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valkyrieelysia18 · 4 years

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RWBY Rewrite: Penny Polendina

Salutations Tumblr users! Today, we tackle beloved fan favorite robot girl Penny Polendina.

Now as I stated before, I dropped RWBY after Volume 6 and didn’t really watch Volume 7. I have however heard about certain developments and one plot point made me grateful I got out earlier or I would have rage quit this Volume anyway.

They brought back Penny, with all her memories completely intact.

This destroys one of the best pieces of writing in the show. Penny’s death was meant to symbolize the death of innocence in the show and it led in to the Fall of Beacon as well as Pyrrha’s death. Up until now, the show had been treating it as if a real girl had died. Vexed Viewer on YouTube has done a video on the topic that explains this better than I could. Even if they were going to bring Penny back in some way, she shouldn’t have been exactly the same as if nothing happened. Such as her memory of Vale (and everyone she met) being completely gone or her personality being significantly changed she isn’t even the same person anymore.

So, in this post I am going to be going over her history, role in the plot, and ‘successor’ for the Atlas Arc.

Creation and History

Okay, slight can of worms, but if Doctor Polendina is black, why is his daughter one of the most obviously white characters of the cast?

Alright, there actually is a legitimate reason for that in this rewrite. Penny’s physical features are actually based on Pietro’s late wife Clara Polendina (reference to the Nutcracker ballet) who worked with her husband. The two were very much happy and in love, but Clara died in a Grimm attack before they could have children. Thus, Penny is basically the daughter Pietro never got to have with her. Clara won’t come up that much in the Rewrite, but she was close to both of her husband’s prized students Arthur Watts and Willow Schnee. Arthur would note the resemblance and bring it up during his final confrontation with the doctor (This is what you ruined my life for as well as countless others?! Clara would be ashamed.) Willow would also bring it up and notice the similarities in both Penny and her successor.

However, the Atlas military and Ironwood’s desires to build something like Penny is less heartwarming. There was the original desire of making stronger robots for mass production to protect humans that evolved into infiltration and espionage purposes. But James Ironwood would see Polendina’s plans and see an immense opportunity. A young woman who would never age or die. An individual that they would never have to worry about running away or disobeying orders. Such a person becoming a Maiden would mean that they would never have to worry about the transfer process ever again. That would explain why Penny said that it would be her job to save the world one day, but they don’t think she’s ready for it yet. She is Ironwood’s hope for the future of the Maidens. And just in case she isn’t perfected in time for the next transfer, Winter is being trained and kept in reserve. Ironwood would provide all of the materials Pietro could need, including a crystalized substance that no one knows much about other than it being a classified by the military. It’s source will be noted in a spoiler’s section in this post, but it’s the very thing finally got things to work.

But while Pietro is aware something is up and suspicious of Ironwood’s intentions, he loves his little robot daughter regardless. There will be some flashbacks involving her first days awake (showing her curiosity and determination) as well as her bidding her father good bye when she leaves for the Vytal Festival.

Vale

The only thing I’d really change about Penny in the Vale Arc is giving her more time to interact with the cast, especially Ruby. What we got was okay, but I think it would be much more impactful if Ruby got to spend more time with Penny before her death. I’d definitely like it if Penny would bring up her father during their conversations, saying she was sure that two of them would get along given how much Ruby likes weapons.

It might be also nice for Pyrrha to feel a little off by her sensing all the metal when they first meet, but not realize why or how important that is. Just bit of foreshadowing.

Pelia

So, as you might have guessed by now, Penny will stay dead in this Rewrite. With the kind of story and tone I’m working with, it’s important that there is legitimate consequences to events and actions of the characters. As such, characters who died will stay dead. They may be referenced, appear in flashbacks, haunt our characters’ dreams, perhaps having a spirit linger with unfinished business to help the main characters on their path, but there is no chance of resurrection.

Not that Pietro wasn’t thinking along the same lines as others had considering Penny is a robot. They did manage to retrieve her body and core, but when he managed to build a new body, reboot, and restart, it wasn’t Penny greeting him. Rather, it was a completely personality. And they did not recognize anything or anyone. Pietro was devastated.

Thus I introduce Pelia Polendina, or Pelly. This is reference to the Coppelia ballet that actually includes a toy inventor trying bring a doll to life that he calls a daughter, much like Pinocchio. Only instead of magic bringing a puppet to life, the inventor tries to bring Coppelia to life by stealing a human soul and putting it in the doll. Quite the dark contrast and is actually going to be a bit of foreshadowing. I will say her appearance is actually pretty similar to Penny’s redesign with longer hair, though I would picture her more similar to dishwasher 1910′s design in https://www.deviantart.com/dishwasher1910/art/penny3-0-SD-758463321 . Check them out on DeviantArt, their work is amazing.

Pelia is considerably different than Penny. Whereas Penny was bright, enthusiastic, and rather trusting; Pelly is subdued, talks very mechanically, and is significantly less naïve. While Penny longed to be a part of something greater and be with humans despite her lack of social skills, Pelly avoids most people and is afraid of what Atlas(and by extension Ironwood) wants with a robot like her. This is partly due to her finding about Penny and how the world reacted with the Fall of Beacon.

In regards to Penny, she feels rather guilty about being alive in her place though she doesn’t quite realize that’s what she is feeling. This would lead to her trying to find out everything she could on Penny to understand her emotions, learning about Ruby and the others in the process. Pietro is devastated by the loss and incredibly frustrated with her, not really considering her alive in the same way Penny was which given her personality isn’t that unreasonable to think. Pelia does care about her creator and tries to assist him in what ways she can, but his attitude towards her is not positive and as such she mostly stays out of his way.

Atlas

Pelia’s first proper appearance would be in the Atlas Arc when the group visits Doctor Polendina for weapons repairs after their meeting with Ironwood doesn’t go well and the good doctor isn’t the on the best terms with the General at present. The man is not pleased or in the mood to humor them, though he does defrost a little when Ruby shows her geeky know how on weapons. (He may have also said some rather terrible things about Pyrrha which made the group somewhat grateful JNR wasn’t there.) As the group leaves the building and goes on their way, Ruby looks up to the upstairs window as she feels she’s being watched. She doesn’t see anything, but as she turns and walks away Pelia comes into view from the window. Having recognized who the people who just visited were, Pelly sneaks out and follows the group in the secret for a while.

She finally gets revealed while the group is watching Weiss dance ballet at a Mantle Community Theater. The Atlas Arc is primarily Weiss centric and part of her Arc in proving herself as worthy of the Schnee name will have her prove herself to people of Mantle. One such instance will have her helping out at the community theatre in learning and teaching dance. It’s in which she is showing off her skills Pelia accidentally reveals herself to the group having been incredibly entranced in ballet (little show to her inspiration). Ruby at first mistakes her for Penny so she gets very emotional, only to temper down when she realizes Pelia’s not her. The situation is cleared up and the group gets more insight into the situation of Atlas as well as the strain between the General and Pietro.

Pelia has three distinct dynamics of interactions with the group: Ruby on Penny, Weiss and Winter on siblings, and Oscar on succession. With Ruby, Pelia gets to know more about Penny as a person and Ruby gets a chance to fully process her loss. Pelia’s not Penny, but she comes to appreciate her all the same. Ruby also comes up with Yang in regards to sibling interactions, but Pelia’s focus in this case is more on the Schnee siblings. She’s basically wondering what sisters act like and whether Penny would have seen her as a sister. This lets her get some ballet lessons from Weiss as well as close to Winter. Then there’s her relationship with Oscar with the two of them having to deal with their predecessors and the problems they’ve let them to deal with. The both of them come to realize through talking with each other is that they shouldn’t compare themselves to those who came before. They have their own views and ways of doing things different from their predecessors and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. The only thing they can do is do things the best THEY can.

The big turning point in the Atlas Arc for Pelia is when Pietro finds out abut the Winter Maiden and what Ironwood’s original plans were. While I am majorly rewriting the Atlas Arc, I do actually like the idea of an old Winter Maiden who is on her last legs. Pietro doesn’t get all the details of course, but it gives him the idea that the magic could bring Penny back to life. Aside from the whole ‘Dead means dead’ world I’m working with, it’s also a way to show that magic that cannot bring back the dead. I know that’s very much true in the show though not directly stated, but here I want to lay the ground rules down on what magic is and is not capable of.

After being called back by Pietro and assisting him in breaking into the facility where the transfer is soon to take place, the two enter the room that was originally prepped for Winter (who is distracted with everyone else on things going wrong due to Pietro’s interference) with the old woman in the pod. Pietro has explained things and orders Pelia to get in the other pod. Pelia doesn’t move, having been conflicted during this entre plan which shows all over her face. The doctor orders again, much firmer this time. A few moments pass as she thinks it over; fear, doubt, determination all playout in her expressions. Finally, she speaks. “No.”

While Pelia may have been built to be a weapon, she still has free will. Unlike Penny who accepted her role without many doubts, Pelia rejects that her only purpose is to be someone’s tool of war. She wants to help others, but she doesn’t want to fight. I think that if you bring choice into a story as a main theme, you also have to give the characters the choice not to fight, to walk away even if they don’t actually do it. Above all, Pelia doesn’t think that sacrificing others for herself is what Penny would have wanted after having met Ruby and gotten to know what she was like.

She would tell this to Pietro, who would get furious and argue with her. this would continue until they were interrupted by Watts. Watts, with revenge on the brain, would focus on Doctor Polendina and tell Pelia to run along. I know this seems a little hypocritical for Watts to do this considering his advice to Cinder in Volume 5, but this a different situation. Spoilers for the future Atlas Arc Rewrite and future James Ironwood post, go to the next paragraph if you don’t want spoilers. You see, the villains don’t need the Winter Maiden to open the Vault for them because Ironwood already took the Relic of Creation out of the Vault years ago (and is NOT holding up Atlas). In fact, a bit of the power from the staff was used to create Penny which was the the crystalized substance. Watts knows this due to his hacking Ironwood’s system and has already retrieved the Relic and sent it on the way to Salem. This will make the results in Atlas a lot more bittersweet: our heroes will win on the people’s side of things, but lose the Relic. Back to Watts, the man is all about efficiency. While the Winter Maiden’s powers would be nice, they don’t have a vessel for it at the moment and it’s not necessary for their primary goal. Once the business side of things is taken care of, then he’ll indulge in revenge.

Pelia, while conflicted, would run and get to the group to tell them everything. She would then spend the rest of the conflicting helping to escort and treat the wounded, giving her a presence to the people of Atlas. Pietro will be arrested and will be convicted for his crimes, Watts dead but having gotten the last laugh in the end with his technological abilities exposing his teacher and those who left him out to dry.

Once everything is settled, Pelly will stay behind in Atlas as the new right hand of new Headmistress Winter Schnee. Basically, she becomes the Glynda to Winter’s Ozpin (though Winter is a much more hands on no nonsense person). She bids the group goodbye, hoping to Ruby that they will meet again.

After Atlas

I don’t have much in mind for Pelia after the Atlas Arc except for two things. Firstly, that she and Pietro do eventually reconcile and develop something of a relationship when she visits him in prison on her off days. (Jacques is not so lucky in regards to his children.)

The second is when she and Winter will meet everyone at the lowest point of the story. Ruby will have learned some pretty dark truths, including some choices her mother made that’s really made her think. Pelia will actually have a similar conversation with Ruby that she had with Oscar. In how she’s no more Penny than Ruby is Summer. She’ll remark that perhaps Ruby put her mother on a bit too much of a pedestal thanks to the way her family viewed her. When in reality Summer was just a person and people make mistakes. Right now, what choices Summer made in the past aren’t what matters. What matters is what Ruby wants to do now.

Okay, I think I started before the coronavirus stuff went crazy. I am so sorry. Not sure when I’ll get beck to this.

However, I know the next subject is going to quite the doozy...

#rwde #rwby rewrite #penny polendina #dr polendina #ruby rose #weiss schnee #Oscar Pine #winter schnee

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liamau · 6 years

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If you have been on my blog lately, you can see that my friends and I have been receiving a lot of hate. We have been called evil, terrible, horrible, transphobic, and many other awful things over something very small. Something as incredibly trivial as friendly discourse about feminine versus masculine expression has resulted in a lot of backlash for not only me, but also my best friends.

Although it isn’t stated on my blog, I am trans. Therefore, no one knows unless I purposefully make them aware, including this anon who clearly doesn’t know me. I don’t like presenting it on my blog because on the internet, nobody has to know that unless I want them to. They treat me like anyone else; they see me as any other guy, and that makes it easier on me as a trans person.

Now that you’re aware of that- I’m definitely not transphobic. I live by the idea of treat people with kindness. Despite being called names, horrible things, slurs, and treated like absolute garbage, I was going to show some semblance of respect to that rude anon and set this argument aside. I didn’t want to call names, nor do I now. I was going to take a few days off tumblr after receiving a message that people in my community, my friends, and people like me, deserve to die. It made me cry and panic and shake and almost throw up, to be honest.

So to whomever sent that message-

I hope you’re happy. I genuinely thought if I left, if I turned off anon, if I avoided this website for a while, this would blow over and you would stop. You haven’t. You sent a message to another friend of mine saying you’re going to make a “transphobic” block list and told me and my friends we should commit suicide.

Now, you know I’m trans. I also went to college and am educated in gender studies. To clarify, I went to college and took classes that specifically talk about this subject. I took psychology, sociology, human sexuality, and even gender studies. I am educated and aware of what the differences between gender identity, gender expression, femininity, and masculinity are. You mentioned in another post that you yourself are trans and educated in this subject, and then decided to act like you were on a higher pedestal than me, thus I thought you should be aware that I am in fact in the same situation.

You keep mentioning that we made your friend have a panic attack, and as someone who had a panic attack as a result of your messages, I’m truly sorry. The difference is: you have a different opinion. You didn’t have to keep messaging me. I responded with polite messages.

The reason I had a panic attack? You called me slurs. You told me that those slurs aren’t slurs. You told me people like me should die.

The biggest difference between you and I is that you kept going, kept sending these hurtful messages, despite me not responding. I got seven more asks after not responding again. Seven. Syeda got eleven more asks after not responding to nine, and got more immediately when she turned anon back on at night. The only reason I didn’t get more is because I turned anon off, and once I turned it on again, I almost immediately got more asks.

It got to the point of harassment. “You're not a victim in this and if that offends you then you literally place your feelings over the ones you hurt” you say, but continue to act as if the words you say didn’t hurt me either. You act as if my feelings don’t matter because our opinions aren’t the same. You act as though your messages didn’t make me feel belittled, disgusting, awful, and less trans. I’m allowed to be upset, especially when you have decided to use hurtful language.

Regarding our initial argument, for you to say that feminine equals female, and masculine equals male, you are invalidating my gender. I identify as male. I am also androgynous. When you say androgynous equals nonbinary, you are identifying me as nonbinary when I am a binary male. To think that my femininity makes me less male and my masculinity makes me more male, you are insinuating that in order to be binary male or binary female, you have to fall into strict gender roles; when, in reality, my femininity doesn’t make me any less male, nor does my masculinity make me any more male. Gender expression doesn’t equal gender identity.

Saying things like “sparkles are feminine” and “boxing is masculine” isn’t transphobic because feminine doesn’t equal female and masculine doesn’t equal male. It’s not gendering anything because it’s femininity versus masculinity and that doesn’t refer to a specific gender. For you to gender feminine as female and masculine as male is in itself transphobic because you are the ones saying feminine equals female and masculine equals male. Feminine isn’t a gender, its a stereotypical descriptor of things. A description of how you express yourself does not imply your gender. The same thing goes for masculine.

Kaleigh, lesbianau, got a very long ask from “a trans mtf gal majoring in LGBT/queer studies” talking about their own experience. At one point they said, “Pink is not feminine, blue is not masculine, sewing is not feminine, woodwork is not masculine, certain manners of speech or dress or walk or physical features- none of these things that are gendered.” I’d like to point out that those thing are, in fact, masculine and feminine.

The color pink is stereotypically feminine but that doesn’t make it exclusive to females. A straight man can like very stereotypical feminine things, and those things have nothing to do with his gender, nor would it have anything to do with his sexuality. He would just be a feminine man.

Expressing femininity doesn’t make a boy a “femme boy”, or a lesbian, or a trans woman, or any other label they want to throw on Harry because he is an androgynous gay man.

Here are three of my friends with their explanations and arguments against what you said.

“Maybe a painful elaboration of our original debate will help clear things up about the argument that my friends and I have. Number one: cis equals cis, and not cis equals not cis. Number two: gender identity does not equal expression. For example, if you are a cisgender male, and you express femininity, you are not suddenly a girl- it is just an expression.

For example, Harry expresses both femininity and masculinity. That is called androgyny. Androgyny is not a gender, it is an expression. People can be one gender and assume stereotypical qualities, or do stereotypical things, that are considered stereotypically masculine or feminine, i.e. having long hair or boxing. Guess what? Harry does both! I do both! Yet, we both identify as completely different genders (from what we know publicly). His gender identity is not up for debate. Gender identity does not equal expression. Maybe next time before you try to assert your opinion as fact and tell my friends to die, you should read a book.” -bia, louisau.

“This is the ask that started on all this on my blog and led to me being called transphobic. It was never about gender identity, the main point was simply gender expression. Saying Harry expresses himself in both feminine and masculine ways isn’t false, nor is it transphobic, because he does express himself in both ways. What that doesn’t tell us is how he identifies, which as far as we know is as a cis man. Simply dressing in ways that aren’t stereotypically masculine or doing things that are stereotypically feminine doesn’t mean he does or doesn’t identify as male/female. Feminine and masculine are not gender identities, they’re only stereotypical descriptors of things.

My main point is that we all need to stop speculating about Harry’s gender, considering we don’t know him personally and how he identifies is none of anyone’s business. Exhibiting both masculine/feminine traits/behaviors does not mean he has had the experiences or struggles of a trans person, nor does it mean that you can project your own experiences onto him. He is a real person, unlike a fictional character unto which you can project your own feelings. But I was never referring to his gender id, I only ever talked about how he expresses himself, which is very androgynously. I was called transphobic when I said nothing about the trans experience, and when I wouldn’t talk about it, I was being ‘dismissive’ and ‘hurtful.’ All I did was stick to the original topic, it was other people who made it into a trans issue. I am not a trans person and I can’t speak for the experiences of a trans person.”- syeda, rosesau.

“It shocks me that we have come to this. The way this all happened, words being twisted and being blown out of proportion. You do not have to agree with us, just respect us and our opinion, seeing as that is what we did for all the anonymous messages we received. I am so appalled by what was sent to me and my friends. Messages sent to us, calling us evil, disgusting, pigs, and one specifically sent to me telling me and my friends to kill ourselves. We did not once call anyone names, and yet here we are. We are real people, with real feelings, and although our opinions and views may differ, the messages telling us to do terrible things still came.

The topic of debate was different for us and the people hiding behind an anonymous mask. We were debating Harry’s gender expression to the public, and the anons took the statements and twisted them in a way to paint us as transphobic. Harry’s gender was never up for debate. We were told that saying Harry seems to express himself as androgynously was transphobic. I am still not sure how they managed to twist these words, but it is a small, ridiculous thing to tell someone to kill themselves over, right?”- clara, eversincencwyork.

Just because you’re trans doesn’t mean you’re right. Just because I’m trans doesn’t mean I’m right. You said yourself gender is a unique experience for everyone. But you’re wrong to send hate and to tell people to kill themselves. And that is where I can say we’ve been entirely correct in believing that this didn’t have to lead to what it lead to. The fact that we are continuing to respect you, despite everything you’ve said to us, makes us the bigger people, and that’s what you should learn from this, if you choose to learn anything at all.

#please listen #also im so sorry to everyone who got involved

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paigenotblank · 6 years

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The Age of the Wolf (7/9)

Rating: Mature overall, this chapter is teen

Pairing: Eighth Doctor x Rose Tyler; Eleventh x Rose; Ten x Rose

Written for @doctorroseprompts and Eight x Rose August. Prompt: Dimension hopping!Rose meets Eight / What if Rose was with Eight or met Eight during the Time War? 50th Anniversary Re-Write/Fix-It

Read it on Tumblr: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9

AO3 TSP

The Doctor set aside his copy of Advanced Quantum Mechanics, removed his glasses, and rubbed at his temples. He was having trouble concentrating, a feeling of unease had been plaguing him for hours.

For a moment he was surprised and disoriented by the silence around him. It was eerie, like the calm before a storm. Dread sat like lead in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want to think of the last time he felt a storm sitting on the horizon, back when he’d lost…

He jumped to his feet and paced in front of the time rotor. I’m forgetting something important. What is it? He tugged on his hair in a move more reminiscent of his tenth self and stopped abruptly. Maybe he should jump ahead so he didn’t have to wait any longer. But it had been too long since he’d last seen Clara. He needed a distraction right now and an adventure with a dear friend sounded like just the thing to do it.

He looked at his watch and was startled to realize school was almost out. But...I...I never lose track of time.

The Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS and leaned up against the door with his arms crossed. He watched as students at the Coal Hill Secondary School began pouring out of the doors, eager to meet up with friends or to get to jobs or just go home and watch telly.

A small smile pulled at his lips as he remembered another young girl who had gone to this very school so, so long ago. He could remember her clutching a stack of books to her chest and dancing to the pop music of the era as she made her way back to TARDIS. She’d chatter to him about her day and the silly ideas that were prevalent among the humans of that time. She’d say, ‘Grandfather, can you believe that they treat the fourth dimension as if it’s a joke and they’ve never even heard of the fifth dimension! Why it’s just so primitive. Oh, but I do love it here!’

Thoughts of Susan were not as painful as they once were, now only causing a small twinge in the regions of his hearts. He wasn’t sure if that was better or not.

He let out a sigh and felt a tap on his shoulder. “Hello, Doctor.”

Shaking aside his maudlin thoughts, he grinned brightly. “Clara!” The Doctor opened the door for her to proceed him inside. “Fancy a trip to ancient Mesopotamia followed by future Mars?”

“Will there be cocktails?”

“On the Moon.”

Clara pretended to think it over. “The Moon'll do.”

Both of them burst out laughing. Clara removed her coat and tossed it over the railing before turning back to the Doctor.

He gave her a big hug. “How's the new job? Teach anything good?”

Laughly, she pulled away from their embrace. “No. Learn anything?”

He shook his head. “Not a thing.”

The TARDIS jerked and alarms began to ring.

Clara grabbed hold of the console. “What's happening?”

“What? We're taking off, but...the engines aren't going.”

The Doctor ran down the ramp and pulled open the front door. He swayed and leaned back inside when he saw that the TARDIS was being flown over East London toward the city center. With a grimace, he reached out the door and pulled open the phone cubby. Shaking his head, he dialed his U.N.I.T. contact.

“Hello? Kate Stewart’s phone.”

“I want to talk to Kate, right now.”

“Erm, hold on.”

The Doctor stood tapping his foot to the sound of wind, running, and gasping breaths.

“Excuse me, Ma’am. Ma’am!”

There was a murmured conversation, before a familiar voice came through. “Doctor, hello. We found the TARDIS near a junkyard. I’m having it brought in.”

“No kidding.”

“Where are you?”

The Doctor held up the phone so that the sound of the helicopter was unmistakable.

“Oh, my god! Oh, Doctor! I’m so sorry. We had no idea you were still in there.”

“Next time, will it kill you to knock?”

The helicopter changed direction and the Doctor tumbled out the door dropping the phone. He managed to grab hold of the threshold just in time.

“Doctor!” Clara ran over to help him.

The Doctor dangled from the TARDIS at it flew over the cityscape toward the Tower of London. When the TARDIS was close enough to the ground, he hopped down and approached Kate Stewart.

“Doctor, as Chief Scientific Officer, may I extend the official apologies of U.N.I.T.”

“Kate Lethbridge-Stewart, a word to the wise, as I'm sure your father would have told you, I don't like being picked up.”

Clara walked up behind him. “That probably sounded better in his head. And besides, I know for a fact-”

The Doctor glared at Clara and she left that thought unfinished.

“I'm acting on instructions direct from the throne. Sealed orders from her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the First. Her credentials are inside.” The Doctor was about to break the seal on the missive, when Kate stopped him. “No.” She pointed to the National Gallery. “Inside.”

The Doctor nodded and as he passed Kate’s assistant did a double take. The young woman was dressed in a lab coat, but it was her striped scarf that caught his attention. It was reminiscent of the one he’d fancied in his fourth body. “Are you the one who answered the phone earlier?”

The young woman flushed and looked as if she’d forgotten how to breathe. After the moment stretched to become almost uncomfortable, she nodded.

“Nice to meet you...do you have a name?”

Her eyes widened and she peeped, “Yes.”

“Good, I’ve always wanted to meet someone called ‘Yes.’”

“No.”

“No?”

She looked bemused. “Name’s Osgood, sir.”

“Oh...Brilliant! Nice scarf.”

Osgood took a wheezing breath. As Kate passed she reminded her, “Inhaler.”

The Doctor and Clara walked into the National Gallery followed by Kate and Osgood. “So Elizabeth the First? You knew her?”

“Hmmm? May have met her a time or two.”

“A time or two? And she’s sending you love letters? Does-”

The Doctor’s ears turned red. “Oi, ’s not a love letter!”

They arrived at a covered painting, and Kate nodded for it to be revealed. “Elizabeth's credentials, Doctor.“

When the sheet fell away, Clara gasped. “But, how is it doing that? How is that possible?”

The Doctor’s face fell and he whispered, “No More.”

“That's the title.”

The Doctor sighed. “I know the title.”

“Also known as, ‘Gallifrey Falls.’”

The Doctor spun to confront Kate. “This painting doesn't belong here, not in this time or place.”

Clara moved closer to the painting. “Obviously.” She reached out as if to touch it. “An oil painting in 3D?”

“It’s Time Lord art. Bigger on the inside. A slice of real time, frozen...It's the fall of Arcadia, Gallifrey's second city.”

Clara spun toward the Doctor. “What? Seriously?”

The Doctor was lost to his memories for a moment. Clara approached him and touched his arm. “You okay?”

“He was there.”

“Who was?”

“Me. The other me. The one I don't talk about.”

Clara tilted her head. “I don't understand.”

“I've had many faces, many lives. You know that. But there's one life I've tried very hard to not think about. The Doctor who fought in the Time War. Only, now I can’t quite... I think...it all feels hazy.” The Doctor walked closer to the painting and sighed. “The last day of the Time War. The war to end all wars between my people and the Daleks. That was the day he did it. The day I did it. The day he killed them all and silenced the universe.” The Doctor turned angrily to Kate. “Why today? I’ve had this...this...feeling all day. And some of my memories are fuzzy. I remember or I’m almost remembering. Why bring me that message today?”

“It came with written instructions in which Elizabeth told us when to deliver it and where to find the painting and its significance. I believe it’s better explained in the letter.”

The Doctor had done his best to lock away the memories of the War, if only to be able to sleep on occasion. But now he couldn’t shake that persistent feeling of forgetting something important. Something about today, something about his past. What is it? What does it have to do with Queen Elizabeth I and why this painting?

Clara brought him back to himself with her question to Kate. “But the Time War's over. Why bring us here to look at a painting?”

“The painting only serves as Elizabeth's credentials, proof that the letter is from her. It's not why you're here.”

The Doctor turned the letter over a few times before breaking the seal and unfolding the message. Dearest Doctor, I hope the painting known as “Gallifrey Falls” will serve as proof that it is your queen, Elizabeth, who writes to you now. You will recall that you pledged yourself to the safety of my kingdom. In this capacity, I have appointed you as curator of the Under Gallery, where deadly danger to England is locked away. Should any disturbance occur within its walls, it is my wish that you be summoned. Godspeed.

The Doctor folded the note and slipped it into his pocket. “What happened?”

“Easier to show you.”

Kate and Osgood led the Doctor and Clara to the entrance of the Under Gallery. Clara looked up to see a painting of Queen Elizabeth the First and a stoic Doctor in his Tenth form. She smirked and was about to comment on the ruffled collar when she noticed his face. The words died on her tongue at the tension on his face. He caught her looking and forced a big smile.

The Doctor, resplendent in pinstripes, was laid out next to a young Queen Elizabeth on a pile of cushions with a feast spread around them. He popped a grape in his mouth and then fed one to her.

“Tell me, Doctor, why I'm wasting my time on you. I have wars to plan.”

“You have a picnic to eat.”

“You could help me.”

“I am helping.” The Doctor waggled his eyebrows before biting into a crisp apple.

“Not the picnic. You have a stomach for war.” She caressed his cheek. “These eyes have seen conflict, it's as clear as day.”

The Doctor sighed. “Oh, you’ve no idea.” He then jumped up in a swirl of excitement. “Up on your feet. Up, up.”

The Queen was taken aback. “How dare you? I’m the Queen of England.”

“I'm not English.” The Doctor fell to one knee. “Elizabeth, will you marry me?”

“Oh, my dear sweet love. Of course I will.”

“Ah, gotcha!”

“My love?”

“The real Elizabeth would never have accepted my marriage proposal. But then the real Elizabeth isn't a shape-shifting alien from outer space. And…” The Doctor holds up a cobbled together machine that made a chiming noise. “...ding.”

“What's that?”

The Doctor looked at her as if she’d dribbled on her bodice. “It's a machine that goes ‘ding.’ Made it myself. Lights up in the presence of shape-shifter DNA. Oooh. Also it can microwave frozen dinners from up to twenty feet and download comics from the future. I never know when to stop.”

“My love, I do not understand.”

“I'm not your love, and yes you do. You're a Zygon.”

“A Zygon?”

“Oh, stop it. It's over. A Zygon, yes. Big red rubbery thing covered in suckers. Think the real Queen of England would just decide to share her throne with any old handsome bloke in a tight suit, just ‘cos he's got amazing hair and a nice horse?” The Doctor looked over his shoulder at the horse. “Oh.”

Standing where the horse had been just moments ago was a Zygon.

He held out his hand to the Queen. “It was the horse. I'm going to be King. Run!”

“What's happening?”

“We're being attacked by a shape-shifting alien from outer space, formerly disguised as my horse.”

The Doctor led her into an old ruin.

“What does that mean?”

“I’m gonna need a new horse. Quick, I'll hold it off. You run. Your people need you.”

“And I need you alive for our wedding day.” Elizabeth kissed him before running off.

The Doctor ruffled his hair. “Oh, good work, Doctor. Nice one. The Virgin Queen? So much for history. You’ve really stepped in it this time.”

The Doctor took off in another direction following the dinging of his Zygon finder. At the sound of a feminine scream, the Doctor turned and ran into a small clearing.

“Elizabeth!”

The Queen was laying on the ground and the Doctor helped her stand. Another Elizabeth walked into the clearing.

“Step away from her, Doctor. That's not me. That's the creature.”

“How is that possible? She's me. Doctor, she's me!”

The Doctor pointed his machine at both women as they bickered. He slapped the side of it, before shaking it.

“It's not working.”

“One might surmise that the creature would learn quickly to protect itself from any simple means of detection.”

“Clearly you understand the creature better than I. But then, you have the advantage.”

Just when the Doctor was ready to throttle both women, history be damned, a swirling portal appeared above him.

“Back, both of you. Now! That's a time fissure. A tear in the fabric of reality.”

Kate walked through the hidden doorway behind the painting of Elizabeth and the Doctor into an antechamber. “Welcome to the Under Gallery. This is where the Royal Family keeps all art deemed too dangerous for public consumption.”

The Doctor paused and scooped up a handful of sand from the floor. “Stone dust.”

Kate tilted her head. “Is it important?”

“In twelve hundred years I've never stepped in anything that wasn't.” The Doctor spun to face Osgood. “ Oi! Are you sciency?”

“Oh, erm, well, erm, yes.”

“Good. I want this stone dust analyzed. And I want a report in triplicate, with lots of graphs and diagrams and complicated sums on my desk, tomorrow morning, ASAP, pronto…” He turned to Kate. “Do I have a desk?”

Kate shook her head. “No.”

The Doctor turned back to Osgood. “And I want a desk.”

“Get a team. Analyze the stone dust,” Kate instructed before she continued on toward the larger gallery.

The Doctor and Clara followed behind, and the Doctor noticed a fez in a display case. He looked around and slid the fez out, popping it on his head.

Clara rolled her eyes. “Someday, you could just walk past a fez.”

“Never gonna happen.”

They entered a long, open room lined with Gallifreyan 3D art along the wall. Glass covered much of the floor.

Kate gestured to the debris. “This is why we called you in.”

“Interesting.”

Clara leaned down to inspect the floor. “The broken glass?”

“No, where it's broken from. Look at the shatter pattern. The glass on all these paintings has been broken from the inside.”

“As you can see, all the paintings are landscapes. No figures of any kind.”

Clara walked back over to the others. “So?”

“There used to be.” Kate handed them a tablet with photos of the original paintings on it.

Clara looked up in surprise. “Something's got out the paintings?”

“Lots of somethings. Dangerous somethings.”

“This whole place has been searched. There's nothing here that shouldn't be, and nothing's got out.”

A swirling of air began to coalesce above them.

“Oh, no, not now.”

“Doctor, what is it?”

“Not now. I'm busy.”

“Is it to do with the paintings?”

“No, no. This is different. I remember this. Almost remember.” He removed the fez from his head and looked from it to the time fissure. “Oh! Of course. This is where I come in.”

He threw the fez into the vortex before running and leaping into it himself. “Geronimo!”

“Doctor!” Clara moved to follow the Doctor.

Kate held her back. “Wait.”

The Doctor in pinstripes stood between the two versions of Elizabeth and the time fissure, his arms wide in a protective gesture. “Anything could happen.”

All three watched as a fez fell from the swirling vortex.

He tugged his ear. “For instance...a fez.” The Doctor picked up the fez and placed it on his head, just as the other Doctor came crashing down.

“Oof.”

“Who is this man?” One of the Elizabeths asked the Doctor.

He watched the other man curiously. “That's just what I was wondering.”

The older Doctor inspected his younger self. “Oh, that is skinny. That is proper skinny. I've never seen it from the outside. It's like a special effect. Oi!” He knocked the fez from his counterpart’s head. “Ha! Matchstick man.”

The younger Doctor looked like he’d been forced to eat a pear, realization coloring his features. “Oh, you're not…”

Both men took out their respective sonic screwdrivers and compared them. The older Doctor’s was bigger with add-ons missing from the previous model.

The younger Doctor asked with a lift of his eyebrow, “Compensating?”

“For what?”

“Regeneration. It's a lottery.”

The older Doctor narrowed his eyes and huffed. “Oh, he's cool. Isn't he cool? I'm the Doctor and I'm all cool. Oops, I'm wearing sandshoes.”

The younger Doctor hissed at his older self, “What are you doing here? I'm busy.”

“Oh, busy? I see. Is that what we're calling it, eh? Eh?” The older Doctor leaned down, picked up the fez, and put it on his head. With a flourish, he spun around and bowed to the two Elizabeths. “Hello, ladies.”

“Don't start.”

“You should talk.”

“One of them is a Zygon.”

“Eww…” The older Doctor put up his hands. “I'm not judging you. Who am I kidding? Yes, I am.”

Another time fissure appeared. Both Doctors reached into their pockets and put on their respective glasses.

The older Doctor glanced over his shoulder. “Your Majesties. Probably a good time to run.”

Both women asked simultaneously, “But what about the creature?”

The younger Doctor instructed, “Elizabeth, whichever one of you is the real one, turn and run in the opposite direction to the other one.”

“Of course, my love.”

The other Elizabeth said, “Stay alive, my love. I am not done with you yet,” before kissing him and running off.

“Thanks. Lovely.”

“I understand. Live for me, my darling. We shall be together again.” Then the remaining Elizabeth kissed him and ran off in the other direction.

The Doctor wiped his mouth and nervously met his counterpart’s eyes. “Well, won't that be nice?”

“One of those was a Zygon.”

“Yeah.”

“Big red rubbery thing covered in suckers.”

“Yeah. And a surprisingly good kisser.”

“Venom sacs in the tongue.”

“Yeah, I'm getting the point, thank you.”

“Nice.”

From the time fissure, the Doctors heard Clara calling out, “Doctor, is that you?”

“Ah, hello, Clara. Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, it's me. We can hear you. Where are you?”

The older Doctor looked to his younger self. “Where are we?”

“England, 1562.”

“Who are you talking to?”

“Myself.”

“Can you come back through?”

“Physical passage may not be possible in both directions. It’s...Ah! Hang on.” The Doctor removed the fez from his head and threw it into the whirling eddy. “Fez incoming!”

After a pause, Clara asked, “Was something supposed to happen?”

The younger Doctor scratched the back of his neck. “If not there, where did it go?”

The Doctor and Rose entered an empty barn that had been a part of his childhood homestead. He put the sack down and gingerly removed a box with exposed gears and brass inlay. He turned it over in his hands a few times. “How...how do you work? Hmmm. Why is there never a big, red button?”

Rose rolled her eyes. “You and your big, red buttons.”

Both froze when they heard a rustling at the door. The Doctor made his way over and peeked outside. “Hello? Is somebody there?” Shaking his head, he closed the door. “It was nothing.”

A wolf’s howl could be heard in the distance. “Did you hear that? It sounded like a wolf.”

“Couldn’t have been. There are no wolves on Gallifrey.”

“But did you hear that?”

He whooshed out a breath and nodded. “Yeah.”

Rose walked over to the innocuous looking box, and crouched down in front of it. She reached out to examine it.

“Don't touch it!”

She pulled her hand back. “Why not?”

“Because it's the most dangerous weapon in the universe, and we don’t know how it works.”

“You touched it an’ it was fine.” Rose reached for it once again and the moment she placed her hand on it, the box began to emit a noise, like gears shifting into place, and her eyes began to glow gold.

“It's activating. Watch out.”

He knelt and tried to take the box from her hands, but when he touched it, it burned him.

“Ow!” He shook his hand.

“What's wrong?” Rose asked with a tilt of her head.

“The interface is hot.”

“Well, I do my best. Still after a century of marriage it’s nice to hear.”

The Doctor was only half paying attention while he continued to inspect the device. “There's definitely a power source inside…” He suddenly turned to Rose. “Wait, did you just say you're the interface?”

Her eyes faded back to amber. “Bad Wolf. When I touched it, it got inside my head. I can hear it talking to me. I...I know how to use it.”

The Doctor ran one hand over his face and he sat back on his heels.

Rose laid a hand on his thigh. “What’s wrong?”

“It...it just hit me that this is happening...not in the future or as a theoretical option, but right now.”

Rose took his hand and was hit with a telepathic onslaught of the Doctor’s emotions. His shields only failed like that when he was close to his breaking point. She did her best to send back waves of calm and love.

He pulled back from her touch. “How can you love me? Knowing that I’d kill them all, Daleks and Time Lords alike?” He looked at his hands as if they were already covered in blood.

“I’ve seen what you’ve seen. The suffering. Every moment in time and space is burning. It must end, and there’s only one way.”

“But when you first met me, you were innocent to all that.”

“I’ve always seen you. Not what you were forced to do, but who you are...the brave man who had to make the impossible choice. The man who saved the universe at the biggest personal cost to himself.”

“I don’t know how I’m expected to survive this.”

Rose opened her mouth to answer, but then tilted her head as if listening. Tears pooled in her eyes. “I...oh, god. It’s your punishment.” Her eyes glowed and her voice took on an ethereal quality, “Nothing is without consequence, Time Lord. If you do this, if you kill them all, then that is the consequence. You live. You carry the burden of being the last of your kind, of carrying on, of remembering…” Rose dropped the box and sagged as she returned to herself. She crawled over to where the Doctor sat staring at the ground and embraced him. “I’m sorry, love. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m a monster for even considering this.”

Rose picked up the box and closed her eyes. A time fissure rippled open above them.

“Rose! What are you doing?”

“I’m opening a window on your future, to the man today will make of you. The choice is still yours.”

A fez dropped out of the portal and rolled to a stop at Rose’s feet.

“Er, okay, I wasn’t expecting that.”

The Doctor looked at the swirling gateway. “Ready?”

She slipped the box into her pocket and nodded.

Rassilon walked past two Time Lords, both of whom had their hands covering their faces, to address the rest of the Council. “The vote is taken. Only two went against, and as a monument to their shame, the dissenters will stand like the Weeping Angels of old. The vanguard stands prepared, as the children of Gallifrey return to the universe. To Earth.”

Rassilon raised his staff and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

As the Doctor and Rose jump through the time fissure into the Doctor’s future, Gallifrey was pulled across the universe.

The pinstriped Doctor gestured between himself and his older self. “Okay, you used to be me, you've done all this before. What happens next?”

“I don't remember.”

“How can you forget this?”

“Hey, hang on. It's not my fault. You're obviously not paying enough attention...Oh! Try reversing the polarity!”

Both Doctors pulled out their sonics and pointed them at the time fissure.

The older Doctor scratched his head. “It's not working.”

“We're both reversing the polarity.”

“Yes, I know that.”

“There's two of us. I'm reversing it, you're reversing it back again. We're confusing the polarity.”

As they argued, their predecessor walked out from the the whirling portal. “Anyone lose a fez?”

“You! How can you be here? More to the point, why are you here?”

“Hello. I'm looking for the Doctor.”

The pinstriped Doctor mumbled, “Well, you've certainly come to the right place.”

“Good. Who are you boys? Oh, of course. Are you both companions?” The wartime Doctor smiled fondly. “Rose and her pretty boys...”

“Rose?” The pinstriped Doctor’s jaw dropped.

“...They seem to get younger all the time.”

“Oi!”

The oldest Doctor turned to the man at his side. “Well, he’s not wrong.” He gestured between the three of them.

“You too?” The pinstriped wearing Doctor gaped at the bowtie wearing Doctor. “How can you even joke about that?”

“Right.” The youngest Doctor interrupted the squabble before they could really get into it. “Could you point me in the general direction of the Doctor?”

Both of the older Doctors pulled out their sonic screwdrivers. The youngest Doctor looked from one to the other. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Really.”

“You’re me? Both of you?”

“Yep.”

“Even that one?” The Doctor pointed to the one in the bowtie.

The Doctor in question replied with an affronted squeak, “Yes!”

“You're my future selves?”

Both other men yelled, “Yes!”

The younger Doctor scanned the glade. “Then where’s Rose?”

“That’s the second time…How do you know Rose?”

The bowtie wearing Doctor narrowed his eyes. “You shouldn’t know Rose.”

The Doctor shifted to the side, and Rose hesitantly walked out of the time fissure. She walked up to the Doctor she’d spent the last century with and gripped his hand. She waved at the others. “Hello.”

The Doctor in pinstripes dropped his sonic and stared wide-eyed at her. The wartime Doctor glanced worriedly back and forth between his wife and his future self. “Looks like you've seen a ghost.”

Rose bit her lip until she noticed the oldest Doctor, the one she’d yet to meet, smiling warmly at her. His eyes dropped to her ring finger and she could see his curiosity was piqued, but his demeanor was that of easy affection. That more than anything had her releasing the pent up breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.

As nonchalantly as possible, she slipped her wedding band from her finger and tucked it into a pocket. The oldest Doctor smirked, causing her to blush, but the pinstriped Doctor hadn’t seemed to notice. He was staring at her as if he wasn’t quite sure she was real, eyes wide, freckles stark on his pale face, and swaying like a stiff wind could knock him over.

She gave him a small smile and he swallowed hard. She couldn’t bear to see him hurting, and her eyes slid over to the oldest of the Doctors.

Good Lord, there’s three of ‘em! As if he knew what she was thinking, the bowtie wearing Doctor grinned widely, eyes crinkling, which sent a swoop through her belly. She squeezed her Doctor’s hand and braced herself in preparation of properly introducing herself to this unknown Doctor, when several horsemen rode into the clearing.

Bentham, a nobleman and the apparent leader of the troop of men, dismounted from his horse. “Encircle them,” he ordered his men. “Which of you is the Doctor? The Queen of England is bewitched. I would have the Doctor's head.”

The youngest Doctor blew out a breath. “Well, this has all the makings of your lucky day.”

Bentham noticed the time fissure and moved closer to the quartet. “What is that?”

The pinstriped wearing Doctor picked his sonic off the ground and moved with the other two to step between the nobleman and Rose. The oldest Doctor raised his sonic as well.

“What are you pointing them for? They're screwdrivers! What are you going to do, assemble a cabinet at them?”

Bentham raised his voice and asked again, “That thing, what witchcraft is it?”

The oldest Doctor tucked his sonic into his breast pocket and stepped forward. “Ah, yes. Now that you mention it, that is witchcraft. Yes, yes, yes. Witchy witchcraft. Hello? Hello in there. Excuse me. Hello! Am I talking to the wicked witch of the well?”

A feminine voice could be heard coming from the swirling vortex. “He means you.”

“Why am I the witch?”

“Clara? Hello? Clara, hi, hello. Hello. Would you mind telling these prattling mortals to get themselves begone?”

They could almost hear her rolling her eyes. “What he said.”

“Yes, tiny bit more color.”

“Right. Prattling mortals, off you pop, or I'll turn you all into frogs.”

“Oooh, frogs. Nice. You heard her.”

“Doctor, what's going on?”

“It's a timey-wimey thing.”

The youngest Doctor looked at Rose. “Timey what? Timey-wimey?”

The pinstriped Doctor rubbed the back of his neck. “I've no idea where he picks that stuff up.”

Rose, knew that tell, and pressed her lips together to stop the laugh that wanted to bubble forth. She fluttered her lashes at him and asked, “Oh, really?”

Before he could reply, and with a dramatic swirl of skirts, Queen Elizabeth entered the clearing sending all the soldiers to their knees. She looked at the standing foursome. “You don't seem to be kneeling. How tremendously brave of you.”

Rose’s pinstriped Doctor asked, “Which one are you? What happened to the other one?”

“Indisposed. Long live the Queen.”

The soldiers chanted, “Long live the Queen!”

“Arrest these four. Take them to the Tower.”

“That is not the Queen of England, that's an alien duplicate.”

The oldest Doctor bumped Rose’s shoulder. “And you can take it from him, ‘cos he's really checked.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Venom sacs in the tongue.”

The pinstriped Doctor saw the hurt on Rose’s face. “Seriously, stop it. Rose, I...”

Rose shook her head and wiped at her eyes. “Don’t.”

The oldest Doctor turned to Rose. “I’m sorry, I forgot how much-”

“Stop it! Both of you. I don’t want to talk about it.” She made her way back to the youngest Doctor and rested her head on his shoulder. He glanced in surprise at the other two trying to figure out what had just happened.

The oldest Doctor ran his hands through his hair and walked over to the Queen. “Hang on. The Tower? Did you say the Tower?” She nodded. “Ah, yes, brilliant. Love the Tower. Breakfast at eight, please. Will there be Wi-Fi?”

The youngest Doctor glared. “Are you capable of speaking without flapping your hands about?”

“Yes. No. I demand to be incarcerated in the Tower immediately with my co-conspirators Sandshoes, Velvet, and....” His voice softened, “Rose.”

“Velvet? I haven’t worn velvet in ages!”

“They're not sandshoes.”

The youngest Doctor looked down at the other man’s feet. “Yes, they are.”

“Silence! The Tower is not to be taken lightly. Very few emerge again.”

The Master stood in a room full of men identical to himself and hit his head. “We listen. All of us, across the world, just listen.” All of them stopped what they were doing and listened. “Concentrate. Find the signal. There! The sound is tangible. Someone could only have designed this. But who?”

A Master copy turns to the original. “The sound. It's coming from above.”

“It's coming from the sky!” The Master looks out a nearby window and sees a star falling to Earth. “There! Find it. Get out there and find it!”

“Yes, sir.”

Kate smiled at Clara. “Dear God, that man's clever. Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“My office, otherwise known as the Tower of London.”

In a field, two Land Rovers pulled up to a smoldering crater. A uniformed Master copy slid to the bottom and found the diamond previously taken from Rassilon’s staff. The soldier pressed a button on him com-link and said, “It's a diamond, sir. Oh, the most impossible diamond. You won't believe this. It’s a White Point Star.”

The pinstriped Doctor was sitting on a silent space ship with Donna’s grandfather, Wilf, and two green spiked Vinvocci. There was a heaviness in the air around the four of them. Suddenly a radio crackled to life and the Master’s voice blared out, “A star fell from the sky. Don't you want to know where from? Because now it makes sense, Doctor. The whole of my life. My destiny. The star was a diamond. And the diamond is a White Point Star. And I have worked all night to sanctify that gift. Now the star is mine. I can increase the signal and use it as a lifeline. Do you get it now? Do you see? Keep watching, Doctor. This should be spectacular. Over and out.”

An eerie quiet fell over the room, while the Doctor sat thinking. Wilf was the first to break the silence. “What's he on about? What's he doing? Doctor, what does that mean?”

The Doctor jumped up from his seat and began examining the controls of the ship. “A White Point Star is only found on one planet. Gallifrey. Which means it's the Time Lords. The Time Lords are returning.”

“Well, I mean, that's good, isn't it? I mean, that's your people...But I thought...you said your people were dead. Past tense.”

The Doctor pulled out his sonic and began mending frayed wires. “Inside the Time War. And the whole War was Time Locked. Like, sealed inside a bubble. It's not a bubble but just think of a bubble. Nothing can get in or get out of the Time Lock. Don't you see? Nothing can get in or get out, except something that was already there.”

Wilf looked confused, but then his eyes lit with a thought. “The signal. From since he was a kid.”

The Doctor nodded and moved onto another part of the control panel. “If they can follow the signal, they can escape before they die. And who knows what will try to follow.”

“But you’ll still have your people back. I've heard you talk about them like they're wonderful.”

“That's how I choose to remember them, the Time Lords of old. But then they went to war. An endless war, and it changed them right to the core. You've seen my enemies, Wilf. The Time Lords are more dangerous than any of them.” The Doctor flipped a large switch and powered up the ship. “England. Naismith Mansion. Allons-y.”

The Master stood in a large atrium, arms outstretched. “We have contact. They are coming. Closer! And closer! And closer!”

A bright white light filled the space, and when it dimmed the Lord President, his Chancellery Guards, and the two dissenters, faces covered, stood before the Master.

The sound of shattering of glass was the only precursor to the Doctor falling through the glass ceiling into the space between the Master and the other Time Lords. Cut up and bleeding, he held an old revolver in his hand.

Rassilon smirking took two steps toward the struggling Doctor. “My Lord Doctor. My Lord Master. We are gathered for the end.”

The Doctor pushed to his knees. “Listen to me. You can't…”

“It is a fitting paradox that our salvation comes at the hands of our most infamous child.”

The Doctor shook his head. “Oh, he's not saving you. Don't you realise what he's doing?”

The Master glared at the Doctor. “Hey, no, hey! That's mine. Hush. Look around you. I've transplanted myself into every single human being. But who wants a mongrel little species like them, because now I can transplant myself into every single Time Lord. Oh, yes, Mister President, sir, standing there all noble and resplendent and decrepit. Think how much better you're going to look as me.”

Rassilon raised the fist wearing his metal gauntlet. It pulsed blue with energy. All the Master copies around the room began to shake their heads.

“No, no, don't. No, no, stop it! No, no, no, don't!”

When all the humans had regained their original forms, Rassilon addressed them. “On your knees, mankind.”

All of the people look confused and scared, but soon dropped to their knees.

“No, that's fine, that's good, because you said, ‘salvation.’ I still saved you. Don't forget that.”

Rassilon raised his staff. “The approach begins.”

“Approach of what?”

The Doctor looked in disgust at the Master. “Something is returning. Don't you ever listen? That was the prophecy. Not someone, something.”

“What is it?”

“They're not just bringing back the species. It's Gallifrey. Right here, right now.”

A large, orange planet pulsed into existence alongside the Earth, blocking out the sun and darkening the streets.

The Master turned to Rassilon. “But, I did this. I get the credit. I'm on your side.”

#eight x rose #eleven x rose #ten x rose #50th re-write/fix it #queen elizabeth #clara oswald #kate lethbridge-stewart #petronella osgood #zygons #the master (simm)#rassilon

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perfectlyrose · 6 years

Text

Burning Gold (6/?)

Summary: Rose felt trapped in her life in a port town and longed to be on the open sea. She takes the chance of a lifetime and sets out on her own. Life at sea holds many surprises for her: piracy, friendships, and maybe even love. (Nine/Rose Pirate AU) Rating: All Ages // Word Count: 2109 AN: I'm just going to apologize yet again for the amount of time between updates.Standard reminder that this is heading towards Nine/Rose, but they are still on separate paths. They'll catch up to each other soon eventually. (I have a plan, I promise.) Also on: Tumblr // AO3 // TSP // FF

Chapter 6: Advancement: In which Rose makes it back to Leadworth, visits with Clara, and is put forth for a promotion, and in which the Doctor finds a crew to join.

One month later, Leadworth:

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite pirate,” Clara called out when Rose walked into The Rose & Crown, Lucie and Bill right behind her.

“Hey there, Clara!” Rose answered, grinning at her friend. “Made it back in one piece, just like I promised.”

“And still looking good,” she shot back with a wink. “Who’re your friends?”

“Bill and Lucie,” Rose said, gesturing to each of them in turn. “And this is Clara, who I’ve told you about.”

“You failed to mention she’s bleedin’ gorgeous,” Bill hissed in Rose’s ear. “I was not prepared!”

Rose just nudged her in the ribs and kept walking towards the bar. “Can we get ale all around?”

“If you come back here and pull them yourself, the first round’s on the house,” Clara said. “I’ll go grab the letters I’ve been holding for you before things get too crazy in here.”

She headed into the back while Rose slipped behind the bar and started pulling pints of ale. She had just made it back to a barstool when Clara came back with a bundle of letters bearing Jackie’s familiar handwriting.

“I hope you know that she threatened to come up here to Leadworth just to make sure I wasn’t holding you captive or something.”

“I’ve been sending her letters from everywhere, she couldn’t possibly think you have me stashed away here,” Rose said, exasperation lacing her voice.

“It was a threat she sent with the first letter she sent. It was probably written before any of your others got to her,” Clara explained.

“Your mum?” Lucie asked, looking over Rose’s shoulder.

“Yeah. I have her write here and Clara holds them for me.” Rose tucked the letters into her waistband to read back on the ship.

Bill smirked. “She could hold-”

Rose’s elbow made hard contact with Bill’s ribs before she could finish that sentence but from the twinkle in Clara’s eyes, she knew where it had been heading.

“Bill, right?”

“That’s me.”

“Got plans for the night, sailor?” Clara asked, a decidedly wicked smile on her face as she gave Bill a thorough look-over.

Rose groaned.

“Not yet,” Bill said with a grin.

“Stick around after closing, I can make sure you have a softer bed than you’re used to.”

Clara walked away to tend to another customer before Bill picked her jaw up from the floor.

“You’re my lucky charm, Rose, I swear,” Bill said, watching Clara with reverent eyes.

“She’s something else, isn’t she?”

Bill gave her a look. “Any history there I need to know about?”

“Nah. We’re just friends.” Rose shrugged a shoulder. “Met her at the wrong time to be anything more.”

“So long as I’m not stepping on your toes.”

“Not at all,” Rose assured her.

“You two are hopeless,” Lucie said.

“Tell you what, Luce,” Rose said, slapping her friend on the shoulder. “I’ll flirt with men tonight with you. We can see how many we charm before the night is up.”

Lucie agreed with a laugh. “Winner is whoever gets the most free drinks.”

“You’re on.”

By the time they stumble back to the ship in the wee hours of the morning, they’re both drunk and laughing.

“You cheated,” Lucie complained. “People remembered you from when you worked there and that got you more drinks.”

“Just admit that I’m more charming than you,” Rose shot back. “And we weren’t even counting the drinks a couple of the ladies bought me.”

“That’s because you weren’t supposed to be flirting with them!”

“I wasn’t!” Rose claimed. “At least not on purpose. Charming, remember?”

“Ridiculous, more like,” Lucie said with a snort.

Rose slung her arm around Lucie’s shoulder. “You love it.”

They make it back to The Red Lady and collapse into their respective hammocks with muted giggles, ignoring the aggrieved mutterings of the few crewmates who were already trying to sleep.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The next day, Rose made her way back to Clara’s pub, wanting a chance to catch up with her friend. She ran into Bill on the way there.

“Bout time you crawled back to the ship,” Rose teased. “Have a good time?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” Bill asked. Her smile screamed satisfaction.

“No, I really don’t. Forget I asked,” Rose said. “Is Clara up and about? I was on my way to see her.”

“Sadly, she was getting dressed when I left so she should be ready for visitors now.”

“Hopeless,” Rose said.

“You sound like Lucie.” Bill pushed at her friend’s shoulder.

“Take it up with her when you get back to the ship. If you can wake her up, that is. Was still sleeping hard when I left.”

“Snoring?”

“Loud enough to wake up everyone but herself,” Rose confirmed.

“Brilliant,” Bill said with a roll of her eyes. “I’ll go save everyone from that.”

“See you later.”

They parted ways and a few minutes later, Rose let herself into the pub’s kitchen and shouted up the stairs that she was making tea and expected Clara to be downstairs and decent by the time she was done.

“You’re no fun,” Clara groused as she came down the stairs.

Rose raised an eyebrow. “Judging by the smile on Bill’s face when I ran into her, you’ve already had plenty of fun this morning.”

“Mmm, true.” She took a mug of tea from Rose’s hand and sat down at the small table off to one side of the kitchen. “So, tell me about life as a pirate. Bill said you sail back out tomorrow?”

“First tide of the morning,” Rose confirmed.

They fell into easy conversation, swapping tales of life on the high seas and tavern antics until Joan arrived to start preparing lunch.

“I’ve got to get back to the ship,” Rose said with a regretful twist of her lips. “Supplies should be getting delivered and I have to take inventory.”

“Stay safe out there,” Clara said.

“Tall order to give a pirate.”

“It’s one you better follow,” Clara retorted with raised eyebrows.

Rose hugged her friend and was about to turn to head out the door when Clara cleared her throat.

Clara tapped a finger to her own lips. “Can’t break tradition, Rose. A kiss before you run off to be a pirate again.”

Rose laughed and swiftly pressed a kiss to Clara’s lips. “Until next time, Clara.”

“Until next time.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Some months later, at sea:

Rose’s knives flashed in the afternoon sun as she helped subdue the crew of a merchant ship. She was guarding the fight between Amy and the merchant captain, preventing anyone from coming to their captain’s aid as Amy toyed with him.

Mels was next to her, her sword cutting through the air.

Neither of them were aware that their twin ruthless smiles were as terrifying to the merchant sailors as their blades.

Later that night, Amy and Mels met in the captain’s quarters to discuss their haul and various crew matters.

“Heard we’re losing Vicki next time we make port,” Mels said, propping her feet up on Amy’s desk.

Amy glared at her but it had no effect. “Yeah, she already came to talk to me. She’s got a bloke waiting for her, I think.”

Mels sighed. “Of course she does. Don’t understand how any of them leave the open seas for something as fickle as love.”

“If it pulls on them as hard as the sea pulls on us, it makes sense,” Amy argued.

“I suppose.”

Amy leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. “Figured out who you want to train up as your replacement, yet? I know you’re itching for your own captaincy.”

“You know I’m no good at taking orders,” Mels said.

“Bane of my existence,” Amy agrees. “I’ll be sad to lose you though.”

“You’ll still see me around,” Mels said with a shrug. “But I’ll miss you too, you big sap.”

“Take that back or I’ll pull my sword on you.” Amy’s threat was without heat. She smiled at her friend.

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

“So, who do you have your eye on as my next first mate? I retain my right to veto anyone I don’t want.”

Mels rolled her eyes. “Of course you do, but you won’t.”

“Sure about that?”

“You generally seem to like Rose, so, yeah.”

Amy grinned. “Excellent choice. Think there will be any problem with her not having been on the crew as some of the others you might pick?”

Mels shook her head. “Everyone likes Rose. She’s a fast learner, she takes care of everyone without making a production of it, and besides you and me, she’s the best with a blade in her hand.”

“I wouldn’t take her on in a knife fight,” Amy said.

“Me neither. I can still best her with swords but she’s picking that up fast.”

“She’s got the love for the sea, too,” Amy mused. “She’ll make a good first mate.”

“She’ll make a good captain one day, too.”

They both considered that for a moment and a gleeful smile formed slowly on Amy’s face as she pictured Rose and her blend of ruthlessness and kindness in charge of her own crew.

“I can’t wait to see what she does,” Amy said.

“Nobody will know what hit them,” Mels agreed. “So, you’re on board with me training Rose as your next first mate? I don’t have my eye on a ship yet so I have plenty of time to teach her what she needs to know.”

“Yes. Don’t tell her until you know you’re leaving soon. I don’t want the rumor mill getting riled up about you leaving when it’s not imminent quite yet.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

Amy rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“You already said you’ll miss me when I’m gone, can’t take it back now.” Mels’s smirk was smug.

“Impossible.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The port town of Cheem:

John felt lighter than he had in months as he pulled on a rough rope on the deck of a ship. The burn of fibers against his palms, the strain of his shoulders, and the familiar rocking rhythm of the ocean beneath his feet felt like home.

He hadn’t heard any news of his old ship or caught up to The Red Lady but he’d pulled into port while The Thorn Queen was making a supply stop. Having heard good things about the ship and her captain, John sought out Captain Jabe and applied for a place on her crew.

The woman’s smile was kind but her eyes were sharp as she questioned John about his qualifications. After a few minutes, she took a sip of ale and set it down gently.

Her lilting voice was quiet as she spoke. “I recognize your name, Doctor, even if you aren’t laying claim to it here. I know not your reasons for joining a crew when you used to be a captain, but I’d be happy to welcome you onto my ship.”

John’s jaw clenched and he took a moment to gather himself. He brushed his thumb over the rose brooch, still in his pocket after all these months. He’d pinned it to the lining to ensure he wouldn’t lose it.

“Thank you, Captain,” he said finally, skirting the subtle dig for information. “I’d be honored to serve on your crew.”

“Welcome then. I will have someone tell the guards to expect you.” She paused, considering. “Should I call you John or the Doctor?”

“It’s just John, now,” he said. “For now at least.”

“Your secret is safe with me, John.”

“Thank you.” He stood. “I need to gather my belongings from my current ship. I will report to The Thorn Queen as soon as possible.”

“Take your time. We are in port until the day after tomorrow. As you might be aware, Cheem is my home port. We have an...” she pauses, trying to find the right word, “an understanding with the authorities here, so our shore leaves are a little more leisurely than in other places.”

John nodded. “Thank you again, Captain.”

“I will see you aboard,” she said. She dismissed him with a nod and called someone over to her with a wave of her hand.

John assumed she was informing a crewmember that he was to be allowed to board The Thorn Queen, and left the tavern without looking back. Now he was back at sea on a new ship, as a member of a new crew who he was getting along with.

It was a good first step and for the first time in quite some time, he was looking to the future with something other than resignation.

#ficandchips #doctorroseprompts #nine x rose #i wrote this #burning gold #@ that anon who yelled at me for making this too gay one time #please enjoy

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davidcarner · 7 years

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Sarah vs The Life Unexpected Ch 10, Shut Up and Kiss Me

A/N: This is probably the angstiest I will ever get with this fic. If you're looking for more than that, you've come to the wrong place. (But my guess is you're here for a reason, it's fine, we're all friends here.) Some have asked if there will be a mission. Probably. Maybe. I know a meeting with Beckman is coming sooner rather than later. I'm also guessing updates will be much less frequent the next two weeks with Christmas coming. Thank you all for the reviews, favorites, follows, DMs, PMs, Tumblrs, and however you've contacted me.

Also huge thanks to @haalpert for the great Charah bracelet gif!

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, but I did find the season 2 deleted season on youtube.

Chuck was in that place, half-awake, half-asleep. There was something on his left cheek, not chewing, but every once in a while there felt like teeth. It was more than something, it was causing him to wake up quickly. He was quite aware he hadn't shaved in a couple of days, because he was pretty sure the hairs on his face just grew from whatever was being done to him. He was fighting to open his eyes, when it suddenly stopped, and he felt his pillow go down by his left side, like someone was hiding. He felt eyes staring at him from the right. He opened his eyes and slowly turned his head to the right. There stood Molly with the biggest grin on her face.

"If you say a word about calling the stork," Chuck began. He paused for a second. "Just don't."

"You're getting really good at this Daddy thing," Molly said. "Granny wants to know if you're hungry?" Chuck started to answer but his stomach made its own feelings clear. "Daddy's hungry!" she said, and took off. Chuck felt a hand go over his chest and slowly down his torso.

"She's right, you're getting really good at this daddy thing," Sarah said softly, her lips on his ear. Chuck realized where her hand was and he did the one thing he was best at. He freaked out. Emma was up, Molly was up, and if they kept this up…He shot out of bed.

"Wow! Look at the time. You probably want a shower. I'll let you have this one, and I'll go use the other." And with that he shot out of the room, clothes in hand. Sarah sat up, looking around, confused. Had she just been pranked? She sighed, got up, and went to take her own shower. A cold one. Down the hallway, Chuck was standing in the shower, bouncing his head off the wall. "What are you doing?" he asked himself. "Seriously, what are you doing? The most beautiful woman in the world, who loves you, and you love her, and you dash out like that. What is wrong with you?"

He took his shower, got dressed, went back into the bedroom, closed the door behind him, and sat on the bed, waiting. Chuck heard the shower turn off, and a few minutes later, Sarah came out of the bathroom, dressed. She looked at Chuck as he stood, and wiped his sweaty hands on his pants.

"Listen, I am so sorry. That just caught me off guard and everyone is awake, and I'm…Sarah, I love you, and if you'll let me, I'll spend the rest of my life with you, it's just, this whole thing, it's like…"

"We've been set-up and pushed together?" Chuck's eyes got wide. Sarah nodded. "I feel the same way. There's so much pressure on us, that I feel like we just can't be. Does that make sense?"

"That is exactly how I feel," Chuck said softly. He walked up to her and hugged her. "Are we crazy?" Sarah pulled away and looked him in the eye.

"I get the strangest feeling we've been set-up, and I'm glad I met you, and I'm glad this is crazy, and I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you, but it feels like everyone is pushing us to be something and maybe we aren't ready to be that yet," Sarah replied.

"Do you know how much of a burden you've taken off of my mind, you just saying that?" Chuck asked. Sarah grinned.

"Good, and do you know how much of a burden you've taken off my mind knowing that you feel the same way?" Chuck shook his head. "Maybe I shouldn't move in." Chuck shook his head no.

"No," Chuck began.

"Listen, it's a lot of pressure on us, maybe we should just slow it down? It doesn't change what I feel about you." Chuck was quiet for a second.

"I've slept the best I have in years holding you." Sarah sighed.

"I've slept the best I have as well."

"It's not like I don't want to make love to you," Chuck began. "95% of all men would say I'm crazy."

"That's why I'm not dating and in love with 95% of all men."

"Stay. Move in, sell your apartment, and stay. I'll have them put the house in our names. Just don't leave."

"Easy boy, that's close to begging."

"I ain't too proud," Chuck said with a grin.

"You do know that song's about sex right?" Chuck leaned down and kissed her. It started out slow and soft, but the hunger within both of them grew. The next thing they knew, they were both on the bed, clothes seconds from flying off, when Sarah stopped.

"Did I do something wrong?" Chuck asked. Sarah shook her head laughing.

"Not like this, not the first time," she said softly. Chuck took her hand and kissed it. "But after that," she said, hitting him with her version of the eyebrow dance. Chuck shook his head, grinned, and hit her with his version. The smile fell from her face. She leaned in close. "You were right, it does work," she said sultry. Chuck visibly gulped, and Sarah laughed. "Come on," she said patting his leg. "Speaking of being set-up, there's a certain five-year-old we need to speak to." Chuck held her wrist for a second, and she looked back at him.

"You're not leaving?" Sarah smiled and shook her head.

"I regretted the idea as soon as I said it," she admitted. She leaned forward and kissed him. "Chuck the only way you'll get rid of me is if you run me off."

"Sarah, you're former CIA, I couldn't make you do anything." Sarah grinned.

"You don't give yourself enough credit," she whispered. Chuck stared at her for a second, and quickly got up off the bed.

"We need to get out of here, now."

"Do we?" she asked, and Chuck fled. Sarah chuckled and headed out of the room. Chuck was waiting for her at the staircase. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in.

"You are going to be the death of me," he said into her ear, and pulled her in tighter.

"Look, I think you and I need to have a little chat with someone. Follow my lead on this one, okay?"

"Wait, that's not right. You're her mom, and you shouldn't have to play the bad cop and me play the good cop." Sarah just looked at him.

"You're five seconds from me dragging you back in that bedroom," she replied. Chuck groaned.

"Listen, later. I promise I'm good with us. But right now, there's too many up and around."

"Okay, can you do bad cop?" Chuck grinned.

"Only one way to find out. Why don't you go first. Sit down on one side of her, and I'll sit on the other." Sarah headed down the steps. Chuck counted to 20 and then followed. He got to the table, and sat down beside Molly. Emma looked up saw the two on either side of Molly, and shook her head.

"I think the game's up, Kid," Emma said. Molly shrugged.

"I don't care, I got what I wanted." Chuck turned to look at Molly.

"Don't be too mad at her, Chuck, I was involved as well," Emma admitted.

"Mom!" Sarah said.

"Oh, give me a break. You've done nothing but work, and raise that girl for five years."

"What did you do?" Sarah asked. Emma smiled and looked at her granddaughter.

"Very little, to be honest, it was mostly Molly. She had pictures of you and showed them to Clara at preschool." Chuck looked at Molly, who shrugged.

"I just told her she was my mommy," Molly said. "I told Mrs. Wood I was trying to help Clara talk, and she said most babies can't say mommy, but can say mama."

"So you showed her the picture and called her mama," Chuck said, grinning.

"You're not upset?" Molly asked.

"No," Chuck replied. Sarah looked at him, surprised. "Why would I be upset? Look, what did she do, set us up on a blindish date? Maybe got one of the preschool teachers involved, and your mom? We," Chuck said pointing to himself and Sarah. "Are the ones who fell in love. They introduced us. We should probably be thankful. Plus, Clara is walking, talking, and …where is Clara?"

"In the playpen in the living room," Emma said. Sarah hopped up smiling, and went to get her. Emma leaned in. "You do know if she keeps that up with Clara, one day she's going to want another baby." Chuck nearly choked. "What if I take the girls to the apartment tonight?"

"You don't have to," Chuck said softly.

"Scared to be alone in the house with me, Chuck?" Sarah asked. Chuck turned and looked at Sarah.

"No, it's just I spent most of yesterday asleep and missed out on everyone last night," Chuck replied. Sarah just looked at him, grinning. "I also know how you can't control yourself around me."

"Baby brother!" Molly loud whispered. Chuck rolled his eyes and Sarah laughed.

"I'll take the girls tonight," Emma said. "Just so you know, it wasn't just the people you named in on the plan."

"There was a plan?" Sarah asked.

"I wanted to do project Charah," Molly said. Chuck and Sarah shared a look.

"Oh, goody, we have a cutesy couple name," Chuck said.

"I kinda like it," Sarah said, shrugging.

"Morgan said we had to change it," Molly added.

"Morgan was in on it?" Sarah asked, shocked.

"You know Casey, Alex, and Carina were as well," Chuck added. Molly just nodded. "What name did Morgan come up with?"

"Project OMAHA," Molly replied. Operation Married And Happy Always."

"I don't hate it," Chuck admitted.

"Always, huh," Sarah said, coming up and wrapping an arm around Chuck. He leaned back into her and looked up at her. "Think you can handle that, Bartowski?"

"I can if you can," he replied. She leaned down and pecked him on the lips.

"Challenge accepted," she said, winking at him.

"Seriously, when's the wedding?" Emma asked. Chuck shrugged looking at Sarah.

"I figure when she gets tired of waiting and asks me," Chuck said. "I know you're taking the kids tonight, but would you mind watching them for a bit now? There's something I want to show Sarah."

"Sure," Emma replied. "I was going to take them to the park anyway, and see if you two wanted to join me."

"This won't take long, I promise," Chuck said.

"Then we need to plan Clara's birthday party," Molly said. Sarah looked at Chuck.

"She turns one this coming Friday," Chuck said.

"I haven't even gotten her anything yet," Sarah said. Chuck looked at her like she was crazy. He reached in and tickled Clara's belly and she scrunched herself into Sarah's neck.

"Sarah, because of you and Molly, Clara is the happiest she's been since she's been with me. She has a mom and a sister, what else could she need?"

"Mama," Clara said, hugging Sarah. Sarah's eyes were filled with tears. Chuck got up, found his shoes, put them on, and held Clara while Sarah got ready.

"Seriously, we need to throw her a party," Molly said.

"You got it, Pumpkin," Chuck replied. "Help Emma watch her and we'll meet you at the park in a little bit." Sarah came downstairs ready to go. Chuck gave Clara over to Emma and they headed to the car. A quick drive to the beach and Chuck had reached his destination. He held her hand as he slowly walked to what he considered his spot.

"I always came here when things went wrong," Chuck said softly. "I came here after I was kicked out of Stanford, after Ellie died, and every time things seemed to go wrong." Chuck turned to Sarah. "Even on days that were seemingly good, I wanted to come here and just watch the waves to calm me, soothe me. Since I've met you, I haven't had one want to come here, except to show you this spot. There's not much of my life you've not seen or been a part of already. I mean you already live in my old apartment, but this, this is my spot. I want you to know as confusing and crazy the past few days have been, I couldn't be happier. All because of you." Chuck leaned in to kiss her, and she stopped him.

"Thank you," she said softly. "I realize you've been closed up for the past several years, but you opening up like this, I understand, it makes you vulnerable, it's scary, and you're taking a chance. I promise you, I will be worth the chance." She started to kiss him, and he pulled back, a grin covering his face.

"You know, with the things we've said in the past few days, we'd be married in a few countries." Sarah laughed, and Chuck pulled her in for a hug. He pulled away slightly, and began to kiss her. After a few moments they pulled apart. "You know the house might be empty." Sarah looked at him, considering.

"Tonight?" Chuck nodded.

"I mean no pressure or anything," Chuck said. Sarah bit her bottom lip trying to keep from laughing.

"Let's go," Chuck said. "I have barely seen my girls."

"You're girls?" Sarah asked, an eyebrow arched. Chuck looked over at her.

"My girls, which includes you," Chuck said. She wrapped an arm around him and with her other, placed her hand on his chest as they walked back to the car.

"Careful, Chuck," she said. "Keep talking like that and you'll find yourself surrounded by us for fifty years or so."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

}o{

The drive to the park was quiet. Chuck sat in the passenger seat, thinking. Sarah reached over and took his hand.

"Talk to me," she said softly.

"You're gonna hate me," he replied.

"Never."

"I don't want Molly and Clara to go tonight," Chuck said. "When we started this, we knew exactly what each one came with, and after talking to Molly yesterday about family, it just seems like we're hypocrites. I mean it's one thing taking a night off but after what Molly said last night…it just doesn't feel right." Sarah didn't say anything for a second.

"Chuck Bartowski, if you keep this up, I am going to drag you to the courthouse tomorrow," she said softly. Chuck looked at her, blinking.

"File a restraining order?" Chuck asked confused. She gave him a look. It would have been longer and more pointed, but she was driving. They reached their destination, she pulled in, whipped off her seat belt, and got close to him as possible. She grabbed his face with both of her hands.

"I'm going to marry you before someone else figures out how wonderful you are and makes a play for you."

"Sarah, there's no one else but you."

"How do you know it's been less than a week."

"Sarah, I know. Will it be hard work, yes. Will it take every day of me showing you how much you mean to me, yes. Will I gladly do it, yes." Tears flowed down Sarah's eyes. She leaned in to kiss him, when she felt someone watching her. She looked past Chuck and noticed the face peering in the car.

"Molly?" Chuck asked.

"That girl, to want us to be together…"

"Think if we tell her that if she leaves us alone she might get that brother is a bad idea?" Chuck asked with a grin. The look Sarah returned wasn't a grin, and she wasn't mad, but Chuck thought perhaps he shouldn't ever joke about that again. "Never mind."

"Don't start something you can finish, Chuck," Sarah said softly. Molly was beating on the car window. "To be continued," she said, winking at him. Chuck gulped. The two got out of the car, and Chuck picked up Molly.

"Kid, I kinda need you not to keep showing up at inopportune times," Chuck said softly to her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just missed you, and I won't get to see you tonight."

"Well, your mom and I were talking about that," Chuck replied. "You're not going anywhere tonight. There may come a night in the future where your Mom and I may do something alone, but I don't think right now is the right time." Molly hugged him. "No matter what happens between you and your mom, I got you, Pumpkin."

"No, you and Mommy have to stay together," she said, hanging on to him for dear life.

"That's my plan, Pumpkin. That's my plan." Chuck noticed Emma and Sarah talking. Sarah took Clara, and Emma waited for Chuck.

"Turning down a night alone with my daughter?" Emma asked, grinning.

"Emma, or should I say, Mom," Chuck said grinning. Emma smiled at that. "We got into this knowing it wasn't just us, so we need to make sure this is going to work. Besides," Chuck said, tickling Molly's ribs. "I gotta make sure all my girls are happy."

"Chuck, will you just marry her," Emma said, exasperated.

"If that's what you want, then why don't both of you tone it down," Chuck said seriously. "It's been a week. Let us find our pace. I appreciate everything you've done, and I am thankful for the support, but let us figure this out."

"You're right," Emma said. "We were so concerned you two would never find each other, we went overboard. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Chuck said, setting Molly down and ruffling her hair. "Without you both, we may have never got this far, but now, we know what we have, and, I can't speak for Sarah, but I'm going to do everything I can to make her happy as long as she'll let me."

"While I do appreciate you not speaking for me," Sarah said from behind Chuck. "I agree with everything you just said." She walked up and put her free arm around him. "I'm moving in, and I'm bringing Molly, and we'd love to have you stay with us." Chuck nodded. "This is my family now. Maybe it's unconventional, maybe it happened fast, but it's what makes both of us happy, and this is what we both want." Emma's smile was huge.

"I couldn't be happier for you two," she said. "If you'll have me," she began. Chuck cut her off.

"Come on, Emma, Sarah raising two and a half kids…." Emma grinned. Sarah looked down at Molly and winked.

"You know you're the half one, right?" Molly hugged both their legs. Sarah looked at Chuck. "We've got to plan a birthday party," she said, grinning. "A girl only turns one once, right, Clara," she asked looking back. Chuck reached over and tickled her belly. Sarah gave a glance around the park and caught Chuck's eye.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"Probably some pervert watching the kids or something, something just feels off," she said.

"Then let's head home," Chuck said. Sarah started to shake her head. "Hey, remember you're a former spy, plus a mom, and that whole women's intuition thing. I'd rather be safe than sorry."

"What about Chuck E Cheese?" Molly asked. Sarah and Chuck shared a look.

"Oh, no," Emma said. "I'm going to go to the bookstore, find myself a book, have some coffee, and relax. I'll see all of you later," and with that, she was off.

"Scaredy cat!" Chuck yelled after her. She just waved and kept walking. Chuck looked down at Molly. "You owe me," he said in a deep voice."

"Okay," she answered in the same type. They went to the car, piled in, buckled up, and took off. As they pulled away, a man walked out of the woods and stared after them.

"Chuck…Sarah…kids…who knew?" Bryce said, shrugged, and went back to waiting for his contact.

}o{

Chuck and Sarah drug the kids in a few hours later, to the smell of something delicious.

"I may be a scaredy cat, but I'm in better shape than you two," Emma said after one look at them.

"There was a birthday party," Chuck said.

"She was four," Sarah said, still looking to be in shock. "There were twenty kids there, and the mothers, they just didn't care. They let them do whatever." She looked up at Emma. "I've started a revolution with a spoon, and this was scarier than that ever was.

"I thought it was a fork," Chuck said.

"That too, although the spoon was plastic." Chuck started at her.

"You are so amazing," he said grinning. Sarah smiled at him.

"You ought to see what I can do with a spork."

"Enough, take it to the bedroom," Emma teased. Sarah waggled her eyebrows at Chuck. Chuck looked down, and Molly was asleep on the floor. Emma walked over, took Clara, who was nearly out as well, and took her upstairs.

"I'll bathe her," Chuck said, looking down at Molly.

"I got it," Sarah said smiling. "Molly, come on," she said, half dragging her upstairs. Chuck went upstairs, and took a long hot shower. He changed, went and found Clara, and read her a story as she fell asleep in his arms. Before he finished, Molly and Sarah came in. Molly had on her PJs, kissed Sarah, walked over, demanded a good night kiss, which Chuck gave to her before she beat him up, climbed into bed, and was out like a light. Chuck kissed Clara on the head, started to get up, when Sarah took her from him. She held her for a minute, kissed Clara goodnight, and tucked her into her crib. They walked out and started down the hall.

"We're going to have to get Clara a new toddler bed," Chuck said. Sarah nodded, grabbed Chuck, and pulled him into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. "Private discussion?"

"Something like that," she said, slowly walking towards him.

"Sarah, we do this, and every single part of our life is tied together."

"Promise?" Chuck gulped. "Chuck, shut up and kiss me." Chuck was always told to be a gentleman, so he did exactly as his lady told him. A few minutes later he found himself out of breath and on the bed, with Sarah giving him a look like she was a starving lioness and he was a five-course meal.

"Are you sure about this?" Chuck asked. Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Hear me out. If we do this, then every part of our life is entangled in each other. There is no you and I, it's we on everything, and Sarah, I am done. I am done with ever trying to not be with you, Molly, or our family. Sarah, I want this, but if you don't then right now, I need you to tell me, because I'm not strong enough to say no." Sarah grinned at him, and kissed his jaw.

"You never did shave the past few days," she said. Chuck was having a hard time forming a coherent thought.

"Been a bit busy being sick and stuff," Chuck replied. She made his way up to his ear.

"You're saying if we do this, there's no turning back?"

"Uh-huh," he managed to mumble out.

"Good," she whispered. "Now if I hear one more word about not wanting to, I'm going to be very upset. Understand?" Chuck nodded. He appeared to want to say something.

"I love you, Sarah," Chuck said, and caught her by surprise by kissing her where her shoulder and jaw met.

"You're going to pay for that, Chuck," Sarah said, nearly losing the ability to speak herself. She looked at Chuck, his eyes dancing.

"Promise?"

"Promise," she said, and he did.

A/N: I hope you all get to see Star Wars this weekend! Next time, work stuff, and birthday party planning. See you soon.

#Sarah #Chuck #Charah #MOLLY!#Sarah vs The Life Unexpected #fanfic #fluff

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elloette · 7 years

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85 Statements Tag Game

Rules: you must answer these 85 statements and tag 20 people.

I was tagged by @clara-is-brave. Thanks, hun! 💕 (I haven’t responded to a lot of things I’ve been tagged in lately, but I’ll get to them eventually.)

I tag: @zeno-lives, @rowofstars, @thescholarlystrumpet, @marvella15, @straightarrowlife, @bliphany, @gwendolynnby, @thatexactleaf, @umuggle, @kronoskingofthemonkeypeople, and @coffee-and-classic-rock

The last…

1. Drink: Ice water

2. Phone call: Nancy, a lovely older lady in my choir who called to see how I am doing and to pray for me. What a sweetheart she is!

3. Text message: Diane, another lady in my choir checking in on me.

4. Song you listened to: lol does the Great British Bake Off theme count?

5. Time you cried: Friday

6. Dated someone twice: Nope

7. Kissed someone and regretted it: omg yes.

8. Been cheated on: I mean most likely yes. I am not even going to go into it, but the likelihood is 98% yes.

9. Lost someone special: Several, but especially this year. My dear friend Maggie suddenly passed away from heart failure after having her baby.

10. Been depressed: Um, yeah I’d say so. This year has just repeatedly kicked me in the teeth, and it’s not even done with me yet.

11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: Oh gosh...yeah one time. This past year. Finally figured out my limit.

Favourite colors

12. Blue

13. Grey

14. White

In the last year have you…

15. Made new friends: Yes.

16. Fallen out of love: Yes? But it was also a years long process.

17. Laughed until you cried: I usually do when I laugh hard.

18. Found out someone was talking about you: No.

19. Met someone who changed you: Hmmm.... I’m not sure if I’ve changed. But I’ve met some great people this year.

20. Found out who your friends are: I’ve probably always known.

21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list: Yup.

General

22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life? Almost every single one, except for a few good friends I’ve made online.

23. Do you have any pets? Yes. Two very fluffy cats.

24. Do you want to change your name? Mmmm it’s alright I guess.

25. What did you do for your last birthday? ...what did I do for my birthday.... Oh hahaha omg I think I got food poisoning, in the middle of video chatting with someone. Happy birthday to me.

26. What time did you wake up? about 8

27. What were you doing at midnight last night? Climbing into bed.

28. Name something you can’t wait for: OCTOBER 🍁

29. When was the last time you saw your mum? She’s right here! I’m so happy my mom is here with me now.

31. What are you listening to right now? My mom doing some extra cleaning for me in the kitchen. She’s doing anything extra that I’m having a hard time with right now and she’s amazing.

32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom? Pretty sure I went to school with a couple, so yeah?

33. Something that is getting on your nerves: I should have had my referral for a neurosurgeon today by the latest. ...Guess what I still don’t have. Called the urgent care twice, and the person who normally does all of that is out today and apparently no one else knows anything about it.

34. Most visited website: It’s absolutely tumblr.

35. Hair colour: Reddish blonde?

36. Long or short hair? Long.

37. Do you have a crush on someone: omg don’t look at me next question

38. What do you like about yourself? I like that I am good at lots of different creative things, especially musical ability because it’s my favorite way to de-stress.

39. Piercings: Just my ears.

40. Blood type: I’m sure I have one?

41. Nickname: Elle, and Tinkerbell by my mama.

42. Relationship status: Let’s just skip this for now m’kay?

43. Zodiac: Sagittarius.

44. Pronouns: She/her.

45. Favourite TV show: Doctor Who.

46. Tattoos: None. Yet.

47. Right or left handed: Right.

48. Surgery: I had one as a baby to fix a cleft palate, one to have my wisdom teeth out, and two abdominal ones over the last couple of years for my chronic illness. And who knows what’s next.

49. Piercing: My ears.

50. Sport: As in favorite? As in one I’ve played? I’m gonna need you to be more specific. I did do swimming for 7 years, but not on a team. Just lessons, and diving, and life guard training etc.

51. Holiday: As in favorite? ...Christmas maybe?

52. Pair of trainers: I have these cute cobalt blue New Balance ones, with coral accents, and they’re pretty fab.

More general

53. Eating: I had an amazing dinner at a local Italian place where I had freshly made herb pappardelle pasta with balsamic marinated tomatoes, portobello mushrooms, fresh basil, capers, and prosciutto. And freshly made vanilla gelato with italian chocolate biscotti and chocolate fudge. Um. Heaven, y’all.

54. Drinking: More ice water.

55. I’m about to: Watch more Bake Off!

56. Waiting for: This referral to a neurosurgeon so I can start getting clear answers for what’s wrong with me and decide next steps.

57. Want: Whatever this is that showed up on my brain scan to just disappear.

58. Get married: I’m gonna have to give you a rain check on that answer.

59. Career: Some kind of social advocacy, where I can also use my creative skills.

60. Hugs or kisses: Both yes please.

61. Lips or eyes: Eyes.

62. Shorter or taller: Well I wish I was shorter. I’ve always wanted to be tiny and adorable. Other people, doesn’t matter.

63. Older or younger: Myself or people I’d be interested in? Anything is fine as long as the gap isn’t enormous and there’s no large power imbalance.

64. Nice arms or nice stomach: Oh I’d like a little of both for myself, other people I have no preference. Muscles are nice, but so is some softness.

65. Hook up or relationship: Relationship.

66. Troublemaker or hesitant: Hesitant.

67. Kissed a stranger: omg yeah practically.

68. Drank hard liquor: Yeah, and one in Korea that came in a cup the size of a thimble. It literally almost knocked me out of my chair.

69. Lost glasses/contact lenses: No.

70. Turned someone down: Yes.

71. Sex on the first date: No way.

72. Broken someone’s heart: Possibly.

73. Had your heart broken: To the point where I think I should just throw in the towel.

74. Been arrested: Nope.

75. Cried when someone died: Sigh.....so much.

76. Fallen for a friend: more than once omg i’m trash next question

Do you believe in …

77. Yourself: With some things.

78. Miracles: Yes, although I think they’re rare.

79. Love at first sight: Attraction yes, love no.

80. Santa Claus: Nope. Also figured out pretty young that Santa’s handwriting looks exactly like my mom’s lol

81. Kiss on the first date: If I know the person already then maybe yes, if I’ve never met them before then probably no.

82. Angels: Yes.

Other

83. Current best friend’s name: I’m maybe not gonna say on here? idk?

84. Eye colour: Blue, but kind of a deeper greenish blue.

85. Favourite movie: The Princess Bride, and probably Drop Dead Gorgeous.

#done been tagged #it's me #long post

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butterflyinthewell · 7 years

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Palimpsest (autistic!12th Doctor fanfic)

TITLE: Palimpsest SUMMARY: Disability does not equal tragedy, and love is a promise that endures beyond missing memories. (Set after the episode ‘Oxygen’. Blind!autistic!12th Doctor, Whouffaldi) RATING: T GENRE: Angst / Hurt-Comfort / Humor PAIRING: Whouffaldi (Wait for it...trust me.) LOCATED: FF.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12493583/1/Palimpsest AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10938483 (Whouffaldi Forever) and also under the Tumblr cut TRIGGER WARNINGS: Unsanitary moments, food, graphic description of suffocation in a vacuum, eye scream, body horror.

I wanted to play around with blind!12 using a mobility device and being independent. The Doctor losing his sight doesn’t have to be tragic and I don’t think he would see it as such.

This story is an acknowledgement of Face the Raven from the Doctor’s POV, and it’s meant to point towards Every Love Story. That makes it kinda-sorta an AU, yet I wrote it with a “could be canon if you squint” mindset.

Bring tissues, you might need them. Allons-y!

[Still image from the Doctor Who episode Hell Bent. Taken from inside an old-fashioned diner. There is a juke box and red booths on the left-hand side of the photo. On the right-hand side are red stools, the counter, a drink machine and other diner-type knick knacks. The 12th Doctor is outside the glass doors, poised to step inside. He’s carrying his electric guitar and wearing his sonic sunglasses.]

“Had to let you know just what would happen. Yes, I had to let you know the truth. I know I've got to do this. Would you hold my hand right through it? Would you...”

--Gloria Estefan, “I See Your Smile”

People died because of his recklessness. But not Bill. Not today. Not if he could do something to prevent it.

The Doctor inhaled deeply and blew all the air out ten times in a row. Hyperventilating left him tingly, but it would buy him time. Chaos reigned around him, yet he remained calm. He removed his space helmet with a decisive snap-click.

Frigidness bit into his skin like fangs. Pain slammed through his ears as they popped in the negative pressure, and they rang so loud he hardly heard his own hearts pounding. The last breath he inhaled rushed out in a cloud of thick, white mist. It seemed to shape like a bird before evaporating.

Bill’s eyes fluttered and rolled; she had lost consciousness. Ice formed where she sweat from fear. Her brown skin looked ashen and the membranes inside her twitching mouth turned a terrifying blue-gray.

The Doctor’s chest burned. He shoved the helmet over Bill’s head, twisted it into position and grabbed her arm. Ringing continued inside his skull while he pulled Bill’s space suit panel open and rerouted its circuitry. His body gasped spasmodically for air, but the strength of his diaphragm couldn’t overcome a vacuum. What little breath he dragged in got violently sucked out before he fully inhaled it. He swore his internal organs were on the verge of bursting through his nostrils.

One more twist and Bill’s suit began to march in the same instant he felt the spit in his mouth become froth. He gestured at Nardole to get Bill outside. Ivan and Abby had already gone ahead to clear the way.

The Doctor hunched his shoulders, which pressed the rim of his space suit over his ears and mouth. Somehow, that helped the pain. He staggered outside. Now there was nothing to inhale, like having plastic wrap pressed over his nose and mouth. Flashes of light lit his visual field. Just cosmic rays, not too dangerous in small doses.

His eyes stung, then burned. So did his eyelids. The lack of oxygen triggered a brief myoclonic seizure-- his whole body jerked and flailed. Nobody saw that, thank the stars.

Nardole kept stopping and looking back. The Doctor stumbled ahead of him when Bill’s suit took her off-course. Another seizure wracked his muscles. Darkness pricked the edges of his vision. Details began to disappear as if his retinas lost resolution. Everything swam around him. Who turned his vitreous and aqueous humor into carbonation? Oh, right, vacuum.

Bill came closer. She was still too out of it to correct her course. The Doctor caught her shoulder and redirected her towards Nardole. Their destination was ten steps away. Nardole didn’t look back when Ivan and Abby disappeared into the other open airlock with Bill. Maybe they thought he was right behind them.

Pain became unbearable agony. The Doctor’s skin went numb. Pressure built up in his muscles and a feeling of irrational anguish heated his bones. How ironic, he was going to have a meltdown in the vacuum of space and probably die right after.

But he saved Bill. That made the pain worth it.

The Doctor spread his arms, squeezed his eyes shut and screamed. It didn’t matter that his lungs had no air to produce sound. Screaming felt good. Screaming gave that energy somewhere safe to go. He curled his fists and thrashed his head backwards. There was nothing to bang it against, but his body did it anyway.

Reality turned dizzying as his eyes rolled. Now his entire visual field bubbled as he cried the tears that always followed the peak of a meltdown. Euphoria flooded through him. Reality became decidedly less real. He didn’t care about the pain anymore. Endorphins were kicking in. If dying felt like this, it wasn’t the most horrible thing in the world.

Consciousness began to leave him as someone grabbed his arm and hauled him forward. Visions of a petite woman wearing a pale blue sweater danced through his head. Briefly, he glimpsed the edge of a smile on her lips.

He noticed himself shouting something. It didn’t make any sound until the chamber pressurized.

“C-Cl-Clara! Clara? Clara!”

Mid-shout, he noticed something missing. Then he passed out. When he woke up later, he realized he was blind.

Palimpsest

A search for solitude drove the Doctor into what he always did-- he ran. He needed to get away from Bill and Nardole for awhile. Bill wasn’t much of a bother. Nardole’s overabundant concern after the events aboard Chasm Forge wore on his last nerve. He tried to be helpful without it seeming obvious...and it got annoying!

The Doctor hated other people imposing limits on him. Rules were one thing. Rules needed to be followed, and he understood the utterly painful consequences of breaking them.

But limits? Limits were, well, limiting! How did anybody expect him to adapt as a blind man when they tried to do everything for him? Everyone bumped their head, banged their knees and tripped over things. Why did he hear sighs of pity if he did it a little more often than sighted folks? Blindness, shimdness!

So off the Doctor ran, and here he was, materializing the TARDIS in Nevada yet again. He liked Nevada. A huge, rocky nowhere similar to Mars. Somebody could wander the highway forever and never see another living person unless they sought them out on purpose.

He’d been coming here for a month now to practice independent blind travel. Being careful to park the TARDIS back in his office exactly zero-point-zero-zero-zero-one seconds after departing made his exits and re-entrances almost undetectable.

The Doctor tugged his coat lapel for a reassuring whiff of chalk. The electric guitar strapped to his shoulder shifted against his back. He saw the TARDIS so well in his mind’s eye that he forgot he wasn’t actually seeing until he opened the door.

Hot, dry and dusty desert air stung his nostrils. Everything looked like what he saw if he pointed a flashlight at his eyelids while they were shut, except they weren’t really shut and the haze had more white than red in it. Light perception was all he had. Ironic, his eyeballs didn’t hate light until they couldn’t see properly anymore. They focused instinctively whenever they sensed bright illumination even though his brain knew they weren’t going to see anything useful. Old habits died hard.

Cutting out vision reduced his chronic sensory overload and absolved him from worrying about bothersome social cues. Actually, going blind made his tendency to miss social cues a little more understandable. Only one dilemma remained: the anxiety of chronic sensory under-load. No problem-- his previous incarnation was prone to hyposensitivity. Doing something stimulating filled in the void.

And a long walk in the hot desert sun would do just fine. Nardole might tear out the hair he didn’t have if he found out about this. The Doctor chuckled at the mental image without regret.

He whipped his sonic sunglasses out of his breast pocket and put them on. A tap from his fingers turned the already-dark lenses nearly opaque. Dimming the perception of light forced his eyes to relax. Next, he reached into his side pocket for his white cane. The rigid cane fit in his pocket the same way he fit inside his TARDIS. Pocket dimensions were awesome like that.

Folding canes didn’t work for him. They were nifty, however they didn’t transmit enough tactile information. Also, they weren’t sonic.

This cane was the coolest thing he ever asked the TARDIS to design, if he said so himself. The long white cane looked nearly identical to the typical white canes used by blind humans. Black golf club handle, white body and a reflective red strip near its mushroom tip. It nearly reached his nose when he let the tip touch the ground. People who walked fast needed longer canes.

The Doctor arranged the leather handle comfortably in his right hand. Leather, because rubber felt disgusting to his hands the same way unevenly lumpy foods felt disgusting on his tongue. He held it as if shaking hands with the handle, slid his index finger down until it rested on the smooth fiberglass length and positioned his hand in front of his navel. This pushed the cane tip forward at an angle outside the TARDIS door.

Faint blue light shone in the cane’s tip, the glow overpowered by the sun. The same blue light erupted off the top of the handle. Information traveled telepathically from his hand to his brain-- there were plants and rocks ten meters ahead. Fifteen meters beyond them, the highway. He grinned as he received input about the position of the sun and the direction he faced.

Not the first sonic cane I ever used, but definitely the best!

“Nice work, Sexy,” The Doctor patted the TARDIS’ door frame.

After he emerged onto the dusty desert soil, he marveled at how everything sounded clearer without walls blocking the sound waves. He swung the cane to the left and tapped the tip against the ground as his right foot took a step. Then he swung it in a low rightward arc to tap the ground again when he brought his left foot forward. Clear a space, step into it, clear the next space, step into it. Each swing arced slightly wider than his shoulders.

Wait, there were rocks around, weren’t there? He switched to sliding his cane instead of tapping it. Instantly, he found himself gathering more information about the hard-packed dirt that felt like cracked clay. The repetitiveness of exploring the ground wore itself familiar in his mind. He hardly had to think about using the cane just like he hardly thought about blinking, breathing or stimming.

Thinking about stimming prompted the Doctor to bring his left hand up to his face. Few people knew of the stim toy he kept literally up his sleeve. He chewed the stem of his black No Gloom ‘Shroom, which he wore on his wrist via a clear key ring coil. His sleeve concealed it perfectly when he wasn’t using it. He continued forward with the ‘Shroom poking out of his mouth. Gnawing the hard food-grade silicone felt similar to chewing the bottom of a well-worn tennis shoe. Biting that instead of his fingers redirected his urge to chew his fingernails until they bled.

Lots of toe-smashing rocks peppered the area. The cane warned him of each one. He stepped over them without breaking his stride. Hot tar scents wafted towards him. Loose, rough dirt gave way to hard smoothness. He put the No Gloom ‘Shroom away and slid his cane in a wide arc to seek obstacles. Asphalt had a much different rattle than the dirt. Ah, the highway. Newly re-paved since his last visit, judging by the feel and smell of it. He knelt and gave it a quick lick so he wouldn’t burn his tongue. It tasted strongly bitter and a tiny bit earthy. Yup, re-paved exactly one week ago.

“South,” said the Doctor. He knew which way was south, but he wanted to see if the cane did, too.

The cane shifted slightly left like metal trying to reach a magnet. Perfect. Excellent. He hopped onto the road, letting his cane lead him to the double yellow line in the center. The seemingly endless asphalt radiated the sun’s heat like a furnace. He welcomed the warmth.

Being able to go any direction he chose without being shouted at to watch out for something in his path felt like liberation. So what if he looked a little silly when he stumbled? Did sighted people really think he experienced the same discomfort they did about his blindness?

Sure, things were hard and frustrating at first because losing a sense took getting used to. Honestly, he had more trouble shaving than he did walking, but he figured shaving out eventually.

Regeneration was harder than going blind. Learning how to use a whole new body with all new sensory issues, differences in hand-eye coordination, being taller or shorter than before and learning to recognize a different face in the mirror definitely took more getting used to than being blind.

Maybe that was the tragedy to the sighted-- they thought of all the things a person never got to see before they went blind and they forgot that life experiences came from more than vision. The Doctor had already seen a great many things. In his mind, there wasn’t much to miss now.

Loud, fast rattling noises made him pause mid-stride. Its rhythm was snake-ese for back off, stranger.

“Oy, Hissy, I’m not going to step on you. You’ll get run over if you stay there.” He gestured to his right with his cane. “Go on, go find a rock to sun yourself on.”

The snake hissed in protest. She got here first, this was her spot. The Doctor stood his ground.

“You won’t attract a boyfriend if you’re road pizza.”

This stubborn snake didn’t relent until he sent her a weak telepathic nudge. Using barely-functional telepathy without touch required immense focus and effort. All he did was appeal to the snake’s instinct for safety. Finally, the reptile came to her senses and slithered off the highway.

The Doctor resumed his former stride and recalled the entertaining outing he yesterday. He popped into the early 1950′s for a visit with an old friend who happened to be blind. The moment he told her he lost his sight, she sprang into action and taught him a few tricks that made eating a much cleaner affair. His only issue was understanding some of what she said. She spoke with the unique pattern of a deaf person and read his lips by touching his mouth. They had a fascinating conversation about politics over dinner.

Then he accidentally left his Rubik’s cube behind, yet didn’t have the hearts to retrieve it when he went back and discovered her fiddling with it. He wondered if she ever figured it out. She probably did-- that cube had raised patterns as well as bright colors.

Nothing about her seemed tragic at all.

And last week, a present-day pal gave a guest lecture on physics at the university. The Doctor held the elevator for the esteemed visitor while he and his entourage filed in. There was a lot of beeping and soft hissing while the elevator whirred.

As they emerged, the Doctor said, “Don’t get tired up there, Stephen.”

A long pause followed. The Doctor waited patiently.

Stephen’s synthesized voice replied, "Dream on, Doctor.”

Nothing about him seemed tragic, either.

The Doctor surfaced from his thoughts and listened to his cane clacking. Colors and shapes swirled through his ‘visual’ field. On some occasions they resolved into elaborate multicolored grids on a solid gray background. Other times, they were swirling blue-white blobs much like what he experienced when he closed his eyes to sleep. More often than not, it resembled old analog TV static.

Humans called it prisoner’s cinema, the hallucinogenic response of a brain amusing itself when its eyeballs couldn’t relay visual input for long periods. It got its name via the experiences of prisoners kept in dark solitary confinement cells. The Doctor learned to enjoy the 'visual’ stimulation whenever it happened.

Freedom like this had his feet itching to dance, so he did! He took a diagonal forward step with his left foot, crossed his right leg behind the left one so the toes of his right foot pointed to his left heel, bounced off his right foot and immediately opened up again by landing on his left foot. Another dance step followed, this one beginning on the right foot. A hop punctuated every step in perfect syncopation. His cane stayed centered in the road, almost acting as a pivot point while his skipping had him hopping from one side of the double yellow line to the other.

He did an absolutely perfect imitation of Judy Garland following the yellow brick road in The Wizard of Oz. Being able to dance like a total goof without hearing someone chastise his carelessness greatly lifted his spirits. He skipped half a mile down the highway without a care in the world.

Normal walking resumed once the Doctor worked the excess energy out of his system. Exerting himself caused sweat to bead on his forehead. His cane alerted him to a TARDIS a hundred meters ahead. Oh, that ridiculous thing, it still thought buildings were TARDISes?

The Doctor detoured off the highway. His cane gently tugged him towards the door. He shifted to hold his cane like an extremely long pencil and choked up on his grip to shorten his swing. The tip clanked against the metal on the bottom of the door. He extended his arm until the cane lay flat against the door and slid it side to side until it hit the handle.

Air-conditioned coolness wafted against his face as he stepped off grit and onto smooth laminate tiles. Outside the diner, he had zero idea of why he woke up in the middle of the night panting with desire or longing to kiss the lips on a face his mind refused to see.

Everything rushed back whenever he entered here, and it would leave him again when he exited. Very similar to dealing with Silents, except no suggestions got left behind. Neural blocks never liked the overabundance of neurons in autistic brains. Time and neuroplasticity would eventually restore everything the way nature overtook abandoned towns. Until then, he had to play mental peekaboo.

A sigh escaped him. This was the one place where his loss of sight wasn’t horribly tragic. His first stop-in brought a ton of questions. He explained that being exposed to the vacuum of space boiled his eyeballs like eggs and that was that.

Here it came, the memory flood. He let it wash over him.

Her smile. Her laugh. Her face. Their adventures together. The trap street. Darkness. Feeling time fracture and snap back. A flash of light as the raven plunged into her chest. Hearing her shrill scream of agony. Watching black smoke emerge from her mouth. The way she fell to her knees, her arms still stubbornly outstretched. The way he nearly rushed forward to stop her head from hitting the cobblestones. Being held back only by his honoring her wish to face the raven alone. How helpless he felt at seeing her slump backwards. Her body convulsing in a death spasm. Approaching her and kneeling amid the leaves littering the cobblestones. Seeing her last agonal gasp. The shock, the silence, the utter pain. Finding pebbles from Gallifrey caught in the treads of her shoes. Feeling the end of his own timeline in those pebbles and realizing he could still save her. The hell within his confession dial. Those billions of years he gave up for her sake. His rage at the Time Lords.

He plucked her out of time like he swore he wouldn’t. He broke every rule laid out for him and almost tore apart the universe because she meant more to him than his own existence. His duty of care nearly ended everything.

Somehow, mere days afterward (relatively speaking), he found himself in the past, blabbing to a stranger named Erwin about the whole thing before his last memories of it faded away. After hearing the rant, all dear Erwin wanted to talk about was cats in boxes.

The Doctor mentally derailed his own spiraling thought patterns and refocused on the present moment. He came here on Wednesdays for...well some memories weren’t so clear. Habit, perhaps.

Telling stories about his adventures over a snack or drink showed her he was wasn’t wandering the universe alone. He needed her to know that, but couldn’t tell her why without jeopardizing their future.

She sought desperately to see any sign that he remembered her. He worked desperately to convince her that he didn’t. Breaking the facade needed to be done carefully or not at all. No tidal waves allowed.

The diner door swung shut behind the Doctor. Ice cubes crackled into a glass cup, followed by the slush of liquid being poured over them. He smelled tater tots fresh out of the oven. His mouth watered. When did he last eat? He couldn’t remember.

“You’re early,” said a woman’s voice.

A brief, brilliant smile lit the Doctor’s face as he propped his cane up against his shoulder. “I beat my old record by--” he licked his lips, tasting the air, “exactly ten-point-two minutes.”

She snickered. “What did you do? Run the whole way?”

“Nope. I skipped.” He demonstrated for her upon approaching the counter.

“You’re daft.”

"Mmhmm.” The Doctor waggled his eyebrows behind his sunglasses. “Tried to be normal once. Worst ten minutes of my life.”

His guitar and cane got propped up against the counter while he eased himself onto the stool. The sunglasses came off next. He placed them beside the radio. She liked to see his eyes, so he wouldn’t deny her that even though it meant being irritated by the daylight filtering through the windows. The colorful prisoner’s cinema show dissolved as the left side of his visual field turned uniformly gray. By contrast, the right side was hazy black.

Always the perceptive one, she closed the blinds on the windows framing the door. The bothersome brightness cut in half. He followed the sounds of her movements with his eyes. Just a reflex he allowed to “run” without interference-- the exact same reflex that prompted students to glance up whenever someone slunk into class late. People born blind lacked it because those pathways never formed in their brain. The same wasn’t always true for those who lost their sight.

Footsteps crossed behind the counter again. Water ran. A damp towel wiped down the counter top. A plate clunked and slid audibly closer. Near it, a glass.

“Lemonade is at twelve o’clock, napkins are at two and the tater tots are at three.”

“Thank you.”

The Doctor brought the warm plate to six o’clock, placed the napkins at three o’clock and shifted the cold, moist glass to two o’clock. The greasy tater tots were already arranged end to end in concentric circles with the ketchup in the middle. Just how he liked them.

He started on the outermost ring of tater tots first. “Your lady-friend mentioned you’ll be heading out soon the last time I came here. Are you flying back home?”

“No...I’m going to travel for a bit to clear my mind.” She sighed. Her shoes squeaked softly on the tile floor. "The man I told you about still has amnesia.”

“Oh. Nothing new? At all?”

“Nope.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Clara,” said the Doctor with sincerity. He offered her a tater tot.

Clara’s small, soft fingertips brushed his when she accepted his offering. The brief touch rippled across his nerve endings like fireworks. He absentmindedly rocked back and forth a few times to avoid reaching for her hand. Instead, he pulled his lemonade glass closer and sipped generously. His eyebrows went up in pleasant surprise.

“Oh, this must be the pink lemonade. It’s sweet.”

“Yeah? A sour drink and tater tots don’t sound appetizing.” She smiled-- it was remarkable how easy it was to hear smiles in peoples’ voices-- and poured herself a glass. Then she cleared her throat and took a sip. “How are classes going?”

“Fantastic. Did I mention I’m the professor and not a student?”

“Huh. No, you didn’t.” Clara leaned on the counter. “I was a teacher once.”

The Doctor tilted his head to make eye contact with her. Not hard, he followed her voice and measured a few centimeters upward. His eyes instinctively focused. Sometimes it made Nardole forget briefly that he wasn’t actually seeing. He liked that it unnerved some people.

“You were a good one,” he said. Silently, he added, You taught me, so I teach the world.

Something dripped on the counter. She wasn’t holding the towel or anything drippy. He made her cry again. That wasn’t good. He pretended to reach for a napkin and knocked over his lemonade, causing it to spill everywhere.

“Oops!” The Doctor leaped to his feet and tried unsuccessfully to contain the spreading mess with his hands.

“I’ve got it.” Clara seized the wet towel that plopped on top of the sticky spill.

“Sorry, I wasn’t watching what I was doing.” The Doctor joked. He reached for the towel. “Did I ruin anything?”

A barely perceptible giggle entered her voice. “No, no, it’s fine. Eat your tater tots. I’ll clean this up and get you a fresh glass.”

Success, he steered her away from feeling bad for now. He let her clean while he finished off the delicious tater tots. She took the plate and set his new lemonade in its place.

“Ah, thanks. So...” The Doctor sipped generously, using it as an excuse for his sudden, awkward pause. His mind scrambled through a list of ‘small-talk’ phrases. Talking at people was easy. Talking to them proved challenging. “Where do you plan to travel to?”

Clara was at the counter again. Her gaze felt like a physical presence. One that wasn’t unpleasant.

“I don’t know yet,” she said, “Maybe somewhere far away and not like here. Somewhere different.”

Faint crackles issued from the radio when the Doctor settled his guitar against his body and began absently strumming chords. Each note transmitted through his sonic sunglasses to emerge loud and clear despite the tiny speaker.

Lately, he’d been on an embarrassing Gloria Estefan kick. He caught himself strumming the vocal line of I See Your Smile. Then he decided that wasn’t so bad and kept playing.

Clara tried to move stealthily closer. She forgot how sensitive his ears were. Their sensitivity hadn’t changed since he went blind, but he paid more attention to the information they gathered. He feigned obliviousness as he ‘accidentally’ turned his eyes towards her. Only a blind man could look into the eyes of the woman he loved without her realizing it.

All at once he switched to the song she wrote across his hearts in the cloisters. That song was love, and love was a promise. It sounded slightly more elaborate than its first incarnation. He still hadn’t finished it yet. Maybe he never would. How did anyone finish a song still being sung for the first time?

The Doctor’s fingers stilled, letting the dissonant chord he just played fall silent without resolving. Somehow, in two swift movements, he set the guitar down, grasped Clara’s shoulder and stood up.

Rather than pull away, Clara clutched his coat lapels and stepped forward to wrap her arms around his waist. He returned her embrace. The crisp, stiff fabric of her waitress uniform almost burned his fingertips, yet he couldn’t make himself care. She felt so small in his arms. Was she always so tiny?

Time to drop the bomb.

“Clara,” said the Doctor, “I won’t remember much --or any --of this when I step outside.”

Clara’s arms tightened. Not feeling her heart quicken became unsettling. Unsettling wasn’t the worst thing in the world, though.

“So you’re heading out?”

The Doctor nodded gravely. If he stayed any longer, he knew he wouldn’t want to leave.

"I may not recognize you if we cross paths outside this diner.” He turned his head and spoke against her hair, “I’ll always be around, Clara, but this is when we talked.”

“So that’s it? Goodbye forever?” She sounded slightly cross, and he didn’t blame her.

He snorted disdainfully at fate. “What’s ‘forever’ to an immortal?”

Clara slipped her hand past his coat’s collar to cup the back of his neck. Her warm, soft skin suffused a myriad of emotions through his body. Tears welled in his eyes when he tried unsuccessfully to see her face. He sensed her looking back. What irony-- he struggled to make proper eye contact with her when he had perfect eyesight. Now, he couldn’t stop doing it.

"Clara, there’s something I didn’t get to say to you.”

Clara’s other hand joined the first. She didn’t care that he couldn’t see her. “You said goodbye when the neural block kicked in.”

“I’m not saying goodbye again.” A teary-eyed half-smile appeared on the Doctor’s face. “I wanted to say hello. Hello, Clara Oswald, it’s so very nice to meet you.”

He cupped her cheeks in his palms. They were wet with tears. Another fell as he touched the corner of her mouth.

“There has to be something I can do.” She swallowed hard, struggling to maintain barely maintainable composure. “Something to help you remember.”

The Doctor expected heartbreaking sadness. Instead, he felt the same warm joy he got after seeing Rose one more time. Hope worked miracles on broken hearts.

He wiped her tears away. “Smile for me, Clara. Go on. One last time.”

Clara gave him a little, impatient shake. Such an endearing human response.

“How could I smile?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“Because love is a promise,” the Doctor’s half-smile finished unfurling, a reflection of the joyful hope he felt inside, “and I promised you that I’ll remember your smile.”

Finally, Clara, by virtue of being Clara, picked up on why he asked. The Doctor noticed her tense facial muscles relaxing. Her cheekbones softened and rounded. Feeling her smile form was as glorious as seeing it happen.

He slid his hands inward, his long fingers tracing all the details of her lips, cheekbones and the corners of her eyes. Time had no grasp on her skin. Like a photograph, the way she looked now was how she would look forever. Only death had the power to corrupt the smile beneath his fingertips, and plucking her out of time meant she decided when to meet her ultimate fate.

“I won’t forget,” whispered the Doctor.

Fresh tears dribbled onto his thumbs. Clara’s uniform rustled when she leaned closer to him. He bent towards her. They bumped foreheads once, nuzzled noses twice and exchanged three brief pecks on the lips. A perfect Wednesday kiss.

The Doctor drew back for a breath and returned to kiss her properly. Clara slid one hand up into his curly hair, keeping him close. No tongues, just the silken slide of soft lips and warmth.

When their mouths parted, she asked, “Will you be okay, Doctor?”

He brushed his lips against her brow. Her hair smelled like strawberries this time.

“Of course,” he said, “I’m the king of okay.”

A total lie. He was going to resume feeling empty and lost without knowing why. A grief different than he felt for River. He knew what became of River. He wasn’t going to know what became of the hole in his mind where someone very important to him used to be.

“The sun’s going down,” said Clara.

“Hm, describe it?”

She stepped out of his embrace to open the blinds. They creaked a lot. He squinted instinctively in the light.

“It’s bright yellow at the horizon, orange higher up and fading to dark blue. Kinda reminds me of an ocean.”

“Visit Europa in 9990. They have a great seafloor cafe if you like sushi.”

“Space sushi?”

“Clara, you can’t put ‘space’ in front of everything that isn’t on Earth. I thought we went over this.”

“Right, space-man.”

The Doctor had no comeback for that. He closed his mouth and put on his best grumpy old man frown. Rather than speak, Clara leaned against him with her arm around his waist. He relaxed and awkwardly slipped his arm around her shoulders.

People treated sunsets like endings. The Doctor hated endings, so he saw sunsets as sunrises somewhere else. Planets turned and life went on. Sometimes part of continuing onward included painful separations. He couldn’t sit around doing nothing for a thousand years. Stagnation ruined people. What good was he if he let his skills get rusty?

The Doctor watched his ‘gray’ world go dark as the sun sank below the horizon. He reached past Clara to gather his guitar and cane. She handed him his sunglasses. He put them on with flare.

Clara offered her elbow even though the distance to the door was less than ten steps. The Doctor accepted and let her guide him.

“Let me be brave, let me be brave,” He heard her mutter to herself. She worked up the admirable courage she showed on the trap street.

They paused just inside the closed door, hugged and exchanged another long, lingering kiss in the last moments of dusk.

Clara cupped his cheek in her palm, her soft hand like balm on his aching hearts. “Run, you clever boy, and remember your promise.”

Smiling-- a sad, hopeful smile-- the Doctor turned and said something he always wanted to say to her.

“Run, you impossible girl, and remember me.”

She laughed. It was music that made his hearts dance. His throat ached at knowing he wouldn’t remember that sound five seconds from now, but he got her to laugh one more time. Her happiness became his hope.

The Doctor pushed the diner’s glass door open. Stinging pain screamed across his skull and faded. Everything that took place inside sloughed away. A small pang tightened his throat. He frowned and pursed his lips, trying to figure out why he remembered what he ate and drank, but not who he talked to.

Who was that girl again?

“Hm.” The Doctor absentmindedly stepped without tapping his cane.

Lucky for him, the cane caught a rock long before his foot did. That reminded him to start tapping. Wait, wasn’t he testing this new cane?

“TARDIS,” he said.

The cane’s mushroom tip and handle glowed brilliant blue in the darkness. And the damn thing tried to turn him around towards the building he just exited.

“No, no, no, not the diner. TARDIS.”

But the cane insisted a TARDIS was present. Apparently, the programming still had some bugs. Pesky, annoying bugs.

Suddenly, the diner emitted a groaning noise that rapidly faded. The Doctor gasped when air rushed in to fill the empty space. He walked across the vacant ground, reaching with both his hand and his cane. Nothing, like a diner never stood there at all.

A strange sense of familiarity washed over him. He tugged on his coat lapel and breathed in the reassuring chalk scent.

“You’re going senile,” muttered the Doctor. To his cane, he said, “And you are, too, you silly thing! Take me to the TARDIS.”

Now it began leading him in the right direction. Arriving here required going south on the highway, so the return trip took him due north.

The cane informed him of which prominent constellations were present in the sky. Remembering the stars caused grief to wash over him. He traveled among them with someone special, and he couldn’t remember what she looked like or how she sounded.

No, Doctor, get away from the hole in your brain. It hurts to poke. Just leave it.

Making his brain think of something else often helped. He thought about his cane. The sonic cane proved a rousing success. A success to be proud of, bugs notwithstanding. He gripped it properly, grinned at the night sky and ‘Dorothy-skipped’ his entire return trip to the TARDIS. In fact, he got so into skipping that he would’ve overshot his destination if the cane didn’t alert him.

The Doctor pocketed his cane and removed his sunglasses once inside. He twirled around the console room, shifting dials and pulling levers. The TARDIS wheezed around him as he sang under his breath.

“I get a little tongue twisted every time I talk to you...”

Ding went the cloister bell. A perfect landing less than a second after he took off. He cracked the door, waited for signs of Nardole and stepped out when there weren’t any. For effect, he brought along a broom. Brooms provided great excuses for being in strange places.

The Doctor hurriedly swept his shoes clean, then swept the floor around the TARDIS until he didn’t feel any grit under his feet.

Satisfied, he left the broom leaning on the TARDIS and crossed the room to his desk. Daylight poured through the windows, so he put his sunglasses back on to block it out. Then he sat, spun his chair around once and laid his hands on the heavy book atop his desk. Still open the way he left it. Of course it was, he hadn’t been gone a full second!

Raised dots peppered the page like tiny bubbles. Grade two Braille was way more efficient and quick than grade one. Grade one Braille spelled out entire words. Braille cells were six dots high and two wide. And whole words filled a lot of page-space. Books written in it were enormous.

Now, grade two Braille? It took long words and shortened or abbreviated them. Syllables and even whole words got condensed into fewer cells. It had a lot of similarities with text-speak, but grade two Braille abbreviations made more sense.

The Doctor’s Braille reading speed wasn’t as fast as he read while sighted. He annoyed himself by continually trying to look down at the book, so he closed his eyes. Wiggling the toes on his right foot as his fingertips glided across the page helped him process the dot patterns. Funny, his brain didn’t fully absorb the information unless he did something with his right foot.

He considered himself a quick study, though, so he fully expected to be an expert by tomorrow morning. Besides, knowing Braille would let him read in the dark if he got his eyesight back. Why wasn’t it required curriculum in every school on Earth? Braille was cool.

“A-hem!” Nardole announced his presence. He didn’t sound pleased.

The Doctor did his best to appear distracted by Edgar Allan Poe’s poetry. He turned the page when he realized he was reading The Raven. That poem upset him for reasons he couldn’t pinpoint.

Nardole cleared his throat again, louder. “Doctor, you did it again.”

“Did what?”

“Traveled.”

Oh, great. Did Nardole find out about his trek on the highway? The Doctor removed his sunglasses and squinted at him.

“I didn’t go anywhere.”

“Liar.” Nardole stomped forward and plopped something paper on the desk, “That’s a photograph of Helen Keller.”

“Yes, and it’s a very nice photograph. But I can’t judge a photo as much as I judge thoughtless potato-heads who wave photos in a blind man’s face.”

“That’s not the point!” Nardole’s voice rose in pitch. “It’s a photograph of Helen Keller solving your textured Rubik’s cube! This is...Doctor, this-this-- this is an epic fail!”

“It didn’t change history, did it?”

“Again, that’s not the point!” Oh, the poor bald bloke’s face had to be redder than his clothing by now. “Stephen Hawking just sent me an urgent email. He wants an explanation for the monster truck tire delivered to his house yesterday afternoon.”

The Doctor slammed his Braille book shut and burst out laughing.

Groaning-wheezes issued from the TARDIS engines. Such a comforting, hopeful sound.

“...so wait, you’re like, I dunno-- Rain Man?” asked Bill.

The Doctor had just spilled a secret to Bill, a test to see what she knew about the information he gave her about himself.

“Actually, the character of Raymond was based off a man named Kim Peek. Kim Peek wasn’t autistic. He had FG syndrome, a condition that results in learning disabilities due to partial or complete agenesis of the corpus callosum.”

“Oh! I saw a documentary about him in high school. I don’t remember much about it-- I kinda, uh, fell asleep in that class.”

The Doctor smiled and shook his head. “Kim’s memory was exceptional because his brain tried to work around its own unusual structure. Not everyone with FG syndrome has abilities like he did. Nice fellow, by the way, much smarter than people gave him credit for.”

“What makes autistic brains different, then?”

“Autistic brains have an excess amount of connections that don’t get trimmed away over time. Some areas have stronger connections than others.” He shrugged his shoulders and cocked his head. “Simply put, my ‘socializing’ and ‘recognizing social cues’ connections are dialup, but my mystery-solving connections are fiber optic. Splinter skills, basically.”

“Really?” She was asking questions. He liked that. It meant she didn’t pretend to know things when she didn’t. “Doesn’t life get hard, though? I thought autistic people were sensitive to noise and stuff. Are you?”

“Yeah, sometimes. I have more trouble with touch than hearing.” He followed her pacing with his eyes out of habit.

“Let me put it another way: Autistic brains constantly search for symmetry and asymmetry. Then they try to avoid asymmetry as much as possible because they prefer symmetry. Symmetry makes sense. Symmetry is safe. Sometimes, if symmetry isn’t present, I create it myself-- that's the repetitive behavior known as stimming.”

“Stimming, that’s what you’re doing with your hands.” Bill smiled-- she absorbed what he said like a sponge. What a great student.

“Yes, actually, I am. I do it a lot.” The Doctor twisted his clasped hands against each other to put pressure on the joints. “Every autistic person's inner balance is unique to them. Some people don’t prioritize socializing because their brains are too analytical to chin-wag about somebody’s new baby. Sometimes sensory issues make focusing on conversation a chore if the lights are too bright or flicker too much. It’s like you trying to have a conversation with someone constantly taking your photo.”

“Ugh, that happened to me at a party once. It was annoying. I finally shouted at him to clear off before I broke his camera.”

“See? Autistic people can have a similar reaction to things that seem totally innocuous to you.” The Doctor waved his hand in a ‘there you go’ gesture.

“And all those ‘difficult’ behaviors you see so-called ‘martyr autism mums’ complain about? They’re what happens when somebody mucks up the mental symmetry an autistic person creates for themselves. Maybe it’s a routine, maybe it’s a form of stimming, maybe it’s an interest-- and these mums wreck it all the time because they think it looks too abnormal. Then they blame the child for being difficult or misbehaving.

“Guess what? A teetering tightrope walker flails to keep their balance, and so do autistic brains. If either loses their balance, they fall. For autistic people, falling means meltdowns or shutdowns.”

“But what about people who are...um, I dunno, really severe?” Her jacket’s zipper clanked against the console. “You know, the ones who wear diapers and can’t communicate at all?”

Amusement crinkled the corners of the Doctor’s eyes. “That form of autism doesn’t exist.”

“Why?”

“High functioning, low functioning. Mild, severe.” He opened his hands in a sweeping gesture, “All arbitrary observations from the outside. Autism is autism. Nonverbal autistic people communicate in their own way. They’re not locked up in another dimension-- they’re right here, waiting to be treated like real people instead of problems. Someone who can’t talk or feed themselves can still be smart. Just because you can’t see what’s going on in their head doesn’t mean nothing’s going on.”

“Like Stephen Hawking,” Bill said, smiling, “He isn’t autistic-- he has ALS-- but I went to his lecture a few weeks ago. What an amazing man. He has eyes like yours.”

“Blue?”

“Wise.”

“Ah. There! Wait! There you go! Stephen Hawking is a fine example of what I’m talking about. Take his computer and fame away, and all of a sudden people will start treating him like he’s an infant incapable of complex thought and lamenting how tragic his disability is. The same thing happens to autistic people. I was one of those, as you put it, ‘really severe’ ones when I was a kid. Not everyone ‘grows out’ of being nonverbal or needing help with basic tasks. But I know first hand what that’s like to be talked to as if I’m stupid. It’s offensive.”

Rustling noises from Bill’s coat. The puffy yellow one. He could tell by how it sounded. She was scratching the back of her head in thought.

“But you talk. How did you learn that?”

“Painfully,” he answered, “It isn’t something I like to talk about. Let’s just say damage was done.”

“I’m sorry...”

“Bah,” He shrugged, “it’s not your fault.”

“How can I help if you need it?”

“For me, personally? No light touches. It hurts. Firm is better.” His eyes crinkled at the corners even though his mouth didn’t smile. “And in general? Listen to autistic people about autism. They know what it’s like.”

He blinked, “Oh, and avoid Autism Speaks and anything ‘light it up blue’ in April. That ‘charity’ doesn’t represent what autistic people want. They operate like Chasm Forge, so barely any of your money goes to autistic people who need it right now. Donations fund marketing, advertising, fundraisers and research that may lead to eugenics later. Autistic people may end up like a lot of Down’s syndrome babies.”

Bill stayed quiet for a long moment, taking it in. A rail creaked when she leaned on it.

“Blimey, I had no idea about any of that. I just did a walk for-- oh, wow. Never again. I hope I didn’t offend you or anything.”

That time, he smiled. “You wanted to help. That’s a good thing. Sometimes good intentions go bad. That doesn’t mean you’re bad. You know better now, so do better. Wear red next year and you’ll be fine.”

“Red instead of blue. Gotcha.”

And that was that for the conversation.

A light flashed on the console. The Doctor sensed it and instinctively looked down towards the source as he eased the locking mechanism into the upright position. Deeper wheeze-groans sounded while the TARDIS rematerialized.

They were in Nevada again. The Doctor crossed the console room and stepped outside. It wasn’t as hot out this time. The air smelled wet.

Bill hesitated in the doorway. Good, she was learning to be cautious and curious. Her rich, low voice almost blended into the wind when she asked, “We aren’t going to run into robots that speak Emoji, are we?”

“Nope. Not in that timezone. We’re still in the present.” The Doctor snapped his fingers to close the TARDIS doors. “All we’re doing is taking a walk.”

“Ah, like a Sunday stroll?”

“More of a ‘Wednesday wander’ if you want to get literal.”

The Doctor pulled his cane out of his coat pocket and held it in the pencil grip. Bill joined him, her shoes crackling on the dry soil.

“Good thing I brought my umbrella.” She jiggled her umbrella. It squeaked. Ah, one of those huge clear ones that four people could fit underneath. “The sky looks dark.”

“Over there?” He pointed south.

“Good guess.”

“Tch, no. My cane told me.”

Bill chuckled and zipped her coat up all the way. Dirt crackled when she scuffed her shoes over it. “Does it make coffee, too?”

“Har-har. It’s not a Starbucks, but it can find the nearest Starbucks.” He beckoned her closer, a gesture of trust. “C’mon, elbow.”

More coat rustling. The Doctor felt Bill’s elbow brush his knuckles and lightly held onto the back of it. His fingertips rested just above the joint in a manner that wouldn’t obstruct its free movement.

“I’ll assume you already know about the rocks.”

“Mmhmm. Let’s get on the highway. It’s straight ahead.”

Bill stepped cautiously over the rocks. The Doctor’s cane bounced off a few. They hopped onto the highway and walked south. Their footsteps nearly got lost in the desert’s vast openness. Bill stayed close to the highway’s edge rather than venture down the center. The Doctor edged her inward.

“Don’t worry about vehicles, Bill. It’s flat for miles, you’ll see one coming long before it gets here.”

“It’s a two lane road.”

The Doctor released Bill’s elbow and dodged ahead of her. He spun around to face her while walking backwards, clasped his hands behind his back and tapped his cane just as he would if he were moving forward. A big, silly grin lit his angular features.

“We’re fortunate, then. I have great hearing.”

Oh, he could almost sense her momentary alarm at seeing him walk backwards like that.

“You’re weird,” she muttered under her breath.

He stopped squarely in front of her and curtsied elegantly. She laughed and whacked his arm in passing. Chuckling, he pivoted on his heel to grasp her elbow again.

“There’s a truck coming towards us,” said Bill, her voice still light with a smile. She edged over to the opposite side of the highway despite it being a long way off yet.

The Doctor heard its engine. Typical knock-knock noises. It was a semi.

“Oh? Big truck, little truck? What’s it look like?”

Engine noises rumbled closer. Now the truck would be close enough to see details.

“Big truck. Not sure of the make. The nose curves sort of downward and there’s three pipes on each side of the cab. There’s a silver grill and bumper.” Bill slowed her stride as the truck noises approached. “It has a really cool custom paint job. The background color is blue, but there’s stencil work that looks like red flames on the front and sides.”

“Ah, an old friend.”

“You know the driver?”

“Yeah.”

He raised his hand in a wave when the semi was less than a hundred meters away. The truck honked its horn as it rumbled by, its huge tires vibrating the asphalt.

Bill stopped and twisted to look at the departing truck. “Um...”

“Problem?”

“I didn’t see a driver.” She faced forward again. “Probably too much glare from the sky. Anyway, speaking of tires-- did you really get a tire delivered to Stephen Hawking’s house?”

“Yup.” The Doctor grinned at his own impish wit. “You could say I ‘tired’ him out.”

Bill wiggled the elbow he held back and forth. “Doctor, you’re impossible. Absolutely, ridiculously impossible.”

That word. Impossible.

An impulse in the back of his mind had him releasing his grip on Bill’s elbow before he realized he’d moved. He turned abruptly right. His cane slid off smooth asphalt to rattle over hard-packed dirt as he ventured into a large, empty space beside the highway.

Something important happened here. But what? Why? How?

“Doctor?” Bill hedged.

Mysteries. The Doctor loved mysteries. He grinned as he rubbed his chin in thought.

And froze.

Here. Here, on this spot, he touched and kissed another smile. The owner of that smile didn’t materialize in his mind. He propped his cane against his shoulder and extended his hands to trace an invisible face.

A tsunami of grief slammed through him. In its wake, an incredible, comforting love stretching beyond time or space. A love that eclipsed his sadness and shone around the hole in his memory like an ethereal solar corona.

Tears trickled out from beneath his sunglasses. They weren’t sad. Sad tears meant endings, and this didn’t feel like an ending.

Bill, sensing his concentration, came closer without talking. Her unobtrusive presence subtly shifted the air flow on his right. He could hear her breathing.

“Brains forget people, but hearts remember the feelings those people gave us,” said the Doctor. He remained poised, his fingertips mapping the air. “It’s why you never doubt that your mum loved you, isn’t it?”

“I was too young to remember her,” she said back, her voice soft.

“Your heart beat inside your mum’s belly for nine months. It knows things your brain doesn’t. Sometimes, I think people would be better at listening to each other if hearts had ears.”

“Really?”

“Mmhmm.”

A cool drop hit his face. Not a tear. Another landed in his hair. Splat-splat noises began around him. Within seconds the sky opened up with a full-on downpour that drenched everything it touched.

“Oh!” Bill’s umbrella squeaked, then snapped open. Rain pattered noisily on the plastic. “Doctor, you’re getting soaked.”

The Doctor pocketed his sunglasses to keep them clean. He pushed Bill’s umbrella aside. She got the picture. Her umbrella plopped on the wet ground as she opened her arms to let the downpour swish over her coat.

“See? It’s just water falling from the sky.” He grinned, invigorated by the hope rising inside him. “The best parts of life are experienced, Bill. So be still. Close your eyes. Experience the rain with me.”

“Wow.” She was smiling, too.

“Yeah. Wow.”

The impact of each chilly raindrop twinkled like stars against his skin. He ran both hands through his wet hair, tilted his head back and spread his arms. The hope in his hearts spiraled upward into the rain pouring down.

Once, he told Missy that love was a promise. And Clara’s smile-- the tactile memory of its wrinkles and curves-- had embedded itself in his fingerprints where the neural block couldn’t wholly wipe it away. The rest of her face escaped him, but not the smile. He must have promised to remember it because he loved her.

And love always found a way to continue, regardless of time and space.

“Doctor...are you crying?”

The Doctor totally forgot Bill was still there. Rain pattered off her umbrella-- she picked it up when he wasn’t paying attention. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. They were wet. It wasn’t rain.

“Yeah, I am, but it’s not sad.” He sniffled, “I was having an experience.”

“I can tell. I didn’t want to interrupt. Aren’t you cold?”

Light wind blew against his face. The downpour began to let up. They were both soaked to the bone.

“Me? Cold? Nah.” The Doctor said, feigning offense. “I have a lower body temperature than humans. Now come along, Potts. Let’s get you somewhere warm.”

She automatically stepped ahead of him. He sped up and walked beside her, opting to tap his cane rather than hold onto her elbow.

“Have you seen The Wizard of Oz, Bill?”

“Of course. Who hasn’t? Why?”

“Oh, no reason...just this.”

The Doctor showed Bill his Dorothy-skip. She was greatly amused. Then he taught her how to do it. They skipped back to the TARDIS together.

“...‘Cause when I close my eyes, I still can see your smile. It’s bright enough to light my life, out of my darkest hour...”

--Gloria Estefan, “I See Your Smile”

youtube

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FTd1r_6lfrE

A palimpsest is a piece of paper that has been written on, erased and written on again. The old writing that gets erased to make room for new writing is still faintly visible and may be legible. An old grade school spelling test with erase marks that were later written over is a fine example of a palimpsest.

#12th Doctor #Clara Oswald #Whouffaldi #actuallyautistic #autistic headcanon #Twelfth Doctor #Nardole #Doctor Who #blindness #autistic!Doctor #fanfiction #my fanfic #okay to reblog if you want

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