WHERE'S YOUR PATIENCE? (7)
SUMMARY: You and Astarion finally have the conversation. Among other things.
PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader
WORD COUNT: 5,912
WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, teasing, little bit of hand stuff, vaginal sex, CONSENT IS SEXY, mentions of past sexual/physical trauma, potential spoilers for acts 1/2.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Say thank you to the 2 bottles of Corona and the tequila shot I took to loosen up my brain enough to write this smut. I couldn't have done it without them. (And also my bardic inspiration @imgoingtofreakoutnow)
CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER
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The weeks following feel like an uphill battle —a never-ending course of constant information and action all tied into one long work month. Without warning, you find yourself overwhelmingly annoyed with the pace of it all. Not to mention the unwavering guilt, knowing that if you’re not fighting hordes of Absolute cultists or doing research on how to rip the Illithid out of your head, your time is essentially wasted.
Or at least, that’s what it feels like.
Considering the severity of everything, even when you’re resting from a long day's work, you always find your mind wandering. Picking apart texts from old books you’ve found during infiltration missions. Oftentimes late at night when Astarion’s come back from feeding, you spend a lot of your time together relaying said thoughts. Using the late-night silence to fuel the drive that’s been missing throughout the day.
By the time you get to the Inn within the Shadowlands, you’re surprised he’s not sick of you for it. Nowadays, just the mere thought of your own voice makes you want to rip off your ears, and although you know it’s crucial that you discuss things like this, you know there are other things that are important too.
Like your shared confession. And your promise to talk of the past when you were both ready.
Since that night you haven’t asked him about it. With everything happening so quick, it’s been pushed to the back of your mind —lost amongst the clutter of thoughts that you’re often forced to leave behind. Deep down, you imagine he’s somewhat in the same boat but still, there’s even more guilt that surfaces. Filling both sides of the spectrum like an overflowing glass of water —so much so that by the time you’re gifted a proper night’s rest in an actual bed you’re already too tired to care.
As soon as you enter the Inn after your journey through the cursed shadows of the forest you head straight to the bar, barely batting an eye at the barkeep who looks you up and down, horrified by the state of your dress.
“Whiskey, please.”
“And… whatever else you got back there that doesn’t taste of fermentation.”
You turn to see Astarion already standing beside you, moving his hand to the small of your back to usher you into one of the stools. Immediately, you oblige with a sigh, blinking back sleep as you rest your bloodied elbows on the countertop, earning yourself a look of annoyance that Astarion squashes with an unfriendly scowl, showcasing his canine teeth.
If you weren’t so exhausted you probably would’ve laughed at such a sight, but considering you are, you instead let out a soft hum and down your whiskey when it’s placed in front of you, signalling for another.
“I see you’ve already decided how you’re going to spend your night off.”
Nodding your head, you barely register his words, slumping your damp forehead down against the counter with a groan. “How the fuck are we even alive?”
It’s a fair question when you take into account all that you’ve been through. All the puzzles and battles and endless expectations to now save all of Baldur’s Gate just to get these damned Illithids out of your head.
At this rate, you and everyone else should’ve been dead ages ago. Either murdered and looted for your tadpoles and their powers or already turned into tentacle-faced beasts. Not sitting next to Astarion, covered in blood, sweat and tears, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to keep going. How you’re meant to keep this unrealistic momentum of burnout over and over and—
He runs his palm along the base of your spine, drawing his fingers up and down as he takes a sip of his drink. “Hells if I know, darling.”
Feeling a bit delirious, you laugh and raise your head to look between him and the new drink in front of you. “We should’ve been dead by now.”
“You? Perhaps. Me?” He pauses to dig his digits into your aching neck, making your head fall forward again in delight. “Well, I have far too much to do after all of this is over.”
“Yeah, like what?”
When he doesn’t answer right away you remember the conversation. That moment by the fire where you kissed and confessed and told each other you’d talk about it. Immediately it fills you with anxiety, clouding your features with a worried brow and frowning lips as you crane your neck to the side.
When you look at him you notice he’s not really there. His eyes sit in their normal position, staring back but there’s nothing. Not a thought or feeling; just two empty voids surrounded by bloodied dissociation.
It pulls at your heartstrings far too much —makes you let out a breath and raise your frame to slip off the stool and move to hug him. Despite the lack of attention, he manages to follow suit as it happens, wrapping his arms around your neck as you burrow into his chest, once again sighing, wondering if you should apologize and offer your ear or merely forget the exchange entirely.
Before you can even think to do either he’s standing up, keeping his hold as he grabs your other whiskey and proceeds to drink it down, barely batting an eye.
Raising your brow at him, you feel his fingers dig into your neck again, rubbing rough circles that have you resting your forehead against his chest, trying to form any semblance of a thought.
It makes him laugh and raise his hand to your hair, running his fingers through the roots. “Let’s get cleaned up.”
You’re already off and climbing the stairs before you’re able to answer. Pushing through the pain that radiates through your calves with every step. Leaning against him with tired eyes that eventually open up when the door creaks open in front you of.
Somehow you managed to earn yourself a private room. One that’s actually clean with a real bed and a tub —all of which almost have you in tears.
“Nice of them to give us some privacy, hm?” Astarion smirks down at you as he speaks, watching as you roll your eyes and finally pull yourself away, reaching for the clasps of your leather vest. Like the rest of you, it’s coated in a thick layer of dirt and blood. All of it dried and coming off in disgusting clumps that have you scrunching up your face. Brushing off the top few clasps, you try not to focus on the way it feels against your fingers. How it collects under your nails as you narrow your eyes, struggling to get the damned thing off.
It makes him scoff and pull you back in, pushing your hands aside to undo the first clasp. “I feel as though I recall a time where you claimed to be patient?”
As he moves down to the next one you shake your head and look away. “Emotionally, yes. Physically I—“
“I’d say you’re far more patient in that regard, actually.”
For a second you’re not sure what he means but then it hits you. He means sex. Physical intimacy. A line of which you hadn’t yet crossed due to several things. The main being your lack of conversation —your lack of focus to a promise you both said you wouldn't break.
Obviously, the lack of time hasn’t helped either, but as you stand there, watching his fingers pull apart your top layer, you find yourself visibly frustrated. Angry at yourself for not taking the time to offer the piece of yourself you desperately want.
After that night it was always your intention to go first. To tell him all about your past in order to open the floodgates. You figured if you were brave enough to do it —to be the one to bite the bullet— maybe he’d inevitably follow.
But then life got in the way and now nearly five weeks later it suddenly feels like you’re stuck in this limbo. One where you’re dancing on the edge, teetering with bated breath. Wondering if maybe the time is right.
As his hands move further and further you find yourself fighting your imagination. Brushing off the feelings that start to surface as you stare down at his hands, watching their delicate ministrations.
It’s apparent then that he's no stranger to the art of undress. As his fingers twist and turn to work the clasps apart, you have to stop yourself from giving in to temptation, knowing that it’s wrong. Remembering the promise you made.
Moving your hand to stop him, you clear your throat and watch his eyes. Noticing the way they filter through the air to eventually focus on you, blinking as if he wasn’t there to begin with.
“Can we talk now? Maybe?”
His hands sit against your leathers, gripping the metal with tightened fingers that still somehow manage to pale from their hold despite his complexion. “Course.”
Running your fingers along his knuckles, you slowly wrap your fists around them, bringing them up toward your mouth to place soft kisses despite the mess of battle that lingers. Then you drag him further into the room, placing him on the edge of the bed.
“Do you know who Beshaba is?” you ask, plain and simple, unsure how else to start the conversation of your past as you sit beside him.
“The deity?”
You nod, slowly, letting your gaze anxiously fall to your lap. “I grew up in one of her churches after my parents died. Learned everything I know about the world from a priestess named Hessa.”
As you try your best to further collect your thoughts, Astarion leans in, narrowing his eyes at the way your hands start to shake against your thigh.
“Is she the one in your dream?” he asks.
Without hesitation, you nod. “They thrive on infliction,” you explain after, watching him frown. Taking in the way his demeanour changes without warning to become something you’re not quite sure you've seen before. “Their doctrine revolves around fear. If you don’t participate you’re expected to endure only pain and misfortune.”
You remember growing up underneath all these women, listening to their cautionary tales of Beshaba’s terror. It instilled fear in you from the get-go —taught you that the only way to endure the horrors of this life was to devote yourself to her. To offer everything you could in exchange for peace, so you did. Unwaveringly so.
“As a child, I grew up listening to these women scare everyone for the sake of their goddess.” You pause to swallow, feeling the memories of Hessa’s knife each time you later disobeyed, slice across your skin. “Then, as an adult, I followed the cycle.”
“Willingly?”
You shrug your shoulders. “At first.”
You remember as soon as you were old enough you were sent out to recruit. To trick the minds of all the simple folk, weaving fabricated tales of disasters that were carried out by Beshaba’s hand. It was difficult to do. Seeing all those ruined minds come crawling to you for salvation —begging for forgiveness in the form of eternal loyalty.
Thankfully though, it grew old pretty quickly. The formula of travelling Faerûn, following the endless calamity and blaming it on the lack of faith was enough to pull you out of the fog. As each day passed, it became increasingly hard to pretend your faith was still intact, so you formulated a plan.
“When we arrived in Baldur’s Gate I tried to leave. In the middle of the night I abandoned my sisters —tried to run and never look back but…”
There’s a moment where your mouth just closes, trailing from the memories of your story; straying solely to the image of Hessa. To her hands and face each time she broke you apart and put you back together.
Without even trying you can feel her next to you, whispering her teachings in your ear —touching your scars with calloused hands. Her voice still has that icy hold on you even when you’re far away, keeping you still as she forces you down to kneel on the stone floor and await your punishment.
A punishment you’ll always feel you deserve. Even now that you’ve well and truly denounced the faith. Deep down you still feel the guilt of your exit. The pain of having to carry the trauma of an existence you never had the choice of living. To this day, it still eats away through the scars that line your stomach. Boring lines of betrayal across your skin.
The last thing you want to do is cry, but as the reminder of such abuse continues to penetrate your mind you find the tears falling anyway. Collecting at the edges of your eyes so quickly that you’re forced to close them in order to reset your vision.
As you do you feel Astarion wrapping himself completely around you. Pulling you into his chest with heavy hands that feel nothing like hers. Reminding you that you’re safe. That you’re here with him and nobody else.
“Is this wretched woman still stationed in Baldur’s?”
You feel his fingers on your chin, pulling your face up so that he can see you when you nod, holding back tears.
“Good. Then our destinations align.”
His voice sounds different. Instead of the usual softness or flirtation, it’s spoken through clenched teeth that strain against his throat, somehow feeling almost like a threat. An unspoken but well-articulated phrase of warning that has you sniffing and wiping your eyes. “What do you mean?”
At first, you figure he’s talking about the Illithid. The urgent need to get to Baldur’s Gate before time runs out. But then you’re ripped back to reality —to the moments where he’s briefly mentioned his desire to return home. To finish whatever business he has after this timely journey is over.
“The person who sent the hunter—“
He practically spits out his name. Cazador Szarr. A man you’re unfortunately well aware of given his reputation.
After arriving in Baldur’s Gate it was common knowledge to avoid him and his property. As awful as your church was about promoting the misfortunes of others, they made it very clear not to get involved. According to them, he was an unholy man —one that could never fully be understood due to the obvious seclusion of his person.
To this day, you've always wondered what lies behind those doors of his. What sinister things he was up to throughout the years.
However, when you look at Astarion —when you see the way his rage suddenly seems to know no bounds, you know it’s bad. Worse than bad considering Astarion hardly ever gets angry. Sure, annoyance and frustration often come out but anger —real anger— never does.
“When you told me that you wished I didn’t know what it felt like, I didn’t realize how similar our experiences were.” His fingers rub rough circles into your flesh, distracting his mind as he lets out a breath and continues. “I didn’t know the level of your pain.”
“I didn’t tell you.”
“I know.”
His voice cracks. Your heart breaks. Then, both of you sit in another wave of silence, letting the words previously spoken sit at your feet as you stare at one another, trying to gauge what happens next.
You don’t anticipate his hands moving to his armour. Nor do you retain any sense of restraint when you reach to follow them, both of you working to pry it off before he pulls his tunic over his head.
Despite being on the road together for so long you’ve never seen him bare like this. So open and willing to prove to you that he's here. With you, here’s here and ready to share whatever you think you need.
Embarrassingly, it makes you want to cry all over again, reaching for his face. Feeling that familiar coolness beneath your touch as he turns to rest both hands on your hips again.
“It’s been so long since I’ve willingly wanted this.”
“This?” You look at him confused.
“To be intimate.” His fingers tighten around your flesh, digging into the plush ever so slightly. “To share the act of sex with another rather than exploit it.”
There’s a small smile that creeps through then. An inkling of hope for the vampire’s happiness as you inch in closer, placing the softest kiss you can muster to his cheek. “But you’re nervous?”
“Terribly,” he admits with a heavy breath. “In the span of 200 years I’ve bed countless men and women —all of them willing. All of them happy to have enjoyed my body only to end up at death’s door.”
It’s a lot to take in —the admittance of his faults. As soon as the first detail is uttered it’s as if the floodgates open and he’s telling you everything. From the moment he was turned and forced to crawl from his grave to the years that followed luring person after person into the Szarr home for a master so cruel you immediately wish to kill him.
“I spent so long under that bastard’s thumb that… I don’t even know who I am anymore. How I’m meant to be now that I’ve attained even the slightest bit of freedom.”
You understand how he feels. Perhaps the levels are different but deep within there’s always been this nagging feeling of how you’re supposed to live your life. How you feel as though you should be travelling the world in search of a new purpose rather than once again fulfilling someone else’s.
But then you remember what’s at stake. And how even someone else’s fate can affect your livelihood. Then it’s as if the cycle repeats itself, constantly reminding you that if you don’t participate then that’s the end. Your freedom is null just as Astarion’s, leaving you to wonder what’s the point of it all.
“I think people like you and I are just meant to live.” Your hands move up to touch his hair. Carefully, you grip his curls between your fingers, pressing the pads into his skull as you run them down, hearing him sigh. “To enjoy what little time we have.”
“Little?” He raises his brow with a smirk. “Darling, I’m immortal.”
“True but you could still become a Mind-flayer like the rest of us.”
“Fair point.”
He seems calmer now. The usual persona of his overbearing personality coming through, making you grin.
Instead of tightly wound he’s relaxed under your hold, practically melting against your touch as he lowers himself to rest on your shoulder. As he does, you end up catching a glimpse of his back, fully seeing Cazador’s work in the form of rough, red etchings that coat his entire spine.
You have to force yourself not to ask about them until he’s ready, tightening the hold you have around his head as you riddle his face in kisses, letting your lips linger against his temple as you close your eyes.
“They’re not as bad as they look,” he says then, somehow reading your mind.
As painful as it is to admit, you know he’s right. Compared to other scars you’ve seen his look undeniably perfect. The way they paint the image of what looks to be some sort of sigil against his pale flesh. Despite the violence endured to create such a piece, it’s obvious that there was care put in too. A meticulous hand working away with the precision of someone borderline obsessed.
If it wasn’t the result of abuse you could even call it beautiful. But since it’s not, you only continue to hold him, gripping his face for dear life, wondering what kind of pain he had to suffer to earn such a massive reminder of his ownership.
“Do you know what it is?”
He lifts his head, looking at you like he’s seeking the answer himself. “A brand I’m guessing. Not that I can tell. Unlike you I can’t use a mirror. Nor can I very well reach to trace the damned thing myself.���
Your fingers twitch at his words, feeling the temptation to touch them grow as you remember your own scars. In terms of appearance, they’re much more rigid. Three jagged lines that cover the middle of your stomach, making sure you remember. Ensuring your mind that every day you live on this earth —every new moment spent thinking that you’re worthy of whatever this is between you— that you’ll never be normal.
The moment they dug that first knife into your gut you were marked for life. Branded just like him.
Swallowing hard you force yourself to slip away from his grasp, watching the confusion that erupts before the understanding starts as you shakily discard your leather layer and throw your tunic over your head.
It takes everything in you not to put it back on when you see the look on Astarion’s face. How it studies you with knitted brows and a clenched jaw that makes you want to hold him again.
“Mine are just… lines. They don’t mean anything.” As you motion to the thick slashes that have been carved over countless times you catch his gaze twitching upward, taking in the exhaustion.
“She did this?”
After you nod you feel his hand move forward, ever so gently grazing the top of the centre line with curiosity. “How many times?”
“I don’t remember.”
“But you remember how it felt?”
You press your lips together, breathing through your nose. Sucking in the Inn’s dusty air before blowing it out as you nod, forcing back the memory. Pushing through the pain as your tadpole squirms, asking to let him in.
Like all the other feelings you’ve shared as of late, it’s been so long since you’ve felt his presence like this. Even with the Illithid’s constant use outside of each other, when he calls out to you it’s completely different. The movement behind your eye doesn’t feel like an annoyance. It feels like a call. A tingle of hope that has you answering before you can even question what it is he might want.
When you answer there’s a warmth that hits your skin. Enveloping you completely, you feel the aching of the heat carry through your extremities, cascading down in anxious pools that have you breathing rather hard. Closing your eyes, you see the image of Astarion’s hands in front of you. Slowly he wiggles his fingers and turns his palms, taking in the fact that he’s safely under the sun, despite what he is.
You realize then that this is the first memory he has of freedom. Of a life where he truly believes the tether’s been severed. All the thoughts inside his mind are full of nerves. Building anxieties of the past and the future being interrupted by a present he never thought was possible.
It’s a memory that stirs you to move. To guide his hands to your waist as you crawl into his lap and grab his chin.
Touching his skin you feel that same warmth flow through to your core. Letting it take over all the thoughts of scarring and owners and the lives you’ve both lived to get to this point, it takes away your breath. Pulls from you the needs of anything but him.
In this moment, none of it matters anymore. Every experience is nothing more than a dimming shadow compared to the sensation of his breath wafting over your face as you angle your head down to look at him.
“Do you want this?”
His tongue darts out to line his lips. His hunger growing at the sight of you —at the feeling of you moulded to him like melting wax just cool enough to touch. “Yes.”
“So it’s okay if I—“
There’s a hand in your hair before you can finish, forcing you down to his mouth. It’s rough at first but quickly softens once he’s got you where he wants you. Firmly set atop his thighs and in his grasp. Allowing him enough access to reach up and touch the edge of your neck, his thumb lingering towards the centre to press a soft touch —reminding you that you have to breathe. That the usage of your lungs is no longer second nature but something you actively have to think about through the open-mouthed kisses that work to take it all away.
Your head dizzies at the feeling. All at once your vision blurs while your hands begin to roam, stretching over skin and bone, eventually hitting raised scars that make you kiss him even harder, knowing it’s what he needs. What he deserves after countless years of loveless encounters. After touches, empty of anything resembling the adoration you wish to offer him.
While laying waste to his bruising lips, you clumsily slide down his lap so that you’re standing on the ground, tucked between his open legs and bending forward.
Confused, you feel his face twist against your own, prompting you to pull away and lower yourself further, letting your knees gently come in contact with the floor.
“I was enjoying you where you were,” he muses then, cocking his head to focus on the way your hands begin to slide up over his knees, resting on each outer thigh.
“And now you’ll enjoy me over here.” You smirk.
“Cheeky pup.”
“The cheekiest.”
After that, you shuffle closer and reach for his belt, keeping eye contact every step of the way to make sure you aren’t stepping over any boundaries.
The last thing you’d want is to make him feel uncomfortable —to feel used in all the ways he used to experience. So you combat all that by checking in; offering him subtle glances every time you take the next step.
You can tell immediately that he’s appreciative. Whenever he nods there’s a faint smile that sits across his lips, offering you approval as your fingers knock against the metal clasp of his belt, shakily moving to open it up.
At some point he ends up doing it himself, leaning forward to kiss your forehead and laugh at the nerves that render your fingers useless. Nerves that only spread when you stare up at his face while his hands busily move the strap aside.
After tossing his belt aside he doesn’t let you go further. Instead, he drags you further between his legs, leaning down to cup your cheeks and kiss you all over again.
It’s distracting, to say the least. The feeling of his lips moving in tandem with your own as he reaches around to rid you of your bra with two quick swipes, leaving you just as bare as him.
It sends a shiver down your spine that makes him smirk, his upper lip quirking against yours before he gently bites down making you groan.
“Can’t let you be the only one with a view,” he mutters against you, making you awkwardly laugh as you watch his gaze lower to your naked chest. “Can I, pet?”
“No, I suppose not.”
Your voice sounds anything but confident as his hands continue their descent, matching your previous desires when they linger at your belt, waiting for you to give him the okay.
When you do he makes quick work, unclasping the belt with skillful hands before lightly smacking your ass, signalling you to stand before he carefully slides the rest of it down, thumbing the edges of your legs.
You have to force yourself not to cry out right then and there, feeling overwhelmed by the soft touch of his fingers. How they barely graze the outer parts of your already parting thighs, stopping at your knees when he looks up at you with a smirk.
“You seem nervous, darling.”
Rolling your eyes, you shove an open palm to his chest, pushing him back against the bed with a scoff. One that makes him laugh and watch as you kick off the remainder of the fabric, trying to appear brave. Something that proves to be harder than you anticipate when he swiftly follows suit, giving you a show of your own in the form of freshly exposed skin you’ve only ever imagined in the deepest corners of your mind.
In almost an instant, the fabric slips away, revealing more of him than you possibly could’ve expected, making your mind wander as the building arousal between your thighs twitches with desire. Telling you that you need this.
You open your mouth to ask for more only to be yanked upon his lap causing a yelp to fall from your lips that makes you both laugh.
“You really are a marvel, aren’t you?”
With a smile, his eyes scan your naked frame. Up and down and back, they linger at every part as if he’s studying you for future use. Taking mental notes with each passing freckle or scar that lines the length of bare skin. “I mean truly, look at you.”
As he speaks, one hand runs along your neck —over your shoulder and down your arm until it’s resting at your thigh, gripping you tight. “I’m not sure what God out there decided to make you but remind me to give them my utmost thanks after this is over.”
When he leans in you have to force yourself not to nervously laugh at his praise, once again feeling his lips find refuge on your own, driving you to take things further. Encouraging you to make him feel as good as he deserves.
This time though, instead of asking for approval with a glance you do so with a touch, reaching down to grip the end of his length with gentle hands that make him moan. Ever so quietly, the second you hear it you immediately strengthen your hold, using your free hand to grip his shoulder as you work him slowly, noticing him push. Feeling the subtle arc of his hips buck against your hand, wanting more.
For a moment you think about doing it. Letting your hand tighten further while you pick up the pace. It’d be easy. Nothing more than a simple readjustment but something mischievous stops you from doing it.
Remembering that night at the grove —the one where he relentlessly teased just to get a rise out of you— you find yourself smirking and pulling away, gripping his shoulder even tighter to keep him in place.
Almost immediately, he knows exactly what you’re doing. He can feel it in the way you languidly pull at his cock, barely holding on with each stroke.
“You think you’re clever, do you?”
You quirk your brow and bite your lip, massaging the apex of his shoulder. “I have to be if I’m going to be hanging around you.”
Furthering his torment, you then tighten your grip for a couple more pumps before returning to your previous pace, eliciting a hiss of disapproval that has him gripping both your hips and maneuvering you to sit against his right thigh.
“Oh really?”
Pushing up into your core, Astarion shifts you back and forth with his hands, making your breath catch inside your throat once you realize what you’ve done. How you’ve instantly set yourself up for a failure you know he’ll only revel in winning.
Considering he’s more than capable of making you fluster solely with words, you should’ve expected this —saw it coming from a mile away.
Continuing your ministrations as lazily as possible, he barely registers them as he glides your folds against his leg. Holding you down, he manages to apply the perfect amount of pressure to build the tension, making you press your lips tightly together, forcing back any sound that might be deemed a loss.
Even though it’s anything but a competition. A detail that’s reminded once he maneuvers one of his hands to cup your sex, rubbing rough circles into your clit.
It makes you lose all semblance of thought, forgetting the hold you have on his cock as you shakily reach for his other shoulder, steadying yourself against him.
“Doesn’t it feel nice when you give in?”
Despite the context, there’s surprisingly no snark to his words. No sarcasm or bite —just genuine thought. A question so true to its word that all you can do is pant through the building pleasure and nod; letting him raise you off his leg and station himself at your entrance.
It fills your mind to the brim with needs and wants you never thought you’d feel again. Having been subjected to abuse and then forced upon a journey you’re still not sure you’re ready for, the thought of attachments like this never once crossed your mind.
Even after everything you’d been through, you never thought Astarion was capable of such tenderness —of loving care and safekeeping. Of gentle touches that run across your aching skin as he looks at you and you at him, both of you deciding it’s okay.
As soon as it’s given, he’s sliding into you. Painfully slow, he uses the approval to grant you access to your shared pleasure, pushing through the tightness just as you open your mouth.
“Feel alright?”
Your fingers press against his neck as they slide up to cup his chin so you can pull your foreheads together. “More than alright.”
Through an unsteady breath, he laughs and guides you further down, allowing you both to savour the sensation for a moment before pulling back out again.
As soon as he’s missing you’re already longing for more. Desperate for the fill of his cock, prompting a whine to escape; earning yourself a tut.
“Remember patience?”
You do. More than anything in this moment you remember your claim and how foolish it was to think he wouldn’t forget it.
“I recall you saying—"
“Astarion, please.”
You’re not sure if it’s the anguish in your voice or the squirming of your hips that does it, but almost instantly he’s giving in. Once again offering you exactly what you need in the form of a push and pull so viscerally satisfying you’re left slumped against his chest, keeping hold of his neck. Forcing his hand to grip the back of your head to see the way he ruts inside of you.
It’s a sight that’s almost too much. One that makes you moan and close your eyes, allowing him to move your face to his. At which point you’re on the precipice of ruin. Both body and mind becoming a mess of everything and nothing, forcing your breath to falter.
You can tell Astarion’s in the same boat, struggling to maintain his starting pace the longer you mindlessly grind against him, unable to contribute much of anything else.
Together, the two of you try to move in unison, pushing and pushing —inhaling and exhaling. Anything you can do to share the burden of the building pleasure that grows and grows until—
When it hits, it feels better than you imagined. Deep within there’s a blooming that unfolds, petal by petal, opening to reveal unholy tremors that make you release a heavy plume of air through your closed lips.
Gripping you close, you can feel Astarion follow quickly behind, twitching inside before he inevitably spills out, making both of you groan and fall back onto the bed in a fit of nervous laughter before he cheekily suggests you make use of the tub.
-
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WHERE DO WE GO NOW? - CH. 2 | 14th Doctor
Chapter Two: All Our Best Years Are Behind
Summary: With the TARDIS out of control, you three end up stranded on a spaceship. Unbeknownst to you all, you're not the only one on board.
Pairing: 14th Doctor x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Hurt-to-Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Possible Plot Holes, Vague Background, Aliens, Mild Horror, Violence, Past Trauma, Depression, Anxiety, Timey-Wimey Stuff, Star-Crossed Lovers, Second Chance, Character Death, Mention of Su!c!de,
Word Count: 11.7k
A/N: Tbh, this chapter took a while for me to write because of all the holiday shopping I needed to do tehe! Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter and as you know I thrive for feedback, reblogs and comments. Thank you for all the love you've given so far to this series and I can't wait to start writing the next chapter because I have a bunch of ideas swirling around in my mind hehe. Also, please note that English isn't my first language, please forgive me for any grammatical errors or wrong spelling etc. Love you loads!
Song: anything (demo) by Dodie
Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Dividers by @/saradika-graphics
ENGLAND, 1666 — MORNING
The TARDIS collides with an unknown object, sending you and Donna tumbling through the room. Donna clings to the railing for stability, but you, unfortunately, lose your balance. As you teeter on the edge of falling, the Doctor swiftly intervenes, grabbing your waist and pulling you close. Your bodies collide in the chaotic scenario as flames and sparks whirl around the console.
The Doctor gently cradles your head with one hand, conducting a swift but thorough assessment for any injuries. Satisfied with the examination, he presses a tender kiss to the top of your head. With a determined look, he retrieves a piece of the console, swiftly making his way to the TARDIS doors. His focus shifts to triangulating your current location and time, a sense of urgency evident in his movements.
You, the Doctor and Donna pop your head out the TARDIS and you can see a bright blue clear morning sky and it seems that you have crashed into an apple tree. You look down to see a man holding an apple while looking up at the three of you in disbelief.
The Doctor, with a quirky smile, introduces you and Donna to the stranger he's just encountered. His charm radiates as he explains, "Oh! Sorry, we’re just slightly out of control. This is my fiancée, Stargazer. My friend, Donna..." He playfully gestures towards Donna, who greets the stranger with a friendly grin, "This is Donna. Donna Noble."
"Hi!" Donna chimes in cheerfully.
The Doctor, ever the quick thinker, continues, "Just dropped some coffee into the console." Donna interjects with a light-hearted assurance, "But don’t worry. He’s got a time machine, which means he can blame me for all eternity."
Ignoring Donna's quip, the Doctor turns to the perplexed man and earnestly asks, "I just need to triangulate. Could you tell me what year this is?"
The man, clearly taken aback, responds, "It’s 1666."
You and the Doctor exchange puzzled glances, your lips puckering in unison as you simultaneously warn the stranger, "Oh! Stay away from London."
The Doctor proceeds to input the year into a device, then has a sudden realization, exclaiming, "Wait a minute. Apple tree. Apple. Man holding an apple in 1666. Are you Sir Isaac Newton?"
"Sir Isaac?" to which the man reveals himself as the renowned figure who discovered gravity.
The Doctor, correcting his error, teases, "Oh! Not yet. Spoilers."
Donna, injecting some humor, remarks, "Have you got the controls set to famous or what?"
The Doctor, with a hint of exasperation, retorts, "If I had controls. Thank you."
Donna playfully engages Isaac Newton, saying, "But it's got to be said, Mr. Isaac Newton, that you, above all others, can appreciate—"
The Doctor interjects with a cautionary, "Oh, no, don't."
Undeterred, Donna persists, "You can appreciate—" and you join in, emphasizing, "Really, really don't." Donna groans and urges, "Oh, come on!"
Turning back to a bewildered Isaac Newton, she asserts, "You can appreciate—" and in unison, the three of you declare, "the gravity of the situation."
A loud bang and fire erupt from behind the three of you, prompting a swift turn to witness the chaotic scene inside the TARDIS. The Doctor hastily tells Isaac Newton, “Oh! Sorry, gotta go. Bye!” You and Donna join in, adding your farewells, “Bye!”
UNKNOWN SPACESHIP — ???
As the TARDIS crash lands, Donna steps out of the TARDIS, beginning to say, “I am never ever—”
After hastily evaluating the impending disaster at the TARDIS console, you and the Doctor realize it's on the verge of erupting in flames. The Doctor seizes your wrist and swiftly ushers you outside, shouting to Donna, "Out of the way!"
Both you and the Doctor hit the ground, Donna in tow, as flames erupt from the TARDIS doors. Strangely, the U.S. Air Force song plays in the background with audible lyrics:
"Here they come
Zooming to meet our thunder
At ‘em, boys, give ‘em the gun"
Lying on the floor, the TARDIS abruptly slams its doors shut, bringing an unexpected end to the song. The three of you are panting on the floor in shock and confusion plastered on your face.
As you three pull yourself up and stand, Donna asks in disbelief and unsureness, “Is it… Is it all right? Is it broken? Is it knackered?”
With a frown, the Doctor strides toward the TARDIS doors and pushes them open. "Uh..."
Ducking your head from underneath his shoulder, you peer inside to assess the damage. The hiss of fire and creaking of objects reach your ears amid the billowing steam surrounding the TARDIS. Both you and the Doctor frown at the sight, and he utters a small, "Ooh."
Gently closing the TARDIS door, the Doctor grips both sides of the time machine with his hands. You take a step back, and Donna softly and sheepishly asks, "Is it bad?"
The Doctor presses his forehead against the blue doors in defeat, groaning, "It was brand-new."
Donna softly says, "Sorry."
The Doctor composes himself, taking a deep breath. He spins around and addresses Donna, saying, “Not your fault.”
“Yes, it was.” Donna responds matter-of-factly, accompanied by an awkward smile. “But can we fly? Can you fix it? Can we get back home?”
The Doctor grins, “We can do anything.” Donna laughs in delight.
The Doctor brandishes his sonic screwdriver and says, “Sonic screwdriver,” then pulls out a regular screwdriver, “and a non-sonic screwdriver.”
You and Donna share a laugh, and you playfully point out, “I think a non-sonic screwdriver is just called a screwdriver.”
The Doctor nods, giving you an adorable smile, “Thank you, love.”
“But if I can just reconfigure…” The Doctor starts as he fiddles with the keyhole of the TARDIS, “'Cause this old box can regenerate itself if I can just click it into gear.”
“Am I going mad, or did the TARDIS play ‘Wild Blue Yonder’?” Donna asks both you and the Doctor. He frowns and furrows his brows, “Yeah, it did, didn’t it?”
“What for?” Donna asks, and you reply, “I wonder.”
“We sang that in the choir in primary school. We’d have a little concert every Christmas, but gramps complained. He said, ‘You shouldn’t be teaching children that.’ It sounds all jaunty and fun, but it’s not. It’s the military going to war.” Donna shares as you stand next to her.
“Yeah. It’s the Air Force. The words are ‘wild blue yonder,’ which means the TARDIS played us a war song.” The Doctor frowns in contemplation but then manages to remove a portion of the keyhole. He inserts the end of his sonic screwdriver into the keyhole and clicks a button. The sonic emits a sound as the Doctor continues, “There, now... it can rebuild.”
The Doctor leaves the sonic screwdriver inserted as it continues to hum. The three of you take a few steps back as you hear the TARDIS clattering inside, shifting gears. The Doctor makes a face as he says, “Ooh. Okay? Yes?”
The TARDIS suddenly groans, and you three lean a little backward. Donna then asks, “Is it working?”
“Think so. Strange.” The Doctor comments. After a few seconds, the light atop the police box lights up blue and emits a small ding. The Doctor smiles and clasps his hands together, “There you go! Mending, mending, mending. Give it a bit of time.”
The Doctor then looks around the space you had landed, bends his knees up and down as he says, “So, now. I wonder where we are. Feels like a spaceship? Yeah?”
Donna concurs, “Yeah.”
The Doctor remarks, “Flight.”
Donna then adds, “Spaceship.”
The Doctor scrunches his nose as he shrugs, “Let’s just see.” He moves to what seems to be a door and presses the button on the side, leaving you and Donna to follow him.
“Wow! Nice!” The Doctor remarks as you enter the large, long corridor of the spaceship. Multiple shapes and sizes of grey panels surround the interior walls, while large mechanical beams hold the roof, leaving you in awe of the immense size of the entire spacecraft.
“Big!” Donna comments as she looks around, and The Doctor adds, “Very big!”
“I’d hate to be the cleaner,” Donna says as she gazes up at the high ceilings.
You then spot something in the distance, a small, white figure standing still. Squinting your eyes, you try to make out its shape and say, “Is that—”
The Doctor begins to wave his hand in the air, yelling, “Hello! We just landed. By accident. I hope that’s okay.”
There’s no response from whatever is at the end of the long corridor. Donna leans a little closer and asks, “Is that a person or a thing?”
The Doctor can’t help himself as he looks at the two of you, his tone suggesting, “We could take a look.”
Donna scoffs and points out, “Or we could stay here, wait for the TARDIS to mend itself so I can get back home. My family is waiting for me.”
The Doctor makes a face as he hums and points with his thumb, “Mmm?”
You shake your head while looking up, knowing his curiosity will always win. Eventually, Donna relents, “Yeah, all right.”
The Doctor smiles and shoves a hand down his pocket as he takes your hand in his, and the three of you walk down the massive, long corridor. Donna begins to say “Still, wherever we are, could be worse. We’ve got air. We’ve got lights. We’ve got mavity.”
You and the Doctor glance at each other before nodding along with Donna. Both of you hum and agree, “Yeah.”
“Was it me, or was Isaac Newton hot?” Donna says, and you grin wildly as you nod your head in agreement, saying, “Oh, thank the stars someone said it! 'Cause, yes, he was very hot.”
“He was, wasn’t he? He was so hot.” The Doctor said before realizing, “Oh, is that who I am now?”
You give the Doctor a reassuring squeeze as Donna says to the Doctor, “Well, it was never that far from the surface, mate. I always thought—” She’s cut off by the sudden sound of the TARDIS engine whirring, and the three of you race back to where you had landed to see it disappear.
The Doctor exclaims in panic, “No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!”
“But— What?” Donna says as she takes a small step back in disbelief. You're by the Doctor’s side as your mouth slightly opens in shock, feeling a tightness in your chest of uncertainty.
“You’ll get it back though?” Donna asks, “Doctor, you can get it back.”
The Doctor has wide eyes and a mouth agape as he doesn’t reply. Donna steps in front of the two of you, saying, “Doctor, you can get the TARDIS back, can’t you? Use the sonic.”
The Doctor’s eyebrows dip in the middle, a visible annoyance and frustration as he replies, “It was in the keyhole.”
Donna’s eyes widen, and she stammers as she tries to gather solutions to the problem you three were in. She says, “But you can whistle. You could snap your fingers. You could summon it. Just use that stupid head of yours and get it back.”
The Doctor gives her a look as he grits his teeth in slight rage, and Donna shakes her head at him, pointing a finger as she says, “Oh, don’t you look at me like that. It’s your fault.”
To which you and the Doctor give her a more pointed look, and Donna continues on, “I said, ‘Let’s stay here’. But you two had to wander off.”
You raise your voice as you say, “You wandered with us!”
Donna retaliates with her voice high-pitched, “Oh, like I could stop you both!”
The Doctor adds fuel to the fire, his voice raising, “You spilled the coffee—” He stops himself, not liking where all the blaming and pointing fingers were going. To him, there was no point, so he threw his hands in the air as he turned around, saying, “No.”
The Doctor places both hands on his hips as you let out a deep sigh through your nose as you cover both your eyes with the palms of your hands, rubbing them out in frustration.
Donna fiddles with the lapels of her coat as she nods and agrees with a soft note, saying, “No.”
The Doctor briefly raises both of his hands in surrender as he softly says, “Sorry.” To which you also add your own, “Sorry, Donna.”
Donna steps back, and her voice shakes as she says, “No. Okay. Fine.” Then you see panic seep through Donna. She begins to pant, her eyes slightly water and rim her eyes, and her lower lip begins to tremble. “Oh— Oh, my God. Where are we?”
You and the Doctor move towards her the moment her lower lip begins to tremble, and Donna has an outstretched hand, trying not to let you two get close, but it’s no use. The Doctor grabs her hand and gives it a small kiss in reassurance. Then you hold on to grab her other hand in support as she whimpers, and she sniffles out, “Rose is waiting.”
The Doctor looks directly into Donna’s shining blue eyes as he says, “I will get you home.” Donna shakes her head, “How?”
The Doctor is serious as he says, “There is one hope. A mechanism on board the TARDIS called the HADS. Hostile Action Displacement System.” He then lets go of Donna’s hand and continues, “If the TARDIS is in danger, it goes away.”
“Goes where?” Donna asks.
“Anywhere. And it only comes back when the danger is gone. I turned it off years ago. I mean, I’d never land anywhere. Once spent three years with the Stargazer in orbit, and I thought, ‘Oh, mmm, turn off the HADS’, but if the TARDIS is rebuilding itself, maybe it clicked back on.” The Doctor explains, and Donna realizes, “But that means we’ve landed in the middle of hostile action.”
To which the Doctor replies with a somber tone, “Yeah.”
In moments like these, you remain silent, your mind kicking into overdrive as it gathers as much information as possible, desperately searching for a solution to the chaotic situation around you.
“There’s something on this ship that’s so bad the TARDIS ran away?” Donna asks, a slight quiver in her voice. The Doctor stammers, “Y-yes.”
Donna takes a moment before declaring, “Then… we go and kick its arse!” She moves to slam the palm of her hand on the button on the wall that opens the door and strides down the corridor with determination. You and the Doctor exchange a look before trailing after her.
“She was very put out. Mrs Bean,” Donna says as the three of you stroll down the long spaceship corridor. The Doctor, intrigued, asks, “Mrs Bean?” Your hand is in his, swaying with the movement of your bodies as you walk. He never wants to let you go again, now that he has you back.
Donna recounts her memory, “Head of the choir. She said, ‘It’s not a war song. It’s jolly.’ That’s what she said, ‘It is jolly.’”
After a brief moment of silence, you turn to Donna with a silly expression, “Mrs Bean?” The three of you burst into laughter at the absurdity of the last name, wondering just how unlucky someone must be to carry a vegetable as their surname for the rest of their life.
“Fenslaw.”
An automated voice echoes through the speakers of the spaceship, causing the pillars and panels to click and clatter as they shift and move around you three. You, the Doctor, and Donna stand still in concern, watching as everything unfolds before settling back into place.
“What was that?” Donna asks with narrowed eyes.
The Doctor frowns as he tries to understand, “Like circuits moving. Or it’s reconfiguring to become…”
“But what was that word? Fenslaw. What’s that mean?” Donna asks.
The Doctor shrugs, “I don’t know. The TARDIS translates, but now it’s gone.”
“No, the TARDIS translates for me. I thought you knew twenty-seven million languages.” Donna points out.
“I know fifty-seven billion two hundred and five, but not this one.” The Doctor says matter-of-factly, and you roll your eyes at his subtle brag. Then he tilts his head slightly, “Unless it’s Mr Fenslaw saying his name?”
Donna shakes her head, “It wasn’t that.”
The Doctor nods and agrees as he parrots back, “It wasn’t that.”
Donna turns and places her hands in the pockets of her coat, jutting her chin out in the direction where the unknown species or object stands from a distance and says, “Jimbo didn’t move. What is that?”
The Doctor begins, “Oh, wait a minute. If I’m right…” Then he steps on a button on the floor with his grey converse, and a mechanism hisses before popping up a small orange hovering transport vehicle. Donna chuckles in amusement as she moves to sit in the passenger seat on the far end.
The Doctor gives you a cheeky grin and exaggerates his accent as he says to the two of you, “Your car, milady.”
“Thank you, Parker.” Donna says with her own exaggerated accent. You sit in between them as the Doctor drives.
After a few meters of driving, the object comes into view, and you say with realization, “Oh, it’s a robot.”
The Doctor pulls the vehicle to a halt, and you three exit the cart as you stand in front of the white, round, and old robot. The Doctor then says, “Hello, Jimbo. Can you talk?” The robot doesn’t move or make a single beep, and the Doctor continues to try to talk to it as he bends down to its height, “You got basic communications, Fenslaw? Fenslaw. No?” He moves an inch closer as he slowly speaks to it, “Fenslaw.”
With no response, the Doctor resorts to knocking on the white metal of the robot’s head, and a hollow echo sounds out. The Doctor waddles a little backward as he continues to ask, “Have you got controllers listening? Hello, I’m the Doctor, this is my soon-to-be-wife the Stargazer,” you interject him by saying, “Haven’t agreed to anything, yet.” He ignores it and continues with introductions, “This is Donna. We need help. We need to—”
He’s cut off as the Doctor takes a slow and mechanical step forward, causing the three of you to jump and take a step back. “Is that it?” Donna asks, wondering if there’s more to it than the robot.
“One step at a time.” The Doctor says, and Donna spirals, “What is it? Maybe it’s an invader. Maybe that’s the hostile action.”
Then you look around the robot, observing it, before remarking, “I think it’s just old. See, look at the rust.”
“It’s primitive if you don’t mind me saying so, Jimbo. Someone got a very old robot out of storage to walk very slowly down a very long corridor.” The Doctor says before taking a long inhale, “Why?”
“Maybe… time slowed down.” Donna guesses and you and the Doctor shake your heads. You then say, “No. We’d feel it in our bones.”
The Doctor points at the robot while saying, “Stay there, Jimbo. No sudden moves.” He then tilts his head back on the cart, “Onwards?” You and Donna hum before following the Doctor back to the cart.
Donna lifts her hand and tells the Doctor, “Uh, I’ve got it.” As you climb into the cart, Donna says, “Allons— as the idiots say— –y!”
She steps on the gas, and the car moves forward, zooming along the corridor. Eventually, you reach the end of the corridor, revealing a door. The three of you move to the door, which slides open.
The door behind you slides down shut as the Doctor calls out, “Hello? Is anyone home?”
With no response, the three of you push forward. The entire room glows in cool blue light, leading you to the front of the ship where you find an empty captain’s chair and two monitors attached to the front.
“Well, definitely a spaceship,” Donna comments as she steps forward to look out the large window in the front, continuing, “If that’s space.”
The Doctor hops into the pilot’s chair, saying, “We’ve got a chair. That’s a good sign. It’s a life form with a bum.” He presses one of the switches on the control panel, adding, “If I can translate their basic one to ten, I can find out where we are. And when. And why.”
Putting on his glasses, the Doctor reads out the screen, “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Now I can read the base codes. So, life signs?” After pressing a few buttons, the computer whizzes and chirps, and the Doctor frowns, “None. Just an empty chair.”
“Where have they all gone?” Donna asks, leaning forward, and you feel something shiver up your spine, as if you’re being watched around the corner.
The Doctor hums, “The spaceship seems to have powered down. Basic functions ticking over.” Then something catches your eye, and you point out on the monitor, “Oh. Someone opened an airlock door three years ago. And then it closed.”
“What for?” Donna asks with wide eyes and continues, “This whole ship has been empty for three years?”
“Don’t know,” the Doctor mumbles as he reads the symbols on the screen. Then he realizes and says, “Those numbers are lenses. There’s a camera.” As you lean a little closer to see what the Doctor is saying, you feel him tug you closer and suddenly let you sit in his lap, your entire body flooding with warmth.
You squirm in his lap and playfully smack his shoulder as he lets out a yelp, “Ow!”
You look at Donna apologetically, and she gives you a knowing smile, not letting the display of affection affect her. She hasn’t seen the Doctor this happy in ages.
The Doctor flips a few switches while explaining, “Like a drone. We can see where we are.” As the drone activates, you see what it’s seeing on the screen in front of you, and the Doctor chuckles in excitement, tightening his arms around your waist, pulling you closer as he mumbles, “Well, it’s definitely a spaceship.”
Donna asks, “What kind of spaceship?”
“Don’t know,” the Doctor replies honestly. Then the drone appears from the front of the ship, shining a bright flashlight in your direction. The Doctor moves his head to the side and uses a hand to wave, “Ah! Hello!” which you see on the monitor to your left.
“But if we’re in space, there are no stars,” Donna points out and then asks, “Where are the stars?”
“We could be inside a dust cloud or a mavity well, or—” The Doctor pauses suddenly as he reads the screen to his right, “Oh.”
“What?” Donna asks with concern in her voice, and the Doctor shakes his head, “No, it’s fine. The ship is lost. It fell through a wormhole.”
“Ending up where?” Donna inquires, and you frown as you try to translate the rest of the symbols. The Doctor sighs, “I’m sorry, Donna. The TARDIS was out of control. It’s taken us…”
“To the edge of the universe,” you say, finishing the Doctor’s sentence. The drone moves away, and Donna takes a step forward toward the glass, where a void of pitch black is on the other side.
“So, what’s out there?” Donna asks with a subtle shift in her tone, a little scared. The Doctor taps your hip to stand, which you do, and the two of you follow Donna to look at the view of the edge. The Doctor removes his glasses and pockets them as he begins to say, “Well, that’s difficult… for you because if the universe is everything, then the concept of everything having an edge is, mmm, kind of impossible. But that’s the language of 21st-century Earth, and you don’t know anything yet.” The Doctor pauses and adds, “Not being rude. You just don’t. When you discover Camboolian Flat Mathematics, you’ll discover it’s possible.”
“What?” Donna asks softly, and the Doctor replies, “That. The nothing. At the edge of creation. Absolute nothingness.”
Donna then says, “But starlight travels. You can stand in my garden and look at the light from stars a billion miles away. So, where’s the light?”
You nod to the corner and say, “Over there. It just hasn’t reached us yet.” You then point and explain, “If we flew in that direction, it would take a hundred trillion years to reach your house.”
You see Donna’s eyes glaze over and water, “That’s my family. Over there.”
The Doctor comments, “I’ve never been this far out.” He then places a hand on the glass, “To stand here like this.” He begins to softly say, “Physically. Unprotected. Right on the edge.” He then places his other hand on the glass and leans forward to observe the empty void. Absent of stars and light. He continues, “No one ever has. Not ever. Till us. And this ship.”
“And an airlock that opened three years ago. And closed,” Donna says, and the Doctor pushes himself off the glass and inhales, “Yeah.”
Suddenly, a loud metal clang reverberates throughout the ship, causing the three of you to whip your heads around to see the source of the noise. You rush out of the pilot’s room, and the door slides up and opens, revealing nothing.
“Must’ve been just settling,” the Doctor says, and Donna looks around skeptically, “You said no signs of life. Are you absolutely certain?”
“Coliss.”
The deep automated voice echoes, and you watch as the hexagonal panels and large pillars begin to flip and switch, clicking and clattering before coming to a stop.
“It said fenslaw and coliss. Like a list. Or a solicitors. Or a countdown. Or instructions.”
“Or a warning,” Donna adds.
The Doctor’s brows furrow, and he puffs out his cheeks. “Slow warning,” he says as he turns around back inside the pilot’s area with you two following him.
“I think this way,” the Doctor says, spinning to the far right end of the room before entering a different section and saying happily, “Yes! Base plate repetition filaments.” He pats both of the drawers that glow a bright orange before pulling a drawer while letting out a small gasp, “Huh.”
He then pulls one of the filaments out, and it creates a squelching sound as he does, vocalizing, “If we move one up…” It drips out goo as he inspects it, and Donna asks, “Is that stuff dangerous?”
“No. I don’t think so,” the Doctor says. He moves to sniff it before sticking his tongue out on the filament, licking the goo, and you and Donna make gagging noises as you groan in disgust.
Then the Doctor shakes his head, “No.”
As he goes to put the filament back, he begins to gag and groan, clutching on your arm and you and Donna begin to panic. “Doctor! What—” You begin to say but then he suddenly stops and stands straight, “No.”
You and Donna whack him on the arm in annoyance with his little joke. He pulls the top drawer and, placing the filament on top, he says, “Clip it into the fold back. Can you do that? Take all the rectangles, move them up there.” The Doctor asks Donna, and she replies, “What does that do?”
The Doctor then explains, “The ship's on neutral for some reason. It’s just idling. We need to get it back on full power.”
He then grabs your hand and begins to drag you away from the room, and Donna calls out, “Well, don’t leave me on my own.” The Doctor spins around with you in his grip as he says, “Donna, there is no one else on board this ship.”
Donna retorts with, “Hostile action, remember?”
As if on cue, a metal clang thumps and creates an echo throughout the room, and Donna asks, “And what’s that?”
The Doctor shakes his head, “A noise.” Donna scrunches her face as she sarcastically replies, “Oh, well, you’re very helpful.”
The Doctor takes a step back with you, and Donna says, “Go on then. And hurry back. You little streak!”
“I need to find the spindle. That’s not like wool. It’s a water pivot.” The Doctor says, and you look back at the Captain’s chair. You tell him, “I’ll try and see if I can access any of the logs.”
The Doctor nods, and you walk off to sit in the pilot’s seat. You hear the Doctor exclaim at the end of the hallway, “That’s it! Can you still hear me?”
You hear Donna yell out, “No,” as you let out a little hum of acknowledgment.
“Good. Good. Won’t be long.” The Doctor says from the spindle room, and you tap the monitor, trying to understand each symbol to see if you can find out what happened during all those years this ship was lost.
You exhale in frustration, conceding defeat in your attempt to access the logs. Slouching back into the chair, you cross your arms, and a visible puff of warm air escapes your mouth with each breath. A slight shiver courses through you, prompting a tighter embrace of your own body, as you curl into a small ball. Surveying the vast empty void at the edge of the universe, there's a profound absence of light, sound, or anything discernible.
Donna enters your field of vision, and you inquire, "You alright? It suddenly got colder." She responds with a nonchalant, "Yeah, 'm fine."
"Already done with the filaments?" you ask incredulously, and Donna hums in affirmation, "Yeah."
Raising your eyebrows, you nod, "Alright then." Donna moves to stand with her back to you, gazing into the abyss. After a brief silence, she asks with a tone void of emotion, "Did you ever miss it?"
"Miss what?" you seek clarification.
"Running away with the Doctor?" She clarifies, and you lean your head back, looking up at the ceiling as you hum in contemplation. Eventually, you settle on, "I did, sometimes... The thrill, the chase, all the excitement... because I often thought to myself, 'What would I give for another run with the Doctor?' or even just to catch a glimpse of him. Then as the years went on when I..." You release a deep breath before continuing, "I realized I didn't miss any of that... I just... I missed him."
"But I couldn't... even the thought of my desires versus the entire universe collapsing. I just— I never thought I would ever see him again." You say and Donna lets you continue, “Now he’s back and… it all feels so surreal. And I fear that there’s going to be a price to pay.”
"My arms are too long," Donna suddenly declares, and you frown, "I don't think so."
"No, seriously, look!" Donna insists, and you divert your gaze from the ceiling to see her facing you. Your eyes widen as her arms appear unusually long and huge in front of you. You jump out of your seat, taking a step back, "What—"
"Star! Star, are you there?" you hear the Doctor call from behind you, and you shout, "Yeah! What about Donna? Is she there?"
Turning around, you rush to the middle of the room to find the Doctor. Donna does the same, and you both clutch each other as you watch the three duplicates move toward you. Fear laces Donna's voice as she asks, "What are they?"
“They’re us,” the Doctor says, and Donna denies it, not wanting to believe as she says, “They’re not us.”
You watch as your clones walk into the room. The Doctor's double says with zero emotion, “The notion of shape is strange.”
Your doppelganger remarks, “It limits. It is limiting.” As it waddles from the other room where Donna once was, a consuming fear sets in. “It limits. Limits everything,” you hear the Donna clone say as it walks forward. The Doctor tries the friendly approach, “Whatever shape you want to take, that’s fine. You can do whatever you want. I just want to say it’s very nice to meet you. I’m the Doctor, this is the Stargazer, and this is Donna.”
Donna chimes in, “So are they.”
As the unknown creatures move a step closer, you three take a step back to the door that leads out to the corridor. The Doctor raises his voice, “If you can just get those bodies to calm down, we can talk. That’ll be nice, don’t you think?”
“They’re looking at us like food,” Donna says, and the fake Doctor says, “Food is interesting. Because once I sort out the arms…” You watch as it stretches back to a normal size, and then it continues, “then I have a problem with the jaw.” The creature-like-Doctor’s jaw stretches down to the floor, and the three of you are wide-eyed in shock, confusion, and fear before it clicks back into place.
“It’s the knees. How many knees?” The other-Donna asks, and your non-Doctor replies, “Two.”
“Two in total, or two in each leg?” The non-Donna asks, and you hear the sound of cracking as it adjusts its knees.
The three of you take a few steps back, and the door behind you opens. The Doctor asks, “Where did you come from? You’re not part of the ship, are you? Did you come from outside?”
“We came from the nothing,” your doppelganger says as it twitches and resets her wrists while stepping forward. “We are No-things,” the Not-Doctor says, and the Not-Donna adds, “But you. You are not nothing.”
The Doctor replies, “Oh, I think you’ll find we’re quite something.” The three of you hastily jump into the transport cart, the Doctor seizing the driver's seat while you and Donna squeeze into the passenger seat as the No-Things pursue you.
Then, a menacing growl echoes from behind. You and Donna glance back to witness the No-Things crawling on all fours, steadily growing larger. Donna exclaims, “Oh, my God, they’re growing!”
“Come on!” The Doctor urges, stepping on the gas and shifting gears. Donna raises her voice, “Go faster!”
“I know!” The Doctor responds, and you feel a slight tug on the back of the cart. Turning around, you see the Not-Doctor gripping it as he crawls. You and Donna grab tools from the back as the redhead declares, “No, you don’t!”
You two start to strike the Not-Doctor's hand, and your Doctor announces, “I can’t control it!”
“You stupid big hand!” Donna yells out in anger, and it eventually releases its grip on the cart, flinging you and Donna forward. The Doctor shouts, “No, no, no, no, no, no!” The cart crashes into a hydraulic pillar but manages to regain control, only for the Not-Donna to throw its hand at the side of the cart, causing you to spin out of control.
The Doctor rips out the steering wheel, and Donna screams as the spinning comes to a halt. You watch as the three No-Things expand and become entangled in each other’s limbs, hissing and growling at you three. The engine sputters as you sit there in shock. Donna then asks uncertainly, “What are they?”
Exiting the vehicle, the cart's frame falls apart, causing a loud clatter. You turn around to see the Doctor approaching the chaotic mess in front of you, and you groan, “Oh, no, don’t!”
“We’ve got to see,” the Doctor says, walking a little forward. The metal groans under the weight of the twisted limbs and squished faces. The Doctor mumbles, “It’s strange enough my face coming back, but not this big.”
“The airlock door three years ago. That’s when they got in,” Donna states with a nod, and the Doctor adds, “No-things. No control of shape. No concept of shape or size.”
“How can they get bigger? ‘Cause you only get a certain amount of mass, don’t you? Shaun used to complain about that watching Venom films. He said, ‘Where’s the extra mass come from?’”
You then recall the chill you felt as you sat in the pilot’s chair, pointing out, “It got colder.”
Donna agrees, nodding as she announces, “Oh, yeah, it got colder for me.”
Glancing back at the No-things, you conclude, “Heat into mass.”
The Doctor builds on that, saying rapidly, “But they’re not just physical copies. They’ve got our thoughts, too. That other Star, she mentioned Gallifrey and Mars.”
“The other Stargazer said, ‘Wilf’,” Donna remembers, pointing to your copy.
“The Not-Donna asked me if I missed all the adventures with the Doctor,” you add with disbelief.
“So they’ve got our memories,” the Doctor concludes, and Donna shudders, “Okay. So they’re copies with memories and mass, but what I don’t get is why do they hate us?”
Suddenly, one of the hands drops onto the metal floor, causing a loud thump, and the three of you jump back, letting out yelps. Donna looks at it with a concerned tone as she says, “That’s my hand.”
The metal begins to creak, and you look around as the Doctor points out, “They’re getting free. We should reason with them. Try to make peace. Welcome them to our side of the universe.”
The No-things roar in anger and disgust, and you flinch. The Doctor takes a step back and remarks, “Maybe later.”
As the three of you turn to run, the Doctor points out the three hexagon panels with steps on them, exclaiming, “I know, I know. Ladder. Do you think? Maybe up there?” You see a small exit hexagon, and Donna shrugs, “Let’s go!”
The Doctor climbs first, leading the way as you and Donna follow him up. But you hear the familiar automated voice resonate throughout the speakers of the ship, “Brate.”
The Doctor groans, “Oh, not now!” The triangle panels begin to flip, and you feel each hexagon shape slide opposite sides. You hear Donna exclaim, “Doctor! Star!”
“It’s okay. I’m right here!” the Doctor says right before the panel flips inwards, and he’s out of view. You watch as Donna slides down from the ladder and into a different area of the ship. Your hexagon moves upwards and flips inwards, flinging you into the interior of the spacecraft. You let out a yelp as you land on your bum, and suddenly the three of you are separated.
Fatigue etches lines of frustration across your face as you wearily rub your eyes with both hands. With a sigh, you push yourself upright, casting a glance down the dimly lit corridor. The soft hum of glowing pipelines provides the only illumination as you traverse the hallway, the occasional hiss of escaping air and steam accompanying your footsteps. Abruptly, a door slams shut behind you, prompting a swift turn of your head. Shaking off the interruption, you continue walking forward in the eerie silence of the spaceship's metallic passageway.
You discover a ladder and descend, the metallic clangs echoing in the confined space. Moving forward, the whirring of systems shutting down and rebooting accompanies your steps. The flickering lights above cast erratic shadows, and as you exhale, your breath materializes in the cold atmosphere.
Finally, you reach a door, stepping out just as the Doctor emerges simultaneously. A moment of uncertainty hangs between you two.
You cautiously take a step back, asking, “Are you—”
The Doctor interjects, “Is it—” A shared pause ensues, and you murmur, “But it got cold.”
“I know I’m me,” you assert with narrowed eyes, and the Doctor affirms, “Well, so am I.”
Frustration flickers across your face as you lick your lips. The Doctor initiates, “Tell me, how did we meet?”
“When?” you inquire.
“The first time we met, how did we meet?” the Doctor specifies.
"At the Academy. What was the color of the sky back on Gallifrey?" you respond, then throw a question back at him.
“Orange sky and trees with silver leaves. That reflected the morning sunlight, making it look like the forests were on fire. You and I would have picnics outside of the Capitol when we didn’t want to show up for class… your eyes would shine like starlight, and I… I knew then that I loved you.”
Tears well up in your eyes, and your bottom lip trembles as you say, “You didn’t say it then.”
“I can say it now,” the Doctor pleads.
You purse your lips, feeling a wavering resolve, and shake your head, “You also hated me back then.” The Doctor shakes his head, attempting to step forward, but you take two steps back, edging closer to the door. “After what I had done. When you found out who I was and where I came from. A rift in time. A supposed observer who interfered with fixed points in time when I had to save everyone. I had to save… you.”
The Doctor begins, “You and I both know it wasn’t your fault. After the Rift, the Time War, and Mars…”
You shake your head, swallowing down your guilt as you take in the way he looks at you. It wasn't him, but the weight of the past bears down on you. Another step back, and this time the Not-Doctor grimaces and says mockingly, “You and your sad backstory. ‘Oh, woe is me! I started an entire war! I altered a fixed point in time! Boo hoo! I should have died.’ Blah, blah, blah. No wonder the Doctor left you on Earth! You are annoying to be with. And you are right about one thing, you should have died! Why didn’t you die? Hmm?”
Gritting your teeth, you head out the door and slam the button shut, running down the corridor. The echoes of harsh words linger in the cold metallic passage. Exhausted, you eventually stop to catch your breath. Sliding down one of the walls, you can't contain the streams of tears flowing down your cheeks. Quiet sobs escape, and you cup your mouth with your hand, trying to muffle the sound, the weight of emotions overwhelming you in the dimly lit corridor.
Taking a deep breath, you try to settle yourself down, a skill you've honed over years of navigating the guilt within. You've learned not to be ashamed of your survival. You did what you had to do, continuously clawing your way out of the ache, cutting through the pain to the bone. It was never going to be pretty, but deep down, you know it will always be worth it.
You bury your head in between your curled-up knees, seeking solace as you take another breath and sniffle. Suddenly, loud banging echoes from a few meters down the hall, and amidst the clamor, you recognize the voice shouting. The Doctor's frustration is palpable as the grunting and banging continue. You remain still, waiting in the silence that follows. When the noise subsides, the Doctor notices you. He comes to a stop, and as he meets your tear-stained gaze and red-rimmed eyes, you say nothing.
Anger seems to cloud the Doctor's expression, evidence of the harsh words exchanged with the Not-You or Not-Donna. Yet, his demeanor softens as he kneels to your level, whispering, "Is it you?"
Weakly, you mumble, "I think you know."
He draws you close, his arms enveloping you, and his warmth provides a comforting embrace. Placing your head on his chest, you admit, "I should have known the it was the Not-Doctor I was speaking to, but I—"
The Doctor shushes you, planting a gentle kiss on the side of your head. "I was tricked too. I'm here now, love. Wasn't your fault." Gently rocking the both of you back and forth, he eventually stands up, offering a hand for you to take and pull yourself up. Moving through the hallway, this time, he doesn't let go.
“Gilvane.”
You find another door, and upon entering, you are met with the peculiar sight of your doppelgangers and potentially the real Donna. As you and the Doctor survey the two sets of clones – one set of you and the other Donna not holding hands – the two Donnas exchange uncertain glances. One Donna breaks the tension with a comment, "I’ve gotta say, this is the biggest nightmare of my life, but… I look quite good."
"I can’t argue," the other Donna adds. The Not-Doctor then points at your Doctor, demanding, “I want to talk to you. You Not-Doctor. I know you’re a fake. I know for a fact. So I want to know why you’re doing this.”
Your Doctor frowns, “That’s what I was gonna say!”
“You should have been faster. ‘Cause that’s me, isn’t it. Fast. Am I fast? Do I talk fast? Yes.” The Not-Doctor rattles off rapidly. Your Doctor retorts, “But you’re a copy of me! You’re only fast because I am.”
“You seriously want to marry this one?” The Not-You asks, and you nonchalantly reply, “Of course you’d know. Spent almost my entire life with him, might as well.”
“Oh, well, I can’t follow any of this. And that is proof. ‘Cause let’s not pretend. I’m the stupid one,” the other Donna interjects, prompting the Doctor to squeeze your hand as he questions, “You think you’re stupid?”
The other Donna replies, “Of course I do.”
“That’s very Donna,” your Doctor says, and the Not-Doctor chimes in, “That’s so Donna. That’s my Donna.”
“Except Donna does not think she’s stupid,” you point out, and the two Donnas say, “Oh, but I do.”
You shake your head, “No. Donna thinks she’s stupid, and sometimes she thinks she’s brilliant. She thinks both. Because that’s the astonishing thing about people from her planet. They can believe two completely different things at exactly the same time.”
After a moment, Donna looks at the both of you with your intertwined hands, grinning, “Brainbox and Stargirl!”
“Earthgirl!” You and the Doctor say in unison as the three of you reunite, sharing a group hug. Suddenly, the sound of cracking fills the air as the No-things begin to stretch. The Doctor swiftly whips out a salt shaker, exclaiming, “But salt! You can’t cross salt. In our universe, it is said that vampires, demons, and ghosts cannot cross a single line of salt until they’ve counted every single grain.” He starts drawing a line of salt in front of you before lifting the shaker up, “You’ve got no choice!”
“But that’s a superstition,” the Not-Doctor says, and your doppelganger adds, “Doesn’t mean it’s true.”
“It’s a superstition, and it’s true. Two things at once,” the Doctor asserts, and the Not-Doctor attempts to call him out, “You’re lying.”
Challenging him, the Doctor exclaims, “Then walk towards me. Come on. Stop copying and make your own minds up. Cross the line!”
The Not-Donna glances at your Donna and says, “She doesn’t believe him.”
“But you said I’m stupid,” Donna points out, to which the Not-Donna retorts, “And also brilliant.”
Your Donna sneers at her copy, “Then which one is it, Donna? Cross the line. Or count.”
As if the Not-Donna couldn’t help herself, like an impulse, she gets on her knees and begins to count each grain of salt, mumbling numbers as she does. Now all that stands is the Not-Doctor and the Not-Stargazer who stands there staring at the three of you.
“So tell me. What do you want?” The Doctor asks, to which the Not-Doctor responds, “You tell us.”
“It didn’t get cold this time.” You point out, and Donna agrees, “No, it didn’t, did it?”
“Which means you’re acclimatizing. Your arms are a bit too long. Your mouths are a bit too wide. But are you stabilizing?” The Doctor inquires, and Donna adds, “Like they’re becoming us properly.”
“I just wonder why.” Your Doctor says aloud, and the Not-Stargazer singsongs, “Why?”
Donna realizes something as she says, “Because the TARDIS will come back for us. They know that. So if they become completely us, the TARDIS will come back for them.”
“Is that what you want? Escape?” The Doctor asks with his hands in his pockets. Suddenly the tone of the Not-Doctor shifts and explains, “We drifted here. In the lack of light. Passing no-time.”
Your copy continues, “But we would feel it. From so far away. Your noisy, boiling universe.”
“We want to travel there. To play your vicious games and win.” The Not-Doctor says with a grave tone.
You frown as you say, “If you existed here with no shape, no form, no purpose, then what’s made you so bad?”
The Not-Stargazer replied with eyes devoid of emotion, “The things we felt, they shaped us. Carrying across the dark. We could hear your lives of war. And blood and fury and hate. They made us like this.”
“We are more than that.” Donna spits out, and the Not-Donna says, “Love letters don’t travel very far. And neither do your lies.” She then blows the line of salt away, and you three step backward as your clones begin to have sharp teeth as they hiss and growl at you.
You feel your back against the wall, and suddenly the automated voice can be heard once more, “Stond.”
The lights flicker as the panel behind you begins to flip you three around, clicking and clattering, and Donna remarks, “That’s lucky.”
But the panel flips you back to where you were, and Donna whispers, “Or not.”
“Run?” The Doctor asks, and you and Donna agree, “Run!”
You sprint through the corridor, timing it perfectly as one of the doors manages to stall them before you re-enter the captain's area. The Doctor gestures a hand and says, “Come on!”
After pressing a few switches, a glass panel slides down from above, dividing you three from the No-things. As they stare at you three, Donna asks, “Why? I don’t understand why. What are they scaring us for?”
“Problem is, ten minutes ago they’d have ripped that door off its hinges. Now they’re just standing there. Locking into shape. Almost complete,” the Doctor comments, and Donna presses, “Yes, but if you just listen to my question, thank you very much. Why are they making us so scared? If they wanna copy us, why don’t they just sit in a corner and do it? Why terrorize us?”
The Doctor’s face lights up and says, “That’s a very good question.”
“Yes. I’m brilliant.” Donna says while bouncing on her tip toes.
“Why provoke us? Unless… that’s how it’s done. The more scared we are, the more blood pumps. Hypothalamus. Adrenaline. We think faster and faster and faster.” The Doctor says as the pieces begin to click.
“It makes us easy to copy.” You remark, and the Doctor takes a step towards the glass as he says, “Goosebumps, like braille. You’re reading us. Is that right?”
“Well, what do we do? How do we stop ‘em? Stop being scared?” Donna asks urgently, and the Doctor says, “Like the ship all ticking over in neutral. Donna, stop thinking.”
Donna laughs nervously, “Well, that’s easy for me. What about you two?”
You look at the Doctor as you pull your lips to the side, “Took up meditation for a bit, so the only one with that problem is him.”
The Doctor takes a deep breath and says, “Just calm. Just cool.”
“Yeah, I’m calm.” Donna says with a deep inhale, and the Doctor comments, “Even calmer.”
“Well, you do it too.” Donna says, and the Doctor exclaims back, “I am!”
Donna grits her teeth, “Mmm. Stop rattling me!”
“Will you two just shut up!” You say.
The Doctor softly says, “Slow. Slow heartbeat. If we’re slow, they can’t read us.”
“Okay.” Donna says, and the Doctor replies, “Good. Shhh.”
After a few moments of complete silence, Donna asks, “For how long?” And the Doctor replies, “Uh, there’s a flaw in the plan.”
The Not-Doctor decides to bait him by asking, “How can you not think on a ship full of questions? Why the empty chair?”
Not-Stargazer adds on and asks, “Why do the walls keep moving?”
Not-Doctor asks, “What are the words in the air?”
Not-Donna asks again, “Why did the airlock open and close three years ago?”
You and Donna say simultaneously, “Don’t.”
Your Doctor begins to protest, “But—”
Both of you are firm as you say, “Don’t. Stop it.”
Then a sudden loud metal clang rings out once more, and the Not-Doctor asks, “And what is that?”
“Doctor, stop thinking.” You warn but eventually the Doctor relents and groans as he says, “Let me think. Let me think.”
The No-things begin to chant creepily, “Think! Think! Think! Think!”
The Doctor moves to a few switches and buttons on the wall and begins to press and pull each of them as he says, “What is making that noise?”
The rooftop panel whirs as it slides open, revealing a glass roof, and the three of you look up, and the Doctor says, “There.”
You watch as a creature in a spacesuit floats in space with no helmet, the skull of what once was. You frown, and the metal hook clangs as it thumps against the glass. “The Captain of the ship.” You say somberly, and the Doctor adds, “Circling round and round forever. Caught in the gravity field.”
“Caught in the what?” Donna asks, and you quickly clarify, “Mavity field.”
“But why? Did they throw him out? Her out. Them out.” Donna says with a breathy voice, and the Doctor says, “Her. I wonder. Why is the captain outside? Why is she in a spacesuit with no helmet?” He turns around to face the No-things and catches their expressions, he says, “And why don’t you know?”
The Doctor moves closer to the glass as he looks at the Not-Doctor; he growls as he says, “I know that face. I know my expressions very, very well, and you don’t know. The captain did something you don’t understand, but what?” The No-things begin to say, “Tell us! Tell us! What did she do? What did the Captain do? What did she do?”
You move to stand next to the Doctor as he says, “They don’t know. They really don’t know. The questions aren’t a test. They need the answers. We’re all stuck in a system because of the Captain.” He groans as he jumps up and asks, “What did she do?”
Donna shakes her head and points out, “Well, if they want the answers, don’t tell ‘em!”
“You know what my head’s like, Donna, once I start having ideas.” The Doctor explains, and the Not-Doctor interjects, “Then I have ideas. So the captain…” Not-Donna looks at him and finishes, “Tried to stop us. But how?”
“Wait a minute.” Donna begins, “If they don’t know why the Captain’s outside… The airlock door three years ago wasn’t them coming in. That was her going out. She killed herself.”
“But what for?” The No-things ask in unison from behind the glass.
The Not-Doctor says, “She hid her thoughts.” And the Not-Stargazer explains, “So we couldn’t see.”
You watch as the Doctor’s expression turns to understanding, the final bits of information making sense in his head. His mouth opens in a silent gasp as he exclaims loudly, “Maximised automatic brain function! Oh! Well done, Captain. Because she knew. Even with a lost ship, if you were found one day, if you three ever reached the universe, you’d run riot across the stars!”
Your eyes widen in realization, adding, “And you were already becoming copies of the captain. You’d have owned this spaceship. If you’d copied her perfectly, you could’ve flown the ship home and started your war!”
The Doctor points out, “So, she ended her life to hide whatever it is she left behind. Because when she died, you hadn’t completed her. So you lost everything she knew. Gone.”
The lights flicker as clicking and clattering sound throughout the ship, and Donna asks, “What is that?”
The Doctor runs around animatedly, beginning to explain, “That captain, calm as a Zen master, set in motion to stop those three. And she took her own life so they couldn’t work out what she’d done.”
The Not-Doctor grins, “But you’re working it out right now.”
The Doctor shakes his head as he denies it, “No, I’m not. Mm-mmm.”
The Not-Stargazer smiles as she tilts her head, “Yes, you are, and so is she. Therefore, so am I.”
You bite your lip and try to calm your racing thoughts, standing next to Donna for support. Then you hear the Not-Doctor begin to say, “It’s all about slow. We don’t understand the slow, so the captain set out to slowly stop us. So the ship is slow. The robot is slow. The words are slow. Is that it?”
You see the Doctor holding it in as he bounces out the energy, and he shakes his head, “Nope.”
The Not-Doctor continues, “The words move the walls, so the ship is slowly reconfiguring to become a very slow…” The Doctor finishes the sentence for everyone, “Bomb.”
“What?” Donna asks with a high-pitched tone, and the Not-Doctor explains rapidly, “The captain set the self-destruct slowly so the words are a very slow… countdown.”
The Doctor groans out in frustration as he throws his arms up in the air, “I said so! I said countdown straight away! It’s that simple.” He sighs, “I translated the numbers. I’d never heard them out loud! ‘Fenslaw, coliss, brate,’ means ten, nine, eight.”
The Not-Doctor turns to the Not-Donna and says, “The robot.” The three of them move to the door that leads to the long hallway, and as it opens, the Doctor flicks a switch to lock it.
The Not-Doctor glares at you, “We’re as clever as you now. That robot won’t stop us!” It begins to flick a few buttons and switches by the nearby control panel next to the door. You and the Doctor move about the area, flicking switches to try to override the system they were trying to break.
Donna quickly asks you two, “So, what’s the robot?” And you reply, “The robot is the trigger. A primitive mechanical brain that those two couldn’t read, taking three long years to walk a very long corridor with one slow instruction.”
“Kaboom.” The Doctor finishes as he twists a few knobs before pressing a button, and Donna says, “Countdown. What number are we on?”
“Ratico. That’s five.” The Doctor says as he slams his palm on the button, closing the door once more, “It’s been counting down for years, but the TARDIS brought us here just in time for the final sequence! We can’t let them reach that robot. There’s only one way we can stop them.”
You move about to flick a few more switches and rapidly slam your palm against a few more buttons as the Not-Doctor, Not-Donna, and Not-Stargazer begin to rip out different wires. “What’s that?” Donna asks, and you hear the Doctor say, “I’m sorry, Donna. But the countdown needs to speed up.” The Doctor then slams his palm on the button, and an alarm begins to sound along with the automatic voice, “Vandeen.”
Donna begins to panic as she yelps, “That’s number four!”
“We know!” You and the Doctor say, and Donna shrieks, “But we’re still on board!” To which you both reply in unison once more, “We know!”
But then the No-things manage to get the door open, you hear the Not-Doctor say, “Stop that robot!” To which your Doctor says as he presses a button that lifts the glass divider, “Don’t stop that robot!”
“Could the robot just wait!” Donna says as she runs after both of you.
“Blinss.”
“That’s three!” Donna says as she pushes her legs faster to try and catch up to you. Suddenly, the Not-Stargazer turns around and hisses at the Doctor, throwing herself on him to try to stop him, but he shoves her aside only for her to attack you.
Donna slows down a moment as you wrestle with your double, and you yell to Donna, “Keep going!” The redhead nods and keeps running, following the Doctor. You manage to get the upper hand as you maneuver your weight and lock your knees to her waist, saying, “For some odd reason, this is going to be theraputic.”
You smack her across the face, tumbling off the No-thing, and proceed to run after the Doctor and Donna.
“Sensill.”
“That’s two!” Donna announces from in front of you as you feel your lungs expand and deflate while running after them. But then, you're taken down by the Not-Stargazer from behind, and you shout out in pain as you roll on the floor with her.
As you wrestle yourself to the ground, you hear the TARDIS whizzing as it floats down, playing the song Wild Blue Yonder. The lyrics and the music echo, “Off we go into the wild blue yonder. Climbing high into the sun.”
The Doctor snatches his sonic screwdriver from the keyhole and steps into the TARDIS with Donna climbing inside, pushing it forward with his foot like a scooter towards you and your double. As the Doctor and the TARDIS are in front of you, you hear the automated voice echo, “One.”
The Doctor's voice reverberates, urgent and probing, “What was my nickname at the Academy?”
“Theta Sigma.” The simultaneous reply from both you and the Not-Stargazer hangs in the air. The Doctor scrutinizes both of you, his keen eyes flickering between your faces. His next question pierces the tension, “What happened on Trenzalore?”
“Nine hundred years of battle and that’s where you were buried,” The Not-Stargazer asserts confidently, a sense of triumph coloring her words. However, your gaze remains distant, memories of Trenzalore flooding your mind, and you avert your eyes from the Doctor's penetrating gaze. He swiftly ushers you into the TARDIS, slamming the door shut.
As the flames engulf the three No-things, their screams echo in the air. The TARDIS whooshes away, leaving behind the burning remnants. The three of you huddle on the floor inside the time machine, wrapped in a comforting embrace.
THE TARDIS — SPACE
After the intense ordeal with the No-things, a collective decision is made to refresh and rejuvenate. In the soothing confines of the TARDIS, you find a moment to cleanse yourself from the recent events. The warm water cascades over you in the shower, washing away the remnants of the unsettling encounter. Drying your hair, you change into a fresh set of clothes, embracing the renewal that accompanies the change.
Exiting the room, you traverse the winding corridors of the TARDIS, making your way to the control room. The Doctor, having already cleaned himself up, is engrossed in the myriad buttons and switches that adorn the console. As you approach, he turns, a warm smile gracing his features, “Hello, love.”
With a hum, you encircle your arms around his waist, and he reciprocates by wrapping his arms around you. A tender exchange of glances unfolds as you gaze up at him. Offering a small smile, you inquire, “How did you know it was me?”
“You could never bring yourself to talk about what happened that day. Not once after that, you never mentioned it again,” he replies. Pressing your forehead against his chest, you take a deep breath, absorbing his freshly cleaned scent.
“I know you were the one who saved me and brought me to Earth after the Time War,” you admit. He furrows his brow, “How did you figure that out?”
Sighing, you recount, “The No-thing appeared as you when we got separated and said some really hurtful things... but he also mentioned you were the one who brought me to Earth. You saved me. All those years ago…”
The Doctor exhales before planting a gentle kiss on the top of your head, “You saved me. It was only fair.”
“I love you,” you declare, feeling his smile against your forehead. “I love you too.”
"She'd almost completed you," the Doctor shared, his gaze fixed on Donna as she joined them at the console. "The other Donna was a 99.9% copy. Except I thought, 'What's wrong?' Turned out her wrist had an extra 0.06 millimeters. Obvious, really."
Donna, hands resting on the controls while you expertly pilot the TARDIS, quipped, "The devil's in the details," and the Doctor agreed with a nod, "Yeah, isn't it just?"
After a brief pause, he mused, "Oh, I keep thinking, 'I wish I hadn't done that thing with the salt.'"
Donna shook her head, dismissing it, "What, the bad luck thing? That was just a lie."
"Normally. Except I invoked a superstition at the edge of the universe, where the walls are thin and all things are possible," the Doctor explained with a slightly shaken tone. "I just got this feeling."
“What?” Donna inquired, and the Doctor, after a momentary space-out, shook it off, saying, “Which is gone. Fine. Good. Onwards.”
The Doctor moved to pilot alongside you, adjusting knobs as he continued, “So anyway. I was wondering, she said on the spaceship— That other Donna had your memory. She could remember us as the DoctorDonna. So she could see my life and my mind and my thoughts for the past fifteen years. All the time we’ve been apart, she could remember it. Can you?”
Donna blinked, contemplating, and replied, “No. It’s too much. It’s like looking into a furnace. But I suppose she had a great, big, outer-space brain. She could make sense of it.”
The Doctor nodded thoughtfully, “Yeah. Maybe.”
“Why?” Donna probed, and the Doctor mumbled, “Just wondering.”
“What did she see?” Donna persisted, and the Doctor, puffing out his cheeks, evasively said, “Ooh. Things.”
“Like what?”
The Doctor remained silent, prompting Donna to push further, “Come on. Where have you been since I last saw you? What’s happened?” Attempting to shrug it off, he nonchalantly said, “Oh, you know, the usual. Robots, chases, waterfalls.”
Donna mockingly nodded, “Oh, okay,” before giving him a scrutinizing look and asking, “But what really happened?”
The Doctor's expression turned sad and tired as he admitted, “A lot.”
Donna nodded in understanding, then turned to her friend and asked, “You okay?”
The Doctor, opting for candor, grasps your hand, affirming, “I will be.”
“When?” Donna inquires, tilting her head, and the Doctor responds, “A million years.”
The TARDIS emits a pleasant ding, signifying your arrival as it materializes. The Doctor, wearing a contented smile, notes, “Ah. There we are, back home.”
Donna strides towards the TARDIS doors, commenting, “You timed that to get out of awkward conversations.” She then rushes down the bridge, calling out, “Where are they? Where’s the family?”
As you prepare to step out, the Doctor playfully pulls you back, encircling your waist with his arms, prompting a delighted squeal, “Doctor!”
“Wait, I have a present for you,” he announces, positioning you by the console. With a gentle push, a concealed compartment reveals a new sonic screwdriver—silver and gold with an ergonomically designed handle. Overwhelmed with excitement, you bounce up and down, unable to contain your joy. Seizing the Doctor's face, you plant a passionate kiss on his lips, and in that moment, the Doctor melts into the warmth of the affectionate embrace.
“My own sonic screwdriver. Thank you.” You say to him as he gives you a grin, “Consider it as a wedding present.”
You lightly smack his chest and say, “I expect a proper proposal, Doctor.”
He kisses your cheek, “Of, course dear.”
CAMDEN MARKET, LONDON — MORNING, 2023
Intertwining your hands, you and the Doctor emerge from the TARDIS, greeted by Donna and Wilf. Donna beams triumphantly, exclaiming, “I said so!”
Wilf gasps, hand covering his mouth in shock, while the Doctor grins, “Wilfred Mott. Oh, now I feel better.” Wilfred erupts in delighted laughter as you and the Doctor approach him, enveloping him in a warm hug. The Doctor affirms, “Now, nothing is wrong. Nothing in the whole wide world.”
Stepping back, the Doctor smiles broadly, addressing Wilf, “Hello, my old soldier.”
“I never thought I’d see you two again after all these years. Oh, the Doctor, that lovely face. It’s like springtime,” Wilf chuckles, and the Doctor nods to Donna, remarking, “And Donna’s got her memory back.”
“Without dying, which I recommend,” Donna adds with a smile. However, you hear distant sirens, not giving them much thought. Wilf grins, “Yeah, well, I knew it. I never lost faith. I said, ‘He won’t let us down. He’ll come back and save us.’”
Both you and the Doctor frown, and he questions, “Save us from what?”
Donna asks anxiously, “And where’s the family? Where’s Rose? Are they all right?”
Wilf reassures Donna with animated gestures, “Yeah, they’re fine. They’re safe. I’ve told them to bunker down, and I’ll keep watch. I said, ‘You save yourselves.’”
Your eyebrows knit in concern as you ask, “Why? Is there something wrong?”
Right on cue, the food truck in the background erupts in flames, people shouting and screaming, chaos ensuing. More people join in the madness, hitting each other, and the Doctor queries, “What’s going on?”
The tumult intensifies, with people shouting and cursing, and Donna implores, “What is it? What’s happening?”
Wilf attempts to explain, “It’s everybody. It’s everything. They’re all going mad. Listen, you’ve got to do something, Doctor! The whole world’s coming to an end!”
As an airplane approaches, its engines emitting smoke, people scream and clamour. The plane crashes in the distance, prompting the Doctor to swiftly move Wilf's wheelchair to the front of the TARDIS, shouting, “Quickly!”
Taking cover, the four of you shield yourselves from the ensuing blast, and amidst the chaos, you can't help but wonder if the kiss was somehow connected to this impending disaster.
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