult it was to work from home and she understood that not all students had a level playing field when working from home, but this one had been unavoidable.

This session had run way past the time she had allocated for it; they were over an hour into the half-hour time slot she normally used at the end of the day for the sessions.

She was listening to her students’ discussions of their ideas for the coursework, she encouraged group work and collaboration as long as the final pieces of work were completed independently.

She nodded along silently, until she heard a voice from behind her.

“Aelin, are you coming—” Rowan’s voice cut off as he froze in the doorway. 

She gasped, whirling in her seat, aware of the students on her call falling silent.

Her eyes flew back to her computer screen to check the small square in the corner that showed what her students could see of her.

Rowan was clearly well inside the frame where he stood behind her, frozen with his hand on the door handle, his mouth hanging open in an exaggerated o-shape.

She turned back towards him, her own eyes as wide as his as they met, neither knowing what to say or how they could explain his presence in her house with anything other than the truth. She knew there were too many students on her session for this to stay a secret too, the news would spread along the student network in no time.

Rowan’s mouth snapped shut and he began to inch backwards to where he had come from, but he was interrupted by a voice.

“Hey Mr Whitethorn.” Evangeline’s voice was clear over the zoom call, and it snapped Aelin out of her stupor.

“Hey guys,” Rowan’s voice was croaky. “I’ll just be—”

“Mr Whitethorn will be going now.” At her raised eyebrows he raised his hands in apology and crept back out of the room, pulling the door closed softly behind himself.

Aelin dropped her forehead to her hands and puffed out a laugh, before glancing back up at her screen.

At least five of her students were visibly on their mobiles, tapping away. Those who weren’t all wore mischievous grins. This was mortifying.

“I know why he was so helpful after our chat now Miss G.” Evangeline’s voice was smug even over the video call.

“Yes, well. Sorry about that, anyway, moving on.” She could move past this; she would move past this.

----

She left the room once the call with her students was finished, most of the awkwardness had cleared by the time the call had ended, but she had no doubt that there wasn’t a single student in the school who wouldn’t have heard about this by the next day.

She collapsed onto the sofa, her face buried in a pillow next to where Rowan sat, looking down at her sheepishly.

“I’m so sorry Aelin.”

She let out a muffled scream before taking a deep breath and looking up at him, a wonky smile spreading across her face.

“It’s not your fault,” She told him. “It’s this rutting quarantine.”

------ 

In regard to tags, I have so far assumed that anyone who has previously asked to be tagged had requested specifically for my new girl au fic, if you want to be added to a general tag list for things like this please let me know!

[pinkanonwrites]

love me, please love me

Akaashi x Reader

Happy belated Valentine's day! I wanted to write a bittersweet piece for the occasion, but I caved right at the end and made it 100% sweet instead. Basically Akaashi is a delight and I wanted to see him pine, and pine hard. I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

(also the song title is from a song of the same name by Michel Polnareff, which I highly recommend listening to in order to get that yearning vibe)

Akaashi had already decided by himself at an early point in his professional career that writing romance, for all intents and purposes, was easy.

Sure, there would always be details and characters and overarching, more interesting plot to work out, but the overall premise was always the same. Two characters with undeniable chemistry, kept from admitting their true feelings because of Person X or Situation Y, rinse and repeat misunderstandings and 'almosts' until the manga was ready to end. Maybe even leave room afterwards for a cute, episodic spin-off.

Easy.

The real world, however, rarely offered such simplicities.

For example, Akaashi was in love with an office worker whose desk was once across from his, and he was pretty sure they didn't even know his name.

It's not like he'd known he was going to fall for you. How could he have? There was no chorus of angels, no heavenly light from above as the world seemed to fall into slow-motion. No. On his first day in the office you had been late, stumbled in with messy hair and a haphazard stack of manuscripts that you smacked down onto your desk, and had nearly tipped your overfull coffee mug all over the floor. He could hardly call it a good first impression. And yet…

The other workers on your floor seemed to hold you in a very high regard. He'd barely been there a week when one of his concerns had been directed to your desk.

"Ah, excuse me. Takaoda-san told me you could help with this?"

Your attention snapped up from your screen to Akaashi and the folder tucked in his hands. Noticeably confused for a split second, it took a moment before realization dawned on you.

"Oh! You're the guy who just joined! Kashi-san, right? Yeah, I can help you with that!"

You didn't even give him time to correct your butchering of his name.

Not only had you solved his problem, you'd scooted your chair to the side a bit and motioned for him to drag his own over and seat himself beside you, carefully walking him through the entire process.

"There you are! I'll just email this over to you so you have the file on your computer then."

"Yes, thank you very much."

"No problem! If you have any more questions, I'd be happy to help you out."

Your kindness, it seemed, extended to the other members of your office floor as well. Not a day would go by without Akaashi seeing at least one person hunkered down beside you at your desk in various states of disarray, waiting for your kind and composed words to soothe their frazzled minds. Clearly you were a cherished member of this office.

He was sure that the warm stirrings beginning in his chest were no more than admiration at that point.

Mostly sure.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As his status with the editing company and his understanding of the industry began to rise, Akaashi was swiftly moved up to higher departments and higher pressures, longer meetings and tighter deadlines. He no longer spent as much time on the main floor where he'd started. But he still noticed you.

You'd been the first on the floor to cheer for him when it was announced that he'd be moving to his own private office. You patted him on the back and wished him well with a big, bright smile that made his stomach do something funny he tried to ignore. Occasionally you bumped into each other in the elevator, the break room, in meeting rooms as clusters of overworked people filed in and out.

And sometimes, on darkened evenings when he was leaving the building in the dead of night, he'd see you still sat at your desk. Alone in the office space, you continued to tap away at your keyboard. He'd never considered that for all the time you spent helping others with their problems, that was time unspent solving your own.

"Kashi-san?"

He faltered a bit under your tired gaze, lurking in the doorway of the floor, having finally caught your eye. He didn't even remember to correct you, again.

It didn't matter that much, though. Not when his body was already moving without him thinking, standing at the side of your desk and placing the canned coffee he'd just bought from the vending machine on its corner.

"It's almost 10. I'm surprised you're still here."

You blinked, then laughed, a sweet melodic tune. The coffee clutched in both hands, you looked up at him so sweetly that his heart hammered in response.

"Yeah, there's a lot to get done."

"Please be sure not to overwork yourself. You're a vital piece of this company."

I will, thank you… Hey, have you eaten?"

He startled, checking his watch. "N-Not since lunch."

"Let's grab something. My treat. Consider it a thanks for the coffee."

"Ah… if you insist."

Not that he needed much insistence.

And so began a comfortable pattern as late night dinners between the two of you became all the more common. It was rare that a week went by that didn't end a long and tiring day with ramen in a cozy booth, or snack foods scarfed down outside a 24-hour convenience store, your smiling face all the warmth he needed to stave off the evening chill.

Perhaps this was where he'd first realized, when you'd held a napkin out to him to dab away the teriyaki sauce smeared at the corner of his mouth: A sudden, longing lurch to do the same, to cup your cheek gently in his hand, to run the pad of his thumb over your soft lower lip. He walked home in a daze that evening, dusted with snow and brimming with warmth and confusion.

Realistically he knew that office romances weren't uncommon. He'd read enough manga and watched enough dramas to know that. And yet, he couldn't shake the concern so easily. What if your bosses found out? What would your co-workers think?

...What if it didn't work?

The only glimpses of yourself he'd gotten outside of a workplace environment were those short, shared meals. How could that be enough to judge whether you two were really meant to work well together? Was it worth risking the fallout?

No. Certainly not. Not for a silly crush. Akaashi could wait this out, he should wait this out. Keep his distance and wait until the butterflies faded and the fires died and he was left with the same feelings he'd felt for you in the beginning, appreciation and the occasional concern.

He would be fine.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

On the dawn of week three of minimizing contact with you, Akaashi Keiji was decidedly not fine.

He hadn't realized how dependent he'd become on your presence until it was unceremoniously torn away from him. Is a grown man meant to crave another person's voice so much? Their smile? Their laugh? He felt like a schoolboy again, flustered and frustrated and brimming over with emotions he wasn't sure how to outlet.

On Tuesday morning you'd come in early, clearly dressed for a date. Takaoda confirmed his suspicion a moment later when he complimented your outfit.

"I've got a blind date tonight, actually."

The butterflies in Akaashi's stomach choked and died, falling like stones into the pit of his gut. He nearly shocked himself with the single word that screamed across his rushing mind, that he didn't dare speak aloud.

No.

He felt like a jerk. He felt like a coward. He felt like a horrible, selfish child. But when you saw him standing in the hall and lifted a hand to wave, Akaashi ducked his head and hurried to his office, pointedly and obviously ignoring your greeting.

Well done Keiji, surely they would return your feelings now.

Very little got done that day. And as the clock ticked ever and ever closer to 5pm, Akaashi knew he needed to make a choice. And he knew he needed help making it.

Lifting his cell phone, Akaashi called the one person he knew could give him an easy answer.

"Hey, hey, hey! Akaashi! How are you? Aren't you at work right now?"

"Yes, Bokuto-san. However, I had an important question I was hoping you could help me with."

"Of course! Must be real big if you're calling me about it, huh?"

"Yes, it is."

Faced with the possibility of finally having an answer to his concerns, Akaashi found himself at a loss of where to start.

"Bokuto-san, have you ever had feelings for someone but weren't sure if telling them was the best idea?"

"Oho? Romance questions? Now I'm real interested!" He could hear Bokuto's big, silly grin even over the phone. "Well yeah, some of the cheerleaders are pretty hot. And you remember that guy at the ramen place who always gave me extra coupons? Pretty sure he could've been my soulmate!"

"Bokuto-san, I believe my situation is a touch more serious than a waiter who gives me extra coupons."

Bokuto maturely responded by blowing a raspberry into the receiver.

"Well, if it's that serious why haven't you asked them yourself? You've gotten this torn up about it to call me, so it must be the real deal."

"It really isn't that easy…"

"Isn't it? I mean, they either like you or they don't, right? If they do, great! If they don't, well then you can just start getting over them faster."

Akaashi found himself struggling for a reasonable response to that.

"Hey, all I can say is, you miss a hundred percent of the shots you don't take! Someone famous said that. Shakespeare, I think."

"Wayne Gretzky."

"Bless you."

Sighing, Akaashi glanced at his watch. You would probably be leaving soon. You might even already be out of the office. "...Thank you, Bokuto-san. If you'll excuse me, I need to catch an elevator."

"Sure thing bud! Lemme know how it goes!"

Click.

Akaashi's office door swung shut alongside the soft click of Bokuto hanging up. He skittered on the tile, trying to right himself as he sprinted around the corner, stopping only for a second at the window to the office floor. No one there.

He was probably too late already, why wouldn't you have left early on the night of your date? You worked so hard every other day, surely you would take the few extra minutes to prepare yourself. You were smart like that. Smart, and beautiful, and considerate, and there was no way Akaashi was going to just let you walk off with another man, not without even trying…

Around the corner, standing at the door to one of the elevators, there you were. Why did you look so… grim?

"Oh, hey!" You forced a smile onto your face as you gave him a little wave. "Clocking out on time? That's not like you."

Akaashi opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He tried again, clearing his throat hard.

"Oh, damn. Here."

You pressed a half-empty water bottle into his hands.

"Were you running? You're wheezing like crazy."

Staring down at the bottle in his quivering hands, his mouth moved before his mind could work.

"A date!"

You froze, finally focusing up on his face, staring so, so deeply into his eyes. Or maybe you were just looking at him normally. He could no longer tell. "Oh, yeah. I had one. He had to cancel."

The water bottle clattered to the floor as he gripped both your hands in his.

"Would you consider dinner, then?... With… me? Not like we usually do, this one's…. It's…."

Your hands were so warm. You could probably feel how sweaty his were. Gross. He should probably let you go before you got creeped out or-

"A date?"

"....Please."

A giddy, boisterous laugh bubbled out of you, one he had only heard after you'd downed a few drinks yourself. You squeezed his hands tight, giving him a smile that washed his anxieties away like chalk beneath the rain.

"I'd like that."

"Ah. Yes. Shall we go then?"

"We shall." You hooked your arm around his elbow, giving him a playful grin. "Lead the way, good sir."

Akaashi had already decided for himself at an early point in his professional career that writing romance, for all intents and purposes, was easy.

Living it, though? That was much harder. But he couldn't find it in himself to mind.

"Oh! Takaoda finally told me I've been getting your name wrong this whole time? Why didn't you say anything? I feel like such a jackass!"

"There, uh, a good time to mention it never seemed to come up?"

"Well I have a lot of making up to do, don't I Akaashi?~"

"I'm looking forward to it."

[crackedoutgiraffe]

The Stars In Your Eyes

Part 2: Chapter 1 Part 2: Chapter 2 Part 2: Chapter 3 Part 2: Chapter 4 Part 2: Chapter 5 Part 2: Chapter 6 Part 2:Chapter 7

A/N: This chapter is short, but the next two should be longer and make you want to cry.  Thank you to everyone who comments, votes, and re-blogs! Ask to be added to the taglist.

Check out the masterlist for Part 1!

Master-list

4/5/2017

“Emily,” you said through the tears, “I need your help.”

“Y/N, what’s the problem?” She turned the lights on, closed the door, and came to sit with you on the couch.

You tried your best to compose yourself, “I’ve been getting letters.” You pulled ten pieces of paper from your pocket and handed them to her.

She quickly read through a few of the letters, “why didn’t you show me these before?”

“I thought it wasn’t a big deal,” you wiped the tears from your eyes.

“I will destroy you and your child,” she read aloud, “Your husband will be lucky if he ever sees you again.”

“Please stop,” you sobbed.

She set all ten letters on the table, “how long have you been getting these?” 

“Since about mid-January,” you shrugged. The tears starting to subside you placed one hand on your growing stomach and rubbed your forehead with the other.

“And they have your address?” she grabbed the most recent letter and read it again.

You nodded and grabbed one of the papers, “they were delivered to the apartment.”

“Did you tell anyone else about this?” she placed a hand on your shoulder.

“No,” you shook your head and wiped your nose, “I didn’t know who else to talk to.”

“Thank you for coming to me,” she wrapped you in a tight hug. “We have a case but when we get back we can look into this further.”

“Ok,” you continued the hug for a few minutes before letting go. You stood from the couch and made your way back to your desk. 

The case was about a sixteen year-old who went missing in New York. After the briefing you and Garcia headed to her office. 

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked as she shut the door behind you.

“I’m fine,” you said with a sniffle. “I’m going to see Reid later today and I’m a little scared.”

She sat down in her chair and booted up all of her computer screens, “why?”

“I haven’t seen him since he got hurt,” you could feel the tears from earlier returning to your eyes. “I don’t want to be that wife. Plus, I look like a mess today.”

“You’re the love of his life,” she gave you that look that only Garcia can. “He wouldn’t think less of you if you went in covered in dirt.”

You let out a small laugh and fiddled with your thumbs, “I miss him,” you started to cry again. The tears flowed out of your eyes ruthlessly.

“I know,” she pulled your chair closer to her and embraced you in one of her world famous Garcia hugs. “Rossi went to visit him earlier today. He said he was in much better shape.”

“That’s good,” you sobbed. Garcia held you for about five minutes before letting go. The two of you started to get information on the other teenagers who went missing.

After about two hours, you said goodbye and started for the prison. It was similar to the last time you saw him. He rushed to you when he entered the room.

“I missed you so much,” he cooed when he sat down.

You smiled and held back even more tears, “how are you feeling?”

“I’m better,” he didn’t have any bruises on his face anymore. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m ok,” you fiddled with the ring on your finger.

He looked around the room a bit before leaning closer to you, “how far along are you?”

“About 10 weeks,” you whispered. 

“Is there a case right now?” he asked in his hushed voice.

You nodded, “a sixteen year-old went missing in New York.”

“They called you in for that?” he furrowed his brow and leaned back a bit.

“They believe it’s connected to a few other kidnappings in the city.”

“Oh,” he nodded.

“I have something for you,” you rummaged around in your pockets before pulling out a small piece of paper. “It’s another ultrasound.”

He grabbed the paper from you and stared at it for a few moments, “I’m really sorry I can’t be there for you.”

“Spence,” you sighed, “I’m sorry I can’t be here for you more often.”

He looked back at you and smiled, “you’re not in any pain are you?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you giggled at his sentiments. “Look on the back,” you pointed to the picture and waited for him to turn it over. You watch his face as he read the words written on the back.

“100 things you love about me,” his voice broke.

“Number 17 is my favorite,” a single tear rolled down your cheek.

His eyes scanned the list and lit up when he saw it, “the way your heart has so much love and compassion that it might burst.”

The two of you talked for a while before you were forced to leave. When you got back to the office Garcia had dug up much more information on the other victims. You worked into the night and slept on the couch in the conference room.

By Saturday, the team had made it back to Quantico safely and had captured the unsub. Emily called you into her office and the two of you returned to the couch.

“I need you to tell me everything you know,” she kept her voice calm and steady.

You explained your theories and all the information you had profiled from the letters, it wasn’t much. 

“Is it if I bring JJ in on this?”

“Of course,” you flashed her a quick smile. Emily left the room and returned a few moments later followed by JJ.

“Y/N has been receiving some incredibly threatening letters. They have all of her personal information.” She did her best to explain with the little information you could give her.

“All of her personal information?” JJ furrowed her brow.

You nodded and grabbed a few of the letters, “they have my address, social security number, email password, phone number, and my credit card information.”

“I have an idea of what we can do but you’re going to hate it,” she sat down next to you while Emilly sat on the table.

JJ explained what she thought was best. It was so absurd that you zoned out halfway through. Prentiss continued to explain what this plan would entail and how it would work, but it would change your life so drastically that you didn’t even want to consider it.

4/12/17

The prison was put on lockdown which meant that you couldn’t visit Reid for a while. Prentiss had told Tara that she was granted special privileges to go into the prison as Reid’s doctor. When she came back that night she updated you on Reid’s condition. He was sleep deprived and constructing false memories. She told you that she was going back the next day to try and get a few more answers. She ended up learning that the person responsible for the murder of Nadie Ramos was a woman. The team tried to refute her claims, but Tara was firm with her opinion and you agreed with her. Prentiss had dismissed the lot of you for the night. When you went home you found out that Diana had fired her nurse and hired a new one. You were so tired that you didn’t question it.

Taglist:

@la-vie-en-amour1 @vixengustin88

[werejusttouchingeachother]

Delight!Drabbles (v.)

Words: 1311 Genre: slight smut, sliiiiiiiiiight body worship

Your glasses rest on the bridge of your nose as you hurriedly scroll through the list of buyers on the screen. Your lips are moving soundlessly as you silently read the names and the door to your bedroom opens, Baekhyun walking in sleepily and frowning when he sees you with your glasses and on your laptop.

“Just a minute,” you promise, only briefly sparing him a glance as your eyes rivet back to the screen. “I’ll be ready for bed soon, I just need to make a quick call.”

He nods silently, a small pout on his face as he rubs his eyes lazily and your gaze switches to him again, his sleepwear's bright pop of colours in your peripheral being too distracting.

“I hate this thing you’re wearing,” you muttered in distaste and Baekhyun rolled his eyes.

“It’s comfy,” he protested, heading for the bathroom on the opposite end of the room. “I’m going to brush. You better be done by the time I’m out.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be quick,” you agreed as your eyes scanned over the document. Frowning when you didn't find the name you needed, you switched files before your gaze finally fell on what you were searching for.

You grabbed your phone and quickly called up the office, not waiting for a hello as you said, “March was his last purchase. During the last week, on 24th.”

There’s a short pause as you wait impatiently while listening to your co-worker type onto a keyboard and then a click before you hear his sigh of relief. Your shoulders relax as your hand reaches for the laptop to close it and finally forget your work when his voice comes through again.

“One more thing, Y/N.” You grit your teeth in frustration as you listen to him ask you for the purchase receipts of the client, your fury barely restrained as you take it out on the keypad, noisily tapping away while you searched your emails.

The bathroom door to your left opened and Baekhyun frowned when he saw you with the phone pressed to your ear now, laptop still on your thighs and an expression that was more sour than it had been five minutes ago. Sighing loudly, he closed the door and strode towards you on the bed. You felt the mattress sink next to you as he sat down, swinging his feet up onto the plush sheets.

You barely glanced at him as your eyes scanned the messy heap of emails, scrolling through names after names with a growing irritation. Baekhyun’s arm came around your middle and your eyes momentarily shifted lower, noticing how close his head was to your chest with you sitting upright against the headboard.

Baekhyun doesn’t move and there’s silence as you continue scrolling, hearing your co-worker tap his fingers annoyingly against a surface while your eyes skimmed the emails.

“There it is,” you breathed, eyes widening as you finally found the buyer. You opened the email and were reading through the contents when you felt Baekhyun suddenly move against your chest, his voice low as he muttered, “Has this shirt of yours always been so see-through?”

You give your boyfriend a warning glare at his words, angling the speaker of the phone higher as if that would make him less audible to your co-worker on the line.

“Kim Won Industries,” you stated aloud, finger on the down-arrow key as you hurriedly read through the senders’ address. “Is that—?”

You broke off with a soft gasp when you felt Baekhyun’s plush lips suddenly wrap around your covered breast, teeth sinking into the thin white cotton of your shirt with enough force that you could feel the slight sting on your flesh. With wide eyes, you glanced down at him in incredulity and shook your head at him.

Baekhyun blinked innocently up at you, shrugging with a small pout as he pulled away to murmur softly, “I can see the outline of your nipple through this shirt. I wanna see more.”

You were covering the lower half of your phone now, elbowing Baekhyun’s head slightly to push him off you but your boyfriend was relentless, his lips immediately latching onto your breast again. You bit down on your lower lip to suppress another gasp as you felt his tongue through the thin fabric then, circling teasingly over your nipple.

“Y/N?” You heard your co-worker call out your name over the call, sounding confused. “You there?”

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, struggling slightly as Baekhyun's hands came around your hips to push you down onto the bed while his head pressed harder against your chest. Your breast felt warm and slick with his sloppy mouth, wetting the shirt thoroughly until your nipple was perky and taut between his lips.

Feeling slightly breathless already, you scroll back up and press the small arrow sign to forward the email.

“I’m-I’m sending it,” you say into the phone, trying to sound as composed as possible as Baekhyun finally pulls away. Your fingers slowly tap the initial of your co-worker, enough to prompt the email address as you glance down and see Baekhyun’s small proud smile at your white shirt that was almost completely transparent now with his saliva, a wet patch right over your breast that showed off the peaked nipple proudly. Relieved that he’d finally pulled away, your breath hitches in your throat when Baekhyun leans over again and wraps his mouth around your other breast.

Closing your eyes, you tap enter and hear the soft 'swoosh' sound indicating that the email had been sent. You bite down on your lip, head arching back on its own accord as Baekhyun's lips and tongue stimulate your right nipple while your co-worker rattled off in your ear about receiving the email. You barely manage to mutter something along the lines of, “I’ll see you tomorrow, goodnight,” before throwing the phone aside while simultaneously shutting your laptop close.

It’s all the indication Baekhyun needs as he shoves the laptop off your legs and replaces the weight with his own body instead while never pausing his unholy ministrations on your chest, determined to make your breasts sore with his sloppy sucking and bites. Your back arches when he tugs on the nipple between his teeth especially harshly, sending sparks of pleasure all across your veins as you finally wrap your hands around his head, fingers clutching his silky hair tightly.

Baekhyun pulls away then, looking up at you from where his head was on your chest and your eyes are slightly hazy as you glance down to see his cheeky smirk.

“Do I finally have your attention?” Baekhyun asks, his voice a low and sexy rumble against your skin as he quirks an eyebrow while his hand crawls down your stomach and creeps in between your thighs.

Your legs part reflexively, allowing him to drag his finger lazily over your panty that had a similar wet patch now as you reply breathily, “You always have my attention, babyboy.”

Baekhyun smiles and a sudden realisation crosses his face, eyes slightly widening as he glances to your side. “Wait, did you hang up the call?”

Your eyes that had closed of their own accord shoot open at his question, shock overcoming you suddenly over the slow pleasure that you’d been sinking into as his words register in your head.

“Shit,” you curse, head turning to your right as you realise that you’d thrown your phone onto the edge of the bed, flat on its front. “Wait, did I—?”

You stop with a loud uncontrollable moan as Baekhyun plunges his fingers inside your wet walls, your pussy immediately clenching around the slender digits. You turn to him with wide eyes and he continues smirking devilishly at you.

“I think it’s time to remind your co-workers why they shouldn’t call you after office hours.”  

[cursed-theologian]

@genrcsavvy​ || Sarah & Angelique Adventure Thread !

( Long Starter - I Apologize in advance ! ) 

She shouldn’t be on a conference call in her pajamas, It’s not professional - but, then again: she’s not awake either. Maybe the Americans in the call were awake, but it was 6 in the morning for her and she’d barely begun the day ! There was endless chatter as she brewed a carafe of decaf coffee and tried to focus in on the chatter from the heads of the Smithsonian, Thorn Museum, and The British Museum. 

“  I’ve already heard that it’s been found in a tomb south of Ciaro ! “

“ Oh yeah ? What makes you think it hasn’t been forged or stolen yet ? “

“ Wait, the book of the living is real ?! “

“ Why would my sources lie to me ? “

She shook her head, unable to grasp the full context - but already feeling the need to debunk every claim just made in under 25 seconds. Her eyebrow shot up as she poured her coffee and settled in front of the little glowing screen. 

“ Book of the ... Please, you all know damn well it was a fictional book created for that awful series of movies ! Is that why you’ve all summoned me at this ungodly hour on my only day off from lecturing ? Gentlemen, I’m hurt. Now, if you don’t mind - I’ll just be going then. “

She was about to click the little end call button when one voice stood out clearer than the rest:

“ Angelique, it’s been discovered by a novice team of archaeologists from Primshire University no less --- that there is some truth to the idea of a ‘ book of the living ‘. If you read your e-mail more often, you might know that yet another of Ramesses the second’s monuments have been unearthed and right now --- there’s a manuscript on the way to you to translate. Besides, aren’t you the one who said most legends and myths were born of some half truth ? “  

She glared at the screen into her pseudo - employer’s smug face. Damian Thorn could choke on his cheerios as far as she was concerned ... and yet ? ( She pulled up her e-mail discreetly, eyes widening as she read the field reports and poured over the photos. ) 

“ What does this have to do with me ? “ She mused aloud, eyes never leaving the first few symbols on what appeared to be half of an idol statuette in the photo pulled up on her screen. Something about the words made her shiver despite them being too squiggly to make out. It seemed like everyone took a deep breath in before they all spoke at once:

“ Will you chase a few more leads on behalf of the Smithsonian !? “

“ You and Rory Blake would make a great team, not to mention the cash advance we are willing to pay right now so long as you turn it over to the British Museum ! “

Her nose wrinkled at the mention of Rory Blake. That smug bastard had been unsuccessfully trying to woo her since their first dig together nearly 10 years ago. It had all been an attempt to push her back from the spotlight that shown down on her and her family name & she never really took the bait ... but it never stopped him from trying to pursue her in the hops one day she and her career might be something he could put on a shelf in his own collection of artifacts.

“ Absolutely not. I’ll find my own companion --- and for another thing, we keep the party small: Me, my companion and maybe a guide ... but I want their criminal history and professional credentials before I head out. “  

She stared coldly at the third small screen, a neat and tidy office back in Chicago that she’d been summoned to more times than she liked to admit to face her adversary: Damien Thorn. He didn’t verbally offer anything and for a second - she wondered if he merely wanted to ruffle her feathers over missing a few of his own business emails. A personal chat popped up in the corner of her screen and she bowed her head to read it: 

‘ If it’s real ... I can offer you a fully funded expedition of your planning and specifications, along with a 2 million dollar advancement and 6 million more if you can bring it back. ‘ 

‘ Not on your life. “ She typed quickly. 

The dots appeared letting her know he was typing a response, and she found irritatingly enough that she was holding her breath in anticipation: 

‘ The real books of the apocrypha + the book of Hebron, unfiltered from my own personal collection. I can have them photocopied and sent no later than 20 minutes from now in exchange for the book of life, assuming it’s real and assuming it can be found. ‘

Well, it would certainly be beneficial to see a wider scope of Damien’s smugness ... maybe even help her unearth a few things in her own business. 

‘ I don’t want copies. I want the real things. ‘ She typed quickly again, ‘ or no deal. ‘

It was his turn to glare at her through the screen while the others prattled an made grand plans. She watched him carefully and figured he was going to relent as he puffed his cheeks out and the three dots appeared in the chat box: 

‘ The book of Hebron is mine, that I can offer the physical copy of that. The others I only have access to photocopies. If I took them from the museum collection --- I’d never hear the end of it from legal ... or the investors. ‘ 

She sighed and cleared her throat, ignoring the bile rising at the back of it: 

“ You’re probably lying --- but, close enough. Mr. Thorn, your offer has caught my interest. Allow me time to get my affairs in order, I’ll call when it’s all done and we can make further arrangements. “

Unceremoniously, she clicked out of the call and began composing an e-mail of her own to the only person who hadn’t thought she was a nutcase about the strange forces at work in the world. 

‘ Sarah, 

    How would you like to go on a bit of an adventure ? I’ve just gotten some rather troubling news and if I must take it up I will need someone reliable, trustworthy and resourceful to aid me on this excursion. Please, let me know as soon as possible if you are available to talk at some point. 

       Angelique Bugenhagen ‘

There. 

That would have to do for now. It was too risky to say too much on something as unreliable as e-mail. 

[love-in-the-time]

The Destiny of Stars, 10th Doctor/Donna, 12th Doctor, Donna, Clara, Fix-It, Rated M for language, sex, and violence.

Title: The Destiny of Stars Author: love-in-the-time Rating: M for language, sex, violence. Summary: “It is the destiny of stars to collapse.” - Neil deGrasse Tyson. A cry for help echoes across the universe into the mind of Donna Noble. A fix-it fic wrapped in a battle for the survival of a planet thousands of light-years away, turning around the central point of the Doctor and Donna.

A note: This took me two years to write. Quarantine time is the perfect time to finish fics. I wish all my fellow creators the peace and ability to make their art. Creativity is needed in these times, and you have my gratitude. This fic includes mention of a quarantine, but that idea came to me a very long time ago. Please enjoy, and i hope it offers you a moment of distraction.

She is standing on line for coffee, scrolling through her emails, when someone yanks on her arm and falls in front of her. Startled, Donna Noble jumps back, gasping.

On the floor in front of her is a kneeling woman, with dark hair tied up at the nape of her neck. She is bowing her head and clasping her hands. “Lady,” the woman is saying. “Noble lady, will you help me?”

Donna is astonished, and stands speechless for a moment. “I,” she begins. “I don’t know what you mean.”

The woman lifts her face and there are tears running down her cheeks. “Please help us,” the woman begs. “My people are dying.”

Donna feels a lurch in her chest. “What?” she asks. Her immediate conclusion is that the woman is crazy. “I don’t understand what you mean.” People are staring. She looks around her. “Are you all right?”

The woman stands up straight, wiping at her cheeks and composing herself. “Are you Donna Noble?” she asks, much more calmly.

“Yes,” Donna says. “Why?”

The woman clears her throat and inhales deeply. “I have come to beg your help on behalf of my people, the Mori. Our planet is dying.” She reaches out to touch Donna’s hand. “Please, if you and the Doctor—“

Donna blinks. “Who?” she asks. “Miss, I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She backs off. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.” She heads for the door, leaving the woman stunned behind her. She stands blankly for a moment and then seems to make a decision. She follows after Donna, her stride purposeful but her hands shaking. She catches Donna in the street.

“Please, I’ve come so far,” the woman says, and something in her tone makes Donna stop and listen. “Please, hear me. My people sent me to find you, and the Doctor, and bring you to help us.”

Again, Donna blinks. “I don’t know who that is,” she says. “I really can’t help you.” She reaches into her purse. “Can I get you somewhere? Do you need money?”

“No, no!” The woman is distraught. “We need you, and the Doctor, to come and save us.” She is clutching at Donna’s sleeve. “I will not fail them!”

Donna presses the unlock button on her car key fob and opens her car door behind her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I really don’t know what you mean. I can’t help you.” She climbs in and drives away, looking in her rearview mirror to see the woman cover her face with both hands. She shakes her head, disturbed by the encounter and unsure why she feels so unsettled.

By the time she pulls into her driveway, the beginnings of a wicked headache are starting behind her eyes. Donna squeezes her eyes shut and pushes her fingers into her lids for a moment, breathing through the pain. She’d never had migraines before about two years past, when she’d had some kind of accident. No one had really been very clear with her about what exactly had happened, but soon after she and Shawn had gotten married and Donna began to focus on other things.

But sitting still does nothing for the blossoming pain in her head and she makes her way up the stairs to the bedroom, crawling under the covers with her shoes still on. It had been some time since the headaches had been this bad, and Donna is miserable, recalling the first few months after her accident, when the pain had kept her curled on her bathroom floor, a seemingly endless flow of tears rolling down her face. Ever since then it was as if her mind refused to retain the information about what happened to her, so Donna mostly remembers fear and pain and an overwhelming heartbreak, as if she’d lost something or someone she loved. She wasn’t quite sure why being alone affected her so deeply after the accident, but Shawn had gentled her back to life when the pain subsided. Donna feels dragged back to those times.

She rolls over and kicks off her shoes, reaching over to her beside table and getting the paracetamol tablets out. She swallows three of them with no water, winces, and rests her head on the pillow. The room is dark and cool. She remembered it usually took a good nap to get rid of the headache and the echoes of it left bright spots in her vision for a few hours after. This would be one of those.

An hour later Shawn arrives home and finds his wife in bed, eyes closed but not asleep. He comes gently into the room. “Hello,” he whispers.

Donna rolls over. “Hello,” she answers.

“Head hurts?” Shawn comes to sit beside her on the bed.

Donna nods against her pillow and her eyes fill up. “It’s still terrible. It hasn’t been this bad in a long time.”

The migraine is a sign the fail-safe is working, Shawn remembers. Wilf told him everything. She’ll have an awful headache, and she’ll sleep. It’s only if she doesn’t wake up that we have to worry.

The idea of Donna not waking up scares Shawn deeply, that his generous, beautiful, determined Donna could be taken away from him by her past. So he retreats from the room to let his wife sleep.

Mostly Donna is able to fall asleep with minimal fuss but this time the pain only seems to get worse behind her eyes, until Donna is gasping, her eyes squeezed shut.

* * * *

Out of relative silence, the TARDIS’s main computer suddenly sounds an alarm that startles the Doctor and he jumps, banging his elbow against the console. The screen displays a flash of coordinates and the ship yanks itself out of the Vortex with a nauseating lurch. Clara gets thrown against the railing and steadies herself against a kind of flight she hasn’t experienced before. There is no thumping landing this time, only a quick, hard thud. The Doctor is looking at the screen. “London,” he says. “We’re in London. In Kensington.” He turns the view screen to face him and his eyes go wide. “Oh, no. Oh, no.”

“What?” Clara asks, coming round the console. “What’s happened?”

But the Doctor is already away from the console and flying down the ramp to the door. “It’s Donna,” he says, and Clara follows uncomprehendingly. The Doctor is clearly panicked.

They are in a bedroom, a large and spacious room painted in green, and in the room's corner there is a woman lying on a bed, her head thrown back. “Oh, my god,” Clara says.

Donna is lying unmoving on her bed, with a trickle of dark blood from her nose. Clara rushes to the bedside and looks back to the Doctor. He’s standing back, his hands at his sides, very still.

“I can’t be here,” he says. “She can’t see me. Or the TARDIS.”

Clara looks dismayed. “Who is this woman? How can we help her then?”

The Doctor looks around himself and then back at Donna. He comes to stand over the bed, rigid with fear, to see if she’s conscious, then seems to remember himself and points the sonic at her. It makes the slightest noise, on a low setting. “No,” he says. “She’s out cold.”

He turns back to Clara. “Help me,” he says. “Help me get her on the ship.”

The door to the bedroom bursts open and Shawn runs in, looking bewildered and afraid. “Who are you?” he demands of the Doctor and Clara, who freeze over Donna’s bed.

“I’m going to help her,” the Doctor says, and he recognizes the young man from the wedding. “Step back.”

Shawn rushes to the bed. “What are you doing?” He tries to stop the Doctor as he gathers Donna in his arms.

“Helping her!” The Doctor repeats. “Get out of my way!” And before Shawn can do anything further the Doctor and Clara slam the doors of the TARDIS in his face, with Donna aboard, her head lolled back in the Doctor’s arms.

* * * *

The first thing that Donna feels as she regains consciousness is the feeling of slogging out of deep, thick water that is trying to suffocate her. She feels a piercing pang in her head as she gasps for air and discovers the water isn’t choking her after all. She opens her eyes.

She’s in a room that looks like a hospital. Again. Donna feels a wave of dismay and sadness in her chest. She’d seen the inside of too many doctor’s offices and hospitals trying to discover the cause of her sudden, chronic migraines. It seems she’s landed in A&E again. Her eyes fill with tears. “Not again,” she says aloud.

But the person who comes to her bedside isn’t dressed as a nurse or a doctor. Donna looks up into a face she doesn’t know, a young woman with a fringe of dark hair over her open, gentle face. “Donna?” she asks tentatively.

“Yes,” Donna says. She inhales and exhales deeply.

“Are you all right?” the girl asks.

“I don’t know,” Donna says. She pushes herself into a seated position against what she realizes are large, soft pillows. Not like hospital pillows. She feels as if her sinuses are pulsing with dull pain. “Where am I? Is this a hospital?”

“Not quite. I’m Clara,” the girl says. “This is a… er, medical treatment center. We found you passed out in your bed with a nosebleed and brought you here.”

The Doctor is standing at the console watching the med bay on a screen, his face miserable. Donna looks pale and disoriented as Clara tells her mostly credible lies about tests and needing to rest. Donna asks for paracetamol tablets, which Clara promises to bring her. After a few more minutes Clara leaves, but the Doctor keeps watching. He sees Donna look around the room and then lower her face into her hands. He thinks about when Donna cried after Lee, and when she let him sleep wrapped around her on the rare occasions he slept.

Clara comes back to the console, looking worried. “What do I give her?” she asks. “Do we even have paracetamol?”

In response, the Doctor goes to the computer and punches at the keyboard. The synthesizer produces two tablets that look like paracetamol. “One is a painkiller, the other one will make her sleep,” he explains. “I have to figure out how to help her.”

He watches Clara give Donna the tablets and a glass of water and lower the lights in the med bay so she can sleep. He worries that she hasn’t kept asking where she is; she must feel really poorly.

“What’s wrong with her?” Clara asks when she comes back again.

“I need to stabilize her,” the Doctor says, ignoring the question. He circles around his console methodically pushing buttons, his deliberation masking the frantic worry he feels. “Every second she’s here she’s dying.”

“On the TARDIS? It’s the safest place in the universe,” Clara says. “What’s wrong with her?”

The Doctor slumps onto the jump seat.

“You better tell me about her,” Clara says, sitting down beside him.

The Doctor folds his hands together. “Donna showed up twice in my life and the second time she got the hint,” he begins, after a short, contemplative silence.

Clara settles in to listen.

“She’d been set up to be killed by her fiancé, and he was dosing her with particles that are contained in the TARDIS core. So we killed a giant spider queen intent on using Earth as a breeding ground, and I asked her to come with me. And she said no.”

“Did she?” Clara says, laughing.

“But then she came looking for me,” the Doctor says. “Imagine the odds. She found me. I haven’t ever stopped being grateful for that.”

“So why would she die?”

“I… she… some things happened, and she got caught up in a metacrisis, it’s a fusion of DNA kind of thing, it mixes biological materials and it’s very dangerous, and she… her DNA got mixed with mine and made a clone and—“

Clara has long since stopped being surprised at weird alien things. “So that made her sick?”

“It left her with a core of Time Lord energy in her brain,” the Doctor explains. “That kind of activity isn’t normal for a human brain; it sends it into overdrive. It doesn’t have enough synapses to handle it. I had to wipe her memory of me and try and contain the rogue energy. If the containment fails, her brain will explode inside her skull. And I’m afraid it’s failing.”

There is a crystal, horrified silence as Clara takes this explanation in.

“So she can’t see me, or know that she’s on the TARDIS until I figure out how to prevent that,” the Doctor concludes.

“But you don’t look the same,” Clara says. “How will she recognize you?”

Another pang in his chest makes the Doctor sigh. “She knows this face too.”

“How?”

“I… you know that I regenerate?” the Doctor asks. “This face is one that’s familiar to her. I think I must have chosen it, subconsciously. It reminds me I have a duty of care.”

The words are familiar; he’s said them to her before, And they still matter; they matter even more now. He tries not to let Clara see the fear and pain in him as he goes back to work on his computer console. He can’t think how he might be able to control it.

On the screen, Donna sleeps. Even asleep, she looks tired and pale. The Doctor types faster. The pill would ensure she’d be out for a few hours, but he knew she wouldn’t accept being lied to. Donna Noble couldn’t be fooled for long, if at all. The thought of that brings a painful smile to his lips. Donna, always on the front foot, ready to remind him that he wasn’t alone and he had others to consider.

The main concern for him was the containment around the Time Lord energy. If he had a way to extract… if he had a way to make her remember without hurting her…

Ultimately, he knows only one way, the risky way; the TARDIS core. He could connect her to the TARDIS core. The TARDIS loved Donna as much as he did, she would make sure Donna was safe. He could connect her to the core of the TARDIS and extract the energy trapped in her brain, and… and then what? What would happen to the energy? He looks up from the console at Clara, who is sitting quietly on the jump seat.

“I figured it out,” he says, and his voice is flat. Clara sees the unhappiness in his face.

“Tell me,” she says.

“I have to hook her up to the TARDIS core,” the Doctor says. “Before she wakes up. See if I can extract the energy from her brain without tripping the failsafe.”

“That sounds like a huge risk.”

“It is a huge risk.” The Doctor has to fight a rising tide of frustration and anger and keep his voice steady. “It’s an enormous risk I wasn’t willing to take the first time.”

So he and Clara carefully roll the bed Donna is in into the main console room. Donna sleeps on, breathing steadily. Her face is relaxed now. The Doctor gestures for Clara to sit down again and takes a moment to stand over Donna’s bed. His back is turned to Clara so she can’t see his face, but he feels the same helpless love he always felt for her, multiplied now a hundredfold because he knows she’s suffering and she’s been gone so long from him, and she’s back.

“All right,” he says to her gently. “I’m going to connect you to the TARDIS. You remember her, right?” He reaches out to place a small metal disc on her wrist, to measure her pulse and her blood pressure. “She remembers you.” And the TARDIS core glows brightly bluish white in response. The Doctor pulls a long set of cords from the console, attached to two more metal discs. These he attaches to her temples. Donna stirs and frowns in her sleep, too deep under the drug to wake up but still conscious of something happening. “Nothing bad will happen,” he tells her, hoping with all his might that he’s telling the truth. “I promise.”

As he circles around Clara sees the look on his face. She feels terrible for him; he looks absolutely destroyed, and truly afraid. “Nothing bad will happen,” he repeats, and looks up at Clara with his heart in his eyes. He pushes a few buttons and stands back from the bed.

For long moments nothing does happen. Long enough for Clara to look to the Doctor with curiosity, and then suddenly there is a crescendoing hum that rises and rises. Donna stiffens in her bed, as if having a seizure, the readings of her blood pressure and pulse spiking. The Doctor’s eyes fly from the console to her face. Donna isn’t waking, but she gives a final great shudder and lies very, very still.

On the floor of the console room there is a man lying, dressed in a long brown trench coat over a pinstriped brown suit. His hair is messy and spiky, and his face is young. He sits up, dazed, and the Doctor, despite his surprise, leaps in between him and Donna. The Time Lord energy in Donna’s brain has manifested in a copy of himself from long ago, an echo of her mind and heart.

He helps the younger Doctor to his feet and says impassively, “Welcome.” He can feel his pulses going wild in his neck, though he grits his teeth to show nothing. Of course it would be this. How else? He remembered the sheer relief of how they used to understand each other, the open wound of their subconscious emotional bond that pulsed with their shared pain and desire and joy and anger. That had long since closed over in his current form but this man--

The younger Doctor looks around warily. “Where am I?”

“Onboard my… er, your — my ship,” the Doctor says. “The TARDIS.”

“This is not my ship.”

The Doctor shakes his head. “Never mind, I need your help. Someone here needs you to help keep them alive.”

He hustles the younger Doctor down the nearest hallway into a spare room. He swipes the wall to activate the synthesizer computer and makes a large window through into the console room. He stands in the younger Doctor’s line of sight. “There someone here who needs you,” he says. “Needs you, specifically. I need you to be gentle with her.”

The younger Doctor suddenly lights up with the most wrenching expression of fear and anticipation he’s ever seen. “You haven’t,” he says.

The Doctor points out the window. Donna is sitting up on the bed, holding one of Clara’s hands and trying to stand up.

“That’s Donna,“ the younger Doctor says, his eyes fixed on her through the glass. “That’s Donna—” he repeats, and tears out of the room, coattails flying. The Doctor follows him out.

He watches his younger self go to Donna, his face wide with astonishment and joy, and stand in front of her as if to make sure she is really there. “Hello,” he says to her.

Donna breathes a great sigh and her eyes fill up. “Hello,” she says. “I know you.”

“Yeah, you do,” the younger Doctor says, and he catches her up in a great embrace, as warm and solid as he ever had been in life.

There is a piercing pang in her chest, and Donna finally, finally sobs, muffled into his embrace. It’s a sound of simultaneous relief and pain. The Doctor and Clara look at each other and retreat immediately, the Doctor’s face long with unhappiness.

For a long time they stand wrapped around each other, the younger Doctor shedding silent tears against her shoulder. “How are you here?” Donna asks, pulling away from him to look at his face, his dear, beloved, tear-stained face.

“TARDIS made me,” he says, sniffling and smiling at her through his tears.

“Are you real?”

“Yes.” He steps back from her. “Are you?”

“Don’t be daft,” Donna says, wiping her eyes. “Only one of me.”

“I know,” the younger Doctor says. He’s smiling so widely, so guilelessly full of genuine joy, that Donna can’t help herself and she hugs him again, pressing her lips to his cheek. Then she lets go of him and looks around her.

“That means I’m on the TARDIS,” she says, and fresh tears roll down her face. “I’m on the TARDIS.” She puts her hands to the console, finding it changed, and looks to the younger Doctor. “Why did you change it?”

The Doctor emerges into the room. “He didn’t,” he says, and Donna freezes. She looks at him in complete surprise.

“Caecilius,” Donna says, astonished. “You’re that man. From Pompeii.”

“No, no,” the Doctor says, smiling through the tears in his eyes. He comes to stand in front of her. “I’m the Doctor, I’m him.” He takes Donna’s hands in his. “I regenerated. I picked this face. I chose this face because of you.”

Donna is speechless, bewildered.

“I look in the mirror and I see the best of me,” the Doctor says. “You reminded me, you held me to the mark. Whenever I see this face I remember you.”

“But I couldn’t remember you,” Donna says.

“I know,” the Doctor says.

Donna looks over to the younger Doctor. “Isn’t he the Doctor?”

“As you knew him, yes,” the Doctor says. “That was me when you knew me.”

“But then... You are you when I knew you, too,” Donna says, and she frowns momentarily at the strangeness of the statement.

The Doctor winces and the younger Doctor smiles a little bit, so proud of her, like he always was. Donna looks to Clara. “And you said your name is Clara. You traveling with him?”

Clara nods. She doesn’t quite know what to say, for there are so many gaps in her knowledge of this subject that she is on the outside of it. Donna looks from the Doctor to the younger Doctor.

“How?” she asks, and she looks so torn between joy and grief that the younger Doctor puts an arm around her. She looks up at him. “How are you here, the same time as him, and how am I here?” She shakes her head to clear it. “I’m so tired.”

Immediately the younger Doctor starts to help her back onto the bed in the console room but she stops him. “No,” she says, and looks to the Doctor. “My room, is my room still...?”

The Doctor swallows hard. “TARDIS saved it in the memory banks. Every detail.”

Donna turns her back on all of them and walks down the hallway. First door on the right, she says in her mind, as she always had, and opens the door.

The same purple walls, the same ceiling set to display the shifting cycles of Earth day and night, the same impossibly enormous bed, the same everything. Donna inhales and then exhales deeply, and turns to find the younger Doctor standing a little behind her. “It’s the same,” she says, and walks into her memories.

The walls respond to her touch, and Donna, because she remembers how, sets the ceiling to an immense blue expanse, arching clouds above them. She looks so overwhelmed the younger Doctor goes to her and wraps her up, resting his chin against the top of her head.

Donna cries against his shoulder for a moment and then pulls away and slams both fists into his chest. “How could you take this away from me?” she demands, tears rolling. “How could you just do that to me, like I was nothing?”

“It wasn’t nothing,” the younger Doctor says. “Donna, it wasn’t nothing. It wasn’t. You would have died.”

“But I didn’t die!” Donna says. “I didn’t! I lived! And I had to live without you! And I had to live with holes in my head and my heart and my… mind! And you did it!” She thumps her fists against his chest and the Doctor takes hold of her wrists.

“Listen to me,” he says, and Donna regards him with wide, teary eyes. “If I had my choice you know I never would have done it. You know what I wanted.” He lets her wrists go.

“What about what I wanted?” Donna asks. “I said no.”

“Because you had no idea what the consequences would be!” the younger Doctor exclaims. “And I would not let you die. Not that way. Not any way.” His hands close tightly on her upper arms. “You would have had a massive stroke, at minimum. More likely your brain would have literally exploded inside your skull. You would have died screaming, with blood coming out of every hole in your head, and I would never let that happen. Did you want me to let that happen?”

Donna shudders, but she squares her shoulders. “What if that was how it was meant to go?” she asks him resolutely.

“Bollocks,” the younger Doctor says.

“What if it was?”

“It was never going to happen in the first place, so why ask?” he demands of her. “You already know I would save you over everyone, so why would you think I’d ever change my mind about that? Whatever face I have?”

“Because you killed me,” she says, her throat closing up over the urge to cry.

“I saved you.”

“You took away the only good and true thing I had ever had!” Donna shouts, and then bursts into tears again. “I couldn’t get rid of the feeling that I had lost a reason to live and I didn’t know why!”

“Better you should have a few headaches and feel sad for a while than be dead forever,” the younger Doctor snaps back, fast as a whip.

“A few headaches? Sad for a while?” An enormous rage and despair bubbles up inside her. “Sad for a while? Do you know how many times I thought about swallowing all my pills? Or just walking out in front of a lorry?” She sobs a few times, a twisted smile pulling her lips back from her teeth. “I’ve already done that once, right? Why not just do it again?”

“What do you mean, you walked in front of a lorry?” the younger Doctor asks.

Donna shrugs. “I walked out into the street to stop a paradox. On Shan Shen.”

“You never told me that.”

She doesn’t answer him. She only crosses her arms tightly around herself. Her face is so sad, and the younger Doctor is devastated.

“You never said that happened.” His eyes are full of pain. “You never told me you died.”

Still, Donna says nothing, because there isn’t anything to say. Silently, the younger Doctor reaches out to grasp her arms, but Donna blocks him and pushes him again. “You put me back in a world I hated, back in a world where I didn’t matter. Again. I thought I had left all that behind with you. You told me I could leave all that behind with you!”

“And I meant that! How could I know what was going to happen?”

“You said you could see everything,” Donna says, stabbing a finger at him. “What was fixed, what was in flux. The past, the present, and the future. The burden of the Time Lord. Isn’t that what you said?”

Again he reaches for her, undeterred, and this time she leans on him. “I didn’t know,” he murmurs to her, his voice broken along the edges. “You know, you know I never wanted you to be hurt.”

“But I was,” Donna says miserably into his chest. “I was, and I didn’t know what to do.”

He wraps his arms around her, one hand cradling her head, and Donna cries, the same silent sobs he remembers from so long ago and from no time ago at all. Finally her arms go around him too, and they both cling on.

“Can you forgive me?” he asks after a long, silent moment.

Donna wraps her arms tighter around him but she says nothing.

“Donna,” he says it pleadingly, softly.

Donna shakes her head into chest and doesn’t move any further except to bury her face in his shoulder and hold on. “You have to give me time,” she says. “I don’t know if I have a lot or a little of it, or how it moves, or what’s going to happen to me, not anymore.”

The younger Doctor moves to help her sit on the bed. She wipes her eyes. They look at each other, filling their eyes and hearts again with the inexpressible comfort of each other’s presence. There is a silence full of unsaid words, because Donna is unsure she could get the words out around the emotions in her throat anyway.

“What do you remember?” the younger Doctor asks, clasping her hands in his.

“Everything. All of it.”

“Does your head hurt?”

“Yes. But not so badly anymore.” Donna looks around herself. “I need water.” She gets up and goes to the synthesizer computer, and because she remembers how to use it, she produces a bottle of fresh, cold water. “Do you want any?” she asks.

“No,” the younger Doctor says, watching her standing in the glow of the computer. She is as beautiful as he remembers, and more, and scarred with pain and wisdom and fear and love. He watches her drink thirstily, and catch her breath after. She puts the bottle down and goes to the big doors on the far wall.

“This is my closet,” she says. “Are you telling me all my clothes are still in here?” She opens the door to see for herself, and the enormous, dimension-crossing room expands before her. She glances back at the younger Doctor, and disappears inside.

All of her dresses, her gowns, her jeans and trousers, her tops, her strange alien clothing from distant planets, her hats and jewelry and shoes and bags are all there. More even than she has at home with her unlimited budget. More than she will ever have on Earth, true in so many ways of this ship. “I will be me again,” she says to herself, and shucks her clothes entirely. She puts on everything she loved, the soft bras and knickers she’d created for herself out of fabric not found on Earth, a deep blue top covered in embroidered flowers, a pair of light blue jeans she’d always liked, and her favorite broken-in flat boots; now that she has them back she feels she can run for miles. She emerges from her closet and the younger Doctor’s face lights up.

“That’s my Donna,” he says, and Donna feels herself smiling.

“That’s me,” she says, and sighs a great sigh of relief. “Is this the strangest thing that has ever happened to me?”

The Doctor smiles too. “I don’t know,” he says. “But how? How did this happen? Can you remember?”

Donna shrugs. “I was in line for a coffee and this woman fell at my feet begging for me and the Doctor. She said she came from another planet.”

“That’s a given,” the Doctor quips, and they both smile again at each other. Something long-crushed in Donna starts to unfold in her chest, and she looks down at her feet before the younger Doctor can see her tears.

“Did she say where?”

Donna nods, and tries to wipe her eyes as surreptitiously as she can. But as always, as always, he knows. He knew the first time she cried after Lance, held her for so many times after that. “Don’t cry,” he says. “Come.” He holds out a hand to her and pulls her back onto her bed.

“She said Mori. The planet Mori. Something about how she couldn’t let her people down.” Donna’s tears dry at the sight of the younger Doctor’s face. He probably doesn’t even realize how he’s looking at her but she knows that goofy smile in her bones. There is the familiar surge of love and joy, threaded through with fear and anticipation, that has always existed in her for him.

“Mori. That’s quite far away, must have taken a huge amount of power to get her to Earth.” The younger Doctor frowns.

“She said the planet is dying,” Donna says. “She was so afraid. And I got scared and I ran. And then I had the headache and I woke up on board.” She shrugs. “What d’you know about Mori?”

“We might be better off sharing this information,” the younger Doctor says thoughtfully. “Maybe he should know? The other Doctor? And that girl?”

“All right,” Donna says. “But, Spaceman--” She reaches out to hold his arm. “Tell me first.”

He smiles at her. “Yeah. They can wait.” He has a feeling she’s thinking the same as him, that they’d spent a lot of time in this bed with conversation and other things. This is where they are comfortable. “Mori is a very large planet in a solar system located a bit closer to the center of the Milky Way than Earth. Say about six hundred million light years? They’re traditionally a technological society, they’ve achieved level ten spaceflight, so they’ve been traveling the universe for a while. Did that woman look like she was starving or injured?”

“No,” Donna says. “Only desperate. She was wearing black, if that’s relevant. She wasn’t young but not old either. And she was looking for us. You and me. Not... that Doctor out there.”

“Well,” the younger Doctor says, grinning at her. “No use breaking up a winning team, eh?”

Donna’s expression is shot through with joy and pain. “Right,” she says, and reaches for his hand. “We’d better tell them.”

They emerge back out hand-in-hand. The Doctor starts up off the jumpseat as they come back into the console room, looking from Donna to the way her hands are clasped with the younger Doctor’s. “I can remember what brought me here,” Donna says. “There was a woman asking for help. She said she was from another planet.”

“Where?” the Doctor asks. He gestures for Donna to sit on the jump seat.

“Mori, she said,” Donna says. “She said the planet was dying and she was looking for us, er... for you and me. Or him and me.” She frowns. “Er. Us.”

“Did she say how?” the Doctor asks. He looks at his younger self. “The Mori are advanced, surely there’s less war these days.” He goes to the console and pulls up the view screen. The younger Doctor, fascinated, comes to look at the new console system. The Doctor pulls up the current Shadow Proclamation reports on the galaxy neighborhood in which Mori is located.

“Nothing is written in the reports,” the Doctor says.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” the younger Doctor interjects. “You never know what’s being covered up, or missed.”

The Doctor inclines his head in acknowledgement.

“I suppose we’d better take a look ourselves,” the younger Doctor says. “It can’t hurt for us to see firsthand what’s going on.” He looks to Donna. “Do you feel well?”

Donna shrugs. “I feel fine. Physically.”

The younger Doctor comes to stand next to her, and both of them feel a distinct sense of calm in their close proximity. The Doctor watches it happen, attempting not to notice the way Donna’s body is turned to the younger Doctor’s, the way they graze hands.

Clara looks between them and sees the way the Doctor swallows hard. She steps up beside him and starts to assist in flight. “Are you all right?” she asks quietly as she moves around the console.

The Doctor shakes his head. “Fine,” he says. “Let’s see what’s going on.”

“I did know how to fly this thing,” Donna says. “Once.” She is observing the way the Doctor and Clara pilot the ship, and the younger Doctor nods.

“The best first mate this ship could ask for,” he confirms. They lean against the railings of the stairs for stability as the TARDIS lurches its way into spaceflight. Donna feels her heart start to race, and her hands start to shake in a mixture of absolute terror and anticipation and joy and excitement, and has to catch her breath. The younger Doctor keeps a close eye on her.

“Oh.”

The Doctor scrambles for the controls abruptly, looking in horror at the viewscreen. “Oh, no,” he says.

Everyone comes to stand beside him to see the screen. There is a planet in its center, blue and brown and green, like Earth, but with huge landmasses scattered across it. There are clouds, but Donna notices immediately the trailing gray and black lines rising from the surface. “That’s smoke,” she says. “It has to be. Like bombs fell.”

The Doctor looks over at her. “You might be right,” he says. She was often right when they were together. He zooms in on a particularly large plume of smoke and inhales. “It’s a crater,” he says. “Absolute destruction. There are hundreds of them.”

The younger Doctor nudges his way forward, a hand resting briefly on the small of Donna’s back. “Is it from explosives or extraterrestrial impact?” He looks closely at it. “It seems like bombs.”

Clara and Donna look at each other. “There’s a war?” Clara asks.

“Or an invasion,” Donna says, and the Doctor and the younger Doctor look back at her.

“What makes you say that?” the Doctor asks. He trusts Donna with the same quiet implicitness he always did.

“It looks like a pattern, like strategy,” Donna says. “Can you zoom back out?” She looks intent. “Look,” she says, pointing. “There’s a ring of holes around that water so no one can get to it.” She scans the screen. “Then there’s that huge one there, might have been a town or a building complex. And here. And here.” She points from crater to crater. “I don’t see anything that looks like an administrative or a hospital building, or any real infrastructure left.”

“That’s brilliant,” the younger Doctor says, and the Doctor nods.

“Let’s find out what this is,” he says. A few moments later they land with a tremendous thud. The Doctor and the younger Doctor start forward at the same time, and give each other a somewhat surprised look. The younger Doctor steps back and the Doctor opens the door. Clara and Donna follow them out into what turns out to be a tunnel, wide, made of metal, and lit with huge roundels. The Doctor looks round, pulls out his sonic, and the younger Doctor follows suit. Donna looks back and forth between them and shakes her head to herself. Between the two of them they scan their surroundings. “There’s life,” the Doctor says slowly. “Humanoid.”

Donna moves closer to the younger Doctor. “The Hath,” she says to him quietly. “Not the same place this time, though.”

“No,” he says.

There is silence in the tunnel. No one seems forthcoming to welcome them. Donna reaches instinctively for the younger Doctor’s hand and feels it close around hers with the same familiar relief.

The Doctor affects not to notice. He takes a deep inhale. “I smell explosives,” he says. “Carbon, magnesium, and sulfur. Wonder why she didn’t land us on the surface.”

“Damage,” Clara says. “There’s probably too much destruction.” She looks up to the ceiling of the tunnel. “Is the atmosphere breathable here?”

“It must be,” Donna says. “The woman I saw was built like a human.” She looks up too. “Maybe we can find a hatch or an access point.”

She and Clara begin to walk down the tunnel a little and both Doctors start to object. “Not without us, eh?” the younger Doctor says, catching up to them. Donna gives him a look of mingled affection and defiance.

“All right, I s’pose we can use you,” she quips. “What with the sonic and all. You can find the door.” She starts forward again, with Clara, and the four of them squint up at the ceiling.

“Here,” the younger Doctor says suddenly. Above them in the dimness of the ceiling is a very large hatch. It has a large metal wheel to turn, and there is a set of very poorly maintained beams screwed into the wall leading up to it. At least fifteen feet, Donna judges, and glances at Clara. “I’ll go up first,” the younger Doctor volunteers. “See if the wheel needs any encouragement.” And he scrambles up the ladder before anyone can protest, sonic in hand.

Donna looks anxiously up from the floor, and then at the Doctor, who has headed a few more feet down the tunnel. He has his sonic out too, looking for hidden doorways or passages. Then she looks back to the younger Doctor who has made his way up to the door. She breathes deeply, and follows him up the ladder.

Alerted by the shifting of the ladder, the younger Doctor looks down. Donna’s upturned face is dimly lit in the tunnel. “Donna,” he says. “What are you doing?”

Donna ascends closer to him. “Don’t want you to go alone,” she says. “If that woman was able to breathe Earth air the air here has to be similar enough.”

The younger Doctor gives her a gentle smile. Still the same Donna, he thinks. “All right,” he says. “Let’s go together.” He looks back up to the hatch, and reaches up to turn the wheel. It makes a tremendous groan and squeal, and Donna winces. But it moves with not much resistance after the first turn. The younger Doctor pushes it up and a circle of blue-and-white sky appears above them. He looks down at her. “Ready?”

She nods, her face illuminated now by the sunlight from above. They climb out and he helps her to her feet.

“Oh, no,” Donna says.

Around them stretches the remains of a city. There is stone and dust scattered everywhere. They have emerged from a manhole in the middle of what was once a wide boulevard. Some of the buildings are still tall, others are collapsed or demolished, and all of them are empty. It is so clearly uninhabited that Donna shudders. There is a smell in the air, like metal and rot.

“Horrible,” the younger Doctor says, squinting around them. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” Donna says, wrapping her arms around her middle. “Is anyone alive here?”

“Doubt it,” the younger Doctor says. He pulls his sonic out again and scans around them. He grimaces. “Bodies. Not live ones. Trapped in the rubble. For miles.”

With a shudder, Donna looks back at the hatch. “You said there was life underground. Maybe they ran. Like in the Blitz when they hid in the tunnels.”

“Yeah,” the younger Doctor says. “Listen,” he adds, turning to her. “I’ll keep you safe, whatever’s happening here.”

Donna nods. “I know,” she says. “You always have.” She looks around them again. “If there’s no life here we might be noticed.”

“You’re right.” He turns back to the hatch. “Let’s go back.” They climb down one after the other and descend into the tunnel where Clara and the Doctor are standing looking up.

“What possessed you to go up there?” the Doctor asks immediately, both relieved and indignant at once. “You have no idea what’s going on!”

“Now we do,” Donna says, readjusting her clothing. “No one alive on the surface.” She faces the Doctor the same resolute way she always did. “Someone razed this place to the ground and sent everyone living into these tunnels.”

“We found a stockpile of weapons,” Clara says. “Guns, swords, all kinds of things I’ve never seen before.”

“It’s guerilla warfare,” the Doctor says. He looks to the younger Doctor. “Does your sonic work?” Separating himself from himself is an effort.

The younger Doctor pulls his sonic out from his inner pocket. “At the ready.”

“Now we just have to figure out whether the life down here are victims or perpetrators,” the Doctor says. “It’s not like the Hath versus the humans this time.”

Donna flinches for the barest moment. They start down the tunnel, trepidatiously listening for noise or some indication of life. Then suddenly there is the squeal of metal on metal, hinges of a door somewhere.

“Who’s there?”

It’s a woman’s voice. Knowing this is no indication of safety, the four of them move forward into the light of one of the roundels, hands up. The woman steps out of the shadows. She is holding an enormous gun of some kind, her hair wild around her face. She is heavily pregnant and looks terrified.

“Oh.” It’s out of Donna’s mouth before she can stop herself. “We mean no harm. Not to you or your baby.”

The woman looks from face to face and blanches. She seems to recognize Donna. “Oh,” she repeats back. “Donna Noble. You’re Donna Noble.”

Donna nods.

“You. And the Doctor,” the woman says. Her eyes fill with tears. “We used our last bit of natural fuels to send Agent Karrish to earth and she found you.” She lowers the gun and weeps, and Donna rushes forward to embrace her without hesitation. She takes the gun out of the woman’s hands and puts it on the floor.

“My baby will live!” The woman grabs Donna’s hands. “We had no hope of this actually working.” She puts her hands over her eyes. “I was starting to wish he’d die inside me, I was prepared to give birth to this baby and watch him be murdered or stolen and I--” The rest of her words are lost to tears, and Donna looks from the woman’s ravaged face to the three humans standing solemnly behind her.

“What’s your name?” she asks gently.

“Beni,” the woman says, managing to steady her voice. “My name is Beni. I’ve been living down here for ages.” Her tears are mixed with awe. She moves forward towards the younger Doctor. “You’re the Doctor.”

“I’m the Doctor,” the Doctor says, and Beni looks at him confusedly.

“We were told he was a young man,” she says.

“Outwardly young,” the younger Doctor says wryly. “I’m technically the Doctor also.”

Beni smiles through her tears. “You brought me two Doctors, you clever girl,” she says to Donna, who can only shrug helplessly.

“Your agent found me,” she says. “She begged me for help, she said she’d come a long way.”

Beni turns back to the dimness behind her. “The rest of them will want to see you,” she says. “They won’t believe you’re really real.” She starts to lead Donna in through a large round door carved into the side of the tunnel. The rest of them follow her, and Donna looks anxiously back at the younger Doctor.

There is the smell of waste, which fades as they walk further into the room, and then a sharp smell of what must be disinfectant, and then a whisper of cooking food on the air. There are blankets and sheets scattered everywhere on the floor, large containers near them, filled with water. And there are people, people sitting in the midst of this apocalyptic scene, some of whom do not look up when they walk by.

“Look!” Beni shouts suddenly, in the middle of the gloomy silence. “Donna Noble found us. And two Doctors! The war is over!”

For a moment there is silence, and then people begin to emerge from corners and shadows, disentangling themselves from their hiding places. They are all women, from teenaged to elderly, all of them hungry and wide-eyed and afraid.

“Is that really her?” someone asks.

“It’s her, it’s her,” someone else says. An old woman steps forward with a piece of card in her hand. “Look, she’s like her shrine.”

Donna looks wide-eyed at a painted rendering of herself on the woman’s card. Under it is written “OUR LADY OF THE LIBERATION” and a date. “I visited the Ood shrines to Donna a long time ago,” the lady says. “When I was much younger. The statue there is magnificent.”

“A statue?” Donna is bewildered. “Of what?”

“Of you!” Beni says. “Didn’t you know?”

“No,” Donna says. “Why me? I’m no one.”

“You’re not,” Beni says. “You’re the Lady of the Liberation, you’re the protective goddess of the whole Mridulan galaxy, we’ve known stories of you all our lives.” She shakes her head in awe. “I can hardly believe you’re a real person.”

Donna looks to the younger Doctor. “Did you know this?”

The younger Doctor shrugs. “I had an idea,” he says.

The Doctor, who of course had known, who had visited these shrines many, many times, who had shed tears in front of the various depictions of Donna on many planets, who had thrown flowers at the very statue on the Oodsphere the old woman had referenced alongside all the celebrants of the Liberation Festival, now wonders how much this carbon copy of his old self knows. It must be up until he wiped her memory. At least he wouldn’t remember regenerating.

“Usually they draw you blindfolded,” the old woman says. “But you have eyes.”

Donna is frankly nonplussed. After a few moments she exhales. “All right,” she says. “I suppose it’s my job today to learn information I had no idea about that is disquieting to say the least.” There are so many faces gathered around them, and Donna is starting to feel crowded. “Er,” she says, at their expectant faces, “these are... the Doctors, and this... this is Clara, she’s my friend--” Donna’s gestures are hesitant. “We’ve come to find out what’s going on and help you.” It’s almost a question.

There is a wave of silence over the crowd and someone starts to cry. There are tears streaming down faces here or there. “I wish my husband was here to know this,” a woman says, and a few agree with her. “We haven’t seen our men in a long time.”

“I wish my son was here,” comes another voice.

“Do you know where our families are?” someones asks Donna from the crowd.

“No,” she says.

“Why did they separate you?” Clara speaks up, looking to save Donna from her confusion and unease.

“To make us weak.” A young woman says. She makes a path through the assembled crowd and holds out a hand to shake Donna’s.  “I’m Nina. My husband was a peace officer before the invasion.”

“Who invaded you?” the younger Doctor asks. “I’ve never heard of any surface wars on your planet after the Shadow Proclamation put up the Truce.”

“The Shadow Proclamation are the ones who invaded us,” Nina says.

The Doctor is alarmed. “The universal police invaded you? They’re occupying?”

“They blew our capital to bits.” Beni makes circles on her belly with her hands. “I was in the hospital for an appointment when they hit. Found out I was pregnant twenty minutes before the lights went out. They declared a suspension of our constitution on the basis of emergent need in the light of intergalactic conflict. They told us our planet is a strategic location and they would rearrange our infrastructure to accommodate their needs. They razed us and drove us underground. They took our men and our boys. They shut our banks down and took our farms.”

“But that’s government forces,” the Doctor says. “You’re being occupied by an intergalactic treaty of officials. That makes no sense. They said intergalactic conflict? How is that possible when the Shadow Proclamation is made up of all universal nations?”

“We don’t know,” a woman says. “But our children are hungry and the surface is off-limits to us.”

“But now you’re here,” Beni says. “So maybe it will be over soon.”

They all look so hopeful and relieved.

The younger Doctor has been keeping a close eye on Donna this entire time, to be sure she is safe. “I’m not a miracle worker,” Donna says.

“That’s not what we hear,” Nina says.

The women and children make them welcome among them, bringing them food and water, gathering to watch Donna like an audience. She is distinctly unnerved by it. At first she declines their food on the basis of limited supply but then she realizes it’s almost like offerings. That makes it worse.

“Please,” she says after the fourth person has brought her food, “save your food for yourselves. And your children.”

“How else will we sustain you?” The old woman smiles and pats Donna’s hand. “If you are to sustain us, first we must feed you.” She sits near to Donna, smiling to herself. “My name is Persha,” she continues. “I’ve waited a long time to know if the stories were true.”

“What stories?” Donna asks.

“The liberation of the Ood, for a start.” Persha counts off on her fingers. “The Hath and Human War of Generations, the monster of Midnight, the Adipose, all of them.”

Donna is speechless. All of those are true indeed.

“Are they all true?”

“I... yes,” Donna says, unable at last to lie. And why would she? All of them are gloriously, painfully true, all of them had been taken away from her and now come rushing back with unexpected clarity. “Yeah,” she repeats, and her eyes fill up and spill over. “Yes, they’re all true.”

Persha looks dismayed. “Oh,” she exclaims. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

The younger Doctor moves before the Doctor can. “Donna,” he says to her, in a way that makes the Doctor clench his teeth, and wraps her up in his embrace. “Don’t cry.”

He feels Donna’s muscles tense and relax, and she steels herself. “I’m sorry,” she says, pulling away and wiping her eyes. “It’s all so overwhelming. I wasn’t expecting you all to know the details.”

“But they’re extraordinary!” Persha says, leaning forward to offer Donna a handkerchief made of various pieces of fabric sewn together. “All the things you did, the lives you saved! The two of you!”

The younger Doctor smiles at Donna too. “It’s true,” he says. “You did all of it.”

The Doctor clears his throat. “I wonder if we might ask you all a few more questions?” He wants to sit next to Donna, wrap an arm around her the way the younger Doctor is doing so easily now, comfort her, but he knows she will not regard him the same way she does the younger Doctor. Instead, he turns to Clara. “Will you sit with Donna? If someone is willing to guide us, we,” he indicates the younger Doctor and himself, “can do some recon and get the lay of the land here, so to speak.”

“Of course.” Clara comes to settle herself beside Donna among the blankets and people. Donna looks absolutely bereft when the younger Doctor stands up. He gives her a meaningful look and turns to his current self.

“Let’s solve this problem,” the younger Doctor says. “Two brains are better than one.”

Donna watches both of them walk out of the room, back into the tunnel, and away from her. She exhales shakily. “Please, will you let me talk to her alone for a while?” Clara asks the people who are still watching Donna hungrily, expectantly. They drift away slowly, one by one, some children being ushered by their mothers, others looking back over their shoulders.

“Thank you,” Donna says gratefully to Clara. She exhales and wraps her arms around herself. She looks around. “These people think I can save them,” she says after a long moment of silence.

Clara reaches out and puts a hand on Donna’s shoulder. “They’re glad to see you,” she says, and knows it sounds useless.

“They think I can do something that I can’t,” Donna says, her voice low but urgent. “These people think I can do magic. I don’t even know what’s happening on the surface, I hardly know anything about the Shadow Proclamation. And it’s worse that all the stories are actually true.”

Her hands are moving agitatedly, and Clara covers them with her own. “Don’t forget to breathe,” she says, and Donna slows her movements. “There is no way the Doctor will let you come to harm,” she says, and Donna’s eyes flicker to her face at the certainty in Clara’s tone. “And there is something going on here that you must be meant to be part of. I’ve been with the Doctor long enough to know that.”

Donna breathes steadily, slowly. She also knows this.

“He says you came looking for him,” Clara says. “That you turned him down and then you came and found him.”

“I did,” Donna says. “That’s true.”

“Why? How did you find him? How long did it take you?”

Donna shakes her head. “Took me about a year? Maybe a bit less? I was just... throwing myself into every strange thing that happened, spending my time and money on investigating weird happenings, I just knew he’d be around them.” She smiles a bit ruefully. “My mum was absolutely losing her mind. To her I was a self-fulfilling prophecy. Useless. But I knew. I just knew.”

“And where did you find him?”

“London. Of course,” Donna says. “That was the Adipose.”

“I don’t know what those are, but these people do,” Clara says, grinning too. “Maybe you can tell me the story.”

“They were aliens,” Donna says, “naturally. And they infiltrated a pharmaceutical company and started selling pills that caused people’s bodies to fragment, a kilo at a time.”

Clara grimaces in disgust.

“I mean, literally a kilo of living flesh,” Donna says. “It would detach itself and... walk away. I saw a woman dissolve completely into ten or eleven of the little buggers. Right in front of me on her bathroom floor. People thought it was a weight-loss pill.”

“That’s fucked,” Clara says, and her honesty startles Donna into a little laugh, the first since she’s arrived.

“It was fucked,” Donna says. “And I’m sure you’ve seen plenty just as bad. Almost inevitable with him, isn’t it?”

Clara nods in agreement. “The most exciting, excruciating, terrifying, euphoric things.”

“Yeah. Exactly.” Donna continues with her memories. “We discovered they wanted to use Earth as a nursery, and they’d recruited this... woman, this Miss Foster, to be the nurse, and she must have gotten them this office building they were in. She called herself a nanny. The Adipose dropped her on her head from the roof of the building when they realized they’d been found out.”

Donna remembers how, instinctually, she’d buried her face in the Doctor’s chest as gravity reasserted itself over Miss Foster’s body, how he’d pulled her in as soon as it happened, how she’d clung to him in a way she had wanted to do before, and how it was as natural as breathing to turn to him and feel him hold her close.

“They came in their ships and collected the babies,” Donna says. “We got them off the surface of the planet and out of the galactic neighborhood. No sign of them since, at least not locally. Not that I would know, even if it had happened again, since I was mindwiped.”

There is a little silence. Clara looks around them. “They say they’re being occupied by government forces,” she says. “Universal government forces. But why? For strategic purposes? Who is the enemy of the universal police? They’re meant to be the law that applies no matter the planet.”

“Then something is going on that shouldn’t be,” Donna says. “On one side or the other. You saw the visuals. They’ve cut off resources, made the city impassable. Is this the capital?” She looks around them. “Is this the capital? Or an important location?” she asks, raising her voice so she can be heard.

“This is the capital,” Beni says from her seat on a folding chair. “Bahara Ko Kel. It means ‘city on the blue water.’ There was a lake here a long time ago.”

“Where did it go?” Clara asks.

“It was drained,” Beni says. She drags her chair over to where Donna and Clara are sitting. “There was a... poisoning. It leached into the soil and we had limited natural aquifer capability to filter it out. So the government drained it.”

“What was it in the water?” Donna asks. “How do you know so much about it?”

“I was a city planner,” Beni says. “I was part of the team that designed the containment process and the drainage. As for what was in the water, we don’t know. We weren’t allowed to do tests.”

“How long ago was this?” Donna asks.

“Nine months now,” Beni says. “We’ve been down here almost eight months.”

“How do you get your water here?” Clara asks.

“We tap into the city’s underground pipe system,” a woman says. “We have filtration devices we smuggled down here. We can show them to you.”

Donna declines for both of them. “I won’t put your organizing in danger like that,” she says. “And food?”

“We steal.”

The answer is simple. Donna feels like she should have known. She doesn’t ask where from. She and Clara only look at each other solemnly. “How long exactly have you been down here?” Clara asks.

“We’ve measured by the one natural calendar we have,” Nina says, pointing to Beni. “Eight months.”

“I was four weeks along when I found out,” Beni says. “Now by my count I’m a week from my due date.”

“And... pregnancy is forty weeks among you?” Donna asks. “Are you humans?”

“Close enough,” Beni says. “Excellent question. And yes, gestation is forty weeks on Mori. Some of our relative species go a little longer, but we’re close to human physiology.”

“So they poisoned the major body of water in your city,” Clara says, “then they invaded?”

“About two weeks later,” another woman says. “They shut down the schools and the banks, that was our first indication. We all had to go and get our children from their schools, even those of us who sent our children off-world for their education. They claimed they wanted to do a census of Mori.”

Clara frowns. “Did they count you? Did they put marks on you? Take your names and addresses and details?”

“They just... processed us,” Nina says. “I lost my job. We all did. The men and boys over 12 were told to go one way, and the women and children under 12 the other. Took about eighteen hours to process the entire capital.”

“How awful,” Donna says. She thinks for a moment. “This was such a thorough and complete shutdown of your country,” she says. “They were so efficient, and so quick about getting you all out of the way. Did they do this anywhere else?”

“We aren’t sure,” says a woman. “But we managed to take a cell network for ourselves for two days before they figured us out, and we got nothing. No responses, no pings, no results on a scan. So they must have gotten everyone.”

“You have no communications above ground anymore?” Clara asks.

“We are cut off,” says Nina, and there is a finality about her words that makes Donna shiver.

“How do you know about the baby?” she asks Beni, who shrugs.

“I don’t,” she says. “We’ll see when it comes out.”

A look of dismay passes over the faces of all the women who hear that statement, and Nina says, “We’ll all be here to help when that happens.”

“What about you, Donna?” Beni asks. “Have you got a husband? A child?”

Donna looks down at the wedding band on her left hand. “I do have a husband,” she says slowly, thinking of her life on Earth for the first time in a while. “I... his name is Shawn.”

“What does he do?”

“He, er... he helps me run my foundation,” Donna says. “We... we have a foundation dedicated to science education in London.” She thinks of the building going up, layer by layer, in central London, the observatory she is funding, the giant telescope in the Wilfred Mott Planetarium and Library. The library dedicated to her grandfather, who’d capered through it like a boy when he saw all the stacks of books, the rows of computers, the enormous skylight.

“How long have you been married?”

“Just about three years,” Donna says. “No babies yet, we’ve been busy.” And that is most of the truth, though she leaves out that the migraines had made her fearful of pregnancy, not to mention she’d suspected she couldn’t get pregnant for a while, and now she remembers why; the Metacrisis. She has no idea if it has had a lasting effect on her cells or her DNA, if her time with the Doctor changed her body beyond her former functions. But there have been no pregnancies on earth, though her period has come with healthy regularity. She can be sure of nothing.

“Maybe we’ll see our husbands again soon.”

The statement is met with a general sense of forlorn agreement, the sentiment worn threadbare by hopeful overuse in these dark tunnels. Donna doesn’t even know who said it, just that it hangs in the air like a hungry ghost. She knows it’s renewed by her presence. She feels Clara squeeze her hand and suddenly she is tired. Overwhelmingly tired, as everything seems to catch up with her on a wave of anxious awareness.

“I need to sleep,” she says to Clara, and Persha leaps into action, quickly for all her age.

“Get blankets,” she commands. “Donna needs to rest.”

Donna is practically asleep upright, her eyes too heavy to keep open, as soon as the words have left her mouth. It is a tiredness she hasn’t felt in a long, long time. She rouses herself to lay down on the pile of blankets provided for her, and doesn’t stir when Persha drapes her with a coverlet. Her sleep is so deep and exhausted that Clara is worried. She keeps watch, whispering with the other women, gathering more information while she glances over periodically to check that Donna is breathing.

A long while later the two Doctors return. Donna is still asleep, and the younger Doctor moves towards her instinctively, immediately, and takes over watching for Clara. She goes to sit with the Doctor, who is mulling over a stack of drawings.

“These are layouts of the tunnels,” the Doctor says, glancing up at Clara as she sits down next to him. “They made me a few copies. We saw the water filtration system.”

“What are they doing underground?” Clara asks.

“What are they doing on the surface,” the Doctor says. “That’s the question. They drained that lake on the surface. They said it was poisoned.”

“They said the government didn’t let them test it.”

“I bet they didn’t,” the Doctor muses. “Who’s leading the Shadow Proclamation now?” he asks himself. “We should get back on the ship and do some research.”

“Why don’t we do that now,” Clara suggests. “I wonder if we have limited time before the Shadow Proclamation notice we’re here.”

“Right.”

The younger Doctor seems to take it as a given he will stay with Donna while she sleeps, and he nods at the Doctor when he hears where they’re going. He turns back to Donna’s sleeping face before the Doctor and Clara are even fully turned away.

Her breathing is steady; he can hear it. Her cheeks are flushed and her skin is pink. She seems healthy. He puts two fingers softly on her temple to check her pulse and blood pressure. Both are normal.

Donna stirs at the feeling of his fingers on her skin. She opens her eyes, blinks a few times, and then inhales and exhales deeply. She sits up and pushes her hair out of her face. “You’re back,” she says.

“I’m back,” he says softly. “Did you sleep all right? Are you all right?” He’s seen her in this state so many times, her blue eyes coming to life as she wakes up, her red hair in disarray.

“Yes,” she says. “Did I sleep long?”

“Yes,” the younger Doctor nods. “Clara said you suddenly started to fall asleep, and they laid you down. Does your head hurt?”

“No,” Donna says. “No, I feel rested. I’m hungry.” She looks around her for the parcel of food she’d been handed. They’d all made her a meal of their stash despite her protests. “Eat with me,” she says. “I know you walked a long way. You can tell me what you found.”

“We found more tunnels,” the Doctor says. “They showed me the food and water, the disposal, the weapons.”

“What do they have?” Donna asks. She tears open a package of crackers and hands the Doctor half in the wrapper. They break apart a block of cheese between them, and share the container of water. There are also small grapes.

“Guns. A lot of them. Traditional explosive and laser. Infrared, photon bullets, all that kind of thing. They have scramblers, trackers, small nuclear arms.”

Donna shudders. “Nuclear?”

“Well, that’s common technology for them, it’s not atom bombs,” the younger Doctor clarifies. “But yes, nuclear.”

“Will we be fighting, d’you think?” Donna asks.

“I don’t know,” the younger Doctor shrugs. “We’ll do everything we can to avoid it, of course. As usual.” But there is always the unspoken for him, the resolve that if anyone harmed Donna there would be a painful and certain death for them. “If they’re being occupied by government forces, then something very big is going on.”

Donna eats silently for a moment. “I’m scared,” she says eventually. “I’m afraid these people think I can do magic.”

“Magic?” The younger Doctor looks puzzled.

“That I can save them,” Donna says. “That I can do something that I maybe can’t do.”

“We can only do what we can do,” the younger Doctor says, counting grapes to divide them evenly between them. “Fortunately, I happen to know that you are capable of extraordinary things.”

Donna sighs. “Not you too, Spaceman.”

They both pause. The affectionate name slipped from her as easily as memory does.

“Don’t put pressure on me,” Donna says urgently. “This is life or death, there’s a pregnant woman here.”

“You’re not alone,” the younger Doctor reminds her, reaching across to take her hand. “Don’t forget that.”

“Do they think I’m a goddess?” Donna asks.

“No, I don’t think so,” the younger Doctor says thoughtfully. “I think they think you’re the deus ex machina, though.”

“I’m not,” Donna repeats.

“I know.” He pushes a stray bit of hair out of her face. “Remember what I said to you about coincidence? All that time ago? There’s too much of it around you. Something must be happening again.”

He watches the emotions warring on her face, her beautiful face that he has loved to look at for as long as he has known her. She is full of expression, and her eyes can speak volumes. With the slightest quirk of her lip he knows when she’s joking and when she’s serious. There is fear, excitement, and anticipation. That’s my Donna, he thinks.

“Is it beyond my control?” Donna asks.

“Like many things in this universe,” the younger Doctor shrugs. “And, like every other time, I will be here for every minute of it. And I will protect you and save you and make sure you get out of it alive.”

Donna looks down at her hands. “I trust you,” she says.

He pulls her hand to his lips and kisses it, a gesture out of the past that makes her gasp with the force of memory. Then he looks at her hand again and says, “That’s a wedding band, Donna Noble.”

“Er, yes, I... I got married.” Neither of them would have the knowledge the Doctor has, of her wedding when he’d stood in the graveyard and watched her laugh and smile and love another man.

“Who is he?”

Donna takes a long time to answer. Then she looks at the younger Doctor, the resurrection of all of her hopes and dreams, even removed from him as she had been, and she knows. “No one,” she says. “I’ll tell you about him another time.”

The younger Doctor doesn’t get a chance to pursue the subject. Suddenly there is a group of women gathered around them again. “Are you quite finished?” one asks, and Donna feels her heart sink.

“Why?” she asks.

“Because two of your friends have disappeared into your ship, and we are unable to understand why we have been shut out from it,” the same woman says. “They have not allowed us to know what information they are seeking and we demand to be told.”

“They want to know who’s in charge of the Shadow Proclamation,” the younger Doctor says. “What we can do to help. That’s all.”

“We’ve shown you our water, our food, our hiding places,” the woman says. She is starting to twitch slightly. “We are being suppressed by hostile intergalactic government forces, from achieving our destiny--”

“Hold on,” the younger Doctor says, holding up a hand. “Your destiny?”

“To dominate,” the woman says, and then Nina steps forward.

“To rule,” she says. “We have the superior minds, with our power nestled inside, alive, hungry.”

“Inside?” The younger Doctor’s wariness unfolds into guarded grimness. “Inside where?”

“Inside,” Nina repeats. “In our minds. Our brains. The power lies in them, waiting, ready to consume. We will not let anyone stand in the way.”

“In your brain?” The younger Doctor gets to his feet and puts his hand inside his coat to retrieve his sonic. Nina steps forward and knocks his hand out of the way.

“If you have a weapon you’d best let that notion go,” she says, and Donna notices her pupils are blown wide, a little bit of saliva oozing out of the corner of her mouth. “We will kill you.”

“But we came here to help you!” Donna exclaims, leaping to her feet as well. She comes to stand close to the younger Doctor.

“Don’t try and protect your husband,” Nina sneers, and Donna rolls her eyes instinctively.

“He’s not my husband,” she says, and the younger Doctor, despite his trepidation, feels one corner of his mouth quirk up. The eternal chestnut with them had always been that somehow, surely, they were married. “For fuck’s sake, they’re still doing that?” she asks the younger Doctor, and he shrugs.

“I don’t have any marriage certificate,” he says. “She’s not my wife.”

“Irrelevant,” Nina says.

“Let me help you, Nina,” the younger Doctor says urgently. “If you have something living in your brain you have the right to be free of it. The Mori have no symbiotic relationships with the flora or fauna of this planet. It shouldn’t be there.”

“Oh, no, no,” Nina says, smiling. “It belongs there.”

“What is ‘it’?” Donna demands. She can feel the dread starting to creep up and spread outwards from her chest like a many-armed thing.

“Kalazar,” says Nina, and she pauses a moment to twitch. “He is Kalazar. He is many. They are many. They are us.” She turns to Donna, which gives the younger Doctor the chance to reach for his sonic.

“He’s got something!” one of the women shrieks from the crowd. “He’s got something!”

There is a sound like metal and equipment and the women in the front step aside to reveal a group of armed children. They are holding guns of all variations, some that Donna can recognize, and others not. Donna chokes and grabs the younger Doctor’s arm.

“What have you done with the Doctor?” he demands. “And Clara?”

“We have contained them.”

“What does that mean?” The younger Doctor looks between the children with the weapons and the gathered adults.

“We pulled them out of that box.” Nina rolls her shoulders and shakes her head. She looks as if she’s had a terrible fright, her eyes wide. “We’re holding them. And now you too.”

“Have you all got this... thing in your head? This Kalazar?” the younger Doctor asks. “Is it a single entity? Is it made of parts? Is it a species?”

“Would you like to see? It’s your destiny too, after all,” Nina says. She turns to the surrounding women. “Shall we show the invincible Donna Noble how mortal she is after all? How she is destined to be part of us? And bonus,” here she turns to the younger Doctor, “she’s brought us two Time Lords, clever girl.”

“But what is it?” The younger Doctor is relentless, an old tactic, to keep people talking.

“Kalazar is greater than the sum of its parts,” Nina quotes. She is reciting from memory, as if programmed. “Kalazar feeds on the minds and brains of the untrained, and teaches them the true order. Kalazar is the Way of Thought. The unifier.” She starts to wince, and grimace, and then tips her head to the side.

A viscous, sluglike creature oozes out of her ear and slops onto her shoulder, like a puddle of mucus. It has few discernible features; none, really. Donna gags before she can stop herself. The younger Doctor draws back in distaste.

The blob is the color of dead flesh, mottled livid purple and red. It sits for a moment and then extends an appendage, blindly, until it reaches Nina’s earlobe. At which point it seems to launch its body up into the ear and Nina makes a strangled noise of terrible pain as it slops and forces its way back into her head.

“That is Kalazar, one of many, one of what will be millions,” Nina says as she straightens her head up again. There is a small trickle of blood from her nose. “And I have a goddess, and two fat-brained Time Lords, and a spare human. Basic model, a bit small to be useful for anything but scavenging, but she’ll do.”

“Oh, I think the men will like her.” Persha steps forward, and Donna gives her a horrified look. “Up to you, of course, but if we do come across them they’ll be ravenous.”

“You have one in your head too?” Donna asks, and then feels stupid.

“Of course,” Persha says. “We all do.” She looks Donna over critically. “I’d offer you to them too but something tells me this young man would go berserk.” She points at the younger Doctor. “You don’t have to have a marriage to be a wife, little human, Time Lord or no. You can’t lie to Kalazar.”

“Where are they?” Donna demands.

“You’ll be joining them,” Persha says. “The women will escort you to the room where we will process you and you will become part of us.”

“You said you needed help!” Donna exclaims. “You sent that woman, that agent to find me!”

Nina laughs, nudging Persha with her elbow. “Told you it would work,” she says. “She believed Agent Karrish.”

“She said your planet is dying!”

“So it is,” Nina says. “But we will resuscitate it, through Kalazar. All will be one.”

“Oh,” the younger Doctor says. “I see.” He looks grim. “This isn’t an invasion. This is a quarantine.”

Donna makes as if to grab his arm, but the armed group of children all retrain their weapons on her.  “They razed your city because you were all infected,” the younger Doctor continues. “The Shadow Proclamation is doing damage control.”

“And we escaped them!” Nina declares. “We fled, and we are here to continue the glorious work.”

“Even the children?” Donna asks. She looks to the group of small hands clutching guns, the big eyes trained on them, the serious faces.

“Our most precious resource,” Beni says, and Donna is rendered speechless at the cruelty of it. “And now you.” She comes forward and yanks Donna’s hands behind her back. Donna feels rope wind tightly around her wrists. She sees the younger Doctor is being similarly restrained, but is less perturbed about it than she is. They are frog-marched down several long hallways, followed by two armed children, a boy and a girl, and shoved unceremoniously into a room behind a round door. The Doctor and Clara are sitting against the far wall, also bound, and Donna and the younger Doctor are deposited beside them.

“Don’t be afraid,” Beni says, and the rest of the women dissipate, leaving her and Persha and Nina. “It hurts, but not forever.” She looks back at Persha and Nina. “Shall I begin the teaching? Shall we initiate them?”

Persha nods. “Let them learn. They have arrived at their salvation.” She and Nina join hands with Beni and they begin to chant. “Teach the unbelieving masses, O Great Master Kalazar. Teach the unbelieving masses, O Great Master Kalazar.”

Both Persha and Nina tilt their heads in that unnatural, otherworldly way, and Clara chokes on her breath when the Kalazar oozes its way onto their shoulders, waving blind appendages to the air around them, before forcing their way back into both women’s ears, causing blood to leak from their noses. Nina has tears of blood tracing down her cheeks for a few moments, both of them groaning the chant until their voices normalize.

After a long while of this, Persha and Nina retreat behind Beni. “Let her teach you,” Persha says. She and Nina back out of the room, and pull the heavy door shut with a resounding clang.

“You evil bitch,” Donna says immediately, as soon as the door is shut. “You’re pregnant, you have a baby in you.”

Beni drops her ceremonial pose and leans against the wall. She looks exhausted. “Leave me alone,” she sighs. “You have no idea what you’re saying.”

“Is that even a baby in there?” Donna demands, and the Doctor, the younger Doctor, and Clara all look at her in horror, and then at Beni, realizing that Donna could be absolutely right.

“Maybe you’re the queen bee, maybe it’s you giving birth to those lumps of dead flesh--”

“Shut up!” Beni explodes, turning on Donna. “Shut up, you foolish cunt! Don’t talk about my baby like that!” She is furious. “I’ve been trapped here waiting for one or both of us to die in this hole, don’t you dare accuse me of putting my baby in danger!” She yanks Donna’s hair hard, to press Donna’s head against her belly. “Listen,” she hisses. “You can hear the heartbeat.”

And faintly, so faintly, Donna hears a steady thumping, a tiny drum of life. Beni pushes her head away roughly. Donna winces but her hands are bound and she can’t defend herself. “Fucking humans,” Beni mutters.

“Then why did you let them put that... thing in your head?” the Doctor asks, his tone more measured, non-accusatory.

“I didn’t,” Beni says, her voice tightly controlled. “I begged them not to. They don’t know what it might do to the baby. I agreed to cooperate. For my baby. Come what may.” She is shaking now. “I think they’re going to take my baby and process me once it’s born.” Her eyes fill with tears. “I may never get another chance to have a child, and it’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to me that I may never get to hold this one.” Beni starts to weep. “I’m trapped. My poor innocent baby is trapped too.”

“And how long did you say before you give birth?” the Doctor continues, softly, relentlessly.

“A week. Ten days, maybe,” Beni says. She wipes her eyes roughly. “I don’t exactly know. They’ll probably lock me up when I go into labor.”

“You think this is going to go on for ten more days?” the Doctor asks. He scoffs. “Not if I have anything to say about it, I’ve got appointments.”

“You propose to resist?” Beni asks. Her smile is mirthless. “How? They’re possessed. Those blobs control them. They sink into every crevice of the brain, and they live there and grow there. That’s why it hurts when they come and go. It’s attached to the living tissue of the brain. If they... If I... I’m afraid it would make me kill my baby. If I had one. Accomplish the pain all at once, you know? Let me give birth, let the thing crawl into my brain, and dispose of my baby all in one shot.” She starts to cry again. “Fucking fuck!” she says, and it’s a sound of frustration and pain that Donna knows so well. Despair and frustration and loneliness and fear.

“Beni,” she says gently. “We understand your fear. We see you. We will help you when that baby is born and we won’t let them take it, or you. We came here to end this problem.”

“But don’t you see?” Beni asks. “They know you’re not a goddess, Donna.”

“I’m not,” Donna says. “I never said I was. I can’t do magic. I can’t save you.” She also starts to tear up. “I know even less than you do. I was just brought here.”

The younger Doctor moves closer to her. Clara does the same.

“That means they can infect you too,” Beni says. “All of you. They’re planning to. And that means any resistance you try won’t work. You’ll be possessed.”

“We won’t let it get that far,” Clara says. “Circumstances have converged on this situation in a way that is bigger than you can understand. Donna being here is a sign.” Donna starts to object, but Clara stops her. “No, Donna, it’s true,” she says. “It’s time for you to stop pretending you don’t know these are extenuating circumstances. The burden is not all on you, but your presence is significant. You can’t hide that anymore.”

“It’s not,” Donna insists, and the younger Doctor shakes his head.

“No use,” he says. “She was the same with me.”

The Doctor grits his teeth. She was the same with me, he thinks. He adjusts his position, attempting to find a more comfortable way to sit with his hands so restrained.

“Oh, give it a rest, Spaceman,” Donna says. “We’re tied up in this room because I’m so fucking extraordinary.”

There is a little silence. Beni clears her throat. “I don’t think I can get you out of here,” she says. “I’m pregnant and I’m outnumbered. If you’re supposed to be here,” and she pauses. “All of you, not just Donna, then you’re the ones who’ll have to figure it out.” She shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Obviously you can’t make any waves,” Donna says. “They mean what they say.” She shifts against the wall. “But we are going to put a stop to this one way or another.”

There is a bang at the door, and it swings open. All four captives immediately assume positions of submission and a girl, not more than ten or eleven, pokes her head into the room. “Leave them,” the girl says. “Everyone wants to eat.”

Beni retreats towards the door with a wide-eyed stare at the Doctor, who is glaring at her resentfully. She turns back to the door, her face composed, and the girl pulls the door shut with a final look at all of them.

“Fuck’s sake,” Clara says into the silence, a sentiment echoed by all of them. “Now what?”

“We wait,” the Doctor says grimly. “What else can we do? They took my sonic.”

“I have mine,” the younger Doctor says. “Might be hard to get to it, but we’ll work on it.”

“Wait,” Donna says. “The Doctor is right. They’re going to come back for us. And they’re probably going to come for me first.”

There is a small silence because she is most likely correct. “We won’t let them take you,” Clara says.

“What can you do?” Donna asks. “We’re all tied up.” She looks at the younger Doctor and then to the Doctor. “We’ll have to wait. Let them think they’ve won for a while.”

And so they wait. Donna moves closer to the younger Doctor, trying to seek comfort from his presence. He shifts so they’re shoulder to shoulder. He can feel that she’s shaking a little, terrified that her prediction might be true. “We won’t let them hurt you,” he says to her. Donna is only quiet in response. She huddles closer to him.

None of them are sure how much time has passed by the time the door opens again. Nina enters, alone. “Get up,” she says to Donna.

“Fuck off,” Donna says, and spits at her feet. This earns her a casual, vicious slap across the face, and the Doctors and Clara all object at once. Nina hauls Donna to her feet.

“Shut up,” Nina says, to the room at large, and pulls Donna out the door with her.

Donna’s face is tight with hatred and rage as Nina pulls her along the corridors, first one way and then the other. She stumbles and drags her feet deliberately, making Nina slow and stop. It only makes Nina angry, though, so eventually Donna stops, fearing her for own safety. Nina brings her into another room, lit more brightly than the first. There’s a hole in the floor, from which a terrible smell emanates.

“Sit down,” Nina says.

Donna laughs.

“Sit down,” Nina repeats, and kicks her in the back of the knee, forcing her legs to bend. Donna lands on her knees and Nina pushes her shoulder until she sits. “Sit down,” she says again.

Donna looks towards the stinking hole in the floor and feels herself start to shake. Now her heart is racing. Nina kneels down and reaches into the hole, and in her hand is a quivering slop of life, a new Kalazar. “Are you afraid, Donna?” Nina asks. “Goddess of the Ood? The Beloved Companion? Defender of Galaxies?” She steps closer to Donna and Donna can smell the awful, rotting scent of the Kalazar, see the grotesque, pulsing life with the total lack of features. She feels herself start to panic as Nina gathers all her hair in one hand and wraps it securely around her fingers to hold it fast.

“No,” Donna says, puling away. “No, no, no.” Tears well in her eyes.

“Stop moving, you silly bitch.” Nina shakes her head. “This is inevitable.” She puts the slimy blob on Donna’s shoulder. Donna shudders; the cold, wet, stinking weight of it makes her want to scream forever. She feels the blind rooting of the creature, and immediately a stupendous pain flares in her ear and down her neck. It spreads into a vise around her forehead, burning and squeezing until Donna is blind with the agony of it. She can feel the screaming wrenching her throat. It’s worse than any migraine she had ever suffered, worse than the Metacrisis when she had felt her whole body torn apart.

There is a sudden sharp whine and a horrible, nauseating pang, and Donna keels over, eyes rolling.

The Kalazar spills out of her ear, twitching horribly. Then it bursts like a cyst, spilling red and purple and yellow liquid. It is clearly dead, as if it has been torn open by a knife.

Donna lies very still. Nina looks from the ravaged Kalazar to the prone figure of Donna on the floor. For all she knows they are both dead. The Kalazar, certainly, cannot be alive. Nina approaches Donna trepidatiously, finally terrified of the Beloved Companion. She reaches out to touch Donna’s shoulder and Donna stiffens in response. Nina doesn’t know whether to be relieved that she hasn’t killed Donna, but Donna has killed the Kalazar, and that she fears.

A moment later Donna sits up, her nose bleeding. She is dazed and defenseless, but now Nina is afraid.

“How did you kill it?” Nina breathes shakily. She backs away. Donna gags on a sudden influx of saliva in her mouth, and spits. She wipes at her nose and her fingers come away bloody. She looks to the ruined sack of the Kalazar’s body on the floor and her mind starts to work.

“How did I kill it?” Donna asks. “Fear me, Nina.” She gets to her feet, willing away the nausea, the vertigo, the pain. “You got too cocky with me.” She swallows the bile at her throat. “You thought you would try me. Do you think they worship me on a thousand, thousand planets because I’m mortal?” It goes against every fiber of her belief in herself, but she sees she is scaring Nina. “Do you think the Ood carved me into their mountainsides because I can die?”

Nina gropes for the door behind her, but Donna, enraged and exhausted, is quicker. “You thought you would bring some prizes to your masters, eh?” she asks. “Two Time Lords, two humans, well--” She stops herself, sounding like the younger Doctor, “I s’pose I’m not quite human after all.” The idea makes her feel lonelier than she has ever felt before, and reckless. She reaches up and closes a hand around Nina’s neck. “Sides deprive you of oxygen, front I crush your windpipe.” She looks Nina’s face over. “Look at the Kalazar. See his death. Do you think I’ll let you outlive it much longer?”

“You won’t kill me,” NIna says. “I’m a person.”

“Shut up,” Donna snaps. “I’m talking to the glob of snot in your brain.” She shakes Nina a bit. “Fear me,” she repeats, loudly and furiously. “Fear me!” She squeezes the sides of Nina’s neck, and the color flushes Nina’s face. Her eyes go wide and then roll, and the Kalazar slips from her ear to her shoulder to the floor, where it oozes towards the dead spill of its fellow creature. Donna wants to stomp on it, wishes for one of the guns the others had before. She releases Nina’s body and lets her fall to the floor. The living Kalazar lies quivering on the floor next to the putrid puddle of remains. Donna’s face twists in disgust. “I don’t know how to kill you,” she tells it. “But you won’t kill me.”

The door bangs open behind her and she whirls, expecting guns pointed at her. Instead, Beni stumbles in through the door, both Doctors and Clara behind her. Donna makes a sigh of relief and feels her knees give way. The younger Doctor beats the Doctor by an inch and catches her before she goes to ground. She is conscious, just weak and dizzy. “What happened?” she asks.

“Beni came,” Clara says, and she helps the younger Doctor move Donna over to the wall. The Doctor moves towards the putrid hole in the ground where, inside, there are masses of the gelatinous Kalazar, writhing and slopping in steam and stench. He holds his breath, engaging respiratory bypass, and regards the dead Kalazar with the living one sitting beside it. He looks back towards Donna, who is wiping the blood from her nose using a handkerchief produced from the younger Doctor’s coat. He wonders if his extra self has the same hyperdimensional pockets he installs in all his clothing.

“What are you?” he asks.

There is a groan and Nina sits up. She looks from person to person and her face registers dazed fear. “She killed the Kalazar,” Nina says, pointing at Donna. “She killed it, it fell out of her head dead.”

The Doctor feels his throat close with emotion; the safeguard is still working. He advances on Nina. “And this one is from your head,” he guesses, indicating the live Kalazar. “And this hole. This is where you keep them? Or is this where they come from?”

Nina doesn’t say a word. The younger Doctor pulls his sonic out of his coat and moves the Doctor aside. He pulls Nina to her feet and points the sonic at her. “I want you to understand,” he says, in an almost conversational tone, “that it’s in your best interest to cooperate with us, Nina, or I think you’ll find that it will cost you.”

The Doctor looks to his younger self. Death threats were rare from him at any point in history. “This machine I have, kind of like the one you took from my friend here, it does many things,” the younger Doctor continues. “So if you don’t want to find out what those things are, you’ll return the Doctor’s sonic, and you’ll help us. Because I have no problem pushing you into that stinking hole. Let them do what they will with you.”

Nina swallows. “They live in that hole. They were the poisoning of the lake in the capital.” She is shaking. The younger Doctor backs off, holding his sonic still pointed. “We had no choice--”

“You tried to put one of those in Donna’s head,” the younger Doctor grinds out. “That is unforgivable. You did this to children.”

“Ah, but you care more that I tried to do it to Donna,” Nina says shrewdly.

“I care that you did it to anyone,” the younger Doctor says. “You have too much to say for someone who has been actively infesting innocent people with parasites.” He steps back into her personal space. “And you’ll note you did not succeed with Donna, nor will you ever get the chance to try again.”

Nina smiles reflexively, convulsively. “You’re wrong,” she says. “That simple creature, he has the knowledge we need. Our world has been exploited, over-civilized. We’ve become our own worst enemy and Kalazar has come to remedy it all. He came to live in our waters, our good blue waters, and make all of us Mori whole again, and united. There is peace in Kalazar.”

“You lie,” Beni says from where she is standing with the Doctor and Clara. “You lied to me, and you lied to everyone else. You let this happen, you made this happen.”

“Did you?” Donna asks.

“I wanted to help!” Nina says. “We were going to lose everything! I wanted to preserve us, one way or another!”

“You’re the one who sent Narissa,” Beni says, pointing a finger at Nina. “You’re the one who told us we had no choice left. You’re the one who made us stay here.”

“We had no choice!” Nina’s voice is getting louder. “She took too long to come back! We had to do something! Kalazar promised! They promised us!”

“They promised you!” Beni exclaims. “You took it on yourself to speak for us and you ruined our lives! We were trying to resist them!” She puts two hands on her belly, rubbing circles to comfort her baby, whom she feels starting to move restlessly. “You said, if Narissa Karrish didn’t come back, then we’d have no choice. And you didn’t wait. You went to them. You brought them to us. You made us do this.” Her lip is trembling, but she holds herself together as best she can. “And nothing has changed. We aren’t above ground, still. Nothing has been solved. We’re slaves. And it’s your fault.”

Nina shakes her head. “No. No. I did what I did for everyone here. If we had let the planet keep dying, if they hadn’t come here--”

“No,” Beni says. “No more. No more. We made a mistake. We used our planet’s resources. There is nothing left. But you let a parasite into our midst. How could you have ever thought that they would help us?”

There is a silence. “Nina, who are you?” Clara asks. “What was your job before this? You said your husband was a peace officer but you never said what you did.”

Nina’s jaw is tight with fear. “I was the leader of this sector.”

“What does that mean?” Clara asks.

“It means I was charged with the protection of this city and its surrounding areas and I did what was necessary to keep as many as possible alive in the face of a world-wide crisis that resulted from our own negligence!” Nina swallows. “I did what was necessary when all other measures had been exhausted.”

Beni laughs, a sharp, mirthless sound, and the Doctor makes a noise of disgust. “What could have been happening that would make you do this?” he demands.

“Our crops stopped growing,” Nina says. “Our money was worthless, the weather was disastrous, our infrastructure was being destroyed, we had no electricity for weeks--”

“Enough,” the Doctor says. “I’m sick of listening to you. How do we kill them?”

Nina looks at Donna. “She knows, she killed one.”

They look at the blob on the floor, still quivering next to the dead Kalazar. It doesn’t seem to be responding to anything going on around it. “I didn’t kill it,” Donna says. “It fell out of my head. It hurt, and then it fell out of my head and it was dead. I don’t know.”

“Enough,” Clara says. “I seem to recall you’re going to give the Doctor back his sonic.” She shifts away from the Kalazar pool. The smell is nauseating, and Nina edges away from the group. Donna goes for the door and pushes Nina out of the way.

“You’re done trying to fix the problems here,” Clara says, joining Donna at the door, blocking the way out. “Now you’re going to use your leadership for something else.” She straightens her shoulders. “I’m the little one, the one you want to hand over to the men, or make me forage, or something? You’re going to bring those people here and you’re going to see them remove every single one of these slugs from their heads. If they won’t do it you’re the one who’s going to convince them, or remove it yourself.”

Nina looks terrified. “They’ll turn on me,” she says. “I promised them--”

“That’s not our problem,” Clara says. “Is it?”

Nina bares her teeth. “I was trying to help,” she says. “None of you care about that! You just want to blame me for doing my best.”

“This could never be your best,” the Doctor says. “You have my sonic on you. I want it back.”

“I’ll push you in,” Donna says. “Don’t think I won’t do it. I don’t know what they eat but if it’s flesh I feel sorry for you.”

Nina reaches into her sweater and retrieves the sonic. She hands it to Donna, who veers into her face on purpose, using her anger to fuel her recklessness. Donna hands the sonic back to the Doctor and goes back to stand in front of the door. “You tell them you lied to them,” she says. “You tell them what you did. You tell them what they have to do now. And then you take whatever punishment they give you.”

“And then what? Will that rebuild our houses? Will that bring our soil back to life?” Nina demands. “We’ll be back where we started!”

“No.” The Doctor shakes his head. “Because we will help you start again. Even if in small measures. But you have to fix this.”

“Or what?” Nina asks.

“Or what?” Donna repeats. “Or what, Nina?” She points to the dead Kalazar and its motionless live mate. “Or what?” Then she takes Nina’s arm. “On second thought, come here.” She pulls Nina over to the Kalazar quivering on the ground. “You know more than anyone else about these things, you’re the one who let them in here. How do you kill it?”

“I told you I don’t know,” Nina says. “You’re the one who killed that one.”

“How do you kill them, Nina?” Donna asks again. “If you don’t tell me, we’re going to start trying things.”

“People are going to start looking for me,” Nina says. Her voice is unsteady with fear. “They’re not gonna let you hurt me.”

Donna shrugs. “We’ll see if either of those things are true.” She smiles benignly. “How do you kill them, Nina?”

“I don’t know,” Nina says loudly into Donna’s face, who rolls her eyes.

“I guess it’s time to try things,” she says. She looks back at the Doctors and Clara, who shrug and nod in agreement. “Will you all help me keep Nina on task?” Donna asks. “We’ll have a higher chance of success that way. Many hands make light work.”

The Doctors and Clara surround Nina and Donna drops her arm. The younger Doctor is looking carefully at Donna, watching her for signs of stress or changes in her vitals. At one time he’d had glasses that allowed him to see those kinds of things but at this moment he only wants to make sure she’s safe.

“Step on one,” Clara says. “That one right there.” She points to the floor where the Kalazar is sitting. The dead one is starting to congeal and dry out beside it, and Nina swallows.

“Go on,” Donna says, and Nina shakes her head. “Go on,” Donna repeats, and prods Nina forward. Nina starts to shake, and lifts her foot. “Do it,” Donna says. Nina stomps her foot down and there is a simultaneous howl of pain and a scream that could never be human. Nina snatches her foot back, and there is a sickly, bloody liquid spread onto her foot and leg, which smells unimaginably foul. The Kalazar has an enormous dent in it.

Nina cries out again and they can see the liquid has seeped through her clothes and onto her leg where the skin is blistering. “All right, don’t torture her--” the Doctor says, and Donna turns her head to look at him, so unnerving to see the Roman in modern clothes, looking at her like the Doctor used to look at her, as if he were begging her not to leave. She inclines her head in acknowledgment, and pulls Nina back.

The Kalazar lies still for a moment and then, with a slurp, seems to inflate back to its original shape. It starts to slop towards them and everyone jumps back. Instinctively the Doctor draws his sonic and presses the button hard. A blast of square waves splats the Kazalar against the wall. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Donna says, and Beni retches next to her.

Nina takes advantage of the moment and wrenches free of Donna’s grasp. She goes for the door and starts to pound on it. “Help!” she screams! “Help me! They’re killing me! Help!”

The younger Doctor looks to the Doctor. “She’s not going to help us,” he says. “You know she won’t. She’s going to make this worse.”

Clara, Beni, and Donna pull Nina back and pin her against the wall. “I’m sick of talking to you!” Beni screams in her face. “I’m sick of this! My baby doesn’t deserve this! This ends now!” And before Clara or Donna can stop her, she slams Nina’s head into the wall and Nina collapses.

“Oh, shite,” Clara says. “Did you kill her?”

“I don’t care,” Beni says. She steps back. “We need her out of the way. We need that device he has.” She points to the Doctor. “We need him to kill these.” She moves her finger to the pit full of the slopping creatures. “We need this to be over. My baby needs to this to be over.” She winces and puts her hands at her back. “I need this to be over.” She looks to the younger Doctor. “Do you have one of those too? All of you?”

The younger Doctor grimly removes his sonic from his inner pocket. “I have one.” He points to the pit full of Kalazar. “They can go first, but you have to bring us everyone else.” He looks to Donna. “Maybe you can help them. They trust you.” He pauses. “I trust you.”

There is a little silence, and Donna steps back from Nina’s prostrate form. She looks to Beni. “Can we convince them? Without Nina?”

“They think you’re a goddess,” Clara says, and Donna shakes her head. “They do, Donna. They’re victims. There are children. Let’s help them.”

“They’ll listen to you,” Beni says. She grimaces again but shakes it off. “The sooner we do this the better.”

“We’ll take care of the Kalazar,” the Doctor says, and he’s aware of the way he’s looking at Donna, who looks so afraid and tired. And Clara beside her, his lifesaver in so many of the same ways as Donna, determined and compassionate and ready.

Beni opens the door and Clara and Donna follow her out into the tunnel. They walk together through hallways until Donna isn’t sure which way they’re going anymore.

They emerge into the big common space where everyone is gathered, and everyone turns almost as one to look at them. Beni puts her hands at the small of her back. “Listen!” she says loudly. “You need to listen to me.”

“Where’s Nina?” someone asks.

“She’s assisting the Doctors,” Beni says. “I need you all to listen to me. Something’s gone wrong.”

Everyone comes to attention. “What do you mean?” Persha asks, coming to the front of the group. Beni looks her in the eye.

“We have to get them out.”

There is a silence. Beni breathes deeply, feeling a small pain blooming low in her belly. “We have to get them out,” she repeats, willing herself to be calm.

“We can’t,” Persha says. “How will we get back above ground?”

“We don’t need them,” Beni says. “We don’t need them, and they are enslaving us.”

A murmur goes through the crowd at that. A child says, “I don’t want to be a slave!” and that sentence echoes through Donna’s mind.

“Then please, listen,” she says, and raises her voice. “Please listen. I don’t know why but you think I’m someone special, and for the sake of that, take me at my word. Get the Kalazar out. Save yourselves. There are other solutions to this problem and you don’t deserve to suffer.”

“But what about the men?” another woman asks. “What about our sons and brothers and fathers and husbands? How will they know?”

“We’ll have to help them too,” Donna says.

“But we don’t know where they are anymore!” The same woman’s voice breaks along the seams. “I don’t know where my husband is anymore.”

“Then let’s fix this so we can find out,” Donna says. “Please, if you care for yourselves and your children, and your men! The Doctors can help you.” The sentence is strange in her mouth. “Let us help you.”

A prolonged silence ensues, in which Donna can hear children starting to cry. Then some women shed tears too. “How can we?” Persha asks. “They own us.” She winces. “They are our masters. Oh, my head!” And she pitches forward, her eyes rolling back. She starts to shake like she’s having a seizure.

“Help her!” Beni shouts, moving as quickly as her ungainly belly will allow. Persha goes very still as people begin to approach her. Clara gets to her first and kneels down.

“Persha?” she says quietly, and then screams and falls back as the old lady gives a huge cough that sends a gout of blood over her chin and down her neck. Her nose begins to bleed, and then her eyes, and then her left ear. “She’s dying,” Clara says with certainty. She helps hold Persha down as she keeps seizing, a strangled sound coming from her throat.

“It’s self-destructing,” Donna says, feeling her mind start to move, like a fast-catching fire. “It’s going to kill her. Turn her on her side.” She helps them move Persha into rescue position (for a moment she wonders when she’d learned that and feels a familiar sensation stirring in her consciousness) and keep her from biting through her tongue. “If it doesn’t come out it’s going to kill her,” Donna repeats.

“What do we do to make it come out?” Clara asks.

“I don’t know,” Donna says. “It gets into every part of your brain. I didn’t do anything to make the one they put in me fall out.”

Persha makes a shuddering sigh and they watch the life go out of her in what seems like only a second. Clara taps her face and shakes her shoulder. “Persha!” she repeats. “Persha, wake up.”

“Fuck,” Donna mutters to herself, feeling her throat close up. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She says it quietly to herself, and waits for what she knows is inevitable: the Kalazar to seep out, dead and burst and stinking.

Beni grits her teeth and Clara helps her back to her feet. “She’s dead,” Donna says grimly. “And they’re going to self-destruct on all of you. They won’t let you go unless we go quickly.”

There is a momentary silence. “Where’s Nina?” a child asks.

“She’s waiting for us,” Donna says, getting to her feet. “So come with me so we can get to her and fix this problem. Bring your children. Leave your weapons.” She starts to help people line up. They are all looking fearfully at Persha’s body as they go.

“If she freed the Ood, and led them to quarantine the Monster of Midnight, she’ll help us too,” Beni says to the children as they line up. “Everything will be all right.” She walks alongside the forming line and leads them down the labyrinthine hallways again. “We’ll all be all right,” she keeps saying. “This will be over soon.” She ignores the crampy spasm in her back as she helps Clara open the door and Donna leads the first few people inside the big room with the Kalazar pool.

“We’re here,” she says to the Doctors, who have seated Nina on the floor against the wall, their sonics pointed down into the hole. They turn to see her surrounded by people.

“She’s done it,” the Doctor says to the younger Doctor.

“And quite right,” the younger Doctor says, and they both smile at Donna. “Well done, Donna.” Donna smiles back uncertainly, and separates herself from the group to join the Doctors.

“Persha’s dead,” Donna says quietly.

“What?” the Doctor asks. “What happened?”

“It self-destructed in her head,” Donna says. “We have to prevent that from happening again. These bloody slugs are going to kill everyone unless we figure it out. They’re slimy little time bombs.”

The Doctors look over at the assembled women and children. “Self-destruct,” the Doctor says.

“Can you kill them with the sonic?” Donna asks.

“Yes, it seems they’re organic,” the younger Doctor says. “But who’s to say that won’t make them self-destruct also?”

“We do know one surefire way,” Nina speaks up from the wall. “Put them in Donna’s head. She’s the goddess, right? She killed one herself.”

The Doctor moves quicker than either Donna or the younger Doctor, and goes to stand over Nina. “You have no advice left to give us,” he says to her, his voice low and serious. “And to you, Donna is untouchable. You’ve had your turn to solve this problem and you failed. Leave her be.”

“Oh, the both of you?” Nina sneers, and her face is full of revulsion. “What kind of a disgusting whore is Donna Noble, the goddess, the Breaker of Chains, the common human fucking two Time Lords?”

A silence descends. The younger Doctor and the Doctor look at Donna and then away, unable to look at each other. Donna’s face is red. “I think I’ve taken quite enough from you,” Donna says. “I think I’m tired of listening to people tell me who and what I am, and I’m sick to death of being relied upon to fix a mess you made.” She pulls Nina to her feet. “We’re not going to use me, Nina. We’re going to use you. You’re the one who brought them here. If they need a place to reside, if they need to be coaxed out, that’s now your job. And you’ll do it, or you’ll be responsible for the death of every person here.”

Nina starts to pull away but Clara and Beni put restraining hands on her. “It’s over, Nina,” Beni says. “Your life for theirs. Surely you knew this was coming.”

“No,” Nina says. “No!” She appeals to the gathered women and children. “I promised you, I promised you this would work, they’re trying to stop it, please--”

“Persha’s dead,” a woman says. “She died, and the thing in her head killed her. It was like it committed suicide, and took her with it. We need to stop this.”

There is a general clamor. at this “We don’t want it to happen to us! Our children!”

“Spare us!”

“You brought them here, you make them leave!”

“They’ve turned on you,” Clara observes. “You miscalculated.”

“Do I have to die for it?” Nina asks, and then begs. “Please don’t let them kill me, I swear I was trying to help.”

“But you didn’t!” The same woman steps forward. “Now fix your mistake!” She starts to dig at her ear. “Make them get out of us.” Then she grimaces terribly. “Make them get out. Make them get out,” she repeats, and it turns into a wail of pain. A moment later a Kalazar slips out of her ear and oozes to the floor, and the Doctor points his sonic at it. The woman slumps beside it on the floor, insensible.

The Doctor winces and pushes the button on the sonic, sending percussive waves in rapid succession, like invisible bullets. The Kalazar bursts like a sack, spraying the comatose woman and those nearby with stinking liquid. There are shrieks of fear and disgust all around.

Beni grits her teeth against a sharper pain. Please hurry, she thinks. Please, please hurry. She breathes deeply, sighing a bit on the exhale, and Donna looks up sharply. She abandons Nina and comes to Beni.

“Are you all right?” Donna asks her, very quietly.

Beni nods reluctantly, her face twisting with pain. “It’s fine,” she whispers back. “I’m fine. Don’t stop anything. I’m fine.”

“You’re in labor,” Donna says.

Beni’s eyes fill up. “Don’t stop anything,” she begs softly. “First babies always take a long time, right? Help them.”

“You tell me the minute you can’t bear it anymore,” Donna says. “We’ll help you.”

Beni nods but turns away, ushering people into an orderly line while the Doctors and Nina move the unconscious woman out of the way. Donna looks worriedly after her and turns back to the Kalazar pit. “If you kill the ones in the pit will the others self-destruct?” she asks the younger Doctor. He shrugs.

“Don’t know. Is it a chance we’re willing to take?” he asks. “Maybe we should try and get them out first. Knock them out safely and get these bloody things out.”

“Can we do that to the children?” Donna murmurs. “Will they be safe?”

“This is a no-win situation, Donna,” the younger Doctor says. “There are no good options here. You know what that’s like.”

Donna leans her forehead on his shoulder momentarily. “I know. I remember.” She sighs. “We can only try. Whatever is least invasive.”

The Doctor, standing in front of the anxious people looking for a solution, turns to the younger Doctor and Donna. “What do you say?” he asks.

“I’d usually ask you that question,” Donna says, and the Doctor feels his lips quirk into a smile. That’s my girl, he thinks.

“We say knock them out one by one, force the slugs out, and kill them. Hope the people live.” Donna shrugs. “It’s our best guess.” She turns to the younger Doctor. “No promises, right?”

“None,” he reassures her.

“Well, at least we’re working without a safety net, as usual,” Donna says wryly. She tangles her fingers momentarily with the younger Doctor’s, just briefly, and whispers. “Beni’s in labor. It’s early yet but it’s happening.”

The younger Doctor looks immediately over to Beni, who is doing her best to reassure her fellow women with her hands at the small of her back. He can see the pain on her face, the way her skin is pale and the way she is starting to sweat. “Get her out of here if you need to,” he says. “I trust you.” Donna gives him a little smile. “I always trust you,” he adds.

“Same here,” Donna says, and turns to go to Beni.

“Children first,” Beni says, and both Clara and Donna hesitate at the same time.

“Are you sure?” Clara asks her, and turns to Donna. “If a child dies at the very beginning of this process then they might not let us continue,” she points out quietly. “They’re going to blame us.”

“Blame Nina,” Donna says, with a sneer over her shoulder. “She’s the one who brought them to this point.” She clasps Clara’s hand. “You know as well as I do that at some point there are no more good choices. We have to try.”

Beni makes a sharp noise, and clamps her lips shut against it, but Donna is adamant. “You have to go,” she says to Beni. “No more of this for you. Trust the Doctors. They know what they’re doing.”

Beni’s eyes widen and fill with tears. “Who will help me?” she asks.

“We will,” Donna says. “Trust the Doctors. Trust me.” She starts to lead Beni towards the door. “We don’t get to choose when babies come.” She gestures to Clara to take Beni’s hand. “Give me a second,” she says, and walks over to Nina.

“I want you to listen to me,” Donna says, and Nina rolls her eyes.

“What do you want, don’t you ever shut up?” Nina demands. “All I hear is you talking, all the time! Just shut up! I’m sick of listening to you threaten me!”

That makes Donna laugh. “Oh, my god,” she says, and she feels a wave of warm ache wash over down her face and her scalp, making her shiver. “It isn’t me who’s going to shut up forever, you silly little cunt, it’s you.” Bright spots appear in front of her eyes and then disappear, leaving Nina’s contemptuous face. “I don’t care that you were stupid enough to believe psychic slugs. I don’t care that you’re enough of a silly bitch to have victimized your own people. I don’t even care that your planet is dying. You can fuck off and die as far as I’m concerned. Alone and in pain? Better.” Another shivering wash of pain down her neck, as if someone were pouring bath water down her back. She imagines thunder. She remembers the words Oncoming Storm from somewhere in her consciousness. “I want you know to know that when this is over, when you’ve done your job and helped the Doctors clean up this mess, we are going to let your people do whatever they want with you. Whether they turn on you, or forgive you, and I think that’s unlikely, we won’t be stopping them. But if you put a foot out of line anymore, any more mistakes, I promise you I’ll take the decision out of their hands.”

“Fuck you.”

“Shut up,” Donna says, and it’s quiet but final. “Shut up now, Nina. You don’t understand what’s happening.” She shoves Nina back and goes back to Beni and Clara. “Let’s go,” she says. “I don’t want to look at her anymore.”

Beni has to stop a few feet down the hallway to double over in pain. “Do you know how to deliver a baby?” Clara asks Donna, who nods.

“Yes,” she says somberly, because Donna Noble did not know how to deliver a baby in such detail and with such precision, but the Doctor does. She breathes deeply against the headache. It seems to subside, and Donna relaxes. “Let’s get her somewhere warm,” Donna says. “And safe. We need blankets and water. Hot water. And scissors. Or a knife. Where’s the water pump?”

“I’ll take you to it,” Beni says. She straightens herself out and starts to walk again, resolutely, down the long, dim corridors. A few minutes later they have to stop again for Beni to groan against a wall. Donna and Clara count her through it, holding her up and massaging her back.

The room with the water pump is large and damp, and Donna and Clara scramble to find buckets. Beni works the pump for them so that the water gushes out, and Donna and Clara fill two big plastic containers full. Beni pauses to breathe deeply. “I’m so afraid,” she says, watching Donna and Clara drag the containers towards the door.

“Where are all the blankets?” Donna asks. “Where’s the place you all were sleeping?” She leaves her container to come and hold Beni’s hand. “We’re going to get you there and settled and we’ll make sure everything is all right.” She sounds more confident than she feels, something she knows in her bones the Doctor does all the time. It reassures her at the same time it makes her afraid.

“It’s the next room,” Beni says. She grits her teeth and opens the door to the room full of sleeping areas. Clara and Donna drag the water containers into the room and Beni leans against the wall.

Clara lays out blankets on top of another and Donna helps Beni onto her knees. “It’s gonna be all right,” she says to Beni. “Don’t forget you’re not alone.” She looks around herself. “I wish we had soap,” she says to Clara, and Beni groans again, this time from lower in her core.

“Me too,” Clara says. She reaches out to clasp Donna’s hand. “We’re going to do this and it’s gonna work and she’s going to be fine.” She starts to rummage through the gathered items in the room, not caring who they belong to, and emerges with a small penknife, which Donna eyes dubiously, and which Clara immediately sets to scrubbing with some of the water and a towel.

Over the course of the next few hours Clara and Donna help Beni walk until she can’t anymore. They give her water to drink and tell her stories; she is particularly enthralled with Donna’s account of Shan Shen and the Time Beetle. They stop to help her through contractions, and finally, when Beni can no longer listen to them or respond, she surrenders and lies down on a pile of blankets, sweating and straining with the urge to push.

“Oh, oh, help me,” Beni moans. “I feel something, I feel it--” The words trail off into a wail of pain, and Donna looks down between Beni’s thighs.

“Here it comes,” she says, feeling her throat closing with anticipation and emotion.

Beni is screaming, her chin pressed to her chest as she pushes. Donna is kneeling between her thighs, ready to catch the baby, and Clara is holding Beni’s hand, helping her count the length of the pushes and letting Beni crush her hand. “Just hang on,” Donna says to Beni, “you’re doing so well, Beni, just stay with it.”

Beni screams again and delivers her baby, into Donna’s hands. Donna sees that baby emerge more clearly than she has ever seen anything in her life, the new little life come gasping into outraged cries, and spontaneous tears roll down her face. “Well done,” she says. “Oh, well done, Beni!” All three women are crying with relief and joy, and the baby is flailing in the cool air of the tunnel. He’s so decidedly alive in the midst of all the death and destruction, that Donna is reminded why she does everything she does, and suddenly, deeply and forcefully, she wants to find the younger Doctor and tell him.

They wrap the baby in a blanket. Donna cuts the cord with the penknife and hands him to his mother. “What will you call him?” Donna asks.

“I hardly know,” Beni says, her eyes alight with exhilaration and love. “I hardly could allow myself to hope that he’d still come in the middle of all this—“ She looks up at Donna. “Isn’t he lovely?”

“He’s the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen,” Donna says, and she means it.

“I’ll call him Toivo,” Beni decides. “It means hope. He makes me have hope.”

Donna sits back on her heels and breathes deeply, to calm herself. Toivo has stopped screaming his objections to the sudden cold world he’s entered and is looking at his mother, squinting and blinking slowly in that curious way of newborns. “I’m going to wash up,” Donna says, and walks away from Clara and Beni without another word.

She goes for the water pump, working the handle in a kind of daze. The water surges out and Donna scrubs herself in the torrent. She is bloody to the elbows and her clothes are ruined. Donna feels as though she could sob and laugh and dance and sleep all at once, and a pain flares briefly behind her left eye. She puts her wet hands to her face and wipes away the tears she’s been shedding since she turned away from Beni. These are not for joy or for the beautiful son Beni had delivered, they are for herself and the things she wants and doesn’t have. They are for her fear and her loneliness, the great relief of seeing her Doctor’s face again, the dearest face to her. They are for her guilt at loving him as much as she did before she got married. They are for all the things she had tried to build and that had been put on hold, for the loss inside her that only has one remedy.

Donna breathes in and out deeply and splashes her face again, rubbing her hands and arms to make sure she’s completely clean. “Come on, Donna,” she says to herself. “Come on, girl. Get up.” And she walks back into the room with the blankets.

“All right?” Clara asks, looking penetratingly at Donna, who smiles tiredly at her and nods. “Shall I go have a wash? Beni’s been cleaned up.”

“Please,” Donna says, and Clara goes into the next room.

“Oh, Donna,” Beni says. “Thank you.”

“Oh,” Donna echoes. “Please. We’re all in this together.” She smiles at Beni.

“You must be exhausted,” Beni says.

“Me?” Donna laughs. “Not as much as you.”

“No,” Beni says. “I feel the most alive I’ve ever felt.” She looks down at her baby, whose little face is tranquil in sleep. “You have to hold him. He’s practically yours.”

Donna receives the little boy with a natural embrace, tucking him the crook of her elbow. “Hello, sweet boy,” she says to him softly. “I’ve just seen you come into the world, d’you know that? You’re beautiful, yes you are. Thank you for coming.” The baby opens his eyes for a brief moment, all the way awake, and looks up into Donna’s face. He smiles, a shining, toothless smile, and drifts back to sleep in her arms.

“Ah, see, he loves you,” Beni says. “Children know.”

Donna hands the baby back to Beni. Clara comes back into the room and Donna gets to her feet. “Let me find the Doctors,” she says. “Maybe they’ve managed as well as we have.”

She makes her way down the hallways. Behind the big doors she can hear a noise, like low rumbling, and she approaches trepidatiously. She pushes the heavy door open and the smell of the Kalazar assaults her nose. “Disgusting,” she says, stepping into the room. The Doctors look up from the boiling pit of the alien slugs. There are people lying on the floor, leaning against the walls, some unconscious, but all alive.

“You did it,” Donna says.

“We did it,” the Doctor says, and both he and the younger Doctor look her over to make sure she’s all right.

“Everyone all right?” Donna asks.

“Mostly,” the Doctor says. “Everyone is alive.”

“Right,” Donna says. “And the slugs?”

“Dead, or dying,” the younger Doctor says. He steps back from the pit. “All right?” He would love for it to sound offhand, but that’s impossible. He sees Donna’s face change briefly, the way she has to master her self control for the moment.

“Baby’s born,” Donna says. “It’s a boy.”

“Ah,” the Doctor says. “First piece of good news in too long, I think.” He steps back from the Kalazar pit. “I think this is done,” he says.

“And we really didn’t lose anyone?” Donna asks.

“No one yet,” the Doctor says.

“Well done,” Donna says, and actually smiles at him.

The Doctor wants to reach out and push her hair out of her face, or embrace her, or any number of things, but he doesn’t have the right so he asks instead, “Where’s Clara?”

“She’s with Beni,” Donna says. “Anyone hurt?”

“No,” the younger Doctor says. “We’ll have to keep an eye on them for a while yet.”

“Where’s Nina?” Donna asks. She looks around the room, and finds Nina sitting against the wall.

“Oh, go away,” Nina groans. “I did what you wanted, go away!”

“I want this to be the last time I speak to you,” Donna says. “I don’t want to look at you anymore, or think about you anymore. I just wanted to make sure you were still here.” She looks Nina over one last time, contemptuously, and says, “Sick of you.”

“Now what?” the Doctor asks the younger Doctor. “Get them back to the sleeping room?”

“Those who can walk,” the younger Doctor says. “The children, definitely. They’ll need to eat. Everyone will eventually.” He looks around. “Donna, will you help us get these folks organized?”

People are coming to, sitting up, looking around. Mothers are embracing their children. Some are crying, others are too dazed to say or do much. Donna helps the Doctors form everyone into a straggling queue. She leads them back towards the sleeping room, where Clara and Beni are waiting. They lock Nina in the room with the Kalazar pit, Donna giving her a shove back away from the group leaving the room. “You’ve lost your rights here,” she says to Nina, who screams once, piercingly, from behind the door as they walk away.

Once everyone has managed to settle themselves among the blankets and sheets and pillows again, Donna helps organize a few of them to retrieve food. She goes to sit with Beni and Clara again, who have moved to a spot against the wall. “How’s your little chap?” Donna asks, feeling her chest loosen a little bit at the sight of Toivo’s tiny face.

“Hungry,” Beni says, smiing.

“All right?” Clara asks. “Everyone’s back. They must have done it.”

“They succeeded,” Donna says. “Everyone seems to be alive. Nina’s in the room still. Alone.”

Clara’s face blanches. “They let you leave her in there?”

Donna shrugs. “They didn’t ask.” She shifts uncomfortably. “We’re going to let everyone decide what to do with her anyway. She’s earned that much.”

Beni tightens her arms around her small son. “I don’t want to be part of that,” she says. Donna gives her a sympathetic squeeze.

“I’m sure they can work it out,” she says. “You focus on this baby. He’s all that matters.” She lets her breath out and says, “I wish I could go home.”

“Me too,” Beni says. She reaches out to hold Donna’s hand. “You know you saved us,” she adds. “You keep telling us you’re no one but you’re someone, Donna. You’re someone who does extraordinary things.”

Donna shrugs. She has nothing to say any longer, so she leans against the wall and watches the Doctors move around the room. They are assessing vital signs, asking cognitive questions, and checking the children closely. “Where’s the TARDIS?” she asks Clara eventually. “Would be great to see my own bed.”

Clara lowers her voice. “She’s cloaked. She panicked when they captured us before. I’m sure we can find her, though.”

Rather than letting the potential disappearance of the ship overwhelm her, Donna just nods, winds her arms around herself, and sits quietly. A faint echo of headache tumbles across her sinuses. No use panicking. No use feeling much of anything at the moment, honestly, since she has no idea what to do next.

“What will they do with Persha’s body?” Clara asks, and points to the blanket draped over the old woman’s form. It’s been moved into a corner at the Doctors’ direction, but a dead body is a dead body. Beni holds her son closer. Donna shrugs.

“Right.”

The Doctor comes to stand in front of them, and exhales sharply. “We’ve gotten in touch with the Shadow Proclamation from my universal mobile. Bit of work given that their cell towers are down. Had to ping it off a satellite from a neighboring planet.”

“I used to have one of those universal phones,” Donna says.

“Yep,” the Doctor says. “You did. Useful, right? They’ll be here in a few hours. They had no indication of the Kalazar deaths.”

“So we can leave?” Donna asks, feeling hopeful for the first time in ages.

“As soon as they get here,” the Doctor says. He looks over his shoulder at the younger Doctor. “We ought to get a move on looking for the TARDIS, I’m sure she’s in some corner somewhere.” He sees the tiredness on both Clara and Donna’s faces and adds, “D’you want to wait here while we look?”

“Absolutely not,” Donna says, getting to her feet. She looks down at herself. “I’ve got blood and ooze on me. I want this to be done.” She looks down at Beni and says, “We’ll be back when we’ve located the ship. Stay where you are. Keep that baby safe. The Shadow Proclamation is coming.”

Beni nods and Donna and Clara join the Doctors. “Let’s go, let’s go,” Clara says quietly. “I want to be sure no one messed around with the ship. I can’t wait to stop smelling this place.”

It takes a while, and a good bit of sonicking, but eventually the TARDIS blinks into view in the corner of the same room they’d landed in. She is a bit wobbly from dematerializing so quickly, but Donna breathes an enormous sigh of relief to see her. The Doctor makes sure she’s stable, stethoscope to the door, and nods. “Right,” he says. “We’ll hide her again until the Shadow Proclamation arrives, and then we’ll go.”

Donna is ready to protest, but the younger Doctor reaches out to touch her shoulder. “We have to see it through,” he says. “Remember? Even if we can’t save everyone, we see it through.”

“I remember,” Donna says softly. She leans on the younger Doctor. “I’m just tired.”

“Almost over,” he says, and reaches for her hand.

In the end it takes four hours for the Shadow Proclamation to arrive, along with a detachment from UNIT and three agents from Torchwood. They are from all over the universe, of all ethnicities and species, dressed in hazmat suits and busy. Donna, Clara and the Doctors are relegated to the side as the agents all move around, removing Persha’s body and going for the room full of Kalazar. Uniformed officers take statements from the four of them, and address the problem of Nina by placing her under arrest.

“It’s almost anti-climactic,” Clara says as they turn to make their way back to the TARDIS.

Donna huffs a laugh out her nose. “I don’t mind.” She is impatient to get back aboard the ship, ready to shed her ruined clothes and wash every trace of this from herself.

“Wait!”

Someone shouts from the crowd. “Wait! Are you leaving?”

They stop, turn, and people step forward. “Yes,” the Doctor says. “Time for us to go, don’t you think? Let you get on with it?”

“I quite fancy a shower, actually,” Donna says. “So if it’s all right--”

“We’ve been visited by Donna Noble,” a woman says, turning to face her fellow people. “Most of us couldn’t even be sure the stories were true, but they are. They are, and we got to learn that for ourselves.” She looks over at Donna. “Thank you. All of you.”

And then what else is there to do but go back to the ship, find the blue box waiting for her like a promise kept. Donna lags behind the Doctor and Clara, and murmurs, “Spaceman,” clasping the younger Doctor’s hand in hers as they walk. He’s beside her immediately.

“Let’s go home,” he says. “Eh? Have a kip? A drink?”

“All of those,” Donna says with certainty. “A bath, for sure.” She doesn’t drop his hand when the Doctor unlocks the TARDIS to let them inside. She stands in the console room still holding on to the younger Doctor. She watches Clara and the Doctor circle the console and put the ship into flight. She stands off to the side while the ship comes to life around her, and her fingers twitch in the younger Doctor’s grasp. She feels the semi-electric sensation of the subconscious bond she shared with the TARDIS stir in her senses, magnified by the Time Lord energy in her and next to her in the form of the younger Doctor. Even the presence of the Doctor himself awakens a part of her that has been blindfolded and suppressed.

“I need to go,” Donna says after a few minutes. She turns to leave and touches the younger Doctor’s sleeve so he’ll follow. Inside her room she shuts the door and leans on it. She looks around the room and says, “Fuck,” on an exhale. “All right.” She seems to pull herself together. “Shower,” she says. “Bath. Get out of these clothes. Fucking filthy.”

The younger Doctor watches her shed her clothes and find a towel. “Are you coming?” she asks him from the doorway of her bathroom.

“Er, yes, of course,” he says.

Inside the huge bathroom she’d had built for herself back when she first arrived, Donna swipes the wall and activates the computer. She sets a hot temperature for her shower and steps in. The Doctor takes up a position on the big countertop he’d sat on many, many times in the past, when he and Donna used to laugh uproariously, not caring to end their conversation just for her to wash her hair.

“All right?” Donna asks, letting the water run over her. She taps the side of her shower twice to make the wall transparent so she can see him.

“Yeah,” he says. “Remember this?”

“Yeah,” Donna echoes. She can’t help but smile at the shelf of products she’d amassed so long ago, all exactly as they’d been, preserved by the save function of the TARDIS mainframe. She scrubs herself, lathering her hair and drenching it in the conditioner she’d bought on the planet Jocunda. The younger Doctor sits and watches, hungry for the sight of her, for her laughter, for her dear face. Even having sprung fully-formed from the TARDIS, a new metacrisis of memory and Time Lord energy and Donna’s indomitable life force, he is the same as he was. Nothing about him is half-formed, nor can it be since the first metacrisis. They are made of the same thing now more than ever.

“You’ll have to tell me what you’ve been up to,” the younger Doctor says, and Donna taps the wall to turn off the water. She emerges from the shower and takes her towel from him, wrapping herself up securely.

“Oh, you mean when not killing slugs or reintegrating into your freaky time traveling world with two of you calling yourselves the Doctor and one of them being that guy from Rome?” Donna asks, and the younger Doctor laughs, a sight that makes Donna’s heart jump.

She feels herself relax. "I’ve done a lot, Spaceman,” she says. “I won the lottery, but I bet you knew that.”

“I didn’t,” he says. “But that’s no more than you deserve.”

“Triple rollover,” Donna says. “We got six hundred million pounds.”

“Whoa!” The younger Doctor laughs again. “Oh, Donna,” he says. “You gave everything, it’s only right that you should have everything in return. What’ve you done with it, eh? Fancy cars? Holidays?”

Donna shakes her head. “I’m building an observatory and a library in London.”

“‘Course you are,” the younger Doctor says.

“Named it after my grandfather, he’s absolutely over the moon,” Donna says, and then grins. “Sorry. Bad pun.”

“Good old Wilf,” the younger Doctor says. Donna recognizes the look on his face; something that was just for her, something he didn’t share with other people. “You have done a lot.”

“Bought a house,” Donna says. “Got a better car. You know. Saving for the future.” She shrugs. “What a stroke of impossibly good luck.”

“You earned it,” he says. “Things come around.” 

“I hope it’s all worth it,” Donna says. “I just couldn’t see wasting it on nothing.”

“You could never be nothing.” The younger Doctor slides back onto his feet and comes to stand close to her. “Don’t forget that.”

Donna leans on him, hungry for comfort and contact. He puts his arms around her and Donna gives in and embraces him too. The feeling is so familiar, so beloved, and her body and mind have lacked him for so long that she wraps him up in her arms. He pushes his face into the curve of her neck the way he used to, and they stand that way for a long time. “I missed you so much,” Donna says quietly. “I had no reason to live for a long time.”

The younger Doctor cradles her face in his hands. “You are the most important woman in the universe. You saved us all. There will be never be a time when you are without a reason to live.” He kisses her, the same way he used to do, and Donna doesn’t hesitate for an instant. “I wish I had had a chance to tell you this,” he says against her lips.

“I wouldn’t have believed you anyway,” Donna says, and that makes them both laugh.

“I know,” he answers her, wrapping her up around the waist.

“Come,” Donna says, and leads him back into her room. She drops her towel and pulls him onto the bed with her. Both of them are alight with the memory of shared desire and pleasure, fueled by relief and the old familiar subconscious connection built between them. Donna helps him off with his suit and embraces him with all four limbs, her hands clutching his back and then his behind to get him as close as she can.

The rush of memory and pleasure is so incredibly comforting, Donna wishes she never had to give it up. Beside him afterward, both of them not ready to let go, she thinks about her life on Earth. She thinks about her house, her marriage, her library and observatory, how she could leave it all behind for this man beside her. How she had once left a life not worth living for him. How much more she has to live for now, even without the Doctor, younger or older. How hard she’d worked to build something worth living for, the the face of the nameless wound in her since she lost her memory.

She knows she forgives him. This man, who has validated her when nothing and no one else would, is forgiven. You already know I would save you over everyone. Those words will stay with her forever.

“Spaceman?”

“Yeah,” he answers, and he sounds contented and comfortable.

“D’you... are you permanent now?”

“What d’you mean?”

Donna pillows her chin on her hand, leaning on his chest to look into his face. “I mean... are you a human? Are you like the other one? Do you stay?”

The younger Doctor pushes the stray hair out of her face. “Don’t know,” he says. “I was made from the stored Time Lord energy in your brain. I... I think my existence might be dependent on yours. It’s the energy that keeps me sustained.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” Donna says. “I plan to keep living, so you’re stuck now.” They both laugh quietly.

“That’s all right,” he says. “As long as you’re here, I’m here. When you go, I go.”

Donna’s eyes well up for a moment, and then she masters herself, the way she’d always done. The younger Doctor thumbs away the one tear that escapes and says, “You’re alive, Donna.You’ve been alive this whole time.”

“I used to feel it wasn’t worth it,” Donna murmurs. “I guess it is now.” She sits up, wrapping herself in the sheets. “I’ve done so much. I’ve got so much now, in London. The library, the foundation, it’s all there. I would love for you to see it.”

“I would love to see it. Have you got kids?” the younger Doctor asks. He reaches out to take her hand. “And your husband?”

Donna smiles, and there is no trace of guilt or shame in her face. “No kids,” she says. “Maybe it’s the metacrisis. And as for my husband. His name is Shawn.” She looks down at the little diamond on her finger, the one Shawn had offered to replace for a much larger one when they’d won the lottery, and that Donna had refused to change. “He’s lovely. He’s wonderful. We’re a team.” She shrugs. “He knows that something happened to me, and he knows about you... before. The traveling bit. But there’s nothing else for him to know.”

The younger Doctor sits up too, and grins. “You’ve always been a good secret-keeper.”

Donna reaches out to tap his cheek gently. “This belongs to me. To us. To no one else.” She tilts her head to regard him affectionately. “Are you hungry?”

“Nah,” he says. “But we might be being a bit discourteous here, hiding away.” He stretches a bit. “Maybe we ought to go back out there.”

Donna inhales deeply through her nose. “Right,” she says. “Apparently that’s the real Doctor there,” she says.

The younger Doctor smiles. “He is, you know.”

“I know,” Donna says, and her face gets serious. “I know. i can feel it. But he’s not you. I don’t know how to talk to him.”

“Yes, you do,” the younger Doctor says. “The way you talk to me.”

“He’s the guy from Pompeii,” Donna says, and both of them laugh. “He said he picked that face because of me. I didn’t know you had any control over your new face.”

The younger Doctor shrugs. “Gallifreyan regeneration is usually random. Had to have been a particularly powerful impulse in him to carry through the clean slate process.” He lets that statement be for a moment, and then adds, “Can’t say as I blame him. He’s got to be dying to talk to you.”

“Maybe,” Donna says. “Don’t know how I feel about that.” She gets off the bed and onto her feet, and stretches, a sight the younger Doctor takes in greedily, the way he used to before. There were very few things he’d allowed himself to be greedy about, but Donna is one of them. Was one of them. Would be one of them?

“What is it?” Donna asks, seeing his frown.

“Nothing,” the younger Doctor says. “I’m sorry, I had a thought.” He gets up too, and reaches for his clothes. “You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to. You know that.”

“Yeah,” Donna says. “I do know that.” She reaches for him and embraces him close. “Thank you.”

He clasps her back. “Always,” he says.

They get dressed again, Donna disappearing into her closet and emerging in a long blue-green dress and sandals. She has beautiful gold earrings in her ears and bracelets on her wrists, and makeup. She’s done her hair half up and half down in that familiar way he loved before. “Much better,” she says. She readies herself and takes his hand.

In the console room the Doctor and Clara are talking softly between themselves. When the younger Doctor and Donna emerge back out, the Doctor clears his throat. “Do either of you need medical attention?” he asks. It’s all he can think to ask, and he tries not to ask Donna specifically.

“No,” the younger Doctor says. “Just a chance to unwind.” He looks around. “Why don’t we have a good meal? Some drinks? Park us in the Vortex and just relax for a little while.”

“I like that idea,” Clara says. “Come on, Donna, let’s go find some wine.” She threads her arm through Donna’s and they go down the hall, leaving the Doctors alone.

“She all right?” the Doctor asks.

“Yeah,” the younger Doctor says. “She’s all right. She’s... so much has happened to her.” He examines the new console in front of him.

“No one knows that better than me,” the Doctor says. “I’m trying to protect her.” He pushes buttons and flips levers, and they brace themselves for the lurch into the Vortex.

“So am I,” says the younger Doctor.

“But not from me,” the Doctor says, and both of them grow serious.

“There’s no need for me to protect her from you, is there?” the younger Doctor asks. “You’re me. Aren’t you?”

The Doctor relaxes. “Technically. You know I mean her no harm.”

“Yes,” the younger Doctor says. “I do know that.” He looks up from the console. “I don’t know if she’ll talk to you.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the Doctor shrugs. “She can do whatever she wants.” He leans on the railing around the console. “You all right?”

The younger Doctor nods. “I think so.” He looks towards the hallway both the women had walked down. “You better tell me about that Clara girl.”

The Doctor nods in reply. “Something about her. She’s rescued me. She’s supposed to be around.” The younger Doctor smiles a little at the softening look on the older man’s face. “She’s good.”

“Yeah.” Both of them are quiet. “Well, let’s go eat,” the younger Doctor says. “We lucked out.”

“I’ll follow you,” the Doctor says. “Want to put on the parking brake.”

The younger Doctor departs and there is silence for a minute.

“Doctor?”

The Doctor looks up from the console, and smiles. Donna is standing there, looking like herself, her beautiful self. She looks cautious but not afraid. “Doctor?”

“Yes,” he says, and he steps back from the computer. “All right?”

Donna nods, coming into the room further. “Came to talk to you. Couldn’t deal with the silence anymore. My fault.”

“Not your fault,” the Doctor says. He is ready for anything she might say.

Donna comes to stand in front of him. She regards him frankly, as she always had, but gently, openly. “I need you to listen to me for a little bit,” she says. “Will you?”

“You don’t even need to ask.” He feels such relief looking at her that he will grant her anything.

Donna takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry for being afraid of you.” She holds up a hand to stop him from replying. “You have to understand that you’re a stranger to me--”

“I’m not a stranger,” the Doctor says, and Donna gives him a wide-eyed look.

“Yes, you are,” she says.

“I’m not, he’s only the projection of your memories of me!” the Doctor says. “Donna, I’m—“ He takes a breath, embarrassed that he’s lost control over his feelings so quickly. “Something in me must have known this was coming because this face has everything to do with you.”

Donna is quiet. She looks down at her feet. “I know,” she says quietly. “I’ve been trying to stay alive for a long time without him-- you, I mean. And I’ve been pushed back into it without any warning, which I suppose I should be used to, but--”

“Donna,” the Doctor says, stopping the flow of her words. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Donna’s eyes fill up and she steps forward to embrace him. “Me too,” she says. And actually, it’s a relief, as much as it was to embrace the younger Doctor.

“You saved them, you know,” the Doctor says, wrapping her up tight. “Don’t cry, Donna.”

“I’m not, I’m not,” she says, pulling back and wiping her eyes. “I just wanted you to know. I’m just trying to adjust.”

“What do you want?” the Doctor asks gently. “Anything.”

“Honestly?” Donna asks. She sighs. “I want to go home.”

In the little silence that follows, the Doctor understands something. Her head must hurt. Her mind must be exhausted, working overtime with the Time Lord energy, diluted as it might have been in synthesizing the younger Doctor. She is still human, beautifully, painfully human.

“I can do that,” he says. “Now? Or will you eat with us first?”

Donna smiles. “Let’s eat.”

And the four of them end up laughing over big plates of delicious food conjured out of the TARDIS kitchen computer, and bottles of wine, until Donna puts her fork down and says, “Right. I’m tired.” A wave of pain rolls through her head, down her face, and she tries to hide her grimace. It’s been at the edges of her consciousness the entire time they’ve been back in the TARDIS. She gets up to move from the table and promptly collapses, and the younger Doctor leaps forward to catch her before she hits the floor.

“Not again,” he says. 

“Get her into the medbay,” the Doctor says, and helps Clara to her feet and over Donna’s prone figure. “Can you get the door open? Go.”

Clara moves quickly and the younger Doctor gathers her up. “This is only going to keep happening,” he says to the Doctor. “She can’t keep doing this.”

“I know,” the Doctor says.

“I mean it, she’s got limited chances.” The younger Doctor sounds tired himself.

“I know,” the Doctor snaps. He takes a second look at the younger Doctor as they go. He looks pale suddenly, as if he’s losing stamina. 

As they arrive in the console room Donna suddenly starts to shudder, her eyes opening. “No, no,” she says vaguely, struggling against the younger Doctor. “No more.” Her movements force him to stop, and lower her to the floor “Stop. Stop.” She curls her fingers into the younger Doctor’s jacket and shirt. “My head hurts. Again,” she tells him. “It’s hurting again.” Her eyes are overlfowing with tears. “When does it stop?”

“I know,” the younger Doctor says. HIs face is anguished and he looks up at the Doctor and Clara. “What else can we do?” he asks them.

The Doctor goes for the console, and Clara for water and a blanket, feeling the strain of fear for Donna, whom she has known for so little time but who has clearly made such a permanent impression on her Doctor. She can see the helpless love on the younger Doctor’s face, and the traces of it on the Doctor’s face. She has respect for that; she knows what it is love to someone on the other side of a wall.

Donna cringes at the pressure, the way she can feel her pulse pounding in rhythm with the pain. “Listen,” she says to the younger Doctor. “I don’t want anyone else to hear. I’m scared I’m gonna die.” She sounds urgent and terrified.

“You’re not gonna die,” the younger Doctor says, as the Doctor punches the console in search of a solution.

“We can be with each other forever now,” Donna says, feeling the terrible spreading pain her head. It feels so final, all of it. “I never wanted to leave you.”

“I didn’t want you to go.” The younger Doctor’s face is soaked with tears. “I’m here because of you. Again.” He clings to her, his cheek pressed to her hair.

“No,” Donna says. “I’m here because of you.” She reaches up to him and kisses him, not caring who sees. She knows somewhere in her mind that it’s the last time, so she holds onto him. The pain squeezes and squeezes around her head and neck in a thick band of agony. “It hurts so much,” she whimpers to him. “I wish it would go away.”

“I wish I could make it go away.” The younger Doctor feels the sensation in his hands lessen just a bit, just enough so he knows this can’t go on much longer. Neither of them can go on much longer like this. He wraps her up tighter because he still has his strength. Donna turns her face into his chest. “But you’re not alone,” he tells her. “I’m here, I’ve always been here. I go when you go.” Donna clings on to him with what strength she can muster in her hands. Both of them are sobbing now, Donna with less and less force as breathing becomes slower. It’s so easy to slip into sleep, she thinks. So easy to let go, because he’s holding her and she won’t fall. So easy…

She doesn’t know that the younger Doctor has gone, dissolved into nothing around her, and the Doctor has wrapped her in his arms instead. She doesn’t know anything until she takes a great gasping breath under a cacophony of doctors and bright lights, and the headache is gone.

* * * *

They subject her to a battery of tests, scans, bloodwork, and questions. But everything is fine. Donna knows this with a certainty in her bones, a kind of organic knowledge. Everything is going to be all right, she assures them, with a kind of secret smile that no one can decipher. Her MRIs come up clear, her bloodwork is pristine, and her body feels better than she has in years.

But the biggest part, the best part, is that she has her memories. Everything, from her ruined wedding and Lance’s death to the moment she woke up in the hospital this time. Everything is there. It is a bittersweet feeling, painful and joyful all at once, a longing for the stars mixed with the desire to be home, around people she knows and loves. She wants to see her library, half-built as it is. She wants to be in her house, dancing around her kitchen. She wants to stare through her grandfather’s telescope like she always had, looking for something in the sky.

After a week the doctors let her come home, pronouncing themselves mystified. Donna drives herself, despite protests, and Shawn sits in the passenger seat looking worried. But Donna is smiling, and she reaches over to hold her husband’s hand. “Everything is going to be fine,” she tells him. “Everything is okay. The Doctor saved my life. Again.”

And she’s right; the Wilfred Mott Planetarium and Library is finished within the year. The Noble Foundation holds its opening gala just before Christmas, and Donna, dressed in a wine-red ball gown with long lacy sleeves, helps her grandfather hold the giant scissors to cut the golden ribbon across the entrance to the building. There is cheering, everyone toasting to each other. The press is there to take photos and interview Donna and her family. Shawn beams beside her, handsome in a dark velvet jacket and trousers, and speaks to the reporters with pride in his wife and all the good work they’ve done together.

Donna mingles with her guests, eating hors d’ouevres and drinking champagne. She looks beautiful, she feels healthy, and she imagines the blue box in the sky watching their little party in London. At that thought there is a tug in her subconscious, something that pulls her away. She excuses herself and follows her instinct into the telescope room. Alone in the half-light, she puts down her champagne flute and goes for the small telescope, her grandfather’s, set up next to the large one. She aims it for the sky and looks into the lens. The sky is clear and she can see the expanse of spangled blackness above her. What a joy that the sky is no longer a stranger to her.

She stays there for a few moments longer, dwelling in her memories, and then steps back reluctantly. She doesn’t want to be missed. She closes the doors behind her, painted a certain dark blue. The people who love her are waiting.

[fmdtaeyongarchive]

↬ our songs audition, pt. 1.

date: july 2020.

location: ash’s apartment

word count: 1,005 words without the questions.

summary: ash slightly less reluctantly auditions for our songs.

triggers: n/a.

notes: n/a.

of the shows he has audition questions waiting for him in his email for, our songs is the one ash dreads less, but he can’t say he’s fully excited about it either. it aligns far more with his interests and where he wants his career to go, yes, but his interest had waned as soon as he realized it’d be a competition show, which means invasive cameras and almost inevitable evil editing for him at some point because it’s easy to make the one who doesn’t want the cameras in his face the bad guy.

it’d be inaccurate to say he doesn’t want to turn his songwriting into something for the public to consume. he’s pretty sure that’s most of the purpose of his songwriting, but he doesn’t want to turn it into a spectacle.

management is insistent, though, and fighting against an opportunity that’s focused on his songwriting and producing abilities would only fuck him over later. something he can’t risk when he’s asking for so much freedom from bc with his next album. he holds on to the part of him that has some optimism about the show and squeezes it for all its worth as he sets up his phone camera for the interview.

What inspires you to write songs?

the first question is already reminding him of another reason the show rubs him the wrong way: more lying about his art. he can’t say all of his songs are inspired by the experiences he’s had and the feelings he’s felt because he has far too many love songs, heartbreak songs, songs about desire, for that to go over well with a certain subset of fans. “inspirations exist anywhere.” he does have that inked on his body permanently, so it’s not a false thing to proclaim he believes. “i write from what i go through and what i see others go through. movies, art, quotes, the color of the sunset on a white sand beach or the color of the ceiling through the dim light of twilight. everything and anything can inspire me to write songs. that’s why i do it in the first place, because it comes so naturally.” he hasn’t prepared for these questions as much as he had for secret sibling and he’s surprised by how honest of an answer he’d managed to give within the limitations.

What is your favorite song you’ve written?

he almost quips ‘haven’t you heard not to ask a parent their favorite child?’, but, one, he doesn’t want to come off as rude to the casting directors and, two, he does have favorites and least favorites of the songs he’d written. picking one is hard, though. is it untitled, 2014? it’d done well, if that’s any indication of it being a successful songwriting feat, but singing it is still hard on him, so his feelings toward it are too ill-tinted to be his favorite. so it ends is a recent favorite, but that doesn’t mean it’s his favorite overall. d (half moon) is one of his favorite songs to sing and he’s quite proud of it, but the album it belongs to taints it.

“’help’ has a special place in my heart.” he doesn’t explain further.

Are there any songwriters you look up to? If so, whom?

“i look up to anyone who’s been able to make a career out of songwriting. it’s not an easy art to succeed at. songwriters i look up to... well, a lot of modern, young songwriters make the list... taylor swift. she’s mastered how to capture an emotion in song like no one else. the weeknd’s music has inspired me a lot. lauv, he’s overlooked, but i look up to his ability to write and produce so much of his own music in the way he wants to. billie eilish and finneas created an amazing album that i could never hope to live up to. they’re all great songwriters and producers doing exciting things. i do look up to them, but i have more classic legends i grew up listening to: billy joel, morrissey, bob dylan, paul mccartney. you have to respect the people who really know how to write a hit for others, too: max martin, jack antonoff are legends of today’s popular music. george gershwin is a composer i’ve loved for as long as i can remember.” ash had practiced his answer to this question, but he feels like he’s rambling anyway. “i grew up primarily inspired by american and british songwriters, but there’s something to be said for the ability to transcend language with music, and i admire stromae for that, though i don’t speak french. there’s something to learn from every songwriter, in my opinion, because we’re all writing from different places and backgrounds.”

What are your goals as a songwriter?

he’s been asked this question many times before and the answer rarely changes. “i want to make music that speaks to people. the world... as people, we’re taught a lot that what we feel is wrong or we need to keep it in and... it can make us feel alone. i want my music to make people feel a little less alone. it doesn’t have to make them happy. it’s not normal or healthy to be happy all of the time. there’s value in allowing yourself to feel sadness too... i want people to hear my songs and feel something. that’s all we can do, really, as humans, is feel.”

What do you hope to achieve by being on this show?

answering the questions had gotten him carried away and only now he’s reminded that this is all for an audition for a show he doesn’t really think he wants to be on. “uhh...” he regrets not practicing his answers thoroughly after he reads the question aloud. “i want to share my music and grow as a songwriter.” that’s what he wants to do, whether the show is a part of the equation or not.

another audition done... or, halfway done, and ash recites another ‘thank you for your consideration’ before he goes through the motions of ending the recording and reviewing it to make sure he doesn’t have to re-film before sending it off to his manager with the second part of his audition.

[clunelover]

At my new job I’m trying to step up and be a good team player and so on, and one of the ways I did this was to be the person on my team to volunteer to be part of a “learning committee” composed of members from a few different teams. Boss was begging for a couple meetings so I did it, both because of the team playeriness of it all and because there is one person on it who I knew was nice and because I started to get the sense that being on the team is how you can AVOID being made to do learning and report on it - it’s the members of the committee who exhort others to learn and do “share outs.” Oh and if I wasn’t on this one it sounds like there are other worse ones to be on, like a “defects team” and a “standard work team” where you have to Do more things I think.

So I’ve been in two meetings for this thing so far - for the first one it was intros, two people are about to have babies, one key person was out, nothing happened. Second meeting - baby havers are out. One action item that made sense to me as it was spoken aloud at the meeting suddenly made no sense when I started to actually have to do something - which was just to ask my boss whether she wanted anyone on our team to take part in something to do with cloud automation...but what WAS this THING?! In the notes from the meeting it said “automation clinic” but nothing in my emails or anywhere else said anything about an actual clinic people could attend.

WOW this post is already so boring and I haven’t even gotten to the key part...basically just I was in a conniption all day worried that I needed to either blow off my action item or admit to my new committee that I had just nodded along and didn’t know what anyone was talking about.

Bit the bullet, asked Nice Lady who said “I’m not sure exactly what that was, ask [key person who seems like a nice guy but also intense and I’m afraid of]” so then I freaked out even harder but made myself email him and ask ...and he was like “I’m not sure of the details on that but if it’s X then I asked your boss about it in our leadership meeting this morning and she said she didn’t need anyone from your team on it so I think you don’t have an action item for that anymore :)”

So I think “automation clinic” was just shorthand for “a thing we might do re: automation if people want” and not “a set thing that exists now and we are picking people to attend” and I got all freaked out over nothing and nobody else knew exactly what the notes from the meeting meant either and I need to relax.

It’s so hard here never having met anyone in person so I can’t fully get their “vibe” and also my default assumption is always “I fucked up and everyone is pissed.” Gotta try to remember I’m doing fine. And that “let me look into that” is a real answer and “can you remind me of __” is not a crime.