Chapter 1: The Eleventh Hour
Chapter Text
[TARDIS]
The TARDIS tumbles violently through the skies, engines groaning, explosions going off left and right, as it spins out of control. Inside, chaos reigns. The Doctor clings desperately to the threshold, sonic screwdriver clenched between his teeth, trying to haul himself back inside. Below, the Millennium Dome flashes past.
The Alchemist sprints to the edge, reaching out to help him.
Ahead looms the Parliament Clock Tower, and they're approaching fast. The Doctor twists his head, sonics the controls mid-dangle, and barely redirects their course in time.
As the Alchemist hauls him inside, her burned, slightly melted sonic screwdriver slips from her pocket and sails out the open doors. She watches it fall for a second before shaking her head and slamming the doors shut. Both collapse to the floor, panting, as the TARDIS continues its erratic flight.
[Bedroom]
It's nighttime. A pinwheel clatters softly in the wind outside in an overgrown garden. Inside an old house, a little red-haired Scottish girl kneels by her bed, saying her prayers.
"Dear Santa. Thank you for the dolls, and the pencils, and the fish. It's Easter now, so I hope I didn't wake you. But honest—it's an emergency. There's a crack in my wall. Aunt Sharon says it's just an ordinary crack, but I know it's not, 'cause at night there's voices. So please, please could you send someone to fix it? Or a policeman. Or a..."
She pauses, hearing a strange grinding outside. Then—a crash.
"Back in a moment."
She grabs a torch and peeks outside. The TARDIS has landed sideways—smack on top of the garden shed, flattening it completely.
"Thank you, Santa," she says with a bright smile.
[TARDIS]
Inside, the impact throws the Doctor and the Alchemist off their feet. She crashes into a railing; he slides face-first down a corridor, flailing.
A door suddenly flies open behind him—and he slides right through, vanishing with a loud splash.
"Why did I hear a splash?" the Alchemist shouts, trying to get up.
A beat later, the Doctor's voice echoes back, "I landed in the pool! Not sure how to get out though—haha!"
Muttering under her breath, she says, "I thought that was the library this morning..."
She glances down through the grating. "I'm near the rock climbing gear. Hold on, honey!"
"To what? I'll just enjoy the water. Take your time," he drawls.
"And you're still rude!" she snaps, bracing herself and prying up a panel to her left.
She calls out, "Found a grappling hook. I'm sending it down. You go up first!"
"Why me? You're closer to the doors!" he protests.
With a teasing grin, she calls back, "Didn't get the chance to check out your bum yet!"
He rolls his eyes. "Well, if the wife insists."
"The wife most certainly does," she smirks, gripping the railing. "Bluette, open the doors please!"
The doors swing open.
"Thanks, Sexy," she says to the ship with a wink.
She expertly throws the grappling hook upward and then tosses the rope into the corridor.
"Did it reach you?"
"Great aim, dear!" the Doctor calls, wrapping his feet around the rope and beginning his climb.
The Alchemist folds her arms as she waits. He passes her with a grin.
She pouts, tilting her head to get a better view. "Damn, can't see your bum."
He just laughs and keeps climbing. She leaps to the side, grabbing onto the rope behind him with ease, smirking up at him.
"Aha! You have my approval, Sir Doctor."
He pauses, "S-Sir?"
She freezes also, a shiver running up her spine. "You're kidding. We're still into that!?"
He groans. "Apparently, dear."
He begins to clamber out of the doors, soaked through, and pauses. In the garden, a little girl stands staring up at him. Her straight ginger hair gleams under the moonlight—eerily similar to the Alchemist's.
He rests his chin against the TARDIS door.
[Garden]
"Could I have an apple? All I can think about—apples. I love apples. Maybe I'm having a craving? That's new. Never had cravings before. Have you had cravings, Ally?" the Doctor babbles.
The Alchemist's voice calls up, "You know I've had cravings before, Doctor."
He sits on the edge of the doorway, peeking inside as his Bondmate shimmies up the rope. It's a very good view.
Raising his eyebrows, he mutters, "Whoa. Look at that."
"Eyes up front, Doctor," she says, rolling her eyes.
The little girl stares up at them. "Are you okay?"
He shrugs, "Just had a fall. All the way down to the library. Hell of a climb back up."
The Alchemist reaches the top, gripping the edge and pulling herself up to sit beside him. She crosses her right leg over her left, graceful and composed.
She beams at the girl. "Hello, Sunshine."
"Hello, miss. How come you're dry and he's soaking wet?"
"I was in the swimming pool," he answers.
"You said you were in the library," she frowns.
He shrugs, "So was the swimming pool."
The Alchemist glances at him, raising an eyebrow.
"I hope the books dry out alright," she says with a giggle.
He chuckles with her. She turns back to the girl, "Guess I got lucky with my landing."
"Are you policemen?" the little girl asks.
"Why?" the Doctor asks, "Did you call a policeman?"
The Alchemist's expression softens. "Are you alright, Sunshine? Are you hurt? Or in trouble?"
"I'm fine, miss! Did you come about the crack in my wall?"
"What crack—argh!" the Doctor yelps as he tumbles right off the edge of the TARDIS.
The Alchemist sighs and hops down after him, landing beside him.
She burps softly, and golden energy curls from her mouth. "Oh! Do excuse me. Looks like I have the burps this time."
The energy drifts toward the Doctor. He breathes it in with a raised brow.
"That's... strange," he mumbles.
The girl glances between them. "Are you all right, mister?"
The Doctor starts to reply, "No, I'm fine. It's okay. This is all perfectly norm..."
Another breath of golden energy flows from his mouth, shooting into the Alchemist, who rolls her eyes and inhales it dramatically.
She helps him to his feet.
"Who are you two?" the girl asks.
He glances around. "We don't know yet. We're still cooking. Does it scare you?"
"No. It just looks a bit weird."
The Alchemist kneels slightly to her level. "No, Sunshine. The crack in your wall. Does it scare you?"
"Yes."
"Well then—no time to lose. I'm the Doctor, she's the Alchemist. Do everything we say, don't ask stupid questions, and don't wander off," the Doctor says with flourish.
The Alchemist smiles warmly and extends her hand. The girl takes it, and together they follow after the Doctor—who promptly walks straight into a tree.
The Alchemist winces. "I think you should take your own advice, honey. You just wandered into a tree."
The girl stares up at him, still holding the Alchemist's hand. "Are you okay?"
He rubs his forehead. "Early days. Steering's a bit off."
The girl and the Alchemist exchange a look, then continue toward the back door of the house. The Alchemist opens it and ushers the child inside first.
[Kitchen]
The young redhead hands the Doctor the apple he requested. The Alchemist, seated at the kitchen table, glances around with mild curiosity.
"If you're a doctor, why does your box say Police? And what's an alchemist?" the girl asks.
The Doctor bites into the apple—then immediately spits it out.
The Alchemist rolls her eyes, already suspecting this behavior might last a while.
"That's disgusting. What is that?" the Doctor grimaces, trying to scrape the taste off his tongue.
"An apple," the girl replies simply.
Frowning, he declares, "Apple's rubbish. I hate apples."
"You said you loved them," she counters, tilting her head.
"No, no, no. I like yogurt. Yogurt's my favorite. Give me yogurt," he demands.
The Alchemist closes her eyes, exasperated. "Rude. Very rude, Doctor. At the very least, say please."
The Doctor turns to the girl, pouting dramatically. "Please, little miss, may I have some yogurt?"
The Alchemist rolls her eyes at the sarcasm but answers the earlier question instead, "An alchemist is someone who transforms things for the better. It's my name—but it's a bit long, so you can call me Ally."
The girl nods and retrieves a yogurt pot from the fridge, handing it to the Doctor. He snatches it, peels off the lid, and dumps it into his mouth—only to instantly spit it across the kitchen floor.
The Alchemist raises a brow, arms and legs crossed. "You're cleaning that up, Doctor."
He turns to her with a playful glare, then glances back at the girl. "I hate yogurt. It's just stuff with bits in."
"You said it was your favorite," she says, frowning.
"New mouth. New rules. It's like eating after brushing your teeth—everything tastes wrong." He suddenly jerks. "Argh!"
The Doctor twitches violently. The Alchemist just sighs, having expected something like this.
The child's eyes widen. "What is it? What's wrong with you?"
"Wrong with me? It's not my fault! Why can't you give me decent food? You're Scottish—fry something!"
The Alchemist rises, then gives him a light smack to the back of the head.
"Ow!" he yelps, rubbing it. "I'm brand new, and you're already smacking me?"
"The little girl is going nowhere near the stove with me around, Doctor," she states firmly. Then she turns to the child. "You pick and I'll cook, okay, Sunshine?"
The girl nods and pulls a frying pan from a cupboard, handing it to the Alchemist. From the fridge, she grabs a packet of bacon and the Time Lady begins to cook.
The Doctor towels off his hair, perking up at the scent. "Ah, bacon!"
His Bondmate finishes cooking and plates it. He takes a bite... and promptly spits it out.
"Bacon. That's bacon. Are you trying to poison me? Is my own wife trying to poison me?" he huffs.
The two redheads exchange an eye roll.
"Any other ideas, Sunshine? Mine's a last resort," the Alchemist says.
The girl nods and pulls out a saucepan and a can of baked beans.
The Alchemist hums lightly as she heats them. The Doctor perks up again.
"Ah, you see? Beans." He takes a spoonful straight from the pot... and sprints to the sink to spit it out.
"Beans are evil. Bad, bad beans. Bread and butter! Now you're talking."
Despite knowing what's coming, the Alchemist butters some bread and hands it to the girl to pass along. She's enjoying the show far too much.
The Doctor takes one nibble—then storms to the door and hurls the whole plate outside, where it hits a cat.
"And stay out!" the Doctor yells after it.
The Alchemist winces as the girl stares. She lets out a soft burp, golden energy curling from her mouth.
"Excuse me," she murmurs, flushing.
The girl simply nods, watching the energy spiral across the room and flow into the Doctor, who breathes it in slowly.
"Ally, why is this happening?" he asks, blinking.
She shrugs. "Not sure, honestly."
"We've got some carrots," the girl offers.
"Carrots? Are you insane?" the Doctor exclaims.
"My turn now!" the Alchemist grins, digging through the freezer. She finds a pack of fish fingers and tosses it on the counter.
"Do you have any custard?" she asks the girl.
The child grimaces but heads for the cabinet.
"Isn't that what you were craving when...?" the Doctor trails off, looking horrified.
The Alchemist gives him a mischievous grin. "It most certainly is. But you two are practically the same, so if she wanted it—you'll like it too."
While the fish fingers cook, she mixes powdered custard with milk. Humming as she works, she glances up to see the other two eyeing her warily from across the table.
The Doctor stares at the plate once it's placed before him, glancing between the two gingers, then back at the fish fingers.
"What? Do you want me to airplane it into your mouth, Doctor?" the cheeky Time Lady teases with a smirk.
"I dare you to try. Prove me wrong and you get a prize."
The Doctor squints. "What's the prize—and what do you get out of it?"
The little girl glances between them, eyes wide.
"Winner's choice," the Alchemist says with a confident nod.
Without hesitation, the Doctor grabs a fish finger, dunks it in custard, and bites. Frustration gives way to surprise... then to delight.
"Guess I win this round," the Alchemist proclaims with a triumphant clap and lifts her chin.
The Doctor just rolls his eyes, still chewing.
"Would you like some ice cream, Sunshine? I'm thinking chocolate sounds good!" the Alchemist offers.
The little girl beams and nods.
As the two redheads share chocolate ice cream, the Doctor sits happily dipping fish fingers into custard.
"Funny," the girl declares, looking directly at the Doctor.
"Am I? Good. Funny's good. What's your name?" he asks with a smile.
"Amelia Pond," she replies.
"Oh, that's a brilliant name. Amelia Pond. Like a name in a fairy tale," he says, glancing between the Alchemist and Amelia.
The Alchemist lights up with a warm grin. "Amelia Pond—truly a ray of Sunshine from a fairy tale. It means 'an industrious small body of still water.' I like Sunshine better."
The Doctor hums. "Are we in Scotland, Amelia?"
"No. We had to move to England. It's rubbish," she says, frowning.
Amelia turns to the Alchemist now, eyes wide. "Your eyes look like stars."
The Doctor and Alchemist both laugh. They've heard this before.
"Wanna see some magic, Sunshine?" the Alchemist offers with a sparkle in her tone.
"You know magic?" Amelia asks, intrigued.
"A bit," she says—and lets her eyes light up. the gold around her pupil spins and the gold freckles in her irises begin to glow against the blue.
Amelia stares, entranced. "How do you do that?"
The Alchemist winks. "A magician never reveals their secrets." She gently draws the energy back in.
Amelia just nods, smiling.
"So what about your Mum and Dad? Are they upstairs? Thought we'd have woken them by now," the Alchemist asks softly.
"I don't have a Mum and Dad. Just an Aunt," she shrugs.
"I don't even have an Aunt. Neither does Ally," the Doctor replies.
"You're lucky," Amelia says quietly.
"We know," the Doctor nods. "So—your Aunt. Where is she?"
"She's out," Amelia says after a pause.
"And she left you all alone? That's not right," the Alchemist says, her tone dropping as she looks sharply at the Doctor.
'She should be bothered by this, Theta.' Her voice echoes in his mind.
'I know, dear. Something tells me the crack scares her quite a bit,' he thinks back, nodding to himself.
"I'm not scared," Amelia declares, chin lifted proudly.
'Definitely the crack. And that's not even a theory,' the Alchemist responds, tucking a curly red lock behind her ear.
"Course you're not. You're not scared of anything," the Doctor says, turning to face her. "Box falls out of the sky, man and woman fall out of a box, man eats fish custard on a bet, woman shows you magic starry eyes—and look at you, just sitting there."
He leans closer. "So you know what we think?"
"What?" Amelia asks.
"Must be a hell of a scary crack in your wall," the Alchemist and Doctor reply in unison.
[Bedroom – Crack in the Wall]
The crack stretches across the wall, jagged and unnatural—an elongated "W" shape, about three to four feet long.
The Alchemist stands as far from it as the room allows, her posture rigid. It feels wrong. Deeply, viscerally wrong.
'Teacher, what the hell is this thing?' she asks through her soul link to the Time Vortex.
Silence.
She freezes. There's always a response. There's never silence.
A sick twist curls in her gut as realization dawns. She hasn't heard a whisper from the Vortex since the crash and the soulbond feels slightly empty. Her mind spins, racing through theory after theory—discarding each one until only a single possibility remains.
It shouldn't be possible.
She pushes the thought to the back of her mind, hoping—once more—that she's wrong.
The Doctor leans over Amelia's bed, inspecting the crack closely. "You've had some cowboys in here. Not actual cowboys—though that can happen," he mutters absently.
"I used to hate apples," Amelia says brightly, handing him one with a smiley face carved into its skin. "So my mum put faces on them."
The Alchemist smiles softly. She must've done that while she was distracted at the stove.
"She sounds good, your mum. I'll keep it for later," the Doctor replies. He taps the wall gently. "This wall is solid. And the crack doesn't go all the way through. So here's a thing—where's the draft coming from?"
'There's a voice coming through,' the Alchemist tells him silently.
'Do you know who it is?' he replies, glancing back—pausing as he notices how far away she's standing. 'You don't want to go near it, do you?'
'It's the Atraxi, for sure. "Prisoner Zero has escaped." Double-check it. And no—I don't want to go near it. Not even a little. I've flipped the switch on the sensory preceptors in my hands. Until this thing's properly dealt with, I'm not using them.' Her mental tone is tight, frustrated.
He exhales lightly and raises his sonic screwdriver, scanning.
"Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey," the Doctor mutters.
"Still on that, then?" his wife teases, her voice laced with dry amusement.
He rolls his eyes. "You know what the crack is?"
"What?" Amelia asks, eyes flicking between them.
"It's a crack," he says plainly. "But here's something funny—if you knocked this wall down, the crack would stay put. Because the crack isn't in the wall."
Amelia furrows her brow. "Where is it then?"
The Alchemist answers before the Doctor can. Her voice is low, knowing. "Everywhere. In everything." She exhales and kneels beside Amelia. "It's a split in the skin of the world—two parts of space and time that should never have touched... pressed together right here, in your bedroom wall."
She tilts her head. "Sometimes—can you hear?"
Amelia nods. "A voice. Yes."
From somewhere deep inside the crack, a faint growling pulses through the air. The Doctor picks up a glass of water from the bedside, not even noticing as his hand spasms and spills it. Without comment, he presses the empty glass to the crack to listen.
"Prisoner Zero has escaped," comes the garbled voice.
'You still have super ears, dear,' he thinks to the Alchemist.
'I hate being right sometimes,' she replies, rising and moving to Amelia's side. She gently takes the girl's hand again.
"Prisoner Zero?" the Alchemist asks softly.
Amelia looks up at her, confused. How had she heard it from so far back? "Prisoner Zero has escaped. That's what I heard. What does it mean?"
"Prisoner Zero has escaped," repeats the voice—clearer now. The Atraxi.
The Alchemist's tone softens. "It means that on the other side of this wall... there's a prison. And they've lost a prisoner. And you know what that means?"
"What?" Amelia asks again, glancing at the adults.
"You need a better wall," the Doctor replies, stepping up beside them.
He glances at the crack. "Only way to close a breach like this is to open it all the way. The forces will invert, and it'll snap itself shut. Or..."
"What?" Amelia asks again.
The Alchemist winces. She doesn't like the "or."
"Amelia," she says gently, "You know when grown-ups tell you everything's going to be fine, and you think they're probably lying to make you feel better?"
"Yes," Amelia answers, wary.
The Doctor smiles brightly. "Everything's going to be fine."
He takes Amelia's other hand and points the sonic screwdriver at the crack. It flares open, flooding the bedroom in a wash of blinding light.
"Prisoner Zero has escaped. Prisoner Zero has escaped," echoes the voice.
The Doctor leans forward. "Hello? Hello?" he calls.
Through the blinding crack... a giant blue eye peers out at them.
The Alchemist groans under her breath. She really doesn't like the Atraxi. Too much bureaucracy. Too little thinking.
"What's that?" Amelia gasps.
A bolt of light shoots out—striking the Doctor in the chest. He doubles over with a grunt.
The Alchemist doesn't panic. She felt no real damage through their bond—but she still moves to him, watching carefully.
"There. You see? Told you it would close. Good as new," the Doctor says with a grin.
His wife turns him around, checking him from every angle.
"Ally, Ally—I'm fine," he laughs, gently pushing her hands away.
Amelia watches wide-eyed. "What's that thing? Was that Prisoner Zero?"
"No. I think that was Prisoner Zero's guard. Whatever it was, it sent me a message. Psychic paper. Takes a lovely little message," he says, pulling it out.
He reads it aloud: "'Prisoner Zero has escaped.'" Then he frowns. "But why tell us? Unless..."
'I told you it's the Atraxi, Theta,' the Alchemist sends, rolling her eyes.
"Unless what?" Amelia presses.
"Unless Prisoner Zero escaped through here," the Doctor replies, brow furrowed.
"But he couldn't have," the Alchemist objects, arms folded. "We'd know."
[Corridor]
The corridor stretches before them. The stairs climb upward, while a single door waits across the hall. At the far end, two more doors frame a stairwell that descends again.
The Doctor and the Alchemist glance around, both visibly frustrated.
"It's difficult," the Doctor intones, "Brand new us. Nothing works yet. But there's something I'm missing. Something she's missing. In the corner of our eyes."
The Alchemist flinches suddenly, startled by the sharp mental scream from the TARDIS.
'Get back here, Thieves, I'm phasing!'
The Cloister Bell begins to toll, deep and doom-laden.
The Doctor's eyes go wide. He turns to the Alchemist—she's already matching his alarmed expression.
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!" they cry as they bolt, sprinting through the house toward the exit.
[Garden]
"We've got to get back in there! The engines are phasing—she's going to burn!" the Alchemist yells as they burst out into the garden, racing for the TARDIS.
Amelia, confused, tries to keep up. "But it's just a box. How can a box have engines?"
"It's not a box. It's a time machine," the Doctor tells her, not slowing.
"What, a real one? You've got a real time machine?" Amelia gasps.
The Alchemist lets out a growl of frustration. "Not for much longer if we can't get her stabilized!"
The Doctor nods, keeping pace. "Five-minute hop into the future should do it."
"Can I come?" Amelia asks, eyes wide with hope.
The Doctor shakes his head. "Not safe in here. Not yet. Five minutes. Give us five minutes—we'll be right back."
"People always say that..." Amelia mutters, looking down.
"Are we people? Do we look like people?" He flashes her a grin. "Trust me. I'm the Doctor."
Without missing a beat, he leaps through the TARDIS doors, shouting, "Geronimo!"—and lands with a loud splash.
The Alchemist chuckles, reaching down to scoop Amelia into a quick hug. The girl squeezes her back tightly.
"We'll be back as quick as we can, Sunshine!" she promises, grinning. "Looks like I'm about to be soaking wet now!"
"Ally! Hurry up!" the Doctor calls from inside, voice echoing.
The Alchemist hops backward onto the edge of the TARDIS, winks at Amelia, and pinches her nose closed with her fingers.
Then—she jumps.
SPLASH.
The doors swing shut. With a familiar grinding of ancient engines, the TARDIS dematerialises from the garden, leaving a faint wind in its place.
[Amelia's Room & Garden]
Amelia runs back upstairs to her bedroom. From under the bed, she pulls out a small suitcase and starts to pack.
Across the hall is the bathroom. She doesn't notice that one of the doors at the far end—the ones that were closed before—is now slightly open.
Back in the garden, bundled in a duffel coat and woolly hat, Amelia Pond sits patiently on her suitcase beneath the starlit sky.
And waits.
[Amelia's Garden – Day]
The TARDIS finally materializes with a wheeze and a hiss of steam. Sunlight floods the garden. But Amelia is nowhere to be seen.
The Doctor stumbles out, eyes scanning wildly.
"Amelia! Amelia, we worked out what it was... We know what we were missing! You've got to get out of there!" he shouts, running for the back door.
The Alchemist bursts through the doors just after him, slamming them shut behind her.
"Amelia! Sunshine! You're not safe in there!" she calls, sprinting after her husband.
But something pulls at her. She falters, eyes narrowing. A quick pulse through her Time and Space senses tells her what time they've arrived.
Twelve years late.
She huffs, then takes off again. "We are very, very late," she mutters under her breath.
[Hallway]
They burst inside, heading straight for the bedroom.
"Amelia? Amelia, are you alright? Are you there?" the Doctor calls, concern written all over his face.
"Prisoner Zero's here!" the Time Lords declare together.
"Prisoner Zero is here! Prisoner Zero is here! Do you understand me? Prisoner Zero is..."
A floorboard creaks behind them.
They turn in unison and the Doctor drops instantly, knocked out cold by a swift swing of a cricket bat.
The Alchemist sighs, already recognizing the attacker.
A grown-up Amelia Pond stands there, wielding the bat. Same ginger shade as her own. Same fire—just older now, sharpened.
Amy reels back to swing again, this time at the Alchemist but her wrist is caught mid-motion. Effortless.
The Alchemist raises a brow. "That's a hell of a greeting you've got there, Sunshine," she drawls.
Amy's eyes widen. She tries to pull free but can't. The Alchemist subtly shifts a finger and presses a pressure point.
The bat slips from Amy's grip—and smacks the Doctor in the head again as it falls.
Both women glance down.
"Don't mention I inadvertently hit him a second time, please?" the Alchemist begs with a wince, biting her lip.
Amy's too stunned to reply.
The Alchemist releases her grip and steps back. "I see we are very late, Sunshine," she says, exhaling. "What exactly was the plan? After knocking us out?"
Amy stammers, still processing. "Uh—um—I have... handcuffs. And a police uniform."
The Alchemist nods as if this is the most natural thing in the world. "Sounds like a good time. Fancy dress? Do you have a second set of cuffs?"
Amy blinks, trying to reorient her thoughts. "Um—yeah. Fancy dress. Only one set of cuffs though."
The Time Lady shrugs, unconcerned. "You can borrow Charlie, then. Need to keep up the act, after all. I'll help you drag him wherever you need."
"You're just... going along with this?" Amy asks, incredulous. "And who the hell is Charlie?"
As they drag the Doctor down the corridor toward the radiator, the Alchemist responds lightly, "Yep! Considering how late we are, we both deserve the hit, honestly. But he set the coordinates, so I'm blaming him this time. And Charlie is the name of my handcuffs, Sunshine."
Reaching into the deep pocket of her singed lace dress, the Alchemist sighs. "Ugh, this might take a second."
She's soon elbow-deep. Amy stares, utterly bewildered.
Eventually, the Alchemist pulls out a pair of TARDIS-blue fluffy handcuffs and dangles them in front of Amy.
"Sunshine, meet Charlie."
Amy gapes. "You just carry around fluffy handcuffs? They have a name? And how deep is your pocket!?"
The Alchemist laughs. "What, you don't? Of course they have a name. All cuffs deserve names. If yours are nameless, we'll have to fix that. As for the pocket—no idea. I've yet to reach the bottom."
Amy's starting to regain her footing in the weirdness. "Right. Maybe, um—sit down, and I'll cuff you first?"
The Alchemist nods, lowering herself gracefully and crossing her ankles. "Have at it, Sunshine," she says with a wink. "I hope your acting is up to par."
Amy frowns, still rattled but following through. She clips one end of the fluffy cuffs to the radiator and the other to the Alchemist's wrist.
She stomps off to retrieve her own set and returns a moment later.
The Alchemist chuckles softly as she watches the grown-up version of a seven-year-old handcuff her unconscious husband to a radiator.
"Well then," she murmurs, "Best get into your fancy dress. I'll pretend to be nodded off in the meantime."
She lets her curls fall across her face, flopping her head to the side, body going limp in a convincing mock-pass-out.
Amy blinks. The situation is absurd—and the woman is just going along with it.
She turns, stomping off toward her bedroom to change.
"Weird," she mutters under her breath.
[Corridor]
The tweeting of birds wakes the Doctor. He blinks, groggy, and sees a young woman in a micro-skirted police uniform speaking into a radio. He glances to the side, spots the Alchemist slumped nearby, and nudges her awake.
Amelia, unrecognized by the Doctor, speaks crisply into the device. "White male and female, mid-twenties, breaking and entering. Send me some backup. I've got them restrained."
She turns to the Doctor, now awake. "Oi! You, sit still."
The Alchemist tosses her hair over her head dramatically, fluttering her lashes wide, feigning a startled wake-up.
"Cricket bat. I'm getting cricket bat. Are you getting cricket bat?" the Doctor mutters, eyeing the woman and then his wife.
The Alchemist just shrugs and curls her legs up beside her.
"You were breaking and entering," Amy states sharply, glaring at them both.
The Doctor pulls at his wrists, quickly realizing he's handcuffed to the radiator. He doesn't yet notice the specific detail—that the Alchemist is cuffed with Charlie.
"Well, that's much better. Brand new me. Whack on the head, just what I needed. Actually, feels like two hits. Two!" he grumbles.
"Do you want to shut up now? I've got backup on the way," Amy snaps, clearly at the end of her patience.
"Hang on, no, wait." The Doctor frowns as he finally takes in her outfit. "You're a policewoman."
The Alchemist slowly turns her head toward him with a deadpan look. "Tell me, honey, how did you come to this conclusion?"
The Doctor ignores her sarcasm entirely.
"And you're breaking and entering. You see how this works?" Amy says, folding her arms.
He shifts against the cuffs again. "But what are you doing here? Where's Amelia?"
"Amelia Pond?" Amy asks, narrowing her eyes. She knows exactly who they are—but she's still furious.
"Yeah, Amelia. Little Scottish girl. Where is she?" the Doctor says quickly. "We promised her five minutes, but the engines were phasing. I suppose we must've gone a bit far. Has something happened to her?"
"You're the one who put the coordinates in," the Alchemist growls, shifting uncomfortably in her cuffs.
'Teacher? Please give me a sign that you're there. Anything. Just... something.' she calls out into the Vortex. But there's still nothing. Not even a whisper.
"Amelia Pond hasn't lived here in a long time," Amy says, her expression hard.
"How long?" the Doctor asks, voice strained.
"Six months," she lies smoothly.
"No. No. No. No, I can't be six months late. I said five minutes. I promised. We promised. What happened to her? What happened to Amelia Pond?"
Amy speaks into her radio again, her glare sharp. "Sarge, it's me again. Hurry it up. This guy knows something about Amelia Pond."
"I need to speak to whoever lives in this house right now," the Doctor insists.
Amy rolls her eyes. "I live here."
"But you're the police," the Doctor replies, visibly confused.
The Alchemist groans. "Thick. Thick and oblivious, this one."
"Yes, and this is where I live. Have you got a problem with that?" Amy retorts, nearly smirking now. The Alchemist has a point.
"How many rooms?" the Alchemist asks suddenly.
Amy blinks. "I'm sorry, what?"
"On this floor. How many rooms on this floor? Count them for me. Now."
"Why?" Amy frowns.
"Because it will change your life," the Doctor says, glancing toward a door that seems... wrong.
Amy sighs, then counts under her breath, pointing, "Five. One, two, three, four, five."
"Six," the Doctor and Alchemist say together.
Amy's eyes narrow. "Six?"
The Doctor gestures subtly. "Look."
"Look where?" she asks.
"Exactly where you don't want to look. Where you never want to look. The corner of your eye," he tells her.
The Alchemist exhales sharply, her voice low and urgent. "Look behind you, Sunshine." Her stomach twists. This entire situation was not part of any plan—and this is exactly why she doesn't make plans. The Vortex is still silent. Only the faint hum of the TARDIS pulses in her awareness. Denial is a comfortable state. She chooses it.
Amy turns her head slightly, and then gasps. "That's—that is not possible. How's that possible?"
"There's a perception filter all around the door. Sensed it the last time we were here. Should've seen it," the Doctor mutters, then glances at the Alchemist with concern. "Ally, you really should've seen it."
'I'm currently in denial over here, so excuse me for not noticing a perception filter,' she replies with a scowl.
Now he's more alarmed. 'Denial over what? What's happening, dear?'
She huffs through their bond. 'Later pile.' Her tone cuts off the inquiry.
Amy stares at the door. "But that's a whole room. That's a whole room I've never even noticed."
"The filter stops you noticing. It just blends in until you finally notice it," the Alchemist explains.
The Doctor nods. "Something came a while ago to hide. It's still hiding—and you need to uncuff us. Now."
"I don't have the key. I lost it," Amy says, already stepping toward the hidden room.
The Doctor panics, yanking at his cuffs. "How can you have lost it?! Stay away from that door! Do not touch that door! Listen to me! Do I just have a face that nobody listens to? ...Again."
While he rants, the Alchemist slips her fingers into the hidden lining of Charlie, fishing for the emergency key. Her fingers close around it.
Amy's hand is on the doorknob.
"Do not go in there!" the Alchemist shouts. "At least wait for me!"
The cuffs click. She's free in a heartbeat, bolting upright.
Amy pauses, glancing back—trusting the woman who let herself be cuffed.
The Alchemist bounds forward and catches Amy's shoulder. They lock eyes. She nods once, and together, they step into the room.
From the floor, the Doctor sighs. "Yep. Again." He shifts uselessly in the cuffs. "My screwdriver—where is it? Ally, do you have yours?"
"It fell out of the TARDIS when we were crashing," she calls back. "Wouldn't work anyway. It shorted when the damn thing caught fire."
The two gingers glance to their left. The window is boarded up, the room is dusty, cluttered with old boxes. Amy swallows hard.
The Alchemist senses the tension and gently tightens her grip on Amy's shoulder.
"How'd that—never mind," the Doctor mutters, relieved she's safe. "Policewoman—it's a silver thing, blue at the end. Where did it go?"
"There's nothing here," Amy calls back.
"Yes there is," whispers the Alchemist. She knows. She feels it. And she refuses to look.
"Whatever's there stopped you seeing the room," the Doctor shouts. "What makes you think you could see it?"
The Alchemist sighs quietly. She knows what it is. She doesn't have to look. She just needs to get them out. Fast.
"Now please—just get out. Both of you," the Doctor demands.
"Working on it, honey," the Alchemist replies, slowly pulling Amy backward.
Amy spots the sonic screwdriver—on a table, sticky with something. "Silver, blue at the end?"
The Alchemist sees it too and lets out a breath. She knows it was planted there. Prisoner Zero.
The Doctor, struggling still, calls out, "My screwdriver, yeah!"
"Must have rolled under the door," he hopes aloud.
"Yeah. Must have. And then it must have jumped up on the table," Amy deadpans.
The Doctor freezes. Horror floods his face. "Get out of there." He pulls harder. "Get out of there! Get out!"
"Slowly," the Alchemist urges as she reaches for the screwdriver. It resists—stuck in the goo.
Behind Amy, a multiform creature slithers down the wall—long, snake-like, fanged. Quiet. Watching.
The Alchemist hears it—but does not move.
"Sunshine," she whispers, her tone steel, "we need to get out of here. Now."
The Doctor, now frantic, calls, "What is it? What are you doing!?"
"There's nothing here, but..." Amy says.
"Sunshine, stop," the Alchemist warns.
[Corridor]
Still cuffed to the radiator, the Doctor stares toward the hidden room and mutters, "Corner of your eye," without pause or thought.
[Room]
The Alchemist groans under her breath. He really is thick.
"Sunshine, do not look. Don't even try."
"What is it?" Amy asks, freezing mid-step.
The Doctor, realizing too late what he's triggered, yells out to her, "Don't try to see it! If it knows you've seen it, it will kill you. Don't look at it! Do not look!"
But Amy, pulled by the same irresistible curiosity that drew her to the hidden door, ignores them. She turns and stares directly into the creature's face.
Her eyes widen in terror.
She screams.
[Corridor]
The Doctor is instantly in full panic mode. "Get out!" he shouts.
The Alchemist growls low in her throat at Amy's choice, but the moment the girl screams, she acts. Eyes squeezed shut, she yanks Amy into a full sprint, dragging her down the corridor before dropping into a controlled slide and kneeling in front of the Doctor.
The Doctor sees her, sees the panic in her movements, and immediately barks, "Give me that!" He grabs the sonic screwdriver from her hands and fumbles with the lock.
It doesn't budge.
He groans, frustrated. "Come on. What's the bad alien done to you?"
"Oh, just hand it over, will you?" the Alchemist snaps, equally on edge. She rips it back from him and begins scrubbing the gunk off with the hem of her dress.
Amy stares back at the door, fear thick in her voice. "Will that door hold it?"
"Oh yeah, yeah, of course," the Doctor says, barely sounding convincing.
"It's an interdimensional multiform from outer space," the Alchemist adds, still cleaning the sonic.
"They're all terrified of wood," the Doctor offers with a deadpan glance toward the door.
"Most terrifying thing in the universe—a wooden door," the Alchemist mutters.
A bright light begins to shine from inside the room, glowing through every crack and seam in the frame.
"What's that? What's it doing?" Amy asks, backing up a step.
"I don't know. Getting dressed?" the Doctor says quickly. "Run. Just go. Your backup's coming. We'll be fine."
"There is no backup," Amy confesses.
"She's right—no backup," the Alchemist growls. She's beyond frustrated now. Between the multiform, her post-regeneration fog, the Vortex still eerily silent in her mind, and now this.
The Doctor looks between her and Amy. "Heard you on the radio. You called for backup."
"I was pretending. It's a pretend radio," Amy says flatly.
"You're a policewoman," the Doctor blurts.
"No, she's not. It's fancy dress. Sorry, honey," the Alchemist admits, biting her lip as she keeps working on the screwdriver, avoiding his gaze.
Amy finally snaps.
"I'm a kissogram!" she yells, ripping off her hat. Her long red hair spills down her shoulders.
Before the Doctor can respond, the door crashes to the floor.
A man in overalls stands in the doorway, a toolbelt on his waist, a black dog at his side.
Amy squints. "But it's just..."
The Doctor shakes his head urgently. "No, it isn't. Look at the faces."
The man barks.
Amy stares, stunned. "What? I'm sorry, but what?"
"It's all one creature," the Alchemist tells her calmly. "One creature disguised as two."
"Clever old multiform. Bit of a rush job, though—got the voice a bit muddled, didn't you?" the Doctor says, now focused. "Mind you, where'd you get the pattern from? You'd need a psychic link. A live feed. How did you fix that?"
The man opens his mouth. Needle-like teeth gleam in the hallway light.
"Oh, lovely smile you've got there," the Alchemist quips dryly, though her mind is already calculating.
The Doctor raises his voice, "Stay, boy! The gingers and me—we're safe. Want to know why? She sent for backup."
"I didn't send for backup!" Amy shouts, shaking her head.
"I know," the Doctor replies easily. "That was a clever lie to save our lives."
Thinking on his feet, he changes course. "Okay, yeah—no backup. And that's why we're safe. Alone, we're not a threat to you. If we had backup, you'd have to kill us."
A booming voice blares from outside.
"Attention, Prisoner Zero. The human residence is surrounded. Attention, Prisoner Zero. The human residence is surrounded."
Amy turns to the window, wide-eyed. "What's that?"
The Doctor sighs. "Well, that would be backup. Okay, one more time—we do have backup, and that's definitely why we're safe."
"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence, or the human residence will be incinerated."
"Well... safe apart from, you know, incineration," the Alchemist mutters darkly. She glares at the screwdriver in her hand, realizing it's still useless. She tosses it to the Doctor with a huff.
"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence, or the human residence will be incinerated."
The Doctor fumbles with the sonic, trying to activate it. "Come on, work. Work, work, come on!"
"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence, or the human residence will be incinerated."
The Alchemist finally has enough. She reaches down and pries the cuff open with brute strength, muttering, "I'm an idiot. Could've done that ten minutes ago."
Both Time Lords leap to their feet.
"Run! Run!" they shout to Amy in unison.
"Fast!" the Alchemist adds.
"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence, or the human residence will be incinerated."
[Garden]
The three burst through the backdoor into the garden. The Doctor turns to Amy, eyes narrowing.
"Kissogram?"
"Yes, a kissogram. Work through it," Amy replies with a shrug.
"Why'd you pretend to be a policewoman?" he asks, then swivels to the Alchemist. "Why'd you go along with it? Did you even get knocked out?"
Amy throws up her hands. "You broke into my house. It was this or a French maid. What's going on? Tell me. Tell me!"
The Alchemist just shrugs and shakes her head 'no,' unapologetic.
The Doctor runs a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated with both women. "An alien convict is hiding in your spare room disguised as a man and a dog, and some other aliens are about to incinerate your house. Any questions?"
"Yes," Amy replies bluntly, nodding.
"Me too," the Doctor mutters, shooting a look at his wife as they reach the TARDIS. The doors remain firmly shut. "No, no, no, no! Don't do that—not now!"
The Alchemist tilts her head, narrowing her eyes. The TARDIS hums softly in her mind, whispering.
"She's still rebuilding. Can't let us in until she's finished," the Alchemist sighs.
"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated."
"Come on," Amy urges, trying to pull them away from the locked blue box.
The Doctor stumbles after her—then halts, yanking her arm back. "No, wait, hang on. Wait, wait, wait. The shed. We destroyed that shed last time we were here. Smashed it to pieces."
The Alchemist nods. "Yeah, we're twelve years late. This is worse than the time with Sarah Jane."
But the Doctor doesn't even hear her. He's focused.
"So there's a new one. Let's go," Amy says, tugging again.
He waves her off, eyes locked on the shed. "Yeah, but the new one's got old. It's ten years old at least."
He runs his finger along the wood, then licks it.
Amy grimaces. "Ew."
The Alchemist just rolls her eyes.
"Twelve years. We're not six months late—we're twelve years late," the Doctor concludes.
The Alchemist crosses her arms. "Do I have a face you don't listen to, Doctor?"
"He's coming," Amy says quickly, trying to change the subject.
The Doctor looks between both gingers, narrowing his gaze on Amy. "You said six months. Why did you say six months?"
"We've got to go," Amy deflects again.
"This matters. This is important. Why did you say six months?"
"Why did you say five minutes!" Amy snaps, finally letting it out.
The Doctor's face twists in surprise. "What?"
"Come on!" Amy takes off, the Alchemist dragging the still-stumbling Doctor behind her.
"What?" he repeats again, baffled.
"Come on!" Amy calls back.
"What?" he says a third time.
"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated."
The Alchemist chuckles under her breath. "The three 'what's' again? Really, Doctor?"
[Village Lane]
The Doctor finally stops in the middle of the street, realization settling in. "You're Amelia."
"And you're late," Amy answers without missing a beat.
"Amelia Pond. You're the little girl," he says, stunned.
"I did keep calling her Sunshine, honey," the Alchemist points out. "That was your first clue. Not my fault you don't have time-senses like me."
Amy rolls her eyes at them both. "I'm Amelia, and you're late."
"What happened?" the Doctor asks as they walk faster down the lane.
"Twelve years," both Amy and the Alchemist say in unison, sharing a pointed look.
"You hit me with a cricket bat," the Doctor says to Amy, then turns to his wife with a pout. "And you let her! Then went along with her little act."
"Twelve years," the women repeat together, side by side.
They glance at each other again.
"A cricket bat," he insists, still clearly wounded by the betrayal.
"Twelve years and four psychiatrists," Amy says.
The Alchemist raises a brow, scanning her up and down. "Four?"
"I kept biting them," Amy replies with a shrug as they start to speed up.
The Doctor frowns. "Why?"
"They said you two weren't real."
The Alchemist nods approvingly. "Honestly, can't blame you. I'd bite someone if they said I wasn't real too."
They turn a corner and spot an ice cream van idling nearby.
"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated," plays on a loop from its speakers.
Amy groans. "No, no, no, come on. What? We're being staked out by an ice-cream van?"
"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated. Repeat."
The Doctor approaches the van, frowning. "What's that? Why are you playing that?"
"It's supposed to be Clair de Lune," the ice cream man replies, clearly confused.
The Time Lords exchange a look—they can both hear it. Not just outside—the message is also playing through the radio speakers inside the van.
"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated. Repeat. Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated."
They all turn as the voice echoes from a jogger's iPod and a woman's phone down the street.
Amy looks between them, her voice tight. "Doctor? Ally? What's happening?"
"Repeat. Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated."
[Mrs. Angelo's Home]
The Doctor and the Alchemist leap over a fenced-in backyard. Amy rolls her eyes and simply walks through the gate behind them.
Inside, the television blares the same message on every channel. A giant eyeball fills the screen, repeating the warning. An elderly woman sits in front of it, jabbing her remote at the TV in frustration.
"Repeat: Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence, or the human residence will be incinerated."
"Hello! Sorry to burst in—we're doing a special on television faults in this area," the Doctor announces cheerily as he strides in, then throws a glance toward Amy. "Also crimes. Let's have a look."
The Time Lords move swiftly to the TV and nearby radio, inspecting both while the Doctor flicks his sonic screwdriver.
"I was just about to phone. It's on every channel," Mrs. Angelo explains before noticing Amy. "Oh, hello, Amy dear. Are you a policewoman now?"
"Well, sometimes," Amy says, clearly embarrassed.
"I thought you were a nurse," the old woman muses.
"I can be a nurse," Amy mumbles, more embarrassed now.
"Or... actually, a nun?" Mrs. Angelo asks, now fully confused.
"I dabble," Amy replies, folding her arms defensively.
Mrs. Angelo turns her gaze to the Time Lords. "Amy, who are your friends?"
They both spin around at once.
"Who's Amy? You were Amelia. My Sunshine," the Alchemist says, narrowing her eyes affectionately.
"Yeah? Now I'm Amy," the human shrugs.
The Doctor shakes his head with a sigh. "Amelia Pond. That was a great name."
"Bit fairytale," Amy mutters, looking away.
Mrs. Angelo peers more closely now, recognition sparking in her eyes. "I know you, don't I? I've seen you two somewhere before."
"Not me," the Doctor replies quickly, then tips his head toward his wife.
"Not us, actually," the Alchemist adds with a warm smile. "Brand new faces."
"First time on," they say as one.
The Doctor frowns and turns to Amy again. "And what sort of job's a kissogram?"
Amy lifts her chin in defiance. "I go to parties and I kiss people. With outfits. It's a laugh."
"You were a little girl five minutes ago," the Doctor says, incredulous.
"In our perspective, at least, Doctor," the Alchemist says gently, raising a brow. "For her, it's been twelve years."
She turns to Amy and softens, "It's your life, Sunshine. You choose the job you want and be proud of those choices."
"You're worse than my aunt," Amy says to the Doctor, before grinning at the Alchemist. "Thank you, Ally."
The Doctor turns to Mrs. Angelo now, half-defending himself. "I'm the Doctor. I'm worse than everybody's aunt." He pauses, grimacing. "And that is not how I'm introducing myself."
The Alchemist fails—badly—to stifle a laugh. She turns to Mrs. Angelo with a wink. "I'm the Alchemist, dear. People I like call me Ally. So, please—call me Ally."
From the radio, the Atraxi voice drones on: "Repetez. Le Prisonnier... Zero wird der menschliche..."
The Doctor frowns. "Okay, so it's everywhere. In every language. They're broadcasting to the whole world."
He and the Alchemist glance up toward the sky through the window.
Amy joins them, concerned. "What's up there? What are you looking for?"
"Okay. Planet this size, two poles, your basic molten core?" the Alchemist begins.
"They're going to need a forty percent fission blast," she adds, calculating quickly.
A young man enters the room just as the Doctor continues. "But they'll have to power up first, won't they? So, assuming a medium-sized starship... that's twenty minutes. What do you think—twenty minutes?"
The Alchemist nods. "Yes, honey. Twenty minutes. We've got twenty minutes until showtime."
"Twenty minutes to what? Showtime?" Amy echoes, frowning.
Jeff glances between them, slowly realizing who he's standing with.
"Are you the Doctor and the Alchemist?" he asks.
Mrs. Angelo gasps. "He is, isn't he? He's the Doctor! She's the Alchemist! The Raggedy Doctor and the Starry Ally. All those cartoons you drew when you were little—The Raggedy Doctor, the Starry Ally. It's them!"
Amy groans through clenched teeth. "Shut up."
"Cartoons?" the Doctor and Alchemist say in unison, delighted.
"Gran, it's them, isn't it? It's really them!" Jeff exclaims.
"Jeff, shut up," Amy snaps, glaring at him before turning back to the Time Lords. "Twenty minutes to what?"
The TV blares again: "The human residence will be incinerated. Repeat."
"The human residence," the Alchemist murmurs, lips tightening. "They're not talking about your house. They're talking about the planet."
The Doctor nods grimly. "Somewhere up there, there's a spaceship, and it's going to incinerate the planet."
"...will be incinerated. Repeat: Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence, or the human residence will be incinerated..."
"Twenty minutes to the end of the world," the Doctor says, matter-of-fact.
"...Repeat: Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence, or the human residence will be incinerated..."
[Leadworth]
The Doctor, the Alchemist, and Amy briskly walk down the center of the quiet road.
"What is this place? Where are we?" the Doctor asks, eyes scanning the surroundings with curiosity.
"Feels like Leadworth. Is it Leadworth, Sunshine?" the Alchemist responds, turning to Amy with an arched brow.
"Yeah, it's Leadworth," Amy answers, frowning. "Are you ever going to stop calling me Sunshine?"
The Alchemist shakes her head without hesitation. "Nope. You're stuck with it now. Sunshine forever. I may call you by your actual name once in a while, but it really depends on my mood."
The Doctor doesn't engage, his focus still on the landscape. "Where's the rest of it?"
"This is it," Amy says with a small shrug. She supposes there are worse nicknames than Sunshine.
"Is there an airport?" he asks hopefully.
"No," Amy replies.
The Alchemist begins walking backward, hips swaying. "A nuclear power station?" she asks, grinning—before pouting as Amy says simply, "No."
"Even a little one?" the Doctor tries.
Another denial. "No."
"Nearest city?" he asks, switching tactics.
"Gloucester, I believe," the Alchemist answers.
Amy nods, "Yeah, Gloucester. Half an hour by car."
The Doctor sighs, irritated. "We don't have half an hour. Do we have a car?"
"No," Amy answers again.
The Doctor throws his hands up. "Well, that's good. Fantastic, that is. Twenty minutes to save the world and we've got a post office." He gestures toward it. "And it's shut!"
His gaze shifts across the street. "What is that?"
"It's a duck pond," Amy replies flatly.
"Why aren't there any ducks?" he asks, puzzled.
"There should be ducks," the Alchemist agrees, squinting at the water.
Amy shrugs, confused. "I don't know. There's never any ducks."
"Then how do you know it's a duck pond?" they both ask in unison.
Amy throws her hands up. "It just is. Is it important, the duck pond?"
The Doctor suddenly winces, clutching his chest as a tremor from his recent Regeneration hits. The Alchemist is instantly by his side, gently running her fingers through his hair to calm him.
He exhales sharply, in both pain and relief. "I don't know. Why would I know? I don't even think she knows, and she knows everything. This is too soon. I'm not ready. I'm not done yet." He turns to his wife. "Are you done cooking yet?"
"I hope not," she murmurs. "Something's very off right now. I've got a working theory, but I'm hoping I'm wrong."
"Your theories are rarely wrong," he says quietly, concern flickering in his eyes. "Is everything working right? Mind, body, bonds... everything?"
"Our bonds are fine. My body's fine. Mind is clearing. Telepathic and sensory fields are good..." she trails off, watching him closely.
He frowns. "What is it, then?"
The Alchemist glances up at the sky, her expression unreadable. "I think we need to save the world before I can even consider the possibility."
"Still on the later pile then," the Doctor mutters, looking up with her—just as a black disc eclipses the sun and the sky begins to darken.
"What's happening? Why's it going dark?" Amy asks, alarmed. "So what's wrong with the sun?"
"Not a thing," the Alchemist answers. "You're looking at it through a forcefield. They've sealed off your upper atmosphere."
"Now they're getting ready to boil the planet," the Doctor adds grimly.
He scans the village as people begin to slow, looking up at the sky, pulling out their phones. He sighs. "Oh, and here they come. The human race. The end comes, as it was always going to—down a video phone."
The Alchemist tilts her head, spotting a man in a nurse's uniform filming people, not the sky. She shares the image with the Doctor through their bond.
"This isn't real, is it? This is some kind of big wind-up," Amy says, bewildered.
The Doctor and the Alchemist glance at her.
"Why would we wind you up?" the Doctor asks.
"You told me you had a time machine," Amy reminds him, still in disbelief.
"And you believed us," the Doctor says simply.
Amy glares. "Then I grew up."
The Alchemist giggles softly and lets the Doctor handle that one.
"Oh, you never want to do that," he says warmly. Then stops. "No. Hang on. Shut up. Wait. I missed it. I saw it and I missed it. What did I see? I saw... what did I see? No! I didn't see it—Ally saw it. You saw. You saw. You saw!"
People all around the village green are photographing the sky—except one man in a nurse's uniform. He is photographing people.
"I saw him," the Alchemist confirms, gesturing to the man.
The Doctor looks at his watch—but she beats him to it.
"The time is 11:30," she says.
"Twenty minutes," he replies, locking eyes with her.
They nod in unison, fire igniting between them.
"We can do it. Twenty minutes—the planet burns."
He turns to Amy. "Run to your loved ones and say goodbye... or stay and help us."
"No," Amy says firmly.
"I'm sorry?" the Doctor asks.
"No!" she shouts, grabbing him and dragging him toward a car that just pulled up.
"Amy, no, no! What are you doing?" he cries out.
Amy traps his tie in the door with a slam, snatches the keys from the startled driver, and locks it.
"Amelia Pond! For once, we don't have the time for this!" the Alchemist calls after her, exasperated.
"Are you out of your mind!?" the Doctor asks, struggling with the stuck tie.
"Who are you? Both of you?" Amy demands.
The Alchemist ruffles her hair, annoyed. "You know who we are, Amelia."
Amy shakes her head. "No, really. Who are you?"
The Doctor points to the sky. "Look at it. End of the world. Twenty minutes."
Amy crosses her arms, glaring. "Well, better talk quickly, then."
The car's owner—Mr. Henderson—stands awkwardly by. "Amy, I am going to need my car back."
Amy waves him off. "Yes, in a bit. Now go and have coffee."
"Right... yes," he replies, thoroughly confused but obeying.
The Alchemist glances at the Doctor's coat pocket, 'Theta. Apple.'
He nods.
"Catch," he says, tossing Amy the same apple she'd given him—face still carved, still fresh.
"I'm the Doctor. She's the Alchemist. We're time travelers. Everything we told you twelve years ago is true. I'm real. She's real." He pulls his wife in by the waist. "What's happening in the sky is real, and if you don't let me go right now, everything you've ever known is over."
"Sunshine, the Doctor and I need to work together to stop this," the Alchemist says gently but firmly.
Amy shakes her head. "I don't believe you. Either of you."
"Just twenty minutes," the Doctor urges. "Just believe us for twenty minutes. Look at it. Fresh as the day you gave it to me. And you know it's the same one. Amy, believe—for twenty minutes."
Amy hesitates... then unlocks the door.
The Alchemist opens it just enough to pull the tie free.
Amy turns to them, eyes clear now. "What do we do?" she asks, looking between the couple.
[Village Green]
"Stop that nurse," the Doctor tells Amy before grabbing the Alchemist's hand and darting across the street onto the village green. The Alchemist, quicker than him, surges ahead and snatches the nurse's phone, immediately scrolling through it.
"The sun's going out, and you're photographing a man and a dog," the Doctor says pointedly. "Why?"
The nurse, startled, stares at them—then locks onto Amy as she catches up. "Amy."
Amy grimaces. "Hi! Oh, this is Rory. He's a friend."
"Boyfriend," Rory replies with a frown.
Amy shrugs, "Kind of boyfriend."
Rory glances between the three of them, clearly uncomfortable. "Amy..."
"There's no such thing as a 'kind of boyfriend,' Sunshine," the Alchemist says, still scrolling through the phone. She lets the Doctor see the images through their bond. "If he's kind of your boyfriend, then he definitely is your boyfriend." Rory smiles faintly at that, though no one notices.
The Doctor grows more urgent. "Man and dog. Why?"
"Oh my God, it's him! And it's her. It's them!" Rory exclaims, finally recognizing them.
"Just answer his question, please," Amy begs.
Rory continues, eyes wide, "It's him though—the Doctor. The Raggedy Doctor. And her, the Alchemist. The Starry Ally."
"Yeah, they came back," Amy says with a shrug.
"But they were a story. They were a game."
The Doctor grabs Rory by the scrubs and yanks him forward. "Man and dog. Why? Tell us now."
Rory focuses. "Sorry. Because he can't be there. Because he's..."
"In a hospital. In a coma," Rory, the Doctor, and the Alchemist say at the same time.
Rory nods quickly. "Yeah."
"Knew it. We knew it," the Doctor says, pacing now. "Multiform, you see? Disguises itself as anything—but it needs a live feed."
"A psychic link with a living but dormant mind," the Alchemist adds with a small shrug. She tosses the phone back to Rory.
They look at the man and dog across the green. The man barks.
The Alchemist narrows her eyes. "Prisoner Zero," she says, nodding toward the creature.
"What? There's a Prisoner Zero too?" Rory asks, clearly overwhelmed.
Amy winces. "Yes."
Suddenly, one of the Atraxi eyeball ships descends over their location. All three look up.
"See, that ship up there is scanning this area for non-terrestrial technology," the Doctor says with rising energy. "And nothing says non-terrestrial like a sonic screwdriver."
He lifts the damaged device and fires it. Streetlights explode. Car alarms wail. A mobility scooter launches itself down the road. A fire engine zooms by, sirens screaming.
"Oi! Come back here! Come back!" a fireman shouts after it.
"Uh, honey, I don't think the sonic can take much more than that..." the Alchemist warns, hearing a high-pitched whine from the device that should not be there.
The Doctor just grins. "I think someone's going to notice, don't you?" He points it at a red telephone box—it explodes. A second later, the screwdriver itself sparks and blows apart.
The Alchemist winces and sighs. "I did try to warn you."
"No, no! No, don't do that!" the Doctor yells at the charred remains.
Rory watches the ship. "Look, it's going."
"No, come back! He's here! Come back! He's here—Prisoner Zero is here. Come back, he's here. Prisoner Zero is..." He trails off, all eyes now watching as the multiform liquifies and slips through a drain cover.
"Typical," the Alchemist growls, ruffling her hair in frustration with both hands.
Amy stares at the spot where the creature vanished. "Doctor! The drain—it just sort of melted and went down the drain."
"Well, of course it did," the Doctor mutters.
"What do we do now?" Amy asks, looking from one Time Lord to the other.
"It's hiding in human form now," the Alchemist says, biting her lip.
"We need to drive it into the open. No TARDIS, no screwdriver..." The Doctor checks his watch and turns to his wife. "Seventeen minutes. Come on. Think. Think!"
The Alchemist instinctively runs her fingers through his hair, and he starts to calm. Working under pressure is second nature for them—but not when they're still Regenerating. Not when things aren't quite working right.
She tries again, one last time, 'Vortex? Teacher? This is the Chosen calling. Please answer me.'
Silence.
No connection. Nothing. She sighs, slides her hand from his hair, and gently wraps it around his waist.
Amy watches them—how naturally they move together, touch each other without thought. The bond between them is obvious.
"So that thing... that hid in my house for twelve years?" Amy asks.
"Multiforms can live for millennia. Twelve years is nothing to it," the Alchemist replies. "It most likely has a life sentence with the Atraxi."
Amy frowns. "So how come you show up again the same day they do? The same minute?"
"They're looking for him, but they followed me. They saw me through the crack, got a fix. They're only late because I am," the Doctor admits.
The Alchemist clarifies, "It was the sonic screwdriver mainly, but it reached out to his psychic paper. It would've gotten a fix on me too if I'd brought mine along."
"What're they on about?" Rory asks, baffled.
'Do you think the human space and science specialists are meeting soon?' the Alchemist thinks to her husband. 'Maybe one of us could write up a virus?'
The Doctor nods, catching on. 'Set the timer, yeah. That could work. Should work. We'll need some tech.'
"Nurse boy, give me your phone," the Doctor demands, turning back to Rory.
Rory stammers. "How can they be real? They were never real."
"Phone. Now. Give me," the Doctor repeats, more impatient.
Rory sighs but hands it over. "They were just a game. We were kids. You made me dress up as him so you could be her."
The Alchemist grins, eyes twinkling, and lifts a brow at Amy. "Me, Sunshine? Fancy Dress Ally and Doctor time?" she giggles.
Amy clears her throat, face going pink as she looks away.
The Doctor flips through the images on Rory's iPhone. "These photos—they're all coma patients?"
"Yeah," Rory confirms.
The Alchemist frowns. "Nope. They're all the multiform. Eight comas, eight disguises for Prisoner Zero."
"He had a dog, though. There's a dog in a coma?" Amy asks, unnerved.
The Doctor shrugs. "Well, the coma patient dreams he's walking a dog—Prisoner Zero gets a dog."
He looks at Amy. "Laptop. Your friend—what was his name? Not him," he says, pointing at Rory. "The good-looking one."
"Thanks," Rory says with a scowl.
"Jeff," Amy answers instantly.
"Oh," Rory huffs. "Thanks."
"Mmm, I disagree," the Alchemist says, scrunching her nose thoughtfully. "Rory's much more attractive than Jeff. He's conventional. You've got that Roman look about you."
"Ah—thank you," Rory says, instantly brightening at the compliment.
The Alchemist shrugs. "Just stating facts, Moonlight."
"Moonlight?" Rory asks, incredulous.
"Yep, that's you," the Alchemist replies with a nod, fully confident.
Amy doesn't even catch the nickname exchange. Her attention is fixed on the Doctor's pacing—until he suddenly stops and spins on his heel to face them.
"He had a laptop in his bag. A laptop. Big bag, big laptop. We need Jeff's laptop. You two," he points at Amy and Rory, sharp and commanding.
"Get to the hospital. Get everyone out of that ward. Clear the whole floor. Phone us when you're done," the Doctor instructs.
Amy nods without hesitation. "Your car. Come on."
As she drags Rory off, he stumbles along, still bewildered. "But how can they be here? How can the Doctor and the Alchemist be here?"
[Jeff's Bedroom]
Jeff lounges on his bed, casually browsing his laptop. The moment the Alchemist and the Doctor burst into the room, he's caught off guard.
"Hello. Laptop. Give me," the Doctor demands, reaching out with grabby hands.
"No, no, no, no—wait," Jeff says, panicking as he clutches the device tighter.
The Alchemist rolls her eyes. "It's fine. Just let us have it. Come on, hand it over."
"Hang on!" Jeff insists, now clearly alarmed.
But she's already pulling it from his grip and dropping onto the bed beside the Doctor. They both look at the screen—and the Alchemist immediately bursts into laughter.
"Blimey. Get a girlfriend, Jeff," the Doctor groans.
Jeff turns beet red just as Mrs. Angelo walks into the room. "Gran..." he mutters, mortified.
"What are you doing?" she asks, eyeing the three of them on the bed.
"The sun's gone wibbly," the Doctor says as he begins tapping away at the laptop. "So right now, somewhere out there, there's going to be a big old video conference call."
He scrolls through data quickly. "All the experts in the world panicking at once. And do you know what they need? Us. Ah, and here they all are—NASA, Jodrell Bank, Tokyo Space Centre, Patrick Moore."
Mrs. Angelo perks up. "I like Patrick Moore."
"I'll get you his number. But watch him, he's a devil," the Doctor says, pointing at the screen. "Has an annoying tendency to hit on the wife."
The Alchemist doesn't even look up from the phone as she codes. "Yes, that's me. I'm the wife," she says cheerfully, waving with her free hand.
The Doctor leans over and kisses her cheek, making her beam as she crosses her legs and keeps working.
"You can't just hack in on a call like that," Jeff protests.
The Doctor raises an eyebrow. "Can't I?"
Six faces flash onto the screen, each labeled: NASA, ESA, CSIRO, Jodrell Bank, Tokyo Space Centre, Patrick Moore. The Doctor flashes the psychic paper.
The Alchemist chooses not to ask what it says this time.
"Who are you?" Patrick Moore asks through the call.
"This is a secure line—what are you doing here?" another expert demands.
The Alchemist leans into the Doctor's frame and waves.
"Hello. Yeah, I know you should switch us off, but before you do—watch this," the Doctor grins.
"It's here too. I'm getting it," Patrick Moore confirms, glancing at his screen.
"Fermat's Theorem—the proof. And I mean the real one," the Doctor begins. "Never been seen before. Poor old Fermat got killed in a duel before he could write it down. Our fault. We slept in."
The Alchemist hums. "Had a wild time the night before. Got a bit too tipsy. We really can't handle alcohol well. Terrible hangovers."
"Oh! And here's an oldie but a goodie—why electrons have mass," the Doctor adds with a grin, then snatches the phone from her.
"And a personal favorite of ours—faster-than-light travel," the Alchemist grins, "Two diagrams and a joke. I wrote that joke. It's a good one."
"Look at your screens," the Alchemist says, glancing up. "Whoever we are—clearly we're brilliant. Genius, even. But I've never been one to boast. He is." She smirks. "Look at the sun. You need all the help you can get."
"Fellas, pay attention," the Doctor says, snapping back to business.
"Sir, what are you doing?" asks the NASA rep.
"I'm writing the rest of a computer virus that Ally here started. Very clever, super fast, and a tiny bit alive—but don't let on. And why are we writing it on a phone? Never mind. You'll find out. Okay, I'm sending this to all your computers."
He points at the screen. "Get everyone who works for you sending this everywhere. Email, text, Facebook, Bebo, Twitter, radar dish—whatever you've got. Any questions?"
Patrick Moore grins. "Who was your lady friend before? Not to mention the lovely redhead."
"Patrick, behave," the Doctor warns, pointing sternly.
"Besides, I'm taken," the Alchemist says, raising her ring hand with a smirk.
"What does this virus do?" another man asks, returning them to the matter at hand.
The Alchemist straightens. "It's a reset command, that's all. It resets counters. It gets into the Wi-Fi and resets every counter it can find—clocks, calendars, anything with a chip will default to zero at exactly the same time."
"But yeah, we could be lying," the Doctor says casually. "Why should you trust us? We'll let our best man explain."
Both Time Lords turn dramatically to look at Jeff.
The Doctor whispers, "Jeff, you're our best man."
Jeff looks horrified. "You what!?"
The Alchemist closes the laptop lid, giving him no escape.
The Doctor leans in, tone serious now. "Listen to me. In ten minutes, you're going to be a legend. In ten minutes, everyone on that screen is going to be offering you any job you want. But first, you have to be magnificent. You have to make them trust you and get them working."
"This is it, Jeff. Right here, right now," the Alchemist adds, grinning brightly. "This is when you fly. Today's the day you save the world."
"Why me?" Jeff asks, still stunned.
The Doctor and the Alchemist share a smirk before the Doctor shrugs.
"It's your bedroom. Now go, go, go!" he says as the Alchemist hands over the laptop and the two Time Lords bolt out of the room.
Jeff hesitates for only a second before nodding to himself. He sets the laptop back on his lap and opens it.
"Okay, guys, let's do this."
The Doctor pops his head back in, hair flopping. "Oh—and delete your internet history."
[Leadworth Street]
Running hand in hand down the quiet street, the Doctor and the Alchemist scan for a vehicle. A flash of red catches the Alchemist's eye. She jerks the Doctor to a stop and points ahead.
The Fire Engine.
They look at each other with matching wild grins.
"I'm driving!" the Alchemist calls out, laughter in her voice.
The Doctor rolls his eyes but obliges, both of them peeling off in opposite directions to clamber up into their own doors.
They haul themselves in and slam the doors shut. The Alchemist's eyes flick wildly across the dashboard. She claps and rubs her hands together, delighted, before revving the engine and peeling off toward the hospital.
[Hospital]
Inside the hospital, Rory and Amy try to push their way forward, but the corridor is jammed with people blocking the lifts and the stairwell.
"Something's happened up there. We can't get through," Rory says, shaking his head.
"Yes, but what's happened?" Amy asks, trying to peer over the crowd.
Rory shrugs. "I don't know. No one knows. Phone them."
Amy nods. "I'm phoning them."
[Fire Engine]
The phone rings in the Doctor's hand. He taps the answer button and puts it on speaker.
"This is the Doctor and the Alchemist speaking, how may I direct your call?" he shouts, overly enthusiastic.
Amy sighs, rolling her eyes. "Doctor? Ally? We're at the hospital, but we can't get through."
"Sunshine, look in the mirror—you're ready to play your part," the Alchemist says, nose scrunching as she bites back a laugh.
[Hospital]
Rory frowns, unable to hear the voice over the phone. "What did they say?"
Amy, confused, repeats it slowly. "Look in the mirror?" She turns—and catches her reflection. Realization hits. "Ha! Uniform."
She turns back to the phone, "Are you on your way? You're going to need a car."
[Fire Engine]
Inside the truck, the Doctor and the Alchemist are grinning like lunatics, glancing frequently at the siren button above them.
"Don't worry. We've commandeered a vehicle," the Doctor replies, then hangs up. They both glance up at the siren button again.
"I wanna do it," he pouts. "You're driving."
"What's that supposed to mean?" she retorts, giving him a sideways glare. "Why can't we both press the button?"
He pauses, considering. Then nods. "Sounds fair, partner."
They each raise a hand. Their fingers hover just beneath the button. Their eyes meet, grinning...
And they press.
The siren and lights flare to life.
"Woohoo!" the Doctor shouts, triumphant.
"I should have thought this through! My ears are ringing!" the Alchemist cries, laughing even as she winces.
[Hospital Corridor]
Back at the hospital, Amy and Rory sprint up the stairwell. They arrive on the coma ward floor—and freeze.
The place is wrecked.
"Oh God," Amy breathes.
A woman with two girls steps out into the corridor to meet them.
"Officer," the mother says, blankly.
"What happened?" Amy asks.
Still expressionless, the woman replies, "There was a man. A man with a dog. I think Doctor Ramsden's dead. And the nurses."
Amy immediately hits speed dial.
[Fire Engine]
The siren is off now, but the lights still flash across the village buildings as they race down the street.
The Doctor answers the phone again.
"Are you in?"
"Yep," Amy's voice crackles through, tense. "But so's Prisoner Zero."
The Alchemist's foot hits the pedal harder. "You need to get out of there. Now."
[Hospital Corridor]
Rory and Amy exchange a look—then glance at the family standing in front of them.
"He was so angry," says the little girl, her voice unnervingly calm. "He kept shouting and shouting. And that dog. The size of that dog..."
Rory and Amy begin to back away slowly.
"I swear it was rabid," the girl continues. "And he just went mad. Attacking everyone."
Prisoner Zero keeps speaking—though now it's the mother's voice.
"Where did he go? Did you see? Has he gone? We hid in the ladies..."
Then, the mother speaks again—but now with her own voice, calm and chilling.
"Oh, I'm getting it wrong again, aren't I? I'm always doing that. So many mouths."
She opens her mouth—revealing long, sharp, needle-like teeth.
"Oh my God!" Rory exclaims, recoiling.
[Fire Engine]
Back in the truck, the Doctor and Alchemist are both stiff now, listening intently through the phone.
"Amy? Amy, what's happening?" the Doctor calls out urgently.
The Alchemist's expression hardens. Her jaw tightens, her eyes dark. She presses harder on the accelerator, flooring it as the hospital looms ahead.
[Hospital Room]
Amy and Rory burst into the coma ward, slamming the doors behind them. Rory grabs a broom and jams it through the handles, hoping it'll hold until the Time Lords arrive.
"Amy, talk to me!" the Doctor's voice calls out over the phone.
Prisoner Zero is already slamming its weight against the other side, pounding harder with each strike.
"We're in the coma ward, but it's here. It's getting in," Amy answers quickly, her voice tight with fear.
"Which window are you, Amelia?" the Alchemist calls through the speaker.
"What, sorry?" Amy yells back, straining to hear over the banging.
The Doctor repeats, slower, clearer. "Which. Window?"
Amy races to the row of windows, counting fast. "First floor, on the left—fourth from the end!"
With one final crash, the broom snaps. The doors burst open. Prisoner Zero surges into the ward.
[Fire Engine]
The Alchemist, rounding the corner of the hospital, spots the right window. She slams the brakes. Neither Time Lord wastes a second—they're already scrambling out of the truck and setting up the ladder.
[Hospital Room]
Prisoner Zero, wearing the form of the mother, approaches Amy and Rory with cold precision.
"Oh, dear little Amelia Pond," she croons. "I've watched you grow up. Twelve years, and you never even knew I was there. Little Amelia Pond, waiting for her magic Doctor and Alchemist to return. But not this time, Amelia."
Amy's phone buzzes. A text from Rory's number: Duck!
They dive just in time as the fire engine ladder crashes through the window in an explosion of shattering glass.
The Doctor climbs in first, then reaches down to help the Alchemist through. They rush to stand between Prisoner Zero and the others.
"Right! Hello. Are we late?" the Doctor glances at the clock. "No, three minutes to go. So still time."
Prisoner Zero, still in the mother's form, hisses, "Time for what, Time Lords?"
"Take the disguise off, Zero. They'll find you in a heartbeat. Nobody has to die today," the Alchemist warns, her voice low and seething.
"The Atraxi will kill me this time. If I am to die, let there be fire!" the Mother form snarls.
"Okay," the Doctor says, casual. "You came to this world by opening a crack in Space and Time. Do it again. Just leave."
"I did not open the crack," the Mother replies, voice steady.
Frustration builds in the Alchemist—an ache of pressure behind her eyes. Still no contact from the Vortex. Her mind pounds with theories, with doubt. Her Bondmate feels it, tension laced through the empathic link.
"Somebody did," the Doctor says quietly, narrowing his eyes.
"The cracks in the skin of the universe. Don't you know where they came from?" the Mother asks mockingly. "You don't, do you?"
Prisoner Zero's form flickers. Her voice changes—to a child's.
"The Doctor and the Alchemist in the TARDIS don't know. Don't know! Don't know!"
The voice shifts back.
"The universe is cracked. The Pandorica will open. Silence will fall."
A wave of dread crashes over the Alchemist. Her breath catches in her throat. The Silence of Time passes through her mind as she swallows hard. Her jaw clenches. She forces herself to focus.
The Doctor sees the clock strike 0:00. "And we're off!" he grins. "Look at that. Look at that!"
He gestures toward the phone in his hand. "Yeah, I know, just a clock. Whatever. But do you know what's happening right now? In one little bedroom, our team is working—Jeff and the world. And do you know what they're doing? They're spreading the word, all over the globe, quantum fast."
He smiles wider. "The word is Zero. Now, me? If I were up in the sky in a battleship, monitoring all Earth communications, I'd probably take that as a hint."
He pauses. The Alchemist steps in smoothly.
"And if I had a whole battle fleet surrounding the planet," she adds, sharp and amused, "I'd be able to track a simple old computer virus to its source in, what, under a minute? I'd be more specific, but the Atraxi are thick."
She lifts her chin. "The source, by the way, is right here."
The Doctor flips the phone in his palm.
Outside, a brilliant light floods the room. All heads turn to the window.
"Oh! And I think they just found us!" the Doctor beams.
"The Atraxi are limited," Prisoner Zero growls. "While I'm in this form, they'll still be unable to detect me. They've tracked a phone—not me."
"Yeah, but this is the good bit," the Doctor says gleefully. "This phone? Full of pictures of you. Every form you've taken. And right about now? Being uploaded."
He laughs. "Final score: no TARDIS, no screwdriver, two minutes to spare. Who da man?"
"No," the Alchemist says flatly, nose scrunching.
Amy and Rory stare blankly at him.
"Oh, I'm never saying that again," he mumbles, defeated.
The Alchemist nods, "Just as I would never say 'Who da woman.'"
Prisoner Zero's form ripples. "Then I shall take a new form."
"Oh, stop it," the Alchemist snaps. "You know you can't. It takes months to form that kind of psychic link."
"And I've had years," Prisoner Zero counters.
Suddenly, Amy collapses.
"No! Amy?" The Doctor and the Alchemist drop to their knees beside her.
"You've got to hold on! Amy? Don't sleep! You've got to stay awake, please!" the Doctor pleads.
"Doctor," Rory calls, staring wide-eyed at the creature.
Prisoner Zero has transformed—into a tall man, gangly, with floppy hair and a torn shirt.
The Doctor frowns. "Well, that's rubbish. Who's that supposed to be?"
The Alchemist tilts her head, inspecting the new form. "A very handsome man," she says with a teasing smile.
The Doctor gapes at her. She smacks his shoulder.
Rory blinks. "It's you."
"Me? Is that what I look like?" the Doctor asks, peering at his mirror copy. He glances at his Bondmate. "You like that?"
She glares and smacks him again.
Rory stares, baffled. "You don't know?"
"Busy day," the Doctor mutters. "Why me, though? You're linked with her. Why are you copying me?"
A little girl steps out from behind a curtain and takes the Doctor-copy's hand.
In young Amelia's voice, Prisoner Zero says, "I'm not. Poor Amy Pond. Still such a child inside. Dreaming of the magic Doctor she knows will return to save her. What a disappointment you've been."
The Alchemist shakes her head. 'If I were talking, it would've turned into me,' she says through the bond.
The Doctor nods in agreement.
"No, she's dreaming about me because she can hear me," he says gently. "Amy, don't just hear me—listen. Remember the room in your house you couldn't see. You went inside. We tried to stop you, but you did. You went in the room with Ally. You went inside. Amy, dream about what you saw."
Young Amelia screams. "No. No. No!"
She transforms—back into the true form of Prisoner Zero.
"Well done, Prisoner Zero," the Doctor smirks. "A perfect impersonation of yourself."
"Really, a lovely mirror image," the Alchemist adds cheerfully.
"Prisoner Zero is located. Prisoner Zero is restrained," comes the booming voice of the Atraxi.
"Silence, Doctor. Alchemist. Silence will fall," Prisoner Zero hisses.
And then—gone. A rush of wind, and it vanishes.
'Silence will fall?' The Alchemist feels a shiver. Something about that is familiar.
Rory stares out the window. "The sun. It's back to normal, right? That's... that's good, yeah? That means it's over."
Amy stirs awake, groggy.
Rory rushes to her side. "Amy? Are you okay? Are you with us?"
"What happened?" she asks.
"They did it," Rory says, gesturing at the Time Lords. "The Doctor and the Alchemist did it."
"No, we didn't," the Doctor replies, tapping away on the phone.
Rory frowns. "What are you doing?"
"Tracking the signal back," the Doctor mutters. "Sorry in advance."
"About what?" Rory asks.
The Alchemist shrugs. "The bill. I'll pay you back."
The Doctor finishes dialing and tosses the phone to the Alchemist. She catches it midair and lifts it to her ear.
"Hey! We didn't say you could go!" she snaps. "Article fifty-seven of the Shadow Proclamation. This is a fully established level five planet, and you were going to burn it? What, did you think no one was watching?"
Her voice sharpens, each word a verbal lash.
"You are the Atraxi. I know for a fact you know the law—and you should be following it to the letter. You lot? Back here. Now."
She hangs up and hands the phone to Rory.
"Okay, now we've done it," the Doctor says, smiling proudly at his Bondmate.
Rory gapes. "Did she just bring them back? Did they just save the world from aliens... and then bring all the aliens back again?"
[Hospital Corridor]
The four of them exit the coma ward, walking briskly down the corridor.
"Where are you going?" Amy asks, breathless.
"The roof," the Doctor says, then stops mid-step and glances down at his tattered suit. He turns his eyes to his wife's singed dress. "No, hang on."
They take a detour to the locker room, the Alchemist leading the way with a sway of the hips. The Doctor doesn't even pretend to act like he's not staring.
[Hospital Locker Room]
"What's in here?" Amy asks, trailing after them into the staff locker area.
The Doctor starts rummaging through a rack of clothing, while the Alchemist works her way down the other side.
"We're saving the world... I need a decent shirt. To hell with the raggedy." He tosses aside a tattered coat. "Not to mention Ally's dress is singed. Time to put on a show."
"Damn right we're putting on a show," the Alchemist giggles, pulling through hangers, sizing up clothes that'll flatter her new form.
"You just summoned aliens back to Earth. Actual aliens, deadly aliens, aliens of death, and now you're taking your clothes off. Amy, he's taking his clothes off. Now she's taking her clothes off!" Rory exclaims, near panic.
The Doctor glares over his shoulder. "Turn your back if it embarrasses you. Actually, please turn your back. I'd rather no one see Ally but me."
Rory spins quickly to face the wall. "Are you stealing clothes now? Those clothes belong to people, you know." He side-eyes Amy. "Are you not going to turn your back?"
Amy shrugs, watching the chaos with interest. "No."
The Alchemist stops, her voice suddenly cold. "Amelia Pond. Face the wall."
Amy jumps. Something about that tone—low, commanding, unmistakably dangerous—makes her meekly turn to face the lockers.
The Alchemist resumes sorting, holding up a sleek, sleeveless, form-fitting black velvet jumpsuit and a matching dress. After a beat, she hooks the dress back on the rack and drapes the jumpsuit over her arm.
"Ally, pink or white shirt?" the Doctor asks, holding both high above the rack.
She eyes them critically. "Pink!" she declares.
The white shirt drops to the floor as she continues browsing. Then—her eyes light up. Boots. Forest green cowboy boots. She crouches to check the size, pleased.
That's when the worst happens.
A soft rip.
She freezes, standing up slowly and clamping one arm to her chest. "Doctor! Bit of an issue at the moment," she says, voice tight.
He's buttoning his shirt, not looking. "What's wrong, dear?"
"My bra."
"What about it?"
"It's torn. In half."
He looks up, eyes meeting hers, then flicks to her pout.
"I liked that one," he sighs.
"Yeah, well... I'll get one that fits next time," she mutters. She spots a box labeled 'Athleticwear' on his side and moves to grab it.
He watches her sidestep past, spinning in place to follow her with his eyes. "Shouldn't you find some pants or something, honey?"
"Yeah, yeah," he says absently, turning back to his rack.
She finds a sports bra that might fit. It'll have to do. With a sigh, she pulls it on and tosses the ruined one aside.
"You're not going to be wearing one of those every day, are you?" the Doctor asks, clearly disappointed.
"Only until I have a chance to go shopping. I think every version of me has despised these things."
Rory and Amy, still facing the wall, are now openly entertained by their back-and-forth.
"Bracers?" the Doctor muses aloud. "Thoughts?"
"So long as you have a nice jacket to go with it, I have no complaints. Do they feel right?"
"Mhm," he mumbles, pulling jackets and slinging them over Rory's arms.
Meanwhile, the Alchemist kicks off her wedge boots and slides into the green cowboy boots with ease. Perfect fit. "Honey, you are going to love these boots."
She spots a cropped leather moto jacket—same green—and practically tears it off the hanger. Tossing a few belts over her shoulder, she joins the Doctor in the hallway.
He looks her over. Once. Twice. Three times.
"I like the leather. And I definitely love the boots," he laughs.
"Rory! Hold these," he calls out, dumping more jackets onto the poor man's arms.
Rory stares. "You're having trouble deciding?"
The Doctor shrugs, unapologetic. "I'm having trouble deciding."
Ties now draped around his neck, the Doctor leads the way up the stairs, his Bondmate and the two humans right behind.
[Roof of Hospital]
They emerge into the open air. The Doctor strides out first in a new light pink shirt, ties still hanging. The Alchemist lingers a moment, holding up two belts: plain black and black with a gold buckle.
"The gold one," he says with certainty.
She nods, drops the other, and fastens the chosen belt around her waist. The Atraxi ship hovers menacingly above.
Amy breaks the silence. "So this was a good idea, was it? They were leaving."
The Alchemist steps up beside the Doctor, eyes on the sky. "Leaving is good. Never coming back is better."
The Doctor grins at her before shouting, "Come on then! The Doctor will see you now!"
The eyeball drops down onto the roof and begins scanning them.
"You are not of this world," the Atraxi says.
"No, but we've put a lot of work into it," the Doctor replies.
He examines his tie options, frowns, and holds one up. "Hmm. What do you think?"
The Alchemist pulls a red bow tie from behind her back with a smirk.
The Doctor nods, tossing the rest away. She steps forward and begins tying it for him.
"Is this world important?" the Atraxi asks.
"Important? What's that mean, important? Six billion people live here. Is that important?" the Doctor says, voice rising. "Here's a better question. Is this world a threat to the Atraxi? Well, come on. You're monitoring the whole planet. Is this world a threat?"
A glowing projection of Earth appears.
"No," the Atraxi respond.
The Alchemist crosses her arms and levels a glare. "Are the people of this world guilty of any crime by the laws of the Atraxi?"
Images flash—moments of peace, laughter, and life.
"No."
The Time Lords share a look. The air around them shifts.
"Okay. One more. Just one. Is this world protected?" the Doctor asks softly. "Because you're not the first lot to come here. Oh, there have been so many."
The projection shifts again—Daleks, Cybermen, Sontarans, Weeping Angels. So many. All turned away. All defeated.
The Doctor pulls two jackets from Rory's stack, weighing them. He tosses one aside.
"And what you've got to ask yourselves now is—what happened to them? All of them?" the Alchemist asks, tone cold.
She helps the Doctor slip on his brown tweed jacket.
The projection flickers again—images of past Doctors and Alchemists flash in rapid succession, each standing firm. Then their previous incarnations, standing side by side.
And finally, the current Doctor and Alchemist step through the light. Him in his bow tie and tweed, her in her sleek black jumpsuit, green leather jacket, and those unforgettable boots.
"Hello. I'm the Doctor," he says, voice sharp.
"And I'm the Alchemist," she adds, eyes glowing.
They look at each other—and then speak in perfect unison.
"Basically? Run."
The Alchemist takes a step forward, "I recommend you do it fast."
The Atraxi don't hesitate. The eyeball zooms back up to the ship and vanishes.
A faint materialisation sound echoes. The Doctor pulls a glowing TARDIS key from his pocket just as the Alchemist lifts her own from its new chain.
A thrill ripples between them through the bond. The TARDIS is ready.
Amy, wide-eyed, looks around. "Is that it? Is that them gone for good? Who were they?"
But the Doctor and the Alchemist don't hear her.
They're already bounding down the stairs, heading straight for the blue box that awaits them.
[Amy's Garden]
Behind Amy's house, beside the shed that's new but still somehow old, the TARDIS waits.
Smiling, the Alchemist runs her fingertips along the fresh paint—brighter, cleaner, deeper than before. Their ship. Their home. She steps back, slipping her hand into her bondmate's.
The Doctor's eyes gleam with excitement as he grins at her, his hand squeezing hers. "Okay, what have you got for us this time?"
The Alchemist winks. He gets it. Raising his other hand, he snaps his fingers.
The doors swing wide.
Together, they step inside.
[TARDIS Interior]
It's gleaming. New. Alive. The floors are multi-leveled, some of them made entirely of glass. Spiral staircases curl up and down into unseen halls. Every wall pulses softly with orange and teal light.
The Alchemist twirls in a slow, delighted circle, taking it all in.
Her heart soars. She knows this theme—and she loves it.
'You really outdid yourself this time, Sexy,' she thinks, broadcasting her awe through their bond.
The lights brighten in response, and the TARDIS hums proudly. 'You're so very happy now, my thieves. I want to be brighter with you.'
The Alchemist's smile dims only slightly. 'What's going on with Teacher, Sexy?'
'You will know, my Thief.'
'I will know? Know what?'
No answer.
She mentally files the cryptic message away. Planning to add the mystery to her Long Theory Room later.
"Look at you! Oh, you sexy thing, look at you!" the Doctor exclaims, grabbing her hand and pulling her into a wild, laughing spin toward the console.
The Alchemist snaps her fingers—the doors swing shut behind them.
"She's happy we're happy, Theta," she says, brushing his arm.
"We are happy, aren't we, Amara?" he replies, as she starts plugging in coordinates.
"We are. We really are," she says, matching his grin. Together, they start the flight—heading for a quick run to the moon.
Outside, Amy and Rory sprint into the garden... just in time to see the TARDIS dematerialize.
[The Moon – Interior, TARDIS]
The couple finally has a quiet moment to breathe and really look at each other.
"I still don't know what I look like," she admits with a laugh.
"Beautiful. Always beautiful, dear," he says, gently twisting a bright red curl around his finger.
Her soft smile returns, and she lifts her chin, flashing her eyes at him—galactic gold glittering in her irises from the Vortex.
He leans down and finally, finally kisses her. Their lips press together, a perfect, passionate synchrony, her hands fisting in his lapels, his resting at her waist. When they part, his forehead touches hers with a sigh.
"Is it later now?" he asks softly.
She leans back, meeting his gaze, and lets the emotions she'd buried flood through the bond—confusion, anxiety, a quiet undercurrent of dread.
"What is it, Amara?" he asks, instantly alert. "What happened?"
She blinks, then says, "I can't feel the Vortex anymore. Teacher's not answering. The bond feels... empty, like they've pulled out. The TARDIS is trying to fill it as much as she can."
He swallows, face paling. "What's your theory, Amara?"
"Still working on it. But it definitely has to do with the crack in Amelia's wall," she replies, raking a hand through her curls and dropping it to his shoulder.
He nods, jaw tight. "We need to bring her with us."
"Look her up just in case?" she suggests.
He's already doing it. "No priors, has an aunt, no parents... listed. That's bad. Uh... jumps jobs a lot."
"Means she feels like something's missing in her life. Go on."
"Rory Williams is listed as current boyfriend... not much else, but she was rather helpful, huh? And that crack..."
"She'll make an excellent companion regardless of what's going on," the Alchemist agrees, lips quirking in a quiet smile.
"We'll keep her safe with us. Figure this out together," he says firmly.
"I'm going to look in the mirror after I check on Titan," she replies, moving toward the TARDIS phone.
He watches her go, brow furrowed. "Do you think he'll be as affected?"
She pauses. Turns. "I doubt it. His connection to the Vortex only increased with Regeneration. He can't hear them like I can—or control it like I do. I don't know if he'll ever reach my level. With practice, he'll be able to jump like me, maybe take the others along... but that's about it."
"I assume you've asked the TARDIS what's going on," he says, moving to lean against the console.
"She refuses to answer," the Alchemist replies, frustration thick in her tone. "She knows. She just won't say. Which means... we have to solve this ourselves."
He nods, eyes lingering on her. "We'll figure it out, Amara."
"I know," she murmurs, crossing her arms. "I just don't want this to affect the family."
"Call Titan. Go look at your gorgeous face. Then we'll go scoop up Amelia Pond."
She giggles, swatting his arm as he lets his gaze drift toward her bottom. "You're still a menace, Sir Doctor."
"Amara! Not now," he groans dramatically, throwing his head back.
She winks. "Sorry, Theta." Lifting the receiver, she dials.
"You are absolutely not sorry," he mutters, turning his attention back to the console.
[TARDIS – Phone Call]
Titan answers on the first ring.
"Mum? What the hell is happening with the Time Vortex?"
"I'm working on a theory, Titan. And I really, really want to be wrong this time," she replies, gripping the phone tighter.
"Well, that sounds wonderful," he deadpans. "How did your Regenerations go? Still covered in freckles? Dad still wants ginger hair like you? You sound even younger this time."
The Alchemist laughs. "I lucked out. Still freckly. I've got curls, and of course, your father isn't ginger."
The Doctor glares at her in protest but says nothing.
"He looks mid-twenties, I'd say. I haven't seen myself yet."
"Midlife crisis much?" Titan chuckles.
"You look around the same, dear," the Doctor chimes in helpfully.
She snorts. "Apparently it is, I look younger too."
Muffled chatter filters through the line before Titan returns. "Everything else alright? Dad always gets weird side effects."
"He had a craving," she says with a sly smile at her Bondmate. "Fish fingers and custard."
Titan bursts out laughing. It's loud—so loud she pulls the phone away from her ear until it dies down.
"I'll tell Nightingale when she gets back from the market square."
"You do that, kiddo." She sighs, softer now. "I should let you go. I'll keep you updated on the Vortex, alright?"
"Thanks, Mum. Tell Dad we all send our love."
"Any love for Mumma dearest?" she asks with mock sweetness.
"Nope. We don't have a clue who that is."
"Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that, child of mine."
"Yeah, yeah, we love you too. Just... keep us posted, alright?"
"I will. I promise. We love you. Talk soon."
"Bye, Mum."
The line clicks. She gently returns the phone to the cradle and exhales, the familiar ache of mother-worry curling low in her chest.
[TARDIS Console Room]
The Alchemist turns to the Doctor, who's been watching her with a soft smile for a while. "Titan says, and I quote: tell Dad we all send our love."
The Doctor smiles gently, "Well I send my love too." He takes her hand and gently tugs her toward their bedroom. "Come on. Let me show you your beautiful new self."
[TARDIS – Fated Pair Bedroom]
The moment they step inside, the Alchemist darts across the room and skids to a stop in front of the full-length mirror. Her eyes go wide.
"Now I understand why you said 'Yowza.'" She turns, inspecting herself from every angle, then focuses on her new face.
"I'm not complaining," the Doctor says with a smirk.
"You never would." She grins, "Nice cheekbones. And my nose is cute."
She sticks out her tongue—piercing visible—and touches the tip of her nose with it.
The Doctor raises both eyebrows. "That's new."
"It's all new, honey. All untested." She throws him a mischievous glance. "We'll... test drive later, hm?"
He wraps his arms around her from behind, pressing a kiss to her neck. "Yes, later. If we have to."
They sway side to side, his head resting lightly on her shoulder.
"I love you," he murmurs.
"And I love you," she replies.
He spins her to face him, gives her a quick kiss, and tugs her toward the hall.
[Corridor > Console Room]
"I'm putting in the coordinates this time," the Alchemist says as they walk. "That way we won't get thrown off."
He nods, wincing. "Fair."
At the console, she begins typing on the typewriter. "I love this thing. I feel like a film noir detective."
The Doctor watches with interest. "Next time we go out, you're definitely dressing like one."
"Sure you don't want to keep that in the bedroom, honey?" she teases.
"I'm on my last life, don't give me a hearts attack, wife," he says, clutching his chest with mock drama.
"I have some flirty wiggle dresses in the wardrobe," she says, still working.
"Wiggle?" he echoes, circling the console.
"Wiggle. Tight-fitting. Pencil dress." She flicks her gaze at him while he raises a brow at the thought.
"You sure I didn't win the bet?" he jokes just as they land—TARDIS shaking slightly.
[Amy's Bedroom – Night]
The familiar wheeze of the TARDIS wakes Amy. She throws off her blanket, rushes to the window—and there it is. The blue box. Again.
She bolts out of the room and down the stairs.
[TARDIS]
"Positively, handsome. I have plans for you," the Alchemist says as she heads for the doors.
She doesn't, not yet—but it'll be good.
The Doctor freezes mid-step with a whine.
"Come on, honey." She pushes open the doors. "Let's go grab Sunshine and skididoodle... ski-ski-nope. Not saying that again."
He rolls his eyes and follows, shutting the doors behind them.
[Amy's Garden]
The Alchemist stops short outside. It's night. They're off—by two years. The flight was smooth. She input the right coordinates. This should not have happened.
Gripping her curls in frustration, the wave of emotion bleeds through their bond.
'What is it?' the Doctor asks.
She doesn't look at him. 'A problem. You'll find out momentarily.'
He shrugs and leans casually against the TARDIS.
Amy bursts out of the house, blinking between them and the ship.
"Sorry about running off earlier. Brand new TARDIS. Bit exciting. Quick hop to the Moon and back to run her in," the Doctor says with a grin.
"I also needed a mirror," the Alchemist adds. "Had to confirm I was entirely freckled. She's ready for the big stuff now."
Amy stares. "It's you. You came back."
"'Course we came back. We always come back. Something wrong with that?" the Doctor asks.
"And you kept the clothes," Amy says, eyeing them both.
"We just saved the world—again. No charge. Yeah, shoot us. We kept the clothes," he says, arms folding.
"Including the bowtie... and the cowboy boots."
The Doctor grins. "Yeah, it's cool. Bowties are cool."
"I picked it, after all. And don't diss the boots, Sunshine," the Alchemist says with a pointed look.
Amy blinks. "Are you two from another planet?"
"Yeah," the Doctor shrugs.
"Okay."
The Alchemist grins. "So, what do you think?"
"Of what?"
"Other planets. Want to check some out?"
Amy narrows her eyes. "What does that mean?"
"It means—well, it means come with us," the Doctor replies.
"Where?"
"Wherever you like."
"All that stuff. The hospital, the ships, Prisoner Zero..." Amy starts, while the Alchemist kicks her foot against the ground, embarrassingly staring at the grass.
"Oh, that's just the beginning," the Doctor says brightly.
Amy exhales sharply. "Yeah, but all that? That was two years ago."
"Oh! Oops. To be fair, Ally put the coordinates in this time," he says with a guilty smile.
Amy glares. "Yeah. Blame the redhead, huh?"
The Alchemist laughs. The Doctor coughs.
"So that's..." he trails off.
"Fourteen years!" Amy shouts.
"Fourteen years since fish custard. Amy Pond—the girl who waited. You've waited long enough," he says softly.
Amy crosses her arms. "When I was a kid, you said there was a swimming pool and a library, and the swimming pool was in the library."
The Alchemist shrugs. "Yeah, I'm not sure where it is now. Might turn up. Or I'll just ask her."
"So... coming?" the Doctor asks.
"No," Amy says, shaking her head.
The Alchemist frowns. "You wanted to come fourteen years ago."
"I grew up."
"Don't worry. We'll soon fix that," the Doctor smirks.
The Alchemist snaps her fingers—the TARDIS doors swing open—and they follow Amy inside.
[TARDIS – Console Room]
"Well? Any passing remarks? We've heard them all," the Doctor says.
"I'm in my nightie," Amy mutters, wide-eyed.
"That's a new one," the Alchemist chuckles. "But you're definitely not the first to be in this room in their nightie."
The Doctor pokes his wife in the side at that, making her jump. She glances over and sees his smirk. He clearly noticed.
"Oh, don't worry. Plenty of clothes in the wardrobe. And possibly a swimming pool. So, all of time and space, everything that ever happened or ever will," he says smirking between his Bondmate and new companion.
"Where do you want to start?" the Alchemist asks Amy.
Amy crosses her arms, "You are so sure that I'm coming."
Both Time Lords fold their arms in sync. "Yeah, we are."
"Why?"
"Because you're the Scottish girl in the English village. We know how that feels," he says.
"Oh, do you?"
"All these years, and still that accent? Yeah, you're definitely coming, Sunshine," the Alchemist says with a wink.
Amy considers. "Can you get me back for tomorrow morning?"
The Doctor shrugs. "It's a time machine. We can get you back five minutes ago. Why? What's tomorrow?"
"Nothing. Nothing. Just... you know, stuff."
"All right then, Sunshine. Back in time for stuff," the Alchemist says.
She can smell the pheromones. Interest. Curiosity. A little attraction. It always happened with new companions. Usually faded. Unless you're the Brat.
Two new sonic screwdrivers rise from the console—one sleek, curved, wooden with a white light. The other: larger, chunkier, gold, silver, black, and white with a green tip.
"Oh! New ones! Lovely," the Doctor exclaims, skipping over.
"Thanks, Sexy," the Alchemist grins, patting the console.
"Is your ship really called Sexy?" Amy asks.
"Yep," the Alchemist replies.
They each grab one—look—shake their heads—and switch.
'Curvy sonic for the curvy lady,' she hears through the bond.
She flashes it at him in reply.
"Why me?" Amy asks quietly.
"Why not?" the Alchemist counters.
"No, seriously. You're asking me to run away with you. Why me?"
"I don't know. Fun. Do we need a reason?" the Doctor says.
"People always have a reason."
"Do we look like people?"
"Yes."
The Doctor gestures vaguely. "Been on our own a while. Our choice. But I've started talking to myself. It's giving my wife an earache. And sometimes she replies."
"He's not wrong," the Alchemist mutters. "The 'gobs that don't stop,' that's us."
"You're lonely. That's it?" Amy asks.
The Alchemist nods, crossing her fingers behind her back, "Just that. Promise."
"Okay."
"So, are you all right?" the Doctor asks. "Sometimes this place... makes people feel a bit..."
"I'm fine. It's just... there's a whole world in here. Just like you said. I thought maybe you two were just... a madman and a magical woman with a box."
"Amy Pond," the Doctor says, voice steady, "there's something you better understand about us. Because one day, your life may depend on it."
He glances at the Alchemist, then back to Amy.
"I am definitely a madman with a box."
"And I'm definitely magic," the Alchemist adds with a grin.
"Ha ha!" the Doctor laughs, spinning to the controls. "Goodbye, Leadworth. Hello everything."
Chapter 2: The Beast Below
Chapter Text
[TARDIS Console Room]
‘Where should we go?’ the Doctor asks his Bondmate.
“Why’s it a phone box?” Amy asks.
‘I dunno, what do you think? Space? I’m thinking space!’’ she smiles back.
He pouts at her, distracted—then blinks, realizing Amy said something.
The Doctor turns to the girl. “Sorry, what?”
She looks at them, focused. “On the outside, it said police box. Why have you labeled a time machine police box? Why not time machine? Is that too obvious? And what is a police box? Do policemen come in… in boxes? How many do you get? Are you policemen?”
The Time Lords glance at her, eyebrows raised.
She shakes her head. “No, look at your hair. Actually, just look at your hair! Both of you have hair! Do you ever look at your hair and think, ‘whoa… it just won’t stop?’ And my chin! And her cheekbones! Look—I’m wearing a bow tie and she’s wearing green cowboy boots, shoot me now. Am I gabbling?”
He nods. “A bit, yeah.”
“Teeny tiny,” the Alchemist says, holding up an inch with her fingers.
“The question stands,” Amy says, crossing her arms.
“The first question?” the Alchemist asks her.
She nods. “Yes.”
“Well it’s not really a police box,” the Doctor shrugs. “Which, by the way, is a special kind of telephone box that policemen used to use.”
The Alchemist sighs as the grumble in her mind—the TARDIS hates being called a phone box.
“Right, telephone box. There’s a light on the top. Do you need to change the bulb?” she blurts next.
“No. Now, Amelia, stop. Breathe…” the Alchemist orders, placing her hands on the human’s shoulders.
Amy takes a breath. “Why doesn’t the air get out? It is made of wood… oh… you’ve got a wooden time machine.” she blinks. “Do you feel stupid? Sorry, back on the bow tie and the cowboy boots.”
The Doctor huffs and quickly explains, “It’s camouflage. It’s disguised as a police telephone box from 1963. Every time the TARDIS materializes in a new location, within the first nanosecond of landing it analyzes its surroundings, calculates a 12-dimensional data map of everything within a thousand-mile radius, and determines which outer shell would blend in best with the environment… and then it disguises itself as a police telephone box from 1963.”
“Honestly you’ve never explained that more proficiently in all your years,” the Alchemist says, astounded—earning a hard look from him.
Amy nods to the Doctor slowly. “Oh. Why?”
He shrugs. “It’s probably a bit of a fault, actually. We've been meaning to check…”
“No we haven’t, she likes it like this,” the Alchemist says, rolling her eyes.
“What, it’s a police box every time? She?” Amy asks.
The Time Lady nods. “Uhuh, she. Ship is a she.”
“Yeah, I suppose, now you mention…” the Doctor trails off.
Amy frowns. “How long’s it been doing that?”
The Time Lords mumble, “Oh… not long…”
He shares a look with the Alchemist, both concerned for the girl.
“Ok, ok, but what about the windows? There are windows on the outside but where do they go? Is it a cry for help?” she asks.
“What?” the Alchemist asks, confused.
“The bow tie! The cowboy boots!” she shouts.
“Bowties are cool and I love her cowboy boots!” the Doctor shouts back.
“And you’re an alien. You’re aliens!”
“Yeah! Well, in your terms yeah, in our terms,” the Doctor says and taps her forehead, “You’re an alien. In quite a few people’s terms probably.”
The Alchemist nods along. “Not probably. Definitely. Lots of people’s terms.”
“What kind of alien?” Amy asks.
The Doctor grimaces. “Well, you know, a nice one. Definitely one of the nice ones.”
“We’re nice aliens, see,” the Time Lady says, and they both grin widely.
Amy nods. “You have very white teeth. So you’re like uh, space…” she pokes him in the chest before continuing, “Squids? Or something… Are you like tiny little slugs in a human suits? Is that why you walk like that?”
“Space squids? …Raxacoricofallapatorians are big sluggy things. But we’re certainly not those. Too narrow. Walk like what? I like his walk. What does mine look like?” the Alchemist rambles.
‘Sexy. It’s a sexy walk, all hippy-hip, shifty, and swaying,’ she hears—and smirks.
“Amy! This is me. This…” He slaps her hands to his cheeks. “Is what I really look like.”
The Alchemist grins and grabs her next, slapping her own cheeks too. “See? Real cheekbones. Nice, right?”
“Well, that’s fine then!” Amy shouts.
She slaps the Time Lady’s cheeks and then slaps the Doctor’s harder for effect.
“Ow! Good,” he says with a frown.
The Alchemist scoffs. “Ignore him, he’s a big baby.”
“Okay. Okay, I think I’m done there…” Amy trails off with laughter.
The Doctor smirks and pulls a lever. “Amy Pond.”
The Alchemist winks. “We’ve barely started…” She pulls another lever.
Her Bondmate grins. “‘Cause…”
Both Time Lords run to the doors, Amy following.
“Do you know what we keep in here?” the Doctor asks as they stop before them.
“What?” Amy asks.
“Absolutely everything,” the Doctor and the Alchemist say in unison, the Alchemist spinning for effect.
The Doctor pulls the doors open to show Amy outer space.
“Anything fit your fancy? I’m particularly fond of…” the Alchemist begins.
Amy frowns, interrupting, staring at the pair. “We’re in space…”
The Doctor points outside. “No, that’s space.”
“But it can’t be,” Amy says, blinking.
The Alchemist leans against the doorway. “But it is.”
Amy looks outside. “But it’s like, it’s like, it’s like… special effects?”
“Like what?” the Doctor asks, confused.
Amy huffs. “It is, isn’t it? It’s not real.”
The Alchemist looks at her wedding ring and rubs off a mark. “Get out.”
“What?” Amy gapes.
The Doctor nods. “No, seriously…”
He turns and pushes Amy out into the airshell.
“Get out!” he shouts and rushes forward to grab her ankle.
“Argh!” Amy shouts in alarm before she realizes she’s not floating away, she can breathe, and she’s in space.
The Alchemist watches, leaning against the frame with a grin.
“Fun, eh?” the Alchemist grins.
“Come on, Pond,” the Doctor calls out.
He pulls Amy back inside the TARDIS.
“Now do you believe us? Those stars are real,” the Alchemist asks her.
Amy is looking at the stars with wide, bright eyes. “Okay, your box is a spaceship. It’s really, really a spaceship. We are in space! What are we breathing?”
“We’ve extended the air shell. We’re fine,” the Doctor tells her.
The Alchemist is looking down below them until she spots a city ship. “Doctor, look! Haven’t been to one of those yet.”
“Now that’s interesting. 29th century. Solar flares roast the Earth, and the entire human race packs its bags and moves out ‘til the weather improves. Whole nations,” he says, looking too, then grinning toward his Bondmate.
The Doctor and the Alchemist run back to the console. The doors close—knocking Amy outside.
“Doctor?” Amy calls.
“Migrating to the stars,” he says happily.
“Ally?” she tries, hoping at least one of them will hear her as she clings to the front of the TARDIS.
The Alchemist cries out, “Isn’t that amazing!?”
“Doctor! Ally!?” she finally cries, frantic.
They both turn then. The Alchemist bites her lip, throws open the doors, and pulls Amy back inside.
“Sorry about that, Sunshine. We got a bit distracted there,” the Alchemist says, spinning the girl gently to check her over.
Amy laughs as the Alchemist inspects her. “I’m alright,” she says.
“Well, come on. We’ve found ourselves a spaceship. This is the United Kingdom of Britain and Northern Ireland. All of it, bolted together and floating in the sky. Starship UK. It’s Britain, but metal. That’s not just a ship, that’s an idea. That’s a whole country—living and laughing and shopping. Searching the stars for a new home,” the Doctor rambles.
The Alchemist grins as she runs across the console to help him land the ship. “Maybe I can do a bit of shopping while we’re there. This sports bra is horrific.”
“Can we go out and see?” Amy asks, giggling at the comment.
The Doctor nods. “Course we can.” Then he turns to her, stern. “But first, there’s a thing.”
“A thing?” Amy asks.
“An important thing. In fact, Thing One. We are observers only. That’s the one rule we’ve always stuck to in all our travels. We never get involved in the affairs of other peoples or planets,” the Doctor continues, very seriously.
The Alchemist does all she can to hold back a laugh.
‘You absolute liar,’ she says to him.
‘Shush, magical woman,’ he replies.
She rolls her eyes and checks the scanner—then tilts her head as a look of concern crosses her face. She crooks her finger to the Doctor to call him over. He comes to see.
An image of a little girl sitting alone by the lifts on a bench, crying, is on the scanner.
“Ooh, that’s interesting,” he says, glancing at her.
She nods, and they quietly slip out the doors of the TARDIS to check on the girl.
Amy responds to him, not realizing they’ve gone. “So we’re like a wildlife documentary, yeah? Because if they see a wounded little cub or something, they can’t just save it—they’ve got to keep filming and let it die. It’s got to be hard. I don’t think I could do that. Don’t you find that hard, being all, like, detached and cold?”
Amy sees the Doctor and the Alchemist on the scanner. He’s sitting on the bench, the Alchemist kneeling in front of the weeping child, both speaking softly.
“Doctor? Ally?” Amy asks in confusion.
The Alchemist gestures for her to come join them.
[London Market]
"Welcome to London Market. You are being monitored," comes the voice over the tannoy.
The Alchemist frowns, instantly uneasy. That isn’t surveillance. That’s control.
Amy turns, wide-eyed. “I'm in the future. Like, hundreds of years in the future. I've been dead for centuries.”
The Doctor rolls his eyes. “Oh, lovely. You're a cheery one. Never mind dead—look at this place. Isn't it wrong?”
“Very wrong,” the Alchemist replies quietly, eyes scanning the space. ‘And far too quiet, Theta. There’s no engine hum at all.’
He gives her a quick nod. ‘Agreed. We’ll need to check the engine room.’
‘If there even is one,’ she mutters back, tone grim.
Amy frowns. “What's wrong?”
The Doctor gestures around them. “Come on, use your eyes. Notice everything. What’s wrong with this picture?”
Amy takes in the view, and then points. “Is it the bicycles? Bit unusual on a spaceship, bicycles.”
The Alchemist smirks. “Says the girl in the nightie.”
Amy stares down in horror. “Oh my God, I'm in my nightie.”
The Alchemist twirls a finger lazily in the air. “Now, really look around. Actually look. Everything’s… off. Even the sound.”
“London Market is a crime-free zone,” the tannoy repeats.
“Life on a giant starship,” the Doctor muses. “Back to basics. Bicycles, washing lines, wind-up street lamps. But look closer—secrets and shadows, lives lived in fear. Society bent out of shape. A police state.”
The Alchemist crosses to a table. “Excuse me, just need to check something,” she says, picking up a pint glass of water.
The man at the table blinks. “What are you doing?”
She passes the glass to the Doctor. They both crouch, studying it on the floor. A long moment. Then he hands it back and she returns it to the table without a word.
The Doctor flashes the couple a grin. “Sorry. Checking all the water in this area. There’s an escaped fish.”
He turns back to Amy. “Now, where was I?”
Amy’s baffled. “Why did you just do that with the water?”
The Doctor shrugs. “Don’t know. We think a lot. Hard to keep track. Now—police state. Do you see it yet?”
The Alchemist’s gaze drifts to the Winder across the way, then lands on the girl crying quietly on the bench. Her expression darkens.
“Where?” Amy asks.
The Doctor and the Alchemist both nod toward the child. “There.”
The little girl, alone and weeping, sits on the edge of the market. A Winder watches from the shadows as the Doctor nods toward her.
“One little girl crying. So?” Amy asks, not seeing the issue.
The Alchemist shakes her head. "Now, loud crying—that's something you can fix. Hunger, fear, a bruised knee. There's a cause, a solution, a plaster. But when they cry silently? That’s different. That’s not a request—it’s a surrender. Any parent worth their salt knows the difference… and hates it."
“Are you parents?” Amy asks, curiously.
“Yes,” they both say—then wince and glance at each other.
‘We were going to keep that quiet; we really can’t keep our mouths shut in these bodies, can we?’ the Alchemist grumbles.
“Wait, really!? But you’re so young,” Amy asks them, shocked.
‘Cat’s already out of the bag,’ he replies.
“Yes, and we’re really not, but let’s not get into that right now,” the Alchemist tells her with a soft smile, hoping she’ll drop it for the moment.
Amy just nods at them, making the Alchemist’s tension ease from her shoulders.
The Doctor clears his throat. “Hundreds of parents walking past who spot her, and not one of them's asking her what's wrong—which means they already know, and it's something they don't talk about. Secrets. They're not helping her, so it's something they're afraid of.”
“Something in the dark. Whatever they're afraid of, it's nowhere to be seen, which means it's everywhere. Police state...” The Alchemist trails off, glancing at another Smiler and watching the girl get into a lift.
Amy looks around for the girl. “Where'd she go?”
“Deck two-oh-seven. Apple Sesame block, dwelling 54A. You're looking for Mandy Tanner. Oh, er, this fell out of her pocket when I accidentally bumped into her. Took me four goes,” he says proudly.
“You were once particularly adept at that,” the Alchemist mutters, before turning to Amy. “Ask her about those things. The creepy smiling heads in the booths. They're everywhere.”
The Doctor gives Amy a colorful wallet, frowning at his wife for her earlier comment.
Amy shakes her head. “But they're just things.”
“They're clean—far too clean for this place. Spic and span,” the Alchemist glares at one of them.
The Doctor nods. “Everything else here is all battered and filthy. Look at this place. But no one's laid a finger on those booths. Not a footprint within two feet of them. Look. Ask Mandy—why are people scared of the things in the booths?”
“They really are quite terrifying,” the Alchemist mutters.
“No, hang on. What do I do? I don't know what I'm doing here, and I'm not even dressed,” Amy says, shaking her head.
The Alchemist and the Doctor smirk at each other before he replies, “It's this or Leadworth. What do you think? Let's see. What will Amy Pond choose? Ha ha, gotcha. Meet us back here in half an hour.”
“What are you going to do?” Amy asks them.
The Doctor laughs brightly. “What we always do. Stay out of trouble. Badly.”
“Yeah, we’re awful at that,” the Alchemist agrees.
“So is this how it works for you two? You never interfere in the affairs of other peoples or planets, unless there's children crying?”
“Yes,” the Time Lords say as one.
“Always,” the Alchemist continues with a nod.
[Engine room]
The Doctor climbs down a ladder and lands on his feet, watching as his Bondmate follows him. He can’t resist and pinches her bottom quickly.
She lets out a yelp. “Knock it off, you menace,” she grumbles, before he grabs her by the hips and pulls her off the ladder to place her on her feet.
“Never,” he replies with a smile.
The Alchemist rolls her eyes fondly, then frowns and gently pushes the Doctor toward the walls.
He rests his hands against them quickly, brows pinching together, then moves his hands around, feeling the surface—trying to find some sort of vibration.
The Alchemist shakes her head. There’s nothing.
“No engine, as I thought,” she mutters to him, glancing down at the glass of water on the ground.
“Can't be,” the Doctor denies, before scanning the wall with his screwdriver.
The Alchemist flicks her eyes to the far wall, hearing someone coming. A woman descends, wearing a mask. It looks old to her—but she recognizes it. Ah. The Queen.
“The impossible truth in a glass of water. Not many people see it. But you do, don't you, Alchemist, Doctor?” the Queen asks.
“You know us?” asks the Doctor.
“Of us,” the Alchemist says, earning her a confused glance from her Bondmate.
The Queen shushes them. “Keep your voice down. They're everywhere. Tell me what you see in the glass.”
“Who says we see anything?” the Time Lords ask with a smirk.
“Don't waste time,” she admonishes. “At the marketplace, you placed a glass of water on the floor, both looked at it, then came straight here to the engine room. Why?”
“No engine vibration on deck. Ship this size, engine this big—you'd feel it. The water would move. So, we thought we'd take a look. It doesn't make sense. These power couplings, they're not connected. Look. Look, they're dummies, see? And behind this wall—nothing. It's hollow. My wife and I suspected it upstairs. She can’t hear a thing in here. If I didn't know better, I'd say there was…” the Doctor trails off.
“No engine at all,” the three say in unison.
The Alchemist shakes her head. “But it's working. This ship is traveling through space. We saw it.”
The Queen responds, “The impossible truth, Alchemist. We're traveling among the stars in a spaceship that could never fly.”
“How?” the Doctor asks, stepping closer.
“I don't know. There's a darkness at the heart of this nation. It threatens every one of us. Help us, Doctor, Alchemist. You're our only hope. Your friend is safe. This will take you to her. Now go, quickly!” she tells them.
‘She just quoted Princess Leia,’ the Alchemist laughs in the Doctor's mind, and he just rolls his eyes at her.
The Queen hands the Doctor a tracking device and turns to leave.
The Alchemist smirks as she notices the Queen also stuck a small tracker to him at the same time.
“Who are you? How do we find you again?” asks the Doctor.
“I am Liz Ten, and I will find you,” she informs them before fully leaving the room.
The Doctor turns to the Alchemist then. “You know her?” he asks.
“Of her,” she responds with a shrug. “We should go get Amy.”
They turn to the ladder, the Doctor climbing up first.
Smirking, the Alchemist quickly slaps him on his own bottom before he gets too far up.
He jumps and glares down at her. “And you said I was the menace.”
She just shrugs and climbs up after him. “We’re equally menacing then.”
[Voting cubicle]
The Time Lords follow the tracking device, glancing up as it leads them to a Smiler booth where Mandy is waiting.
The Alchemist pauses, tilting her head toward the booth. Amy’s voice filters out from inside—pre-recorded. The Doctor keeps moving, heading straight for Mandy.
“...Don't let them investigate. Stop them. Do whatever you have to, just please, please get the Doctor and Ally off this ship!”
The Alchemist growls under her breath. That definitely isn't going to happen now that she’s heard that. She jogs to join the Doctor and Mandy just as he uses his sonic to open the doors.
They slide open. Mandy stands outside. The Doctor bounces in, followed by a silent Alchemist, her mouth stretched in a tight, grim line.
“...Listen to me. This isn't a trick. This is for real…” Amy’s recording plays.
“Amy?” the Doctor asks.
The message continues. “...You've got to find the Doctor and the Alchemist.” Amy abruptly shuts it off and turns to face them.
“What have you done?” the Doctor asks, concerned.
The Alchemist grinds out through her teeth, “Very good question, honey,” before locking eyes with Amy. “What have you done?”
Amy freezes under the weight of that look, unsure of what to say. She doesn’t remember.
The Alchemist rolls her eyes, sniffing the air before digging into her jacket pockets for her scent filters.
The Doctor scans a ceiling device, his concern deepening. He felt her frustration through the bond before they even stepped inside—she must have heard something.
‘What did you hear?’ he asks her silently.
The Alchemist sighs aloud, filters now in hand. ‘Something I didn’t particularly like. We’re finding out what’s happening and fixing this mess.’
He nods. “Yeah, your basic memory wipe job. Must have erased about twenty minutes.”
Amy glances at him, puzzled. “But why would I choose to forget?”
“Because everyone does,” Mandy answers. “Everyone chooses the Forget button.”
“Did you?” the Doctor asks, and the Alchemist rolls her eyes—she’s just a child.
Mandy shakes her head. “I'm not eligible to vote yet. I'm twelve. Any time after you're sixteen, you're allowed to see the film and make your choice. And then once every five years.”
“And once every five years, everyone chooses to forget what they've learned. Democracy in action,” the Alchemist says, voice steeped in sarcasm.
“How do you not know about this? Are you Scottish too?” Mandy asks.
The Doctor answers, “Oh, we’re way worse than Scottish. We can't even see the movie. Won't play for us.”
“It played for me,” Amy says, confused.
“The difference being the computer doesn't accept us as human,” the Alchemist explains, trying to shake off her irritation.
“Why not? You look human,” Amy presses.
“No, you look Time Lord. We came first,” the Doctor says.
“‘A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…’” the Alchemist can’t resist.
The Doctor turns and points a finger at her to stop. She pouts.
Amy looks between them. “So there are other Time Lords, yeah?”
Both Time Lords sigh. The Doctor answers, “No. Well. Yes. There were, but there aren't. Just us and the family now... Long story. There was a bad day. Bad stuff happened. And you know what? We’d love to forget it all, every last bit of it, but we don't. Not ever. Because this is what we do. Every time. Every day. Every second. This. Hold tight. We're bringing down the government.”
The Alchemist swiftly stuffs in her nose filters—this won’t be pleasant.
The Doctor slams his hand on the Protest button. The door slams shut, trapping him, the Alchemist, and Amy inside. The Smiler turns to a Scowler as the floor opens beneath them.
“Say wheee!” the Doctor shouts with glee.
“Wheee,” the Alchemist grumbles.
“Argh!” Amy yells as she drops.
Outside, the cubicle sign flips from Occupied to Empty.
[Chute]
The Doctor lands first, tumbling into what looks like organic waste. Amy follows with a scream, colliding into him.
The Alchemist is last. She lands on her feet, knees bent. Rising smoothly, she glances around, arms crossed, scowl firmly in place.
“Argh! High speed air cannon. Lousy way to travel,” the Doctor mutters, clambering to his feet. He lights up his sonic, using it like a torch.
“Where are we?” Amy asks, standing up beside him.
“Apparently in a Star Wars film,” the Alchemist quips.
The Doctor rolls his eyes at her before turning to Amy. “Six hundred feet down, twenty miles laterally—that puts us at the heart of the ship. I'd say Lancashire. What's this then, a cave? Can't be a cave. Looks like a cave.”
“It’s a rubbish dump, and it's mingling!”
The Alchemist scowls. “I can still smell it even with my nose plugged. Just be happy I’m not retching about now.”
“You knew to plug your nose?” Amy asks, puzzled.
The Alchemist only shrugs, flipping the mental switch on her hand sensors and crouching, lowering her hand to about two feet above the ‘floor.’ “I have heightened senses.”
Amy nods, still trying to process that.
The Alchemist sighs, flipping off the sensors and standing upright again.
The Doctor watches her carefully. “Yes, but only food refuse. Organic. Coming through feeder tubes from all over the ship.”
“The floor’s all squidgy. Like a water bed,” Amy says.
The Doctor continues, looking around. “But feeding what, though?”
‘We’re on a tongue,’ the Alchemist tells him, mental voice flat.
He winces, his eyes snapping to hers as concern flickers across his face. He tilts his head, sensing her sorrow through the bond.
She’d heard it crying out during the fall. There was only one creature this size that could survive in space—and the realization is hitting her hard. But she’s not ready to say it aloud.
“It’s sort of rubbery. Feel it. Wet and slimy,” Amy mutters, poking at the surface.
The Alchemist hears the cry again, louder this time. But to the others, it’s just background noise—animal groaning. She exhales heavily.
The Doctor finally looks away from her and turns to Amy. “Er, it’s not a floor, it’s a… So…”
Amy blinks. “It’s a what?”
“The next word is kind of a scary word. You probably want to take a moment, get yourself in a calm place. Go omm.”
“Omm,” Amy repeats.
“It’s a tongue,” the Doctor and the Alchemist say in unison.
Alarmed, Amy asks, “A tongue?”
“A tongue. A great big tongue!” the Doctor says, masking concern with excitement.
The Alchemist rubs her neck, again. The cry. The current. The memory. All of it is circling closer.
The Doctor notices the motion. His concern deepens. She hasn’t done that since the start of her last regeneration.
“This is a mouth? This whole place is a mouth? We’re in a mouth!?” Amy exclaims.
“Yes, yes, yes. But on the plus side—roomy,” the Doctor says, trying to lighten the mood.
Amy asks, “How do we get out?”
“How big is this beastie? It’s gorgeous. Blimey, if this is just the mouth, I’d love to see the stomach. Though not right now,” he adds, genuinely curious now.
“Large, honey. It’s a very large and beautiful creature,” the Alchemist says softly, eyes scanning the walls.
‘You know what it is,’ the Doctor says in her mind, worried.
She nods. Doesn’t meet his eyes.
Sighing, he looks up the feeder tube.
“Doctor, how do we get out?” Amy repeats, more urgent now.
He snaps back into action. “Okay. It’s being fed through surgically implanted feeder tubes, so the normal entrance is closed for business.”
He flashes the sonic upward. A wall of large, menacing teeth gleams in the light.
The Alchemist had already noticed them. She didn’t need the sonic.
“No one move,” she warns.
“We could try though,” Amy says, taking a step.
The Alchemist just rolls her eyes.
The Doctor shakes his head sharply. “No—stop. Don’t move.”
The ‘floor’ vibrates.
“Too late,” he mutters.
“Yep. It’s started,” the Alchemist confirms.
“What has?” Amy asks.
The Doctor and the Alchemist adjust their sonics and point them at the walls.
He answers, “Swallow reflex.”
“What are you doing?” Amy demands.
“We’re vibrating the chemo-receptors,” he tells her.
“Chemo-what?”
“The eject button,” the Alchemist says with a shrug.
“How does a mouth have an eject button?” Amy asks, panicking.
“Think about it!” the Doctor yells.
A wave of vomit begins to surge toward them. The Alchemist grimaces—the stench is slipping through even her filters.
The Doctor tilts his head quickly, once, then again. “Right, then. This isn’t going to be big on dignity. Geronimo!”
“‘Let the force be with us,’” the Alchemist says dryly, stuffing her scent blockers deeper into her nostrils.
[Overflow pipe]
All of them on the ground now, they look around in disgust.
The Doctor stands and scans Amy for injury with his sonic. “There's nothing broken, there's no sign of concussion and yes, you are covered in sick.”
Suddenly, the Alchemist shoots to her feet, runs to the corner, and finally vomits up her last meal.
The Doctor quickly follows, concern etched across his face as he rubs her back.
She lets out a deep sigh when she’s finished, then stands and leans heavily against the wall.
“Alright now?” he asks.
She nods, eyes closed. “Damnable heightened senses,” she mutters, her voice tired and muffled.
“Are you okay, Ally?” Amy asks softly.
The Alchemist just says, “Yep,” and waves her off.
“Where are we?” Amy asks once they’ve both turned to look around.
“Overspill pipe, at a guess,” the Alchemist mutters, warily eyeing the Smilers.
“Oh, God, it stinks,” Amy whines.
“No kidding,” the Alchemist replies dully, her eyes now scanning the room for an exit.
The Doctor smirks at Amy. “Oh, that's not the pipe.”
Amy sniffs herself quickly. “Oh. Phew. Can we get out?”
The Doctor turns to the Smilers, mimicking the Alchemist’s caution. “One door, one door switch, one condition. We forget everything we saw. Look familiar?”
It’s a Forget button.
“That's the carrot,” he notes.
Two Smiler booths light up.
“…Oooh, here's the stick,” he mutters.
“There’s a very kind creature living in the heart of this ship. What’s it doing there?” the Alchemist asks darkly.
The Smilers become Frowners.
“No, that’s not going to work on us, so come on. Big old beast below decks, and everyone who protests gets shoved down its throat. That how it works?” the Doctor asks, his tone matching hers in frustration.
The Frowners become Scowlers.
“Oh, stop it. We’re not leaving and we’re not forgetting, and what are you fellows going to do about it? Stick out your tongues, huh?” the Doctor taunts with a smirk.
The booths open, and the Smilers step out.
“Hm. Wasn’t expecting that move,” the Alchemist notes with a tilt of her head. Hearing footsteps, she turns—and nods at Liz 10, who nods back.
“Doctor? Ally?” Amy calls out, concerned.
Liz steps between the Doctor and Amy and shoots the Smilers.
“Look who it is. You look a lot better without your mask,” the Doctor tells her.
Liz smiles at Amy. “You must be Amy. Liz. Liz Ten.”
“Hi,” Amy replies shyly.
Liz grimaces. “Yuck. Lovely hair, Amy. Shame about the sick. You know Mandy, yeah? She’s very brave.”
“How did you find us?” the Doctor asks.
“She stuck a tracker to you when you weren’t looking,” the Alchemist says with a shrug.
Liz laughs. “She’s right. I stuck my gizmo on you. Been listening in. Nice moves on the hurl escape. So, what’s the big fella doing here?”
“You're over sixteen, you've voted. Whatever this is, you've chosen to forget about it,” the Doctor tells Liz, throwing a teasing glare at his wife.
Liz shakes her head. “No. Never forgot, never voted. Not technically a British subject.”
“Then who and what are you, and how do you know us?” the Doctor asks.
The Alchemist and Liz Ten share a knowing smirk.
“You two are a bit hard to miss, love. Mysterious strangers, M.O. consistent with higher alien intelligence, hair of an idiot, gorgeous ginger with stars in her eyes. I’ve been brought up on the stories. My whole family was,” she says.
“Don’t diss the hair, Lizzy,” the Alchemist says, pointing at her.
Glancing at the Alchemist with a smile, the Doctor turns to Liz and asks, “Your family?”
“They’re repairing. Doesn’t take them long. Let’s move,” Liz tells them.
[Sub basement 4]
“The Doctor and The Alchemist. Old drinking buddies of Henry Twelve. Tea and scones with Liz Two—although she always had macarons for the Alchemist. Vicky was a bit on the fence about you, Doctor, weren’t she? Knighted and exiled you on the same day. Invited her Savior, Lady Ally Starlight, to stay though; she always visited on her birthday after that. And so much for the Virgin Queen—bad, bad girl and boy. Apparently, the missus even came back for a visit...” Liz trails off, smirking at the Alchemist.
“That was classified. Entirely. And for the record, we had tea and discussed poetry—nothing more subversive than a sonnet over salad, thank you!” the Alchemist howls.
The Doctor blinks—then it clicks. “Liz Ten.”
“Liz Ten, yeah. Elizabeth the Tenth. And down!” she orders.
She turns. They duck. She fires—blasting the repaired Smilers again.
“I’m the bloody Queen, mate. Basically, I rule,” she says, spinning the guns with flair.
[Corridor]
“There’s a high-speed Vator through there. Oh, yeah. There’s these things,” Liz tells them.
Tentacles slap and writhe against the grating.
The Alchemist exhales heavily, rubbing her neck again. She turns to the Doctor. He meets her gaze—sad, knowing.
‘You hear him now,’ she says.
The Doctor nods silently.
“Any ideas?” Liz asks.
Amy speaks up. “Doctor, I saw one of these up top. There was a hole in the road, like it had burst through—like a root.”
“Exactly like a root. It’s all one creature. The same one we were inside. Reaching out. It must be growing through the mechanisms of the entire ship,” he replies.
“What, like an infestation? Someone’s helping it. Feeding it. Feeding my subjects to it. Come on. Got to keep moving,” Liz says, and she and Mandy head off.
But the Doctor and Alchemist don’t move.
Amy lingers, watching them both. “Doctor? Ally?”
“Oh, Amy. We should never have come here,” the Doctor says, shaking his head.
He notices the Alchemist rubbing her neck again.
“I’m so sorry, dear,” he whispers.
She only shakes her head and walks out.
The Doctor sighs and follows.
Amy, confused, looks back once at the root—then hurries after them.
[State apartments]
Finally clean, the Alchemist removes the scent filters with a sigh before carefully walking over to the Doctor who is currently holding Liz’s mask and glancing around at the glasses on the floor. When she meets him she leans into his side. She can’t help but rub at her neck like she used to, again.
The Doctor presses a kiss to her cheek. He resumes examining the mask, one hand gently rubbing slow circles into her lower back. Every so often, she reaches for her nape again.
“Why all the glasses?” the Doctor finally asks.
“To remind me every single day that my government is up to something—and it’s my duty to find out what,” Liz says.
“A queen going undercover to investigate her own kingdom?” the Alchemist asks softly.
Liz nods. “Secrets are being kept from me. I don’t have a choice. Ten years I’ve been at this. My entire reign. And you’ve achieved more in one afternoon.”
“How old were you when you came to the throne?” the Doctor asks, handing the mask to his Bondmate.
She takes it, turning it over in her hands. It’s old—over 250 years, she realizes. She glances at the Doctor. He nods.
She activates her internal sensors with a sigh.
‘How old?’ he asks across the bond.
‘273 years and four months,’ she answers.
“Forty. Why?” Liz asks aloud.
Amy gapes. “What, you’re fifty now? No way.”
“Yeah, they slowed my body clock. Keeps me looking like the stamps,” Liz shrugs.
The Doctor nods toward the mask still in the Alchemist’s hands. “And you always wear this in public?”
“Undercover’s not easy when you’re me. The autographs, the bunting,” she replies.
The Alchemist nods.“Air-balanced porcelain. Holds itself in place, naturally—when this is sculpted properly, it doesn’t need help staying on.”
She glances toward the door—mechanical footsteps.
‘Incoming,’ she warns the Doctor.
The Doctor looks toward the door, then back at the Queen.
“Yeah? So what?” Liz asks, confused.
The Doctor sighs. “Oh, Liz. So everything.”
A division of Winders enters.
“What are you doing? How dare you come in here?” Liz demands.
“Ma’am, you have expressed interest in the interior workings of Starship UK. You will come with us now,” says one of them.
Liz scowls, “Why would I do that?”
The man’s head twists—becoming a Scowler.
Amy’s eyes go wide. “How can they be Smilers?”
“Half Smiler, half human,” the Doctor replies grimly.
“Whatever you creatures are, I am still your Queen. On whose authority is this done?” Liz demands.
“The highest authority, Ma’am,” the creature responds.
Liz lifts her chin. “I am the highest authority.”
“Yes, Ma’am. You must go now, Ma’am.”
“Where?” Liz asks .
“The Tower, Ma’am.”
[Tower]
Amy peers through a grating where tentacles flail in agitation.
The Alchemist glances at the movement, winces, and touches her neck again before exhaling a long, weary sigh.
“Doctor, where are we?” Amy asks.
“The lowest point of Starship UK. The dungeon,” he tells her.
A man greets Liz with a stiff nod. “Ma’am.”
“Hawthorne. So this is where you’ve hidden yourself away. I think you’ve got some explaining to do,” she says.
“There’s children down here. Innocent children. Why?” the Alchemist asks, her voice heavy with concern.
Hawthorne answers, “Protesters and citizens of limited value are fed to the beast. For some reason, it won’t eat the children. You’re the first adults it’s spared. You’re very lucky.”
The Alchemist stiffens, then walks quickly to the center of the room, where the Star Whale’s pulsating brain is exposed. Crossing her arms, she resists the urge to touch her neck again and glares down at the space, flinching as the creature screams with each jolt from the electrodes above.
Catching her movement from the corner of his eye, the Doctor answers Hawthorne, “Yeah, look at us. Torture chamber of the Tower of London. Lucky, lucky, lucky. Except it’s not a torture chamber, is it? Well, except it is. Except it isn’t. Depends on your angle.”
“What’s that?” Liz asks, moving beside the Alchemist, who remains silent, watching.
The Doctor stares at her. “Well, like I say, it depends on the angle. It’s either the exposed pain center of big fella’s brain, being tortured relentlessly.”
“Or?” Liz prompts.
“Or it’s the gas pedal. The accelerator. Starship UK’s go-faster button,” he says, bitterness sharp in his voice.
Liz shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”
The Alchemist finally looks up, eyes burning with fury. She spins to face the Queen. “Don’t you? Try to figure it out. Go on, give it a shot. It’s not that difficult. The spaceship that could never fly. We noticed it the moment we got here—no vibration on deck, a fake engine room that’s completely silent. This creature—this poor, kind, trapped, terrified creature.” She gestures widely. “He’s called a Star Whale. At this point, he’s among the last of his kind. From my knowledge, there’s only one or two pods left. He’s not infesting you, he’s not invading. He is what you have instead of an engine.”
The Alchemist glances around the room, hissing, “And this place—this is his cell, his cage. Where you hurt him. Where you torture him, day after day, just to keep the ship moving. I heard his screams the moment we fell through the chute. I felt the pulse of the electric current while we were in his mouth. Like a pulse through bone. You think I wouldn’t recognise the sound of a creature being broken? I know it far too well. I heard it from my people. I sang it myself, once—until I couldn’t scream anymore.”
She pauses, chest rising, then pulls out her sonic and steps to a nearby grating. “You know what? Since you’re in such denial, I’ll give you a listen. Normally, it’s above the range of human hearing. In fact, even for unmodified Time Lords it’s hard to hear unless you’re close enough. This is the sound none of you wanted to hear. It’s a sound I’m very familiar with.”
The Alchemist sonics a tentacle. A scream echoes through the room—high, sharp, agonizing.
“Stop it!” Liz cries. “Who did this?”
“We act on instructions from the highest authority,” Hawthorne replies.
Liz steps toward him, fury rising. “I am the highest authority. The creature will be released.”
No one moves.
“Now.” Liz cries, “I said now! Is anyone listening to me?”
“Liz. Your mask,” the Doctor says, holding it up.
She turns. “What about my mask?”
He glances at it, then glares at her. “Look at it. It’s old. At least two hundred years old, I’d say. But my Ally—she can tell the exact age of anything.”
Liz frowns. “Yeah? It’s an antique. So?”
The Alchemist rolls her eyes, then fixes Liz with a cold stare. “Yeah. An antique made by craftsmen over two hundred and seventy three years ago, perfectly sculpted to your face.”
“They slowed your body clock, all right,” the Doctor tells her. “But you’re not fifty. Nearer three hundred. And it’s been a long old reign.”
Liz shakes her head. “No, it’s ten years. I’ve been on this throne ten years.”
“Ten years. And the same ten years, over and over again, always leading you here,” the Doctor says, gesturing toward the screen where two buttons are visible: Forget and Abdicate.
Horrified, Liz turns to Hawthorne. “What have you done?”
“Only what you have ordered. We work for you, Ma’am. The Winders, the Smilers, all of us,” he replies.
A recording of Liz begins to play. “If you are watching this—if I am watching this—then I have found my way to the Tower of London. The creature you are looking at is called a Star Whale. Once, there were millions of them. They lived in the depths of space and, according to legend, guided early space travelers through asteroid belts. This one, as far as we know, is the last of its kind. And what we’ve done to it breaks my heart…”
Amy stares, stunned. “I voted for this. Why would I do that?”
The Doctor rounds on her, nearly snarling, “Because you knew if we stayed here, we’d be faced with an impossible choice. Humanity or the alien. You took it upon yourself to save us from that. And that was wrong. You don’t ever decide what we need to know.”
“I don’t even remember doing it,” Amy says, shaken.
“You did it. That’s what counts,” the Time Lords hiss, their voices laced with venom.
Amy’s eyes well with tears. “I’m—I’m sorry.”
The Doctor exhales sharply. “Oh, we don’t care. When we’re done here, you’re going home.”
“Why? Because I made a mistake? One mistake? I don’t even remember doing it. Doctor!” she cries.
“Yeah, we know. You’re only human,” the Alchemist says, stepping over to the Doctor as he approaches the console.
Liz, watching them, asks, “What are you doing?”
“The worst thing I’ll ever do,” the Alchemist replies, her voice thick with remorse. “Something many of my fellow Elites begged for while we were tortured like him. For the pain to end. I’m going to pass a high-voltage electrical charge through the Star Whale’s brain. It should neutralise its higher functions—leave it vegetative. Unaware. The ship will still fly, but the Whale won’t feel it. It won’t be aware of what’s happening—which would be a blessing when you have no control. Trust me.”
‘We’re doing this together,’ she hears in her mind, but she shakes her head, avoiding his gaze.
‘Amara, you are not doing this yourself!’ he yells mentally.
She doesn’t respond.
“That’ll be like killing it,” Amy says, nearly sobbing.
“Look, three options. One, we let the Star Whale continue in unendurable agony for hundreds more years. Two, we kill everyone on this ship…” the Doctor begins, but the Alchemist cuts in.
“Three, I murder a beautiful, innocent creature as painlessly as I can. Because there is absolutely no way in hell I am letting my husband do this, and then I change my name to what I was called by my own torturer,” the Time Lady growls, whipping her hair back as she glares at them.
“There must be something we can do—some other way,” Liz pleads.
“Nobody talk to me. Nobody human has anything to say to me today!” the Alchemist roars.
“I’m not letting you do this alone, Alchemist,” the Doctor growls, grabbing her hand away from the controls.
“And I am not letting you do it,” she says, turning on him. “I know what he feels like. I know that pain—and I remember it well.”
The Doctor shakes his head with a sigh. “You are not what he called you. You know that.”
“Apparently I’ve been wrong,” she mutters, tearing her hand free and adjusting the console.
Amy and Mandy sit nearby as the Doctor tries to talk her down. More children enter the room.
“Timmy! You made it, you’re okay. It’s me, Mandy!” the girl exclaims.
A tentacle flails behind her, then gently taps her shoulder.
Amy watches as Mandy reaches out and strokes it.
Then it hits Amy—everything they said: how they’re among the last of their kind, how they only step in when children need help, how they have family but travel without them. How they go out of their way to help, no matter what they’ve been through. Ally… she didn’t realize how much the woman had endured. And she’s still so kind. The Doctor, too. She can only imagine what he’s been through—and yet he’s just as kind.
The Star Whale… the Alchemist said there are more out there, but this one came alone.
To save them?
Amy’s eyes go wide.
“Alchemist, stop. Whatever you're doing, stop it now!” she shouts, then bolts forward and grabs Liz’s hand.
“Sorry, Your Majesty. Gonna need a hand,” she says, dragging her toward the voting buttons.
The Alchemist breaks into a sprint. “Amelia, don’t—please!”
“Amy, no! No!” the Doctor yells, following close behind.
Amy slams Liz’s hand down on the Abdicate button just as the Alchemist reaches her wrist.
A roar tears through the ship. Starship UK jolts violently. Panic erupts across the chamber.
“Amy, what have you done?” the Doctor shouts.
The Alchemist jerks back like she’s been burned. She stares at Amy with wide, terrified eyes—then lifts both hands to her neck and begins clawing at the back of it, right where her brand used to be. Her nails are long in this body—razor-sharp. Blood starts trailing down her spine.
The Doctor feels the panic spike through their bond like a siren.
He rushes in, grabs her wrists, and pulls them down, wrapping both arms tightly around her. She’s spiraling. Fast. A full-blown panic attack. He turns her so she’s facing his chest, holding her close. She presses her ear hard against the space between his hearts and begins to sob—silently, uncontrollably.
Amy doesn’t notice.
She beams, turning to Hawthorne. “Nothing at all. Am I right?”
Hawthorne runs to the screens. “We’ve increased speed.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve stopped torturing the pilot. Got to help,” Amy says.
Liz stares at the display. “It’s still here. I don’t understand.”
No one sees the Time Lords. While attention is on the screen, the Doctor lifts the Alchemist into his arms and carries her to a quiet corner. He sits down on the floor, pulling her into his lap, arms tight around her. She adjusts herself, curling in, crying silently into the crook of his neck.
He begins whispering in Old High Gallifreyan—soft, musical—the language he always uses to soothe her. It worked in her last body. And the one before that.
“The Star Whale didn’t come like a miracle all those years ago,” Amy says slowly. “It volunteered. You didn’t have to trap it, or torture it. That was all just you. It came because it couldn’t stand to hear your children cry.
“What if you were really old… and really kind… and among the last of your kind? Your whole race gone, except maybe your family. What couldn’t you do then? If you were that old, and that kind, and among the very last of your kind, you couldn’t just stand there and watch children cry.”
She stops, scanning the room—and then she sees them.
The Doctor, whispering gently. The Alchemist, trembling in his arms, hidden against him.
The room goes still. Silent. All anyone can hear is the Doctor’s voice—low and melodic in a language no one understands—while the woman in his arms cries.
The Queen gestures for the tower to be cleared. Hawthorne ushers the children out quietly.
Mandy glances back at the pair and smiles softly. Grateful. She takes Timmy’s hand and leaves.
Amy stands frozen, hands pressed to her chest. She finally sees it—the weight the Time Lords carry.
Liz touches her shoulder. Nods to the door. They step out together, leaving the two of them alone.
The Doctor stays there with her for nearly twenty minutes, whispering the whole time. Her sobs eventually fade. She stays nestled against him, breathing in the familiar scent of him, syncing her breaths to the beat of his twin hearts.
“Alchemist,” he whispers, “I’m always here. You’re not back there anymore. You’re not in that cage. He’ll never hurt you again.”
She nods against his chest. Slowly pulls back, shifting in his lap so she can look at him.
He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and gently wipes away her tears.
“I really lost it, didn’t I, Doctor,” she murmurs, brushing her hand through his hair and resting it on his cheek. “I haven’t had one of those in a long time.”
“It hit too close to your hearts,” he says softly. “That’s why I was trying to stop you from doing it alone. You saved our family. You protected me through the War. Let me protect you too.”
She gives a tired smile and lifts her pinky. “From now on, I promise to let you save me—even if it’s from myself.”
He wraps his own pinky around hers, smiling himself. “Pinky swear?”
“Pinky swear,” she echoes, voice steadier now, and smiles back.
[Observation deck]
The Doctor is waiting for Amy and the Alchemist, overlooking the streets below.
He jumps when there’s a light tap on his shoulder and turns to find his Bondmate holding three large black bags.
“I don’t understand how you can still be so quiet even while wearing those amazing boots,” he tells her with a laugh.
The Alchemist just rolls her eyes fondly and sets the packages down. The Doctor immediately snaps one up and starts digging through it.
“So, what did you get me?” he asks with a grin.
“Oh, those are for you, huh?” she laughs.
“Yep, all mine,” he quips—and promptly pulls out a dark green lace thong, grinning wide. He nods in approval, then dives into the next bag.
“Look at you, showing off your favorite things to all of Starship UK,” she teases with a smirk.
He pauses at that, a mischievous glint in his eye, “Oh, but dear, these are not my favorite things. They just decorate my one favorite thing.”
He triumphantly pulls out a matching mesh bra and holds it over his head.
The Alchemist gasps and swats at his shoulder, “You really are a menace! Give me that back!”
The Doctor shakes his head. “Nope. Not having it.”
She’s only half a head shorter, so she stands on her tiptoes and grabs for it. “Drop it, Doctor.”
He just smirks and shakes his head. They tug gently back and forth, careful not to tear the delicate fabric.
Laughter erupts from the side of the deck. They freeze and slowly turn to see Amy doubled over, laughing, holding tight to Liz’s mask.
“What are you two doing?” she manages between giggles.
“Uhm… tug of bra?” the Alchemist says sheepishly, flushing as she lets go.
“Ha! I win,” the Doctor crows, tossing the bra back into the bag and setting it down again.
Clearing her throat, the Alchemist turns fully to Amy. “What do you have there, then, Sunshine?”
“From Her Majesty. She says there will be no more secrets on Starship UK,” Amy says softly, offering Liz’s mask.
The Alchemist sighs and accepts the gift. “Amelia, you do realise, of course, that your actions nearly resulted in the deaths of everyone aboard this vessel?”
“You could have killed a Star Whale,” Amy replies evenly. “A beautiful creature that you empathize with.”
“And you saved it. I know,” the Alchemist says with a soft smile.
The Doctor nods, adding, “We both know.”
Amy grins, rocking on her heels. “Amazing though, don’t you think? The Star Whale. All that pain and misery and loneliness… and it just made it kind.”
“But you couldn’t have known how it would react,” the Doctor warns gently.
Amy shakes her head. “You couldn’t. But I’ve seen it before. Very old and very kind and among the very, very last. Sound a bit familiar?”
The Alchemist beams at her, then pulls the young woman into a hug between herself and her Bondmate.
“Sunshine sandwich,” the Alchemist whispers in Amy’s ear, making her giggle.
They release her and turn back toward the railing.
“Hey,” Amy says, turning to the Doctor.
“What?” he asks.
Amy smirks. “Gotcha.”
“Huh. Gotcha,” he echoes, huffing a laugh.
The Time Lords each wrap an arm around Amy’s shoulders, pulling her in close.
“Thank you, Sunshine,” the Alchemist says with a smile.
Amy just nods.
[London market]
Now walking through the market, the Doctor happily swings all three of the Alchemist’s bags. He’s clearly thrilled she’s done with sports bras.
“Shouldn’t we say goodbye? Won’t they wonder where we went?” Amy asks, glancing back.
The Alchemist laughs and shakes her head. “For the rest of their lives. Oh, the songs they’ll write. No, I’m being entirely honest—it always happens. There are even storybooks about us.”
Amy blinks, giving her a look.
“The Queen has a copy of Dame Ally Starlight, the Protector of the Crown. Only the British Royal Family are allowed to have it.”
The Doctor laughs. “Never mind them or Ally’s book. Big day tomorrow.”
Amy stops mid-step. “Sorry—what?”
The Alchemist senses her surprise, frowning.
“Well, it’s always a big day tomorrow. We’ve got a time machine. We skip the little ones,” he says brightly.
Amy nods slowly, thinking it over. “You know what I said about getting back for tomorrow morning? Have you ever run away from something? Because you were scared, or not ready, or just… just because you could?”
“Once, a long time ago,” the Doctor replies, trading a glance with the Alchemist and winking at her.
“What happened?” Amy asks.
“Hello,” the Time Lords say in unison, the Alchemist waving at her with a toothy grin.
The Alchemist pulls off her necklace to unlock and swing open the TARDIS doors—and that’s when she feels it.
Another crack on the side of the ship.
‘I still don’t understand why Thief Two will never get it right,’ the TARDIS grumbles in her mind.
‘It’s because he’s thick, Sexy. Always has been and always will be.’
She hears a familiar musical laugh echo back at her words.
Amy nods to herself, then turns to speak, “Right. Doctor, Ally, there’s something I haven’t told you… No, hang on. Is that a phone ringing?”
[TARDIS]
Amy follows them into the TARDIS. The Alchemist spins around, snapping her fingers to shut the doors behind her before striding over to the console with the Doctor, still holding the mask.
“People phone you?” Amy asks, surprised.
“Well, it's a phone box,” he tells her, lifting both hands to show he’s still carrying the Alchemist’s packages. “Would you mind?”
“She’s not a phone box,” the Alchemist translates with a small smile, hearing the grumble in her mind. “She’s a TARDIS.”
Amy nods and walks over to answer the trim phone on the console.
“Hello? Sorry, who?” Amy blinks, shocked. “No, seriously, who?” She turns to the Doctor. “Says he's the Prime Minister. First the Queen, now the Prime Minister. Get about, don't you?”
“You have no idea, Sunshine,” the Alchemist mutters under her breath with a smirk.
The Doctor, the only one who hears his wife's comment, rolls his eyes before asking, “Which Prime Minister?”
“Er, which Prime Minister? The British one,” Amy says, glancing between the Time Lords.
The Alchemist rolls her eyes while the Doctor finally places the bags down next to him.
“Which British one?” the Doctor repeats.
“Which British one? Winston Churchill for you,” Amy announces in disbelief.
The Doctor prances over to take the phone. “Oh! Hello, Winston, dear. How are you?”
“Tricky situation, Doctor. Potentially very dangerous. I think I'm going to need you and your wife on this one,” Churchill tells him over the line.
“Don't worry about a thing, Prime Minister,” the Doctor calls over the line. “We're on our way,” he adds confidently.
The Doctor hangs up the phone, and together, he and his Bondmate move seamlessly around the console, setting the TARDIS in motion.
The Alchemist hands her Bondmate the mask so he can add it to their categorized collection. She looks around at the floor in thought.
“Where did she put it?” the Doctor asks, glancing down as well, recognizing the familiar searching look on her face.
“I’ll ask, hold on,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“Put what? Ask who?” Amy questions, watching them curiously.
‘Where did you move our collection to, old girl? I can only see our oddends, repair essentials, and emergency things under the glass,’ the Alchemist asks the TARDIS in her mind.
“I make a room for them. You get far too many, Thief One. Both of you enjoyed it,” she hears in reply, the voice musical and fond.
“The mask that Liz gave us,” the Doctor explains to their new companion. “Ally can speak with the TARDIS telepathically. I’m a bit jealous of it, to be honest.”
“Telepathically!?” Amy gasps, her eyes wide.
The Alchemist laughs, turning to her husband. “You are far more than a bit jealous of it, honey.”
She then answers Amy’s question more seriously, “We’re naturally telepathic—Time Lords, that is. But I have an unusual connection that allows me to speak to and understand our TARDIS.”
“Can you read my mind?” Amy asks warily, the scent of her worry reaching the Alchemist immediately.
“No, no, only other Time Lords in our family if we want to. The Doctor and I speak telepathically all of the time, though,” she says, hoping to calm her.
She pointedly leaves out that they could mindmeld with Amy and access her memories—no need to terrify the poor girl right now.
“We also feel each other's emotions,” the Doctor pipes up, grinning. “Just the pair of us, though.”
Amy nods slowly, the reality sinking in. They may look human... but they definitely aren't.
“Anyway,” the Alchemist says brightly, shifting the energy, “Bluette built a room for the collection. Doctor, time for you to go find it and put this lovely mask away.”
The Doctor grins, accepting the mask with a flourish. “Exploration time!” he yells before spinning around and disappearing down a set of stairs into the corridor to hunt for the new room.
“I’m sorry that everything that happened on the ship brought back so many awful memories, Ally,” Amy says, frowning.
The Alchemist sighs, nodding as she leans against the console. “It’s been a little while since it all happened, but sometimes I still have panic attacks, it seems. I used to have them more often. This is the first one I’ve had in years.”
“Whoever did that to you and your people is awful,” Amy says, her voice strong with contempt.
“He was. But I'd rather not get into that,” the Alchemist replies softly.
“The Doctor said... there was a very bad day. Is that when he was stopped?” Amy asks.
“Yes,” the Alchemist answers calmly. “But please don’t bring it up with him. He doesn't like to talk about it. We stopped him together—stopped him from doing something far worse. But we lost our homeworld in the process. I was only able to save our family.”
She softens further as she adds, “Amelia, please never mention this to anyone.”
“Why not?” Amy asks.
“To keep you safe,” the Alchemist says, “and to keep our family safe. No one can know, unless the Doctor and I decide to tell them.”
Amy nods thoughtfully, understanding the weight behind her words.
“Now,” the Alchemist says with a sudden grin, “unless you want to give Churchill a heart attack by showing up wearing a nightie, we should probably get you a change of clothes.”
Amy’s eyes widen in horror and she laughs. “Oh, that would be awful! Please tell me you have some good clothes in there?”
“Are you dissing my boots again, Sunshine?” the Alchemist teases, crossing her arms and raising a brow at her.
Amy barely stifles a laugh. “I mean... you and the Doctor have some interesting fashion choices.”
“Oh, Sunshine. Just wait until you see the wardrobe. The Doctor used to be obsessed with wearing question marks—and don’t get me started on the dreadful plaid jacket. I used to hide it whenever he took it off, but he always managed to find it, even when I stuck it in the freezer,” she says, shaking her head fondly.
Amy roars with laughter. “Show me, show me!” she begs.
“Alright, come along then, Sunshine,” the Alchemist says, picking up her bags and leading the way.
[TARDIS Corridors]
Amy follows the Alchemist down the twisting corridors.
“Just how big is this place?” she asks, looking around in wonder.
“Infinite,” the Alchemist replies cheerfully. “It’s actually another dimension in here. Hence why it’s bigger on the inside. There are even rooms from the future that we don’t know about yet—but don’t tell the Doctor that. He’ll get himself lost trying to find them.”
“Rooms from the future?” Amy asks, wide-eyed.
They reach the door to the wardrobe. Just for fun, the Alchemist asks the TARDIS to open it.
The door swings open with a whoosh, making Amy jump.
“The TARDIS is alive,” the Alchemist explains, grinning. “She’s connected to time itself—past, present, future. Your room’s likely been here for years just waiting for you to join us. Isn’t that a nice thought?” She spins on her heel as she heads inside.
[TARDIS Wardrobe]
Amy stands in awe. The wardrobe is massive, filled with endless racks of clothes from every era imaginable.
“Yeah... that actually is really nice. But seriously—how do you have so much clothing? It’s like a fashion museum in here.”
“Some of it we bought. Some was left behind. And most of it? Sexy gets bored,” the Alchemist says with a shrug, dropping her bags outside one of the changing rooms.
“Bored?” Amy echoes.
“Bored. She also composes songs—or has composed, will compose... tenses are tricky with her,” the Alchemist says, laughing.
“That’s... interesting,” Amy says, still taking it all in.
“You’re standing inside an infinitely large living machine that travels through space and time, Sunshine. ‘Interesting’ is just the tip of the iceberg,” the Alchemist says with a smirk.
Amy laughs. “Yeah, starting to realize that.”
“Come on, I’ll show you the horrible jacket,” the Alchemist says, leading her toward a rack in the back.
With a theatrical flourish, she pulls out the offending item. “Tah-dah.”
Amy stares at it for a moment, then bursts into laughter. “What even is that!?”
“A fashion tragedy,” the Alchemist says dryly. “Honestly, I preferred when he wore celery. At least then I had a portable snack—and I don’t just mean my husband,” she adds with a wink.
Amy’s laughter rings through the wardrobe as the Alchemist returns the ‘plaid disaster’ to its rightful place.
“Come on. Let’s find you an actual human outfit. 2010s outfits are over here,” she says, leading the way.
As Amy flips through the clothes, the Alchemist hears her Bondmate in her mind: ‘Where did you two wander off to?’
‘Wardrobe. Sunshine needs proper clothes if we’re seeing Churchill. Also, I need to get out of this horrible thing compressing my chest,’ she answers, pursing her lips.
‘Can’t you change in the bedroom?’ he whines.
‘So you can watch? You know how you get. Besides, what will we do with Amelia?’ she shoots back, rolling her eyes.
‘Fine…’ he grumbles.
The whole conversation happens silently, but Amy watches the Alchemist’s shifting expressions with curiosity.
“You’re speaking telepathically right now, aren’t you?” she asks.
The Alchemist blinks and laughs. “Yes, sorry. He’s complaining.” She notices the bundle of clothes in Amy’s arms and nods. “Come on, Sunshine. Dressing rooms are this way.”
Spinning lightly on her foot, the Alchemist leads her to three golden doors. Amy follows, amused by the familiar movement—she realizes both of them do that, probably without even noticing.
[Dressing Rooms]
“These doors here,” the Alchemist says, gesturing as she digs through one of her bags for her favorite set.
Amy nods, slipping into one of the rooms.
The Alchemist pulls out her underthings, looks them over, and heads into a changing room herself.
A few minutes later, Amy calls from behind her door, “Did you only buy green?”
“Yep!” the Time Lady chirps. “I always do. I’m rather fond of the color.”
“My favorite’s red,” Amy says, adjusting her new outfit and smiling at her reflection.
“Fitting. You’re Sunshine and a redhead. I approve,” the Alchemist says. “By the way, I’ve got an entire makeover room. Future tech. Makeup that never expires. It’s for our companions to use.”
Amy laughs, leaning against her door. “Good thing I like makeup. Do you ever wear any?”
The Alchemist steps out, back in her full outfit. She shrugs. “Not yet. I used to. My lips and eyelids feel off now though. New body and all.”
“I’m confused,” Amy admits.
The Alchemist can smell it—pure, genuine confusion.
“We weren’t kidding about new faces, Sunshine. Our bodies change completely when we Regenerate. This is a brand new me. Same for the Doctor. It's why we were acting so weird when you first met us—him especially.”
Amy grins. “He seems to always be weird. You’re not that far off, either.”
The Alchemist laughs. “Not wrong. I’ve always been better at blending in, though. The Doctor’s a true oddball.”
‘You’re taking forever,’ the Doctor complains in her mind.
The Alchemist huffs aloud. “He says we’re taking forever. Which, for him, is more like a minute.” She smirks mischievously. “Let's make it take even longer. Come on, Sunshine. Time for makeup.”
Amy bursts out laughing. “You really have him on a lead, huh?”
As they head out of the wardrobe, the Alchemist says over her shoulder, “Mmm, more like a rope.”
Amy jokes back, “I bet it’s green!”
She’s not wrong—but she doesn’t need to know that.
[Makeover Room]
Her Companion steps in behind her, and she looks around the room in awe.
“It’s beautiful in here! Are all those filled with makeup?” Amy asks excitedly, pointing to the sets of drawers.
“Thank you! Bluette designed it for me a very long time ago, but she updated it recently. Some drawers have other things too—brushes, nail polish, that sort of thing,” she says with a hum.
“Each setup’s the same, except for mine. I’ve got a lot of unusual stuff from the future tucked away. Whichever one’s yours will have your name above the mirror when you sit down,” the Alchemist explains.
Amy leans over to look at one mirror, spotting a sign made of swirling, connected circles. She points to it, curious. “What’s that?”
“My name. It’s in our written language. The TARDIS doesn’t translate it, but it says The Alchemist,” she replies, settling into the seat and rummaging through the drawers.
“It looks really pretty,” Amy says, still admiring it, before taking a seat at the table next to her.
“Thank you. You should look up, though. Your name’s above your mirror now,” the Alchemist points out as she starts on her face.
Amy quickly glances up and laughs happily at the scarlet-red sign; Amelia is written in elegant calligraphy. It’s made of the same slightly translucent material as the Alchemist’s sign, just in vibrant red instead of dark green.
“That’s so cool!” she says, eagerly starting to explore the round drawers, her excitement growing with each discovery. She feels a burst of comfort at the familiarity.
In the back of her mind, the Alchemist hears her husband’s voice start to repeat: ‘I’m bored, bored, bored, bored, bored…’
She groans in annoyance and says through gritted teeth while finishing up her eyeshadow, “He’s really testing my patience right now, Sunshine. He just keeps chanting bored in my mind.”
Busy applying her mascara, Amy suggests, “Threaten him or something.”
‘If you stop, we’ll Test Run in the dungeon tonight too,’ she sends back sharply, and he falls immediately silent.
The Alchemist huffs out a laugh and finishes her lipstick, choosing a luscious scarlet red shade. “Sometimes he responds better to treats. I’ve got him well trained. One time, I tested out Pavlov’s theory on him. Worked.”
Amy, finished with her light makeup, swings her head around to stare at her. She notices the Time Lady is wearing a full face—except for foundation.
“Explain,” Amy demands.
The Alchemist throws her head back with a laugh. “There’s a candy he loves. Every time he said something nice instead of rude, I’d give him a piece. He’s always rude. But for a little while, I actually broke the habit.”
“That’s... hilarious,” Amy giggles.
“Dog with a bone,” the Alchemist says dryly, giving her makeup a once-over before frowning slightly.
“Something isn’t quite right,” she mutters, tilting her head at different angles in the mirror.
Amy turns to her, incredulous. “Are you joking!? Your makeup is perfection. I’d think you got it done professionally.”
“Mmm. Must be a talent I picked up in this Regeneration. I wasn’t fond of makeup—or any good at it—last time,” the Alchemist replies, poking at her hair thoughtfully.
“You get talents when you change too?” Amy asks, curious.
“Yep. And now I know what’s wrong. My hair,” she grumbles.
Amy shakes her head. “But your curls are gorgeous.”
“No, no, I still need curls, but…” The Alchemist bends down and digs into a narrow bottom drawer, her arm disappearing almost to the elbow.
Amy watches, amused, comparing it to the Time Lady’s magic pocket.
Finally, the Alchemist pulls out what looks like an aerosol can, studying it.
“I think this should do,” she murmurs.
She sits up, pops the cap off, and spritzes the back of her head once.
Amy’s jaw drops as the Alchemist’s curls instantly lift and twist into a flawless 1940s-style hairdo—like Rita Hayworth, but truly ginger and curlier.
“That’s better,” the Time Lady beams at her reflection.
“I’d ask how… but I doubt I’d understand,” Amy says, then adds with a grin, “You look like a vintage starlet now.”
“Aw, thanks, Sunshine! This is a nanite spray. It’ll hold for about thirty Earth days. Even after washing, it’ll spring right back!” she says happily.
Amy nods and stands up as the Alchemist does, following her out the door into the corridor. She turns to close it, but the door swings shut on its own.
Amy laughs quietly to herself, reminded, once more, that this is a living ship and just the start of her adventures with two aliens.
[Outside Console Room]
After making their way back through the corridors, the Alchemist pauses at the entrance to the console room and steps aside, gesturing for Amy to come up next to her.
Inside, the Doctor is standing directly in front of one of the doors, knocking his forehead against it. Repeatedly.
The Alchemist holds a finger to her lips and motions for Amy to stay quiet and stay put, then silently approaches her husband from behind.
‘How long has he been doing this?’ she asks their ship.
The answer makes her close her eyes and shake her head. ‘Since you entered your makeover room. I will not interrupt.’
Still gently knocking his head against the wall, the Doctor doesn’t notice as the Alchemist stops an arm’s length behind him and taps his shoulder.
He leaps into the air with a startled yelp, arms flailing, and spins around to face her with wide eyes.
His jaw drops.
“Oh,” he says.
“Mhm,” she hums back.
“Oh,” he repeats.
“You just gonna keep repeating that, honey?” the Alchemist asks, raising an eyebrow.
The Doctor nods seriously.
“Oh.”
The Alchemist huffs a quiet laugh and calls over her shoulder, “Grab a seat, Sunshine. Hopefully the Doctor snaps out of fantasyland and we can actually go see Churchill sometime during his century.”
Giggling, Amy plops down onto one of the steps around the console, still watching the couple’s interaction with open amusement.
“Oh,” she hears again.
The Alchemist sighs and turns to face him properly.
“I’m going to have to smack you out of this one, aren’t I?” she asks, resigned.
Another helpless: “Oh.”
She nods once, lifts her hand, and smacks him lightly across the face—just hard enough to get his brain working again.
The Doctor blinks, shakes his head from side to side like a cartoon character, then grabs her hand and pulls her over to the console.
Amy gasps between her laughter, thinking, Aliens.
The Doctor quickly types in the coordinates while the Alchemist helps him start the flight, both acting as though absolutely nothing out of the ordinary just happened—although his cheeks are flushed pink, the left side much redder than the right.
Chapter Text
[Filing room]
The TARDIS materialises with a low, grinding hum, tucked between rows of battered metal filing cabinets.
In Churchill’s office, a sharp buzzer sounds. A slow, knowing smile spreads across the Prime Minister’s face.
Inside the filing room, the Doctor and the Alchemist push open the TARDIS doors—only to find themselves staring down the barrels of three Lee Enfield rifles, gleaming and unmistakably British. The rifles part with crisp, disciplined movements, revealing Winston Churchill standing just behind them, beaming.
The Doctor grins and calls over his shoulder, “Amy? Winston Churchill.”
“Doctor. Ally. Is it you?” Winston asks, shock flickering across his features as he notices the changes.
The Doctor shakes his head with a boyish smile. “Oh, Winston, my old friend.”
“Lovely to see you, Winston,” the Alchemist adds with a grin.
Churchill steps forward, extending a hand in welcome before flipping it out flat, almost imperiously.
“Ah, every time,” the Doctor says dryly. Beside him, the Alchemist just shakes her head, an amused light in her eyes.
“What’s he after?” Amy asks as she joins them, voice low.
“TARDIS key, of course,” the Time Lords answer lightly.
Churchill sighs in wonderment, eyes gleaming with ambition. “Think of what I could achieve with your remarkable machine, Alchemist, Doctor. The lives that could be saved.”
The Doctor visibly winces. “Ah, doesn’t work like that.”
“It really doesn’t, Winston,” the Alchemist adds, gentler but firm.
Churchill’s tone shifts, testing. “Must I take it by force?” He crosses his arms.
The Doctor lets out a laugh. “I'd like to see you try to get past Ally.”
“Keep an eye on him, he’s a pickpocket,” the Alchemist murmurs to Amy, who smirks at the warning.
Winston lifts a hand. “At ease!” he bellows.
The soldiers instantly lower their rifles to their sides, posture relaxing.
“You rang?” the Doctor asks with a smirk.
[Corridor]
As they walk, Churchill glances over at them. “So you've changed your faces again.”
The Doctor shrugs. “Yeah, well, had a bit of work done.”
The Alchemist fluffs her hair with a grin. “I’m also testing out a new hair style. Thoughts?”
Churchill laughs. “I find it very agreeable, Ally.”
She grins at him.
Amy looks around, catching on. “Got it, got it, got it. Cabinet War Rooms, right?”
“Yep. Top secret heart of the War Office, right under London,” the Doctor confirms.
Churchill raises a brow. “You're late, by the way.”
The Alchemist sighs. “Yes, I noticed. Sorry about that, Winston.”
“Requisitions, sir,” a young woman says, handing Churchill a folder.
The Alchemist watches her closely, frowning. There's worry hanging around the girl like a cloud and she can smell it.
“Excellent,” Churchill says, eyeing the woman with equal concern.
The Doctor finally asks, “Late?”
Churchill replies, “I rang you a month ago.”
“Twenty-seven days, yes?” the Alchemist guesses, wincing. He nods.
“Really? Sorry, sorry. It's a Type 40 TARDIS, it's... We’re just running her in,” the Doctor explains with a helpless shrug.
“She had some work done too,” the Alchemist adds with a laugh. “But the Doctor may have been a bit distracted while we were flying.”
Amy grins knowingly.
Churchill looks back to the woman. “Something the matter, Breen? You look a little down in the dumps.”
“No, sir. Fine, sir.” Breen replies quickly.
“Action this day, Breen. Action this day,” Churchill says warmly.
Breen nods, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
The Alchemist steps closer and lowers her voice, kind. “If you need to confide in someone, come find me, darling. I know how hard all of this can be, especially when you’re worried about someone.”
Breen gives her a small, grateful smile and hurries off.
The Alchemist rejoins the Doctor, who watches her fondly as he takes her hand.
A soldier approaches Churchill. “Excuse me, sir. Got another formation coming in, Prime Minister. Stukas, by the look of them.”
“We shall go up top then, Group Captain. We'll give them what for. Coming, Ally, Doctor?” Churchill asks.
“Why?” the Time Lords ask together, puzzled.
“I have something to show you,” Churchill replies, already moving.
The Doctor and the Alchemist exchange a shrug and follow.
[Lift]
The small lift groans as it climbs. Churchill’s voice fills the cramped space.
“We stand at a crossroads, Alchemist, Doctor, quite alone, with our backs to the wall. Invasion is expected daily. So I will grasp with both hands anything that will give us an advantage over the Nazi menace.”
He draws a cigar from his pocket, but before he can light it, the Alchemist plucks it neatly from his fingers, tucking it back into his coat with a regretful smile.
“My nose is very sensitive, Winston. I'd appreciate it if you only smoked when I wasn't around,” she says apologetically.
Churchill simply nods, respect flickering in his eyes.
The Doctor circles back to Churchill’s earlier statement. “Such as?”
Churchill merely beckons. “Follow me,” a glint of excitement in his eyes, as the lift shudders to a stop.
[Roof]
The roof bristles with sandbags and soldiers. A white-coated scientist scans the horizon with heavy binoculars, framed against the smoke-streaked sky.
The Alchemist’s gaze sharpens as she locks onto the man. Something about him is... wrong.
“Wow,” Amy breathes, marveling at the scene.
“Alchemist, Doctor, this is Professor Edwin Bracewell. Head of our Ironsides Project,” Churchill says, voice swelling with pride.
The Doctor flashes a V-for-Victory salute; the Alchemist offers a small, curious wave, her head tilted, nostrils flaring slightly. She frowns. No scent. No emotional chemicals. Nothing.
“How do you do?” Bracewell says politely.
The Alchemist tilts her head the other way, senses sharpening—just as she catches the distant drone of engines. She whips her head around, scanning the sky.
Over the radio, a man shouts, “Two flights JU thirty-eights approaching from the east!”
A bomb explodes somewhere close, the ground shivering beneath their feet.
Amy gazes up at the barrage balloons moored above London, awe and fear etched across her face.
“Oh, Doctor. Ally, it's…” She trails off, overwhelmed.
“History,” the Doctor says quietly.
The Alchemist stiffens, eyes going flat as she pivots sharply towards the emplacement. She knows that sound. She knows it like a scar knows a blade.
‘This is going to be bad,’ she warns the Doctor through their bond.
He flicks a worried glance at her, feeling her rising fury pulse between them.
‘What?’ he asks urgently.
Churchill, oblivious, calls out, “Ready, Bracewell?”
‘Unfortunately this is conclusive,’ she answers grimly. ‘You’ll see in a moment. Be ready.’
Bracewell gives the order, “Aye aye, sir. On my order—fire!”
Energy bolts rip through the sky from a fortified emplacement, striking the incoming planes with deadly precision.
Amy flinches. “What was that?”
The Doctor pales.
“That wasn't human. That was never human technology. That sounded like… Show us. Show us. Show us what that was!” he shouts.
Without hesitation, the Doctor and the Alchemist vault over the sandbags, one driven by terror, the other by pure, focused rage.
“Advance!” Bracewell orders.
Churchill beams. “Our new secret weapon. Ha!”
And then it emerges.
A Dalek—khaki-painted, Union Flag emblazoned, a rough army utility belt slung awkwardly across its midsection—rolls out from the emplacement.
The Doctor and the Alchemist step forward, side by side, twin glares of horror and fury directed at the abomination.
The bond between them thrums with shared memories of fire and death.
“What do you think? Quite something, eh?” Churchill says proudly, oblivious.
The Alchemist’s voice cuts through the air like a blade.
“What are you doing here?”
“I am your soldier,” the Dalek answers in its flat, mechanical voice.
The Alchemist’s eyes narrow to slits.
“What?” the Doctor stammers.
“I am your soldier,” it repeats.
The Doctor's voice hardens. “Stop this. Stop now. Now, you know who we are. You always know.”
The Dalek’s answer is chilling in its denial. “Your identity is unknown.”
Bracewell steps forward, bright-eyed and chipper. “Perhaps I can clarify things here. This is one of my Ironsides.”
The Doctor whirls around. “Your what?”
Bracewell beams. “You will help the Allied cause in any way that you can.” His words are rote. Rehearsed.
The Alchemist’s instincts scream. Not human. Not real.
“Yes,” the Dalek answers.
Bracewell continues, oblivious. “Until the Germans have been utterly smashed.”
Again: “Yes.”
“And what is your ultimate aim?”
“To win the war.”
The Alchemist steps forward, her voice a whisper, deadly soft.
“Which war?”
She stares the Dalek down, unblinking. Waiting.
[Churchill's office]
“They're Daleks. They're called Daleks,” the Doctor tells Churchill.
“Creatures of hate, only hate; true abominations,” the Alchemist states.
‘Will I be strong enough with my connection to you to remove them all?’ the Alchemist asks the TARDIS.
She doubts it. But if she can take out even a few, their fear of her might be enough to disrupt whatever plan they have.
‘They are impure, Thief One,’ the TARDIS replies. ‘You only use it once.’
She sighs. She’ll have to corner one, then.
Churchill, trying to convince them otherwise, says, “They are Bracewell's Ironsides. Look. Blueprints, statistics, field tests, photographs. He invented them.”
The Doctor scoffs, “Invented them? Oh, no, no, no.”
“We personally knew their true creator, and I can assure you he was not Bracewell,” the Alchemist says, glaring toward the hall, already hearing one glide closer.
“No. He approached one of our brass hats a few months ago. Fellow's a genius,” Churchill insists.
Amy shrugs, unconcerned. “A Scottish genius, too. Maybe you should listen to...”
The Doctor cuts her off, “Shush. He didn't invent them. They're alien.”
The Alchemist narrows her eyes the moment Amy speaks. She should be afraid—and yet she isn’t. Only curiosity radiates off the girl, and that worries her.
“Alien,” Churchill repeats, skepticism thick in his voice.
The Dalek glides past the open door, pausing for a beat to peer in. The Alchemist meets its gaze, cold and steady. It lingers—just a fraction of a second too long—before moving on. She’s certain it recognizes her.
“And totally hostile,” the Doctor says, tracking the Dalek with wary eyes.
“Precisely. They will win me the war,” Churchill declares.
[Corridor]
“Why won't you listen to us? Why did you call us in if you won't listen to us!?” the Doctor demands, frantic now.
Churchill answers simply, “When I rang you a month ago, I must admit I had my doubts. The Ironsides seemed too good to be true.”
“Yes. Right. So destroy them. Exterminate them,” the Doctor demands, fear creeping into his fury.
The Alchemist flinches hearing that word leave his mouth. She knows he’s terrified, but fear will not save them. And she can’t even reach out—can’t send calming emotions through right now. All she feels is fury.
“But imagine what I could do with a hundred. A thousand,” Churchill says, eyes glinting with possibility.
“I am imagining,” the Doctor says grimly, eyes locked on the approaching Dalek.
The Dalek glides past, carrying a dispatch box. The Alchemist watches it go, her gaze dark and unyielding. It glances at her—quick, furtive. She knows it knows her, recognizes her.
They’re terrified of her. So much so, it's straining their little performance.
“Daleks will not win you the war, Winston, they will start one,” the Alchemist states.
She turns her head slowly, pinning Churchill with a look so dark it roots him to the spot. He’s never seen her look like this before—and it unsettles him.
The Doctor rounds on Amy now. “Amy, tell him.”
“Tell him what?” Amy asks, confused.
“About the Daleks,” the Alchemist says, not looking away from Churchill. The tension in the room spikes. She can smell the concern rolling off him now.
Amy shakes her head. “What would I know about the Daleks?”
“Everything. They invaded your world, remember? Planets in the sky. You don't forget that. Amy, tell me you remember the Daleks,” the Doctor implores.
“No, sorry,” Amy replies with a shrug.
The Doctor pales. “That's not possible.”
The Alchemist turns to her husband, voice low and serious, “What if it is?”
He frowns, instantly knowing it must be part of the theory she's working on.
[Map room]
“Blue Leader to Two Squadron and six-two-three-five-seven. Over,” a woman calls over the comms.
A man responds, “Bandits at ten o'clock.”
“Two-three-five-seven. Over,” she tells him.
The Doctor thinks aloud, “So, they're up to something. But what is it? What are they after?”
“They know our history. They must know we know Churchill,” the Alchemist reminds him.
The Doctor glances at her, troubled by the thought.
“Well, let's just ask, shall we?” Amy says with a shrug, walking over to approach one of them.
The Doctor tries to stop her. “Amy. Amelia!”
“Let her,” the Alchemist says quickly, making him hesitate.
“Why?” he asks.
“They’re still terrified of me,” she replies, watching Amy and the Dalek intently. “I’ve seen them glance at me, barely a second at a time. They haven’t realized I’ve noticed—and I'm only sensing curiosity from Amelia.”
Amy taps on a Dalek’s shell.
“Can I be of assistance?” the Dalek asks, turning around.
The Alchemist catches it again—a flicker in the eyestalk aimed at her. Less than a second.
‘That shouldn’t be,’ the Doctor answers, and she can feel his alarm.
“Oh. Yes, yes. See, my friends reckon you're dangerous. That you're an alien. Is it true?” Amy asks, curious.
The Dalek answers, “I am your soldier.”
Amy nods, playing along. “Yeah. Got that bit. Love a squaddie. What else, though?”
“Please excuse me. I have duties to perform,” the Dalek replies, its eyestalk flicking once more toward the Alchemist as it glides away.
‘It did it twice this time,’ she informs the Doctor.
He spares her a glance, understanding.
“Winston. Winston, please,” the Doctor implores.
Churchill shakes his head grimly. “We are waging total war, Doctor. Day after day the Luftwaffe pound this great city like an iron fist.”
“Wait till the Daleks get started,” the Doctor says darkly.
“The Daleks will become a new iron fist for you, Winston. Far larger,” the Alchemist warns, watching him closely.
He's wavering—she can see it—but denial clings to him.
“Men, women, and children slaughtered. Families torn apart. Wren’s churches in flame,” Churchill says heavily.
The Doctor scoffs. “Yeah. Try the Earth in flames.”
“The entire universe, actually,” the Alchemist adds. “They destroy everything in their path, Winston. They will stop at nothing.”
Churchill lowers his head. “I weep for my country. I weep for my empire. It is breaking my heart.”
“You're resisting, Winston. The whole world knows you're resisting. You're a beacon of hope,” the Doctor reminds him.
“But for how long?” Churchill asks. “Millions of innocent lives could be saved if I use these Ironsides now.”
“The hope of humanity is what will win you this war,” the Alchemist says steadily. “The Daleks will only bring a worse one.”
Another Dalek enters the room.
“Can I be of assistance?” it asks.
The Doctor, furious, turns on it. “Shut it.” Then back to Churchill. “Listen to me. Just listen. The Daleks have no conscience, no mercy, no pity. They are our oldest and deadliest enemy. You cannot trust them.”
Quietly, while the others argue, the Alchemist steps toward the Dalek. “Perhaps I can assist you.”
The Dalek glides back a centimeter. She smirks—and lets her eyes flash briefly with Vortex energy, the blue and gold flaring before she reins it in.
The Dalek recoils, spinning away and leaving the room.
‘Caught it,’ she tells the Doctor. ‘I only have enough access to time lock one, apparently. They’re not pure Dalek. But the fact I’m here—and that I can still do it—might stop whatever they’re planning.’
‘Only once!?’ he responds, alarmed, eyes wide.
‘I’m cut off from the Vortex. I’m relying solely on the TARDIS link,’ she answers grimly.
She feels his worry spike.
‘What about your own stores!?’
‘Gone when we faced Rassilon.’
“If Hitler invaded Hell, I would give a favourable reference to the Devil. These machines are our salvation,” Churchill says.
A siren sounds and the Alchemist winces at the noise, adjusting her electronic sound blockers quickly. She had lowered the protection to count how many Daleks are on base.
“Oh, the All Clear. We are safe, for now,” Churchill says.
“Yeah, right. The All Clear,” the Alchemist mutters under her breath.
Churchill leaves, another Dalek following behind him.
“Guys, it's the All Clear. You okay?” Amy asks, concerned.
“What does hate look like, Amy?” the Doctor asks, turning to her.
“Hate?” Amy repeats, confused.
“It looks like a Dalek. And I'm going to prove it,” the Doctor says grimly.
The Alchemist senses another Dalek outside the room. She makes a decision.
“I’ll be right back, honey,” she tells the Doctor, stepping closer to him.
He turns to her, concerned. “Where are you going alone? We’re surrounded by Daleks!”
“Yes, I know.” She smiles thinly. “They’ve been very bad at hiding their fear of me. I told you.”
“You’re sure about this?” he asks.
She can feel his terror—both for her and the situation itself.
She nods. “It’s our best shot.”
The Alchemist leaves, moving silently after the Dalek.
“Where’s she going?” Amy asks.
The Doctor sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Daleks are terrified of her. She’s not afraid of them. She’s going to let them know she knows they’re up to something. We’re hoping it’ll shake their plan.”
“Why would a robot be afraid of her?” Amy asks, bewildered.
“They’re not robots, Amy,” the Doctor says. “And because of what she can do. Come on. We need to see Bracewell.”
He moves to the hall, Amy following, still confused.
[Corridor]
Her footsteps are silent as she trails the Dalek. It always amused her—how they never sensed her coming during the war. The only useful thing she got from that nightmare. Her eyes, heavy with history, burn with the fury of a Time Lady.
When she’s far enough from interruption, she taps her heel sharply.
The Dalek spins.
“Do you require assistance?” it asks.
She steps forward, and it shifts back a centimeter.
“I’ve seen through your little act, Dalek,” she says coldly. “I know you know who I am. I know the name you gave me during the Time War. And your fear will never leave you, no matter which Dalek comes next.”
“I do not understand,” it says.
“You’re terrible actors, Dalek. Especially when it’s me you’re lying to,” she says, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “You know, I’ve never been afraid of you? Not even once. But your fear of me—that’s always been obvious.”
“I do not understand. I am your soldier,” it repeats.
“Maybe a soldier,” she says, tilting her head. “But every battle, Dalek—I was in every battle during the Time War. All at once. I didn’t need to fight. I didn’t need a weapon.”
She steps closer again, and it retreats another inch.
“Do you remember what I did?” she asks, voice low and dangerous. “You all remember. There’s a reason I was always behind the front lines.”
Another inch. She smiles.
“My people would’ve called me a god for what I did to you. Especially during your first assault. I was the only one who knew it was coming. I went back in time to stop you. I left just one of you alive, so all of you would know.”
It backs away further.
“I didn’t kill. I erased you from time itself. Gone. Like they never existed. But I let you remember. I always let you remember.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “You’ll never forget what the Scarlet Tsunami can do.”
She summons the faint golden pulse of the Vortex from the TARDIS, her eyes burning with the wild light.
“Emergency temporal…!” the Dalek begins, but she snaps her fingers and flicks her hand. It’s time locked instantly and gone; back on it’s ship.
“Yeah, I figured you’d try that,” she mutters. “Hopefully that’s enough to stop whatever you’re planning.”
Her eyes dim back to normal. She turns and heads toward where she can feel the Doctor waiting, hearing a very worrisome tangent going through his thoughts.
[Laboratory]
“Would you care for some tea?” asks the Dalek.
“That would be very nice, thank you,” Bracewell responds.
Entering the lab, the Doctor says with sarcasm, “All right, Prof. Now, the PM's been filling me in. Amazing things, these Ironsides of yours. Amazing. You must be very proud of them.”
Bracewell replies, “Just doing my bit.”
“Not bad for a Paisley boy,” Amy says, smiling at him.
Bracewell nods at that. “Yes, I thought I detected a familiar cadence, my dear.”
“How did you do it? Come up with the idea?” the Doctor asks.
“How does the muse of invention come to anyone?” Bracewell asks in response.
The Doctor rolls his eyes. “But you get a lot of these clever notions, do you?”
“Well, ideas just seem to teem from my head. Wonderful things, like. Let me show you—some musings on the potential of hypersonic flight. Gravity bubbles that can sustain life outside of the terrestrial atmosphere. Came to me in the bath,” he replies, showing off his different plans and blueprints.
The Doctor looks them over. “And are these your ideas or theirs?”
“Oh no, no, no. These robots are entirely under my control, Doctor. They are,” Bracewell denies.
The Dalek brings Bracewell his tea.
“Thank you. The perfect servant, and the perfect warrior,” he informs the Doctor.
The Doctor steps forward, fury rising. “I don't know what you're up to, Professor, but whatever they've promised, you cannot trust them. Call them what you like, the Daleks are death.”
“Yes, Doctor. Death to our enemies. Death to the forces of darkness, and death to the Third Reich,” Churchill says, announcing his presence.
“Yes, Winston, and death to everyone else too,” the Doctor replies, turning to Churchill.
A Dalek approaches the Doctor with a tray. “Would you care for some tea?”
The Doctor knocks the tray from the Dalek's sucker, enraged.
“Stop this! What are you doing here? What do you want?” the Time Lord shouts.
“We seek only to help you,” it replies.
He steps closer. “To do what?”
“To win the war,” it replies.
The Doctor scoffs at that, “Really? Which war?”
“I do not understand.”
“This war, against the Nazis, or your war? The war against the rest of the universe? The war against all life forms that are not Dalek?”
“I do not understand. I am your soldier,” it replies.
The Doctor is beyond frustration and fury now. “Oh, yeah? Okay. Okay, soldier, defend yourself.”
He picks up a huge spanner and starts hitting the Dalek.
“Doctor, what the devil!?” Churchill asks, alarmed.
“You do not require tea?” the Dalek asks, further enraging him.
Bracewell exclaims, worried, “Stop him! Prime Minister, please.”
“Doctor, what the devil? Please, these machines are precious,” Churchill pleads.
The Doctor continues hitting the Dalek and demands, “Come on. Fight back. You want to, don't you? You know you do.”
“I must protest,” Bracewell says, stepping forward.
“What are you waiting for? Look, you hate me. You want to kill me. Well, go on. Kill me. Kill me!” the Time Lord screams.
Amy, worried, says, “Doctor, be careful.”
“Please desist from striking me. I am your soldier,” says the Dalek.
“You are our enemy! And we are yours. You are everything I despise. The worst thing in all creation. We've defeated you time and time again. I've defeated you. She removed millions of you from existence. We saved the whole of reality from you. I am the Doctor. She is the Alchemist. And you are the Daleks,” the Doctor raves in a frenzy.
“Correct. Review testimony,” the Dalek states.
The Doctor stops and steps back, concerned.
“I am the Doctor. She is the Alchemist. And you are the Daleks,” he hears repeated over comms.
“Testimony? What are you talking about, testimony?” he asks, confused.
“Transmitting testimony now,” the second Dalek in the room says.
“Transmit what, where?” the Time Lord asks, now worried.
[Spaceship]
In a Dalek saucer on the far side of the Moon.
A Gold Dalek says, “Receiving testimony now.”
“I am the Doctor. She is the Alchemist. And you are the Daleks,” the recording of the Doctor plays.
The lights on a golden Dalek-shaped pod light up as a Dalek, time-locked, appears within the ship.
“Progenitor activated. Testimony accepted. Testimony accepted. Alert. Scarlet Tsunami is active,” the Gold Dalek states.
[Laboratory]
“Testimony accepted,” the second Dalek confirms.
The Doctor backs away and orders, “Get back, all of you.”
“Marines! Marines, get in here,” Churchill calls out.
Two Marines burst through the door—and are immediately exterminated.
Bracewell, confused and desperate, pleads, “Stop it, stop it, please. What are you doing? You are my Ironsides.”
“We are the Daleks,” they correct him.
Bracewell, still in denial, insists, “But I created you.”
“No,” a Dalek replies coldly.
Without hesitation, it blasts off Bracewell's left hand, sparks and wires spraying out.
“We created you,” it tells him.
The Daleks chant together, “Victory. Victory. Victory,” before teleporting away.
Amy looks around, frightened. “What just happened, Doctor?”
“I wanted to know what they wanted. What their plan was. I was their plan. We were their plan,” the Time Lord says, horrified.
The Alchemist enters the laboratory, silent and unnoticed at first. She had heard a good portion of the conversation from the corridor.
“What happened, Doctor?” she asks, stepping up beside him, her gaze drifting over to Bracewell.
She scoffs to herself, realization hitting her that he’s been an android this entire time.
The Doctor, startled, turns toward her with a cry, grabbing her hands.“You’re alright! You’re safe!”
She narrows her eyes. “Of course I am. Now what’s this about a testimony?”
Everyone freezes, perturbed by the sharp edge in her voice, watching the two Time Lords.
“I don’t know,” the Doctor admits, and she can feel his rising confusion, fear, and worry through the bond they share.
“Hm. They may need confirmation of who we are to activate something,” she murmurs thoughtfully.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“Not sure yet. Still working it out.” She shrugs slightly. “I approached one in the corridor, kept inching back as I spoke to it. Scared it so badly it couldn't keep up its little act. The moment I said who I was, it tried to do an emergency temporal shift—but I timelocked it and sent it to their ship before it could. I wanted to make sure the other Daleks knew it happened.” She shrugs again, pausing before adding quietly, “Ah. They must have a Progenitor device.”
“What is that?” the Doctor asks, barely managing the words—it always unnerved him how unafraid his wife was of them.
“Makes a pure Dalek, unfortunately,” she says grimly. “And I can't use my abilities right now, but it'll still be terrified of me, so there's that. What I did might give us an edge... but now I'm out.” She looks at him, firm. “TARDIS. Now.”
He just nods, and they run for it.
Alarmed, Amy shouts, “Hey!” and rushes after them, Churchill hurrying along too.
[Spaceship]
The khaki Daleks enter.
“Commencing Phase Two. The Progenitor is activated. It begins. Alert. Scarlet Tsunami is active,” the Gold Dalek says.
[Filing room]
“Testimony accepted. That's what they said. My testimony of the Doctor and the Alchemist,” the Doctor recalls heavily, full of remorse.
“Hopefully they'll be too afraid to use the device with me up there... unless they've already started,” the Alchemist mumbles, half-thinking aloud.
Her husband frowns, hearing her concern.
“Don't beat yourself up because you were right. So, what do we do? Is this what we do now? Chase after them?” Amy asks, watching them both.
The Doctor looks at her, serious. “This is what we do. Yeah. And it's dangerous, so you wait here.”
Amy shakes her head, incredulous. “What, so you mean I've got to stay safe down here in the middle of the London Blitz!?”
“Yep,” the Alchemist says simply.
“Safe as it gets around us...” the Doctor adds, trailing off.
The Alchemist shrugs. “Could be worse. You could be stuck on a roof somewhere that's about to be hit,” she tells Amy before she and the Doctor slip inside the TARDIS, shutting the doors behind them.
The ship dematerializes with a whoosh.
Left behind, Amy turns to Churchill, worried. “What do they expect us to do now?”
“K B O, of course,” Churchill says with a firm nod.
More confused than ever, Amy asks, “What?”
“Keep buggering on,” Churchill tells her.
[TARDIS]
The Alchemist slips in front of the Doctor, fingers flying over the controls as she sets up the scanner—focused, precise.
Behind her, the Doctor bounces on the balls of his feet, impatient and twitchy.
“Come on… Bingo!” he grins as the scanner beeps and locks onto the ship’s location.
She slides aside without missing a beat, inputting the coordinates while he fishes a familiar red package from his coat pocket.
Her eyes flick to it. She sighs, rolls her eyes, and returns to the console, steady hands guiding the TARDIS toward their destination.
“You know, we could have used an actual gadget. With a real button. If you’d mentioned your plan earlier instead of filling my head with all sorts of nonsense to distract me... I could have even grabbed a small timed detonator from my engineering room,” she says dryly as they begin descent.
He grimaces and shrugs.
“It didn’t even occur to you, did it?” she asks, already turning toward the doors.
He stays silent. It hadn’t.
She exhales sharply, squaring her shoulders, the movement stiff with muscle memory—steeling herself not out of fear, but out of habit. The same way she had during the war. Only this time, she’s doing it by choice. And with a frantic Doctor beside her.
“You go out first. It'll make them think they’ve got more control over the situation,” the Alchemist orders.
He nods, no argument, and slips outside, positioning himself to shield her from view.
[Spaceship]
The Gold Dalek calls out, “The final phase commences. Channel all reserve power to Progenitor. We must leave before the Scarlet Tsunami arrives.”
The TARDIS materializes.
The Doctor pokes his head out of the door.
“How about that cuppa now, then?” he says to the Daleks.
The Alchemist can’t help but roll her eyes as he swings the door shut behind him.
She waits inside, listening, watching through the external mic and visual feed she set up while he was busy getting out a biscuit.
“It is the Doctor,” the Gold Dalek announces.
One Dalek screeches, “Exterminate.”
The Alchemist frowns.
“Wait, wait, wait! I wouldn't if I were you,” the Doctor calls, holding up his Jammy Dodger. “TARDIS self-destruct—and you know what that means. My ship goes, you all go with it.”
“You would not use such a device,” another Dalek challenges.
“Try me,” he says.
One Dalek rolls forward.
“Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah! No scans, no nothing. One move, and I'll destroy us all, you got that? TARDIS bang-bang, Daleks boom! Good boy,” the Doctor says, waving his finger about. “This ship’s pretty beaten up. Running on empty, I'd say—like you. Last time we met, you were at the end of your rope. Finished.”
“One ship survived,” another Dalek states.
He nods, “And you fell back through time, yes. Crippled. Dying.”
‘That’s not possible,’ the Alchemist thinks sharply. ‘I timelocked them all the last time we met and the daleks all went before I removed it.’
‘Then how are they here?’ the Doctor asks.
“We picked up a trace. One of the Progenitor devices,” the Gold Dalek says.
The Alchemist fluffs her hair in irritation. ‘I don’t know, maybe a ship left beforehand?’
The Doctor raises an eyebrow, playing dumb. “Progenitor? What's that when it’s at home?”
“It is our past. And our future,” a Dalek responds.
‘Makes sense,’ the Doctor replies, ‘Don’t blame yourself.’
“Oh? That’s deep. Deep for a Dalek. Pure Dalek DNA, right?” the Doctor says, revealing what he already knows.
‘I’m not blaming myself. Am I blaming myself?’ the Alchemist asks.
“Confirmed. How does the Doctor know? Explain.”
‘Not the time for the continuation of your existential crisis, Amara,’ he replies silently, holding back an eyeroll.
The Doctor smirks. “Now why would I let you in on that? Still, there’s one thing I don’t get: if you’ve got the Progenitor, why build Bracewell?”
“It was necessary,” a Dalek answers.
“But why…? Oh, I get it. I get it.” He laughs. “This is rich. The Progenitor wouldn’t recognise you, would it? It saw you as impure. Your DNA’s unrecognisable as Dalek.”
“A solution was devised,” another states.
“Yes, yes, yes. Us. My testimony. You set a trap. You knew the Progenitor would recognise us—the Daleks’ greatest enemies. It would accept our word. Our recognition of you.”
The Gold Dalek moves to a console.
“No, no, no. What are you doing?” the Doctor demands.
“Withdraw now, Doctor, or the city dies in flames,” the Gold Dalek orders.
‘Not on our watch,’ the Alchemist thinks to her husband—and makes her move.
She slips out through the TARDIS door and joins the Doctor at his side.
“I wouldn’t recommend that, Daleks. I’m rather fond of this city.”
The Daleks recoil, recognizing her instantly. She spots the one she’d timelocked before—and smirks.
The Doctor grins wide. “Yep, that’s right. The Scarlet Tsunami is with me. Think I’d come without her? Ha! Doesn’t it just terrify you that we’re both here?”
“This ship is a wreck. You don’t have the power to destroy London,” the Alchemist says coolly, stepping forward past the Doctor.
The Dalek returns to the console, calling their bluff.
“Watch as the humans destroy themselves,” the Gold Dalek says.
A ray beams out from the spaceship. London’s lights blaze to life.
“Turn those lights off. Now. Turn London off, or I swear I'll use the TARDIS self-destruct,” the Doctor warns.
“Stalemate, Doctor, Alchemist. Leave us. Return to Earth,” another Dalek demands.
He scoffs. “Oh, that's it? That's your great victory?”
“You leave?” the Time Lords say as one.
“Extinction is not an option. We shall return to our own time and begin again.”
“And you think we wouldn’t just follow you?” the Alchemist bluffs. “It’s easily done.”
“No, no, no. We won’t let you get away this time. We won’t,” the Doctor says, shaking his head.
“We have succeeded. DNA reconstruction complete. Observe, Doctor. Observe, Alchemist. A new Dalek paradigm.”
Five restyled Daleks glide out from the Progenitor cabinet, each painted in a vivid color.
‘Surprisingly pretty for creatures of pure hatred,’ she notes dryly.
‘Did you just compliment…’ the Doctor begins to respond before she cuts him off.
‘Yes, okay? I regret it already.’
“The Progenitor has fulfilled our destiny. Behold: the restoration of the Daleks. The resurrection of the master race,” the Gold Dalek declares.
“Actually, ‘the Master race’ was far more terrifying than you lot could ever be,” she says aloud, using air quotes.
‘Hush,’ she hears the Doctor murmur in her mind.
“All hail the new Daleks! All hail the new Daleks!” a Dalek chants.
The white one speaks. “Yes. You are inferior.”
“Yes.” the Dalek confirms
She can’t help but roll her eyes at this. She’s well aware of what’s about to happen.
The white one orders, “Then prepare.”
“Is this like a treat for you lot?” she quips and is ignored.
“We are ready,” the Daleks chant.
The Alchemist hums under her breath. “Apparently it is.”
“Cleanse the unclean. Total obliteration. Disintegrate,” the White commands.
The new neon Daleks exterminate the old khaki ones—minus her timelocked Dalek.
“Blimey. What do you do to the ones who mess up?” the Doctor says, grimacing and lowering his biscuit.
The Alchemist shrugs. “They hide them away on a planet. Terrified of them. Isn't that right, Fancy Overgrown Pepper Shakers?”
“How do you know this information? Explain,” the White demands.
‘They what?’ the Doctor demands.
“Why would I tell you anything?”
“You are the Doctor and the Alchemist. You must be exterminated,” the White continues, raising it’s laser-arm.
The Doctor flashes his Jammy Dodger again. “Don’t mess with us, sweetheart.”
‘Later pile?’ the Alchemist offers to a scoff echoing through the bond.
The Alchemist smirks. “Do you lot have names? The colorful ones usually do.”
The White answers, “We are the paradigm of a new Dalek race. Scientist, Strategist, Drone, Eternal, and Supreme.”
The Doctor gestures at the white Dalek. “Which would be you, I'm guessing. Nice paint job, by the way. I'd be feeling pretty swish if I looked like you. Pretty supreme.”
The Alchemist crosses her arms. “Well, those are awful names—I’d know.”
“Question is: what do we do now?” the Doctor adds. “Either you turn off your clever machine, or I blow you and your new paradigm into eternity—or my lovely wife removes you from time itself.”
“And yourselves, if you explode your TARDIS,” Supreme warns.
The Doctor just shrugs. “Occupational hazard.”
The Alchemist steps forward, voice hard. “Or perhaps the Scarlet Tsunami simply erases you. Like I’ve done before.”
“Scan reveals nothing. TARDIS self-destruct device non-existent,” the Blue Dalek reports.
The Alchemist holds in a sigh.
The Doctor casually takes a bite before handing it over to the Alchemist to finish. She shrugs and tosses it in her mouth, chewing.
“All right, it’s a Jammy Dodger. But I was promised tea,” he shrugs.
The Alchemist waves a hand, drawing their focus. “We gave you a warning. Now, here’s an ultimatum.”
An alarm blares overhead.
“Alert. Unidentified projectile approaching. Correction: multiple projectiles,” the Blue one announces.
“What have the humans done?” Supreme demands.
The Doctor shrugs innocently. “I don't know. Maybe the wife does.”
The Alchemist smiles wickedly. “What they’re known for.”
“Explain! Explain! Explain!”
‘By Alpha, it’s annoying when they do that,’ she mutters mentally.
‘Hush,’ the Doctor says again.
She shrugs. “Resisting. Maybe I’ll let them have a go. They’re quite good at it.”
“Danny Boy to the Doctor and the Alchemist! Danny Boy to the Doctor and the Alchemist! Are you receiving me? Over!” crackles over the comm.
“Oh ho! Winston, you beauty!” the Doctor shouts gleefully.
“Danny Boy to the Doctor and the Alchemist. Come in, over!”
“The Doctor to Danny Boy. Loud and clear, Danny Boy! Big dish, side of the ship—blow it up. Over!”
“Exterminate the Alchemist and the Doctor!” Supreme shrieks.
The Alchemist pulls the Vortex energy again through her TARDIS bond, letting it fill her eyes as a warning. She snaps her fingers—and the TARDIS doors swing open.
The Doctor bolts inside.
She walks backward through the doors, perfectly calm.
"You heard him, Group Captain. Target that dish. Send in all we've got," they hear Churchill order.
"Broadsword to Danny Boy. Target the dish and stop that signal. Over," Broadsword says over comms.
"Understood, sir. Over," Danny Boy responds.
"You can count on us. Over," another pilot replies.
"Okay, chaps, let's put London back under cover of darkness,” Danny Boy calls, “Tally ho! Cover my back, going in close. Pull out, pull out."
"We've lost Jubilee, sir. Over," a pilot reports.
"Beam still active, sir," Childers calls out.
"Send them in again," Churchill orders.
"Flintlock's down, sir, and the dish seems to be protected. Over," a pilot informs them.
"Danny Boy to the Doctor and the Alchemist. Only me left now," Danny Boy reports.
‘Disrupt the shields?’ the Doctor suggests.
She nods. ‘It would only last about 45 seconds, but it should work.’
"Anything you can do, sir, ma'am? Over," Danny Boy asks.
The Doctor glances at her, anxious, before calling out, "The Doctor to Danny Boy. The Doctor to Danny Boy."
"We can disrupt the Dalek shields, but not for long. Over," the Doctor tells him.
"Good show, Doctor, Alchemist. Go to it. Over," Danny Boy says.
The Doctor quickly moves over to do so, and then they wait, both agitated and distressed.
"I'm going in. Wish me luck. Over," Danny Boy informs them.
The Alchemist grabs her Bondmate’s hand, worrying over the human, and he clenches it tightly back in return.
[Map room]
"Direct hit, sir!" Childers cries.
Amy jumps to her feet, shouting, "Yes!"
The lights over London flicker, then vanish—plunging the city back into darkness.
[Space]
‘They’re out, we just have to hope they’ll be able to take out the Dalek ship now,’ she informs the Doctor quickly, fingers tightening around the console.
‘Our shields will hold, thankfully,’ he responds with a firm nod, his hand brushing hers for half a second—steadying her, steadying himself.
Danny Boy calls out again, “Danny Boy to the Doctor. Going in for another attack.”
“The Doctor to Danny Boy. The Doctor to Danny Boy. Destroy this ship. Over,” the Doctor replies quickly, voice sharp with urgency.
“What about you, Doctor, Alchemist?” Danny Boy asks, concern bleeding into the transmission.
The Doctor reassures him, “We'll be okay.”
“He’s right. We’ll be just fine,” the Alchemist confirms.
Suddenly, the Supreme Dalek’s voice blares through the comms: “Doctor, Alchemist call off your attack.”
The Alchemist straightens. She has been watching the display the entire time, tracking every shift, every flicker of movement. Her husband moves to stand beside her, gaze hardening.
“Ah ha. What, and let you scuttle off back to the future? No fear. This is the end for you. The final end,” the Doctor says icily.
“Humanity will end you this time,” the Alchemist adds, cold fire in her tone.
Supreme replies, ”Call off the attack, or we will destroy the Earth.”
The Doctor’s jaw clenches. “We’re not stupid, mate. You've just played your last card,” he denies quickly.
“Bracewell is a bomb,” Supreme tells them.
The Alchemist stiffens, mind racing. Of course. Androids are always engineered with contingencies. She closes her eyes for a fraction of a second, calculating.
“You're bluffing. Deception's second nature to you. There isn't a sincere bone in your body. There isn't a bone in your body,” the Doctor denies.
The Supreme Dalek projects itself into the TARDIS on a crackling holo-screen.
“His power is derived from an Oblivion Continuum. Call off your attack, or we will detonate the android. The Scarlet Tsunami cannot act before the Bomb sets off,” Supreme explains.
“Nice charade,” the Alchemist says, sounding unconcerned. But inside, cold dread prickles along her spine.
‘If it’s an Oblivion Continuum, they might have the tech to trigger it instantly. Might. I can’t tell,’ she thinks rapidly, grinding her teeth. ‘And I can’t even use my abilities right now. I’m boxed in.’
“No. This is our best chance ever. The last of the Daleks. We can rid the Universe of you, once and for all,” the Doctor says, voice rough with fury.
‘This is our only chance,’ he shoots her a look, desperate, pleading without words.
She swears under her breath. Every fiber of her being wants to scream, Do it. Finish them. But Earth—Earth would die. Billions would die.
Supreme taunts, “Then do it. But we will shatter the planet below. The Earth will die screaming.”
“Yeah, and if we let you go, you'll be stronger than ever. A new race of Daleks,” the Doctor growls, the words barely containing his rage.
‘No, Theta, the consequences would be massive,’ she calls out to him through their link, willing him to listen.
“Then choose, Alchemist, Doctor. Destroy the Daleks or save the Earth. Begin countdown of Oblivion Continuum immediate set off. Choose, Time Lords. Choose. Choose,” Supreme taunts again.
The Alchemist’s fists clench. Her nails bite into her palms.
‘We can’t risk it,’ she admits, hating the words, hating the surrender.
‘I know,’ the Doctor replies, his hands clenching so hard they tremble.
She exhales a sharp, bitter breath in his mind. ‘Fuck.’
Her husband’s reply is full of remorse, heavy and broken. ‘I know.’
“The Alchemist to Danny Boy. The Alchemist to Danny Boy. Withdraw,” the Time Lady orders.
Danny Boy, confused, asks, “Say again, ma’am. Over.”
“Withdraw. Return to Earth. Over and out,” the Doctor confirms, each word ripping something out of him.
“But sir…” the pilot tries to argue, desperation in his voice, but he’s cut off.
“There’s no time. You have to return to Earth now. Over,” the Doctor orders sharply, no room for argument left.
They’re already at the console, frantic now, hands flying across the controls to land the TARDIS back in the Filing Room.
The Spitfire begins its descent, heading back for Earth.
The TARDIS materialises with a shudder.
The doors burst open, and they sprint out without a backward glance.
[Map room]
The Time Lords charge into the map room. The Doctor punches Bracewell square on the jaw, sending him sprawling.
"Doctor!" Amy yells.
The Alchemist rolls her eyes, feeling his pain spike through the bond. “You should’ve let me do that. You're hopeless.”
"Ow. Yeah, I should have, Ally. Sorry. Professor, you're a bomb.” the Doctor says, shaking out his hand.
“An inconceivably massive Dalek bomb," the Time Lords continue in unison.
"What?" Bracewell stammers.
"There's an Oblivion Continuum inside you. A captured wormhole that provides perpetual power. Detonate that, and the Earth will bleed through into another dimension. Now stay down," he snaps.
The Alchemist whips out her sonic screwdriver and cracks open the access panel in Bracewell’s torso.
She lets out a short, relieved sigh when she sees it and shouts, "It’s a countdown detonator!"
One of the five blue segments flashes yellow.
"Well?" Amy demands.
"They started it anyway. We expected that, but at least we’ve got time. I’m good with time. I just have to figure out how. I’ve never seen one like this..." the Alchemist mutters, scanning it quickly.
Amy darts a glance between them. "How do we stop it?"
"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know," the Doctor admits, breathless. "Never seen one up close. Only Ally has."
"I have! Hold on, hold on…" the Alchemist blurts, trailing off as she racks her mind.
"So what, they've wired him up to detonate?" Amy asks, confused.
"Oh no, not wired him up," the Doctor says. "He is a bomb. Walking, talking, pow, exploding, the second that flashes red. Now shush, let Ally think."
"There's a blue wire or something you have to cut, isn't there? There's always a blue wire. Or a red one," Amy tries to suggest.
The Doctor glares. "You're not helping. Shush."
"Talking... talking..." the Alchemist mutters under her breath.
Churchill finally shakes himself from his shock. "It's incredible. He talked to us about his memories. The Great War."
"Yes!" the Alchemist shouts, jabbing a finger at him. "Talking and remembering! Someone else's stolen thoughts implanted in a positronic brain. Meaning emotion!"
"Ha! Positronic brain! Ally, you’re brilliant!" the Doctor grins, pointing at her.
The Alchemist turns to Bracewell, her voice softer now. "Tell us about it, Edwin. Tell us about your life. Remember it."
"Alchemist, I really don't think this is the time," Bracewell says, wary.
"Tell us, and prove you're human. Tell us everything you’ve ever felt," the Doctor pushes.
"My family ran the Post Office. It's a little place just near the abbey, just by the ash trees. There used to be eight trees but there was a storm," Bracewell begins.
"And your parents? Did they raise you well? Support you? Come on, Edwin, tell us," the Alchemist urges gently.
"Good people. Kind people. They died. Scarlet fever," Bracewell answers.
The Alchemist’s eyes narrow. It should have worked by now. Why isn't it?
The Doctor leans in urgently. "What was that like? How did it feel? How did it make you feel, Edwin? Tell me. Tell me now."
"It hurt. It hurt, Doctor, it hurt so badly. It was like a wound. I thought it was worse than a wound. Like I'd been emptied out. There was nothing left," Bracewell confesses, voice breaking.
Two red segments. One yellow. Two blue.
The Alchemist frowns sharply. Empty… No, no—pain, heartbreak, hatred—those aren't what they need. They're human, but not stabilizing.
"Good. Remember it now, Edwin," the Doctor urges. "The ash trees by the Post Office. Your mum and dad. Losing them. The men you saw die in the trenches. Remember it. Feel it. You feel it because you're human. You're not like them. You're not like the Daleks."
"It hurts, Doctor," Bracewell says, anguished. "It hurts so much."
"Good. Good, good, brilliant. Embrace it. That means you're alive. They can't explode that bomb because you're a human being. You are flesh and blood. They can't explode that bomb. Believe it. You are Professor Edwin Bracewell, and you, my friend, are a human being."
Four red. One yellow.
"It's not working. We can't stop it, Ally, we can’t stop it!" the Doctor shouts frantically.
"No! No, we can! We need good feelings—lovely ones! Love! People feel alive with love, not pain!" the Alchemist cries.
Amy catches on in an instant and kneels by Bracewell.
"Hey, Paisley. Ever fancied someone you know you shouldn't?" she asks.
"What?" Bracewell says, startled.
"It hurts, doesn't it? But kind of a good hurt," Amy says.
Bracewell blurts out, "I really shouldn't talk about her."
Amy grins, "Oh. There's a her."
The Alchemist leans closer, voice soft. "Tell us about her, Edwin. Everything you love about her."
The yellow segment flickers and returns to blue.
"What was her name?" the Doctor asks quickly.
Bracewell breathes out, "Dorabella."
"Dorabella? It's a lovely name. I know someone with a lovely name," the Doctor says warmly, glancing at his Bondmate who smiles softly at him.
“It means beautiful gift. She’s your beautiful gift, isn’t she, Edwin?” the Alchemist asks.
"What was she like, Edwin?" Amy presses.
The Alchemist smiles, coaxing gently, "Her eyes? Were they the first thing you saw?"
Bracewell’s eyes mist over. "Her eyes, yes. Her eyes were so blue. Almost violet, like the last touch of sunset on the edge of the world. And oh, such a smile. Dorabella."
All the segments turn blue.
The Doctor beams. "Welcome to the human race."
He points at Churchill. "You're brilliant."
Points at Bracewell. "You're brilliant."
Points at Amy. "You’re brilliant."
He throws his arms up in triumph. "And you! I… Yes!"
He kisses his wife quickly.
"Now. Got to stop them. Stop the Daleks," the Doctor says, springing to his feet.
"Again," the Alchemist mutters, grounding herself and preparing to jump up.
"Wait, Alchemist, Doctor. Wait, wait. It's too late," Bracewell says urgently. "Gone. They've gone."
The Doctor spins on him. "No. No! They can't. They can't have got away again."
The Alchemist growls in frustration and punches the floor with full force. The concrete cracks under her hand, shattering her knuckles and part of her fingers. She quickly slams a block into her bond to deaden the pain.
The Doctor flinches at the ghost of it, then glances at her—her face set and eyes squeezed shut—before turning away and dragging a hand down his face.
Bracewell clarifies, more calmly, "No. I can feel it. My mind is clear. The Daleks have gone."
Amy smiles at them. "Doctor, it's okay. You guys did it. You stopped the bomb. Doctor? Ally?"
"We had a choice. And they knew we'd choose the Earth," the Doctor says bitterly. "The Daleks have won. They beat us. They've won."
The Alchemist opens her eyes, fire burning behind them. "No. We'll get them. We will. We just have to wait. Again."
"But you saved the Earth. Not too shabby, is it? Is it?" Amy asks hopefully.
The Doctor sighs. "No, it's not too shabby."
Churchill grins, producing a cigar. "It's a brilliant achievement, my dear friend. Here, have a cigar."
"No. Wife’s sensitive button nose, remember?" the Doctor says lightly, moving to help the Alchemist to her feet and leading her to the far side of the room
The Doctor turns to face her, narrowing his eyes with concern.
“What did you do? I felt it,” he asks.
The Alchemist sighs aloud.
“Punched the floor. Left hand. Knuckles and middle phalanxes shattered. Again. Thumb’s fine though.”
The Doctor rolls his eyes. “We’ve only got bone stimulant left. Need to pick up more nanogene serum. Come on—TARDIS. I need to scan it properly. I have to see exactly what’s fragmented before I start the injections.”
He glances back at Amy, still sitting on the ground.
“Come along, Pond!” he calls, grinning.
The Time Lords start toward the door, Amy hopping up to skip after them. She reaches out for the Alchemist’s damaged hand—but the Doctor shifts sideways, catching Amy’s hand instead with a smooth move.
The Alchemist rolls her eyes when she catches Amy’s pheromones.
Well, looks like he’s the one she’s interested in. It’s just a little childhood crush—nothing serious. Worst comes to worst, they’ll tell her about the dungeon, she muses with a smirk.
They walk through the halls toward the TARDIS, the air cool and humming.
The Alchemist flexes her injured hand, gently pressing an unbroken finger against one of the broken ones.
‘Oof. Really messed them up this time, Theta,’ she mutters through the bond.
He only sighs in response.
The Doctor drops Amy’s hand and unlocks the TARDIS doors, pushing them open and striding inside.
“Follow us, Sunshine,” the Alchemist calls over her shoulder with a smile. “We’ll drop you off in one of the kitchens. Even us aliens know humans need food.”
Amy laughs and hurries after them, chattering away.
The Doctor points her toward the nearest kitchen. “Everything’s stocked. Munch whatever you like. Ally and I just need to check something. We’ll be back soon.”
“Okay!” Amy says brightly, already rummaging through the fridge.
The Doctor and the Alchemist head deeper into the TARDIS, weaving through the corridors.
They finally reach the sickbay.
The Doctor gestures at a clinical bed, and the Alchemist hops up onto it without complaint, cradling her hand.
He moves quickly, pulling equipment and supplies.
“One would think the Blasphemous might’ve considered this problem when he decided to modify the Ten,” the Alchemist says dryly.
The Doctor growls low in his throat as he rummages through a cabinet. “He was a moron, dear. A horrific, pathetic excuse for a Time Lord. But still—a moron.”
“True, very true, honey,” she mumbles, sighing.
He sets the tray down beside her, holding up the scanner. She slips her hand through the device.
A soft beep.
The Doctor pulls it away, checking the holo screen, brow furrowed. “You’re right. You really did a number on it.”
She shrugs. “Concrete floor. Full-strength hit. Could’ve been worse. At least it wasn’t metal. How long are we going to be in here?”
“About an hour,” the Doctor says, sighing. “You need multiple injections.”
The Alchemist rolls her eyes. “Well, that’s annoying. Needle size?”
“The smallest. You won’t feel a thing with your pain tolerance,” he replies, setting up the injector gun.
She kicks her legs back and forth, holding her hand steady, until the Doctor rolls over to her on a stool—and she stops kicking instantly.
They lapse into silence as he works.
Each tiny injection clicks and hisses into her skin.
She counts them out, one by one, matching his pace.
She knows better than to interrupt him right now. He’s still furious—furious about the Daleks getting away.
42 minutes later, the Doctor finishes the last injection and runs a final scan, eyes sharp.
“All set, Amara,” he says at last, sagging slightly as he turns to her, dragging a hand down his face.
The Alchemist unblocks her pain and pleasure connection, sliding off the bed and walking over to him. Without hesitation, she pulls him into a tight hug, pressing kiss after kiss along his neck and jawline.
Slowly, she feels him relax. A sigh escapes him—long and content.
“We’ll find them again,” she whispers, tapping his nose lightly with her newly healed finger.
The Doctor leans in, resting his forehead against hers, eyes shut, breathing her in.
“I decided what I want from the bet,” she mutters, voice playful.
“Oh?” he asks, his hand sliding into her curls.
She smirks, keeping her eyes closed. “Me. Shibari. Tonight. Your choice.”
He huffs out a breath, half laugh, half groan, and pulls back to meet her gaze.
Her eyes are open now—and glowing for him.
“Ha! That’s you winning the bet?” he says, grinning.
“Mhm. Most definitely, husband,” she says, beaming up at him.
[Filing Room – Next Day]
“So, what now, then?” Amy asks Churchill.
“I still have a war to run, Miss Pond,” Churchill informs her.
A woman approaches and hands Churchill a form. “Prime Minister.”
He nods at her. “Oh, thank you. Oh, they hit the Palace and Saint Paul's again. Fire crews only just saved it.”
In the corner, Breen bursts into tears.
“Is she okay?” Amy asks worriedly.
Churchill, still focused on the form, glances up. “What?”
“She looks very upset,” Amy says, nodding toward the crying woman.
The woman who delivered the form goes to comfort her.
“Oh, Miss Breen?” Churchill sighs. “Her young man didn't make it, I'm afraid. Just got word. Shot down over the Channel. Where’s the Doctor and Ally?”
The Doctor shrugs as they enter the room. “Tying up loose ends. We've taken out all the alien tech Bracewell put in.”
The Alchemist, having heard from outside the door what happened to Breen’s lover, immediately spots the sobbing woman in the corner. She moves toward her, pulling an embroidered handkerchief from her pocket—a gift and a skill she picked up from Queen Victoria herself.
‘Be right back, Theta,’ she tells her Bondmate.
She hears him hum in acknowledgement as he continues speaking with Amy and Churchill.
“Breen?” she says softly.
The young woman looks up, tears streaming down her face, hands trembling.
The Alchemist crouches and gently dabs away some of Breen’s heavy tears, then presses the handkerchief into her hand.
“What was his name, darling?” she asks with a kind grin.
The woman gives a shaky, sad smile, barely holding herself together. She glances at her friend.
“Andrew. Andrew Woodriff.”
“And what about you, darlings? What are your first names? I’ve always believed names are important,” the Alchemist says, her voice low and comforting, looking between them.
“Lilian, my name is Lilian, ma’am,” the woman replies, staring down as she uses the handkerchief to pat her cheeks.
“I’m Blanche, ma’am,” the friend says, rubbing Lilian’s shoulder gently.
The Alchemist nods thoughtfully.
“Did you know that Andrew means brave, strong, courageous, and warrior?”
Lilian pauses mid-motion, looking up at her.
“My favorite meaning of your name, Lilian, is peace. And Blanche—Blanche means pure,” the Alchemist continues, noticing Lilian’s sobs softening.
“Your brave warrior thought of his Lilian, his peaceful Lilian, all through this war. That’s how you must remember him. Memories of love keep the ones we lose alive, darling.”
In her mind, she hears the Doctor’s voice, warm and steady: ‘I love you, Amara.’
Lilian and Blanche’s eyes widen slightly, and soft, fragile smiles begin to form.
“You’re exceptionally kind and thoughtful, ma’am,” Lilian says, still teary-eyed. Blanche nods in agreement.
‘And I love you, Theta Sigma,’ the Alchemist answers silently.
“Ally,” she corrects aloud, smiling. “Call me Ally. It means to protect.”
She hums in thought, glancing down at the handkerchief.
“As you work for Winston, you’ve likely heard him mention me before. He’s always been terrible at keeping quiet about my title and story—ever since the King told him.”
“What do you mean, Ally?” Blanche asks, confused.
“The handkerchief,” she says, tilting her head toward it. “Read the embroidery.”
Lilian lifts it and reads the stitching, gasping before looking back at the Time Lady, tears forgotten.
“Lady Ally Starlight... you’re the Royal Protector!”
The Alchemist shrugs casually. “Mm, yeah, they call me that sometimes. Keep that handkerchief close. If you ever need someone to protect you—even from fear, worry, or sadness—remember you have it. I have hundreds. Queen Victoria gave them to me on my birthday. She embroidered each one herself.”
Both women gape at her, stunned, then look back at the handkerchief in awe.
“Are... are you sure I can keep this?” Lilian asks, disbelief clear in her voice.
The Alchemist smiles warmly and pulls out another handkerchief, pressing it into Blanche’s hands.
“Yes, absolutely. I want you both to keep them,” she says with a wink before spinning on her heel and walking back toward the Doctor.
He immediately reaches for her, pulling her into him and pressing a kiss into her curls.
“You’re brilliant and I love you,” he whispers.
She shrugs lightly and looks up at him, a bright, happy smile on her face.
“We really can’t let you keep that technology, Winston,” the Doctor says, returning to the conversation he was having with Churchill.
“Are you certain you won't reconsider, Doctor, Alchemist? Those Spitfires would win me the war in twenty hours,” Churchill bemoans, and the Alchemist has to bite back a laugh.
The Time Lords simply state, “Exactly.”
“But why not? Why can't we put an end to all this misery?” Churchill asks.
The Doctor shakes his head. “Oh, it doesn't work like that, Winston, and it's going to be tough. There are terrible days to come. The darkest days. But you can do it. You know you can.”
“Stay with us and help us win, though. The world needs you. Both of you,” Churchill implores.
The Alchemist laughs warmly. “Nah, the world doesn't need us for this fight, my friend.”
“No?” Churchill asks, confused.
“Certainly not!” she replies, sharing a secretive smile with the Doctor.
Together, the Doctor and the Alchemist declare, “The world's got Winston Spencer Churchill.”
Churchill smiles at that. “It's been a pleasure, Alchemist, Doctor, as always.”
“Too right,” the Doctor says with a nod.
The Alchemist beams at Churchill and says, “We’ll be keeping an eye on you, my friend. I believe in you.”
“Goodbye, Doctor, Lady Ally,” Churchill says, saluting.
The Alchemist rolls her eyes fondly before skipping over and hugging Churchill tightly. He pats her back in delight—never noticing her deft fingers nicking his lucky lighter from his pocket. When they separate, she strolls back toward the TARDIS, tucking the prize into her palm with a mischievous grin.
“Oh, shall we say adieu?” the Doctor says with a laugh, stepping forward to hug Churchill as well.
The Alchemist spots Churchill slipping a key from the Doctor’s pocket and fights the urge to snort.
Stepping back, the Doctor says, “Indeed.”
He turns to Amy. “Goodbye, Miss Pond.”
“It's, it's been amazing, meeting you,” Amy tells Churchill, still a little stunned.
Churchill chuckles. “I'm sure it has.”
Amy, smiling, steps up and kisses Churchill on the cheek before turning back to the TARDIS—but not without a sly glance at the Alchemist.
Then she calls out, “Oi, Churchill. TARDIS key. The one you just took from the Doctor.”
“Oh, she's good, Doctor. As sharp as a pin. Almost as sharp as me,” Churchill says with a laugh, walking back over to hand the key to Amy.
“K B O,” Churchill reminds her kindly before striding off again.
Amy tosses the key back to the Doctor, who rolls his eyes in good-natured exasperation.
Leaning casually against the TARDIS, the Alchemist calls after Churchill, waving his gold lighter just beside her face. “Oh, Winston.”
He turns, patting his pockets frantically—then lets out a loud laugh. “You are too much, Lady Ally. Far too much. Quick as ever!”
The Alchemist saunters over and returns the lighter with a bright grin and a conspiratorial wink. “A bit of a menace, you could say.”
In her mind, she hears her Bondmate start grumbling about tying her up again, and she barely stifles her laughter.
Still grinning, she turns and spots Lilian and Blanche across the room—each clutching their embroidered handkerchiefs tightly, smiling at her.
The Alchemist winks at them and blows a playful kiss before spinning neatly on her heel and following the Doctor and Amy toward the Laboratory.
[Laboratory]
Bracewell turns and nods to them as they enter the room.
“I've been expecting you. I knew this moment had to come,” Bracewell says, straightening up.
“Moment?” the Time Lords ask, confused.
Bracewell nods once. “It's time to de-activate me.”
The Doctor glances between his wife and Amy. “Is it? Oh. Er, yeah.”
“You have no choice. I'm Dalek technology. Can't allow me to go pottering around down here where I have no business,” Bracewell says with a sigh.
“No, you're dead right, Professor. A hundred percent right. And by the time we get back here in what, ten minutes?” the Doctor asks, nodding.
“Longer,” the Time Lady quips.
“More like fifteen,” Amy suggests.
The Doctor tries again, “Fifteen minutes, yeah, that's exactly what I'm going to do. You are going to be so de-activated. It's going to be like you've never even been activated.”
Amy agrees, “Yeah.”
“Uh-huh,” the Alchemist mumbles, scratching the tip of her nose.
“Fifteen minutes?” Bracewell asks, confused.
The Doctor tries again, “More like twenty, if I'm honest. Once Pond, my wife, and I see to the urgent thing we've got to see to. The, the. See?”
The Alchemist just sighs and bites her lip, shaking her head.
“Very well, Doctor. I shall wait here and prepare myself,” Bracewell says, still not catching on.
Amy leans in and whispers, “That Dalek tech a bit slow on the uptake.”
She speaks up louder, “That thing we've got to do—going to take half an hour, realistically, isn't it, Doctor, Ally?”
“Easily. So no running off, that's what I'm saying. Don't go trying to find that little Post Office with the ash trees or that girl. What was her name?” the Time Lord says, raising his brows.
Bracewell reminds them, “Dorabella.”
The Alchemist nods, “With the lovely violet eyes.”
“Dorabella. On no account go looking for her. Mind you, you can get a lot done in half an hour,” the Doctor says, conspiratorially.
Finally, the penny drops.
Bracewell’s eyes widen. “Thank you. Thank you, Doctor, Alchemist.”
“Yep,” the Alchemist says, grinning.
“Come along, Pond,” the Doctor calls, and both Time Lords spin on their heel toward the door.
The Doctor, the Alchemist, and Amy leave.
Bracewell smiles to himself and starts packing a suitcase.
[Filing Room]
The Alchemist frowns, sensing the crack behind the TARDIS. She felt one appear on Starship UK when they were leaving as well. It’s like it’s following them, tracking the TARDIS?
“So, you have enemies then?” Amy asks them.
The Time Lords shrug, glancing at each other. “Everyone's got enemies.”
“Yeah, but mine's the woman outside Budgens with the mental Jack Russell. You've got, like, you know, arch-enemies,” Amy replies.
“Suppose so,” he says, pursing his lips.
“Eh, if you want to call them that,” the Alchemist mutters.
Amy shakes her head. “And here's me thinking we'd just be running through time, being daft and fixing stuff. But no, it's dangerous.”
“Yep. Very. Is that a problem?” the Doctor asks, turning his head to look at her.
Amy shrugs. “I'm still here, aren't I? You're worried about the Daleks.”
“I'm always worried about the Daleks,” he confirms.
“Just a bit,” the Alchemist says, rolling her eyes.
Amy frowns. “It'll take time though, won't it? I mean, there's still not many of them. They'll need a while to build themselves up.”
“It's not that. There's something else. Something we've forgotten. Or rather you have,” the Doctor says, looking at her warily.
“Me?” Amy asks.
The Doctor clarifies, “You didn't know them, Amy. You'd never seen them before. And you should have done. You should.”
“And that just adds more basis to my theory,” the Time Lady mutters, glaring at the TARDIS, her focus on the crack behind it.
They go inside the TARDIS and it dematerialises, revealing the glowing W-shaped crack in the wall.
[TARDIS]
The ship hums gently around them, drifting through the shimmering currents of the Vortex. Amy sits cross-legged on one of the steps leading up from the console, her face bright with excitement.
“Where to next?” she asks, practically bouncing where she sits.
“Planet?” the Doctor offers with a shrug, flashing a quick, lopsided smile.
Amy grins wide at that. “That sounds good to me!”
“We’ll pick something for tomorrow, then,” the Alchemist says, though she doesn’t meet their eyes. Her hands move absently over the console, fingers brushing switches she doesn’t flip.
The Doctor watches her carefully. Beneath the usual surface hum of her mind, he can feel it—a storm of emotions, tangled and dark. Whatever she’s thinking about, it’s pressing hard against her.
“Do we need to feed you?” he jokes, trying to lift the tension.
Amy rolls her eyes dramatically. “I’m not a pet, Doctor.”
The Alchemist finally shakes her head and turns to face them, her expression schooled into something close to normal. “I’ll make something for dinner later. In about two hours it would be considered time to eat in your timezone. Why don’t you go explore for a bit? There’s a spa room in here… somewhere. If you want to check that out, just think on it and the TARDIS will shift the room into your path as you head down the corridors.”
Amy’s eyes light up. She gives a quick, delighted nod before springing to her feet and bolting up the steps, not even pausing to say goodbye.
The two Time Lords watch her disappear into the upper corridors.
For a moment, the ship is quiet again, save for the steady pulse of the engines.
The Doctor turns, stepping closer to his Bondmate. His voice lowers, more careful now. “What’s got you bothered? I know it’s not the Daleks, or even the fact that there’s apparently been a planet of them out there this entire time. Is it the fact that Amy can’t remember them?” he asks.
She grimaces, and the edges of her composure falter.
“Right, I guess it’s later. That planet is filled with their failed experiments,” she says, voice thick with something unspoken. “They had been living their lives before. All of them. They’re still alive. That’s why they're so afraid of them; the emotions that remain make them crazed. I was sent there and came right back to base—made certain they would never try to send any of The Ten there again. They could have been me.”
The Doctor shakes his head, grasping her hands tightly. “You had too much riding on you, Amara. You remembered us. Me, the children. That never would have happened.”
She sighs, the sound raw. “You’re right. You’re right.”
“So what’s really bothering you?”
Her eyes flicker—a subtle, instinctive glance toward the time rotor as it rises and falls, slow and deliberate. She leans in closer, lowering her voice.
“I think we’re being tracked.”
The Doctor’s expression hardens instantly. His hands tighten around hers without thinking.
“In the Vortex?”
She nods, grim. “Something's been tugging at the edges of the TARDIS. Not enough to destabilize her. But enough that she’s wary.”
He drops her hands gently, moving toward the console, running long fingers across the panels like he’s listening for a heartbeat out of rhythm.
“Starship UK,” she continues, stepping up beside him. “That was the first time I felt it. Just a whisper, but it was there. And now... again. It’s the crack in Amy’s wall.”
“Could it be the Daleks?” His voice is sharp now, all pretense of lightness gone.
She hesitates, biting the inside of her cheek. “Maybe. But this feels different. It’s... older. Colder.”
The Doctor flips a few switches, casting the TARDIS into a slow drift, trying to get a better read on their surroundings. The ship hums uneasily, the lights above them flickering like they’re thinking about going out.
He glances at her, voice low. “Who could it be, then?”
The Alchemist closes her eyes for a brief second. When she opens them, they’re darker, heavier with the memories she can never quite outrun.
“I don’t know” she says quietly. “But it means something's coming. Something we can't run from.”
The Doctor swallows hard.
“Should we land?” he asks.
“No,” she says immediately. “We can't stay still. Not yet. Movement's our best defense.”
The Doctor nods once, decisively. “Then we keep moving.”
The Alchemist steps back from the console, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “And we stay ready. I just hope it doesn’t affect the kids.”
“Speaking of… we’re due for a call,” the Doctor reminds her.
“They’re going to lose it when they see these faces,” the Alchemist murmurs. “We also have to tell them about the Daleks.”
The Doctor sighs heavily. “We do.”
Nodding, the Alchemist pulls out her phone. It’s seen a lot at this point and is scratched all about the back of the metal casing. She dials. After two rings, Titan picks up.
“Mum, Dad?” Titan chuckles, “Is that what you look like now? Oi, Jess, Gale, over here. They look like kids!”
The Alchemist lets out a soft laugh, some of the tension bleeding from her posture. “Yes, alright, get your jokes in now,” she says dryly. “We Regenerate. You’ve seen worse.”
Titan smirks, grease smudged across his temple. “I dunno, Mum. This might top the red hat.”
“I liked the red hat,” Jessamy’s voice chimes in as she appears beside him, twisting a braid over one shoulder. “You both look... very young.”
“Barely older than us,” Nightingale adds as she steps into frame with a sharp look.
“Oi, we’re ancient!” the Doctor reminds her.
They chuckle.
“Let’s not get sidetracked,” the Alchemist says, her voice quieting. “We ran into something. Something we thought was gone.”
The air seems to go still on both sides of the call.
Titan’s expression hardens. “Daleks.”
The Doctor nods grimly. “Pure Daleks. Bigger casing, new colors. They… made us choose Earth or stopping them.”
Jessamy’s lips press into a line. “They let you live?”
“It almost felt like they didn’t see us as a threat," the Alchemist says, crossing her arms. “That’s worse.”
Nightingale’s jaw tightens. “And do you think this is connected to the Vortex disturbance?”
The Alchemist shakes her head. “No. But things feel… off. We saw something in our new companion’s wall. A crack.”
Titan leans forward. “What kind of crack?”
“Not a structural one,” the Doctor says. “Temporal. It was bleeding light.”
“I haven’t used my hand preceptors on it yet. We haven’t even gotten a full scan,” the Alchemist adds. “But it was there. Two parts of time and space when they shouldn’t even meet.”
Nightingale’s eyes narrow. “Is it stable?”
“No,” the Doctor answers. “And that’s what’s bothering us. Your mother says it’s been following us. She theorizes we’re being tracked so we can’t come to you.”
“It would be too dangerous,” the Alchemist murmurs.
Titan exchanges a look with Nightingale and Jessamy, then glances off-screen. “Susan?”
A moment later, Susan steps into view, a datapad tucked under her arm. Her braids are red now, tied in a knot atop her head.
“I heard.” She steps closer to the camera. “You think it’s a breach?”
“Could be,” the Alchemist says. “Or a scar. We don’t know yet.”
“We can help analyse it,” Susan offers. “If you can send over the resonance data.”
“We will once we get it,” the Alchemist promises. “But it’s not just the crack. The TARDIS… something’s wrong with it. It's like she’s trying to compensate for something that hasn’t happened yet.”
The Doctor adds, “We’re keeping an eye on it. But if anything shifts…”
“You’ll call,” Titan finishes for him.
Jessamy’s voice is softer now. “And the Daleks?”
“We lost them,” the Alchemist says. “They escaped. They’ve gone quiet, which means they’re not done.”
“They never are,” Nightingale mutters.
Susan looks straight into the camera. “You two be careful.”
The Doctor’s expression changes into something almost boyish. “Aren’t we always?”
All four of them give him the same unimpressed look.
“We’ll call again soon,” the Alchemist says. “As soon as we know more.”
“We’ll be ready,” Titan says.
The screen goes dark.
The Alchemist stares at the screen for a moment longer, arms folded, mind still ticking. “They’re too calm.”
“They’re Time Lords,” he reminds her. “They’re trained for calm.”
She nods slowly, but her voice is distant. “I just wish they didn’t have to be.”
Notes:
Ugh, I have the flu, and I thought I had posted (turns out I was dreaming it). So, here we have it.
Chapter 4: The Time of the Angels
Chapter Text
[Museum]
The Doctor and the Alchemist dart between towering exhibits, commenting with theatrical disdain on the labels.
“Wrong. Wrong. Bit right, mostly wrong. I love museums,” the Doctor calls out, sprinting across the wide marble floor with giddy energy.
“Oh, this one’s definitely wrong! Aha! I was wondering where that went—but it’s completely wrong, ha! Archaeologists really are foolish, aren’t they,” the Alchemist laughs, weaving her own erratic path through the room, her voice full of wicked amusement.
Amy lags behind, unimpressed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, great. Can we go to a planet now? Big spaceship? Churchill’s bunker? You promised me a planet next.”
“Sunshine, Sunshine, this isn’t any old asteroid. It’s the Delirium Archive—the final resting place of the Headless Monks. The biggest museum ever! It’s wonderful!” the Alchemist cries, throwing her arms wide.
She grabs Amy’s hands, spinning her into a dizzy twirl before racing off again.
Amy staggers slightly, shaking her head to clear it.
“Okay, so it’s the best museum, but… you’ve got a time machine. What do you need museums for?”
Across the hall, the Doctor shouts back, half-bouncing on his feet, “Wrong. Very wrong. Ooh, one of mine. Oh, this is an Ally one! Also one of mine! Ally, this one is both of ours!”
Amy crosses her arms, a realization dawning. “Oh, I see. It’s how you keep score.”
The Doctor suddenly freezes, his gaze snagged by a dull, unremarkable square box displayed under glass. Without hesitation, he snatches his Bondmate’s hand mid-run, dragging her back toward it.
Amy trails after them reluctantly. “Oh great, an old box.”
The Alchemist leans in close, practically vibrating with excitement as she reads what’s written on the sides. Her Bondmate shoots her a tired, mildly annoyed look—but she’s too enthralled to notice.
“It’s from one of the old starliners. A Home Box, Sunshine!” the Alchemist exclaims, grinning as she taps the glass.
“What’s a Home Box?” Amy asks, squinting at the battered thing.
The Doctor answers smoothly, “Like a black box on a plane, except it homes. Anything happens to the ship, the Home Box flies home with all the flight data.”
“So?” Amy shrugs.
“It’s the writing, the graffiti on it that’s important. Old High Gallifreyan. The lost language of the Time Lords. I only use it when I have something important to say,” the Alchemist explains, nodding solemnly.
The Doctor's voice drops lower, heavier. “There were days, there were many days, these words could burn stars and raise up empires, and topple gods.”
“Or calm your panicked wife,” the Alchemist mutters with a small shrug.
Amy frowns at her, half-hearing, but presses on. “What does it say?”
The Doctor reads the translation aloud, deadpan, while the Alchemist sing-songs it excitedly. “Hello, sweeties.”
The Alchemist throws her arms in the air. “Oh, I have been waiting for this! It’s gotta be her!”
“Ally, no,” the Doctor warns, but she just gives a bright, stubborn nod.
“Ally, yes.”
With a long-suffering sigh, the Doctor yanks the glass case off. An alarm blares instantly through the museum.
The Alchemist jokingly plugs her ears with her fingers, laughing as she sprints for the TARDIS. “You know, honey, it would’ve taken a second for me to just… disable the alarm!”
Guards spill into the hall. Amy and the Doctor exchange a look—and bolt.
The Alchemist, reaching the TARDIS first, flicks one finger from her ear long enough to snap the doors open, then dives inside.
Amy and the Doctor slam the doors shut behind them, breathing hard.
“Why are we doing this?” Amy gasps.
The Doctor gives her a dry look. “Because someone on a spaceship twelve thousand years ago is trying to attract our attention—and what Ally wants, Ally gets. Let’s see if we can get the security playback working.”
Both Time Lords hustle to wire the Home Box into the console. The Alchemist hovers close to the monitor, practically glowing with anticipation.
The playback flickers to life, showing River Song in a dim corridor, winking boldly at the camera.
“The party’s over, Doctor Song,” a grim man announces. “Yet still you’re on board.”
“Sorry, Alistair. I needed to see what was in your vault. Do you all know what’s down there? Any of you? Because I’ll tell you something—this ship won’t reach its destination,” River replies, calm and sharp.
Behind him, Alistair barks orders to his guards. “Wait till she runs. Don’t make it look like an execution.”
River calls out, voice clear and sure: “Triple seven five slash three four nine by ten Zero twelve slash acorn.” She pauses, flashing a sly smile. “Oh, and I could do with an air corridor.”
Without missing a beat, the Alchemist shoves the Doctor toward the typewriter. He catches himself and hastily inputs the coordinates.
Amy frowns, lost. “What was that? What did she say?”
“Coordinates,” the Doctor mutters under his breath.
Onscreen, River steps back toward an airlock door.
“Like I said on the dance floor,” she calls to the guards, “you might want to find something to hang on to.”
She blows a kiss just as the airlock blasts open. The guards scramble for the rails—River is sucked out backward into the void.
A second later, with it’s typical grinding woosh, the TARDIS materializes in her path.
[TARDIS]
After setting up the air corridor, the Alchemist dashes over to the doors and yells, “Woohoo! Here she comes!”
She flings them open, steps back, and holds out both arms just in time to catch River Song as she comes sailing through the air corridor, letting River knock her to the ground.
Hand preceptors activated, the Alchemist masks her shock when she gets a read on River’s DNA, instead letting out a giggle. She flips them easily and pulls River to her feet
“Hello, Shinygirl!” the Alchemist cries, greeting her.
“Doctor?” Amy asks, turning to him in confusion.
“River?” the Doctor echoes from his spot by the console, just as confused.
“Follow that ship,” River orders, dragging the Alchemist toward the console to help fly the TARDIS.
The three of them spring into action, beginning the flight.
“Hello Twilight,” River greets the Time Lady quickly, then adds, “They've gone into warp drive. We're losing them. Stay close.”
The Doctor rolls his eyes as he works around the console. “I'm trying.”
“I’m doing it just fine,” the Alchemist snarks.
“Use the stabilizers,” River demands.
The Doctor is quick to deny, “There aren't any stabilizers.”
“The blue switches, honey,” the Alchemist reminds him.
The Doctor just shakes his head. “Oh, the blue ones don't do anything, they're just blue.”
River rolls her eyes and points to them. “Yes, they're blue. Look, they're the blue stabilizers.”
The Alchemist presses the switches, shaking her head in exasperation. The TARDIS immediately stops shaking—something the Doctor hates, because he thinks it’s funnier when the companions fall over.
“See?” River and the Alchemist say in unison, exchanging a wink.
“Yeah. Well, it's just boring now, isn't it? They're boring-ers. They're blue boring-ers,” the Doctor grumbles.
Amy, watching them in fascination, asks, “Doctor, how come she can fly the TARDIS?”
“You call that flying the TARDIS? Ha!” the Doctor scoffs.
Glancing over to see if the Doctor is watching, the Alchemist mischievously throws off the brakes for the first time during a day trip since they’d started traveling.
River recalls quickly, “Okay. I've mapped the probability vectors, Ally did the fold-back on the temporal isometry, I charted the ship to its destination, and she parked us right alongside.”
The Alchemist nods in agreement, wearing a proud smirk.
The Doctor protests, “Parked us? We haven't landed.”
“Of course we've landed. Ally just landed her,” River informs him.
“But it didn't make the noise,” the Doctor says, confused.
The Alchemist chuckles knowingly.
River looks at him, astounded. “What noise?”
The Doctor shrugs and attempts to mimic the TARDIS’s familiar wheezing noise, making the Alchemist laugh outright.
“It's not supposed to make that noise. You leave the brakes on—and Twilight lets you,” River explains.
“Yeah, well, it's a brilliant noise. I love that noise. Even Ally loves that noise. Come along, Pond. Let's have a look,” the Doctor says, shooting his Bondmate an annoyed glance, knowing exactly what she’s done, before striding toward the doors.
River quickly interrupts, “No, wait. Environment checks.”
The Alchemist raises a brow, exchanging a glance with River before stepping up beside her.
“He’s not going to let you finish, you know,” she whispers.
River just shrugs knowingly.
“Oh yes, sorry. Quite right. Environment checks,” the Doctor says with a nod—before promptly opening the TARDIS door and looking out. “Nice out,” he states plainly.
The Alchemist pouts; that’s not what she wanted to hear. She pokes River in the shoulder, urging her to continue.
Shaking her head at the Alchemist’s persistence, River reads out, “We're somewhere in the Garn Belt. There's an atmosphere. Early indications suggest that…”
The Doctor looks out again and cuts her off, “We're on Alfava Metraxis, the seventh planet of the Dundra System. Oxygen-rich atmosphere, all toxins in the soft band, eleven-hour day, and chances of rain later,” he finishes, popping his head back inside.
The Alchemist grins.
River shakes her head. “He thinks he's so hot when he does that.”
“That’s because he is,” the Alchemist whispers back with a smirk.
“And why do you always tell him the time and date before he even has a chance to look at his watch?” River asks, equally quietly.
“Because he thinks I’m hot when I do that,” the Alchemist replies, chin tipped up proudly and arms crossed.
River playfully rolls her eyes and hip-checks her.
“How come you can fly the TARDIS?” Amy asks River, walking up—having missed the whispered conversation.
River responds easily, “Oh, I had lessons from the very best.”
“Well, yeah,” the Doctor says brightly, flipping his hair back with a dramatic tilt of the head.
The Alchemist coughs to cover her laugh, absolutely certain she was the one who taught River—and not just a theory. The Doctor couldn’t even pass the exam.
“It's a shame you were busy that day,” River tells him bluntly before adding, “Right then, why did they land here?”
“They didn't land,” the Time Lords inform her together.
River blinks in confusion. “Sorry?”
“You should've checked the Home Box. It crashed,” the Doctor explains.
River immediately strides through the TARDIS doors to check for herself.
Amy rushes up to the Doctor and the Alchemist. “Explain. Who is that, and how did she do that museum thing?”
“It's a long story, and we don't know most of it. Off we go,” the Doctor says, brushing it off and shutting the door behind River, ignoring his wife's frown and the jolt of disappointment it stirs.
“What are you doing?” Amy asks, concerned.
“Leaving. She's got where she wants to go, let's go where we want to go,” he shrugs.
The Alchemist crosses her arms, pouting and glaring at him.
“Are you basically running away?” Amy presses.
“Yep,” he says bluntly.
“Why?”
The Doctor shrugs again, refusing to meet the Alchemist’s eye. “Because she's the future. Our future.”
Amy shakes her head. “Can you run away from that?”
“I can run away from anything I like. Time is not the boss of me,” he insists.
“Technically it is, considering I am the boss of you,” the Alchemist reminds him, earning herself a glare.
Amy, grinning at that, looks at the Doctor and then toward the doors. “Hang on, is that a planet out there?”
“Yes, of course it's a planet, Sunshine,” the Alchemist answers warmly.
“You promised me a planet. Five minutes?” Amy asks hopefully, mostly addressing the Doctor.
The Doctor sighs but relents. “Okay, five minutes.”
“Yes!” Amy cries out, holding up her hand for a high five, which the Alchemist happily gives.
Pointing at them warningly, the Doctor says, “But that's all. Because I'm telling you now—that woman is not dragging me into anything.”
“Not unless I make you, honey. I am the boss after all,” the Alchemist calls over her shoulder, leading Amy outside.
The Doctor groans and trudges after them.
[Planet surface]
The once-sleek spaceship is now a burning wreck, jutting out of a rock-carved building.
“What caused it to crash?” Amy asks.
River quickly denies, “Not me.”
“Of course not, you’d never do that, I’m sure. No, the airlock would've sealed seconds after you blew it. According to the Home Box, the warp engines had a phase shift. No survivors, sadly,” the Alchemist tells them.
“A phase shift would have to be sabotage. I did warn them,” River says with a shrug.
“Who would sabotage a ship to crash if there are no living survivors?” the Alchemist mutters under her breath, knowing only the Doctor will hear her.
He glances at her to confirm that before asking River, “About what?”
The Alchemist looks over at the crash site. “Well, at least the building was empty. Aplan temple. Unoccupied for approximately two centuries.”
“Getting back at your Bondmate again?” River asks the Alchemist under her breath.
The Alchemist merely nods when River glances over.
Amy looks between the Time Lords and River. “Aren't you going to introduce us?”
“Amy Pond, Professor River Song,” the Doctor says, waving a hand toward the woman.
The Alchemist grumbles about spoiling River’s future.
“Ah, I'm going to be a Professor some day, am I? How exciting. Spoilers,” River says brightly, winking at him.
“Yeah, but who is she and how did she do that? She just left you guys a note in a museum,” Amy presses.
River turns to her. “Three things always guaranteed to show up in a museum: the Home Box of a category-four starliner and, sooner or later, them. It's how they keep score.”
The Alchemist shrugs, knowing she’s right.
“I know,” Amy says with a laugh.
“It's hilarious, isn't it?” River says, shaking her head.
“I'm nobody's taxi service. I'm not going to be there to catch you every time you feel like jumping out of a spaceship,” the Doctor tells River.
“You didn’t catch her, honey, I did. Stop stealing my thunder,” the Alchemist says, pointing at him.
River smirks. “And you are so wrong, Ally. There's one survivor. There's a thing in the belly of that ship that can't ever die. …Now they’re listening.”
River grabs the Alchemist’s hand and they walk down the beach away from Amy and the Doctor.
Using her communicator, River speaks into it, while the Alchemist listens in.
“You lot in orbit yet? Yeah, I saw it land. I'm at the crash site. Try and home in on my signal,” River says.
“Doctor, can you sonic me? I need to boost the signal so we can use it as a beacon,” River asks.
The Alchemist barely holds back a laugh, knowing she’s only doing it to get a rise out of him. River could very well ask her seeing as she has her sonic screwdriver right in her pocket.
Near the doors of the TARDIS, where Amy and the Doctor are standing, the Time Lord grudgingly points the sonic at the device, boosting the signal.
“Ooh, Doctor, you soniced her,” Amy teases.
The Alchemist and River share a knowing glance and curtsey quickly, the Alchemist waving her own screwdriver at him with a wink.
The Doctor scowls and turns away.
Checking to make sure the other two are far enough away and not paying attention, the Alchemist turns to River.
“My hand preceptors were on, River. It’s early for us. I won’t let on,” the Alchemist says softly.
River looks up sharply, eyes wide, before she schools her expression and nods.
“You won’t tell him? You never lie to each other,” she whispers back.
“It’s not a lie if I don’t inform him. I theorize it’s too soon for anyone but us to know,” the Alchemist replies.
“Thank you, Twilight, for everything you do for me,” River whispers with a gentle look.
The Alchemist just smiles softly, remembering what she does for them.
Further down the beach, the Doctor and Amy are unaware of the hushed conversation before they walk up to the women.
Pretending the last conversation didn’t occur, River starts up, “We have a minute. Shall we?”
She pulls out her TARDIS-style diary.
“Where are we up to? Have we done the Bone Meadows?” River asks the Time Lords.
“Not yet, Shinygirl,” the Alchemist says with a shrug.
“What's the book?” Amy asks.
“Stay away from it,” the Doctor warns her.
Amy, undeterred, asks again, “What is it though?”
“Her diary,” the Doctor says.
River corrects him, “Our diary.”
“Her past, our future. Time travel. We keep meeting in the wrong order,” he mutters, clearly annoyed.
“I made it,” the Alchemist adds.
Both the Doctor and Amy look at her, confused, while River smirks, remembering.
The Alchemist just shrugs at the blank stares. “I taught myself bookbinding.”
More blank stares.
“What? I have hobbies.”
The Doctor just rolls his eyes at his wife; he's well aware of just how many things she likes to dabble in, including helping run the universe’s most affluent galaxy.
Suddenly, four small tornadoes kick up dust and coalesce into four soldiers.
Eyeing their uniforms, the Alchemist quickly realizes they’re from the Church.
“You promised me an army, Doctor Song,” an older man says, looking around.
River denies this easily. “No, I promised you the equivalent of an army. This is the Alchemist and the Doctor.”
“Father Octavian, Sir, Ma'am, Bishop, second class. Twenty clerics at my command. The troops are already in the dropship and landing shortly. Doctor Song was helping us with a covert investigation. Has Doctor Song explained what we're dealing with?” Father Octavian asks, saluting.
“Not yet, but I have a theory we won’t be pleased by what we’re about to hear,” the Alchemist says dryly, earning an odd look from Father Octavian.
River smirks and asks the Time Lords, “Alchemist, Doctor, what do you know of the Weeping Angels?”
The Time Lords share a look—frustration and fear flickering between them through their bond.
[Camp]
Night has fallen. The rest of the troops have arrived with their supplies in a small drop ship—a container unit retrofitted for field deployment. They’ve set up camp around it.
“The Angel, as far as we know, is still trapped in the ship. Our mission is to get inside and neutralize it. We can’t go in from the top—we’d be too close to the drives. According to this,” Octavian says, holding up a data pad, “behind the cliff face is a network of catacombs leading straight to the temple. We blow through the base of the cliffs, breach the entrance chamber, then make our way up.”
“Oh, good,” the Doctor says, voice dripping sarcasm.
Confused, Octavian asks, “Good, sir?”
“Catacombs. Probably dark catacombs. Dark, scary catacombs. Fantastic,” the Doctor mutters.
The Alchemist rolls her eyes. “I trust someone packed a torch or two. I’m the only one here with night vision—and I don’t plan on playing tour guide for anyone but my husband.”
Father Octavian hesitates, visibly startled by the comment, before continuing, “Technically, it’s called the Maze of the Dead.”
Frustrated, the Doctor says, “You can stop any time you like.”
“Indeed. ‘Correctamundo’—as the less linguistically burdened might put it,” the Alchemist mumbles, glancing away.
“You’re familiar with the catacombs, ma’am?” Octavian asks, surprised.
“I’ve read about them,” she answers blandly, pivoting on one heel and heading toward the drop module—where she can smell River, curious as to what she’s up to.
Octavian watches her go, still thrown, before turning back to the Doctor, about to continue his briefing, but a voice crackles over the comms, interrupting: “Father Octavian?”
“Excuse me, sir,” Octavian says quickly, moving away to check on his troop.
Amy walks up, frowning. “You're letting people call you sir. You never do that. So whatever a Weeping Angel is, it’s really bad, yeah?”
The Doctor turns to her, narrowing his eyes. “Now that’s interesting. You're still here. Which part of ‘wait in the TARDIS till we tell you it’s safe’ was unclear?”
“Ooh, you are all Mister Grumpy Face today,” Amy teases.
The Doctor stares at her grimly. “A Weeping Angel, Amy, is the deadliest, most powerful, most malevolent life form evolution has ever produced. And right now, one of them is trapped inside that wreckage. We're supposed to climb in after it with two screwdrivers, a torch, my wife’s abilities, and—assuming we survive the radiation, and assuming the ship doesn’t explode in our faces—do something incredibly clever that she hasn’t even begun to theorize and I haven’t actually thought of yet. That's my day. That’s what I’m up to. Any questions?”
Amy nods, thinking hard. “Yeah. Is River Song going to be your wife? Do you think you’ll divorce the Alchemist and marry her? ‘Cause she’s from your future, right? And the way she talks to you... I've only ever seen Ally do that. It’s like, you know… ‘heel, boy.’ She’s Mrs. Doctor from the future, isn’t she? Is she gonna be your new wife someday?”
The Doctor glares at the ground, jaw tightening. They haven’t explained things to Amy yet… and even the suggestion of losing the Alchemist rattles him more than he cares to admit.
‘I heard what Amelia said, Theta. You know that’s not true. We’ll always be together—the Fated Pair, remember?’ he hears the Alchemist say softly in his mind.
‘I know. I just hate the thought of it,’ he answers back.
He finally looks up and says aloud, “Yes, you're right. I am definitely Mister Grumpy Face today.”
From the drop ship, River, now dressed in combat fatigues, calls out, “Doctor! Doctor?”
The Alchemist stands beside her, head tilted in amusement, smirking.
“Oops. Her indoors,” Amy teases again.
“Father Octavian!” River calls next.
Amy turns back to the Doctor. “Why do they call him Father?”
“He’s their Bishop. They’re his Clerics. It's the 51st century—the Church has moved on,” the Doctor explains as they walk toward the ship.
[Drop ship]
A grainy image of a Weeping Angel, its back turned, flickers on a monitor mounted on the desk by the far wall.
“What do you think? It's from the security cameras in the Byzantium vault. I ripped it when I was on board. Sorry about the quality. It's four seconds. I've put it on loop,” River tells them.
The Alchemist watches the Angel on the screen, knowing it's safe to look at for now.
The Doctor sighs, “Yeah, it's an Angel. Hands covering its face.”
“You've encountered the Angels before?” Octavian asks.
“Once, on Earth, a long time ago. But those were scavengers, barely surviving,” the Doctor replies.
“I’ve studied them to a decent extent; they’re rather unusual,” the Alchemist informs them.
Amy shakes her head. “But it's just a statue.”
“It's a statue when you see it,” River corrects.
“Where did it come from?” the Time Lords ask River.
“Oh, pulled from the ruins of Razbahan, end of last century. It's been in private hands ever since. Dormant all that time,” she answers.
The Doctor sighs again. “There's a difference between dormant and patient.”
“What's that mean, it's a statue when you see it?” Amy asks.
“The Weeping Angels can only move if they're unseen. So legend has it,” River tells her.
“Nope, not a legend,” the Alchemist says.
The Doctor nods. “It's a quantum lock. In the sight of any living creature the Angels literally cease to exist. They're just stone. The ultimate defense mechanism.”
Amy frowns. “What, being a stone?”
“Being a stone until you turn your back,” the Doctor replies darkly.
“They’re not actually stone,” the Alchemist adds with a tight frown. “It certainly looks like stone but it’s actually alive. I won’t get into the exact chemical breakdown of what they’re made of—it would take far too long to explain and is rather complex.”
“So it’s not stone?” Amy asks, even more confused.
River and Octavian glance at the Alchemist, wondering the same thing.
“Well, I suppose the easiest way to simplify it is to remind you that living things can grow fairly fast, and in the case of a Weeping Angel, what they are made of can actually grow back when it breaks down, unlike the stone they appear to be composed of,” the Alchemist says with a shrug.
The others frown, wary.
They decide to continue the discussion at camp and begin heading out of the module.
No one notices as the Alchemist quietly turns off the monitor.
[Camp]
“The hyperdrive would've split on impact. That whole ship's going to be flooded with drive burn radiation, cracked electrons, gravity storms. Deadly to almost any living thing,” the Doctor tells the group.
“Deadly to an Angel?” Octavian asks, hopeful.
The Doctor just shakes his head. “Dinner to an Angel. The longer we leave it there, the stronger it will grow. Who built that temple? Are they still around?”
“The Aplans. Indigenous life form. They died out four hundred years ago,” River answers.
“Four hundred and twenty-six. There’s no record of why they died out, however,” the Alchemist states plainly.
“Two hundred years later, the planet was terraformed. Currently there are six billion human colonists,” Octavian says.
The Alchemist frowns in thought. The Angel in the ship is in extremely good shape considering it has been in private collection for so long. How has it been feeding?
“Whoo! You lot, you're everywhere. You're like rabbits. We'll never get done saving you,” the Doctor says with a laugh.
Octavian begins to ask, “Sir, ma’am, if there is a clear and present danger to the local population...”
“Oh, there is. Bad as it gets. Bishop, lock and load,” the Doctor interrupts quickly.
Octavian nods and calls out, “Verger, how are we doing with those explosives?” He then shouts to River further away, “Doctor Song, with me.”
“Two minutes,” she calls back, before summoning the Time Lords. “Sweeties, I need you.”
“Sweeties?” the Doctor grumbles as he and his wife turn on their heels.
“Well, you are sweet like honey,” the Alchemist mumbles to him with a smirk, quoting what she said during their 'test run' in the bedroom last night.
The Doctor glances around to make sure no one is looking before slapping his hand hard against the Alchemist’s bottom, making her yelp and jump.
“Menace,” he whispers.
“Your menace,” she whispers back.
He laces his fingers with hers, and they continue on to meet River.
Amy, unaware of the exchange, calls out, “Anybody need me? …Nobody?”
She shrugs and wanders back into the module.
The monitor has turned itself back on. The image has changed—the Angel’s face is no longer buried in its hands.
It is starting to look over its shoulder.
[With River]
The Time Lords release each other’s hands as they finally reach River.
“I found this. Definitive work on the Angels. Well, the only one. Written by a madman. It's barely readable, but I've marked a few passages,” River says, holding it out.
The Alchemist spares it a quick glance before nodding.
“Mmm, I’ve read that. But it’s not the only one,” the Alchemist informs her, clearly distracted. “There’s a lot of research, but it’s not available anymore.”
The Doctor reads the book at a pace normal for Time Lords, then shrugs.
“Not bad. Bit slow in the middle. Didn't you hate his girlfriend? No. No, hang on. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait,” he says, sniffing the book.
“Not available?” River asks, frowning.
The Alchemist sighs heavily and shakes her head.
‘Well, I can’t access the Elite Archive anymore. Let alone the Portal for any information on them,’ she tells the Doctor quietly.
The Doctor watches her with concern. Something is clearly bothering her to be recalling the Elites right now.
“Do you have a working theory, dear?” the Doctor asks softly.
“Mmm, the Angel has been feeding. It’s too well-formed to not have been,” she says, beginning to pace.
From the drop ship, Amy calls out, “Doctor Song? Did you have more than one clip of the Angel?”
“No, just the four seconds,” River calls back.
The Alchemist, assuming the screen is still off, remains focused on her theory.
“This book is wrong. What's wrong with this book? It's wrong,” the Doctor mutters, flipping through it again, slower this time.
[Drop ship]
On the monitor, the Angel now faces the viewer, hands fully lowered.
The timestamp jumps from 00:11:28:04 back to 00:11:24:23.
When Amy looks again, the Angel is closer to the camera.
The module door slams shut and locks behind her.
[With River]
River, remembering what the Alchemist said earlier, remarks, “It's so strange when you two go all baby face. How early is this for you?”
The Alchemist hears the door shut, but dismisses it, still pacing.
“Very early,” the Doctor replies, not looking up.
“So you don't know who I am yet?” River asks, glancing toward the Time Lady—who winks back, signaling that her secret remains safe.
Now the Doctor looks up. “How do you know who we are? We don't always look the same.”
“I've got pictures of all your faces, both of you. You never show up in the right order, though. I need the spotter's guide,” River answers with a shrug.
The Alchemist knows that isn’t possible for her.
River’s comment catches the Doctor’s attention. He flips through the book again, frowning.
“Pictures. Why aren't there pictures?”
“There can’t be,” the Alchemist says, stopping her pacing.
“What do you mean?” the Doctor asks, lifting his head to look at her.
Meeting his gaze, the Alchemist says quietly, “The image of an Angel is an Angel.”
[Drop ship]
Amy frantically tries to turn off the monitor, but it keeps flickering back on.
She steps closer.
“But you're just a recording. You can't move,” she says, staring at the screen.
She yanks at the lead, trying to disconnect it—but when she looks back up, the Angel is right up against the screen.
The timestamp still loops through the same four seconds.
“Doctor?” she calls out, her voice rising.
Amy runs to the door, trying to escape, but it won't budge.
On the screen, the Angel’s mouth is now open.
“Doctor! Ally!” she cries, fear creeping into her voice.
[Camp]
The Doctor, still uncertain about the Alchemist’s warning, glances back down at the book—she can be cryptic, especially with her Vortex connection.
“There was a bit about images in the book, she’s right,” River says, stepping closer to look.
Unnoticed, the Alchemist tilts her head at the faint sound of Amy’s voice from the drop ship. The words stop her cold. Without a word, she silently bolts toward the ship—she’d shut that monitor off for a reason.
River and the Doctor don’t notice she’s gone.
“Yes. Hang on… ‘That which holds the image of an Angel becomes itself an Angel,’” the Doctor reads.
[Drop ship]
Inside, Amy cries, “Doctor! Alchemist!”
[Camp]
“What does that mean? An image of an Angel becomes itself an Angel?” River asks, scanning the page.
The Doctor narrows his eyes. “Ally said the image of an Angel is an Angel. Meaning it actually is one.”
[Drop ship]
The Angel begins to climb out of the screen.
“Doctor, Ally! It’s in the room!” Amy cries.
[Outside the drop ship]
The Alchemist skids to a halt outside. “Amelia! I’m here… hold on, I’ll get you out!”
She tries the sonic on the keypad. Nothing. Deadlock. Probably the whole system.
‘Theta! I need help by the drop ship—Amelia’s in trouble,’ she sends mentally.
“Do not look away from the Angel, Amelia!” she shouts through the door.
“Why not!?” Amy calls back.
“If you look away it’ll move—and it moves fast! Just don’t blink,” she answers, yanking a pry bar from her pocket. With all her strength, she manages to shift the door slightly, growling with effort.
“Okay! I’ll keep watching, but please get me out!” Amy pleads.
“Use the communicator. Call the Doctor! He’s running too slow!” the Alchemist tells her, still struggling with the door.
Amy, eyes locked on the Angel, grabs the communicator. “Doctor!”
[Camp]
‘Theta! I need help by the drop ship—Amelia’s in trouble.’ the Doctor hears in his mind.
“Amy!” he gasps, realizing the Alchemist has vanished.
He and River take off at a sprint.
“Doctor!” Amy calls through the comm.
“Are you alright? What’s happening?” he asks as they close in.
“Doctor? It’s coming out of the television,” she says, fear rising.
[Outside the drop ship]
The Doctor and River arrive. He yanks out his sonic.
“Damn it, that Angel’s powerful,” the Alchemist growls, still forcing the door.
“The Angel is here,” Amy says over the comm.
The Doctor tries the lock.
“I already tried that,” the Alchemist snaps.
“Don’t take your eyes off it. Keep looking. It can’t move if you’re watching,” the Doctor warns.
“What’s wrong?” River asks.
“Deadlocked,” they say together.
“There is no deadlock,” she insists.
“Don’t blink, Amy. Don’t even blink,” the Doctor says.
“I know, Doctor,” Amy replies, eyes fixed.
The Doctor turns to the power converter and sonics it.
“That won’t work either!” the Alchemist shouts over the sonic’s whine.
“What are you doing?” River demands.
“Trying to cut the power. It's using the screen. I'm shutting it off. No good—whole system’s deadlocked. Ally’s right,” he growls.
River repeats, “There’s no deadlock.”
“There is now!” he snaps.
“If the Angel’s strong enough to reach through the screen, it can use its own energy to trap its victim,” the Alchemist grits out.
Amy’s panic rises. “Help me!”
“Can you turn off the screen, Amelia? Try to shut it down,” the Alchemist commands, still straining.
“Doctor! Ally!” Amy calls again.
“The screen—can you turn it off?” the Doctor echoes.
“I tried,” she says.
“Try again,” he urges.
“Keep trying,” the Alchemist insists.
“But don’t take your eyes off the Angel.”
“I’m not.”
“Each time it moves, it’ll move faster. Don’t even blink,” the Doctor tells her.
River, meanwhile, attempts cutting through the door with her pistol torch.
“That also won’t work,” the Alchemist mutters, “We need to use force.”
Inside, Amy closes one eye at a time. “I’m not blinking. Have you ever tried not blinking?” she grits, still jabbing at the controls. “It just keeps switching back on.”
“Yeah. It’s the Angel,” the Doctor says.
“But it’s just a recording,” Amy protests.
The Alchemist corrects her, “It’s an Angel now.”
“Anything that takes the image of an Angel is an Angel,” the Doctor says, turning to River. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to cut through. It’s not even warm,” she replies.
“I told you it wouldn’t work! Why is no one listening to me today?” the Alchemist snaps.
“She’s right—there’s no way in. Not unless Ally can pry the door further,” the Doctor says.
The Alchemist tries again. She puts her full weight behind it—until the bar snaps in two, part of it slicing across her hands as it flies through the air.
“Well, there goes the pry bar,” the Doctor mutters, slamming his hand on the ship.
The Alchemist balls her fists, searching her memory. Something about the eyes…
Inside, Amy’s terror builds. “Doctor, Ally—what’s it going to do to me?”
“Just keep looking. Don’t stop looking,” the Doctor says.
“Just tell me!”
The Alchemist’s eyes go wide. “Amelia—not the eyes!”
“What do you mean, not the eyes?” the Doctor hisses.
“It’s in the book,” she says quickly. “It’s in every book about them.”
“Tell me. Tell me!” Amy begs, still staring.
“Amy, not the eyes,” the Doctor echoes through the comm.
The Alchemist tries again, “Look at the Angel, but don’t look at the eyes.”
“Why?” Amy demands, confused.
“The eyes let them in. Like an entrance,” the Alchemist shouts.
River glances between them. “What is it? Anything else?”
The Doctor finds the page, reading aloud, “‘The eyes are not the windows of the soul. They are the doors. Beware what may enter there.’ Just how much do you know about these, Alchemist?”
“Not enough!” she snaps.
“Doctor, what did you say?” Amy asks.
“Don’t look at the eyes!” the Time Lords shout together.
Amy blurts, “No—about images. What did you say about images?”
“Whatever holds the image of an Angel is an Angel,” River repeats.
[Drop ship]
“Okay, hold this. One, two, three, four,” Amy whispers, pressing pause just as the tape loops back to the start. The image flickers to static. At that moment, the Doctor, the Alchemist, and River burst in as the monitor powers down.
Amy turns to them, trying to shake off the fear. “I froze it. There was a sort of blip on the tape and I froze it on the blip. It wasn't the image of an Angel any more. That was good, yeah? It was, wasn't it? That was pretty good.”
“That was amazing,” River says with a nod.
The Alchemist, hands still fisted, smiles at her. “Great job, Sunshine.”
The Doctor, scanning the equipment with his sonic, says distractedly, “Ally, hug Amy.”
“Why?” Amy asks.
“Because I'm busy,” the Doctor replies, matter-of-fact.
The Alchemist glances down at her still-clenched fists. “Shinygirl, you hug Sunshine.”
River gives her a strange look but crosses over to hug Amy without question.
“I'm fine,” Amy tells her.
River nods. “You're brilliant.”
“Thanks. Yeah, I kind of creamed it, didn't I?” Amy says with a shaky laugh.
River turns to the Time Lords. “So it was here? That was the Angel?”
“That was a projection of the Angel. It's reaching out, getting a good look at us. It's no longer dormant,” the Doctor replies, still scanning with his sonic.
The Alchemist sighs. “I don’t think it ever was dormant. Like I said, it’s too well-formed. Too sharp. Too present. People must’ve been watching it on monitors for years. Feeding it.”
The Doctor groans, dragging a hand down his face, then pockets his sonic and turns sharply toward her. “Let me see your hands. I know you did something.”
River and Amy glance at her, instantly on edge, as the Alchemist quietly tucks her hands behind her back.
“Alchemist,” the Doctor says more firmly, holding out his hand. “Now.”
She sighs, resigned, and places one closed fist in his palm.
He flips her wrist and gently uncurls her fingers. The damage is obvious.
“You’ve hit bone,” he says, voice low, full of anger he’s directing at himself.
Amy and River gasp, wide-eyed.
The Alchemist shrugs, almost casual. “Shrapnel from the prybar. I’ll fix it.”
“With what?” he snaps, his tone darkening.
“Unlike you, I don’t waste Regeneration energy. This barely qualifies as a scratch,” she replies, calm but firm. She draws the power up. Her hands begin to glow gold, wounds knitting closed in the light.
The Doctor closes his eyes, jaw clenched, frustration radiating from him. There’s no rebuttal—he knows she’s right.
Eventually, he lets out a long breath and pulls her into a fierce embrace.
The Alchemist presses a kiss to his cheek and steps back.
He lets his arms fall from her waist as she turns and walks out of the ship, already focused on cleaning the blood from her hands and the ground.
An explosion thunders outside.
“Okay, now it starts,” the Doctor says, turning to stride out of the drop ship.
“Coming?” River asks Amy.
Amy rubs at her eye. “Yeah, coming. There’s just something in my eye.”
[Camp]
“Last one positive,” a Cleric calls out.
“Alchemist? Doctor? We’re through,” Octavian announces, voice raised.
[Outside the drop ship]
The Alchemist digs into the pocket of her jacket, pulls out a pack of DNA-disintegrating wipes, and begins cleaning the blood from her hands. She drops the two used wipes directly onto the spot where she can still smell her own blood.
The Doctor, River, and Amy have made it outside by now. They stop, watching silently. Even River has never seen this part of her in action.
Next, the Alchemist pulls out a small container—her version of lighter fluid—and frowns at it briefly before kneeling and pouring it over the bloodstained ground.
“What’s Ally doing?” Amy asks, confused.
“Getting rid of the evidence,” the Doctor replies with a sigh.
“Huh?” Amy watches as the Alchemist strikes a match and drops it onto the pile.
The flames flare up fast. She waits, eyes fixed, until they burn down to ash. Then she crouches again, inhaling near the remains, and double-checking with her hand preceptors. Nothing. Clean. Satisfied, she stands and uses her boot to mix the dirt with the ashes, burying the trace.
“I have a lot of power in my blood, Sunshine,” she says, looking up at them. “It’s risky enough leaving Time Lord blood around, but mine carries energy from the Time Vortex. It has a signature. Traceable. I’ve spent every life making sure not a single drop is left behind. If someone gets a sample… with the right tech, they could find me. Easily. I do it to protect us.”
“She’s always done this,” the Doctor confirms, glancing at Amy now. “She’s not wrong. One drop could expose her. Her power stays hidden unless she uses it—and even then, only when absolutely necessary. Our enemies can never know what she is.”
River catches the tension on the Alchemist’s face and decides it’s time to move on. “We should head back to see if everyone is ready to go inside the Catacombs.”
“Yes,” Amy echoes, uneasy. “The catacombs of darkness.”
River and Amy begin walking. The Doctor and the Alchemist linger behind, both exhaling at the same time.
The Alchemist steps in close, wraps her arms around him, and kisses his neck lightly.
‘We’ll get through this,’ she tells him silently through their bond—fear and worry threading beneath her resolve.
He nods, presses his nose into her hair, and breathes in deeply.
“Together,” he murmurs into her curls.
They break apart, fingers lacing together, and follow the path Amy and River took—heading back toward camp, hand in hand.
[Entrance chamber]
Everyone climbs down the rope ladder into a vast underground chamber. The Alchemist is last. She descends halfway before scoffing, muttering something under her breath about the pointlessness of it, and lets go. She drops the final ten feet, landing in a crouch with the ease of a cat.
All but the Doctor and River stare, stunned. The two Time Lords don’t even blink. River, for all her mystery, still doesn’t know how or why the Alchemist can do half the things she does.
The Doctor doesn’t even look—just holds out a hand as his Bondmate joins him. “Do we have a gravity globe?”
“Grav globe,” Octavian calls, his gaze still fixed on the Alchemist with something between awe and unease.
A Cleric hands the orb to the Doctor. Amy, eyeing the vast dark space around them, speaks up.
“Where are we? What is this?”
“It’s an Aplan Mortarium,” River replies, her voice low. “Sometimes called a Maze of the Dead.”
Amy turns to her. “What’s that?”
The Doctor answers while kicking the globe upward. “Well, if you happen to be a creature of living stone…”
The gravity globe ignites, flooding the space with light. Dozens—no, hundreds—of stone statues stretch out in every direction. Silent. Still. Watching.
“It’s the perfect hiding place,” the Alchemist finishes, arms folding tightly across her chest.
Octavian sighs. “I guess this makes it a bit trickier.”
“A bit, yeah,” the Doctor mutters.
“A stone Angel on the loose among stone statues,” Octavian continues grimly. “A lot harder than I’d prayed for.”
River shrugs. “A needle in a haystack.”
“A needle that looks like hay. A hay-like needle of death. A hay-alike needle of death in a haystack of, er, statues—no, yours was fine,” the Doctor rambles, tone too fast, too light.
The Alchemist watches him, gaze narrowing. She knows that voice. Knows what it means. He’s terrified. She can feel it, buzzing like static across the bond. She can smell it on him. He’s always feared the dark—something from childhood that no Regeneration ever quite grew out of. It never bothered her. She always found the dark peaceful.
So she reaches through the bond and sends that calm. That silence.
The Doctor exhales sharply. He doesn’t speak, but she knows it worked. The tension in his shoulders eases just enough.
‘I can see in the dark,’ she sends to him silently. ‘If we lose light, I’ll guide your way.’
He nods once, subtle.
“Right,” Octavian says. “Check every single statue in this chamber. You know what you're looking for. Complete visual inspection. One question. How do we fight it?”
“We find it,” the Doctor answers, eyes sweeping the maze. “And hope.”
The group fans out. As they begin moving, Octavian catches River’s arm.
“They don’t know yet, do they? Who and what you are?” His voice is low, but not low enough.
River shoots him a glare, whispering urgently, “Shh! Keep it down. I don’t know how wide her hearing range is. She’s never told me.”
“What are you talking about?” Octavian lowers his voice, wary now.
“She can hear better than anyone I’ve ever met,” River breathes, “and I don’t know how. I don’t know how she does any of what she does. She’s secretive. He never says either. I just learned something new about her today.”
She exhales slowly, eyes darting toward the statues. “It’s too early in their time stream.”
Octavian nods. “Well, make sure they don’t work it out. Or they won’t help us.”
“It’s not them I’m worried about,” River replies. “It’s just the Alchemist. She will work it out. Not today, though. I won’t let you down. Believe me—I’ve got no intention of going back to prison.”
She walks off before he can say another word.
“Sir? Side chamber. One visible exit,” a Cleric reports.
“Check it out. Angelo, go with him,” Octavian orders, voice tight with strain.
The Alchemist—still chatting quietly with Amy and the Doctor—has heard every word. Her face shows nothing.
She’s been quietly building her theory on River for some time now. And despite what the woman just said, she’s certain she’ll reach a conclusion by the end of this mission. She knows something River doesn’t: that in her future—but River’s past—she never reveals what happened during the Time War. And she’s going to make damn sure neither the Doctor, Amy, nor the children ever mention it either.
The confusion and shock in River’s scent, when she destroyed her own blood and spoke of the Time Vortex tracking, was undeniable. That was new information. Meaning River doesn’t know. Not fully. Not yet.
The DNA read was unmistakable. Amelia’s direct descendant. Time Lord DNA, somehow. And based on the age degradation, River’s nearing the Library. Whatever River experienced in her past, it never revealed the source of her abilities, even though she clearly uses them in her future. And prison? That means she’s done something. The key is finding out which prison—it’ll unlock the rest.
The Alchemist cares for her in the future and now, clearly, if River knows where the children are; but that doesn’t mean she’s not a threat. But caring doesn’t make her safe. In fact, she might be a bigger threat than her own twin ever was.
Her experience with the Master had already taught her that. She’d trusted him fully with the truths she shared. Even in his madness, she’d known he would never speak a word of it. His silence had never come from sanity—but from loyalty. From love. From stubborn, ruthless protection. Had she decided to tell him where the children were, he would have stayed silent on the subject without a second’s thought.
She hears the Doctor’s footsteps long before he reaches her. She doesn’t turn. Just leans into him as his arms wind around her waist.
‘You’re working on a theory,’ his voice murmurs in her mind.
‘You know me well,’ she replies. ‘It’s for the later pile. But I won’t be able to reveal everything I’m working out.’
He sighs as his chin rests on her shoulder. ‘It’s River, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Theta.’
‘Are you growing wary of her yet?’
‘I’m not worried about what’s coming, if that’s what you’re asking. Whatever happens—we’ll find a way through it. And clearly, we do come to trust her.’
He nods into her shoulder and pulls back, gently taking her hand.
Together, they step forward into the maze of statues.
[Maze]
Amy pauses, rubbing her eye. Stone dust falls between her fingers.
River notices her confusion. “You all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. So, what’s a Maze of the Dead?” Amy asks.
River shrugs. “Oh, it’s not as bad as it sounds. It’s just a labyrinth with dead people buried in the walls. Okay, that was fairly bad. Right, give me your arm. This won’t hurt a bit.”
Amy holds out her arm. River injects her with a hypospray.
“Ow!”
“There, you see. I lied. It’s a viro-stabilizer. Stabilizes your metabolism against radiation, drive burn, anything. You’re going to need it when we get up to that ship,” River says with a grin.
“So what’s he like? In the future, I mean. Because you know him in the future, don’t you? Both of them,” Amy asks, curious.
The Alchemist watches the Doctor fondly. He’s trying to listen in, pretending to read River’s tablet—which, amusingly, is upside down. She isn’t about to correct him. She hears their conversation perfectly.
“The Doctor? Well, the Doctor’s the Doctor,” River replies with a shrug.
Amy rolls her eyes. “Oh. Well, that’s very helpful. Mind if I write that down?”
River glances at the Doctor. “Yes, we are.”
“Sorry, what?” the Doctor asks, playing innocent.
“Talking about you,” River replies.
The Doctor quickly denies it. “I wasn’t listening. I’m busy.”
River nods. “Ah. The other way up.”
The Doctor glares at his wife, then turns the tablet around.
‘Could’ve told me,’ he calls.
‘Could’ve. Didn’t. Should have realized it yourself,’ she replies, quoting her past selves.
‘Ha. ha,’ he sends back dryly.
“Yeah,” he mutters aloud.
Amy tilts her head, confident now. “You’re so his next wife. The Doctor leaves Ally and marries you.”
“Oh, Amy, Amy, Amy. This is the Doctor we’re talking about. Do you really think it could be anything that simple?”
“Yep.”
River smirks. “You’re good. You’re very wrong, but you are very good.”
“Wrong?”
“Very. I suppose they haven’t divulged that information yet.”
“You mean you aren’t? What information? Isn’t that a spoiler?”
River shakes her head. “Not at all. I just didn’t know I was the one to tell you. The Doctor and the Alchemist aren’t simply married. They’re Bondmates. The rings are just because they wanted them.”
“I don’t get it. Couldn’t they still divorce?” Amy asks quickly.
“There was no need for divorce on their planet. Bondmates are almost like soulmates—but more. Time Lords can only love their Bondmate. And they begin to bond the moment they meet. It’s instant love, and they just grow closer from there.”
“Instant?” Amy asks, confused.
“Instant. Like love at first sight—but deeper. They explain it best, but their people called them the Fated Pair because of how young they were when they met. They’ve been together and in love for a very long time.”
[Entrance chamber]
Gunfire echoes.
The Alchemist sprints ahead, beating the Doctor, River, and Amy as they rush back to the main group.
A young Cleric stands, weapon raised, a statue ruined in front of him.
“Sorry, sorry. I thought—I thought it looked at me,” the Cleric stammers.
The Alchemist smells his fear.
Octavian rounds on him. “We know what the Angel looks like. Is that the Angel?”
The Alchemist turns to examine the statue, a frown forming. Something’s wrong. Off. She doesn’t know what yet—doesn’t even have enough to form a theory. She notes the silence from the pair in the side chamber but assumes they’re still investigating something out of earshot.
“No, sir,” the Cleric replies, eyes downcast.
“No, sir, it is not. According to the Doctor and the Alchemist, we are facing an enemy of unknowable power and infinite evil, so it would be good—it would be very good—if we could all remain calm in the presence of decor,” Octavian demands.
The Alchemist rolls her eyes. He has every reason to be afraid right now.
“What’s your name? Names are important,” she asks, stepping closer.
“Bob, ma’am,” he replies.
Picking up her intent, the Doctor grins. “Ah, that’s a great name. I love Bob.”
“It’s a Sacred Name. We all have Sacred Names. They’re given to us in the service of the Church,” Octavian explains.
The Doctor nods. “Sacred Bob. More like Scared Bob now, eh?”
“Yes, sir,” Bob admits.
“Ah, good. Scared keeps you fast. Anyone in this room who isn’t scared is a moron,” the Doctor says, smirking.
“Your name means bright,” the Alchemist tells him gently. “In your time, they connect it to the light of God. Just remember how important your name is—to you, and to your faith—and you’ll make it through.”
The Doctor smiles. “Carry on.”
Octavian turns to Bob. “We’ll be moving into the maze in two minutes. You stay with Christian and Angelo. Guard the approach.”
Bob nods and walks off.
[Maze]
Amy glances around, uneasy. “Isn't there a chance this lot's just going to collapse? There's a whole ship up there.”
“Incredible builders, the Aplans,” River replies, matter-of-fact.
The Alchemist hums softly in agreement, gaze sweeping over the statues again. Something's wrong. She knows it. But the reason won’t come into focus.
“Had dinner with their Chief Architect once. Two heads are better than one,” the Doctor adds, nostalgia in his voice.
Amy frowns. “What, you mean you helped him?”
“No, he meant he had two heads. It was a lovely dinner. We debated the importance of skylights while he showed me blueprints. He didn’t see the... need…” The Alchemist trails off, voice thinning as something clicks.
A passage from that strange book is nudging at her—vague, unsettling. She hadn’t thought it mattered before. Maybe she was wrong.
She turns sharply to River. “River, that book. The very end. What did it say?”
Surprised by the use of her name, River pulls it out without question. “Hang on.”
The Doctor’s already following her train of thought. “Read it to us.”
River flips to the final page, voice steady: “What if we had ideas that could think for themselves? What if one day our dreams no longer needed us? When these things occur and are held to be true, the time will be upon us. The time of Angels.”
“Give it here, please, River,” the Alchemist says, hand outstretched. Her eyes are sharp now. The entire book is a puzzle—and cryptics are her specialty after speaking with the Vortex and the TARDIS for so long.
River frowns slightly but hands it over.
“Theory?” the Doctor asks.
“I’ve been trying to come up with one,” she replies, already flipping through pages as they walk.
The Doctor glances warily at the statues.
“Are we there yet? It's a hell of a climb,” Amy mutters.
“The Maze is on six levels, representing the ascent of the soul. Only two levels to go,” River answers.
“Correct, Shinygirl! Very good,” the Alchemist says brightly, forcing the tone.
She moves ahead, scanning the book with quick eyes. Something scrapes faintly behind them. She hears it—but assumes it’s one of the Clerics. No footsteps. Not yet.
“Lovely species, the Aplans. We should visit them sometime,” the Doctor offers, eyes still darting uneasily.
“Yes, they are very amicable, honey…” the Alchemist murmurs, frowning again at the statues.
Time of the Angels. Thinking for themselves. A theory takes form.
“I thought they were all dead?” Amy asks.
“So is Virginia Woolf. We’re on her bowling team. Very relaxed, sort of cheerful. Ally and I keep our bowling balls in the TARDIS; same color. I nearly broke my foot picking up hers once. Well, that's two heads for you. Never short of a snog. Ally’s my second head, really. Or perhaps I’m hers—who knows,” the Doctor rambles.
The Alchemist stops cold.
She turns slowly—deliberately—to face a single statue. One head.
Her stomach sinks. Please, let her be wrong this time.
“Ally, Doctor, there's something... I don't know what it is,” River says, admitting her own unsettling feelings.
“I want to be wrong, personally,” the Alchemist murmurs.
“Yeah, there's something wrong,” The Doctor mutters. “Don’t know what it is yet, either. Working on it. Ally’s theory is quickly becoming conclusive and she’s apparently not liking it, which is scary... Of course, then they had laws against self-marrying. What was that about? But that’s the Church for you. Eh, no offense, Bishop.”
“Quite a lot taken, if that's all right, Doctor,” Octavian says flatly, pointing ahead. “Lowest point in the wreckage is about fifty feet up. That way.”
The Alchemist holds her hand a few inches from the statue, scanning for its chemical makeup. She lowers it, turns her head slightly—listens. That sound again. Grinding. Not footsteps. Not Clerics.
The hunt has begun.
She growls low. “I’m apparently as thick as you now, Doctor, and we’re in serious trouble.”
Both the Doctor and River whip around at her tone. She stands utterly still, one hand fisted, the other gripping the book tight.
“The Church had a point, if you think about it. The divorces must have been messy,” Amy says idly.
The Doctor and River each turn to a statue—just one. And now they see it.
“Oh,” the Doctor breathes.
Amy frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh,” River echoes.
“Yeah, Oh,” the Alchemist says, eyes locked.
River shakes her head in disbelief. “How could we have not noticed that?”
“Low-level perception filter,” the Doctor mutters. “Or maybe Ally really is becoming thick.”
“Multiple low-level filters overlapping create a powerful one. A barrier—unless you know what you’re looking for. But also, yes. Thick,” the Alchemist mutters through clenched teeth.
Octavian glances back. “What’s wrong, ma’am?”
“No one move. Not so much as an inch. Everyone stays exactly where they are,” the Alchemist orders, voice tight. “Bishop, I am truly sorry. We've made a horrific mistake. And now, we are all in very serious danger.”
“What danger?” Octavian asks.
River answers quickly. “The Aplans.”
“The Aplans?” he repeats.
“They've got two heads,” River reminds him.
“Yes, I get that. So?”
The Alchemist resists the urge to roll her eyes. She blinks—once, twice—studying the statue like it might blink back.
“So why don't the statues?” the Doctor says sharply. “Everyone—there. Move. Don’t ask questions. Don’t speak.”
He guides them quickly to an alcove. The Alchemist stays put, repeating her blinking pattern like a test.
“Alchemist, get over here!” the Doctor calls.
“Hold on a moment. I need to confirm something,” she responds, eyes never leaving the statue.
The Doctor sighs, frustrated. “Fine, just hurry please.”
She closes her eyes—longer this time. When she opens them, she sees it. Growth.
She growls.
“Something bad?” the Doctor asks, already knowing.
“Yes.” She backs up to his side and murmurs in his mind. ‘They’re growing back. Feeding on radiation. Don’t tell them yet.’
He nods subtly.
“We really don’t need to bother with this, Doctor. I already got a read on one,” the Alchemist says quietly.
“You didn’t do anything though?” Octavian asks, confused.
The Alchemist gives him a sharp look. “Nevermind then. Carry on with your plan.”
Even the Doctor doesn't have it in him to quip. “Okay. I want you all to switch off your torches. Ally, close your eyes.”
“I’d really rather not. But—very well,” she mutters, shutting them.
‘They’re crawling up the passageway. Run down after this and prove it once he sees,’ she sends to her Bondmate.
‘Got it,’ he replies.
“Sir?” a Cleric asks.
“Just do it. Okay, I'm turning this one off too. Just for a moment,” the Doctor warns.
River's voice is tight. “Are you sure about this?”
“No.” He flicks the light off—then on.
“Oh my God. They've moved,” Amy breathes, horrified.
The Doctor bolts down the corridor. Just as she said—it’s filled with statues, closing in.
“They're Angels. All of them,” he confirms.
River shakes her head. “But they can’t be…”
“I assure you, they are,” the Alchemist cuts in, voice sharp.
“Clerics, keep watching them,” the Doctor orders.
He rushes to a higher vantage point. What she heard—he sees. Dozens of statues. All climbing.
“Every statue in this Maze. Every single one is a Weeping Angel. They're coming after us,” the Doctor says.
“Hunting,” the Alchemist corrects. Her voice is haunting. Final.
“But there was only one Angel on the ship. Just the one, I swear,” River says, frantic.
Amy wonders aloud, “Could they have been here already?”
“Yes,” the Alchemist tells the group—but no one pays mind except her Bondmate. She rolls her eyes, exasperated.
“The Aplans. What happened? How did they die out?” the Doctor asks, shifting his gaze between statues.
River reminds him, “Nobody knows. Ally said it earlier.”
“We know,” the Time Lords say, voices low and grave.
Confused, Octavian glances around. “They don't look like Angels.”
“And they're not fast. You said they were fast. They should have had us by now,” Amy says.
“Not when they’re weak,” the Alchemist replies sharply, irritation at their ignorance clear.
The Doctor gestures to the statues, eyes narrowing. “Yes—and look at them. They're dying. Losing their form. They must have been down here for centuries, starving.”
“Losing their image?” Amy asks, catching on.
“Who would sabotage a ship to crash if there are no living survivors?” the Alchemist echoes herself from the beach, her voice colder now.
The Doctor clicks into place. “Right—and their image is their power. Power. Power!”
“Doctor?” Amy asks, her voice tentative.
“Don't you see? All that radiation spilling out the driveburn. The crash of the Byzantium wasn't an accident—it was a rescue mission. For the Angels,” the Doctor nearly shouts.
The Alchemist growls in frustration, dragging her hands through her hair. “We're in the middle of an army, and it's waking up. The starving Angels are being fed by the radiation. Their forms are growing back.”
Horrified, River gasps, “We need to get out of here. Fast.”
Octavian snaps into command mode, speaking into the comm. “Bob, Angelo, Christian—come in, please. Any of you, come in.”
A voice crackles through: “It’s Bob, sir. Sorry, sir.”
The Alchemist freezes, eyes narrowing. No fear. Just…flat. Before, Bob had sounded terrified. Fear like that doesn’t vanish—not mid-mission. She tilts her head toward the comm, expression hardening.
That is not Bob.
“Bob, are Angelo and Christian with you? All the statues are active—I repeat, all the statues are active,” Octavian says.
Not-Bob answers, “I know, sir. Angelo and Christian are dead, sir. The statues killed them, sir.”
The Doctor grabs Octavian's communicator.
The Alchemist moves to stand beside him, face unreadable.
“Bob—Sacred Bob, it’s me. The Doctor,” he says, glancing at his wife.
She nods once. She knows he’s realized it too.
Octavian tries to reclaim the comm. “I'm talking to…”
The Alchemist waves him off without looking.
“Where are you now?” she cuts in calmly.
Octavian tries again. “I'm talking to my…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, shut up,” the Doctor says.
Not-Bob replies, “I'm on my way up to you, ma’am. I'm homing in on your signal.”
The Alchemist’s expression tightens. ‘Oh, that’s unfortunate.’
‘No kidding,’ the Doctor snaps, irritable.
“Ah, well done, Bob. Scared keeps you fast. Told you, didn’t I? Your friends, Bob—what did the Angel do to them?” the Doctor asks.
“Snapped their necks, sir,” Not-Bob replies.
‘Do not take your fear out on me, Theta Sigma.’ The Alchemist hisses back, ‘I’m in this too.’
‘Sorry, Amara.’
‘Forgiven, Always.’
The Alchemist tilts her head, voice deceptively light. “Well, isn’t that odd. That’s not how the Angels kill. They displace you in time. Unless, of course, they need the bodies for something.”
Octavian jumps in. “Bob, did you check their data packs for vital signs? We may be able to initiate a rescue plan.”
“Oh, don’t be an idiot. The Angels don’t leave you alive,” the Doctor snaps. “Bob, keep running. But tell me—how did you escape?”
“I didn’t escape, sir. The Angel killed me too,” says Not-Bob.
The Doctor’s face darkens. “What do you mean, the Angel killed you?”
“He’s right. The Angel killed him,” the Alchemist says.
Not-Bob confirms, “Correct, ma’am. Snapped my neck, sir. Wasn’t as painless as I expected, but it was pretty quick, so that was something.”
The Doctor’s voice drops. “If you're dead, how can I be talking to you?”
The Alchemist steps forward. “Tell me, Bob—are you just a voice box now?”
Not-Bob answers, calm and detached. “Yes. You're not talking to me, sir. The Angel has no voice. It stripped my cerebral cortex from my body and reanimated a version of my consciousness to communicate with you—to further define how the Alchemist put it. Sorry about the confusion.”
The Alchemist’s voice is quiet now. “So when you say you're on your way up to us…”
“It’s the Angel that’s coming, ma’am. Yes. No way out,” says Angel Bob.
Octavian doesn’t hesitate. “Then we get out through the wreckage. Go! Go, go, go. All of you—run.”
“Doctor… Ally?” Amy asks, sounding afraid.
The Alchemist glances over—and freezes. Amy is gripping a support bar, unmoving. Something’s wrong.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, we're coming. Just go. Go, go, go. Yeah. Called you an idiot. Sorry, but there's no way we could have rescued your men,” the Doctor says, voice tight with anger and helplessness.
“I know that, sir. And when you two have flown away in your little blue box, I'll explain that to their families,” Octavian says, staring them down.
The Alchemist steps forward fast, seizes him by the uniform, dragging him closer. Her eyes are dark with fury.
“We have found a way to send a message to every family of everyone who has lost their lives while we were there and should have better protected them. Every. Single. One. My husband and I both sign off on it and never forget them because we can’t and won’t, so don’t you dare try to suggest we don’t care, Bishop.”
She releases him. Octavian steps back, rattled by the storm behind her gaze.
Then he nods, regret heavy in his posture, and walks away.
‘You sure told him,’ she hears in her mind, and she rolls her eyes without turning.
“Angel Bob. Which Angel are we talking to? The one from the ship? Mr. Rescue Angel?” the Alchemist asks, coolly.
Angel Bob replies, “Yes, ma’am. And the other Angels are still restoring.”
The Doctor’s brain clicks fast, his eyes flashing. “Ah, so the Angel is not in the wreckage. Thank you.”
He darts past Amy. But the Alchemist stops, senses pulling her back. She glances at the girl again—something still isn’t right.
“Don't wait for us. Go, run,” the Doctor calls back.
“I can't. No, really, I can't,” Amy says, her voice cracking.
The Alchemist is already beside her, scanning her expression. “Why not?”
Amy points with trembling fingers. “Look at it. Look at my hand. It's stone.”
The Doctor skids to a halt and sprints back toward them.
The Alchemist’s head tilts, tuning into voices echoing faintly down the corridor. She sighs, unimpressed.
‘Thirty feet up to the Byzantium, honey, we need to work out a way to get up to it,’ she tells the Doctor silently.
He glances toward her, picking up the thought.
The Alchemist shifts focus back to Amy. “You looked into the eyes of the Angel, didn't you, Sunshine?”
“I couldn't stop myself. I tried,” Amy says, voice shaking.
The Alchemist can smell the fear rising off her.
The Doctor crouches, meeting Amy’s eyes. “Listen to me. It's messing with your head. Your hand is not made of stone.”
“It is. Look at it,” she insists.
“No. It's in your mind, I promise you. You can move that hand. You can let go.”
Amy shakes her head. “I can't, okay? I've tried and I can't. It's stone.”
The Doctor’s face hardens. “The Angel is going to come and it's going to turn this light off, and then there's nothing I can do to stop it, so do it. Concentrate. Move your hand.”
“I can't.”
“Then we're all going to die,” the Alchemist says, calm and unwavering.
Amy’s eyes widen. “You're not going to die, Ally, you can still see.”
“They'll kill the lights; I die, she dies,” the Doctor explains.
“What!? No. You've got to go. You know you have… You've got all that stuff with River and that's all got to happen. You know you can't die here,” Amy pleads.
“Time can be re-written. It doesn't work like that,” the Alchemist says simply, tilting her head again as the sound of the Angels grows closer.
She turns as they approach, eyes burning, body tense.
The Doctor turns with her. “Keep your eyes on it. Don't blink.”
“Run!” Amy shouts.
“We're not going anywhere. Neither of us are leaving you here,” the Alchemist says.
Amy snorts, glancing at them. “I don't need you to die for me, guys. Do I look that clingy?”
“You can move your hand,” the Doctor says again.
“It's stone.”
“It’s not stone,” the Time Lords repeat.
Amy pleads, voice desperate. “You've got to go. Those people up there will die without you. Both of you. If you stay here with me, you'll have as good as killed them.”
The Alchemist glances at her hand and smirks.
‘I’m going to bite her. Her pain receptors should make her realize that it’s not stone,’ she tells the Doctor.
She meets Amy’s eyes. “Amelia Pond, you are magnificent, brilliant, and beautiful, and I'm deeply sorry for this.”
“It's okay. I understand. You've got to leave me,” Amy says, resigned.
“Oh, no, we’re not leaving you, never. She’s sorry about this,” the Doctor says, already laughing.
The Alchemist lunges and bites her hand, hard.
Amy yelps, flinching away. “Ow!”
The Time Lady grins, already grabbing her free hand and yanking her forward. “See? Hand? Not stone. Now run. Fast.”
“You bit me,” Amy gasps, stunned.
The Doctor shrugs as he runs. “Yeah, and you're alive.”
Amy holds her hand up. “Look, I've got a mark. Look at my hand.”
“Yes, and you're alive. Did he not mention this already?” the Alchemist says, not seeing the problem.
“Blimey, your teeth. Have you got space teeth? Do you two have space teeth?” Amy asks, still horrified.
“Yeah, probably. But, alive. That’s all we’re saying,” the Alchemist replies with a shrug as they race into the dark.
[Tunnel]
“The statues are advancing along all corridors. And, sir, my torch keeps flickering,” a Cleric reports to Octavian.
“They all do,” Octavian replies, eyes narrowing.
River glances up. “So does the gravity globe.”
Octavian turns to his remaining team. “Clerics, we're down to four men. Expect incoming.”
The Doctor appears beside them, breath caught mid-run. “Yeah, it's the Angels. They're coming. And they're draining the power for themselves.”
“Which means we won't be able to see them,” Octavian says grimly.
“I can,” the Alchemist adds, scanning the shadows. “But there’s too many for me to track. Unfortunately.”
The Doctor nods, tension rising. “Which means we can't stay here.”
“Two more incoming,” Octavian warns, confirming what the Alchemist already heard.
“Any suggestions?” River asks, forcing calm.
“The statues are advancing on all sides. We don't have the climbing equipment to reach the Byzantium,” Octavian says.
River glances between the Time Lords, voice tight. “There's no way up, no way back, no way out. No pressure, but this is usually when you two have a really good idea.”
The Doctor doesn’t flinch. “There's always a way out.”
In echo, whispers creep through the tunnel walls—soft and unnerving: “There's always a way out. There's always a way out…”
The Alchemist repeats it under her breath, “There’s always a way out.”
She winks at the Doctor.
He smirks back. She sees it in his eyes—he has a plan.
The comm crackles to life.
Angel Bob’s voice slithers through, “Doctor? Alchemist? Can I speak to the Doctor and the Alchemist, please?”
The Doctor steps forward. “Hello, Angels. What's your problem?”
“Your power will not last much longer, and the Angels will be with you shortly.” Angel Bob sounds almost amused. “Sorry, sir.”
The Alchemist sighs, rolling her head back. “And why are you telling us this?”
“There's something the Angels are very keen you should know before the end.”
The Doctor stiffens. “Which is?”
“I died in fear and without faith.”
A beat.
“…I'm sorry?” the Doctor says, a tight frown cutting across his face.
The Alchemist glances at him—she can feel the shift. Frustration turning to fury.
‘He still had faith, Theta. Fear makes you feel alive. That’s what you meant. His name still matters—to us, to them,’ she tells him silently.
‘This is why we need each other,’ he replies, steadied by her focus.
Angel Bob continues. “You told me my fear would keep me alive, but I died afraid, in pain, and alone. I didn’t believe I’d make it when the light went out. You made me trust you. And when it mattered—you let me down.”
Amy flinches. “What are they doing?”
“They’re trying to make them angry,” River explains.
“I'm sorry, sir, ma’am. The Angels were very keen for you to know that.”
The Alchemist steps forward, voice low but cold. “Well then, the Angels have made their second mistake. Because we’re not going to let that pass. You still kept your faith in the end—just an FYI—and your name will never be forgotten. Your brightness will get us through this whole situation. It’s your fear that makes you feel alive. I'm sorry you're dead. We both are, Bob. But we swear—whatever’s left of you—they will be sorrier.”
“But you're trapped, ma’am, and about to die.”
“Yeah. We’re trapped,” the Doctor echoes, almost amused now. “And speaking of traps… this one has a great big mistake in it. A great, big, whopping mistake.”
“What mistake, sir?” Angel Bob asks.
The Doctor turns to Amy. “Trust me?”
Amy nods. “Yeah.”
He looks to River. “Trust me?”
“Always,” she replies without hesitation.
He turns toward the Alchemist—then stops. She raises an eyebrow.
“You ask me that question, and I’m exchanging all of them for hot pink,” she deadpans.
He winces. The thought alone is enough.
“Right. You lot, trust me?”
“Sir, two more incoming!” a Cleric calls out.
Octavian nods. “We have faith, sir.”
“Then give me your gun. I'm about to do something incredibly stupid and dangerous. When I do—jump!” the Doctor orders.
Octavian hands him the weapon.
The Alchemist watches it pass into his hand and instinctively scrunches her nose.
‘I hate holding this thing,’ the Doctor admits.
‘Funny, I was just thinking the same thing,’ she replies.
Octavian hesitates. “Jump where?”
“Just jump—high as you can,” the Doctor says, loud now, commanding. “Come on. Leap of faith, Bishop. On my signal.”
“What signal?”
The Alchemist flashes a grin. “You definitely won’t miss it.”
“Sorry,” Angel Bob cuts in. “Can I ask again? You mentioned a mistake we made.”
The Doctor raises the gun slowly, aiming toward the hull of the Byzantium.
“Oh, big mistake. Huge. Didn't anyone ever tell you there's one thing you never put in a trap?” the Doctor says. His voice sharpens with every word. “If you're smart… if you value your continued existence… if you have any plans about seeing tomorrow…”
He lowers his brow, eyes narrowing. “There is one thing you never, ever put in a trap.”
“And what would that be, sir?”
The Doctor glances to the Alchemist.
In unison, their voices ring out like judgment: “Us.”
The Doctor fires.
Chapter 5: Flesh and Stone
Chapter Text
[Tunnel]
“Up. Look up,” the Doctor demands from the base of the ship.
“Stand up!” the Alchemist orders as she does so, watching the Angels below.
Everyone struggles to their feet on the artificial surface, though the tunnel walls remain the same.
“Are you okay?” River asks Amy, helping her stand.
“What happened?” she asks in turn, looking around.
River tells her, “We jumped.”
“Jumped where?” Amy asks.
The Alchemist wants to roll her eyes but keeps them fixed on the Angels above to hold them in place.
“Up. Up. Look up,” the Doctor says again.
Amy doesn’t and continues looking around. “Where are we?”
“Exactly where we were,” River tries—and fails—to explain again.
Grumbling, the Alchemist pulls out her sonic, still watching the Angels. She hears the Doctor retrieving his own from his pocket.
“No, we’re not,” Amy denies.
The Alchemist walks over to one side of the hatch and starts working on opening it.
“Move your feet,” the Doctor demands of Amy so he can work as well. She does.
The Doctor and the Alchemist begin sonicing a circular hatch in the floor, ringed by six inset lights.
Still scanning the area in confusion, Amy asks, “Doctor, what am I looking at? Explain.”
He lets out a frustrated noise. “Oh, come on, Amy, think. The ship crashed with the power still on, yeah? So what else is still on?”
“The artificial gravity. One good jump, and up we fell. Shot out the grav globe to give us an updraft, and here we are,” the Doctor grumbles.
“We’re on the base of the spaceship, Amelia,” the Alchemist says quickly, still shifting her sonic along the hatch to unlock each mechanism.
“Alchemist, the statues. They look more like Angels now,” Octavian calls out.
“They're feeding on the radiation from the wreckage, draining all the power from the ship, restoring themselves, growing back to full form,” the Alchemist tells him.
Only a few more mechanisms remain.
“Within an hour, they'll be an army,” the Doctor estimates—and they’re finally through.
The circular hatch opens. A light explodes and then goes out.
The Alchemist huffs at the noise.
“They're taking out the lights. Look at them. Look at the Angels. Into the ship, now. Quickly, all of you,” the Doctor orders.
“How?” Amy asks.
The Doctor drops through the open hatch into a circular corridor. From Amy’s point of view, he appears to be standing on the side of a vertical tube.
“Doctor!” Amy cries out, alarmed.
“It’s just a corridor. The gravity orientates to the floor. Now, in here, all of you. Don’t take your eyes off the Angels. Move, move, move,” the Doctor demands.
The Alchemist gestures for them all to follow. If the lights go out before they’re in, she’ll keep watch.
Once she hears the last man drop into the ship, the Alchemist follows quickly behind, not looking away until she’s inside.
[Corridor]
Focusing hard, the Alchemist can hear the Angels moving—inside the ship now.
‘They’re inside already,’ she tells the Doctor silently.
“Okay, men. Go, go, go!” Octavian shouts, rallying the clerics.
The Doctor works quickly at the control panel to seal the hatch.
Octavian turns to him. “The Angels. Presumably they can jump up too?”
The hatch slams shut.
“They're here, now. In the dark, we're finished,” the Doctor warns.
Metal shifts behind her—a bulkhead—and the Alchemist spins and bolts toward the sound.
“Run!” she yells as she pivots.
“This whole place is a death trap,” Octavian calls mid-sprint.
She reaches the bulkhead just as it seals with a heavy clunk.
“Damn,” she mutters.
The Doctor’s already pacing, scanning the door. “No, it's a time bomb. Well, it's a death trap and a time bomb. And now it's a dead end. Nobody panic.” No one reacts. “...Oh, just me then. What's through here?”
“Secondary flight deck,” River answers.
Both Time Lords sprint toward the access panel, diving into it with instinctive coordination.
‘Security protocols are still live,’ the Alchemist hears.
‘We can isolate the lighting grid to stop the lights from failing…’ she trails off.
‘But then we have to reroute it to get through the door, possibly turning the lights out, and you can’t keep them back while we do that. How long do you think?’ he fires back.
‘If this wasn’t a crashed ship it would be instant—but less than a second if we’re lucky. Probably longer. 10 seconds? I’m guessing. I can’t even calculate it based on the damage in here,’ she responds, frustrated.
He groans aloud.
‘Only option,’ he says.
She nods once.
“Okay. So we've basically run up the inside of a chimney, yeah? So what if the gravity fails?” Amy asks, glancing around.
“I've thought about that,” the Doctor replies.
Amy looks hopeful. “And?”
“And we'll all plunge to our deaths. See? I've thought about it. The security protocols are still live. There's no way to override them. It's impossible,” the Doctor grumbles.
The Alchemist hears River working nearby, but she and the Doctor stay focused on breaking down the security system.
“How impossible?” River asks.
“Less than two minutes,” the Alchemist answers.
River freezes slightly—an estimate from her is always serious—but keeps working.
The Alchemist hears the outer hatch shift. She groans under her breath.
‘Incoming,’ she warns the Doctor.
‘Lovely,’ he replies.
The hatch yawns open.
“The hull is breached and the power's failing,” Octavian observes grimly.
Lights flicker, one by one, and a silhouetted arm appears in the frame of the hatch.
“Sir, incoming!” a Cleric shouts.
“Doctor? Ally? Lights,” Amy warns.
They hear her, but both Time Lords are racing the system.
The first Angel appears. Another flicker. Now four. The hatch slams behind them.
“Clerics, keep watching them!” Octavian barks.
The Alchemist shouts, “And don't look at their eyes. Anywhere else. Not the eyes.”
“We've isolated the lighting grid. They can't drain the power now,” the Doctor announces.
“Good work, Doctor, Alchemist,” Octavian calls.
The Doctor rolls his eyes. “Yes. Good, good, good. Good in many ways. Good, you like it so far.”
Amy’s voice tightens. “So far?”
“Well, there's only one way to open this door. I guess we’ll need to route all the power in this section through the door control,” the Doctor says.
Octavian nods, missing the catch. “Good. Fine. Do it.”
“Including the lights. All of them. We'll need to turn out the lights,” the Alchemist adds, glancing at him.
Octavian snaps, “How long for?”
She shrugs, “Fraction of a second. Maybe longer. Maybe quite a bit longer, actually.”
“Maybe?” he echoes.
“I can only estimate and I hate to estimate. We’re being hunted by statues in the remains of a starship, and the structural integrity is a joke. There’s no precedent for this nonsense,” the Alchemist growls.
Amy pipes up, worry sharpening her tone. “Ally, we lost the torches! We'll be in total darkness.”
“No other way, Bishop,” the Doctor tells him.
Octavian moves to River, quiet but firm. “Doctor Song, I've lost good Clerics today. You trust this man and woman?”
“I absolutely trust them,” she answers, unwavering.
“They’re not some kind of madman and woman, then?”
River pauses. “I absolutely trust them.”
The Doctor interjects, “Excuse me, my wife’s magic, not mad.”
Octavian leans in close to River. “I'm taking your word, because you're the only one who can manage these two. But that only works so long as they don't know who you are. You cost me any more men, and I might just tell them. Understood?”
The Alchemist hears every word. Manage them? Honestly. She must be doing an excellent job concealing her intellect and keeping the Doctor calm—he's the one who needs handling. Still, she adjusts a few wires and refocuses.
“Understood,” River replies.
“Okay, Alchemist, Doctor. We've got your back,” Octavian calls.
The Doctor replies dryly, “Bless you, Bishop.”
“My field of vision narrows in the dark. You’ll need to actively keep them back. We’ll be busy rerouting the power,” the Alchemist says, locking eyes with Octavian.
He nods and turns to the Clerics. “Combat distance, ten feet. As soon as the lights go down, continuous fire. Full spread over the hostiles. Do not stop firing while the lights are out. Shotgun protocol. We don't have bullets to waste.”
The Alchemist grabs Amy’s arm and pulls her toward the bulkhead.
“Amelia, when the lights go down, the wheel should release. Spin it clockwise four turns,” she instructs.
Amy nods. “Ten.”
She narrows her eyes. “No, four. Four turns.”
“Yeah, four. I heard you,” Amy says too quickly.
The Alchemist files the odd response away and dashes back to the Doctor, sonic already in motion.
“Ready!” the Doctor calls out when she reaches him.
They thrust their sonics into the control unit together.
“On my count, then. God be with us all. Three, two, one, fire!” Octavian shouts.
The lights die.
Gunfire erupts—Clerics lay down a wall of lead as shadows twist forward.
“Turn!” the Alchemist shouts.
Amy calls out from the bulkhead, “Ally, it’s opening. It’s working!”
The heavy door creaks—just enough to slip through.
“Fall back!” the Alchemist orders.
The Doctor pushes her forward.
She scowls but doesn’t argue. He’s forgotten—again—that she can see in the dark.
She slips through fast and turns to haul him in last. The bulkhead slams shut behind them.
They bolt down a short corridor toward the Secondary Flight Deck.
Behind them, she can hear the Angels moving fast.
She whirls, pushes the Doctor ahead, then holds her ground—eyes locked on the advancing forms. They freeze for the moment.
[Secondary Flight Deck]
Grumbling under his breath at his wife’s move, the Doctor sprints for the controls the moment he makes it inside.
“Alchemist, quickly!” River calls out.
“Ally!” Amy yells.
The Alchemist slips through the door just before it seals shut behind her.
A thud echoes as the Angels strike the door. The wheel begins to turn.
The Alchemist lunges forward and grabs it, straining to hold it steady. It stalls for a breath, but pressure builds—they’re pushing harder. They're restoring faster than expected, she realizes. They need to move, now.
“I can’t hold them back for long. Octavian, do you have any intermagnetizers?” she calls.
“Yes!” he answers, hurrying to grab one.
“Doctor! What are you doing?” Amy shouts, rushing to where he’s still working the controls.
Octavian slaps the magnetizer to the door.
“Done, ma’am. Nothing could turn that wheel now.”
Without looking back, the Alchemist releases her grip and sprints to the control panel beside her husband.
“Oh? Are you absolutely certain of that?” she shoots back at Octavian.
The wheel begins to turn again. Slowly.
Octavian steps back, eyes wide. “Dear God!”
“Ah, now you're getting it. You've bought us time, though. That's good. We are good with time,” the Doctor says.
“There’s always time,” the Alchemist mutters.
The Alchemist hears movement on both sides.
“Get the other doors, quickly,” she snaps.
Another wheel to the right begins to turn.
“Doctor,” Amy says, voice urgent.
“Seal that door. Seal it now,” Octavian orders.
A Cleric rushes to magnetize the second door.
“We're surrounded,” River breathes, realization dawning.
The Alchemist rolls her eyes. No kidding. However, the access to the oxygen factory must be here.
Both Time Lords lean over the panel—searching. She spots it first. There. She points. He nods.
‘I’ll go look for it,’ she says, darting off. He doesn’t answer, still locked into the system.
The wheel on the left door now starts to move.
“Seal it. Seal that door. Doctor, how long have we got?” Octavian demands.
“Five minutes, max.” The Doctor finally turns, also looking for the access point.
“Nine,” Amy says.
The Doctor looks at her, sharply. “Five.”
Amy nods back quickly. “Five. Right. Yeah.”
“Why'd you say nine?”
“I didn't,” she denies.
Eyeing her worriedly, the Time Lady goes back to searching.
“We need another way out of here,” River says.
“There isn't one,” Octavian states.
“Yeah, there is,” the Alchemist corrects him.
The Doctor nods. “Course there is. This is a galaxy-class ship. Goes for years between planetfalls. So, what do they need?”
River’s eyes widen. “Of course.”
“Of course what? What do they need?” Amy asks.
“Can we get in there?” Octavian asks.
“Over here, Doctor,” the Alchemist calls, spotting clamps on the wall.
He rushes over and joins her, “Well, it's a sealed unit, but they must have installed it somehow. This whole wall should slide up.”
“There’s clamps. We need to release the clamps,” she says, and they both start working.
“What's through there? What do they need?” Amy presses.
River answers, “They need to breathe.”
With a hiss, the wall slides up, revealing the treeborg forest.
The Alchemist freezes. She senses it—something else. Another crack. Here. In this ship.
She hesitates, then gives in. She lets her preceptors reach outward. It hits hard.
“Fuck,” she breathes.
She feels the Doctor’s jolt of shock—and horror—at her sudden curse through their bond. He glances over at her, alarmed.
She closes her eyes letting out a long sigh. Then opens them again.
‘Soon,’ she says.
He nods—understanding. She’ll tell him when she can.
Amy steps forward, stunned. “But that's. That's a…”
“It's an oxygen factory,” River says.
Amy stares. “It's a forest.”
River shrugs. “Yeah, it's a forest. It's an oxygen factory.”
“And if we're lucky, an escape route,” the Doctor adds.
“It should be,” the Alchemist says quickly.
“Eight.” Amy blurts out.
The Alchemist clenches her jaw. She’s counting down, but counting down to what and why?
“What did you say?” River asks.
Amy shakes her head. “Nothing.”
The Doctor glances from her to Octavian. “Is there another exit? Scan the architecture. We don't have time to get lost in there.”
“Primary Flight Deck needs almost immediate access here in case of emergency. Find it,” the Alchemist orders.
“On it. Stay where you are until I've checked the Rad levels,” Octavian replies.
Amy still can’t process it. “But trees? On a spaceship?”
“Oh, more than trees. Way better than trees. You're going to love this. Treeborgs,” the Doctor says, trying to keep her grounded.
“Trees plus technology. Branches become cables become sensors on the hull. A forest sucking in starlight, breathing out air. It even rains. There's a whole mini-climate. This vault is an ecopod running right through the heart of the ship. A forest in a bottle on a spaceship in a maze. Have we\] impressed you yet, Amy Pond?”
“Seven,” Amy laughs.
“Seven?” the Doctor asks, suddenly wary.
“Sorry, what?” Amy asks, blinking.
“You said seven,” he replies.
“No. I didn't,” she insists.
“Yes, you did,” River confirms.
“You’re counting down, Amelia,” the Alchemist says, running a hand through her hair in frustration.
“No, I’m not,” Amy says quickly.
“Doctor, there's an exit. Far end of the ship, into the Primary Flight Deck—just as the Alchemist said,” Octavian confirms.
The Doctor bites back an eye roll. “Oh, good. That's where we need to go.”
“Plotting a safe path now,” Octavian adds.
“Quick as you like,” the Doctor says.
“Fast, please. Make it fast,” the Alchemist growls.
Over comms: “Doctor? Excuse me? Hello, Alchemist, Doctor? Angel Bob here, ma’am, sir.”
“Ah. There you are, Angel Bob. I was wondering when you’d contact us again,” the Alchemist greets.
“How's life? Sorry, bad subject,” the Doctor says.
Angel Bob replies, “The Angels are wondering what you hope to achieve.”
“Achieve? We're not achieving anything. We're just hanging. It's nice in here. Consoles, comfy chairs, a forest. How’s things with you?”
“The Angels are feasting, sir. Soon we will absorb enough power to consume this vessel, this world. And all the stars and worlds beyond,” Angel Bob declares.
The Alchemist scoffs in disbelief, they can’t honestly think they can feed on time energy?
“Well, we've got comfy chairs. Didn’t we already mention those?” she quips.
“We have no need of comfy chairs,” Angel Bob replies.
The Doctor smirks. “We made him say comfy chairs.”
Amy laughs. “Six.”
“Okay, Bob, enough chat. Here's what I want to know. What have you done to Amy?” the Doctor asks.
“There is something in her eye,” the Angel says.
The Doctor frowns. “What's in her eye?”
“Maybe they are…” the Alchemist begins.
“Correct, ma’am,” Angel Bob cuts in.
“What’re they talking about? Doctor, I'm five. I mean—five. Fine! I'm fine!” Amy panics.
River speaks gently, “You're counting.”
“Counting?”
“You're counting down from ten. You have been for a couple of minutes,” the Doctor says.
“Why?” Amy asks.
“I don't know.”
“Well, counting down to what?”
“We don’t know yet!” the Alchemist snaps.
Angel Bob chimes in, “We shall take her. We shall take all of you. We shall have dominion over all time and space.”
“It doesn’t work like that, Angel Bob. What you think you know is wrong,” the Alchemist growls.
“Get a life, Bob. Oops, sorry again. There's power on this ship, but nowhere near that much,” the Doctor scoffs.
“With respect, sir, ma’am. There's more power on this ship than you yet understand,” Angel Bob says.
“Power? You think that’s power? I guess that’s what happens when you don’t have an actual brain,” the Alchemist snaps.
A screeching sound cuts through.
The Alchemist winces. She wants to cover her ears—but forces herself to tune it out with her sound blockers.
“What's that? Dear God, what is it?” River cries.
“They're back,” Octavian mutters, glancing around.
“It's hard to put in your terms, Doctor Song, but as best I understand it, the Angels are laughing,” Angel Bob says.
“Laughing?” the Doctor echoes.
“Because you haven't noticed yet, sir. The Doctor and the Alchemist in the TARDIS haven't noticed.”
“Oh, I assure you, Angel Bob, the Alchemist has most certainly noticed—and she knows exactly what it is. She's just in an existential crisis over it,” she mutters, rolling her eyes.
“Doctor, Alchemist,” Octavian calls.
The Doctor mutters, “No. Wait. There's something I’ve missed that Ally hasn’t.”
Above the entrance, a steaming W-shaped crack stretches across the bulkhead—widening.
Amy gasps, pointing. “That's…That's… That's like the crack from my bedroom wall from when I was a little girl.”
“Unfortunately,” the Alchemist says grimly.
“Yes. Two parts of space and time that should never have touched,” the Doctor confirms.
“Okay, enough. We're moving out,” Octavian commands.
River nods. “Agreed. Doctor? Alchemist?”
“Yeah, fine,” he says.
“Sure, whatever. Scan it, honey. I want to be wrong,” she says.
“What are you doing?” River asks, frustrated.
“Move along, River,” the Alchemist orders.
“Right with you,” the Doctor says, activating the scanner.
“We're not leaving without you,” River insists.
The Doctor turns sharply. “Oh yes, you are. Bishop?”
“Miss Pond. Doctor Song. Now,” Octavian commands.
“Doctor? Ally?” Amy asks, frightened.
River grabs her hand, angry. “Come on!”
“So, what are you?” the Doctor asks, waiting for the results.
The Alchemist huffs. “End of time is my theory.”
He sighs. “I’m beginning to hate your theories. Oh, that's bad. Ah, that's extremely very not good.”
“Turn!” the Alchemist shouts.
They turn around—to find themselves surrounded by Angels.
“Do not blink,” he reminds himself and her.
She nods. “Yeah, no blinking, definitely not.”
One grabs the back of his jacket collar, pulling him back slightly, and another misses the Alchemist, who steps forward.
“Argh!” the Doctor shouts.
[Forest]
Amy’s breathing is heavy now. She feels like she’s heating up, continuously blinking to clear her eyes.
“Amy? Amy, what's wrong?” River asks, worriedly.
[Secondary Flight Deck]
“Why are we not dead then?” the Doctor asks, confused.
“Well, don’t complain,” the Alchemist huffs.
They see the Angels reaching toward the crack.
The Doctor stares up in his trapped jacket. “Good, and not so good. Oh, this isn't even a little bit good. I mean, is that it? Is that the power that brought you here?”
The Time Lady scoffs. “That's pure Time Energy, Angels. You can't feed on that. Like I said—brainless.”
He nods. “Exactly. That's not power, that's the fire at the end of the universe. I'll tell you something else…”
The Doctor smirks and pulls out of his jacket just as the Angels touch the crack with a loud bang. He runs into the forest, the Alchemist dragging him along.
“Never let us talk!” the Time Lords shout.
[Forest]
“Amy, what's wrong?” River asks again, fearful.
“Four,” Amy moans.
She sways, sits down, then lies on the mossy tree trunk.
River calls back, “Med scanner, now.”
“Doctor Song, we can't stay here. We've got to keep moving,” Octavian says.
“We wait for the Alchemist and the Doctor,” River says, refusing.
Octavian glares at her. “Our mission is to make this wreckage safe and neutralize the Angels. Until that is achieved…”
River rounds on the man. “Father Octavian, when the Alchemist and the Doctor's in the room, your one and only mission is to keep them alive long enough to get everyone else home. And trust me, it's not easy to keep him alive. Now, if they’re dead back there, I'll never forgive myself. And if they’re alive, I'll never forgive them. And, Alchemist, Doctor—you’re standing right behind me, aren’t you?”
The Doctor grins. “Oh, yeah.”
“Yep. Got here a while ago. Nice speech,” the Alchemist says from their log.
She turns to them. “I hate you.”
The Time Lords jump down from the log, holding hands.
“You don't. Bishop, the Angels are in the forest,” the Time Lord informs him.
"We need eyes on every entry point.” the Alchemist orders.
Octavian nods. “Copy that, ma’am. You heard her, lads! Visual contact!”
River asks, confused, “How did you get past them?”
“We found a crack in the wall and told them it was the end of the universe.”
Amy's voice breaks through the quiet. “What was it?”
“The end of the universe… we just don’t know how,” the Alchemist replies. “Now he needs another jacket.”
The mix of confusion, fear, anger, and curiosity is getting to her. It's like standing in a fog of overstimulating scent—thick and irritating. She quickly reaches into her pocket and stuffs her filters into her nostrils, cutting off the scents.
“Let's have a look, then,” the Doctor says, lifting the scanner, his eyes narrowing with focus.
“So, what's wrong with me?” Amy asks.
“Nothing. You're fine,” River answers quickly.
“Everything. You're dying,” the Doctor replies without pause.
“Doctor!” River snaps, scandalized.
She’s right, though. Amy is dying, and no one here is remotely okay with that.
“Yes, you're right,” the Doctor sighs. “If we lie to her, she'll get all better. Right. Amy, Amy, Amy. What's the matter with Amelia? Something's in her eye. What does that mean? Does it mean anything?”
“Clearly,” the Alchemist mutters.
“Doctor, Ally,” Amy says softly.
“Busy,” he replies, eyes still on the scanner.
“Scared,” she tells him, voice small.
“Course you're scared. You're dying. Shut up.”
“Okay, let them think,” River says quickly.
“What happened?” the Doctor presses, thinking aloud. “She stared at the Angel. She looked into the eyes of an Angel for too long.”
“And now the Angel is in her eye,” the Alchemist finishes.
“Sir! Angel incoming,” Marco shouts from nearby.
“And here,” Phillip adds urgently.
“Keep visual contact,” Octavian orders. “Do not let it move.”
“Alchemist, I need something a little less cryptic, please,” the Doctor demands.
“The image of an Angel is an Angel,” the Alchemist continues. “You see an Angel and it leaves an imprint on the mind. I told you, the stronger they are, the longer they increase the hunt.”
“A living mental image in a living human mind… getting it, getting it,” the Doctor murmurs, pacing. “But we stare at them to stop them getting closer?”
“Yes. We don't even blink, and that is exactly what they want. Drives the hunting instinct,” she explains. “As long as our eyes are open, they climb inside like a door. There’s an actual Angel in her eye.”
The Alchemist leans forward, peering into Amy’s eyes.
“Wow. It’s literally in your eye,” she mutters, a note of reluctant admiration in her voice. “Didn’t expect that one.”
“Three,” Amy whispers. “Doctor, Ally, it's coming. I can feel it. I'm going to die.”
“Please just shut up. We’re thinking,” the Doctor says quickly. He snatches the communicator. “Now, counting. What's that about? Bob, why are they making her count?”
“To make her afraid, sir,” comes Angel Bob’s voice through the speaker.
“Okay, but why? What for?”
“It’s a hunt,” the Alchemist answers flatly. “They enjoy it.”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s fun, sir,” Bob confirms.
The Doctor hurls the communicator away in disgust.
“Doctor, Ally, what's happening to me? Explain,” Amy pleads.
The Doctor grumbles, “Inside your head, in the vision centres of your brain, there's an Angel. It's like there's a screen, a virtual screen inside your mind, and the Angel is climbing out of it, and it's coming to shut you off.”
“Then what do I do?”
“If it was a real screen… we'd pull the plug. We'd kill the power,” the Alchemist says. “That doesn’t work though—we know that. It’s too strong. If we knocked her out, the Angel would just take over. We need to pause it!”
“What?” River asks, panicking.
“Yes!” the Doctor exclaims. “We've got to shut down the vision centers of her brain. We need to starve the Angel.”
“Doctor, Ally, she's got seconds,” River warns.
“How would you starve your…” The Alchemist cuts herself off. “Oh, for the love of… Eyes, Amy, shut your eyes!”
“Amy, close your eyes,” the Doctor echoes.
“No. No, I don't want to.”
“Good. That's the Angel inside you. It's terrified. Do it. Close your eyes, now!”
Amy squeezes her eyes shut, trembling. The med scanner shifts from red to green with a soft ping.
“She’s normalizing,” River breathes. “Oh, you did it. You two did it.”
“Sir? Two more incoming,” Phillip shouts.
“Three more over here,” Pedro adds.
“Still weak,” River notes. “Dangerous to move her.”
“So, can I open my eyes now?” Amy asks hesitantly.
“Amy, listen to me,” the Doctor says gently. “If you open your eyes now for more than a second, you will die.”
“It’s still inside you,” the Alchemist says, her voice low. “The Angel’s still in your mind. We didn’t stop it, only held it off. Your countdown is over.”
“Whatever you do, don’t open your eyes,” they say in unison.
“Alchemist, Doctor, we're too exposed here. We have to move on,” Octavian calls out.
“We're too exposed everywhere,” the Doctor snaps back. “And Amy can't move. And anyway, that's not the plan.”
“There’s a plan?” River asks, incredulous.
“I don't know yet. I haven't finished talking. Right! Father, you and your Clerics, you're going to stay here, look after Amy. If anything happens to her, we'll hold every single one of you personally responsible. Twice. River, Ally, you and me—we're going to find the Primary Flight Deck, which is…” He licks a finger and holds it up. “A quarter of a mile straight ahead. And from there we’re going to stabilize the wreckage, stop the Angels, and cure Amy.”
“How?” River presses.
“Correction,” the Alchemist says. “Stop the Angels and thus cure Amy.”
“I’ll do a thing and she’ll work out a theory,” the Doctor adds. “Probably beat me to it and is clearly already on it.”
“What thing? What theory?” River asks.
“I’ll let you know when I’ve put it together all the way,” the Alchemist replies.
“I don't know and she doesn’t know,” the Doctor groans. “It's a thing and theory in progress. Respect the thing and theory. Moving out!”
“Doctor, I'm coming with you,” Octavian insists. “My Clerics’ll look after Miss Pond. These are my best men. They'd lay down their lives in her protection.”
“We don't need you.”
“I don't care. Where Doctor Song goes, I go.”
“What? You two engaged or something?” the Doctor scoffs.
“Yes, in a manner of speaking,” Octavian says.
“Isn’t that still against the church?” the Alchemist asks dryly.
Octavian shoots a glare toward the Alchemist. “Marco, you're in charge till I get back.”
“Sir,” Marco nods.
“Doctor? Ally? Please, can't I come with you?” Amy begs.
“You'd slow us down, Miss Pond,” Octavian says.
“I don't want to sound selfish, but you'd really speed me up,” she counters.
“You'll be safer here. We can't protect you on the move. We'll be back for you soon as we can, I promise,” the Doctor assures her.
“You always say that.”
“We always come back.”
The Alchemist kneels beside Amy, brushing a hand gently against the girl's arm.
“Sunshine,” the Alchemist says softly, her voice a balm in the chaos. “If there’s one promise I make to you, let it be that. We’ll always come back. It might be a little late, it might be in an unexpected way… but we’ll come back.”
Amy’s voice is barely a whisper. “Okay.”
The Doctor steps back, eyes scanning the forest ahead. “Good luck, everyone. Behave. Do not let that girl open her eyes. And keep watching the forest. Stop those Angels advancing. Amy, later. River, going to need your computer!”
The Alchemist rises, her voice sharp with warning. “Amelia, if they start talking about seeing a light do not let the Clerics go near it and do not follow them. Understood?”
“Yeah, understood. Later.”
The Alchemist strides forward, tension coiling in her shoulders. She tilts her head slightly, listening. Footsteps. Not Angel movement—these are boots she knows intimately, treading the ground with deliberate rhythm. Her husband. She hears him approach from the side while her current husband rushes ahead of her.
“Storybook,” her future voice whispers into the air.
The current Alchemist doesn’t miss a beat. “Got it, gorgeous,” she murmurs back, her lips barely moving.
She doesn’t turn around—just keeps walking, her ears tuned to every shift of the forest.
The Doctor and the Alchemist fall into step with Octavian and River. The Doctor taps his sonic against the interface of River’s compact computer, watching data ripple across the screen.
River peers over his shoulder. “What’s that?”
“Er, readings from a crack in the wall.”
“How can a crack in the wall be the end of the universe?”
“Don’t know why it is yet. Ally does but wants me to confirm it, but here's what I think. One day there's going to be a very big bang. So big every moment in history, past and future, will crack.”
“Is that possible? How?”
The Alchemist sighs, still watching the scanner. “Because time is ending but I don’t know how or why and it’s giving me an existential crisis. More importantly—how can you be engaged, in a manner of speaking?”
River smirks. “Well, sucker for a man in uniform.”
The Alchemist raises an eyebrow. “Me too, but I’d go for one I could actually marry… if I wasn’t already.”
The Doctor elbows her in the side, making her yelp.
“Don’t jab me! You wear a uniform every day. It’s the Doctor Suit.”
Octavian clears his throat, stepping forward. “Doctor Song’s in my personal custody. I released her from the Stormcage Containment Facility four days ago, and I am legally responsible for her until she’s accomplished her mission and earned her pardon. Just so we understand each other.”
The Doctor gapes. “You were in Stormcage?”
The Alchemist waves it off. “Ah, food still bland? I was stuck there for thirteen days because Emperor Citorim of the Fradrok galaxy hated redheads and put a law into effect to keep them out of his presence nine seconds before I entered the throne room with my father during a training mission. He made it the most highly punishable offense and they took me directly there. Our current Lord President had to get him to pardon me.”
The Doctor, Octavian, and River just stare at her until the computer beeps, sharp and abrupt.
River leans in. “What? What is that?”
The Alchemist doesn't even glance at the display. “The date.”
The Doctor confirms with a nod. “She’s right. It’s the date. The date of the explosion, where the crack begins.”
“And for those of us who can’t read the base code of the universe?” River prompts.
The Alchemist replies, still not looking. “26th of May 2010.”
The Doctor’s brow furrows. “Amy’s time. Which is why my wife is currently in the middle of an existential crisis.”
“Pretty much covers it, yeah,” the Alchemist mutters.
[Outside the Primary Flight Deck]
Octavian studies the sealed hatch with mounting urgency. “It doesn't open it from here, but it's the Primary Flight Deck. This has got to be a service hatch or something.”
River presses close, her voice taut. “Hurry up and open it. Time's running out.”
The Doctor freezes. “What? What did you say? Time's running out, is that what you said?”
River hesitates. “Yeah. I just meant…”
“I know what you meant. Hush,” he says, distracted, thoughts firing fast. “But what if it could?”
The Alchemist sighs, arms crossed. “I told you already, it does.”
River frowns. “What if what could? What does?”
“Time,” the Doctor murmurs. “What if time could run out? Wait. Ally, sorry, it does!?”
“Yes, thickhead, it does,” the Alchemist snaps, “I just don’t know how or why!”
“Got it,” Octavian says, finally unlocking the hatch.
The Doctor paces, muttering. “Cracks. Cracks in time. Time running out. Time ending. No, couldn't be. Couldn't be. But how is a duck pond a duck pond if there aren't any ducks? And she didn't recognise the Daleks. Okay, time can shift. Time can change. Time can be rewritten. Ah. Oh! Now I’m in the middle of an existential crisis.”
“Because they remember the ducks but they’re no longer there,” the Alchemist says quietly. “Time ends, time shifts, time rewrites, time’s silent, Doctor.”
Octavian’s voice is sharp. “Doctor Song, get through, now. Doctor? Doctor. Alchemist, we must go.”
“Meaning time can be unwritten, yes,” the Doctor nods.
“Silence will fall,” the Alchemist murmurs. “The silence of time? Time is silent and it… it falls? Time falls silent!”
The Doctor stares into space. “It's been happening all around us and I haven't even noticed and that’s why your connection is gone.”
The Alchemist tilts her head, that familiar grinding—stone against stone—returns. The Angels are closing in.
“Doctor, we have to move,” Octavian insists.
The Alchemist turns, urgency rising. “Doctor! They’re coming. We need to go, now!”
She hears them—fast, relentless—coming down the corridor. They need to leave immediately.
“The CyberKing,” the Doctor blurts, almost to himself. “A giant Cyberman walks over all of Victorian London and no one remembers.”
“We have to move it. The Angels could be here any second,” Octavian says, exasperated.
“We’ll discuss it later, come on!” the Alchemist shouts, grabbing the Doctor’s arm to tug him forward.
But she turns a second too late. Her breath catches. An Angel has its stone arm coiled tightly around Octavian’s neck.
“Never mind the Angels. There's worse here than Angels,” the Doctor breathes, horrified.
“I beg to differ, sir,” Octavian manages through gritted teeth.
“No!” the Alchemist gasps, rushing forward.
She grabs at the Angel’s arm, trying to pry it away, but it’s unmovable—solid as iron.
“Let him go,” the Doctor commands.
“Well, it can't let me go, sir, can it? Not while you're looking at it,” Octavian says calmly, though his voice shakes with tension.
“It’s too strong, I can’t break it!” the Alchemist cries, still struggling.
“We can't stop looking at it, it'll kill you,” the Doctor says urgently.
“You tried, Alchemist, thank you. It's going to kill me anyway. Think it through. There's no way out of this. You have to leave me.”
“Can't you wriggle out?” the Doctor asks, still searching for hope.
“No, it's too tight. You have to leave me. There's nothing you can do.”
The Alchemist shakes her head. “Just let me try again. I can, I can find something to grind through maybe!”
“Ma’am, there's nothing you can do.”
“There must be something,” she whispers.
“You're dead if we leave you,” the Doctor says softly.
“Yes. Yes, I'm dead. And before you go…”
“We’re not going,” the Doctor and Alchemist say together, voices breaking.
“Listen to me, it's important. You can't trust her.”
The Alchemist freezes, eyes narrowing. Her heart sinks. This is it—the answer she’s dreaded.
“Trust who?” the Doctor demands.
“River Song. You think you know her, but you don't. You don't understand who or what she is.”
“Then tell us,” the Alchemist says firmly.
“I've told you more than I should. Now please, you have to go. It's your duty to your friends.”
“Just tell us why she was in Stormcage?” the Doctor asks.
“She killed two people. Good people. Heroes to many.”
“Who?” the Doctor breathes.
“You don't want to know, sir. You really don't.”
“Who did she kill?” he repeats, sharper now.
The Alchemist’s expression shifts to pained realization. Her. Him. She kills them. She can’t allow that future to come to pass. She refuses to leave the children like that.
“Sir, the Angels are coming. You have to leave me,” Octavian urges.
“You'll die,” the Doctor whispers.
“I will die in the knowledge that my courage did not desert me at the end. For that I thank God, and bless the path that takes you to safety.”
The Alchemist nods and steps closer, gently taking Octavian’s hand. He squeezes hers with strength.
“Family,” she asks quietly. “Do you have any family or close friends? Tell me what you want them to know in the message we send.”
“I have a brother,” he says. “He’s married with children. Tell them I love them and I will watch over them from heaven, ma’am, thank you.”
“I wish I'd known you better,” the Doctor says.
“I think, sir, you both know me at my best.”
The Doctor nods once. “Ready?”
“Content.”
“Faithful to the end, Bishop,” the Alchemist says solemnly.
Octavian smiles at them both in gratitude.
In a flash, the Doctor grabs his wife by the waist and hurls them both through the hatch. He slams it shut behind them—sealing Octavian’s fate on the other side.
[Primary Flight Deck]
River stands over the charred remains of a console, brow furrowed. “There’s a teleport. If we can get it to work, we can beam the others here. Where’s Octavian?”
The Doctor’s face hardens, his voice clipped. “Octavian’s dead. So is that teleport. You’re wasting your time. I’m going to need your communicator.”
The Alchemist rolls her eyes and steps past them both, scanning the burnt-out system with her sonic. “Keep quiet; he’s mean to anyone but me when he’s worried. I already figured this would be here, but not this damaged.” She glances toward River. “I know you can do this—it would take too long if I didn’t have help.”
River nods, unbothered by the snap of tension in the air.
The Alchemist spots an undamaged section of the console off to the side. “You get it open and start removing the damaged wiring. I’ll grab the replacements.”
As River nods again and sets to work, the Alchemist crosses the room, pries open the console, and starts gathering wires and chips. A screen beside her flickers with a warning message. She smirks but doesn’t pause.
[Forest]
Amy fumbles with her communicator. “Hello? Are you there? Hello? Hello?”
Marco’s voice crackles through. “I’m here. I’m fine. Quite close to it now.”
“Then come back. Come back now, please.”
Marco hesitates. “It’s weird looking at it. It feels really…”
“Really what? Hello? Really what? Hello? Hello? Hello? Please say you’re there. Hello? Hello?”
The Doctor’s voice cuts in, calm but urgent. “Amy? Amy? Is that you?”
[Primary Flight Deck]
“Doctor?” Amy sounds relieved.
“Where are you? Are the Clerics with you?”
“They’ve gone.”
[Forest]
“There was a light, like Ally warned me about, and they walked into the light. I couldn’t stop them. I tried. Doctor, they didn’t even remember each other.”
[Primary Flight Deck]
“No, they wouldn’t.” The Doctor’s voice tightens with regret.
River’s voice cuts in. “What is that light?”
The Alchemist mutters under her breath as she rips out the new wires. No one ever listens to her.
“Time running out,” the Doctor says. “Amy, I’m sorry, I made a mistake. We should never have left you there.”
“Well, what do I do now?” Amy asks.
[Primary Flight Deck]
“You come to us. The Primary Flight Deck. The other end of the forest.”
The Alchemist sprints back to River’s side, arms full of new parts. Together, they work in sync—River pulling out the last wires, the Alchemist snapping replacements into place with her sonic.
[Forest]
Amy’s breathing hard. “I can’t see. I can’t open my eyes.”
[Primary Flight Deck]
“Turn on the spot,” the Doctor orders.
“Sorry, what?”
“Just do it. Turn on the spot,” he repeats, running a hand through his hair.
[Forest]
“When the communicator sounds like my screwdriver,” the Doctor says, “that means you’re facing the right way. Follow the sound. You have to start moving now. There’s Time Energy spilling out of that crack, and you have to stay ahead of it.”
“But the Angels, they’re everywhere,” Amy’s voice shakes.
[Primary Flight Deck]
The Doctor paces. “I’m sorry, I really am, but the Angels can only kill you.”
“What does the Time Energy do?” Amy whispers through the comm.
“Just keep moving!” he orders.
River looks up from her work. “How much longer do you think it’s going to take?”
She holds up a new chip. The Alchemist takes it, carefully fixing it into place.
“As long as it needs to. We’re working as fast as possible. This thing is a mess,” she mutters again under her breath, replacing another part.
[Forest]
“Tell me,” Amy demands.
“If the Time Energy catches up with you,” the Doctor says, “you’ll never have been born. It will erase every moment of your existence. You will never have lived at all.”
“Now, keep your eyes shut and keep moving.”
[Primary Flight Deck]
River mutters, “It’s never going to work.”
The Alchemist shoots her a sharp glare and presses a finger to her lips. River winces, properly chastised.
“What else have you got!?” the Doctor shouts. “River! Tell me!”
A metallic clanging rings out through the deck.
River stiffens. “What’s that?”
The Alchemist lightly smacks the back of her head. “The Angels,” she says softly.
She mouths, “Sorry.”
The woman is as mouthy as her mother.
“The Angels running from the fire,” the Doctor explains. “They came here to feed on the Time Energy—now it’s going to feed on them.” He huffs, frustrated. “Amy, listen to me. I’m sending a bit of software to your communicator. It’s a proximity detector. It’ll beep if there’s something in your way. You just maneuver till the beeping stops. Because, Amy, this is important. The forest is full of Angels. You’re going to have to walk like you can see.”
[Forest]
The forest echoes with the quiet crunch of Amy's cautious steps.
Her voice is tense, uncertain. "Well, what do you mean?"
Over the communicator, the Doctor responds, "Look, just keep moving."
[Primary Flight Deck]
River frowns, still focused but visibly concerned. "That Time Energy, what's it going to do?"
The Alchemist exhales sharply through her nose and rolls her eyes in silent frustration, but keeps her focus on the mess of wiring in front of her. No one listens when they’re panicking.
The Doctor replies, “Er, keep eating.”
River persists. "How do we stop it?"
"Feed it."
"Feed it what?"
"A big, complicated space time event should shut it up for a while."
"Like what, for instance?"
“River. Shut. Up,” the Alchemist growls, not even looking up from her work.
The Doctor’s anger boils over. He spins on River. "Like me, for instance!"
"To hell with that," the Alchemist snaps without missing a beat. "I’ve already come up with something else, you arse."
The Doctor shoots her a glare but winces when he’s met with fierce, glowing gold and blue orbs.
[Forest]
Amy hears a sharp beep from the communicator.
"What's that?" she demands, fear heightening.
[Primary Flight Deck]
"It's a warning," the Doctor says grimly. "There are Angels round you now."
[Forest]
His voice continues over the communicator, firm but gentle. "Amy, listen to me. This is going to be hard, but I know you can do it," he adds. "The Angels are scared and running, and right now they're not that interested in you. They'll assume you can see them and their instincts will kick in. All you've got to do is walk like you can see."
[Primary Flight Deck]
The Doctor’s voice rises in urgency. "Just don't open your eyes. Walk like you can see. You're not moving. You have to do this. Now. You have to do this!"
The last chip clicks into place. River and the Alchemist work swiftly, sealing the access panel and initiating the code to lock onto Amy’s signal.
[Forest]
Amy threads her way blindly through the Angels, her hands slightly raised for balance. Then—she stumbles. Her foot catches on a tree root, and she tumbles to the ground, the communicator flying from her hand.
"Doctor? I can't find the communicator. I dropped it. I can't find it, Doctor. Doctor."
An Angel turns.
"Doctor. Doctor!"
Another turns. And another.
"Doctor."
Amy scrambles to her feet just as a stone hand reaches for her throat. Then—flash. Light surges around her, and the Angels vanish.
[Primary Flight Deck]
River catches Amy in her arms and pulls her into a fierce hug. The Alchemist approaches slowly, stopping beside the Doctor. Her arms remain crossed, and her eyes are on him, not Amy. She’s furious—but she also knows River needs time to check on her mother.
River soothes Amy gently. "Don't open your eyes. You're on the Flight Deck. The Doctor and the Alchemist are here. We teleported you. See? Told you we could get it working."
The Doctor breathes out, relief mixing with pride. "River Song, I could bloody kiss you."
The Alchemist glares at him hard enough to crack stone.
River smirks. "Ah well, I think you’d better do that to your Bondmate instead. She’s a bit angry that you didn’t think she could do it."
Chastened, he leans over and places a quick kiss on the Alchemist’s cheek. It doesn’t quite fix it.
An alarm screams to life.
River’s head snaps up. "What's that?"
The Doctor frowns. "The Angels are draining the last of the ship's power, which means the shield's going to release."
The bulkhead grinds open with a mechanical hiss, revealing the shadowy tree line of the forest—and an array of Weeping Angels frozen in a predatory semicircle.
The Doctor and the Alchemist step forward side by side, defiant.
“Angel Bob, I presume,” the Alchemist states.
Bob’s voice crackles coldly through the communicator. “The Time Field is coming. It will destroy our reality.”
The Doctor snorts, arms folding across his chest. “Yeah, and look at you all, running away. What can we do for you?”
“There is a rupture in time,” Bob replies. “The Angels calculate that if you throw yourself or the Alchemist into it, it will close, and they will be saved.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” The Doctor gestures vaguely, glancing to the side. “Not my wife though, I think reality might collapse immediately. Me? Could do, could do that. But why?”
“Your friends will also be saved.”
The Doctor raises an eyebrow. “Well, there is that.”
River steps forward, voice firm. “I've traveled in time. I'm a complicated space time event too. Throw me in.”
‘Gravity’s failing,’ the Alchemist hears the warning ripple through her mind.
‘Took you long enough to notice that screen,’ she shoots back dryly.
She turns to River with a stare like sharpened glass. “Oh, be serious. Compared to him, these Angels are more complicated than you, and it would take every one of them to amount to him, so get a grip.”
River’s voice sharpens. “Ally, you can’t let him do this! You’d both be gone!”
“No, seriously, get a grip,” the Doctor snaps.
River’s hands clench into fists. “You're not going to die here! If you die, Ally dies!”
The Alchemist exhales hard. Her tone is unflinching. “No, we mean it. River, Amelia, get a grip for goodness sake.”
River groans. “Oh, you geniuses.”
Bob cuts in, cold and insistent. “Sir, the Angels need you to sacrifice yourself now.”
The Doctor turns his gaze to the looming statues. “Thing is, Bob, the Angels are draining all the power from this ship. Every last bit of it. And you know what? I think they've forgotten where they're standing. I think they've forgotten the gravity of the situation. Or to put it another way, Angels…”
A monitor lights up with a stark warning: Gravity Failing.
River pulls Amy to a console module and places her hands firmly on the handles.
Her tone is urgent and low. “You hold on tight and don't you let go for anything.”
The Doctor's smile is brief and dangerous. “Night, night.”
The Alchemist glances at the monitor, then back at the forest of Angels. “I’d read you a bedtime story but we’re apparently running out of time.”
Gravity Failed.
A sudden lurch. Feet lift from the floor. The entire spaceship tilts. The forest becomes chaos as the Angels lose their grip; toppling backward, weightless, statues tumbling like dominoes.
One by one, they are sucked into the rupture in time. Light cracks and bends violently as the tear consumes them. Then—silence. The crack seals.
[Beach]
The sun rises slowly down at the other side of the beach, casting long shadows across the sand. Amy sits bundled in a blanket, the edges tugged around her like armor. The TARDIS hums nearby, a familiar thrum grounding her in the aftermath.
"Ah. Bruised everywhere," she mutters.
“Me too,” the Doctor replies, dropping beside her with a quiet grunt.
The Alchemist stands a few paces off, arms folded, surveying the horizon. “I’m alright,” she says coolly. “But I’m pretty good at that climbing business.”
Amy raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t have to climb out with your eyes shut.”
“Neither did you,” the Doctor shoots back gently. “We kept saying. The Angels all fell into the Time Field. The Angel in your memory never existed. It can't harm you now.”
“Then why do I remember it at all?” Amy’s voice is low, uncertain. “Those guys on the ship didn't remember each other.”
The Alchemist walks toward her and crouches down, resting her arms on her knees. “Welcome to time travel, Amy. From here on out, everything you thought you knew feels different.”
The Doctor grins, glancing at both of them. “Good, isn’t it?”
Amy’s eyes narrow. “And the crack, is that gone too?”
“Yeah, for now,” the Doctor says. “But the explosion that caused it is still happening. Somewhere out there, somewhere in time.”
The Alchemist lowers her gaze. “And I don’t know why it’s happening,” she mutters under her breath.
Their moment is interrupted by the sound of boots kicking up the sand. Clerics have arrived, weapons holstered, eyes wary. They're here for River.
The Doctor and the Alchemist walk over to her together.
“You two, me, handcuffs,” River says, lifting her wrists bound in high-tech cuffs and smirking. “Must it always end this way?”
The Alchemist eyes the cuffs and coughs pointedly, raising a single brow. “Ahem?”
River groans, rolling her eyes. “Franklin.”
“Passable,” the Alchemist says dryly—then her eyes widen in alarm.
“What now?” the Doctor asks quickly.
“The prison ship’s in orbit,” River explains. “They’ll beam me up any second. I might have done enough to earn a pardon this time. We’ll see.”
“Octavian said you killed two people,” the Doctor says quietly.
River doesn’t flinch. “Yes, I did.”
“Two good people.”
The Alchemist tilts her head, studying River carefully. River swallows, her bravado faltering for just a moment.
“Two very good people,” she admits. “The best people I’ve ever known.”
“Who?” the Doctor presses.
“It’s a long story, Doctor,” she says. “It can’t be told—it has to be lived. No sneak previews.” She leans in slightly, a grin flickering back. “Well, except for this one. You’ll see me again quite soon, when the Pandorica opens.”
The Doctor laughs, shaking his head. “The Pandorica. Ha! That’s a fairy tale.”
“Doctor, aren’t we all? Especially Twilight,” River says with a wink. “I’ll see you there.”
The Alchemist reaches over and hugs River, tightly. Then, she whispers something in her ear. “Do I get Charlie back?”
River rolls her eyes, but smiles as the Alchemist steps back.
In unison, the Doctor and the Alchemist say, “We look forward to it.”
River nods once. “I remember it well.”
Amy lifts a hand. “Bye, River.”
“See you, Amy. Oh, I think that’s my ride.”
As the wind stirs the sand, River turns to the Doctor with one last question hanging in the air.
“Can we trust you, River Song?”
“If you like,” River replies, smirking. “Ha, but where’s the fun in that?” She winks at the Alchemist. “Also, spoiler—Charlie’s safe.”
A whirl of golden sand lifts her from the beach, vanishing her into the sky.
Amy watches the spot where she disappeared. “What are you thinking?”
The Doctor’s eyes are far away. “Time can be rewritten.”
The Alchemist folds her arms. Her voice is colder. “Time can be unwritten. And time can end.”
[TARDIS]
Amy stands by the steps, wrapped in silence, her expression uncertain.
“I want to go home,” she says finally.
The Doctor looks up from the console. “Okay.”
The Alchemist shifts her stance, arms crossed loosely. Her voice is gentle, but measured. “If you’re sure, Sunshine.”
Amy shakes her head quickly. “No, not like that. I just… I just want to show you something.” She hesitates, then looks between the two of them. “You're running from River. I'm running too.”
[Amy's bedroom]
The TARDIS stands awkwardly wedged into the space by the bedroom door, its blue exterior stark against the warm tones of Amy’s room. A wedding dress still hangs on the open wardrobe, ghostlike in the low light.
“Well,” the Doctor begins, glancing at it.
“It’s a lovely dress, Sunshine,” the Alchemist says gently, standing near the foot of the bed.
“Yeah,” Amy replies without looking at her.
The Doctor nods. “Blimey.”
Amy turns to him. “I know. This is the same night we left, yeah?”
“We’ve been gone five minutes,” he confirms.
The Alchemist suddenly groans and rolls her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “The TARDIS says she needs me for something. I’ll be right back.”
With a quick glance between the two of them, she strides into the ship and pulls the door shut behind her.
[TARDIS Console Room]
Inside, the Alchemist flips on the exterior visuals and sound. The screen flickers to life, giving her a clear view of the bedroom just beyond the doors. She touches the console absently, then frowns as her hand sticks to the metal.
“What are you doing, Bluette?” she mutters, tugging at her palm. No response.
She yanks harder. The console begins to warp, whining beneath the strain. Her jaw tightens. “Well, if you’d let me…”
But she stops mid-sentence. Amy’s voice drifts through the speaker. The Alchemist growls low in her throat and slams her other hand onto the console, unbothered by the sound it makes. She listens.
[Amy’s Bedroom]
Amy waits. Only when she’s sure the Alchemist is busy inside the TARDIS does she pick up a small ring box from the dresser and open it, holding it out to the Doctor.
“I’m getting married in the morning,” she says.
The Doctor blinks. “Why did you leave it here?”
“Why did I leave my engagement ring when I ran away with a strange man the night before my wedding?” Amy replies.
The Doctor shrugs. “And his wife, but… yeah.”
She exhales. “Hmm. You really are an alien, aren’t you?”
“Who’s the lucky fellow?” he asks, tilting his head.
“You met him,” Amy says with a shrug.
He squints. “Ah, the good-looking one. Or the other one?”
“The other one.”
“Well, he was good too. Ally thought so.”
“Thanks. So, do you comfort a lot of people on the night before their wedding?” she asks, slidding closer.
The Doctor frowns. “Why would you need comforting?”
“I nearly died. I was alone in the dark, and I nearly died. And it made me think.” Her eyes lock onto his.
He nods absently. “Well, yes, natural. I think sometimes. Well, lots of times.”
“About what I want. About who I want. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah… No.”
“About who I want,” she repeats, glancing toward the TARDIS.
“Oh right, yeah. No, still not getting it.”
“Doctor. In a word. In one very simple word even you can understand.”
She moves in and tries to kiss him. He jumps up, backing away fast.
“No! I’m married and you’re getting married in the morning!”
Amy shrugs. “Well, the morning’s a long time away and she doesn’t have to know. She could be anywhere in there. What are we going to do about that?”
She pins him against the TARDIS doors and fumbles at his shirt. He resists, careful not to hurt her.
“Amy, listen to me. I am nine hundred and seven years old and married and Bonded! We have adult children! Do you understand what that means!?”
Amy laughs. “It’s been a while?”
He scoffs, scandalized. “What? No, no, no. We just had a test run in the TARDIS. I’m nine hundred and seven, and look at me. This can’t ever work in the first place! I’m married to my Bondmate.”
“Oh, you are sweet, Doctor. But I really wasn’t suggesting anything quite so long term—and like I said, she never needs to know.”
She tugs on his shirt again and just barely kisses him against the side of his mouth, her lips landing on his cheek. This time, the Doctor growls low and furious, pulling away hard. He shoves her back with one firm hand to the shoulder. Amy stumbles, startled by the sudden force.
“You’re lucky you’re human,” he snaps, eyes blazing.
‘Sex Dungeon, say it. I turned the visuals on when I got in,’ the Alchemist's cold fury whispers through the telepathic bond.
“We have a Sex Dungeon in the TARDIS and make frequent use of it, and she knows everything. You’re Amy, not my Alchemist. You’re getting married in the morning… In the morning,” he says again, and then it hits him.
“Doctor?” Amy asks, her voice cracking. The tension in the room has changed.
He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s you. It’s all about you. Everything. It’s about you.”
“Yeah, I was… but then…”
“Amy Pond. Mad, impossible Amy Pond. I don’t know why, I have no idea, but quite possibly the single most important thing in the history of the Universe is that we get you sorted out right now. One thing first though.”
He grabs her wrist, tighter than before.
“That’s what I was trying to tell you, but now I’m not so sure about it,” Amy mutters, trying to pull away.
“Come on,” the Doctor orders.
Her feet drag as he pulls her toward the TARDIS. Her voice wavers. “Doctor…”
He opens the TARDIS door, yanks her inside, and slams it behind them. The sonic screwdriver chirps sharply as he locks it shut.
[TARDIS]
“Time to face the music,” he informs her, and Amy scrambles to try to get out of the TARDIS.
The Doctor walks over to his Bondmate, noting the clear frustration on her face and the fact that she hasn’t moved from the console, where both her hands are flat against the surface.
“Alchemist, dearest, why aren’t you moving?” he asks kindly.
She sighs, eyes shut, clearly annoyed. “Try to lift my hands.”
He does, but they don’t budge.
“TARDIS, let me go, now,” the Time Lady demands—and suddenly, she’s free.
The Alchemist rounds on Amy, who’s leaning against the doors, pretending she didn’t just try to escape.
Her eyes open—Vortex fires filling the sclera—and the girl freezes, frightened at the sight and the raw fury in them.
The Alchemist points to the screen, which swivels as if on command to show Amy the view of the bedroom.
“I heard and saw everything, Amelia Pond,” the Time Lady grounds out, not daring to step closer.
Amy remains silent, still staring in shock at her eyes.
“She doesn’t need to know? Oh, she knows alright. The last time someone tried to get between us, I wasn’t as kind as I am now. Not as clear of thought. You’re lucky. Very, very lucky. She didn’t even lay her lips on him once and I nearly choked her to death just for thinking about it. My brother brought me out of it—reminded me she wasn’t worth it.
“You? By rights, you should be sentenced to death on Gallifrey.
“We left that pathetic brat in another universe. But I’m not her. Not anymore. As I said, you’re lucky. You get the chance to live—and stay with us—because I happen to rather like Rory. So we’re going to fix this, like my Bondmate and husband said.
“First, I’m going to sit you down with us and explain exactly how our bond works. And you are going to be very, very sorry for even daring to think about laying a finger on my Bonded Soulmate,” she growls.
The Alchemist finally approaches the cowering Amy, lifts her in a Fireman’s carry, and starts up the stairs toward her private office. The girl is shocked, terrified, and relieved all at once—just hanging limp.
The Doctor glares at the sway of her red hair as he follows.
[The Alchemist’s Private Office]
“Sit and stay,” she orders, dropping Amelia onto the olive-green, button-tufted ottoman in front of her curved desk.
The Alchemist hears the lock click behind the Doctor as he enters. She takes her seat behind the solid ebony desk, waiting while her Bondmate grabs a chair from the small table by the window and joins her.
“Why?” she asks, both hands steady on the desk.
Amy blinks, wide-eyed. “Why?”
“Why?” the Alchemist repeats.
“Well…” Amy begins.
The Alchemist raises her brows.
“I just thought… and then it felt like I was getting mixed signals and then it didn’t, and now it… does, but you’re… into…” she trails off.
The Time Lords stare at her.
“Excuse me?” they ask, flatly.
Amy throws up her hands. “Oh, come on! You turn up in the middle of the night, get me out of bed in my nightie—which you don’t let me change out of for ages—and take me for a spin in your time machine. No, no, you’re right, no mixed signals there. That’s just a signal! Like a great big bat signal in the sky—get your coat off, the Doctor is in. And maybe his wife’s okay with it.”
“And his wife is his Bondmate and she is not okay with it. And neither. Am. I.” The Doctor’s voice is louder now, brittle with fury. “You said she didn’t need to know! You think this is some… flirtation? A joke? You think I bring girls aboard like it’s a dating show? Do you have any idea what that implies!?”
She huffs. “Yeah, but… nightie.”
“No! No, no, no, no, no. It’s not like that. That’s not what we’re like,” he insists, but the tension in his shoulders won’t go. His fists clench at his sides.
She crosses her arms. “Then what are you like?”
“I don’t know. We’re… like the space versions of Aragorn and Arwen.”
The Alchemist nods. “And you’re Éowyn. Or like Mr. and Mrs. Chewbacca Jones, and you’re… I don’t know…” She smirks. “Jar Jar Binks.”
Tipping her head back, the Time Lady makes a surprisingly good Wookie call.
“No—he’s a bloke! And I’m kinda thinking you are too now,” Amy says, aghast.
The Doctor drags a hand through his hair. “I’m the Doctor. And she’s the Alchemist.”
Amy frowns. “Every room you walk into, you both laugh at all the men and show off to all the girls.”
“Do not,” they say in unison.
“What about Rory?” Amy shoots back, brow raised, gaining confidence, realizing she hasn’t been thrown out the airlock yet.
“Moonlight? I like Moonlight,” the Alchemist says lightly.
The Doctor laughs, points at his nose, and mimes enlarging it.
Amy points back. “You laughed! Also—Moonlight?”
“No, that was just an involuntary snort. Of fondness. Ally, what did you say earlier about him?” the Doctor asks, turning to her.
“He has Roman looks,” she says, tone cooling.
Amy crosses her arms. “You are a bloke and you don’t even know it, Doctor.”
“We’re not human, Amelia Pond.” The Alchemist’s tone drops like a blade. “In Earth terms, we’re nonbinary. But we have soulmates.”
Amy is pinned by her gaze—and these aren’t even her Vortex eyes. Just her normal ones. But it feels like being locked in the crosshairs of a hawk.
“You only have one Bondmate. One soulmate. She’s mine. I’m hers. We… we Met Eyes when we were 25. That’s unbelievably young for Time Lords—we were children. We married when we became adults at 100. Well, 101, technically, because of the formal date. We call each other husband and wife because of ceremony. That’s all that is,” the Doctor says.
“We can only love each other, romantically. I heard River tell you the basics. But there’s more. Emotional, physical, mental, empathic, and sexual bond. We’re not even attracted to anyone else. It’s not possible,” the Alchemist says, voice sharp.
The Doctor rounds on Amy now, voice like thunder. “You can’t begin to understand it unless you’re a Time Lord. You just can’t. You think this is about jealousy? You think it’s about you? It’s not. It's about what you've disrespected. Her. Me. Our bond. My trust. This.”
He gestures broadly to the TARDIS itself, hands trembling.
“You just have to accept it and move on,” he says, quieter now—but the rage simmers just below the surface. “We get territorial. It wasn’t a problem until one of our other… Anyway. Don’t. Just don’t. She’s angry enough. So am I. That’s not why you’re here.”
Amy frowns. “Then why am I here?”
“Because!” the Doctor bursts, frustrated, practically shouting now. “Because we can’t see it anymore!”
“See what?” Amy asks, thrown by the change in tone.
“We’re 907. After a while, you just… can’t see it,” the Alchemist trails off.
“See what?” Amy repeats.
The Doctor stands and starts pacing again, more restless than before. “Everything. I look at a star and it’s just a ball of burning gas. Both of us—we know how it began, how it ends, and we were probably there for both. After a while, everything just becomes stuff. That’s the problem. You make all of time and space your backyard, and all you’re left with is… a backyard.”
The Alchemist points at Amy. “But you—you can see it! And when you see it, we see it.”
Amy exhales. “So that’s the only reason you took me with you.”
“There was reasons,” the Doctor shrugs tightly.
Amy nods. “Was kinda hoping so. But I guess that means I’m not the first. Others have traveled with you.”
He shrugs again. “Yeah, sure, loads of them. But just friends, you know, chums, pals, mates, buddies, not mates. Just one mate! The Alchemist is my mate.”
“And out of all those ‘friends,’ how many, just out of curiosity, were girls?” Amy smirks.
“A good amount,” the Alchemist hisses. “But just as he said—friends. Don’t test me, Amelia Pond. I know what you’re doing. It’s going to take a good long time for us to forgive you. And you haven’t even said ‘sorry.’”
Amy gulps. “I’m sorry.”
“Not accepted,” the Time Lords say as one.
“I was in the TARDIS. Right inside the TARDIS and you attempted to seduce my Bondmate. The last one who didn’t even say sorry nearly destroyed the universe trying to tear my mate from me. Prove it,” the Alchemist snaps, baring her teeth.
The Doctor growls under his breath, shaking his head. “Right. That’s it. Rory. We’re going to find Rory and we’re going to find him now. Before either of us says something we regret.”
“He’s at his stag night…” Amy mumbles.
The Alchemist smirks. “Well then… let’s make it a great one.”
[Console Room]
Amy has been begging them not to do whatever it is they’re planning the entire way to the console room.
“Okay, that’s it,” the Alchemist announces at last.
She grabs Amy by the arm, spins her, and plants her firmly on the steps.
“Sit and stay. Again. You move, I act. Got it? Good.”
She whirls back to the console, fingers already flying over controls. The destination she locks in isn’t the one they discussed—it’s one she’s had tucked away for a while. The Doctor catches it as he glances at the screen, brow furrowing as he moves in to assist.
“Uh, this isn’t taking us there?” he mutters.
“No. I need my backup plan first.”
The TARDIS lurches, then settles with a hum into the middle of open space. No stars close, just void—quiet, cold, waiting. The Alchemist strides to a recessed section of the console, taps a pattern, and a hidden compartment slides open. Inside: a small device. She snatches it before the Doctor can get a proper look and snaps her fingers. The doors fling open with a boom.
“Everyone needs a backup plan, Amelia Pond! Never forget that. It’s my version of rule number three. We’ll be going over the rules later, hm? Now get over here.”
Amy edges forward, wary, joining the Doctor at the threshold. The three of them stand side by side, facing the dark.
“Good. Now—watch and learn.”
The Alchemist winds up and hurls the device into the darkness. It vanishes for a beat—then begins to glow. She counts down.
“Five… Four… Three… Two… One. Welcome to ‘Amy’s Pond,’” she says, smirking.
A section of space ruptures. Light bursts outward in a flash of white before collapsing in on itself, spinning faster and faster as it tightens. Gravity howls. The void stirs.
“What’s that?” Amy whispers, eyes wide.
The Doctor barely suppresses a laugh. “That, Amy Pond, would be a vicious, carnivorous, and hungry black hole. And my wife just made it. And named it after you.”
The Alchemist stands tall at the threshold, hands on her hips, grinning as the black hole begins devouring a dead planet on the far edge of its pull.
“I always wondered who made this one. Guess I know now.” She spins, hair flipping, already headed for the console. “Well! Off we pop to see Moonlight and his stags.”
“Is that really a…” Amy trails off.
“Yep,” the Doctor nods.
“And she made it…”
“Yep.”
“And named it after me…”
“Yep. Come along, Pond. Time to enact the next step,” he says, snapping his fingers to seal the doors.
Together, they set the coordinates for Leadworth, England.
Chapter 6: The Vampires of Venice
Chapter Text
[Pub]
Rory, wearing a red shirt printed with an arrow through a heart print of him and Amy, holds his phone up, swaying slightly as he tries to talk over the loud pub noise.
“Hey...! It's me! Hello! How are you?”
[Amy’s House - Bedroom]
Back at Amy’s place, the call goes straight to voicemail.
“The reason for this call is because I haven't told you for seven hours that I love you, which is a scandal, and even if we weren't getting married tomorrow, I'd ask you to marry me anyway.”
[Pub]
“...Yes, I would, because you are smashing.”
Behind Rory, a large cake is wheeled in. As The Stripper begins to play, his mates jab his shoulder and gesture for him to turn around. He does so, still clutching the phone.
He stammers, “Oh... Oh. Oh, blimey. I've... I've... I...I…I... I'll see you tomorrow.”
“Out! Out! Out!” the crowd chants.
The paper top of the cake splits, and the Alchemist pops her head out, grinning wickedly. She’s ditched her leather jacket, blending in with the act. No one but Rory realizes she’s not the stripper. With a flick of her sonic, she swaps the music to a jazzy cover of The Ballad of Mona Lisa. Her voice amplifies as she begins to sing.
Rory stares, jaw dropped—not just at her sudden appearance, but at her sultry, velvet voice. Around him, the crowd sways, cheering and clapping along.
“She paints her fingers with a close precision.
He starts to notice empty bottles of gin…
And takes a moment to assess the sin she's paid for.
A lonely speaker in a conversation;
Her words are swimming through his ears again.
There's nothing wrong with just a taste of what you paid for.
Say what you mean! Tell me I'm right!
And let the sun rain down on me.
Give me a sign, honey, I… I wanna believe…
There's nothing wrong with just a taste of what you paid for…”
On the last word, she leaps from the cake in an aerial spin, lands in a crouch with a flourish, and cuts the music off mid-beat using her sonic. The pub erupts into cheers.
Then two hands appear from inside the cake, followed by the Doctor’s head as he peeks out, eyes scanning the scene, mildly confused.
Rory just shakes his head, dazed.
“Hello, Moonlight. I’m ever so slightly furious with your fiancée at the moment,” the Alchemist says, approaching with an exaggerated pout. “Emphasis on the furious.”
“The Rory! That's a relief. I thought we'd burst out of the wrong cake until Ally started singing. Again. That reminds me, there's a girl outside in a bikini. Could someone let her in, give her a jumper? Ally lent her jacket, but she’d rather like it back. Lucy. Lovely girl. Diabetic. Now, then. Rory. We need to talk about your fiancée. Like Ally said, angry. See, she tried to kiss me. I’m not too happy about it either,” the Doctor calls from the cake, now standing.
Gasps all around. Rory’s face drops.
“Tell you what, though. You're a lucky man, she’s probably a great kisser,” he adds, trying for levity.
A glass shatters. Everyone stares at him—including the Alchemist, who just shakes her head at his massive misstep.
“...Funny how you can say something in your head and it sounds fine.”
[Outside of the TARDIS]
The Alchemist stops Rory before he can enter, gently pulling him back. She nods to the Doctor, who quietly shuts the doors behind them.
“I wasn’t kidding when I said I am angry, Rory. The Doctor and my relationship goes far beyond a human marriage. I nearly killed the last person who did something similar. Say the word and I’ll drop her in a black hole,” she says, tone deadly serious.
Rory frowns, troubled. “I just… I don’t know what to think.”
“You think what you need to think and ask what you need to ask. That’s what you do. Really, though, one word and I send her into ‘Amy’s Pond.’ I made the black hole right before we went off to find you,” the Time Lady replies, then pulls him into a warm hug.
Rory laughs, not quite believing her, but hugs her back.
“You’re a good one, Moonlight. I’ll make sure she sees that,” the Time Lady smirks, leading him inside.
[TARDIS - Console Room]
The Doctor is strapped into a harness seat beneath the TARDIS console, sparks flying as he welds something out of sight. Above him, the Alchemist leans back against the console, arms folded, her eyes fixed sharply on Amy, who paces in anxious loops.
“Oh! The life out there, it dazzles. I mean, it blinds you to the things that are important. I've seen it devour relationships and plans...” the Doctor begins, his voice echoing off the metal.
Rory glances down, uneasy at the comment—then jumps as the console lets off a small explosion.
“Ooh! It's meant to do that!” the Doctor calls up brightly.
The Alchemist turns to Rory and mouths, “No it’s not,” with a deadpan expression.
From the stairway, Rory can’t help but smile.
The Doctor sighs. “Because for one person to have seen all that, to taste the glory and then go back, it will tear you apart—even if you’re not alone in this.”
“So... we’re sending you somewhere. Together,” the Alchemist adds, her tone softer now.
Amy stops in her tracks, wide-eyed. “Whoa! What, like a date?”
The Alchemist moves to help the Doctor out of the harness. He presses a grateful kiss to her lips as he slips free, and they climb the steps side by side.
“Anywhere you want, any time you want,” he offers, brushing dust off his sleeves.
“One condition. It has to be extraordinary. I won’t tolerate anything less than devastatingly romantic,” the Alchemist insists, placing her hands over her hearts, then ducking theatrically and fanning herself like a swooning diva.
The Doctor throws out his arms. “The Moulin Rouge in 1890! The first Olympic Games! Think of it as a wedding present. Because frankly, it’s either this or tokens… or whatever my wife lets me buy with her money.”
Rory’s stunned expression draws the Doctor toward him, the Time Lord climbing the stairs with a knowing smile.
“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it? Tiny box, huge room inside. What’s that about? Let me explain…”
“It’s another dimension,” Rory says, dryly.
The Alchemist bounces on her toes, grinning as she darts over to join them.
The Doctor halts, turning back down the steps. “It’s basically another dimen… What?”
Rory shrugs. “After Prisoner Zero, I’ve been reading up on all the latest scientific theories: FTL travel, parallel universes.”
“I knew you were good. Real good, Moonlight,” the Alchemist says, beaming. Rory returns a small, proud smirk.
The Doctor pouts, reaching up to tug playfully at his favorite curl on his Bondmate’s head.
“I like the bit when someone says, ‘It’s bigger on the inside!’ I always look forward to that,” he grumbles.
The Alchemist rolls her eyes. “It gets a bit boring after the 395th time. That makes it 396, by the way. I’m almost to the point of earning another lolly.”
Amy interjects, “So, this date. I’m kind of done with running down corridors. What do you think, Rory?”
The Doctor grins. “Like my wife said—how about somewhere... romantic?”
Together, the Time Lords spring into action, setting the TARDIS into motion with familiar ease, the time rotor lighting up as the engines roar to life.
[Venice - Marketplace]
The TARDIS materializes in the middle of a bustling market. No one takes notice. The Doctor steps out first, followed closely by his Bondmate—whom he immediately spins into a dance.
“Venice! Venezia! La Serenissima! Impossible city. Preposterous city!” he declares, dipping her low. She giggles.
Rory and Amy look around, taking it all in, wide-eyed.
“Founded by refugees fleeing Attila the Hun. Just a bunch of wooden huts in a marsh, and yet it became one of the most powerful cities in the world. Constantly invaded, constantly flooding... constantly... just beautiful! Like my wife,” he adds.
The Time Lords link arms.
The Alchemist hums, “Venice—impossible not to fall for it. Byron adored it. Napoleon tried to conquer it. Casanova… well, predictably, he misbehaved in it.”
The Doctor pauses, checking his watch. “Ooh, that reminds me.”
“May 1st, 1580. That's alright, honey. Casanova won’t be born for 145 years,” she tells him lightly.
He smirks.
She rolls her eyes at the wave of satisfaction and intrigue she feels.
“I don't want to run into him. Owe him a chicken,” the Doctor explains to the humans.
Rory huffs a laugh. “You owe Casanova a chicken?”
He shrugs. “Long story. We had a bet.”
“No it’s not. Also, not that big of a bet—but he won it. Wanted to see if he could stop an invasion before the Doctor. He won. Granted, no one said I couldn’t help Casanova, so I did,” the Time Lady adds with a grin.
An official in black steps in front of the Doctor.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Papers, if you please. Proof of residency, current bill of medical inspection.”
The Doctor holds up his psychic paper, smiling brightly.
“There you go, fella,” the Doctor says.
“All to your satisfaction, I rather think you’ll find.” the Time Lady adds with a warm smile.
The official’s eyes widen. He bows deeply. “I am so sorry, Your Majesties. I didn't realize.”
The Doctor takes back the paper, “No worries. You were just doing your job. Sorry, what exactly is your job?”
“Checking for aliens. Visitors from foreign lands who might bring the plague with them,” the official replies.
The Time Lords exchange a confused look.
Amy scoffs. “Oh, that's nice. See where you bring me?”
She goes to slap the Doctor’s arm, but the Alchemist catches her wrist and drops it again without even looking.
Amy huffs under her breath, “The plague!”
Without looking at her, the official replies, “Don't worry… miss. Your Majesties will be safe. We're under quarantine—no one in, no one out—all because of the grace and wisdom of our patron, Signora Rosanna Calvierri.”
He gestures to the crest on the box he carries.
The Alchemist frowns at it. “How interesting. I heard the plague died out years ago.”
“Not out there. No. Signora Calvierri has seen it with her own eyes. Streets piled high with bodies, she said,” the man explains.
The Doctor’s brow lifts. “Did she, now?”
As the official moves off to question someone else, Rory grabs the psychic paper.
The Doctor, the Alchemist, and Amy walk on.
Rory laughs. “According to this, they’re the King and Queen of Sweden, I’m the Prince of Norway, and she’s my thrall!”
Amy spins to look at the Doctor, who meets her gaze with an unamused raised brow.
Amy winces. “Uh, yeah, I’ll explain later.”
[Outside Calvierri School]
The time travelers walk along the canal, pausing as everyone in the street stops to watch two lines of young women in white gowns and veils process past, led by an older woman.
The Doctor, the Alchemist, Rory, and Amy cross to a vantage point across the canal. A curly-haired man runs up to the procession, visibly distressed. The Alchemist tilts her head, watching.
“What do you want?” the older woman demands, glowering at him.
He begins lifting veils, frantic. “Where's my Isabella!?”
The woman steps forward, shouting, “What are you doing? Get away from there.”
He doesn’t stop. “Isabella! Isabella!”
He finally finds her—but she recoils.
The Alchemist frowns.
He calls out desperately, “It’s me!”
‘That’s his child, and she did recognize him,’ she tells her Bondmate silently.
The Doctor flicks his eyes to her in acknowledgment.
One girl hisses and bares her teeth. The Alchemist spots two rows of fangs in her mouth. Guido stumbles back in terror.
‘Did you see that?’ the Doctor asks sharply.
‘I think I spotted a bit more than you, honey,’ she replies.
“Girls, come along!” the older woman barks.
The procession resumes. A young man steps forward, boots pressing Guido to the ground to hold him down.
He leans in. “She’s gone.” Then he spins on his heel and sweeps away, his cloak billowing.
“Isabella! It’s me!” the father cries out again as two guards drag him up.
‘Let’s go investigate,’ the Doctor calls.
‘Agreed,’ the Alchemist replies.
[Canal Path - with the Companions]
Amy looks around. “What was that about?”
The Time Lords are already gone.
“Isabella…” the man whispers, heartbroken, and walks away.
Amy glances around, exasperated. “I hate it when they do that.”
[Narrow Passageway - with the Time Lords]
The man walks through a narrow passage. The Doctor and the Alchemist cross behind him and land on the bottom step of a stairway ahead.
“Who were those girls?” the Doctor asks.
He stops, frowning in confusion.
“I thought everyone knew about the Calvierri school,” he says, shaking his head.
“Our first day here,” the Time Lady says. They step down together, still holding hands.
“Parents do all sorts of things to get their children into good schools. Move house. Change religion,” the Doctor says, then leans in with a whisper. “So why are you trying to get her out?”
The man nods. “Something happens in there. Something magical, something evil. My own daughter didn’t recognize me. And the girl who pushed me away—her face… like an animal.”
The Time Lords both place a comforting arm around his shoulders.
“I think it’s time my husband and I met this Signora Calvierri. What’s your name?” she asks.
“Guido. My name is Guido, signora.”
The Alchemist nods. “It means ‘guide.’ Let’s guide you back to your beautiful daughter, hm?”
The Doctor beams at her, and Guido sighs—grateful.
[Outside Calvierri School]
Guido charges toward the front gates, shouting at the guards who had previously turned him away.
“You have my daughter. Isabella!” he cries, sprinting for the doors.
One of the guards grabs him, holding him back. “You're not coming in, stop there! We've told you…!”
While Guido draws their attention, the Alchemist and the Doctor slip away, moving swiftly along the side of the building.
“You have my daughter. Isabella! I demand you let me see my daughter,” Guido continues, voice rising.
At the canal gate, the Doctor pulls out his sonic screwdriver and unlocks it with a click. He and the Alchemist slip through, unseen.
Guido keeps up the act. “Isabella! It's me! It's your father!”
The guard threatens him, “I'll arrest you…”
“Isabella!” Guido yells one final time before turning and leaving, his part in the plan complete.
[Inside Calvierri School]
The Doctor and the Alchemist descend a set of worn stone steps, moving cautiously into a dark chamber. On one of the walls, a tall mirror catches their eye.
“Hello, handsome,” the Alchemist grins, adjusting the Doctor’s bowtie.
“Hello, gorgeous,” he replies, checking his teeth while she fluffs her hair.
A chorus of voices startles them. “Who are you?”
The Doctor turns. A group of girls are standing across the room. He glances back at the mirror—they aren’t reflected. He looks from the girls to the mirror again, blinking in disbelief.
The Alchemist taps the mirror, then waves her hand in front of the girls. Still no reflection. She frowns, testing the space between mirror and air.
The Doctor gapes, “How are you doing that? I... am... loving it. You're like Houdini, only five scary girls, only he was shorter. Will be shorter. I'm rambling.”
“You’re rambling but I also love it,” the Alchemist says, just as delighted.
The girls speak again, voices unison and eerie. “I'll ask you again, signor, signora. Who are you?”
“Why don't you check this out,” the Doctor says with flair.
He flips open his wallet, flashing an ID card—one with a photo of his first incarnation, aged and stern.
He glances at it. “Library card,” he mutters, tucking it away. “Of course, it's with... He's... Ally, do you have yours?”
“Nope, not on me. Wow, pale, creepy girls who don't like sunlight and can't be seen in…” She trails off, still watching the girls intently.
Both of them look at the mirror again.
“Are you thinking what I think I'm thinking? But the city. Why shut down the city? Unless…” the Doctor murmurs, gears turning.
The girls’ tone sharpens. “Leave now, signor, signora, or we shall call for the steward... if you are lucky.”
“Ooh!” the Doctor exclaims, practically bouncing in place.
The girls bare their sharp, inhuman teeth—and hiss.
In a flash, the Time Lords bolt for the stairs.
“Tell me the whole plan… One day that’ll work,” the Doctor calls back as they run.
“Listen, we would love to stay here,” the Alchemist shouts over her shoulder, breathless and grinning.
“This whole thing... thrilled,” they say in unison.
The Doctor grins wide. “Oh, this is almost Christmas!”
They race up the stairs, the girls hissing behind them, fangs glinting in the gloom.
[Outside Calvierri School]
Across the canal from the school, the Doctor, the Alchemist, and Amy regroup. The air is thick with excitement.
“Doctor! Ally!” Amy shouts, racing up to them.
“We just met some vampires!” the Time Lords call out, grinning.
“We just saw a vampire!” Amy echoes, breathless.
The trio talk over one another, voices tangled.
“And creepy girls and everything,” the Doctor adds.
“And they had these teeth!” the Alchemist says, holding her fingers up like fangs and hissing.
“Vampires!” Amy shouts again.
The Doctor, the Alchemist, and Amy all bounce excitedly in place like kids at Christmas. Rory jogs over, arriving just in time to catch their wild enthusiasm. The Alchemist flashes Rory a warm smile, relieved to see he’s safe.
“We think we just saw a vampire,” Rory says, catching his breath.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Amy was just telling me,” the Doctor replies casually.
“Yeah! The Doctor and Ally actually went to their house,” Amy says, barely able to contain herself.
The Alchemist frowns. That tone—being listed second again—needles her. The Brat used to do the same thing. The sting of it bubbles under her skin.
‘What’s wrong?’ comes the gentle voice in her mind.
‘Same issue. We’ll resolve it later,’ she replies silently.
“Oh. Right. Well…” Rory begins.
“Okay, so…” The Doctor slaps his hands playfully on Rory’s cheeks, “first we need to get back in there somehow.”
“What!?” Rory exclaims.
“How do we do that?” Amy asks.
“Back in where!?” Rory asks again, confused.
“The. Vampire. House.” The Alchemist grins slowly, savoring each word.
“Come and meet our new friend,” the Doctor says, already leading the way.
[Guido’s House]
Inside the warmly lit room, Guido unrolls a map of Venice across the table. The Doctor sits with the Alchemist on his lap, his arms wrapped loosely around her. Amy leans over the map while Rory perches awkwardly on a barrel nearby.
“Moonlight, I’d find a better spot if I were you,” the Alchemist says without looking.
“I’m fine. Thanks though, Ally,” Rory answers with a shrug.
“If you’re… sure,” she murmurs, unconvinced.
“As you saw, there's no clear way in,” Guido explains, tracing a finger along the map. “The House of Calvierri is like a fortress. But there's a tunnel underneath it, with a ladder and shaft that leads up into the house. I tried to get in once myself, but I hit a trapdoor.”
“You need someone on the inside,” Amy suggests.
“No,” the Time Lords say in perfect unison.
“You don't even know what I was going to say!” she protests.
“We pretend you're an applicant for the school to get you inside and tonight you come down and open the trapdoor to let us in,” the Doctor says without missing a beat.
“Oh. So you do know what I was going to say!”
“And it’s not happening,” the Alchemist says sharply. “I would do it myself but they’ve seen me… unless…” She trails off, already lost in her own plan. She rises from the Doctor’s lap and starts pacing, her mind racing.
“Are you insane?” Rory cuts in.
“We don't have another option,” Amy replies, standing firm.
“There’s always another option,” the Alchemist grits out.
“They said no, Amy. Listen to them,” Rory urges.
“There is another option.” Guido gestures toward Rory. “I work at the Arsenale. We build the warships for the navy.”
The Doctor moves to the barrels and sniffs one. “Gunpowder,” he declares, casting a meaningful look at the Alchemist. “Which explains Ally’s earlier suggestion.” He places a hand on Rory’s shoulder. “Most people just nick stationery from where they work.”
Rory slowly slides off the barrel, only to back into a hanging dead rabbit. He yelps and recoils.
“Look, we have a thing about guns,” the Doctor and Alchemist say together.
“…and huge quantities of explosive,” the Alchemist adds with a raised brow.
“What do you suggest, then?” Guido asks, frustrated. “We wait until they turn her into an animal?” He turns away, jabbing at the fire with a poker.
“I'll be there three, four hours tops,” Amy argues.
“No, no, no, no, no, no. It can't keep happening like this. This is how they go,” the Doctor mutters, sinking onto the bed and putting his head in his hands. He takes a breath, lifts his head. “But I have to know. We go together. Say you're my daughter.”
“What!? Don't listen to him!” Rory snaps.
“Your daughter? You look about nine,” Amy teases.
“Brother, then,” the Doctor suggests.
“Too weird. Fiancé.”
“Absolutely not, Amelia Pond,” the Alchemist says darkly, voice like steel.
Amy recoils slightly, clearly caught off guard by the tone.
“Right! I'm not having him run around telling people he's your fiancé,” Rory insists.
“No. No, you're right.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean, they've already seen the Doctor. You should do it.”
“Me?” Rory says, eyes wide.
“Yeah! You can be my brother.” Amy grins and rubs his head playfully.
Over on the bed, the Doctor smiles at the sight. The Alchemist huffs and sits back down on his lap, arms crossed.
“Why is him being your brother weird, but with me, it's okay?” Rory asks, exasperated.
“Actually, I thought you were married to her,” Guido says, gesturing to the Alchemist.
“Yeah, that's because I am,” the Doctor replies easily.
“That’s because he is and I have a better plan,” the Alchemist says, sitting up straighter.
“This whole thing is mental! They're vampires, for God's sake,” Rory mutters, pacing.
“We hope,” the Doctor replies.
“So if they're not vampires...?” Amy asks.
“Makes you wonder what could be so bad it doesn't actually mind us thinking it's a vampire? Ally, what’s your plan?”
“I go in with Rory as my brother. I have a disguise in the TARDIS… and let’s all hope they’re not Yssgaroth, thanks,” the Alchemist mutters.
The Doctor winces. That possibility hadn’t occurred to him—and now that it has, he’s praying it isn’t true. Actual Yssgaroth, vampires, would be far worse.
[TARDIS: Makeover Room]
"Ally, I don’t like this idea," the Doctor bemoans, arms folded as he watches her from across the room.
She’s perched in front of one of the many vanity stations, dressed in a simple black cotton dress, focused and determined.
"Yeah, they’ve seen you. Your hair sticks out like a sore thumb," Amy adds from the couch, legs curled up as she surveys the scene with mild concern.
Rory’s wandered off, eyes scanning the bright, unusually glamorous room. A few styling stations line the walls, only two personalized with signs. He notices Amy has one of her own above a mirror in bold lettering.
"How does the sign get there? Do you make them?" he asks, eyebrows raised.
"Take a seat somewhere besides Amelia Pond’s chair, Moonlight," the Alchemist orders without looking up, reaching for a makeup wipe.
He obediently drops into a nearby stool. Instantly, his name—Rory—appears in scripted acrylic above him in the same scarlet red as Amy’s sign.
She glances over, mildly amused. "Huh, same favorite color. Sweet."
"Alchemist, just taking your makeup off isn’t going to…" the Doctor starts, but falters as she grabs a spray bottle and hits her hair with a generous mist.
The transformation is immediate. Her signature curls relax into soft waves. The Doctor pouts at the sight.
"Still not going to work, Ally," Amy chimes again, clearly unconvinced.
Unbothered, the Alchemist gives her hair a final spritz, then rises smoothly to her feet. Her whole posture shifts—more casual, more human—as she turns to face them all.
"How about now? Still recognize me without my scarlet hair?" she asks, her newly chestnut locks framing her face as she pops in a pair of colored contact lenses. Her striking eyes dull slightly, the disguise now complete.
"That’s not… permanent, right?" the Doctor pleads, voice tight with worry.
She rolls her now hazel eyes. "It’s a washout, honey. Both of them."
[Calvierri School - Throne Room]
The Alchemist stands beside Rory, both of them posing as humble petitioners before Signora Calvierri. Rory fidgets in Guido’s clothes, visibly uncomfortable. The Alchemist, calm and composed, wears a black cotton dress with long, narrow sleeves and puffed shoulders.
“So, basically, our parents are dead from getting the plague,” Rory begins awkwardly. “I'm a gondola... driver... so... money's a bit tight... so having my sister go to your school for special people would be brilliant. Cheers.”
From his place near the Signora’s throne, Francesco steps forward, eyeing the Alchemist with a predator’s curiosity. He stops in front of her, lips curling.
“Hmm, very pretty.”
Rory stiffens, firing back, “Well, related to me, so, thanks.”
“I wasn't talking to you,” Francesco sneers.
Signora Calvierri’s expression sharpens. She turns toward a waiting servant. “Carlo, explain yourself. Why have you brought me this imbecile?”
Carlo bows slightly. “Signora, they have references from the King of Sweden.”
Her interest piqued, she extends her hand. “What!? Let me see.”
Rory steps forward, handing her the psychic paper. She studies it, visibly intrigued, then hands it back.
“Well, now I can see what got my steward so excited.” She glances at Francesco. “What say you, Francesco? Do you like her?”
Francesco circles the Alchemist slowly, lingering a moment too long.
“Oh, I do, Mother. I do.”
The Signora smiles with a cold satisfaction. “Then we would be delighted to accept her. Say goodbye to your brother.”
As Carlo steps forward to escort him out, Rory grabs the Alchemist’s hand tightly. Her eyes flicker to him for a fraction of a second, unspoken instructions passing between them.
The Alchemist’s voice is strong and sure: “Tell the Doctor, my fiancé… I'll see you all soon, okay?”
Rory nods stiffly.
“I'll be just fine.”
But as the doors close behind him, Rory catches a glimpse of Francesco behind her—fangs bared in anticipation.
“Al... Ally!!”
[Calvierri School - Corridor]
Carlo leads the Alchemist up a sweeping staircase. She walks gracefully, eyes taking in every detail. Students and servants alike pause to observe the newcomer.
Carlo opens a door and gestures inside.
“There are clothes on the bed. Get changed and wait here.”
[Valvierri School - Dormitory]
The Alchemist steps into the opulent dormitory. She looks around at the domed ceiling, the velvet curtains, the polished marble floors.
“Blimey,” she mutters. “This is almost as pretentious as the Elite Academy.”
The other girls file out silently, leaving only one behind—a frightened girl with familiar features. The Alchemist studies her and immediately recognizes the resemblance.
This must be Isabella.
She softens her voice. “Hello there, my name is Ally, what’s yours?”
The girl answers hesitantly, “Isabella.”
“Wonderful name. It means devoted to God.”
Isabella gives a shy smile and nods. “My father named me.”
“And I bet he’s a wonderful father at that for sending me to help you.” The Alchemist kneels slightly to her level. “Listen, Isabella, we're going to get you out of here and back home, but I need you to tell me what's going on, alright? What is this place? What are they doing to you here?”
Isabella’s voice trembles. “They, um... they come at night. They gather around my bed and they take me to a room... with this green light and a chair with... with straps, as if for a surgeon.”
“What happens in there, then?”
“I wake up here. And the sunlight burns my skin like candle wax.”
A bell tolls. The Alchemist winces, but keeps her senses open.
[Canal]
The gondola glides smoothly along the water. Guido rows, now wearing Rory’s clothes. The Doctor lounges with a casual alertness while Amy sits with crossed arms. Rory remains tense, glancing back toward the school.
“She'll be fine,” the Doctor says. “She’s good at this stuff.”
“You can promise that, can you?” Rory asks.
“With the Alchemist? Her plans are great, so, yes.” His voice sharpens with certainty.
Rory scowls, unconvinced, but he’s starting to like her. She’s not pretentious. She’s kind. She’s furious about this situation—and that counts for something.
The Doctor turns to Amy. “Amy, you and Guido are staying here. I’ll go in with Rory.”
Amy arches an eyebrow. “What are you doing, grounding me?”
“If that’s what it takes, yes! Yes I am. You. Are. Grounded!”
She glares. “I’d like to remind you that we’re in a boat. On water.”
The Doctor rolls his eyes.
[Calvierri School - Underground Stairs]
Now dressed in a white gown, the Alchemist slips through the darkened halls, descending into the depths of the school. She follows distant moans and cries, her senses sharp and alert. Passing one of the chambers, she pauses—her gaze lands on a skeletal hand jutting from a chest.
She stiffens.
With a glare, she raises her hand, scanning. A growl rumbles in her throat—low and dangerous. That child was fifteen. She can sense alien blood in the remains. Yssgaroth... partially. And a lingering, fish-like scent confirms her growing theory.
[Canal - Outside Calvierri School]
The gondola drifts to a stop. Guido speaks softly.
“We're here.”
The Doctor grabs a flaming torch. The gate creaks open. Rory follows close behind while Amy and Guido remain with the boat.
[Calvierri School - Underground Stairs]
The Doctor takes the lead, torchlight casting flickering shadows.
“Right. okay, I'll go first. If anything happens to me, go back…”
But Rory isn’t focused on the path. “What happened? Between you and Amy? You said she kissed you.”
The Doctor stops short outside a wooden door. “Now!? You want to do this now!?”
He climbs the steps toward the door.
“I have a right to know,” Rory says, following. “I'm getting married in 430 years.”
[Calvierri School - Courtyard]
The Alchemist emerges into the moonlit courtyard. She heads toward the well, eyes glinting in the dark. Reaching the grate, she removes the locking bar with a quiet clank. Before heading back inside, she hears footsteps.
Carlo.
She hides quickly behind a pillar, waiting for him to pass. Once he’s gone, she slips out silently and follows.
[Calvierri School - Underground Passage]
The Doctor and Rory move deeper into the tunnels, the torch throwing just enough light to navigate the narrow space.
“She was frightened, I was frightened, my wife was frightened, but we survived, and the relief of it...” The Doctor sighs. “And so she kissed me. Barely.”
“Barely?”
“Barely. I turned, Rory. She tried to kiss my mouth. Disgusting.”
“But you still kissed her.”
“Unwillingly. Rory…” He stops, turning. “I pushed her away. I was furious. I’m still furious. Rory, she kissed me because I was there. It would have been you—it should have been you. I’m married. I’m married and bonded to my actual soulmate and don’t want or need anyone else. Time Lords can’t be with anyone but their Bondmate and I love mine. I love her and would never do something like that.”
“Yeah.”
“Exactly. That’s why we brought you here.”
A sudden gust of wind rushes through the corridor, snuffing out the torch. Darkness swallows them.
The Doctor whispers, “Can we go and see the vampires now, please?”
‘What’s wrong?’ a voice asks in his mind.
‘Torch blew out. I still hate the dark,’ he replies.
The Alchemist sighs gently in his thoughts. ‘Check your inner jacket pocket.’
He does. Relief washes through him—and she feels it too, nodding to herself as she resumes her silent hunt.
[Calvierri School - Underground Chamber]
The Alchemist glides silently down the steps behind Carlo, her shoes making no sound against the stone. She positions herself just within his shadow, cloaked in darkness. Above them, she can still hear the murmur of the Doctor and Rory talking things through. But her focus is here now—on the situation unfolding beneath the school.
In the chamber below, the Signora waits with Francesco and a few of the girls, standing like a court prepared for judgment.
“Unhand them,” the Alchemist says firmly as they enter. Her voice slices through the silence, and the assembled group startles at her sudden command.
The Signora’s gaze sharpens. “You! You had the psychic paper. Did you really think that would work on me?”
A low hum of energy pulses through the chamber. A green light buzzes to life, illuminating the carved stone walls. The Alchemist glances around, taking in the layout, the exits, the faces.
[Calvierri School - Courtyard]
The grate scrapes open above. The Doctor climbs out first, awkwardly standing on Rory’s shoulders to boost himself up.
“Push...” he mutters, clambering free. Once he's out, he reaches back down. “Come on. There we are.” He helps Rory out, then lowers his voice to a whisper. “Ally! Where's Ally? I can't see a thing. Alchemist!”
Rory fumbles in his coat. “Just as well I brought this, then.” He pulls out a small pencil torch.
The Doctor grins and produces something longer and bulkier from beneath his jacket. “Ultraviolet. Portable sunlight. Better than a packed lunch from the wife.”
Rory glances at the device. “Yours is bigger than mine.”
“Let’s not go there,” the Doctor deadpans.
[Calvierri School - Underground Chamber]
The Signora begins to circle the Alchemist, her eyes studying her with curiosity and suspicion. The Time Lady remains still, allowing Carlo to grip her arms and hold her in place without resistance.
“Where are you from?” the Signora demands, voice low and serpentine. “Did you fall through the chasm?”
The Alchemist narrows her eyes. That word—chasm. Does she mean the cracks?
Francesco steps forward impatiently. “Mother, this is pointless. Let's just start the process.”
“Hold your tongue, Francesco!” the Signora snaps. “I need to know what this girl is doing in a world of savages with psychic paper.”
Two girls drag forward a wooden chair fitted with wrist restraints.
“Who are you with? I scarcely believe your idiot brother sent you.”
Francesco installs a hook into an iron eye socket above the chair.
“What are you doing in my school?”
One of the girls attaches an IV bag to the hook.
The Alchemist sighs and rolls her eyes. “Okay, I’ll tell you the whole plan. I'm from Skummeslövsstrand. Try to say that when you’re drunk.”
The Signora scowls. “Put her in the chair.”
Carlo shoves her down roughly. The girls tighten the straps as the Alchemist thrashes for show.
“No! Get your hands off me! Help!” she cries, her tone theatrical.
The Signora smiles, showing sharp teeth. “Oh, make sport of me, will you? Tease me as if I were your dog? Well, this dog has a bite, girl.”
She leans in and sinks her teeth into the Alchemist’s neck.
And then—her eyes shoot wide open.
The Alchemist smirks.
[Calvierri School - Courtyard]
Rory groans. “If we cancel now, we lose the deposit on the village hall, the salsa band...” He exhales, tired of this madness.
The Doctor, meanwhile, flips open a nearby chest. Inside are bones. Dry, brittle, skeletal remains.
Rory’s voice tightens. “What happened to them?”
“They’ve had all the moisture taken out of them…” the Doctor replies, staring grimly.
[Calvierri School - Underground Chamber]
The Signora stumbles back from the Alchemist, recoiling like she’s touched fire. Her face is pale. She looks shaken—haunted.
Carlo and the girls retreat silently, almost instinctively. Francesco stays, though, curious. He leans in, trailing a fingertip along the marks on the Alchemist’s neck.
“Mother... where you drink from her, may we share? I'm so thirsty.”
“Don’t!” the Signora snaps. “She’s not… she’s cold. She’s not human. I don’t even know what she is. Her blood… it tastes strong, powerful.”
[Calvierri School - Courtyard]
Rory frowns. “That's what vampires do, right? They drink your blood and replace it with their own.”
The Doctor nods. “Yeah, except they haven’t just had their blood taken, but all the water in their bodies.”
“So why did they die? Why aren’t they like the girls in the school?”
“Maybe not everyone survives the process…” The Doctor looks away. “I need to get to the Alchemist.”
Rory starts walking away in frustration. Then he stops, turns back, and points directly at the Doctor.
“You know what's dangerous about you? It's not that you make people take risks. It's that you make them want to impress you. You make it so they don't want to let you down. You have no idea how dangerous you make people to themselves when you're around. That goes for the Alchemist too! Obviously, she wants to impress you!”
“She doesn’t need to impress me. I need to impress her!” the Doctor shouts back. The words are out before he can stop them. He winces.
‘Later pile. We will be discussing this as soon as we’re alone,’ comes the sharp voice in his mind.
He squeezes his eyes shut. Of course she heard that.
Suddenly, voices echo from the archways.
“Who are you?”
The girls emerge, each one stepping out from her own shadowed alcove, eyes glowing faintly. The Doctor raises the ultraviolet torch toward them as they advance.
“We should run. Run!” he shouts.
And with that, the Doctor and Rory bolt from the courtyard, the girls in pursuit.
[Calvierri School - Underground Chamber]
The Alchemist tears her body free from the restraints, the leather ripping with ease as she uses her anger to fuel the action. The Signora and Francesco are taken by surprise as she lunges forward, her hands locking around their necks and slamming them against the walls.
"Tell me your whole plan," she demands, her voice cold.
‘Fine. Amara, where are you?’ The Doctor’s voice echoes in her mind.
‘Finding out the whole plan,’ the Alchemist replies, her eyes never leaving the two figures in front of her.
The Signora sneers, "Alright, alright! This is how it works. First, we drink them until they’re dry. Then... then we fill them with our blood. It rages through them like a fire, changing them, until one morning they awake and their humanity is a dream... now faded."
Francesco lets out a dark chuckle. "Or you die."
She answers by slamming him harder against the stone wall. He groans, wincing.
“That can happen, too!” he huffs.
“And if they survive?” she presses, her eyes hard and unrelenting.
The Signora snarls, “Then there are 10,000 husbands waiting for them in the water.”
The Alchemist scoffs. “Yeah, sorry. I’m kind of already married. And not human.”
She kicks the Signora in the shin, sending a shock through the device she heard earlier. The electric hum intensifies.
The Signora stumbles back, stunned by the Alchemist’s move.
Without hesitation, the Alchemist drops them both to the floor, pinching their necks until they slump into unconsciousness.
Pulling back part of the Signora’s dress, the Alchemist reveals a hidden device. It flickers, showing the image of an insectoid fish alien before returning to its human mirage.
“Ah, Sister of the Water under a perception filter. Got it,” the Alchemist mutters with a smirk, already moving toward the door.
The sound of banging and running echoes from upstairs. The Alchemist bolts from the chamber, following the noise.
[Calvierri School - Corridor]
The Doctor and Rory race down the corridor, stopping short when they spot the Alchemist ahead of them.
The Time Lord grins. “Cab for Lady Ally Starlight-Smith?”
She kisses him briefly, her lips brushing against his before they both take off again.
“We need to find Isabella,” she says, voice urgent.
[Calvierri School - Dormitory Corridor]
Isabella, her face twisted in worry, slips out of a room in search of the Alchemist. She saw her in the courtyard and fears for her safety.
A hand suddenly covers her mouth, and she gasps in surprise. But her tension eases when she sees the human expression on her captor.
“Have you seen Ally?” Amy asks, her voice laced with concern as she releases Isabella.
Isabella shakes her head. “I saw her following Carlo in the courtyard, and then she was gone.”
Amy frowns. “Right. Come on.”
The two young women take off, running together.
[Calvierri School - Corridor]
The girls approach from the other end of the corridor, blocking the Alchemist, the Doctor, and Rory’s escape.
The Signora grins. “This rescue plan, not exactly watertight, is it?”
“You would know, wouldn’t you,” the Alchemist growls, stepping forward with a smirk.
The Signora takes a step back.
The Doctor brandishes the ultraviolet light at the girls. “Haha!” he calls out, holding the light in front of them.
Amy and Isabella suddenly burst into the corridor from an intersecting hall.
“Amy!” Rory calls out.
“You were supposed to stay put!” the Doctor adds.
“Not a chance,” she shoots back.
Isabella calls out, “Quickly, through here!”
She darts back the way they came, and Amy, Rory, the Alchemist, and the Doctor follow in hot pursuit. The girls trail them, relentless.
The Signora’s voice echoes behind them. “Seal the house.”
Calvierri School - Underground Stairs
"They're not vampires!" the Alchemist shouts as she barrels down the steps.
"What!?" the Doctor calls back, sonicking a door open.
"I checked the lost children and saw, well, I saw her. They're not vampires from Earth. And they're not Yssgaroth either! They're still aliens, though!"
The Doctor laughs. "Classic! Which ones?"
"That's good news!?" Rory yells. "What is wrong with you people!?"
Behind them, the aliens start hammering at the door. The Doctor and Alchemist push the humans forward.
Calvierri School - Underground Passage
“They’re from Saturnyne,” the Alchemist explains as they rush through the dark. “She’s a Sister of the Water so they are part Yssgaroth but not that much. I don’t know how they’re here though. Something about it is wrong.”
“We’ll find out! Come on, move!” the Doctor urges.
Francesco leads with a torch, growling, wary of the light in the Doctor’s hand.
“Move, move, move!” the Alchemist yells.
“Keep moving! Come on, guys!” the Doctor echoes.
Francesco pushes the girls ahead of him.
[Calvierri School - Canal]
Isabella reaches the door at the canal and quickly ushers the others down the stairs. Guido is waiting by the water, and Isabella is desperate to leave.
The Alchemist swiftly removes the Doctor’s jacket, and he looks at her with confusion.
“Quickly! Get out. Quick!” Isabella urges, stopping in the sunlight and shielding her eyes.
“Isabella, under here!” the Alchemist shouts, tossing the jacket over her head to protect her from the sunlight.
“Oh… smart, dear,” the Doctor says, then bolts toward Isabella. “Come on, run!”
They haul her from the threshold.
The Doctor slams the door shut.
He spasms as the door electrifies. The Time Lord crashes to the ground, and Rory and Amy rush to check on him.
“Is he dead?” Amy asks, voice full of concern.
Rory kneels beside him, checking. “No, he's breathing.”
“He’s fine!” the Alchemist shouts, brushing past them to hand Isabella over to Guido. He carefully hugs his daughter, relief flooding his face. Tears fill his eyes as he holds her close.
“Thank you, thank you,” they both call out between sobs.
The Alchemist kneels beside her husband. His hand lies limply on the stone beside him. She gently curls her fingers around it.
A breath rattles from the Doctor. He gasps awake, blinks at her, then lifts both their hands and pulls them close to his chest. His eyes find hers.
“My Ally, my defender. My beautiful Alchemist. You did it again,” he whispers and kisses her warmly.
Amy looks away, unnoticed by Rory, who smiles softly at the sight.
[Calvierri School - Throne Room]
The Signora strides into her lavish chamber, confident until she sees them—sitting on her throne like they own it. The Doctor lounges casually in the seat, and the Alchemist leans against its left arm, utterly unimpressed. They whistle mockingly at her.
The Alchemist smirks. “Long way from Saturnyne, aren't you... Sister of the Water?”
The Signora lifts her chin, disdain etched into every syllable. “No, let me guess. The owners of the psychic paper. Then I take it you're refugees, like me?”
The Doctor leans forward, voice easy but probing. “We'll make you a deal. An answer for an answer. You're using a perception filter. It doesn't change your features, but manipulates the brainwaves of the person looking at you. But seeing one of you for the first time in, say, a mirror, the brain doesn't know what to fill the gap with, so leaves it blank... hence no reflection.”
She blinks. “Your question?”
“Why can we see your big teeth?”
Before the Signora can answer, the Alchemist cuts in smoothly, “Self-preservation overrides the mirage. The subconscious perceives the threat and tries to alert the conscious brain.”
The Signora nods, impressed. “She’s correct. My turn then? Where are you from?”
“Gallifrey,” they answer together, perfectly in sync.
She gives a sharp, cruel smile. “You should be in a museum. Or in a mausoleum.”
The Alchemist straightens. “Why are you here?”
“We ran from the silence. Why are you here?”
“Wedding present,” the Doctor replies. Then his brow furrows. “The silence?”
“There were cracks. Some were tiny... some were as big as the sky. Through some we saw worlds and people and through others we saw silence... and the end of all things. We fled to an ocean like ours and the crack snapped shut behind us... and Saturnyne was lost.”
“So Earth is to become Saturnyne Mark II?”
“And you can help me.” She steps closer. “We can build a new society here, as others have. What do you say?”
The Alchemist hums and steps forward, lowering her voice as she stops just in front of her. “Who's Isabella?”
“Isabella?”
Together, the Time Lords say, “The girl who we saved.”
The Signora waves a hand, dismissive. “I wouldn’t know, I don’t keep track of their names. It’s unnecessary. I need an answer, Doctor and… you, whoever you are... A partnership. Any which way you choose.”
“I don't think that's such a good idea, do you?” the Doctor says, rising from the throne. “I'm a Time Lord, she’s my Time Lady. You're a big fish. Think of the children. Besides, I’m already happily married to the Alchemist.”
“Carlo!” she calls sharply. Carlo steps forward. “You're right. We're nothing alike. I will bend the heavens to save my race, while you philosophize!”
The Alchemist’s expression darkens. “You have no idea what you’ve just done,” she whispers.
“This ends today,” the Doctor declares. “We'll tear down the House of Calvierri, stone by stone.”
Carlo steps toward him, placing a hand on the Doctor’s chest to push him back. The Alchemist doesn’t hesitate—she grabs Carlo’s wrist and snaps it. He screams.
“Take your hands off him, Carlo.”
Carlo stumbles back to the Signora, cradling his arm. His fear is unmistakable. The Signora’s eyes widen at the display of strength.
The Doctor steps toward the door. He stops, looking back. “And you know why? You didn't know Isabella's name.”
The Alchemist follows, her voice steady and condemning. “You didn't know any of their names.”
The heavy door slams behind them.
[Calvierri School - Entrance]
“Open the gates,” Carlo orders through gritted teeth, his wrist still clutched to his chest.
A guard complies. The gates swing open, and the Doctor and Alchemist walk out with calm fury, never looking back.
[Guido’s House]
The Doctor scans the Alchemist’s neck with the sonic screwdriver while Isabella sips watered-down mead and nibbles bread nearby. The girl is pale, quiet—but safe. The Alchemist, now back in her usual clothes, sits calmly though her hair remains stubbornly brown.
The Doctor sighs. “You're fine, dear. Open wide.”
She grins at him. He pops a lemon drop in her mouth. Immediately after, he groans and begins pacing, agitated.
“I need to think. Come on brain, think, think. Think!” He flops into a chair. “Think!”
Amy steps in. “If they're fish people, it explains why they hate the sun.”
“Stop talking, brain thinking. Hush.” He covers her mouth.
Rory tries to chime in. “It’s the school thing I don’t…”
“Stop talking, brain thinking. Hush.” The Doctor silences him too with a hand.
Guido interjects, “I say we take the fight to them.”
“Ah-ah-ah!”
“What?”
“Ah!” The Doctor motions to Rory, who obediently silences Guido.
“Her planet dies, so they flee through a crack in space and time, and end up here, then she closes off the city and, one by one, changes people into creatures like her to start a new gene pool. Got it. Then what? They come from the sea, they can't survive forever on land, so what's she going to do? Unless... unless she's going to do something to the environment to make the city habitable…”
The Alchemist, calmly sucking on her lemon drop, pipes up. “Of course she is, honey.” She said, ‘I shall bend the heavens to save my race.’”
The Doctor grabs Rory and Amy’s heads and forces them to nod while he listens to his wife’s deduction.
“Bend the heavens... Bend... the heavens…”
Together, the Time Lords shout, “She's going to sink Venice.”
Guido pales. “She’s... she’s going to sink Venice?”
“Our home?” Isabella asks, voice small and frightened.
“And repopulate it with the girls she's transformed,” the Doctor confirms grimly.
“You can't repopulate somewhere with just women. You need... blokes,” Rory points out.
“She’s got the Brothers of the Water,” the Alchemist adds, eyes narrowing.
The Doctor turns to her. “Where?”
“In the canal. She said it to me while I threatened her: ‘There are 10,000 husbands waiting in the water.’”
He shudders. “Only the male offspring survived the journey here. She's got 10,000 children swimming in the canals, waiting for Mum to make them some compatible girlfriends. Ew. I mean, I've been around a bit, but, really, that's... that's... Ew.”
The Alchemist rolls her eyes at the ceiling. “No kidding. We’ve seen tons of gross stuff but that’s something else.”
Something above clatters loudly. Everyone freezes and looks up.
“The people upstairs are very noisy,” the Doctor mutters.
“There aren't any people upstairs,” Guido says.
“I knew you were going to say that. Did anyone else know he was going to say that besides Ally?”
The ceiling creaks ominously.
“It’s them, isn’t it?” Isabella whispers. “They’ve come back for us all.”
“The vampires?” Rory asks.
“Like I said,” the Doctor says, “they’re not vampires. Fish from space.”
“Incoming!” the Alchemist yells, vaulting over the table and wrapping Isabella in the blanket.
Glass shatters. Converted girls burst into the room. More appear at the windows. Everyone leaps to their feet.
The Doctor whips out an ultraviolet light, fending them off. Guido and Isabella cross themselves instinctively.
“Aren't we on the second floor?” Rory yells.
The Doctor flicks on the sonic screwdriver, revealing their true alien forms.
“What’s happened to them?” Guido breathes.
“Is that what they were turning me into?” Isabella whispers, terrified.
Guido pulls her into a tight embrace.
“There’s nothing left of them. They've been fully converted,” the Doctor murmurs. “Blimey, fish from space have never been so…”
“Buxom. It’s okay, I’ll say it,” the Alchemist quips.
The Doctor switches off the screwdriver. “Move. Come on!”
[Outside Guido’s House]
Amy and Rory burst out the front door, startling the chickens. The Alchemist holds the blanket firmly over Isabella’s head, guiding her through the chaos.
“Go, go, go, guys!” the Doctor shouts. “Keep moving, go, go go!”
Guido slams the door behind them. “Stay away from the door, Doctor!”
“Guido, no! They’re still alive!” the Alchemist pleads.
But Guido’s already running. He tosses the lamp through a window and bolts back.
Realization dawns.
“Guido…!” the Doctor turns, grabbing the man and yanking him away just as the house explodes.
Debris flies. The Alchemist rushes over, handing Isabella to Rory.
“Are you both alright?” she asks, frantically checking over the two men.
Guido nods shakily. He rises and immediately goes to Isabella.
The Doctor groans from the ground. The Alchemist helps him up, wrapping her arms tightly around him.
They survey the wreckage together. In the distance, cries of panic rise from the city.
Together, they murmur, “Rosanna's initiating the final phase.”
“Guido, get yourself and Isabella to safety,” the Doctor says firmly.
“Thank you, Doctor. Ally,” Guido says, and he and Isabella vanish into the crowd.
“We need to stop her. Come on!” Amy urges.
“No, no. Get back to the TARDIS,” the Doctor commands.
“Both of you, now,” the Alchemist adds sharply.
“You can't stop her by yourselves!” Amy argues.
“We don't discuss this!” the Doctor snaps. “We tell you to do something, Amy, and you do it. Huh?”
“We are discussing the rules when we are done here, young lady!” the Alchemist yells.
Amy storms off.
Rory follows with a breathless, “Thank you,” and disappears after her.
“Yeah... You're welcome,” the Doctor mutters—then stops.
A scream pierces the air.
He doesn’t hesitate. He grabs the Alchemist’s hand.
Together, they run.
[Calvierri School - Throne Room]
The Doctor and the Alchemist stride into the room with urgency. They make straight for the ornate throne and begin examining it. He crouches, unlocking the panel at the back to expose a hidden tangle of alien circuitry. The familiar hum of his sonic screwdriver fills the air as he scans.
Rosanna watches from the shadows, her voice thick with disdain.
"You're too late. Such determination... just to save one city. Hard to believe it's the same man that let an entire race turn to cinders and ash. Now you can watch as my people take their new kingdom."
The Alchemist turns toward her, eyes sharp. “We both did it for good reason. You, you’re intentionally murdering innocents without needing to.”
Rosanna’s expression hardens as she glares at the Time Lady.
"The girls have gone, Rosanna," the Doctor says evenly.
"You're lying."
"Shouldn't we be dead? Hmm?" the Doctor presses, watching her step back.
The Time Lords speak together, imploring her. "Rosanna, please, help us."
"There are 200,000 people in this city," the Doctor adds.
Rosanna turns away, dismissing them.
The Alchemist suddenly moves, sprinting forward and seizing Rosanna’s arm.
Her voice is low but furious. “This, this is genocide. This is what happened to our planet and you’re causing it. Know that and live with it or help.”
She shoves Rosanna aside.
Without another word, Rosanna leaves.
The Time Lords turn back to the throne.
“We can’t stop it from here. There’s a secondary hub somewhere. We need to work together. You go find it and I’ll tear this thing to shreds,” the Alchemist says, already cracking her knuckles.
“Love you!” the Doctor calls as he rushes off.
“And I love you!” she replies without hesitation, already plunging her hands into the throne's core, tearing through wires and circuits with terrifying efficiency.
[Calvierri School - Bell Tower]
The Doctor steps out onto the balcony, eyes sweeping the city below. The storm rages overhead. The bell tolls, echoing ominously. He ducks back inside.
[Calvierri School - Throne Room]
Amy and Rory enter from the side door just as the Doctor rushes through the main entrance.
“Get out! We need to stabilise the storm!”
"We're not leaving you," Rory insists.
The Doctor halts, exasperated. “Right, so one minute it's, 'You make people a danger to themselves,' the next it's, 'We're not leaving you!' But if one of you gets squashed or blown up or eaten, who gets…”
The ground suddenly quakes. Chunks of the ceiling fall. The three hit the floor.
"What was that?" Rory gasps.
"Nothing. Bit of an earthquake," the Doctor mutters, scrambling upright.
"An earthquake?" Amy repeats incredulously.
"Manipulate the elements, it can trigger earthquakes. But don't worry about them."
"No?" Rory frowns.
“No,” the Alchemist cuts in sharply. “Worry about the tidal waves the earthquake’s about to summon. Priorities.”
The Doctor looks toward the throne, where the Alchemist is elbow-deep in circuitry. Sparks fly.
“Right, Rosanna's throne is the control hub but she's locked the program, so tear out every single wire and circuit in the throne like my wife is. Go crazy. Hit it with a stick, anything.”
“We need it to shut down and re-route control to the secondary hub, which I theorize will also be the generator,” the Alchemist instructs, stepping back so Amy and Rory can continue the destruction.
The storm howls louder.
[Calvierri School - Bell Tower]
Now high in the tower, the Doctor and Alchemist follow the cables, trying to trace the source of the storm’s power. Rain lashes the windows, thunder booming overhead.
The Alchemist winces and raises a hand to her temple, telepathically blocking the overwhelming noise. Her ears can’t filter out the storm anymore—so she silences everything but voices.
“We need to find the generator…” she says urgently.
“You can’t hear the bell tolling right now but I can and it’s loud!” the Doctor yells, pointing upward.
They race toward the deafening toll, the Doctor clamping his hands over his ears.
[Calvierri School - Throne Room]
Amy and Rory tear out wires, working furiously. Sparks burst from the throne as pieces of tech fly.
[Calvierri School - Bell Tower]
The Doctor grabs the clapper of one of the massive bells.
“Shut up! Shut up!” he snaps, swinging it still. The sound halts abruptly. He exhales, relieved, and jumps down.
He grabs a cable, tries pulling it—no luck.
“I’m going up,” he mutters.
But the Alchemist grabs his wrist. “No, my balance is better.”
She climbs up onto the railing, then grips a rain-slick column. Frowning at her footing, she kicks off her boots and peels off her socks, tossing them to the Doctor.
Then she begins to climb.
[Calvierri School - Main Gate]
Amy and Rory burst into the courtyard. Rory scans upward.
“There he is! Where’s Ally?”
The Doctor points up, clutching her boots tightly, worry etched into his face.
[Calvierri School - Bell Tower]
The Alchemist ascends, hand-over-hand along the thick cable. The rain pelts her skin as she nears the huge metal sphere at the tower's peak.
[Calvierri School - Main Gate]
“Come on!” Rory urges.
“She’s got it,” the Doctor says, forcing confidence into his voice. But he hates this. Hates when she goes off alone. They're better together.
[Calvierri School - Bell Tower]
At the top, the Alchemist opens the sphere to find the storm generator inside. She rolls her eyes at it.
[Calvierri School - Main Gate]
Amy and Rory bounce on their feet, anxious.
“Come on! Come on!” they shout.
“Shush, she can hear you!” the Doctor hisses, dropping her boots to clamp a hand over each of their mouths.
[Calvierri School - Bell Tower]
The Alchemist grips the toggle switch, then flips it easily.
Everything stops. The storm breaks. Rain ceases. Wind dies. Birds begin to sing again.
[Calvierri School - Main Gate]
Amy and Rory burst into relieved laughter and hug. The Doctor joins them, pulling them both into a hug with a long exhale.
[Calvierri School - Bell Tower]
The Alchemist secures the sphere, then peers down and gives a cheeky little wave. She blows a kiss.
“You did it!” Rory calls.
The Doctor catches the kiss midair and slips it into his coat pocket. “Please come down now, dear! And don’t jump!”
She slides down about fifteen feet… and jumps anyway, landing in a crouch.
[Calvierri School - Main Gate]
“I waited fifteen feet? That was just ten, honey,” she argues when the Doctor rolls his eyes at her landing.
“You can… jump ten feet?” Rory asks, wide-eyed.
Amy shrugs. “I’m not yet unconvinced that she’s actually a superhero.”
[Calvierri School - Quay]
Rosanna Signora walks alone to the edge of the water. She pulls at the perception filter, but it fizzles and dies. Peeling off her gloves, she strips down to her chemise. The water begins to bubble as she steps onto the plank.
The Time Lords find her there, watching silently.
“Rosanna!”
“Don’t do this, Rosanna. We know how it feels. We can bring you all somewhere safe. Find another method for you to begin anew,” the Alchemist pleads, stepping forward.
Rosanna shakes her head, eyes distant. “One city to save an entire species. Was that so much to ask?”
“Yes, it is. Because that would be genocide and that’s wrong!” the Alchemist shouts.
The Doctor steps toward her, gentle but firm. “I told you, you can't go back and change time. You mourn but you live. I know, Rosanna, I did it. The Alchemist and I both did it.”
Rosanna turns her head, voice suddenly soft. “Tell me, Doctor... Alchemist… can your consciences carry the weight of another dead race? Remember us. Dream of us.”
She steps forward and falls into the water.
“No... No!” the Doctor cries, rushing to the edge.
The water stills.
The Doctor stares into the depths. Slowly, he straightens.
Beside him, the Alchemist glares down into the water, her fury quiet but searing. Rosanna gave up—on her people, on her children. And that… she cannot forgive.
[Venice - Marketplace]
The storm has passed, and the market square begins to breathe again. Townsfolk emerge from their homes, sweeping away debris, righting toppled carts, and checking on their neighbors. The air smells of damp stone and renewal.
The Doctor, Amy, and Rory stroll back toward the TARDIS, their steps a little lighter now. Not far off, the Alchemist finishes speaking with Guido, her hand resting warmly on his shoulder. Beside them, his daughter beams as the Time Lady presses a large pouch of coins into Guido’s palm.
“You’ll have enough to rebuild,” she tells him softly. “Somewhere safe. Somewhere dry.”
Guido nods, words failing him, but gratitude written clearly on his face.
Back at the TARDIS, the Doctor claps his hands once and turns to his companions with a grin.
“Now, then, what about you two, eh? Next stop Leadworth Register Office? Maybe I can give you away.”
Rory opens his mouth to object, awkward and unsure. “It's fine. Drop me back where you found me. I'll just say you've…”
“Stay with us. Please,” Amy interrupts, stepping closer. Her eyes search his face. “Just for a bit. I want you to stay.”
The Doctor shrugs with a smile. “Fine with me… and… hold on…”
“It’s fine with me, too!” the Alchemist calls, jogging up to them from across the square. She beams and launches herself into the group.
The Doctor catches her effortlessly, spins her by the waist, and dips her low in a dramatic flourish. She laughs brightly, eyes dancing.
Rory watches the display, still a little stunned, but finally says, “Yeah? Yes, I would like that.”
The Alchemist cheers, throwing her arms around them all in a spontaneous group hug.
Amy raises an eyebrow with a smirk and kisses Rory’s cheek. “Nice one.” She turns toward the TARDIS, pulling out the key and unlocking the door. “I will pop the kettle on.” As she steps inside, she glances over her shoulder with satisfaction. “Hey, look at this. Got my spaceship, got my boys and my girl. My work here is done.” The door swings shut behind her.
Rory scoffs, glancing sidelong at the Doctor. “We are not her boys.”
“And I am not her girl,” the Alchemist adds sharply, crossing her arms and glaring at the closed door.
The Doctor gives Rory a teasing clap on the shoulder. “Yeah, but you are.”
Rory pauses… then lets out a sheepish chuckle. “Yeah, I am.”
They begin to follow Amy into the TARDIS, but just as Rory reaches the threshold, the Doctor catches his arm and gently pulls him back.
“Rory, listen to that.”
Rory frowns. “What? All I can hear is... silence.” He shrugs and walks inside.
The Doctor remains in the doorway, staring out into the still, grey streets of Venice. The Signora’s last words echo in his mind: “Can your consciences carry the weight of another dead race?”
His face tightens.
“Ally, turn your sensory blockers off,” he says quietly.
The Alchemist pauses mid-step. She closes her eyes, concentrates—then her brow furrows.
“You hear it?” the Doctor asks.
She nods slowly, troubled. “I haven’t been hearing it, which is a problem.”
The Doctor doesn’t answer. He looks out across the marketplace one last time, then lets out a quiet sigh.
He closes the TARDIS door behind them.
[TARDIS Console Room]
The Alchemist and the Doctor take the TARDIS into the Vortex. A quick glance between them, a shared nod—and then they both turn to the couple.
“It’s time you learned about the rules,” the Doctor says.
Amy laughs. “You mean like the one where you don’t interfere and it’s all very nature documentary?”
They shake their heads in unison. The Alchemist replies evenly, “No, Amelia Pond. The real rules. Let’s go to the sitting room.”
She turns to her Bondmate. “Which one?”
“The blue one,” the Doctor replies. “Stick to that kitchen too. I like the blue kitchen.”
They descend the stairs, make two sharp turns, and push through a set of blue doors into the blue sitting room.
[TARDIS Blue Sitting Room]
“Grab a seat at the table in the back, Amelia Pond, Moonlight,” the Alchemist says, her tone dry as she quotes Amy's own words back at her. “I’ll pop on the kettle.”
She disappears into the kitchen. The others settle at the round table.
“She keeps calling me by my full name,” Amy murmurs, finally noticing.
The Doctor nods. “Just be glad she’s not making you call her the Alchemist. That means you’ve still got a shot at forgiveness.”
Amy frowns. “What do you mean?”
She genuinely likes the Alchemist. The Time Lady has protected her, joked with her. She doesn’t want to lose that.
“That’s what she does when she’s upset. Only her friends call her Ally.”
“What’s with the nicknames anyway?” Rory asks. He doesn’t blame the Alchemist for being angry. Honestly, he feels it too.
The Doctor sighs. “She’s just... doing it again. Used to, ages ago. Stopped for a while. Now it’s back. That’s all. Honest.”
The Alchemist returns, balancing a three-tiered tray of tea treats. She sets it in the center of the table.
“Need a hand, Ally?” Rory asks. He wants to talk, to understand where she stands in all this.
She smiles gently at him. “That would be lovely, Moonlight. I can carry the other trays, but an extra set of hands wouldn’t hurt.”
He gets up to follow her into the kitchen.
Amy watches them go, eyes narrowed in thought. “He’s Moonlight. You’re Honey. River’s Shinygirl...” She sighs. “And I was Sunshine.”
“Make it up to her,” the Doctor says, watching the custard tarts with intent. “Prove you deserve forgiveness—and she’ll call you that again.”
Amy swallows. “How? I shouldn't have done what I did and now she... she hates me. Like that other girl, doesn’t she?”
The Doctor snorts. “Trust me, if you were the Brat, you'd be noodlefied into a black hole by now.”
“Brat?” Amy repeats.
He nods. “Brat. She’s the one who really tried to get between us before.”
“She said she almost choked her to death,” Amy says, stunned.
“Because she did. I was going to let her. Her brother stepped in, said she wasn’t worth losing her powers over. And Ally said, ‘You’re right—she’s worthless,’ and dropped her from where she was holding her up by the neck.”
Amy winces, a tear slipping down her cheek.
“She was... she is really hurt, Amy,” the Doctor says gently.
“About both things,” Amy whispers.
He shrugs. “About a lot of things. But it’s not my place to say. What is mine to say: you hurt her.”
“And you?” she asks.
Another shrug. No confirmation. No denial.
Amy nods slowly. “How do I make it up to you?”
“Prove you mean it. I usually go with my wife’s read on people. If she trusts you again, you’ll know.”
Amy sighs and looks up at the star-filled ceiling, lost in thought.
[First Blue Kitchen]
“Go ahead and talk, Rory. I’m listening,” the Alchemist says as she removes the teabags from the pot. “And… in a way, I understand.”
Rory sighs, pouring milk into the little pitcher. “I’m so upset. I know you are too. Part of me wants to just... call it off. But I…”
“You love her,” she finishes for him.
He nods, watching as she effortlessly squeezes multiple lemons by hand into a glass pitcher of sugar. He decides not to comment. She had jumped ten feet earlier—it’s probably just another alien thing.
“The Doctor mentioned something earlier,” Rory explains. “Bondmates?”
“We’re soulmates, Rory. Literal soulmates. It hurts us to be apart. We’re connected by multiple bonds as Time Lords,” she says.
Rory shakes his head. “I couldn’t imagine that.”
“That’s because you wouldn’t fully understand as a human… You know, I chose to leave the Doctor once,” the Alchemist says. “Well, I didn’t choose it. We were separated. Over two hundred years apart. And I didn’t even remember his name… or the names of our children.”
She stirs ice into the lemonade. “Love is powerful, Rory. If you love her—don’t give up. Not yet.”
“You’re parents? That makes this worse. I feel like she only sees him,” Rory says quietly. “Not me. Neither of us, really.”
The Alchemist drops the wooden spoon into the sink, sighs heavily.
“Yes, but tell no one,” she continues, voice softer but edged in steel. "I imagine it's awful—loving someone who's looking at someone else. I had a different experience with the Brat, it didn't matter what I did. I tried to be her friend. I tried. But she just kept... digging into my soul. Hurting me again and again to get to the Doctor."
She exhales. “Even the small digs hurt. Amelia keeps calling him out first. That’s what the Brat did. I didn’t fight back hard enough. Kept giving her chances. She stayed too long because of it.”
“That’s horrible,” Rory says. “I’m sorry. What would you suggest I do?”
She hums, placing the lemonade and three teacups on a tray.
Then, eyes blazing, she turns to him. “You fight, Rory Williams. Fight for your heart. And if it comes to it—I’ll willingly give up my abilities for you. I’ll drop her into Amy’s Pond if you ask me to.”
He blinks. “You really did make a black hole and name it Amy’s Pond, didn’t you?”
“I really, truly did,” she replies. “By Gallifreyan law, she should be dead. She gets one chance. No second. No third. I don’t do that anymore.”
She lifts the tray and heads for the door. Rory grabs the second one and follows.
[TARDIS - Blue Sitting Room]
They return, quietly placing the trays on the table. Together, they pass out cups, saucers, and dessert plates. The Alchemist sets the lemonade in front of the Doctor, who pouts.
“Why don’t I get tea?”
“Because you hate tea,” she replies, pulling the straw from her pocket. “Tannins, I think. You get fizzy lemonade.”
“Is this my special straw?”
Amy smiles faintly as she stirs her tea.
“So, what are these rules?” Rory asks, taking a tuna salad sandwich.
“They’re very important,” the Doctor says, popping his lips at the tangy sweetness of his drink.
“The most,” the Alchemist agrees.
“How many are there?” Amy asks.
“Four hundred and fifty,” the Time Lords reply, chipper.
The humans gape.
“We don’t expect you to learn them all today… or even need them all,” the Alchemist says.
“Yes we do,” the Doctor counters, mouth full.
The Alchemist rolls her eyes. “We’ll start with ten.”
They both exhale, relieved.
“Rule One!” the Doctor declares. “The most important rule of all…”
“The Doctor lies, but the Alchemist withholds the truth until the right moment,” the Time Lady interrupts.
“Rule One,” the Doctor insists, trying to continue.
Amy frowns. “Wait, you already said Rule One.”
“Exactly. Catch up!” the Doctor beams.
“Rule One. We’re in charge,” the Alchemist adds.
“Rule One. Do exactly as we say.”
The humans exchange glances but go ignored.
“Rule One. Stick close to us.”
“Rule One. Don’t wander off,” the Doctor says, pointing at Amy, then Rory.
The Time Lady sighs. “Rule One. Use your enemies’ power against them.”
He nods solemnly. “Rule One. Never use weapons.”
“Rule One. There’s always a plan—wait for my theory to be conclusive first,” she finishes.
“That’s… eight Rule Ones,” Rory notes.
“Yes, and?” the Doctor says, sipping.
“Why not just make them Rules One through Eight?”
The Time Lords shake their heads.
“That defeats the purpose of Rule One,” the Alchemist says. “They’re all Rule One because they’re that important.”
Rory nods slowly. Amused, he and Amy turn their attention to their tea and treats.
“Rule Two!” the Doctor announces. “Neither of us is the Professor. She’s the Alchemist. I’m the Doctor.”
“Rule Three. Let us do all the talking. Also Rule Three, for me—always have a backup plan,” the Alchemist says, finishing her tea.
The Doctor looks at her as he continues. “Rule Four. We don't walk away… unless we’re holding something precious.”
She smiles. “Rule Five. Never leave a timeline more broken than you found it.”
“Rule Six. Never use weapons—unless the damage can be repaired,” he adds.
Both humans raise their brows at that.
“Rule Seven. Never run when you’re scared,” the Alchemist says.
The Doctor reaches for another custard. “Rule Eight! Never ignore a coincidence. Unless you’re busy. Then always ignore it—but tell Ally about it first.”
“Rule Nine. Don’t interrupt the Alchemist when she’s angry,” the Time Lady says with mock contrition.
“Oof, yeah. Definitely follow that one. Rule Ten! Don’t eat anything unless you’re sure it’s safe. Unless it’s a badly cooked kronkburger—in which case, don’t eat at all,” the Doctor finishes.
Amy squints. “So… don’t use weapons, unless you can fix it?”
“Exactly,” the Alchemist says. “Unless it’s a wall or a window—fair game. Lives? Can’t be repaired.”
Rory frowns. “So there are nineteen rules?”
“Keep up, Rory,” the Doctor says breezily. “There are ten rules, eight Rule Ones, and two Rule Threes. The second Rule Three only applies to my wife and you. My plans are perfect.”
“Ah,” Rory mutters.
Amy asks, “What’s a kronkburger?”
The Time Lords shrug.
The Doctor says, “We don’t know. But they’re delicious… until they’re not.”
Then he pauses, frowning. The Alchemist hasn’t eaten anything. He nudges a couple of mini quiches and a brownie onto her plate.
She rolls her eyes, takes a dramatic bite of the quiche, chews slowly, and swallows.
‘Rule 443: Make sure the Alchemist eats at meals,’ the Doctor says in her mind, severe.
‘Rule 451: Make sure your Bondmate knows he doesn’t need to prove he’s worthy of you—he was born worthy,’ she answers, equally firm.
‘I’ll… work on it. I just feel like I’m not worthy of you anymore, Amara,’ he admits quietly, eyes down.
She shakes her head, lifts his chin.
‘We’re worthy of each other. Who are we?’ she asks.
‘The Fated Pair,’ he sighs and nods as she lets him go.
‘Good, besides. If those injections worked, I should be fine. I do happen to be hungry.’
The Alchemist grins and nibbles the second quiche. He responds by piling more food on her plate.
Rory stares. “What’s wrong with them?”
“They’re talking telepathically,” Amy explains with a shrug.
“Ah.”
Then the Alchemist’s phone rings—Cat People (Putting Out the Fire). She sighs, checks the time of the other line, and answers at ‘Feel my blood enraged?’ while rising and walking toward a side room.
“This better be an emergency. You know I hate being interrupted on my weekend. What is it?” she asks.
The humans gape and turn to the Doctor.
“What? She’s got a job. Big deal,” he says, popping the last custard tart into his mouth whole.
“I’m just shocked she has a cellphone,” Amy mutters.
Rory tilts his head. “What’s her job? And… it’s the weekend?”
The Doctor checks his wristwatch and nods. “It’s Saturday—for us. Hard to keep track in a time machine. She runs a company with someone called Torchwood. Don’t know what year they called from, but if they’re calling today? It’s serious.”
“How do you know it’s Torchwood?” Amy asks.
Rory leans in. “Did she tell you in your mind?”
The Doctor snorts. “No. It’s the song. David Bowie. Cat People. It’s a running joke now but—well… long story.”
Amy arches a brow. “Is it really long, or would you just take forever to tell it?”
The Doctor mock-glares. “Technically… both. But fine. I’ll attempt to shorten it.”
[Attached Blue Office]
“It’s important, promise, Chosen Sister of mine,” Jack says on the other end of the line.
The Alchemist sighs and sinks into her chair. “You’re calling me from 2011, I’m a bit backwards right now, so leave out names and any past events, alright? I can’t throw off my Timestream—you know how it is.”
“Yeah, got it. I accidentally made someone immortal. Blood transfusion.”
She groans loudly. “Is this that Miracle Day bullshit?”
“Oh. So you do know,” he says, surprised.
“’Course I know. And he’s not immortal—I’d have sensed him the moment he became a fixed point. Just run Hemodialysis. Use a solution with 13% nulium. Any current Earth kidney dialysis tech will work—full four-hour cycle. Do a cut test afterward and you’ll know for sure. And destroy your fucking blood, Javic Piotr Thane.” She hangs up.
Later, she gets a text from Jack:
“It worked, thank u. I destroyed the blood and the whole machine using that chemical u gave me. Sorry, Allycat. U OK though? U don’t usually get mad, let alone curse. Or… real-name me.”
She exhales and replies:
“Sorry. Issues with the Time Vortex… and our current companion. The former’s going to be a disaster, but the latter might be manageable.”
“Damn. Good luck. Call if u need me, alrite?” he texts back.
She quirks a half-smile and sends a thumbs-up and a blue heart emoji as she exits the room.
[TARDIS - Blue Sitting Room]
“...Long story short, there were some evil cat people involved. I think he called us for help. Not entirely sure. Oh, and he called her a cat person once before—hence the joke. Anyway, Ally already knew who he was. I didn’t—though I’d met him before, in two forms. We saved everyone. Again. That’s about it, really,” the Doctor finishes with a nod.
The companions stare blankly at him. That was not a short story. He could’ve just said the last bit.
“He did message us for help, that part’s true,” the Alchemist adds.
The Doctor pulls her into his lap before she can take her seat.
“So… what do you do for your job, then?” Amy asks, intrigued.
She shrugs. “Same as usual, plus extras. Save the Earth, other planets, do science-y research things.”
The Doctor nudges her plate toward her and hands her a small sandwich. She frowns, puts it down, and selects another.
“What’s wrong with that one?” Rory asks, chuckling.
“Salmon. They smelled like fish. I knew immediately—just didn’t know what kind. Imagine having a ridiculously sharp sense of smell. That’s me. That’s what I deal with.” She takes a bite of the cucumber sandwich instead.
Rory winces. “Do you both have that?”
“No,” she replies shortly. “And that’s not something I’m discussing right now.”
Amy smirks. “Rule One.”
The Time Lords nod in unison. “Rule One.”
Chapter Text
[Front garden]
The TARDIS materializes with its familiar groaning wheeze, settling unevenly in the front garden of the Williams’ home. The Doctor leans toward the door and peeks outside, already half-grinning.
“You’re coming,” he calls over his shoulder.
“Only to see Moonlight,” the Alchemist replies, dryly.
He rolls his eyes and swings the door open fully, stepping out—and immediately grimaces. The landing has wrecked the flower beds, and his boots are not helping.
Rory opens the front door with an easy smile, he has a ponytail.
“Rory!” the Doctor exclaims, bounding forward and clapping him on the shoulders in a fond hug.
“Doctor,” Rory greets, returning it.
The Doctor glances down and winces. “I've crushed your flowers.”
Rory winces in turn. “Oh, Amy will kill you. Where’s Ally?”
“Here, Moonlight,” the Alchemist sighs, stepping out and shutting the TARDIS door behind her.
The Doctor scans the doorway. “Where is she?”
“She'll need a bit longer,” Rory answers.
“Whenever you're ready, Amy,” the Doctor calls out.
Amy waddles into view.
“Oh, way-hey! You’ve swallowed a planet.”
“She’s pregnant,” the Alchemist informs him, deadpan.
“Exactly. I'm pregnant,” Amy says.
“You're huge,” the Doctor marvels.
“Yeah, I'm pregnant,” Amy repeats, unamused.
“Look at you. When worlds collide.”
“Preg…nant,” the Time Lady echoes, drawing out the word with bemused disdain.
“Doctor, I'm pregnant,” Amy states firmly.
“Oh, look at you both. Five years later and you haven't changed a bit, apart from age and size,” the Doctor says warmly.
“Oh, it’s good to see you, Doctor, Alchemist,” Amy replies.
“Mm, hello, Amelia Williams,” the Alchemist says coolly, giving her a terse once-over.
Amy tries to smile but doesn’t quite succeed.
“Are you pregnant?” the Doctor asks, clearly still catching up.
The Alchemist rolls her eyes and smacks him lightly in the ribs with the back of her hand. He yelps, then laughs, wrapping his arm around his Bondmate’s waist.
[Leadworth]
The wind drifts softly through the still streets of Leadworth as the group walks along a quiet lane. The Doctor takes a deep breath and throws his arms wide.
“Ah, Leadworth. Vibrant as ever.”
“It’s so very… silent here,” the Alchemist murmurs with a grimace, casting a wary look at the motionless windows and empty sidewalks.
Rory beams. “Great, right? It's Upper Leadworth, actually. We've gone slightly upmarket.”
The Doctor squints around. “Where is everyone?”
Amy gestures around them, matter-of-fact. “This is busy. Okay, it’s quiet, but it’s really restful and healthy. Loads of people here live well into their nineties.”
As they pass one of the cottages, an old woman twitches her net curtains, spying on them from behind the glass.
“Well, don’t let that get you down,” the Doctor says.
“It’s not getting me down,” Amy insists.
“Well, we wanted to see how you were,” the Doctor says earnestly. “You know us, we don't just abandon people when they leave the TARDIS. These Time Lords are for life. You don't get rid of your old pals the Doctor and the Alchemist so easily.”
“True… enough,” the Alchemist agrees, voice soft with a hint of warning.
Amy narrows her eyes, remembering. “Hmm. You came here by mistake, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, bit of a mistake. But look, what a result,” the Doctor says quickly, changing tack. “Look at this bench. What a nice bench. What will they think of next? So. What do you do around here to stave off the, you know…”
“Boredom,” Amy supplies.
“Self-harm,” the Doctor counters, deadpan.
“We relax,” Rory offers.
The Doctor blinks. “Relax.”
“What about… this… is relaxing?” the Alchemist asks, arching an eyebrow.
“The quiet, you know?” Rory says. “Very relaxing. We live. We listen to the birds.”
“Yeah, see? Birds,” Amy says. “Those are nice.”
“We didn’t get time to listen to birdsong back in the TARDIS days, did we?” Rory adds, nostalgic.
A sharp trill cuts through the air, piercing and aggressive. The Alchemist covers her ears.
“That is loud, that is a proper loud bird. I thought it was quiet here?”
“Oh blimey, my head’s a bit—ooh,” the Doctor says, wincing and pressing his fingers to his temples. “Er, no, you’re right, there wasn’t a lot of time for birdsong back in the good old…”
Without warning, the group sways where they sit.
Their eyelids droop.
And then, as one, Rory, Amy, the Alchemist, and the Doctor collapse into sudden sleep.
[TARDIS]
The Doctor blinks awake on the console room floor, groaning softly. The Alchemist stirs beside him, already pushing herself upright. They glance at each other, disoriented, dusting themselves off.
“Days. What? No, yes, sorry, what?” the Doctor mutters, rubbing his temple.
“I mean, we were both out so we both…” the Alchemist trails off, her voice cautious.
He catches sight of Rory and Amy—not pregnant—entering the room and lets out a breath of pure relief. “Oh, you're okay. Oh, thank God. We had a terrible nightmare about you two. That was scary. Don't ask. You don't want to know. You're safe now.”
“That was… not right,” the Alchemist murmurs, eyes narrowing as she studies their friends carefully.
The Doctor pulls Amy into a hug and then claps Rory on the shoulder.
Amy laughs tightly, patting his back with an awkward hand. “Oh, okay.”
He steps away from them and returns to the Alchemist’s side. “That's what counts. Blimey. Never dropped off like that before. Well, never, really. I'm getting on a bit, you see. Don’t let the cool gear fool you. Now, what's wrong with the console? Red flashing lights. I bet they mean something.”
“It means we’re about to hit something,” the Alchemist says, moving to the console with a frown. “Yeah, the last time I knocked out like that was… well, I don’t know when. We always dreamshare, but we don’t just… fall asleep like that, Doctor.”
Rory blinks. “Dreamshare? Hit what!?”
“Dreamshare,” she repeats. “We have the same dreams when we sleep. Literally in them together. And I have no idea, but the shields are up so we’ll be fine.”
Rory nods slowly. “Got it. Alien thing. But er… I also had a kind of dream thing.”
“Yeah, so did I,” Amy adds, looking confused.
Rory turns to her. “Really? I didn’t have a nightmare, though, just… er, we were married.”
“Yeah. In a little village,” Amy says, frowning.
“A sweet little village, and you were pregnant,” Rory says with a fond smile.
Amy stares at him. “Yes, I was huge. I was a boat.”
“So you had the same dream, then? Exactly the same dream?” Rory asks.
She crosses her arms. “Are you calling me a boat?”
Rory winces, trying not to smile. “And Doctor, Ally, you were visiting.”
“Yeah, yeah, you came to our cottage… but you made me call you the Alchemist,” Amy says, nodding.
Rory frowns. “How can we have the same dream? It doesn't make any sense. We’re not aliens.”
Amy narrows her eyes at the Doctor. “And you had a nightmare about us. What happened to us in the nightmare?”
“It was a bit similar, in some aspects,” the Doctor replies, hedging.
“Which aspects?” Rory presses.
The Doctor and the Alchemist speak at the same time. “Well, all of them.”
Amy stares. “You had the same dream.”
“Basically,” the Doctor says.
Rory raises a brow. “You said it was a nightmare.”
“Did I say nightmare? No, more of a really good mare. Look, it doesn't matter. We all had some kind of psychic episode. We probably jumped a time track or something. Forget it. We’re back to reality now.”
“Mm, maybe,” the Alchemist says, eyeing the red flashing light again, her expression unsettled.
She hesitates. “It’s odd, I feel I’ve forgotten something important.”
“You don’t forget anything,” the Doctor says, a note of concern in his voice.
“I…” she begins, but a sound interrupts her.
The birdsong.
Amy tilts her head. “Doctor? If we're back to reality, how come I can still hear birds?”
Rory’s eyes go wide. “Yeah, the same birds. The same ones we heard in the…”
His voice trails off as they all drop to the ground, once more, asleep.
[Leadworth]
Rory jolts upright on the park bench, head snapping up from where it had slumped onto the Doctor’s shoulder. His heart races as he blinks at the surroundings, struggling to reorient himself.
“Dream. Oh! Sorry. Nodded off. Stupid. God, I must be overdoing it. I was dreaming we were back on the TARDIS,” he mutters, shaking his head.
The Alchemist stirs on the Doctor’s lap, blinking with slow, unfocused eyes before rising to her feet. Her expression is guarded, wary. The Doctor adjusts his braces, then stands without a word, helping her steady herself and pulling her with him as he walks off briskly.
Amy watches them go, her brow furrowed. She stands, Rory following at her side, slower and clearly unsettled.
“You had the same dream, didn’t you?” Rory asks.
“Weren’t we just saying the same thing?” Amy replies, glancing sideways at him.
“But we thought this was the dream, didn’t we?”
“I think so,” she says, rubbing her temple. “Why do dreams have to fade so quickly?”
Rory turns to the Time Lords, now a few steps ahead. “Ally, Doctor, what is going on?”
Amy’s voice sharpens with suspicion. “Is this because of you? Is this some Time Lordy thing because you’ve both shown up again?”
The Doctor and the Alchemist stop abruptly, pivoting on their heels to face them with a sudden intensity.
“Listen to us. Trust nothing,” the Doctor warns.
“From this moment forward,” the Alchemist adds, her voice steel. “trust nothing you see, hear, or feel. Nothing at all. Is that clear, Moonlight? Amelia Williams?”
“But we’re awake now,” Rory protests.
“Yeah. You thought you were awake on the TARDIS, too,” the Doctor counters.
“But we’re home,” Amy says, voice trembling slightly.
“Yeah, you’re home.”
“You’re also dreaming,” they say together, in eerie unison.
“Trouble is, Rory, Amy, which is which?” the Doctor presses. “Are we flashing forwards or backwards? Hold on tight. This is going to be a tricky one.”
A familiar sound slices through the air—birdsong, unnatural and wrong.
The Alchemist spins toward the Doctor, her expression panicked, and collapses before she can say a word. He catches her instinctively and carries her quickly to the bench, laying her down with care.
“Is she alright, Doctor?” Amy asks, rushing to his side.
The Doctor glances at her, face grim.
“Everyone sit. We’re going back to sleep.”
[TARDIS]
The TARDIS shudders, systems flickering, as the Doctor circles the console like a stormcloud in tweed.
“Oh, this is bad. I don't like this,” he mutters, then gives the console a sharp kick.
He yelps, hopping on one leg. “Argh. Never use force. You just embarrass yourself. Unless you're cross, in which case, always use force.”
“Rule Fifty-One…” the Alchemist reminds him from where she stands beside the console, one hand on its edge. Her voice is soft but pointed. “But let’s not take it out on Bluette, hm? I do still feel it when you get hurt, honey.”
The Doctor winces, guilt flashing behind his eyes. “Right. Sorry.”
“Forgiven, always,” she replies gently.
Amy leans forward. “Shall I run and get the manual?”
“I threw it in a supernova,” the Doctor answers flatly.
Amy blinks. “You threw the manual in a supernova? Why?”
“Because I disagreed with it. Stop talking to me when I'm cross.”
“It’s fine,” the Alchemist cuts in, turning to the controls. “I have it memorized. But the system isn’t right.”
Rory steps in, trying to make sense of the chaos. “Okay, but whatever's wrong with the TARDIS—is that what caused us to dream about the future?”
“If we were dreaming of the future,” the Doctor counters.
“We might not be dreaming too,” the Alchemist adds, her tone more cautious than usual. “Connecting psychically to a human from a distance? Not easy.”
Amy folds her arms. “Well, of course we were. We were in Leadworth.”
“Upper Leadworth,” Rory clarifies.
“Yeah, and we could still be in Upper Leadworth, dreaming of this,” the Doctor says, voice rising. “Don’t you get it?”
“No, okay? No,” Amy snaps. “This is real. I’m definitely awake now.”
“And you thought you were definitely awake when you were all elephanty,” the Doctor points out.
“Hey. Pregnant,” Amy corrects him, eyes narrowing.
“And you could be giving birth right now. This could be the dream. We told you. Trust nothing we see or hear or feel. Look around you. Examine everything. Look for all the details that don’t ring true.”
Rory scoffs, looking around. “Okay, we’re in a spaceship that’s bigger on the inside than the outside.”
Amy joins in. “With a bow tie-wearing alien and another alien that wears green cowboy boots and a matching motorcycle jacket.”
“So maybe what rings true isn’t so simple,” Rory concludes.
“Valid point,” the Doctor shrugs.
“There’s nothing wrong with the bowtie or cowboy boots. Come off it already,” the Alchemist rolls her eyes before pausing and rounding on them. “Wait, are you insulting my jacket now, too?”
Then, without warning, the TARDIS powers down. The lights go dim. Only a faint glow pulses from the time rotor.
“And… she’s dead,” the Alchemist says dryly.
“It’s dead,” the Doctor confirms, voice somber. “We’re in a dead time machine.”
A sound slices the air—birdsong.
Rory immediately pulls Amy into his arms.
“Remember, this is real. But when we wake up in the other place, remember how real this feels,” the Doctor says quietly.
“It is real. I know it’s real,” Amy insists.
“Is it?” the Alchemist murmurs, her voice almost lost to the growing birdsong.
[Leadworth]
A church bell chimes in the distance. Children in tidy uniforms walk past, giggling under the watchful eye of a teacher. The Doctor, Alchemist, Amy, and Rory sit up slowly on a park bench outside the library, blinking into the sunlight.
“Okay, this is the real one,” Amy says quickly. “Definitely this one. It’s all solid.”
“It felt solid in the TARDIS, too,” the Doctor replies, rising to his feet. “You can’t spot a dream while you’re having it.”
He waves a hand in front of his face, squinting at the air.
“What are you doing?” Rory asks.
“Looking for motion blur, pixilation. It could be a computer simulation. I don’t think so, though.”
An elderly woman strolls past with a smile.
“Hello, Doctor,” she says.
“Hi,” Rory replies automatically.
“Hello,” the Doctor echoes, then turns to Rory. “You’re a doctor.”
“Yeah. And unlike you, I’ve actually passed some exams.”
“Don’t be so sure of that, Moonlight,” the Alchemist teases.
“Yeah! I’ve passed exams!” the Doctor retorts, before something catches his attention. “Wait—a doctor, not a nurse. Just like you’ve always dreamed. How interesting.”
“What is?” Rory asks.
“Your dream wife, your dream job, probably your dream baby.”
The Time Lords glance at each other then back to Rory. “Maybe this is your dream.”
“It’s Amy’s dream too. Isn’t it, Amy?” Rory turns to her.
She hesitates, just a beat. “Yes. Course it is, yeah.”
“What’s that?” the Doctor asks, pointing.
“Old people’s home,” Amy replies.
They look at the sign: SARN Residential Care Home. Faces peer out from the windows—one man, a woman, then another man.
“You said everyone here lives to their nineties,” the Doctor says slowly. “There’s something here that doesn’t make sense. Let’s go and poke it with a stick.”
“We’re not actually using a real stick this time though, are we, honey?” the Alchemist calls as the Time Lords take off running toward the building, Rory close behind.
Amy groans and follows. “Oh. Can we not do the running thing?”
[Care home lounge]
The lounge is quiet, real birdsong trickling faintly through the windows. A warm afternoon hums in the background as residents settle in their chairs. One of them brightens up as Rory enters.
“Oh, hello, Doctor Williams,” says the woman at the desk.
“Hello, Rory, love,” an older woman adds, spotting him.
“Hello, Mrs Poggit,” Rory replies, smiling. “How’s your hip?”
“A bit stiff.”
The Doctor immediately perks up. “Oh, easy, D-96 compound, plus…”
Before he can finish, the Alchemist gently taps his shoulder and shakes her head with subtle urgency.
“No, you don’t have that yet. Forget that,” the Doctor corrects himself quickly.
Mrs Poggit peers past Rory to the Doctor. “Who’s your friend? A junior doctor?”
“Yes,” Rory says with a smirk.
“No,” the Alchemist answers at the same time.
Mrs Poggit doesn’t seem to mind the contradiction. “Can I borrow you? You’re the size of my grandson.”
Before the Doctor can object, he’s ushered into a chair and pulled into trying on the woolen sweater Mrs. Poggit has been knitting. The Alchemist sits nearby, arms crossed, clearly judging the fit with a practiced eye.
“Slightly keen to move on,” the Doctor mutters, pulling at the itchy knit. “Freak psychic schism to sort out.” He leans forward, squinting at Mrs. Poggit. “You’re incredibly old, aren’t you?”
“Just how old are you all?” the Alchemist asks pointedly, glancing around.
All the other residents in the lounge stop and stare. Then the birdsong swells again, and one by one, they fall asleep.
[TARDIS]
Inside the TARDIS, tension crackles.
“Okay, I hate this, Doctor, Ally,” Amy says, pacing. “Stop it, because this is definitely real. It’s definitely this one. I keep saying that, don’t I?”
“It’s bloody cold,” Rory grumbles, rubbing his arms.
“The heating’s off,” the Doctor says flatly.
“The heating’s off?” Rory echoes.
“Yeah. Put on a jumper. That’s what I always do.”
“No, it isn’t,” the Alchemist cuts in, voice sharp and low. “We don’t get cold. Not easily. I could stroll naked through Siberia and be perfectly comfortable.”
“Er, yes, right…” Rory glances her way and shakes his head, getting back to point. “Sorry about Mrs. Poggit. She’s so lovely, though.”
“I wouldn’t believe her nice old lady act if I were you,” the Doctor says darkly.
“What do you mean, act?” Amy frowns.
“He means act, Amelia Pond,” the Alchemist says with a sharp look causing Amy to flinch.
The Doctor moves to the console, scanning. “Everything’s off. Sensors, core power. We’re drifting.”
“The scanner’s down,” the Alchemist adds, checking a separate panel. “So we can’t even see out. We could be anywhere… cold.”
In eerie synchronicity, both the Doctor and the Alchemist say, “Someone, something, is overriding our controls.”
Then, without warning, a small man in a red bowtie and tweed jacket materializes on the stairs behind them.
“Well, that took a while,” he says cheerfully. “Honestly, I’d heard such good things. Last of the Time Lords, the Oncoming Storm. Him in the bowtie. The Scarlet Tsunami, cowboy boots… actually kind of like those.”
The Doctor wheels around. “How did you get into our TARDIS? What are you?”
“You like my boots?” the Alchemist interrupts, suspicious.
“What shall we call me?” the stranger muses. “Well, if you’re the Time Lords, let’s call me the Dream Lord.”
“Nice look,” the Doctor mutters.
“This? No, I’m not convinced. Bow-ties?”
“Do not diss the bowtie, Mean Bowtie Man,” the Alchemist growls.
The Doctor throws his sonic screwdriver at him—but it passes right through. The Dream Lord grins.
“Interesting. I’d love to be impressed, but Dream Lord. It’s in the name, isn’t it? Spooky. Not quite there.”
He reappears behind them.
“And yet, very much here.”
“We’ll do the talking, thank you,” the Doctor snaps. “Amy, want to take a guess at what that is?”
“Er, Dream Lord. He creates dreams,” Amy guesses, watching the figure warily.
“Dreams, delusions, cheap tricks,” the Doctor mutters.
“And what about the gooseberry, here? Does he get a guess?” the Dream Lord turns to Rory.
“Er, listen, mate. If anyone’s the gooseberry round here, it’s the Doctor.”
“Well now, there’s a delusion I’m not responsible for.”
“No, he is. Isn’t he, Amy?”
“Oh, Amy,” the Dream Lord teases. “Have to sort your men out. Choose, even.”
“I have chosen. Of course I’ve chosen.”
Amy stands close to the Doctor—but then smacks Rory on the arm.
“It’s you, stupid.”
“Oh, good. Thanks,” Rory says, deadpan.
The Alchemist’s jaw tightens. She glares at Amy, her voice cold.
“I’d choose the way you answer questions very carefully, Amelia Pond. There’s still a black hole waiting for you if you word them wrong.”
Amy’s eyes widen at the warning.
The Dream Lord pops behind Amy and Rory again, unfazed.
“You can’t fool me and clearly you can’t fool her. I’ve seen your dreams. Some of them twice. Amy. Blimey, I’d blush if I had a blood supply or a real face.”
“And mine?” the Alchemist asks with a falsely light tone. “Have you seen my repetitious horrific night terrors? The ones I wake up from, screaming and crying sometimes?”
The Dream Lord pauses, his expression faltering slightly. He doesn’t answer.
The Doctor swiftly grabs the Alchemist’s hands and squeezes them. Her shoulders lower as she exhales, frustrated but steady.
“Where did you pick up this cheap cabaret act?” the Doctor asks.
“Me? Oh, you’re on shaky ground.”
“Am I?”
“If you had any more tawdry quirks you could open up a Tawdry Quirk Shop. The madcap vehicle, the cockamamie hair, the clothes designed by a first-year fashion student. I’m surprised you haven’t got a little purple space dog just to ram home what an intergalactic wag you are.”
“One more insult, I’m warning you,” the Alchemist warns, stepping forward. Her eyes burn. She knows exactly what she forgot now.
“Of course, of course. Where was I?”
“You were…” Rory begins.
“I know where I was,” the Dream Lord interrupts. “So, here’s your challenge. Two worlds. Here, in the time machine, and there, in the village that time forgot. One is real, the other’s fake. And just to make it more interesting, you’re going to face in both worlds a deadly danger, but only one of the dangers is real. Tweet, tweet. Time to sleep.”
Birdsong rises once more.
“Oh. Or are you waking up?”
The Doctor fights to stay conscious, jaw clenched, but eventually succumbs.
The Alchemist stands firm, glaring at the Dream Lord with utter frustration. She doesn’t close her eyes until the very last moment—when she chooses to.
[Care home lounge]
The lounge is eerily empty. The quiet hum of earlier chatter and clinking teacups is gone, leaving only silence and the soft creak of an armchair settling. The door opens with a click, and the Dream Lord strolls in like he owns the place. He wears a dark suit and tie, holding up an x-ray as though it’s a winning lottery ticket.
“Oh, this is bad. This is very, very bad. Look at this X-ray. Your brain is completely see-through. But then, I've always been able to see through you, Doctor.”
Amy’s eyes narrow. “Always? What do you mean, always?”
“Just that, always,” the Alchemist says flatly, arms crossed.
The Dream Lord’s grin widens. “Oh, someone’s catching on! Now then, the prognosis is this. If you die in the dream, you wake up in reality. Healthy recovery in next to no time. Ask me what happens if you die in reality?”
Rory hesitates. “What happens?”
“You die, stupid. That's why it's called reality.”
The Doctor frowns at the Alchemist, ‘Catching on?’
‘Later pile,’ she replies.
Amy takes a step closer to the Doctor, glancing between him and their strange visitor. “Have you met the Doctor before? Do you know him? Doctor, does he?”
“Now don't get jealous. He's been around, our boy,” the Dream Lord teases.
“He doesn’t get far from me,” the Alchemist says coldly.
The Dream Lord laughs. “Tight lead on him, you have. But never mind that. You've got a world to choose. One reality was always too much for you, Doctor. Take two and call me in the morning.”
And just like that, he vanishes.
Rory exhales. “Okay, I don't like him.”
“Who is he?” Amy asks.
“I don't know. It's a big universe,” the Doctor replies.
The Alchemist scoffs, clearly unconvinced. She knows exactly who this is—but she says nothing yet.
Amy turns to the Doctor, frustration growing. “Why is he doing this?”
“Maybe because he has no physical form. That gets you down after a while, so he's taking it out on folk like us who can touch and eat and feel.”
Rory frowns. “What does he mean, deadly danger, though? Nothing deadly has happened here. I mean, a bit of natural wastage, obviously.”
The Doctor rips off the knitted sweater with a growl and flings it aside. The Alchemist glances around, lips pursed.
“Where are the super old folk at, then?” she asks, scanning the now-empty lounge.
The Doctor’s voice drops, quiet and grim. “They've all gone. They've all gone.”
[Leadworth]
Just across from the care home, children scream and laugh in a play area set beside the crumbling remains of a ruined castle. A teacher tries—and fails—to maintain some order.
“Stop. You two, over there. Come along, where's the rest of you? Come on, come on. We're going up to the castle now. All of you, come on.”
Rory frowns, watching the group from a distance. “Why would they leave?”
Amy turns to the Doctor and the Alchemist. “And what did you both mean about Mrs Poggit's nice old lady act?”
The Alchemist scoffs, folding her arms.
“One of my tawdry quirks. Sniffing out things that aren't what they seem. Ally does it too,” the Doctor says, glancing toward the Time Lady. “So, come on, let's think. The mechanics of this reality split we're stuck in. Time asleep exactly matches time in our dream world, unlike in conventional dreams.”
“And we're all dreaming the same dream at the same time,” Rory points out.
“Which doesn’t happen very easily,” the Alchemist adds, her tone edged with warning.
“Yes, sort of communal trance.” the Time Lord nods. “Very rare, very complicated. I'm sure there's a dream giveaway, a tell, but my mind isn't working because this village is so dull! I'm slowing down, like you two have.”
Amy winces suddenly, pressing a hand to her stomach. “Oooh. Ow. Really. Ow! It's coming.”
The Doctor snaps to attention. “Okay, you're a doctor, help her.”
“You're a doctor,” Rory counters.
“It's okay, we're doctors.” The Doctor drops into a squat in front of Amy, hands poised to catch.
Rory hovers uselessly. “What do we do?”
Amy freezes. “Okay, it's not coming.”
The Doctor blinks. “What?”
Amy glares at him, her voice sharp and unwavering. “This is my life now, and it just turned you white as a sheet, so don't you call it dull again, ever. Okay?”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah.”
Off to the side, the Alchemist rolls her eyes. This is why he didn’t deliver their children.
“You thought it happened instantly? Squat, baby, done?” she asks, deadpan.
The Doctor and Rory both open their mouths—then promptly shut them.
She purses her lips. “Fascinating grasp of biology.”
[Playground]
Amy settles onto a swing in the playground, the chains creaking gently as she shifts her weight. Across the grass, Mrs. Poggit climbs the steps toward the ruined castle, her back straight and deliberate.
The Doctor jumps on the second swing as the Alchemist pushes. “Now, we all know there's an elephant in the room.”
Amy looks at him, dry. “I have to be this size, I'm having a baby.”
“No, no. The hormones seem real, but no.” He grins. “Is nobody going to mention Rory's ponytail? You and Ally hold him down, I’ll cut it off?”
Rory gestures in exasperation. “This from the man in the bowtie.”
“Why is everyone so focused on the bowtie today?” the Alchemist mutters, reaching over to straighten said bowtie. “I love it.”
“Yeah! Bowties are cool.” The Doctor’s eyes drift back to Mrs. Poggit. “I don't know about you, but I wouldn't hire Mrs. Poggit as a babysitter.”
The Alchemist narrows her eyes, returning to pushing the swing. “What's she doing? What does she want?”
A high-pitched birdsong cuts through the air again. Amy flinches.
“Oh, no. Here we go.”
[TARDIS]
Amy rubs her arms. “It's really cold. Have you got any warm clothing?”
“What does it matter if we're cold?” the Doctor snaps. “We have to know what she is up to.”
The Alchemist turns on him sharply. “Oi! Watch the tone.”
“Sorry, sorry.” He gestures vaguely. “There should be some stuff down there. Have a look.”
Amy and Rory head below deck. The Doctor crouches under the console with the Alchemist, rummaging through a toolbox. He pulls out a tin mug, a length of rope, a bottle opener, and a whisk.
“I haven’t made one of these things since I was a Timetot,” she says, watching him with amused scrutiny. “I want to see your version, honey.”
He huffs, then smirks as he begins assembling the pieces.
From below, the sound of Amy and Rory’s voices drift up to her. The Alchemist tilts her head, listening in.
“I want the other life,” Rory says. “You know, where we're happy and settled and about to have a baby.”
“But don't you wonder,” Amy counters, “if that life is real, then why would we give up all this? Why would anyone? And Ally hates me in that world. She makes me call her the Alchemist. What did I even do?”
“Because we're going to freeze to death? Whatever you did probably makes sense. Probably why we stopped traveling.”
“...The Doctor and Ally’ll fix it.”
“Okay. Because we're going to get married?”
“We can still get married some day.”
“You don't want to anymore. I thought you'd chosen me, not him.”
“You are always so insecure.”
“You ran off with another man.”
“Not in that way and he’s married and she’s here!”
“It was the night before our wedding.”
“We're in a time machine. It can be the night before our wedding for as long as we want.”
“We have to grow up eventually.”
“Says who?”
A moment later, Amy returns up the stairs with a pile of blankets. Rory follows. The Doctor finishes tightening the last screw on the bizarre contraption. It whirs softly in his hands.
“Success!” he declares. “Ah, Rory, wind. Amy, could you attach this to the monitor, please?”
“I was promised amazing worlds,” Rory complains. “Instead I get duff central heating and a weird, kitcheny wind-up device.”
“It’s a generator,” the Alchemist tells him. “Get winding, Moonlight.”
“Not enough,” Amy says after a moment, frowning at the weak feed.
“Rory, wind,” the Doctor insists.
Rory grips the handle reluctantly. “Why is the Dream Lord picking on you? Why us?”
The scanner flickers to life.
“Where are we?” Amy asks, staring at the display.
The Alchemist leans forward. “Trouble…”
“We’re in trouble,” the Doctor confirms.
“What is that?” Rory asks.
“A star. A cold star.”
He strides to the TARDIS doors and pulls them open. A pale blue-white light floods the room. Outside, a lifeless, frozen sun looms across the void of space.
“That’s why we’re freezing,” the Doctor scoffs.
The Alchemist shakes her head. “It’s not a heating malfunction. We’re drifting toward a cold sun. There’s your lurking catastrophe for this version of reality. And the emergency sensors? That’s why they started screaming earlier.”
Amy narrows her eyes. “So this must be the dream. There's no such thing as a cold star. Stars burn.”
“So’s this one. It's just burning cold,” the Doctor corrects.
“Is that possible?” Rory asks.
“I can't know everything,” the Doctor snaps. “Why does everybody expect me to, always? Even Ally doesn’t know everything.”
“I really don’t,” the Alchemist replies, rolling her eyes. “And I know more than him… oh. That sounded like you just then, didn’t it?”
“Just a bit, dear.”
“Let’s hope I don’t do that again.”
Rory’s eyes dart between them. “Okay, this is something you two haven't seen before. So does that mean this is the dream?”
“I don't know,” the Alchemist replies. “But there’s the cold star, closing in, and I approximate about fourteen minutes until we crash into it.”
“But that's not a problem,” the Doctor says.
“Because you know how to get us out of this?” Rory asks, hopefully.
“Because we’ll have frozen to death by then.”
“Oh, then what are we going to do?” Amy demands.
“Stay calm,” the Time Lords say at once.
The Doctor adds, “Don’t get sucked into it, because this just might be the battle that we have to lose.”
“Oh, this is so you, isn't it?” Rory says bitterly.
“What?”
“Huh, what? A weird new star, fourteen minutes left to live, and only one man and woman to save the day, huh? I just wanted a nice village and a family.”
A voice, smug and grating, cuts through the air.
“Oh dear, Doctor. Dissent in the ranks. There was an old doctor from Gallifrey who ended up throwing his life away. He let down his friends…”
“Excuse me!?” the Alchemist shouts, stepping forward, fury crackling off her. “Throw his life away!?”
“Maybe not his entire life,” the Dream Lord says smoothly, but he falters as she bares her teeth in rage.
“None of it. None of it has been a waste. You hear me!?”
The Dream Lord blinks. Genuinely startled.
A trill of birdsong echoes through the TARDIS once more.
“Oh no,” he mutters. “We’ve run out of time. Don’t spend too long there, or you’ll catch your death here.”
[Ruined Castle]
The ruined castle looms silent and still. Dust coats the ground in uneven piles, scattered with small toys and belongings.
The Doctor steps forward, scanning the remains with a grim frown. “Where have the children gone?”
“Don’t know,” Rory answers, glancing around uneasily. “Play time’s probably over.”
Beside the Doctor, the Alchemist crouches to examine the dust more closely, running their sonic screwdrivers over it before the Alchemist confirms with a scan of her hand preceptors.
‘It’s molecular breakdown—cellular ash,’ she tells the Doctor through their bond.
The Doctor turns his head slightly, concern tightening his features.
‘Old people?’ he asks in turn.
‘Old people.’
Rory surveys the empty playground. “You see, this is the real one. I just feel it. Don’t you feel it?”
Amy hesitates. “I feel it both places.”
“I feel it here. It’s just so tranquil and relaxed. Nothing bad could ever happen here.”
Amy scoffs. “And it’s not really me, though, is it? I mean, would I be happy settling down in a place with a pub, two shops and a really bad Amateur Dramatics Society? That’s why I got pregnant, so I don’t have to see them doing Oklahoma. Doctor, Alchemist, what are you doing? And what are those piles of dust?”
The Doctor lifts a pinch of it between his fingers. “Play time’s definitely over.”
The Alchemist stands slowly, her voice quiet but heavy. “This was them. The children. All of them.”
“Oh, my God,” Amy whispers.
“What happened to them?” Rory asks, aghast.
Movement draws their eyes. The old people are strolling calmly along the street, unhurried and silent.
“I think they did,” the Doctor says darkly.
The Alchemist straightens. “Let’s go meet the neighbors.”
[Playground]
Amy studies the figures from a distance. “They’re just old people.”
“No,” the Doctor says, scanning them. “They’re very old people. Sorry, Rory, I don’t think you’re what’s been keeping them alive.”
A voice cuts through the air like static silk.
“Hello, peasants. What’s this, attack of the old people? Oh, that’s ridiculous. This has got to be the dream, hasn’t it? What do you think, Amy? Let’s all jump under a bus and wake up in the TARDIS. You first.”
The Doctor steps forward. “Leave her alone.”
“Oh, do that again,” the Dream Lord purrs. “I love it when he does that. Tall dark hero. ‘Leave her alone.’”
“Just leave her,” Rory says.
The Dream Lord’s eyes glint as he turns to Amy. “Yes, you’re not quite so impressive, but I know where your heart lies, don’t I, Amy Pond?”
“Shut up,” she snaps. “Just shut up and leave me alone.”
“But listen. You’re in there. Loves a redhead, the Doctor. The Alchemist too. Have they told you about Elizabeth the First? Well, she thought she was the first but I suppose the Alchemist is the real first.”
The Doctor’s tone hardens. “Drop it. Drop all of it. I know who you are.”
“Course you don’t.”
“Course I do. No idea how you can be here, but there’s only one person in the universe who hates me as much as you do.”
The Alchemist doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. She buries the fury rising in her chest, wraps it in the bond like a blade she’ll reveal later. This time, she won’t pull her punches.
“Never mind me,” the Dream Lord says cheerfully. “Maybe you should worry about them.”
He vanishes, and the old people begin crossing the grass toward them.
Rory raises a hand in greeting. “Hi. Hello.”
The Doctor adopts a friendly tone. “Hello, we were wondering where you went. To get reinforcements, by the look of it. Are you all right? You look a bit tense.”
Rory lights up with recognition. “Hello, Mister Nainby.”
“Rory,” the Alchemist calls. “Over here, Moonlight. Back away.”
Rory waves her off. “Mister Nainby ran the sweet shop. He used to slip me the odd free toffee…”
Suddenly, Nainby grabs Rory by the collar and lifts him into the air with impossible strength.
“Did I not say thank you?” Rory chokes out—then is hurled into the mud beside the swings.
He groans. “How did he do that?”
“I suspect he’s not himself,” the Doctor warns. “Don’t get comfortable here. You may have to run.”
“Fast,” the Alchemist adds.
“Can’t we just talk to them?” Amy tries.
But then one of the old women opens her mouth—and an eye stares out from inside.
“There is an eye in her mouth,” Amy gasps.
“There’s a whole creature inside her,” the Doctor says, voice tense. “Inside all of them.”
“All those years,” the Alchemist murmurs. “They’ve done nothing but wait. Those bodies are very, very old.”
Rory looks queasy. “That is disgusting. They’re not going to be peeping out of anywhere else, are they?”
Mrs. Poggit exhales—and a stream of green gas shoots toward them.
“Run,” the Doctor shouts.
“Fast!” the Alchemist echoes.
They flee across the grass as the Doctor tries reasoning.
“Okay, leave them, leave them. Talk to us. Talk to us.”
“You are Eknodines,” the Alchemist calls out. “A proud, ancient race. You’re better than this. We’ve seen the great things you’ve done!”
Rory and Amy sprint ahead while the Doctor tries again.
“Why are you hiding away here? Why aren’t you at home?”
Mrs. Poggit answers, her voice inhuman. “We were driven from our planet by…”
“...Planet by upstart neighbors,” the Doctor finishes.
The Alchemist raises an eyebrow. “Upstart neighbors?”
The Doctor gives her a look.
“So we’ve…” Nainby begins.
“...Been living here inside the bodies of old humans for years,” the Doctor concludes. “No wonder they live so long. You’re keeping them alive.”
“We were humbled and destroyed,” Poggit intones. “Now we will do the same to others.”
“Okay,” the Doctor says slowly. “Makes sense, I suppose. Credible enough. Could be real.”
The Alchemist’s voice cuts through. “We don’t live by ‘could be,’ honey.”
A paper boy pedals by, nodding casually. “Morning.”
Mrs. Poggit breathes on him—and he collapses into dust.
The Doctor’s face darkens. “You need to leave this planet.”
Birdsong.
It hits like a ripple through the world. The sound doesn’t come from any particular direction. It’s everywhere—lilting, sweet, wrong.
“No—no, no, no!” the Doctor says, stumbling slightly as the street begins to blur at the edges. “Not now, we’re just getting answers!”
The Alchemist hisses between her teeth. “Dream transition. Again. It’s pulling us…”
“Get inside!” the Doctor shouts, wrenching the butcher’s door open.
[Butcher’s Shop]
The shop is dim and strangely sterile, its silence pressing in like a second skin. The scent of long-cleaned meat clings faintly to the air. The Doctor and the Alchemist stumble forward, shaking their heads as if trying to clear water from their ears. The birdsong still rings faintly in the back of their skulls, a dissonant echo that refuses to die.
Behind the counter, the Dream Lord leans casually, wearing a white apron and hat.
He grins, eyes gleaming with mischief and menace.
“Oh, I love a good butcher's, don't you?” he says, flicking invisible dust off the counter. “We've got to use these places or they'll shut down. Oh, but you're probably a vegetarian, aren't you, you big flop-haired wuss.”
The Doctor straightens slightly, rubbing at his temple. “Oh, pipe down. We’re busy.”
“You have an issue with vegetarians now, too?” the Alchemist snaps, stepping in beside the Doctor. “I’ve been a vegetarian at least twice,” she spits.
The Dream Lord shrugs. “Maybe you need a little sleep. You’re a bit cranky.”
The Doctor barely gets a breath before his knees buckle. He slumps to the floor, his face slackening as the birdsong presses harder.
“Oh, wait a moment,” the Dream Lord muses, tilting his head. “If you fall asleep here, several dozen angry pensioners will destroy you with their horrible eye things.”
The Alchemist doesn’t hesitate as the Doctor plugs his ears with his fingers. She grabs her Bondmate beneath the arms and hauls him upright, bracing his weight as the Dream Lord watches with theatrical disinterest.
“Fingers in the ear. Brilliant,” the Dream Lord drawls. “What’s next, shouting boo? Come in, come in.”
The door creaks open.
Old people shuffle inside, their faces expressionless, their eyes shimmering with that telltale glint—the Eknodines are here.
“Yes,” the Dream Lord continues, utterly unfazed. “We've got lots at steak here this week. Lots at steak, get it? Are these jokes wasted on you?”
“Wait, wait, stop,” the Doctor gasps, shaking off the daze. His eyes dart around the room. So do the Alchemist’s.
“There!” she shouts, pointing past the counter, toward a narrow door with rusted hinges.
The Dream Lord lifts his hands and covers his eyes with mock horror. “Oh. Oh, I can't watch.”
The Time Lords don’t wait. They bolt for the door, fling it open, and lock themselves inside the store room just as the shuffle of feet grows louder behind them.
[TARDIS]
Frost clings to the time rotor. Amy rubs her arms and glances around, teeth chattering faintly.
"Ah, it's colder," she says, her breath visible in the frigid air.
The Doctor, pacing beside the central console, turns sharply to face the others. "The four of us have to agree, now, which is the dream."
Rory looks up, his brow furrowed. "It's this, here."
Amy hesitates, scanning the icy view outside the TARDIS doors. "He could be right. The science is all wrong here. Burning ice?"
The Doctor waves off her concerns, voice rising with conviction. "No, no, no. Ice can burn. Sofas can read. It's a big universe. We have to agree which battle to lose. All of us, now."
Amy narrows her eyes, torn. "Okay, which world do you think is real?"
"This one," the Doctor replies immediately.
"No, the other one," Rory counters.
The Doctor raises an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, but are you disagreeing or competing?"
"Competing? Over what?" Amy begins, then pauses as understanding creeps in. "Oh."
From the console, the Alchemist's voice slices through the cold tension. "Nine minutes till impact."
Amy shivers. "What temperature is it?"
The Doctor leans in, as if he can feel the chill better that way. "Outside? Brrr. How many noughts have you got? Inside? I don't know but I can't feel my feet and other parts."
"I think all my parts are basically fine," Rory says, a little too proudly.
“This isn’t a competition, Rory Williams!” the Alchemist shouts, her voice sharp and commanding. “I’ve already won.”
"And I’ve already got my prize," the Doctor adds, casting a quick, fond glance down at the Alchemist.
She glares daggers at Amy.
Amy swallows hard. The look in the Time Lady’s eyes is cold in a way the air could never be.
Rory picks up the TARDIS telephone, fingers numbing against the receiver. "Can't we call for help? Doesn’t your family have a TARDIS or something?"
The Alchemist scoffs, “Not going to happen. They stay out of this business.”
"Yeah, because we’re going to send our kids into danger," the Doctor says, sarcasm curling around every word.
Amy steps forward with purpose, holding up four thick blankets. "Put these on, all three of you."
Each has a slit cut into the center. Rory blinks.
"Oh, a poncho. The biggest crime against fashion since lederhosen."
Amy smirks, shifting hers on. "Here we go. My boys and my girl. My poncho boys and girl. If we're going to die, let's die looking like a Peruvian folk band."
"We're not going to die," Rory insists, half trying to reassure himself.
"No, we're not," the Alchemist agrees, her voice taut with urgency, "but our time's running out. And that’s not something I like the sound of coming from my mouth."
"That does sound odd from you," the Doctor admits, rubbing his hands together. "But, if we fall asleep here we're in trouble. If we could divide up, then we'd have an active presence in each world, but the Dream Lord is switching us between the worlds. Why? Why? What's the logic?"
A voice cuts through the air, disembodied and smug.
"Good idea, veggie. Let's divide you four up, so I can have a little chat with our lovely companion and your wife. Maybe I'll keep them, and you can have Pointy Nose to yourself for all eternity, should you manage to clamber aboard some sort of reality."
The Doctor turns to the Alchemist. “Ally, you’ll be fine. You’re completely safe.”
She narrows her eyes at him, unimpressed. “I know.”
Rory suddenly stiffens. "Can you hear that?"
Amy’s eyes flick around. "What? No."
"Amy, don't be scared. We'll be back," the Doctor says, stepping closer.
And just like that, both he and Rory slump to the floor, eyes closed, fast asleep.
Amy stares, panic rising. "Rory, Doctor, don't leave me."
The Dream Lord’s voice returns, lilting and cruel. "Amy, we're going to have fun, aren't we?"
Amy stares at the sleeping bodies. "No, please, don’t leave me."
"Did you forget I’m here too, Amelia Pond?" the Alchemist says, standing tall behind her.
Amy turns to look at her, mouth opening as if to speak—then thinks better of it. She drops her gaze and looks away.
[Leadworth Butcher's shop]
Inside the dim storage room of the butcher’s, the Doctor flicks his sonic screwdriver to life. The high-pitched whir echoes off tiled walls.
“Okay, where is it? This would be so much easier if you were awake, dear,” he mutters, glancing down at his sleeping wife sprawled on the cold floor.
He adjusts the settings and a satisfying blip tells him he's hit the right one. Without hesitation, he hoists the Alchemist over his shoulder, her head lolling slightly as he steadies her weight.
One arm wrapped around her, he kicks open the storage room door and points the sonic at the shop lights. A sharp zap fires, and the lights burst with a short-circuiting flicker.
Immediately, the old people freeze. Their eyes clamp shut. Mouths go slack. Like puppets with their strings cut.
The Doctor wastes no time. He bolts through the shop with the Alchemist, weaving past the frozen figures and bursting out into the streets of Leadworth, breathless and running for their lives.
[Leadworth]
The Doctor barrels down the quiet Leadworth lane, the Alchemist dead to the world in his arms. Up ahead, Mister Nainby is clawing at a camper van while the man inside bangs frantically on the glass.
“Oh help, somebody!” the man cries, panic in his voice.
The Doctor doesn't slow down.
"Oh, you couldn't live near the shops, could you," he mutters with annoyance as he reaches the camper.
With a swift motion, he grabs Mister Nainby and slams him to the ground, the old man's form crumpling just long enough for the Doctor to yank the door open. He places the Alchemist gently into the passenger seat, her head resting against the window, still unconscious.
“It’s okay, it’s only me,” he assures the man, sliding into the driver’s seat and firing up the engine.
The camper lurches forward, bouncing over the curb as they speed past the playground. A group of mothers is under siege, surrounded by the eerily silent pensioners.
“Get in, get in, get in. Quickly, quickly, over here. Quickly. Get in!” the man shouts, leaning out the door to wave them over.
The Doctor leans across him. “Come on, jump in. Quickly, get in now. Quickly. Hurry up. Are we in?”
They barely finish pulling the last mother inside before the van speeds on. Not far from the village green, another family is huddled near a gate, trapped and cornered.
“Come on, let’s go,” the Doctor yells, already stopping the van again.
“Quickly, in here,” the man calls, swinging the side door open.
“All four, quick,” the Doctor orders.
“That’s it. Clear.”
“Everyone in,” the Doctor says, slamming the van into gear again and speeding forward through the village.
[TARDIS]
The frost clings thickly to every surface of the TARDIS. A fine sheen of ice spreads across the console, the railings, even the time rotor. The breath mists in Amy’s throat. Cold light filters in from the central column, shimmering against the frozen surfaces.
The Dream Lord stands close now, voice oily and low.
“Poor Amy. He always leaves you, doesn't he, alone in the dark. Never apologizes.”
Amy crosses her arms, straightens her spine. “He doesn't have to.”
“That’s good, because he never will. To you at least. And now he's left you with me. Spooky old, not to be trusted, me. Anything could happen.”
His grin is slow and sharp. Amy doesn’t flinch, but her fingers clench tighter around her elbows.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” she demands. “The Doctor knows you, but he's not telling me who you are. And he always does. Takes him a while sometimes, but he tells me. So you're something different.”
The Dream Lord tilts his head, amused by her defiance. “Oh, is that who you think you are? The one he trusts?”
His gaze shifts deliberately toward the Alchemist, who stands still as carved marble near the console.
“Actually, yes,” Amy says.
He laughs. “The only girl in the universe to whom the Doctor tells everything?”
The Alchemist rolls her eyes like a mother watching toddlers squabble over a toy.
“Yes,” Amy insists, lifting her chin.
The Alchemist steps forward at that, voice dry and sharp. “The answer to that is always going to be no, so we’re going to do this my way. Competition over my husband? Please. I want a scoreboard this time, Mean Bowtie Man. You ask the questions, Amelia Pond answers first then I’ll correct her and I want a buzzer noise every time it’s wrong and a pleasant ding for every right answer. Make them the same questions.”
“What!?” Amy blurts, startled, eyes wide.
“I like the way you think, Alchemist. Let’s play… Who knows the Doctor!?” the Dream Lord crows, throwing his arms out.
With a flourish, a giant digital scoreboard materializes behind him, glowing with brilliant blue numbers. He spins, now wearing a gleaming TARDIS-blue tuxedo with a matching bowtie, holding a silver pointer like he’s the host of a demented game show.
He points it directly at Amy. “Amy Pond, what is the Doctor’s all-time favorite treat?”
Amy hesitates, eyes flicking between the Dream Lord and the Alchemist, completely thrown.
“Answer it Amelia Pond,” the Alchemist snaps, staring straight ahead.
“Fish fingers and custard, obviously,” Amy answers at last.
A harsh buzzer blares through the console room. The scoreboard flashes zero.
“Wrong! The answer is…”
“Jelly Babies,” the Dream Lord and the Alchemist say in perfect unison.
A pleasant ding follows, and a glowing ‘one’ appears on the board.
Still smirking, the Dream Lord jabs the pointer at Amy again. “Amy Pond, what is the Doctor’s favorite color?”
“That’s easy, TARDIS Blue. It’s why he won’t change the TARDIS,” she replies, but her confidence falters.
Buzzer. Zero again.
“To the Alchemist now for the answer,” the Dream Lord declares.
The Time Lady shrugs. “He doesn’t actually have one. Just claims it’s the same as mine and I know he only does it because it makes me happy to see him happy to see me happy.”
The Dream Lord gives her a look like he almost respects that answer. Another ding. Score flashes ‘two.’
“Amy, how many children does the Doctor have?”
Amy’s breath catches. “I… I don’t know… two?”
Buzzer.
“Errrgh!” the Alchemist growls along with the buzzer, sounding almost offended. “I’ll give you both the detailed answer. I bore three of our children myself. We technically only have four children but we consider our granddaughter and their Bondmates ours as well. The answer is nine. We have nine children.”
A chime and a large ‘three’ appears. Amy stares at her, stunned.
The Alchemist rounds on her, voice sharp with challenge. “So what's his name, Amelia Pond?”
“I…” Amy falters, lost again.
“We have a few. And multiple for each other and you’ll never know. He can and would only ever tell me,” the Alchemist says softly, and there’s no smugness in her voice now—just absolute certainty.
The scoreboard flashes.
“That’s four to zero. Meet the woman that the Doctor truly trusts with everything.”
The Dream Lord paces in front of them, pointer now resting on his shoulder like a sword. “Now, which one of these men would you really choose? Look at them. You ran away with a handsome hero who has his own heroine. Would you really give him up for a bumbling country doctor who thinks the only thing he needs to be interesting is a ponytail?”
Amy covers her face with both hands, shoulders shaking. “Stop it.”
“But maybe it's better than loving and losing the Doctor. Pick a world, and this nightmare will all be over. They'll listen to you. It's you they're waiting for. Amy's men. Amy's choice.”
[Outside the church]
The camper van screeches to a halt just outside the old stone church. The Doctor flings open the door and waves everyone out with urgency, eyes scanning the shadows.
“Everybody, out, out, out,” he commands, practically herding the passengers with sweeping gestures. “Into the church, that’s right. Don’t answer the door.”
One by one, the frightened families and villagers scramble down from the van and rush into the safety of the church, the heavy wooden doors groaning as they swing shut behind them.
The Doctor slams the door shut, whirls back into the driver’s seat, and hits the gas. The van lurches forward, speeding off into the quiet, dangerous village once again.
[Camper van]
The Dream Lord materializes inside the camper van, dressed in a peach racing suit and clutching a full-face helmet like he’s about to jump into a race.
"It's make your mind up time in both worlds," he announces with a smirk.
The Doctor meets his gaze in the mirror, "Fine. Just give me back my Bondmate. We need to find our friends."
The Dream Lord’s smile twists. "Friends? Is that the right word for the people you acquire? Friends are people you stay in touch with; only your Bondmate makes you do that. Your friends would never see you again once they've grown up otherwise. The old man prefers the company of the young, does he not?"
The Dream Lord vanishes.
The Doctor arrives outside the cottage to witness the slow, creeping advance of the old people.
The Alchemist wakes quietly beside him.
"Okay," the Doctor says.
“Uhuh,” she mutters softly.
He jumps at the sound, then exhales in relief.
She turns toward him, voice sharp with warning. "We’re having a very, very long discussion after this, Lord Doctor."
He visibly flinches at the full use of his title, the weight of it settling between them.
[Nursery]
Amy wakes slowly, blinking against the dim light of the nursery.
“How did I get up here?” she asks, voice soft and confused.
Rory stands nearby, watching her with concern. “I carried you. I’m afraid you may experience some bruising.”
Amy’s eyes dart around. “Where’s the Doctor? Where’s the Alchemist?”
Rory shakes his head. “I don’t know. I want to do something for you.”
He walks over to the dresser and picks up a pair of scissors. Turning to Amy, he reaches back and cuts off his ponytail in one quick motion.
Amy raises an eyebrow. “I was starting to like it.”
The window suddenly swings open with a sharp creak, making them both jump.
“Sorry. We had to stop off at the butcher’s,” the Doctor says, stepping inside after the Alchemist.
Rory’s worry deepens. “What are we going to do?”
The Doctor shrugs, uncertain. “I don’t know. I thought the freezing TARDIS was real but now I’m not so sure.”
Amy’s hand goes to her stomach. “Oh! I think the baby’s starting.”
Rory frowns. “Honestly?”
Amy shoots him a look. “Would I make it up at a time like this?”
“Well, you do have a history of…” Rory starts, then catches the look she gives him and stops. “…being very lovely.”
The Alchemist steps over and pretends to flick on her hand preceptors. “It’s Braxton Hicks. The stress is bringing it on.”
“How would you know!?” Amy snaps.
The Alchemist rolls her eyes. “How do you think, Amelia Pond?”
Amy sighs, “I… right… I’m sorry.”
The Time Lady scoffs. “Just get on with it.”
Amy glances toward the Doctor, voice shaking. “Why… why are they so desperate to kill us?”
“They’re scared,” he answers softly. “Fear generates savagery.”
A gnome then crashes through the window. Mrs. Poggit appears and breathes green gas toward Rory. Some of it touches him.
“Rory!” Amy cries.
The Doctor lunges, knocking Mrs. Poggit off the porch roof but takes a hit himself.
“Ally! You have to…” he begins, alarm cutting through his voice.
She rushes to him, calming, lowering him gently to the floor. “I know, I know what to do.”
“No, I’m not ready,” Rory says quietly.
The Doctor nods unsteadily toward his Bondmate.
“Stay,” Amy begs.
Rory begins to crumble, turning to dust before their eyes.
“Look after our baby,” he whispers.
“No. No. Come back. Save him. You save everyone. You always do. It’s what you do,” Amy pleads, tears welling.
“Not always. I’m sorry,” the Doctor admits.
Amy touches the pile of dust where Rory was, then slowly gets up. “Then what is the point of you!?”
The Doctor disintegrates next, leaving nothing but silence.
Amy stands alone. “This is the dream. Definitely this one. Now, if we die here, we wake up, yeah?”
“Unless we just die,” the Alchemist replies quietly.
Amy’s voice hardens with fierce determination. “Either way, this is my only chance of seeing him again. This is the dream.”
The Alchemist studies her. “Tell me, Amelia Pond, how do you know?”
Amy’s voice trembles but holds steady. “Because if this is real life, I don’t want it. I don’t want it. I want to be a Williams and you need the Doctor!”
[Outside the cottage]
The air hangs heavy with silence. The figures that once surged with menace now stand still, watching, waiting.
Amy stares at them, unnerved. “Why aren’t they attacking?”
The Alchemist’s gaze is unreadable as she answers, “Either because this is just a dream or because they know what we’re about to do.”
Without another word, the Time Lady reaches into her pocket and holds out the camper van key. Amy hesitates, then takes it.
“Why don’t you drive?” she asks, hoping for reassurance.
But the Alchemist’s response is not what she expects. Her voice is low, solemn. “Because I’ve danced this tango before. Be very sure. This could be the real world.”
“It can’t be. Rory isn’t here,” Amy says, her voice trembling. “I didn’t know. I didn’t, I didn’t, I honestly didn’t, till right now. I just want him. I’m sorry, Alchemist. I never should have done what I did.”
The Alchemist softens. “Okay. I accept your apology, Sunlight.”
Amy forces a small, bittersweet smile. She climbs into the camper van and starts the engine, the rumble breaking the eerie quiet.
Before joining her, the Alchemist casts one last look over her shoulder. Her eyes narrow as they lock on the Dream Lord, filled with restrained fury and something far colder. Then, without a word, she steps into the passenger side and closes the door.
[Camper van]
Inside the camper van, the tension coils tight around Amy’s chest. Her hands grip the wheel, knuckles white, eyes burning.
The Alchemist watches Amy with a warm expression, unnoticed.
“I love Rory, and I never told him,” she says, voice cracking. “But now he's gone.”
She slams her foot down.
The engine roars to life, tires screeching against the pavement. The camper lurches forward, accelerating straight toward the line of elderly villagers frozen outside the cottage.
Amy doesn't flinch. She drives the van straight through them, barreling toward the house without hesitation.
Glass shatters. Wood splinters. The world explodes into chaos as the camper van crashes through the front of the cottage.
[TARDIS]
Ice coats every surface of the TARDIS. It spreads in jagged veins across the walls and panels, even clinging to the people within. Everything is silent.
The Doctor stirs first. His eyelids flutter open as he exhales, his breath misting the frigid air. He sits up slowly, wincing against the cold, his fingers stiff as he pushes himself upright.
Beside him, the Alchemist groans and comes to. Her eyes snap open, sharp and alert even through the haze. She props herself up, brushing flakes of ice from her poncho as she surveys the frozen control room.
Amy gasps awake. Her eyes dart around, wide and confused, before they land on Rory. She scrambles over, ice cracking beneath her, and grabs his hand.
Rory’s fingers twitch. He shivers and opens his eyes, groggy and bewildered.
A voice echoes in the stillness—taunting and theatrical.
“So, you chose this world. Well done. You got it right. And with only seconds left. Fair’s fair. Let’s warm you up.”
The TARDIS hums to life again. Lights flicker back on. Heat flows through the ship in gentle pulses, chasing the frost away. The ice begins to melt, water streaming down the metal walls.
“I hope you’ve enjoyed your little fictions. It all came out of your imagination, so I’ll leave you to ponder on that. I have been defeated. I shall withdraw. Farewell.”
And just like that, the Dream Lord is gone.
Rory stares at nothing for a moment, blinking hard.
“Something happened. I. What happened to me? I…”
Amy pulls him into a hug. He exhales sharply, then grins as he realizes what’s happening.
“Oh. Oh, right. This is good. I am liking this. Was it something I said? Could you tell what it was so I can use it in emergencies, and maybe birthdays?”
Amy doesn’t answer him. She looks toward the Doctor and the Alchemist instead.
“What are we doing now?”
The Doctor moves with renewed purpose. He’s already at the console, flipping switches and turning knobs with fierce intensity.
“Me, I’m going to blow up the TARDIS.”
“And I’m helping,” the Alchemist says, stepping in beside him and reaching for controls without hesitation.
Rory’s eyes widen. “What?”
The Time Lords don’t stop working.
“Notice how helpful the Dream Lord was?” the Doctor scoffs, “Okay, there was misinformation, red herrings, malice, and I could have done without the limerick. But he was always very keen to make us choose between dream and reality.”
Amy takes a step closer, frowning. “What are you doing?”
“Doctor, the Dream Lord conceded. This isn’t a dream,” Rory insists.
“Yes, it is.”
Amy’s voice rises in alarm. “Stop them.”
The Alchemist scoffs, adjusting a dial with a dismissive flick.
“Star burning cold? Do me a favor and be a bit more inventive.”
The Doctor looks at them as he speaks, calm and certain.
“The Dream Lord has no power over the real world. He was offering us a choice between two dreams.”
Amy stares at him. “How do you know that?”
“Because I know who he is.”
The Doctor slams a lever down.
The TARDIS explodes in a brilliant white light. Time itself seems to rip for a second—then everything resets.
The console room is calm again. Normal. The humming of the time rotor is steady and familiar.
Amy and Rory step inside, cautious and breathless. The Doctor stands at the console, staring at something in the center of his palm.
It’s small. Yellow. Insignificant to anyone else.
But his expression says otherwise.
“Any questions?”
A voice cuts into his mind. ‘We’re discussing this, Theta Sigma.’
Amy tilts her head. “Er, what’s that?”
‘Later pile,’ the Doctor mutters, distracted, not catching the way her lips press together or how she subtly straightens her spine.
He gestures toward the machine’s interior. “A speck of psychic pollen from the candle meadows of Karass don Slava. Must have been hanging around for ages. Fell in the time rotor, heated up and induced a dream state for all of us.”
“I did tell you and Susan that it was a bad spot for a picnic,” the Alchemist recalls dryly as he carries the pollen to the TARDIS doors and blows it into the void.
Rory frowns. “So that was the Dream Lord then? Those little specks?”
“No, no. No,” the Doctor corrects. “Sorry, wasn’t it obvious? The Dream Lord was me. Psychic pollen. It’s a mind parasite. It feeds on everything dark in you, gives it a voice, turns it against you. I’m nine hundred and seven. It had a lot to go on.”
Amy’s brow furrows. “But why didn’t it feed on us, too?”
“The darkness in you pair? It would've starved to death in an instant,” the Doctor says warmly. “We choose our friends with great care. Otherwise, Ally’s stuck with only my company, and you know how that works out. I’m a bit surprised it didn’t feed off you, too, dear.”
“I didn’t let it,” the Alchemist says with a casual shrug. “We’d all be dead if I did.”
Rory narrows his eyes. “Why’s that? And how did you stop it?”
“Fear and hatred are among the strongest psychic energies,” she explains, steady and calm. “I have a lot of the latter hidden in my mind. I have an unusually high telepathic ability. The moment I sensed the pollen reaching out, I strengthened and pulled back my walls.”
Amy shifts her weight. “But those things he said about you, Doctor. You don’t think any of that’s true?”
“Amy,” the Doctor says, his eyes locked on the console, his tone suddenly solemn. “Right now a question is about to occur to Rory. And seeing as the answer is about to change his life, I think you should give him your full attention.”
“Yeah. Actually, yeah,” Rory says, blinking. The weight of something heavy begins to form behind his eyes.
“There it is,” the Doctor mutters.
“Because what I don’t get is, you both blew up the TARDIS, that stopped that dream, but what stopped the Leadworth dream?”
“Ally and I crashed the camper van,” Amy says.
“Oh, right. I don’t remember that bit.”
“No, you weren’t there. You were already…”
“Already what?”
“Dead. You died in that dream. Mrs Poggit got you.”
Rory goes still. “Okay. But how did you know it was a dream? Before you crashed the van, how did you know you wouldn’t just die?”
Amy’s voice is barely above a whisper. “I didn’t.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.”
He steps forward, kissing her. She kisses him back.
The Doctor claps his hands. “So, well then, where now? Or should the wife and I just pop down to the swimming pool for a few lengths?”
“I don’t know. Anywhere’s good for me,” Rory says. “I’m happy anywhere. It’s up to Amy this time. Amy’s choice.”
“Now pile,” the Alchemist says crisply as her husband makes for the typewriter to set their course.
He doesn’t slow. ‘Later, Amara.’
Her voice sharpens, firm and clear. “No, Doctor. Now.”
She speaks in Old High Gallifreyan this time, hands planted on her hips.
Rory flinches at the strange, musical cadence of it—angry, but still hauntingly beautiful.
‘Not in front of our companions,’ the Doctor hisses silently, finally acknowledging her tone.
“Yes, in front of them,” she fires back. He stops cold and spins to face her.
“No, Alchemist…” he starts.
Amy and Rory instinctively move back, wariness rising. Amy touches Rory’s arm gently, silently urging him to let it play out.
“When I say now, I mean now. And you listen. Closely,” the Alchemist growls. Her fury rolls off her like heat, no longer masked.
The Doctor flinches. “You hid from me!?”
“I’m not even going to apologize for it, Doctor,” she says coldly. “This is how this is going to go: you are going to take this phone into our office and talk to our children and tell them what just happened. Every moment of it. And I am going to be in the room to listen and make sure you leave nothing out. Because if you don’t listen to me, I know you’ll listen to them.” She throws the phone at him; he catches it easily.
He closes his eyes, jaw tight, and nods in silence.
Then she steps closer, gently cupping his face in both hands and pulling him down to her level.
“Stop hating yourself for everything, taking all of the blame. If you hate yourself, then you hate us too,” she murmurs, this time tender and heartbroken.
His eyes snap open.
He stares at her, horrified. “I could never. Never, Alchemist.”
She nods, drops her hands, and turns to face their companions.
“Sunshine, Moonlight,” she says kindly. “Why don’t you think of something nice for dinner later, and Sunshine can pick an amazing trip for tomorrow?”
Amy beams. “That sounds great to me, Ally. What about you, Rory?”
Rory grins and nods.
“Wonderful,” the Alchemist says. “Also, I need you to swear something. For both of us. Something huge. Swear to never mention to anyone that we have children. No one. Trust no one with that information, okay? It’s too dangerous. Don’t even discuss it between each other.”
“I swear it, Alchemist, Doctor,” Amy says solemnly.
“I swear I would never,” Rory echoes.
The Doctor exhales, shoulders dropping slightly. “Thank you. We’re… we’re going to talk now. Maybe you lot should swim.”
Amy laughs. “I think a movie, actually. Make use of that cinema you have. Come on, Rory, I’ll show you!”
They leave hand-in-hand, their feet clicking on the staircase.
The Alchemist turns to the Doctor, then pulls him into a hug. He clings to her, burying his face in her curls, and lets out a few dry, shuddering sobs.
“I love you and our children equally and more than anything,” she whispers. “I don’t hold you under any blame, and neither do they. We did not waste our lives, not one second of them. I will not have any bit of you think that.”
He slumps slightly against her. “I destroyed our homeworld. If we hadn’t gone to Skaro that day…”
“The Daleks would have still been developed,” she says. “They would have still been drawn to Gallifrey, and we might not have been able to stop them. I might not have been able to break programming. Or… something worse could have happened. I don’t know. What do we do out here, hm? What we’re supposed to do. We ran to help. We didn’t run from home. We brought them with us, remember?”
“We did,” he says softly. “I remember.”
Her mouth flattens. “Let’s make that call. Just rip that bandage off now before you start putting it off.”
He frowns, but nods. She takes his hand and guides him quietly down the stairs, through the winding corridors, toward their office—together.
[Fated Pair Office]
The door clicks shut behind them, and he turns to face her. “You’ve felt the same amount of self-hatred that I’ve felt since the war. Why?”
Her eyes narrow, sharp with frustration. “You know why.”
“I don’t. I really don’t,” the Doctor says, quieter now. “And I’d like an answer, finally.”
The Alchemist exhales heavily and moves to the small table beside the false window. She lowers herself into the chair with careful restraint. She can’t give him everything—not yet—but she can give him most of it.
“I built The Moment,” she begins, voice heavy with old weight. “I weaponized my own creation. Thrust it into your hands. Told you the plan. All of it. I didn’t fight back when he took our children. I had the entirety of The Ten at my side. I could have overthrown our government. What did I do? I rolled over. I showed them my belly.”
She meets his eyes, and her voice hardens.
“That’s why. That is why I hate myself, Theta Sigma. Not because we had to destroy our people. Because I could have stopped it from the beginning. I had a choice. I gave up. I surrendered.”
He drops into the chair across from her, head shaking, disbelief softening the lines on his face.
“You didn’t,” he says. “You didn’t. And that’s not why you chose your name. Through all of that, you remembered, Amara.”
She scoffs, brittle and low. “I might as well have. I chose what wouldn’t make our people better. What wouldn’t help our planet. And I was a coward for doing so.”
“Rule Four,” the Doctor says quietly after a pause.
She flinches.
“Say it, Amara,” he urges.
She sighs. “We don't walk away unless we're holding onto something precious.”
The Doctor nods. “And who wrote that rule?”
“Me,” she admits. “I did.”
“You’re right,” he says softly, reaching across the table to take her hand. “I do need to talk to the kids about this. But so do you, Amara. Let’s rip off the bandage.”
She squeezes his hand and nods.
The Doctor sits beside the Alchemist at the small, familiar table, the cellphone balanced delicately in his hand like it might crumble under the weight of everything it’s about to carry. The Alchemist watches him silently, her hands folded, steady, but her eyes won’t leave his face.
He breathes in. Out. Then dials.
Two rings. Titan answers first, adjusting something offscreen with a grease-stained glove.
“Dad?” he smirks. “You calling from a war zone or a comedy sketch this time?”
Behind him, Jessamy appears in the corner of the video. “We’ve been waiting. What’s going on? You look like hell.”
"Where's Jenny?" the Alchemist frowns.
"She's taking court, couldn't make it." Titan shrugs.
Nightingale joins a second later. “Who’s hurt?”
The Doctor leans forward. “No one’s physically hurt. But something happened. Something we didn’t see coming.”
The siblings all go still.
“There was psychic pollen in the TARDIS,” he informs them quietly. “It triggered a shared dream state. We… all got pulled in. And it nearly broke us. Broke me.”
Jessamy lifts her chin. “Broke you?”
He nods. “Yes… there was a Dream Lord. A manifestation of my own darker self. And he made us choose between two realities. Neither was real. We nearly lost ourselves in it. Our companions. Amy and Rory. We almost lost them and it was my fault.”
The Alchemist shifts in her chair, her voice low but firm. “He almost didn’t tell you. Almost tried to carry it alone again.”
Jessamy’s voice tightens. “Dad.”
“I know,” he says quickly. “I know. But I am telling you now.”
Titan folds his arms. “Start from the beginning.”
And so he does. The pollen. The Dream Lord. Leadworth. The frozen TARDIS. The choices. Amy’s jealousy. The kiss. The fear. Rory’s death. His death. Amy’s certainty. The Time War. His shame.
He tells them everything.
When he finishes, there’s silence.
Nightingale breaks it. “We’re not made of glass.”
“I didn’t want to put this on you,” the Doctor admits.
“We’re not children,” Jessamy adds, her tone pointed. “But you still treat us like we are.”
The Doctor drops his head, jaw clenched.
“I just didn’t want to be the father who needs saving.”
“You’re not,” Titan says. “You’re our father. That’s all you ever need to be.”
Jessamy nods. “And Mum? You look about as guilty as Dad. What is it?”
The Alchemist meets their eyes through the screen, voice quiet. “I built the Moment. I helped create the thing that ended it all. I didn’t fight when I should have when they took you. And I’ve hated myself for it ever since.”
None of them blink.
“You also raised us to fight for the right things,” Jessamy says. “And to know when standing still is its own kind of strength.”
Nightingale leans in. “We’re not angry, Mum. We’re just glad you finally let us carry it too.”
The Doctor’s voice catches. “I missed you.”
“We missed you too,” Jessamy says gently. “Come home soon.”
He almost ends the call right there—but Titan holds up a hand, brows drawing tight.
“Wait,” he says. “Anything new about the Vortex?”
The question cuts the air clean.
The Alchemist freezes.
The Doctor slowly turns his head toward her, lips parting, but it’s his Bondmate who answers.
She inhales, carefully.
“It’s the end of time,” she says at last. “Something—someone—is unwriting it. Every second, every event, erased. And if it’s not stopped…”
Nightingale’s jaw clenches. Jessamy’s hand slowly lowers from her collar. Titan goes still.
“Unwritten?” Jessamy echoes.
The Alchemist’s throat tightens. “…we might need your help. All of you.”
Nightingale doesn’t hesitate. “Then you’ll have it.”
The Alchemist breathes through her nose and nods once. “Thank you.”
Titan nods. “Say the word. We’ll come running.”
“Anywhere,” Nightingale adds.
Jessamy’s voice softens. “We love you both. No matter what.”
“And we love you,” the Time Lords whisper back.
The Alchemist ends the call before her voice can break.
The Doctor sits there, frozen for a moment—then finally looks at her.
“That went better than I thought,” he says quietly.
“They’re stronger than us, in all the best ways,” she answers. “I love you and our children equally and more than anything,” she repeats. “You’re not alone. We’re in this together. As we’ve always been.”
He leans into her, forehead to hers, and lets the guilt ease just a little.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
Notes:
I was never particularly fond of this episode and admittedly struggled a bit with the chapter. Ah well. In other news, we've finally caught up with my posting of these chapters on Wattpad! That means I can only post one a week now. I really can't manage more as they take a while to write. I'm still ahead of posting, but it's taking me a bit to figure out the last two episodes of this season, so bear with me. <3