Dreams May Come True

Almadynis

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it isn't mine.

Nova smiled to herself victoriously as she put the last finishing touches on her new book and sent it off to her publisher. Who would have thought that her dreams could make money? Not much money, admittedly, but enough to get her through a college degree without resorting to student loans.

She stretched as she got out of her office chair, shut off the lights, and began to make her way to her warm bed that just waited for her. Nova smiled to herself in satisfaction at her accomplishment; getting the manuscript delivered over a week earlier than expected instead of a month late, which was a new and decidedly happy feeling. Wiggling into her favorite light blue, long, winter nightgown, she slid under the covers and reached out to click off her bedside lamp, wondering what her dreams had in store for her tonight.

She became aware that most people dreamed about different things at night in high school when she made her first friend. A conversation about dreams initiated a frantic research session on dream interpretation and meaning, but nothing Nova found was similar to her situation.

Nova had been dreaming of Time Lords, and the Doctor in particular, for as long as she could remember. She never dreamed of anything else. She had seen him grow up, attend the prestigious Time Lord Academy, take his new name…she had seen so much of his life. Logically, she knew that at over a thousand years old she couldn't have possibly watched all of his life, but Nova felt confident she had seen the major plot developments. Enough adventures for a whole series of books.

It had never really occurred to her until an assignment in Creative Writing how much other people might find her dreams intriguing and entertaining. So, encouraged by her teacher and her friends, who asked her every morning about the previous night's exploits, Nova diligently worked out a favorite adventure of her Doctor and submitted it to the major publishing companies. One year later, she had a deal with Penguin Publishing for another three novels.

Nova yawned, turned over, and felt her mind slip away from reality, into the world of the Doctor. At least half the time, she arrived in the console room of the TARDIS, considering that was where the Doctor spent most of his waking hours while his companions slept between adventures. This occasion was no different. But…

She frowned almost immediately in concern and confusion as her sapphire eyes roamed. The TARDIS's theme had not changed since the Ninth Doctor; nothing changing for years. Now, it was as if she was seeing the room through a red filter. Everything was glowing a crimson light. The air was charged with static, a smell of burning ozone and rot filled her nostrils. Nova covered her mouth and nose in disgust.

She spun in place, trying to find the Doctor, her mind raced with all the questions of what could possibly be going on, but could see no sign of him. A fifteen minute frantic run around the major places he should be resulted in nothing and no answers. In fact, there was a thin layer of dust in the corridors and on the door handles. It was as if no one had been anywhere but the control room in months.

Slowly, Nova became aware of a sound. It started so softly that she hadn't noticed, but it steadily increased in volume until she could hear nothing else. It was a mournful wail, almost a scream. Of pain, despair, pain, fear, pain. Her breaths began to get shorter as she realized the sound was in her mind. The soul of the TARDIS was screaming to any and all that would listen, even to a human.

Tears poured down her cheeks at she shared a hint of the ship's torment. She wished she could help the obviously injured TARDIS, compassion filling her mind and soul. Nova took a deep breath and tried to mentally reach toward the pain and misery she could feel. Pouring all her compassion and all the memories she could think of involving comfort, peace, and love down that humming line of torment.

It seemed that the screaming eased for a long moment and Nova smiled at being able to bring some assistance. The smile vanished when between one moment and the next it felt as if her entire body was wrenched to the side, as if she had been violently shoved. It was Nova's turn to voice a short scream of surprise and a little fear. Eyes stinging at the feel of brutal invisible winds whipping around her, she curled her arms around her chest and dropped into a kneeling position, or tried to. Her fear mounted as she realized that she couldn't move, not one finger. She couldn't even blink. Terror infused her as she tried to take a breath to no avail; she mentally began to scream in hysteria.

And then it was over. Like nothing had ever happened. She was still standing in the dusty corridor of the TARDIS, red light overshadowing everything. The TARDIS's voice, previously so loud as to be impossible to ignore, was now absent. The change in volume made her more aware of just how alone she was, only the normal soft groaning of the ship echoed around her.

Nova shook her head, and hastily walked toward the exit, navigating the maze of hallways with the ease of long practice. This dream was too much, too odd. It was time to wake up. She had gotten out of some of the dreams about the Time War by running far enough away that the world dissolved around her. She picked up her pace and ran around the crimson lit console, pulled open the doors, and froze.

There, in front of her with an air of superiority, was a man. That alone would not have made her pause, she had seen him numerous times in close proximity. No, what made her stop so abruptly were his honey eyes. It was the surprise that lay in them, the immediate focus on her face and body. It was the smirk.

"Now, how did you get in here?" the tenor question was filled with genuine curiosity.

He saw her.

Pain is a powerful motivator. Even the threat of small discomforts can manipulate. Many life-altering decisions have been made while the mind is filled with the desperation caused by mental or physical agony. Some of those choices can be fixed. Some can never be taken back.

The Master was used to the TARDIS's cries. He had heard them for months after the paradox machine was turned on; the ship was in so much pain that it broadcast to where all species with even a slight telepathic ability was able to hear its torment. It was another way he could hurt the Doctor. The bond between Pilot and TARDIS was a close one. That wrinkle of pain in between his nemesis' eyebrows made the Master feel warm and giddy.

It was the momentary absence of the screaming that got the Master's attention. He was on his feet and running down the hall almost instantly. If something or someone had changed with the paradox machine, then his lovely plans for the Earth and war were in danger! He had to protect that machine. No one should have been able to enter! All those with keys were either on the planet below or imprisoned.

The Master threw open the TARDIS doors and felt his body freeze at the sight before him. A female, barely five foot four inches, stood staring at him with sapphire blue eyes in turn. Her hair was an unremarkable brown-red as it fell to her waist. Her face was easily forgettable. Her feet were bare, which made a sort of sense as the girl, perhaps in her mid-twenties if she were human, was wearing light blue sleeping attire.

However, the nightgown had a design of the Doctor's TARDIS embroidered on the chest. The stitches of different lengths meant she had done the needlework herself. She must be a former companion of the Doctor's to know the police box design well enough for the embroidery. But the Master had searched the TARDIS for stowaways as soon as he took possession of the ship and found none. The girl didn't have a key that he could see, which left the question… "Now, how did you get in here?"

He could tell that his question surprised her greatly from the way her eyes widened comically. "Ummm…I…ummm…you can see me?" His eyebrows rose as he nodded with a smirk.

"This is new. No one's ever seen me before." She said it half to herself. "And, well…I'm dreaming. I went to sleep and went to the TARDIS like I usually do, but she was screaming this time. She hurt so much! I tried to help, and then it felt like what I would imagine a portkey would feel like. I got a bit scared, so I ran to the exit and then you were here." She explained in a rush of syllables.

The Master's eyebrows couldn't have gotten any higher if he tried. Her story was unusual, but he couldn't sense any deception. She wasn't lying; or more precisely she truly believed her story. He took a deep breath, trying to scent anything out of the ordinary and almost choked. Permeating the air was the sickly sweet honey smell of artron energy. It was as if he had stuck his nose in the heart of a TARDIS! "Who are you?" he demanded as he reached for his screwdriver.

"Nova."

He snorted. He couldn't sense a lie, but it was an obvious alias. Who would name their child 'new'? A shortened form of 'supernova' was possible, but it was too much of a coincidence. He grabbed her bicep and shook her slightly. "Who are you?!"

The girl's eyes widened in fear. "Nova! I'm Nova!" He narrowed his eyes. She obviously believed it. Perhaps a spy sent to infiltrate the Valiant? Perfect spies believed their own story.

He used the screwdriver to give her a scan. He froze at the results. The artron reading was off the scale! Nothing but a soul of a TARDIS or the Vortex itself would be as high. The girl, Nova, was soaking in radiation. Another scan proved that it wasn't killing her either, despite the fact that she was human.

The Master let go of her and just looked at her for several long moments as he tried to understand her. However, he came up blank. Nothing he could think of would explain this. Which left only two options: kill her or keep her. He wasn't going to kill a potential tool, so that left keeping her.

Nova watched the man as he watched her and felt a chill run up her spine as his smirk grew devious. She had never seen him before, but doubted that he was the Doctor. She had never seen the Doctor smile like that in any of his regenerations. No, this was someone else. "Who are you?" she asked timidly.

He didn't answer her for a moment, but eventually said "You will call me Master."

She swallowed convulsively in the beginnings of true fear as her mind cataloged all the facts she knew about the man. The Master, childhood friend of the Doctor. Nicknamed Koschei. Began to go crazy from a four-beat pattern of drums sounding endlessly through his mind. Was a scientist and tactician of the best caliber on Gallifrey. Elaborate plans to get the Doctor to submit and surrender to the Master's superiority, which never worked. Kills indiscriminately.

Whatever was happening to her, Nova was starting to really hope it was just an extremely vivid dream. Because really being at the Master's mercy was a terrifying thought.

Nova was now certain that whatever that portkey-ish feeling had been, it had literally yanked her into the world of her dreams. Her former dreams were now her reality. It had been two weeks since meeting the Master, and she remembered every bit of it. Dreams had time skips, only dreaming the important parts. Nova had been bored a lot, being locked in her room as she was.

The only people that Nova saw were the Master and the lady who brought her food. The Master almost never said anything. He came in to run another scan with his screwdriver or had some device to test her with. She had given up asking him questions on the fourth day with no answers. Francine was a quiet middle-aged woman who had only answered the question about her name. Nova wondered if the woman had been forbidden to speak, or if that was attributed to her mannerisms.

Nova had some books to read, a soft bed to sleep, and a desk to write. She finally gave up waiting for the dream to end on the second day. The books were finished on the fifth day. She began to write again on the sixth day. One more Doctor adventure down on paper. Then another. It's amazing how much one can get done when there isn't anything else to do!

Today, day fifteen, Nova just lay in bed. It had been increasingly difficult to force herself out of bed the last few days. There really wasn't a reason to get up, was there? She never went anywhere. No one ever came to talk to her. Clouds were the only thing that changed out the window. There were no more books to read. And what was the point in writing? No one was going to read it. There was no point.

She got up twice to pee in the adjoining small bathroom, but just went right back into bed. She nibbled at the food occasionally, but left most of it. She just wasn't that hungry. Mostly, she slept.

Francine left Nova's breakfast on the desk and left quietly, letting the girl sleep in. She knew that any comfort dreams could offer were to be cherished. She wished she could stay in her own dreams: her family all together and happy with no Master or Toclafane to worry about.

She wished she was allowed to speak with the girl, but there was never a time when she wasn't watched by the guards. Nova just looked so lost and alone. Francine's maternal instincts made her want to hold the child and reassure her.

She began to get concerned when Nova's breakfast was barely touched. The lunch was the same. And when she came with breakfast the next morning, she knew something was wrong. The girl hadn't touched her dinner either.

Francine couldn't chance asking what was wrong; the Master would have Tish beaten if she did. There really wasn't much she could do, despite her worry. She bit her lip as she tried to think of what could be possible without hurting her family.

At lunch, she gave the guard that always accompanied her a significant look, startling him. His eyes narrowed at her and followed her suspiciously. He knew that Francine was a pretty model servant, so his job was normally very boring. But this was new and he watched her like a hawk as she went in to the bedroom of the Master's newest prisoner. He watched as the mother put down the tray on the desk, but saw that unlike every other day, her body was to the side so he could see both trays. He watched as she lifted the breakfast tray and shifted her eyes to him. He saw her look at him for a moment, look at the tray in her hands, and look back at him. She did this several times.

Francine wanted to grin in satisfaction as the guard finally turned his full attention to the tray in her hands. She saw the moment he understood. When she walked out of the room, closing the door behind her, his gruff voice asked "How long?"

"Three days."

He nodded and spoke into his earpiece, reporting to his superior the aberration.

The Master was disgusted at the once again negative results of his latest tests on Nova. The only readings he could get from the girl were the artron radiation! Her body was too infused with the energy for any other test to give only static. Even her pulse had to be taken manually; the screwdriver was useless. In a fit of pique, he threw the utterly pointless device against the wall with a growl of anger.

One of the first things he had tried was telepathy. He was one of the best telepaths the Time Lords had, but when he tried to read her mind all he could see were glowing golden particles of light. It was like looking into the Time Vortex or the heart of a TARDIS without the danger. The only reason he knew she had been truthful before was because humans couldn't lie without telegraphing it in their body and tonality.

He had contemplated just shoving his way through her mind in a relentless cascade of willpower, but the energy stopped him. At best, it was simply infusing the child's being in a protective barrier. Then his invasion could make her catatonic or brain dead. Either case would make her useless to him. At worst, the energy could be corrosive to his thoughts, invading his own mind. The drums were enough!

He was interrupted with his thoughts of frustration as the guard captain came into his office. "Sir. I have a report that the girl has stopped eating."

The Master was up and moved down the hall determinedly. She wasn't allowed to die until he was good and finished with her!

He strode into Nova's bedroom and surveyed the arrangements. Food untouched on her desk. The lights were off until he had flicked them. The girl's form was huddled under the covers of her bed in such a way that he could only see her hair peeking out. His screwdriver once again gave the same readings as it always did and he knew from experience that trying once again to read her mind would be useless. Which left the tiresome and annoying method. "Why aren't you eating?!"

Nova opened her eyes, but she was facing the wall so couldn't see her captor. She didn't really need to though. Why bother? It wasn't like anything changed. "Not hungry." She finally answered, her voice quiet in the din. In the beginning, she had been scared to be at the Master's mercy. It had never occurred to her that a lack of stimulation could be torture too.

"Eat anyway!" The Master ordered the girl, but received no other response. This was infuriating! The problem was he had no leverage to keep her in line. She had shown up on the TARDIS. There was no record of any 'Nova' in the United Kingdom or Americas that fit her description, so no family to threaten her into compliance. He couldn't risk physically harming her until he figured out how the artron energy was contained. If it was contained at all. Opening the heart of a TARDIS was paramount to self-destruction, as was the Vortex. The Master had been called many things, but suicidal wasn't one of them.

When a minute passed without a response, the Master threw up his hands in exasperation, turned on his heel, and left the room. He was running out of options.

Nova drifted in and out of sleep. She wrote briefly whenever she wasn't sleeping, nibbling at the food, or staring at a wall. It was never much. Mostly she 'wrote' by staring at the notebook paper listlessly. She stopped keeping track of the days. There wasn't much point, was there? No, not much point at all.

She mostly dreamed. More adventures with the Doctor and his companions as they traveled the universe. These dreams were different than her usual ones though. They were hazy around the edges and most of the companions were out of focus. Even the Doctor was occasionally out of focus, like she was looking at him through smudged glass. Several times, all Nova could really get in detail was dialogue, and even then not much. Those dreams didn't last very long.

The only ones that she could see easily were the Doctor when he was in his pinstriped suit and converse, Martha Jones, Donna Noble, and Clara. Dear Clara, the poor girl. The Doctor never noticed her.

It had taken Nova years to finally put all the pieces together of who and what Clara was. She just kept showing up over and over again. Many times dying quite quickly after being in the Doctor's vicinity. She had saved his life so many times. Clara had pulled him out of the way of a speeding car just before he would have been killed. She had moved into the line of sight of a sniper, taking a bullet meant for him. She had yanked him back onto the roof of a building before he could accidentally go over the side, his attention on holding tightly to his companion who had already gone over the roof. Over and over she had saved his life. He never seemed to notice, attributing his survival to luck if he realized that he had been in danger at all.

Nova had been twenty-six when she dreamed about how Clara had jumped into the Doctor's timeline. Then everything made sense with the Impossible Girl. Ironically, that had been one of the first dreams in her new reality. Only the Doctor himself had been fuzzy. Everything else was crystal clear in bright clarity.

She wondered again what the new lack of focus could mean, but dismissed it. No real point either way, was there?

Another two days passed before the Master finally conceded. He was a master of many things, but he had finally run out of ideas.

He dragged a newly deaged Doctor to the girl's room and practically threw the other Time Lord in with a yell of "Fix her!" before slamming his hand on the locking mechanism.

He growled at the four guards on the door. "Don't let him out until she's eaten." The Master stomped away, furious at having been forced to let the Doctor at the girl. It was only because he didn't want to die. Rassilon only knew what could happen if she was injured in any way. That energy had to go somewhere, and the Master sure as the Void didn't want it to go into him. Let the Doctor get killed.

That thought brought a grin to his face as he went back to his office to deal with the pile of paperwork that came with ruling the world.

The Doctor let his eyes roam around the newest captive of his childhood friend. Through a door to his left he could see a restroom. A pile of clothes was by the entrance to the right, a chair beside the pile of dirty garments held a stack of folded, assumingly clean, clothes. A desk rested in front of the only window, a circular porthole around a foot in diameter, with a few writing utensils and stacks of paper haphazardly nestled on its surface. The twin bed lay pushed against the far wall, perpendicular to where he stood; the cream sheets visible under the pale yellow down comforter. A mound in the covers identified where the girl lay, but all he could see was a non-descript brown fluff of hair. By the smell, she had not bathed in at least three days.

The silence of the room was oppressive. It would be even more so to the girl. Humans were social creatures. They needed activity and conversations. They needed reasons to do things. If what the Master had told him were true, the child, barely into her twenties, had no contact with the outside world beyond two people, and neither were conversationalists.

He stepped to the bedside and said quietly, not wanting to startle her, "Hello there. I'm the Doctor." He watched as the covers, which she had bunched into her fists by her face, pulled down slightly until he could see dull blue eyes look back at him. There was recognition buried in that gaze which piqued his curiosity. "What's your name then?" he asked gently. For the moment, he erred on the side of caution and spoke like he would have to one of his children.

His hearts clenched at her answering tone. It was monotonous, plain, and slow in coming. "Nova." Despite the lack of physical pain, it was obvious how much the time in this bare Spartan room had damaged her.

"Nice to meet you, Nova." He pondered how this conversation could go for a few quiet minutes, not quite sure how to continue to engage her attention.

To his surprise, she spoke next. "Are you really the Doctor?" He smiled gently at her and nodded. "I don't suppose he will let you take me home." He winced slightly, which seemed to be enough of an answer for her. "I didn't think so." She said dully. He waited another minute, hoping she would keep talking. Silence had been her world for a long time. Now that there was an audience, he hoped she would fill the void. "Why are you here?"

"People are concerned that you aren't eating."

"You mean the Master is concerned about losing his potential asset before he's played with it." Nova said softly, bitterly.

The Doctor rubbed his neck, masking his surprise at her insightful answer. It was also the most life she had displayed since he walked in. "Weeeell…yeaaaah. He also wants to know about the artron radiation."

That certainly gained her attention. A spark of life lit in her eyes, pulling her into a sitting position, leaning against the headboard to watch him. The comforter had fallen to her lap and his eyes were immediately captured by the hand stitched TARDIS on her nightgown; his own blue police box TARDIS. Brown orbs met blue as she spoke. "He never mentioned radiation…if it was killing me he would have said something sooner, if only to rub my face in it. The TARDIS has enough artron energy to fuel anything that he could possibly have better than any human battery." It was as if she were logically working through all the possibilities she could think of out loud. She knew about his TARDIS, knew what it looked like, and knew some about artron energy. He didn't recall ever seeing her before, though something about her felt familiar. "He hasn't done his usual things to get information either; neither telepathy nor torture. So the only reason he brought you in would be because those endless tests he keeps giving me are coming up empty." He blinked again at her insights into the Master's character. "That about right?"

The Doctor nodded carefully. "How do you know so much about him?"

Nova grimaced and shrugged at the expected question. After so long with no one to talk to, the opportunity the Doctor represented was like a balm. So much so that she knew as soon as he asked that she had said too much.

She had dreamed about the Doctor for as long as she could remember. She knew some of his language and more importantly, some of the laws of Gallifrey. She wished she had thought of that when she first spoke to the Master, deeply regretting her words to the psychopath. Those scant sentences could have condemned her to eternal confinement in the Citadel if the planet still existed. She knew things that only the Doctor's family should know. She knew things that should never leave the planet's surface. She knew things that even the Doctor kept hidden deep within the Medusa Cascade.

If the Doctor knew just how much she had seen of his life…she would never be able to even attempt to go back home. Being the Doctor, he wouldn't kill her, but she was now intensely aware of fate's worse than death. Death was easy and quick. If the Master found out…Nova shivered in fear, her mind shying away from the thought. The insane Time Lord knew more ways of variations of torture than she could ever think of, and had no wish to list.

Instead, after a moment to think, she went with "He talks a lot."

He blinked at her, sensing the lie. There was much more to this than she was saying. So, falling back to his admittedly-rusty paternal instincts, he let the topic drop for the moment. "Can you eat?"

She shrugged again. "Not really hungry." Which he had expected. Given what he knew so far, the poor girl had gone into a mild depressive state. He had a few things he wanted to say to the Master when he saw him next.

Putting a small telepathic suggestion into his voice, he prodded her "Will you try?" He held out an banana with a tiny hopeful smile. The fruit should be gentle enough on her stomach.

Nova gave an exhausted sigh and nodded.

The Doctor couldn't help his triumphant grin. She wasn't too far gone yet.

Tell me what you think! This is an idea I've been kicking around. I would love to hear your input!

Special thanks to emptyvoices as my wonderful beta, and to LovelyAmberLight for her encouragement.