Will We Meet Again?

Chapter 19 – Home is where the Heart is Set in Stone.

Lake Saiful Maluk.

It was named after a legendary prince who fell in love with a star.

It began with the prince having dreams of a woman with crystal eyes, waking up in hot flashes, only to long more for a chance to meet whoever she was.

He had told his father about the dreams only to immediately be discouraged.

The prince was human and the girl was not of this world.

His father scolded him, they could never be together.

...But one late winter's night, the prince snuck out from his home, climbing the narrow slopes towards the lake – an odd pull in his heart telling him that he needed to be there. When he got there, ground laden in snow but with the lake still unfrozen, he watched in awe as a beam of light descended from the sky – landing in the centre of the lake.

A new patch of thick ice, having grown instantaneously in the direct centre of the lake by the beam, now harboured a pale woman. The woman, the star, would then begin to bathe with the freezing cold water of the lake – the prince astounded because he had finally found what destiny had seemingly been trying to bring to him.

This was a cheap, dollar-store dupe of what I once considered my favourite story.

The unexpected sight of the Doctor – the Fourth version of him, to be precise – had thrown me into a spiral of confusion. What was he doing here, in the Northern ranges of Pakistan? I thought he had a thing for never leaving the U.K.

And the sight of us here. What I once imagined as an epic sight, full of fantasy and wonder, painted the scene of a beautiful, unearthly angel and this naive prince, strangers yet still connected – oh, all the drama, tension, mystery!

This was nothing of that sort.

"I'm here to rescue you!" He shouted, ever so heroically, from across the way.

"I've-e got m-mixed feelings a-a-about that-t," I chattered back, wracked through with a shiver.

Soon enough, I was reduced to a slouched heap, shivering, as ten men inelegantly made fools of themselves, trying their hardest to skim around the lake to get to me. They were all bundled up, head to toe in a heavy materials, leaving only their noses to the air – my case was less fortunate. In less than ten minutes, my lips had turned blue and my muscles, instead of a light shiver, began shaking.

The colder I got, the more visibly worried they got. Especially the Doctor. Though he tried to hide it behind joking shouts of encouragement.

"Moore, hold on a little longer!" and "Come now, a little cold never stumped you before!" – not to mention my personal favourite, "Moore, I'll bet you my favourite hat we'll make it in less than 10 minutes."

A part of me was happy to lose that bet, if only he'd quicken up a bit... though, his hat was a very tempting prize for what was only a little bit of hypothermia.

My mind was slowed, only able to process basic emotions and thoughts. I knew I was annoyed – annoyed at his voice being so far away. I wanted it close. Most definitely just the instinctual need for warmth.

I didn't register when exactly I felt the world begin to spin underneath my feet – only the thought that, in the arctic winter there was nothing to hold the mind, no familiar thing, no comfort aside from the Doctor's words.

But even those fell flat as I lost consciousness.

It was a miracle I didn't fall face first into the lake. I might've just been a goner if I had.

Still, the cold was enough to immobilise me. It was scary – at least, I could acknowledge the fear I felt – barely. My mind slipped in and out of consciousness, making for a confusing array of events.

After I passed out, still on the ice block in the middle of the lake, watching the men gather closer in what seemed to be a hurriedly self-constructed raft – I briefly remember being wrapped up in a carpet of sorts. It was thick, unbending, and completely insulating. Whatever heat I had left in me was hanging by a thread, and the material made it easier to keep.

Through an entry in the top, I momentarily saw that we had made it away from the lake, going down the incline of a hill.

Every surface, every blade of grass and twig is growing long ice crystals ten or more millimetres in length. They were little forests of ice, pure white "trees" growing without roots. Into the distance I could see the low fog that clings to the air – winters breath on my skin.

I was being carried in strong arms as well, high off the ground. Yet with the heaviness of the material covering me, I could hardly make out the hands of who was lifting me. There were many highs and lows to the terrain, and the passage of time – though it felt to go on for days due to my state, may have just lasted 15 minutes at best.

I had no idea where we were going. I had no control of my own body. I was completely at the whim of other people.

Still, I knew the Doctor wouldn't leave me in a tricky spot. He'd do whatever he could – and for that, I felt far more at peace than I ever could've imagined.

The next time I regained consciousness, I was no longer covered in that carpet. Instead I was being held like a toddler, my head draped across someone's broad shoulder – and with my legs wrapped around someone's torso, being supported by hands underneath my thighs. It was much warmer than the drab material from before.

I gasped, catapulting into full control and out of that haze. I was frozen from head to toe, feeling my teeth begin to clack against each other violently as the result of a spasm. I briefly registered the noise of someone making shushing noised at me, calm and comforting, as if I were a crying child.

Waiting for the static in my vision to abide and for my body to regain control, I stirred normally, and my carrier inhaled a breath, either in relief or surprise.

"O-oh g-god..." I groaned through chattering teeth. I wanted to throw up over his shoulder.

The voice hummed in coy amusement, right next to the shell of my ear. "You flatter me, dear. Just 'The Doctor' is fine. And seemingly, more of what you need, in your state."

I don't know why I had any doubts over who it was that was holding me. A shiver ran down my spine, and I told myself it was caused by the hypothermia, rather than the deepness of his voice as it was now. Where older versions of him had peppier, more sprightly voices, I wanted this one to narrate over all my audio-books for me.

Again, I barely had the strength to roll my eyes at his words.

"Y-you do realise, y-you've just aided in manufacturing one of the most f-famous folklore stories this c-country has ever known?" I stuttered out, my frustration from earlier bleeding through the fatigue I felt.

If anything, I needed to share the comical, horrible circumstance with him – either laughing with him about it, or scolding him into his next regeneration.

His gasp of mock surprise had me wanting to follow through on the latter of those options.

"Really? I'm not familiar with it, but I can see the blurb at the back-cover now. Kind traveller heroically saves underdressed fool from certain death. Paints me in a positive light, I think – serves as a moral to put a sweater on perhaps, if you're expecting snow." He crooned out a hidden lecture, as if I had anything to do with my current position.

"Well, I d-didn't k-know what to expect n- now, did I?" My voice was weaker than I'd like it. I'd shove him if I could, but I found my eyelids growing heavy again.

I barely noticed how our surroundings were no longer icy plains – but colourful tiled floors and beige walls. Somehow, it was all shaded. Like when you wake up in the middle of the night to fetch yourself a glass of water – attempting to operate through the semi-darkness, with a single light guiding your way. The air too had a distinct feel of being far past midnight – and despite my predicament, I felt as if we were intruding on a resting household's premises.

We had made it to safety at least, wherever that was. The inside was a much welcomed improvement, yet my skin still hurt to move.

There was a small group of people scattering around us like very griefstricken, loud mice. I didn't have the energy to lift my head and look any of them in the eye, only seeing their feet in my peripherals, but the Doctor seemed calm as they guided him somewhere.

He responded to them curtly, quietly – knowing he had the power to set off a ringing in my ears due to his proximity. He must've told the others to hush too, because at some point, they all noticeably tried lowering the volume on their panicky voices. Was it my arrival that had them in such a mood?

We passed a threshold and my eyes adjusted to the sudden lack of light.

This room was darkened, yet much, much warmer than the hallways we had passed. An orange glow, setting off from the corner of the room let me know why – fire, warmth, good. I could see a limestone floor, with broad patterns cut into it, with red accented embellishments catching my eye every now and then. Red carpet, red curtains completely covering the windows, red lampshades, and finally, a red duvet to the bed I was placed on.

I could only stare up as the Doctor eased me onto the soft pile of blankets. His tallness was so dramatic now, both with my unfortunate position, along with the long, burning shadows cast from the fireplace. It made me wonder when exactly I'd crawled over from Sci-fi to horror.

Still, the look on his face was far too dopey to ever belong to a ghoul – perhaps a very silly ghoul who happened to be very bad at his job. To prove my point, he winced, looking like he belonged in a comedy sketch.

"Now, my dear, this might serve to be an uncomfortable experience for you – so forgive me. But in order to save your toes from cracking off like icicles, you'll need not let something as stupid as propriety clog your senses. Do you trust me to help you?"

His words were fast, so much so that I needed a second to process them. I chattered out a slight chuckle, despite having another shiver wrack me.

"H-how can you be so p-polite, yet so brash, all in one g-go? It's unnerving," I bit out with a second's worth of a sigh. "D-do your worst."

The words had left my lips, meaning nothing more than to be a jab at him – yet, when his grin twisted into something I could imagine a fox wearing, I knew I'd messed up.

"Dangerous words," the sound rolled off his tongue.

"Arrogant man," I scoffed, not as annoyed as I sounded.

He was already making himself busy, making quick work of yanking up a thick blanket, covering me from head to toe.

It gave me pause. Oh I knew this smell...

Pakistani patu's were the type of blanket that just smelt of sleep somehow – that's what I'd always thought as a kid. Now that some time had passed, and my nose had grown, I was surprised to find that the easy smell more closely resembled that of warm clay and lavender oil.

I was torn from the pleasant thought when a mountains worth of weight was steadily added on top. I hadn't even noticed that the Doctor had slowly been piling on more and more blankets, one on top of the other – until I may just as well have rivalled Mount Fuji in size.

So this was his hypothermia regimen. He went about it all so easily that I had to wonder whether he'd done it all before with someone else. Given his string of recorded antics, it wouldn't be a stretch.

Minutes stretched into several and slowly, I felt a pressure growing around me, not being able to see completely. A few periphery glances however, and I found that I had turned into the human equivalent of a burrito – lying dormant under a tall stack of heavy cushions and blankets.

Some time had passed now, and what was once a pleasant little exchange about blankets, had turned bitter. The Doctor was still piling warm things around, yet I felt no better.

"D-doctor?" I called to him – scared I couldn't even see him. My voice sounded meek and it hurt not being able to control how I presented myself – how I normally had a knack for keeping things together, everything seemed to be coming loose.

A dreadful wash of fear seemed to crash into me, out of nowhere, once I realised how his antics weren't exactly helping too much. I still felt like ice, all the way through.

I had heard stories of people losing more than they ever expected to extreme weather. Limbs that froze to the bone and became useless. What prevented the same from happening to me?

"I-it's not getting better. Why isn't it getting better?" I bit my lip, feeling another shiver. "I-I've never b-been this cold before."

"Quite right," Came his closely followed response, somewhat vaguely from the room itself. He sounded as if he was walking around, continually attending to tasks, sounding nonplussed.

"Quite the trying experience you've just had. This is my fault – truly. I forget how susceptible human skin is to the elements – makes me wish I could've prevented this. Invent self-heating jackets a couple centuries too early, and maybe–"

"–Stop it." My sharp interruption cut him down. I felt a jagged dash frustration, exhaling after my outburst. "S-stop being sorry, a-and stop w-with all t-that pity crap. Stop-p skirting around i-it and give m-me one straight a-answer. How bad i-is it?"

At my outburst, the shuffling of his feet fell quiet. After a distant sigh, and a glimmer of regret on my end, I felt a pressure on my wrist, realising it was the Doctor's hand, lying atop a veil of cushioning. Just knowing he was there, in arms reach, took a bit of edge off.

"If you want honesty, then your wish is my command," his voice answered. He had dropped the breezy nonchalance he carried as he ran about the room. He sounded serious now, and the thought of a serious Doctor had me gulping down air.

"They say that nothing burns like the cold, and that after a short while, it can get inside you and start to fill you up. You know that it's bad – really, truly bad – when you don't have the strength to fight it. When you feel nothing, nothing except the need to sleep."

I could imagine his gaze going steely as he spoke – the bubbly blue of his eyes turning metallic and distanced, as he spoke with a voice weathered with age.

It only disappeared at his next sentiment.

"And yet, the simple fact that you can still tell me off in only the way you can, well – case in point. Obviously, you're not not capable of feeling. You'll live to be an old crone yet, Moore." He assured me, audibly returning to the present.

"Nevertheless, your pulse is still too low for my liking – not to mention the blueberry-pie-ish hue your fingers have taken on. I thought that the blankets would help, but the process is far too slow. We need to increase your body's temperature," He said with grim urgency. His hand squeezed mine. "Only, and I'll ask you again, if you trust me."

I clenched my eyes shut, not really caring what he meant, as long as it made the feeling of ice go away.

"W-well, I w-would really like for my t-teeth to stop clicking at each o-other. K-kinda starting t-to hurt," I tried to joke. I sighed then, trying to reach for his hand despite the barrier. "As long as it's not shady, then, yeah, I trust you."

I wonder if he knew that I'd learnt to believe in him by now. Timelines were confusing, but at least I could feel it out by now – where we stood with each other. I guess I just wondered when exactly I would be the one, trying to get him to believe in me.

Well, he did try and cross an arctic tundra to get to me – so maybe I could rest assured that the fourth Doctor was chill. I must've won him over a long time ago, way to go future-me.

I was stopped from dwelling on my thoughts when I felt a stirring next to me. Since I could hardly move, I tried to catch a glimpse from my peripherals, only to see the Doctor finally – removing his hat, followed by his long jacket.

I felt a cold sweat on the skin of my neck as I watched him detangle himself of his fashion statements – looking less and less like an outlandish, fictional character, and more like a simple, practically human man. The mounting realisation of what he meant was becoming more and more apparent to me.

He shuffled into the bed once he was visibly comfier, and I watched the tightened curls on his head fall forwards like a dark mop, over his eyes, without that large brimmed hat to keep them at bay.

"You know, they do say fools can't catch a cold. Perhaps this is a good opportunity to conduct an experiment."

His unexpected comment, said in such a matter of fact way, put a pause on the shaky anxiety I was beginning to feel, allowing for my jaw to quit it's jittering, and drop instead.

I squinted in disbelief. "A-are you serious? Y-you're saying that if I, uh, v-very normally and justifiably get i-ill as a result of t-this, I'm suddenly a fool?"

His resinating chuckle seemed to only throw me further. "On the contrary. I find that foolish people tend to be a leap more annoying when they find themselves in such unfavourable circumstances, compared to how endearing you are when you're angry. Perhaps I'll need to wait to find another test subject."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I didn't know whether to feel shy at the veiled compliment, or otherwise insulted with the way it was put.

"Y-you t-think I'm cute w-when I'm angry?" I weakly cocked an eyebrow, teeth grit. "W-well, get ready b-because I'm about to be gorgeous."

Obviously, and not like it'd take a genius to realise it anyway, he spotted the growing strain in my voice. I was in no state to be angry, even if I felt the need to put him in his place.

"Save your strength, darling," His voice was a light hush now, closer to me. "You are not to leave this bed. I'll stay here and babysit you if I have to."

I faltered into an accepting truce, registering his new closeness and growing less confident. "We'll fight tomorrow then. S-schedule it."

"Oh no, that would be impossible," His resinous chuckle shook the layered stack of blankets. "I'm busy then, you see. In fact, I'm booked for the next 200 years or so. What a shame."

We fell into a new type of silence, the kind that came with him settling behind me.

I imagined if anyone else were put in this situation – how long would it take for them to freak out over the Doctor's antics? How long before they begun accusing him of taking advantage of their frozen state – all for a chance at getting into bed with them?

I definitely would have, if only I didn't have a head filled to the brim with useless information.

Practically living in a bookstore for a little more than two years had let me stumble on tons of tidbits of data I'd realistically never have needed in the normal doings of daily life. As a few general examples; pamphlets had let me know how to survive skydiving with a jammed parachute – I'd skimmed manuals on how to stitch Edwardian-era hats – culinary books on how to become a Michelin star chef in less than 3 months – CIA guides on the art of disguise and deception. A few had come in handy in the past, namely make-up manuals on how to look like you're from the 1920's, when I was with Eight – to 'Charisma: Make Social Anxiety your Bitch' for those few times I had to confront genocidal aliens.

One such book – a book on survival to be precise – relayed that one of the quickest and closest mediums, capable of heating up a hypothermic body was, you guessed it, another human body. I don't know why I ever read through it in the first place – maybe on the one in 1,000,000 chance I'd get kidnapped and forced to live in the wild with Bear Grylls. It didn't seem too improbable – I was in the same situation now, in a way, only with more Sci-fi and less Animal Planet.

It was because of that, that I knew. What the Doctor was doing, was helping me. Not because he wanted to – but because; Science.

Still – it didn't do a single thing to help the plaguing embarrassment that infected me.

I was on my side, facing the fireplace and with my back turned to him. I counted the seconds separating each one of my heartbeats from the next, exponentially feeling them quicken when the front of his chest brushed my back.

My body reacted in the only way a heat-starved mammal could – with my chimp brain instructing my back to press completely into him, my legs bending at the knee to press my feet inbetween his calves. I was wracked with a shiver, immediately feeling the stark shift – he felt white-hot, the feeling of burning my hands coming to mind – only that it lessened rather than growing, almost immediately, softly, into a gentle sting.

He didn't seem to mind – not budging with discomfort from either the coldness of my body or the obvious intimacy of being so close to someone he didn't 'fancy' that way.

I'd always thought that his face now was more intense than some of the others – with so much more drama in those big eyes – but perhaps it was the self-assured, calm mood he was in, that made him seem like he knew what he was doing.

Always ready to tackle a problem – never scared of the consequences. And if by chance he didn't know how to solve the puzzle, or if he ever truly was afraid – he never let it show. Take all that and add the fact that he managed to undoubtedly make everyone around him, friend or foe, feel like an idiot compared to him. That's what I knew this Doctor as.

I calmed, adjusting to the slowly lessening cold. It felt as though a match was struck when a sudden hand reached up to faintly settle on my waist. I breathed in, nervously I realised.

His fingers grazed over the tattoos at my waist, almost like he couldn't help himself. Sure his hand rested on top a layer of cotton, but it was so intentional that my mind knew long before it actually registered – leaving the skin there seared with the indents of his fingertips.

His long, low sigh seemed to just confirm that he knew of the dark marks made in my skin, years before I ever thought I'd meet a man like him. Faintly, I could feel the light thrumming of his hearts against my back.

"Sometimes I forget. That you've lived a life before me," His voice was a calm drawl – much shorter a sentiment than any of his normal drabbles. It made my own heart skip a beat.

I attempted to sneak a look at his face, arching my neck back. I don't know what I was entirely expecting, but when I caught his large, sky blue eyes – looking down at mine – I startled at the proximity.

I quickly looked away – making a mental note to not repeat that shit. I just felt twice as more self-aware.

"You've seen my tattoos then?" I asked, letting the question hang in the air. I wanted to sound confrontational, accusing even – they should've been hidden to him in every possible way, and I couldn't fathom how in his past he could've spotted them. Yet my voice was barely audible, almost scared to ask – scared to read into the simple touch.

After a beat, a hum echoed from behind me, reverberating through my back.

Confirmation then. I couldn't tell it he was being nonchalant, or cowardly, not using words.

Regardless, the thought set off an odd stirring feel.

I coughed. "I-It can't be helped. Everyone's got a past, full of secrets. This isn't codespeak, by the way – I'm totally not implying I may have killed a man in the eighteen years since I first met the likes of you."

He chuckled. "I wouldn't put it past you."

I elected to ignore that comment. He had a way of making you think that he knew your character better than you ever could – so if he thought me capable of homicide when pushed, who was I to disagree?

Still I sighed, brought back to the topic at hand. Our lives before fate ever brought us together – well, 'crash landed us into the other' seemed a more fitting description.

"You've lived a life before me, just the same," I reminded him quietly. "It's not like I know everything about you either, or your home, before the TARDIS."

My thoughts tried to justify that statement – realising the gaps in what I knew. How little I really knew.

He had a granddaughter, out there, somewhere – Susan. And even their relationship had been vague at best. Any other family was often left unspecified, implied, but vague – wow, I suppose I didn't really know much about his early life at all. I was contained to all that the show ever gave me.

His life on Gallifrey, whatever family he had there – what he did in his younger days, where he played – all those special places, the nooks and crannies everyone had and never forgot about. Surely he had them too?

He hummed, and I could hear a slight smile playing on his tongue. He very well seemed to have read my mind.

"Well – there'd be a reason to that mystique," He started slow, faintly amused. "Just as there's a reason no one's ever written a tourist's guide to Gallifrey. To be truthful, no one's ever wanted to visit."

I quirked an eyebrow in confusion, completely in the dark on where his words were headed – still, I didn't dare interrupt. I could imagine his eyes watching some distant, invisible horizon as he spoke.

"Plenty of races have had angry, tentacled thoughts about invading, but that's not the same as fancying a holiday there. There's not much to see. True there are silver trees, ochre mountains, and the odd smug daisy, but there's mostly just a lot of orange. Orange and beige – two colours which, whether on a planet or on a wallpaper, say that whoever's in charge should be thinking hard about redecorating."

I let him talk – listening with piqued interest. It was only when he paused, as if to check that I was still listening instead of having had fallen asleep, did I turn to look him in the eye – no longer feeling shy upon doing so.

"Why are you telling me all this?" I asked, catching a stunned tone. Maybe I'd spent too much time around older, angsty-er, more secretive selves. This one seemed to have no reservations, less secrets.

His answering voice held trace of a carefree grin. "Well, why ever not – if anything, it might make for some light entertainment. A bed-time story perhaps, courtesy of a member of the foundation of intergalactic-geographers-anonymous."

"Is that a thing?" I squinted suspiciously.

He fumbled through his response. "I, er, just invented it, so yes."

"Doesn't it defeat the purpose to tell me? Better take the A out of the IG, before I out you."

He smiled. "A life of secrecy doesn't suit me much. To take a page from your book – do your worst."

After a roll of my eyes and a smug grin on his end, he fell back into talking about Gallifrey – and my reactions justifiably shifted from imagining why he was telling me of all people, to what he was saying.

He talked about everything from the different types of native teas they had on Gallifrey, to tidbits on the sparse species of flora and fauna they had, to how instead of inventing Wi-Fi and an internet full of information, they had something called a 'Library of souls' filled with the remnant ghosts of Time-Lords that had passed. I sleepily asked him if dead-and-gone versions of him resided there, and he said he honestly didn't know – he hadn't visited in a long while, not since his first incarnation had gone as a boy. He told me about how Romana shared his distaste for his world's abysmal sense of style, and how boring he found the people there.

He words were condescending – but his tone would often drift to something with a warmer tinge, and I wondered whether this younger version of him, rebellious in his dismissive-ness of his home planet, really, truly hated it as much as he claimed.

And so, it was like that the night went on – ending presumably at some point. The Doctor kept telling me about his home, and even though I couldn't pinpoint the reason to his sudden transparency, I wasn't complaining. I actually felt like I'd unlocked a stage somehow – like he trusted me enough to tell me these things.

My mind was slowly giving in to the exhaustion I felt. Despite having awoken quite refreshed in the TARDIS's sick bay, I felt like I could've crashed for the next 16 hours.

Truly on the cusp of sleep, my skin warmed, the Doctor too, stilled. He went silent for an unpredictable length of time, only to break it with a much softer voice.

"...I must admit to you now, Moore. These reasons on why I always found Gallifrey to be so dim – more or less... were because they resembled the inadequacies I found in myself. Before I went to the academy, before I learned of your species, before I gathered the madness to leave – I truly was no one. My name wasn't the Doctor, because I wasn't him yet – just some boy, playing the hero in make-believe adventures. Perhaps I never truly grew out of it – perhaps I'm still him," He spoke deeply.

A sad little hum followed in the wake of his words. A little shuffling sounded from against me, and the ghost of a hand leaned over to draw the hair from my eyes – despite the fact they were closed, and I was an inch from passing out, I could still sense him. He must've thought I didn't hear a thing he said.

Still, he chuckled softly, content to keep talking to my idle form.

'All of what I said... try not to tell anyone. Can't afford to have just anyone too privy to the life of a time-lord," He joked, not pausing for me to promise. He hummed, closer. "...You however, ask away – whatever you want, anytime. You promise me your attention and you'd have me telling you anything."

I wanted to summon an ounce of energy to respond – even just a word, one that conveyed my confusion and my appreciation. But the grip of sleep was so strong – and I was tired of fighting it.

And so I gave in, with much more ease than from when I had nothing but cold, surgical walls to stare at – and rather a memory of the Doctor strolling away to meet another girl, he was here with me now, lulling me to sleep with secret words, meant only for my ears.

I roused, bleary awake from the tresses of a dreamless sleep.

Thank god – I honestly don't think I could've put up with another lucid trip through my subconscious.

I found myself cosy and warm, my skin feeling slightly sunburnt and tingly to the touch. At least it wasn't blue anymore – I don't think I'd enjoy life much as a giant walking blueberry.

Before I could start conjuring up any fan-theories about the Doctor secretly being Willy Wonka, what with the parallels to turning young girls a different shade entirely – I noticed how his presence was no longer next to mine.

My eyes adjusted to the lack of light. The fire had long since died down – leaving smouldering embers and charcoal where roaring flames had once been. Now, some smothered daylight made its way past the still curtained windows.

My eyes continued the search for my companion, ending abruptly, seconds after they started.

There he was, his long form awkwardly positioned on a wooden stool that sat against the wall near the fireplace, the design clearly intended for someone with normal proportions. He was cross-armed, wrapt up in what seemed to be an enticing dream.

Where the warmth of the room had left me at just the right cosy temperature, his skin looked hot to the touch, a sun-baked tomato. Or maybe it was just his face with how it looked now, normally, all the time – all red around the nose and cheeks.

I took note of his position half way across the room and snorted to myself. Him and his manners – and with all that big talk about how propriety was a stupid social convention. It must have truly offended him – being the one stuck with the job of spooning a damsel under duress. My heart was practically breaking for him.

I watched him for a little while, still as the night. I was allowed blissful silence, and time to think.

Go figure, I'd been burned and frozen within a 24 hour cycle, all at the expense of one man. That man. You might ask, was one man worth it? I'd say nah, but at least I had an interesting story or two underneath my belt now, to pull up to any hypothetical, highly unlikely parties in the foreseeable future.

I didn't know if I'd take it all back if I was given the option – to have never done any of it in the first place.

I had been through the most I had ever had to have endured – and yet, I knew it wasn't just me who all this had effected.

The civilians we'd saved on Platform 9, the new people I would surely meet now... and the Doctor. Despite the horror of the situation, and the pains that came from it – I had grit my teeth and stayed with the Eighth Doctor, so that he wasn't alone. And then again with the Ninth, so that he didn't lose sight of what was important.

I had to face that – and help a man I didn't know I'd ever care this much about. If even the smallest bit of good came to him, because of something I did – then how could I say I wished it never happened. Burning and hypothermia were rough sure, but I was still alive wasn't I?

It hurt though. The thought that it was all over something that could've potentially been avoided.

Some stupid war.

I was beginning to understand his seemingly irrational dislike towards soldiers – anyone involved in the game of fighting, really. It was an endless cycle of people who just couldn't stop fighting.

To think – the very words he used to lull me to sleep, the stories of what home was to him – could become words he regretted later on... Sure he could playfully trash on what he thought was his boring, little world now – but later on? I'm sure he'd give anything to see it again.

Oh Doctor of mine – you deserve all the help you get.

With a heart refilled of the sorrow from our moments spent before, I moved to get up. Careful not to let my skirt ride above my knees, I let my legs hang from the edge, mirroring the Doctor's chair directly.

Hearing me stirring must've drawn him out too, because with a snap, his eyes were wide open – momentarily disorientated. He looked quite a bit like a started pigeon, what with those kooky eyes. Once he familiarised himself with his surroundings, he looked visibly comfortable.

And this was the first time I noticed. If I had thought that Eight looked light and unburdened due to his age, this Doctor – a few hundred years even younger – made the perfect image of someone with a teenagers soul. Just the look on his face was enough to see that he was brimming with mischief and overconfidence – there was none of the worry, or self-consciousness – no hatred for others or himself.

He was smiling at me, but it only made my heart drop – knowing his eventual fate.

There was no way to change the hardships he would have to face. Since I'd already seen them – I knew they had to happen. It was like seeing someone you cared for, sitting in a locked car that was slowly sinking into the ocean – but all you could do was stand on the shore and try and shout out to them, blowing your lungs out in vain.

Taking in my expression, his face fell from that blinding smile, instantly worried.

"What's wrong? You'll think I'm being crass, but I must say that you're making quite the dreadful expression."

His words were dumb and most definitely crass, but they also sounded like the loveliest I'd ever heard – his voice warm and reassuring, enough to put a cut to my depressing thoughts. I looked towards him then and remembered the hope that existed now. How he would still live happily for a long while before the war – and then someday again, even after the bad had passed.

Life had no constant states. And his would not be painful forever.

At that, I answered him with a shake of my head. I reached forward, and before I knew what I was doing, cupped his face in his hands, his cheeks growing redder under the tips of my fingers. I let them sit on his warm skin, taking in the sight of his surprise. Though it was very hard, through the glossiness that had gathered in my eyes.

"Let's say I'm just very glad to see you."

A beat passed, with veiled emotions gathering in his own expression. Course, he didn't know what I was thinking, but the look on his face may as well have mimicked my own.

Eventually, he slid up his own hand, lifting it to press against mine, over his cheek. His hand was far larger than mine, completely engulfing it.

"And I you," He returned softly.

I smiled at him, for the first time attempting to match his level of natural joy. His face was mobile in the way deeply content people's are, simply lacking the tension that anxiety brings. His eyes had a softness to them – there was something so welcoming in those milky shades of blue, and his pupils, dilated.

He was looking at me like he expected something to transpire. Looking for me to do something.

There was a knock at the door.

Faster than lightening itself, we awkwardly stumbled to our feet, leaving a good foot for god between each other.

Everything remotely resembling common sense came rushing back – knowledge from the night before, and the obvious fact that we weren't on the TARDIS. This room, this home, belonged to someone else – the residence of whom was a complete mystery to me. I had gotten so used to just appearing in unfamiliar places, where the only due course of action was to roll with it – funny how normally, something like that would be cause for worry.

"Erm... Do come in!" The Doctor called to the door.

In walked a small horde of women, much to my surprise.

Many of them were very young, either in their late teens or early stages of young-adulthood. All of them had skin in varying shades of clay, ranging from a more deep, rust colour, to a slightly olive beige. Their hair was the colour of night, same as mine. They were all also clad in pretty, printed articles of shalwar kameez, most in very neutral shades of oranges and pinks.

The sight of them tickled my funny bone – they reminded me of the 12 dancing princesses.

I noticed, as they approached me, that all of them had their eyes lowered, not daring to meet my gaze for whatever bizarre reason.

I frowned. Was the Doctor staying with some rich, desi family, having convinced them he was the king of some faraway kingdom? (even though with his general look, he'd pass for an eccentric uncle to some king, at best). With that psychic paper, I didn't doubt his ability to get away with it.

A few of them carried silver trays of traditional sweets, smelling of roses and pistachios – I'd always been a sucker for those. Some of the empty-handed women got to formulaically cleaning the mess of blankets I'd left on the bed, as if they were used to their set tasks.

Others carried scented candles in rust coloured clay pots – they smelled of home. Two such women sat in front of me directly, producing trays laden with warm snacks, kindly.

I was about to politely accept a sweet treat or two when I was startled by the feeling of hands on my back. I turned to see one of the women, who couldn't have been any older than 18 or 19, gracefully attempting to wrap a sheer scarf over my head and shoulders, the gold trimming making it look far too luxurious for me.

It was the sight of this one girl that gave me pause.

She was tall and slender, willowy yet not frail. Her jet back hair was kept from her face in a long braid that fell down her back – and yet, shorter strands seemed to be fighting for freedom, with a few resting against the fair ebony tone of her face. Her slight hands and long fingers looked to belong to that of royalty.

There was so much that slowly registered as being familiar, but it was none of these small coincidences that caught me. It was her eyes – eyes I could only see through narrow slits as she attempted to respectfully not look me in the eye.

Just a small glimpse was enough though. I'd seen.

Jade green eyes.

I didn't register moving, not even an inch – and it wasn't until her shadowed eyes shot up in a panicky flurry to meet my gaze did I realise – I had shot to grab onto her wrist, tightly, as if my mind couldn't believe her to be real.

Despite her obvious worry at what she must've thought was hostility, she didn't let go of the veil she was lightly placing over my head. Instead, with a soft gulp, she finished her task and angled her body to sit by my side. I didn't dare let go. She may as well have disappeared if I did.

The peaceful air drained from the room, and in my peripheries, I could see the rest of the women stop what they were doing – all eyes on me and their friend. They looked worried for her life.

"Begum Sitaara, will you please accept these offerings of our hospitality?" She asked, her voice girlish and unsure, not at all what I remembered it to be. She forced herself to hide the quiver in her tone, gulping.

"We are honoured to have you take refuge here, within the Shah residency."

I almost laughed – oh, how many layers of offence could I have caused if I did?

Begum Sitaara. Miss Star.

You had to be kidding me.

Not to mention the fact that a simple confession, confirming who she was – what her family name was – had me shooting up, turning to face the Doctor. He was leaning in the doorway, looking like he was 75% on his way towards awkwardly leaving, with a distinct aura of discomfort radiating from him – I bet he wasn't used to being walked in on by a gaggle of women who clearly had their own agenda.

I walked to him so fast he didn't see me coming, confusion only marring his brow when I pulled him down by his lapel.

"I think I'm having a stroke," I whisper yelled to his face.

He stilled for a solid minute before slowly replying. "...I believe I would have noticed? 'Doctor' after all."

"No, I seriously think I'm dying," I stressed, determined to not freak out, yet slowly losing that battle.

I gulped, slowly admitting to a truth I thought would go away if I rubbed my eyes hard enough.

"Either I'm seeing things, or that's my mom."

The two of us turned to glance back at the entourage of women who sat stunned in the room. Half of them looked offended by my display, the others looking towards their green-eyed sister, cousin, friend, as if she'd been blessed for life by a holy entity – and while I expected the Doctor to pull out his charms and wits to ramble off an excuse to them shortly, I could hardly move, my eyes fixed on the single most important person there.

I was paralysed by the sight of her.

Oh my god, she's so beautiful.

My mother. It'd been no more than two months since I'd seen her last, but it felt like I'd been separated from her for years.

And how she looked now, youthful, yet decorated in expensive clothes and the faint glimmers of jewellery we never could have afforded in my time – I grew more confused the longer I looked at her.

How could she be here?

My eyes drifted to the only person who may have had the answer.

The wind tore at the planks that were boarded up against the windows. Occasionally, the shutters would creak and groan and bang from the onslaught of thrashing wind – but I knew it had no chance of getting in. This house was ancient, and for good reason. It was built like a fortress, fit for any weather – the inhabitants too, knew how to take care of it – how to prepare for a night like tonight.

Outside, the trees swayed with a violence that had my heart thrumming. When I was young, I always feared that one of those large fir trees would come barrelling through the wall, on a day when the winds were especially harsh. But no tree ever fell.

The rattling sounds, coupled with the chill that had picked up now that the fireplace had been put out – it made me want to huddle towards the next nearest source of warmth.

The Doctor and I were the only two ones left in the room. That woman – my mother – had left to prepare dinner with the others – my family – assuring me that they were expecting us once we were ready.

I was getting dressed behind a wicker screen, while the Doctor moseyed around the room – audibly fidgety.

Undoubtedly he could hear how pissed I was at him – yet, rather than actual anger, I was calm. Calm because I knew, that at the heart of it, a suspicion had arose – and based on what answers he'd give me, it had had the potential to break my heart.

Moments and beats and awkward moments of silence had taken a heavy seat on the warmth and familiarity of our meeting.

It ended when I decided to end it.

"Parallel Dimension."

I let the term hang in the air for a just a second.

"You told me that this was a parallel dimension. You said that I was pulled from my world to this one, and I'm holding you to that, Doctor," I spoke my words clearly. Even if I didn't say directly, there was the intonation of a question in there.

My words were met by silence. It was even harder to discern his thoughts, given I couldn't see his face.

So, deciding not to leave anything up to interpretation, I asked him what had me feeling on the edge, directly.

"Give it to me straight, Doctor. Is that a parallel version of my mother?"

After a second, he spoke in a clear stable voice, answering.

"Yes." He didn't betray a hint of uncertainty.

So, she wasn't my mother. Wasn't my mother. Despite looking like her. Despite sounding like her. Despite being her in every which way, with no discernible difference or oddity; she wasn't my mother.

It was a fact I could learn to swallow, but the thought still plagued me. I began to look around.

Rose, when she found her parents in an alternate universe, saw things that struck out as too odd to be true. Where her parents had been poor in her world, they were rich in the alternate – her father was alive there too. The world around had been different – hundreds of blimps in the sky, new technologies, a version of Mickey that was still going through his emo phase.

What I was seeing here was the same. The exact same. I had seen this house a few times as a child; the wallpaper of this the same deep red. The tiling in the floors had the same symmetrical design. The mirror in the corner of the room had a crack in it — exactly the same size.

But the Doctor was saying otherwise.

He'd been my rock since I'd gotten here – he'd given me a place on his ship, next to him. He offered me his time, his companionship, his adventures. He'd done so much for me – and for that, I had to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Still, let's say I just needed to check. I stood resolutely behind the screen, just realising how sheer it actually was. I could see the shadow of the Doctor's silhouette standing opposite me, still on the other side of the barrier.

He stood two heads taller than me, and I felt a heat spread in my face.

I shot an arm out, leaving the rest of my body concealed. With my hand, I hesitantly held out a pinky amongst curled fingers.

"You promise me?" I questioned quietly.

I heard him breathe out, as if amused. I chose not to acknowledge the snarky way he took his time, before reaching out and obliging with a dramatic sigh – his finger curling around mine.

"I promise you, Moore. I can swear on the souls of my ancestors if that would help ease your worries – though, a few of them are still alive, so that may make things awkward if we were to ever run into them."

So, I breathed, feeling my shoulders deflate. I believed him.

"No more awkward than making a fool of myself in front of my mom's clone. Not to mention the extended fam," I chuckled quietly, happy to let suspicions go.

Stepping away from the blinds then, I patted down my new attire. Fresh shalwaar kameez, heavier than it would be due to the time of the year, made of a thick wool instead of the paper-light cotton it normally would be for summer – sat comfortably on my skin.

It was made in shades of dark purple, with twinges of blue – most probably dyed in spring, with the native berries that grew around these parts.

Fit for the bleak midwinter I had found myself in.

The ladies had left me with the get-up, insisting they dress me themselves until I convinced them I could do without them. I had to admit, a shot of security seemed to hit a deep place in me when I dressed – it had been too long. I hadn't made it a hobby of walking around the streets of San Francisco in clothes like these.

"How do I look?" I questioned the Time-Lord, feeling like more put on the spot than I'd ever been before.

Sure, looking pretty for the Roaring twenties made for a fun challenge, and I wouldn't have been hurt if the Doctor had told me I made a poor excuse for a flapper – no, instead I was home, wearing the clothes I was born to wear – it would be sad if he said I looked a stranger in them.

"Like you belong." The Doctor had the ghost of a smile on his face. "Home sweet home?"

I bit my lip. After I'd travelled a portion of the universe, being here just didn't feel real.

"Can't describe the feeling just yet," I spoke to my senses. I swept a hand down my side. "I missed being able to run around the neighbourhood in clothes like this though."

He smiled at that, and then, reaching for something, he held out a piece of navy blue cloth to me. "Here."

I had talked to the Doctor, letting him know I needed a way to hide my identity. Thankfully, he was on the same page. We were lucky for the fact that they thought I was sort of mythic creature, as the story dictated, so asking to conceal myself wasn't too out of the blue. The men that had tagged along with the Doctor had seen the white light – and where I thought I looked like a bat out of hell, they thought I was the next incarnation of Venus. I knew we were out here in the middle of nowhere, but they really needed an optometrist out here.

Regardless, I'd been given a niqaab to wear for the time being – happy with the way it would cover everything till my neck and shoulders, save for my eyes.

"So, to paint you a picture, the year is 1999. Six billion human beings are currently operating themselves out there on your relatively green planet, Indonesia's got a democracy and Scotland's got a parliament – good for them. Millions are weeping in agony over Jar Jar Binks, whereas others are crowding around rooftops to watch a total eclipse of the sun," The Doctor summarised, ushering me forward and towards the door as I adjusted my headpiece.

Reaching the exit to the rest of the world, he turned to me, a challenging look on his face. "How bad could it be out there?"

Unconvinced, and far more wary of imminent threats than he was, I passed by him through the threshold.

"As charming as your reassurances are, Doctor, you really don't know the first thing about dealing with matters outside the UK," I warned, entering a long, desolate hallway. Wooden doors, the same as ours, surely connected to many other guest rooms, the likes of which were most probably empty due to the weather. Can't expect company when you're stranded in the middle of nowhere.

Checking carefully for prying eyes, I continued. "Sure, middle-eastern hospitality is the stuff of legends. If you wish to be well fed and taken care of, become their friend and be invited in for dinner. But don't ever think you can do whatever you want. You'd be a fool to not think that every ear in this house is currently turned to us, watching whatever it is we do."

I felt like a child again. Except when you're a kid in a house as big as this, with around 20 cousins your age, no one really cares what you get up to. But I remembered sneaking around, making sure the maids wouldn't find us – knowing perfectly well how new guests would be treated. As if they walked a thin line between royalty, coming to visit with gifts of gold, or home intruders, here to murder your family and steal your riches.

Everything in a desi household worked in perfect tandem, on a set schedule of its own.

We had left the room – a fact that was surely noted.

And if I was right in assuming we were being watched, then the owner of this household would want to meet me soon.

"That is ridiculous, truly. And here I thought you were my saner half, the voice of reason," the Doctor practically laughed at me, trying to get a rise.

I stood, unmoved, allowing him a second to stew in his overconfidence.

Then, with a voice just partially elevated in volume, nowhere near a shout, I sighed in fake annoyance. "Oh my. I cannot believe the appetite I've built up. Surely, they must be preparing something for us, don't you think?"

The Doctor stood confused, and I smiled, knowing my theatrical act wasn't meant for him.

Just then, ever so conveniently, a woman dressed like the other servants entered the hallway as if she were in a rush, unsurprised to see me and the Doctor stumbling out of the room like mice from a hole in the wall. She raised an eyebrow, but maintained a courteous visage.

"Dinner is about to be served miss, sir," she spoke softly, eyes trained to the floor. "If you'd please – follow me to the dining hall."

I nudged the Doctor, who in turn, looked as if he'd swallowed a lemon. I eyed him dangerously, "Thought you'd know not to question me by now, least of when I've got a home advantage."

Looking back to the maid, before I could thank her, or stop her from her rush, or even ask her to explain the situation at hand – the Doctor, my ever loyal companion, turned tail and begun to walk the other way.

When I didn't follow, torn on what to do, he looked back to me.

"What are you doing? There are more pressing matters to deal with than social etiquette and politely declining dinner?" He questioned with genuine confusion.

"Well, I know that we're dealing with the delicacies of fate and everything, but there's absolutely no way I can do that on an empty stomach." I answered back simply, knowing full well I hadn't had a decent meal in far too long to be healthy. I eyed him accusingly, "Don't you ever eat?"

"I have my own provisions," He shot back, digging out a white bag from his pocket. "Never enter a foreign land without substantial nutrition, which is why I have these."

I didn't need to think too long or hard about what he had in there.

I pulled a pained face. "Do you really need all of that sugar?"

"Do you really need to ask?" He grinned, full of bravado as he scooped out a jelly baby and held it up to the light. "My body is a temple and I am its caretaker. Except that it's full of impossible traps and death pits. A small bit of sugar makes it easier to cope with."

I snorted, reaching for the bag. "Well, at least share, oh righteous deity."

As if I'd threatened to take his child, he pulled back like a viper. Then, slowly, he reached out and deposited one, one singular sweet treat in the palm of my hand.

"Cheapskate," I hissed, in partial disbelief.

"Mooch," he sassed back – if his hair was long enough, he surely have tossed it as he made an exit.

The image seemed to fit, since after our exchange, he concealed the bag and began walking in the opposite direction, without me – but this was Scooby-Doo and to split up now would simply be stupid, seeing as we had no plan.

"Doctor, wait, don't leave me," I hissed, confused. What could he need to do that required leaving me on my own? How would I be able to handle it by myself?

"I'll be back soon. Just in time for tea!" He assured, walking backwards in a half-run. "Urgent matters require my immediate attention! Au revoir, my dear!"

Before I could even think about going after him, he had bolted down the confusing corridor.

I turned to find the woman from before waiting at the end of the hallway, and surprised at thinking she had left without me, I reddened at the thought that she'd overhead the Doctor and I's bickering.

With a grace and a confidence I had partial experience at faking, I straightened up and nodded to her, ready to meet my maker. If family ties were connected, I hoped the term wouldn't be applied too literally.

Walking through the house, the manor walls seemed to spring from the soil like the very dirt insulted them. Such ornate sandstone was too pretty to touch the earth, indeed it was fancier than many a palace. The windows were oversized, mullioned and almost cathedral-like. They made for quite the sight, even if they were boarded up against the snow.

I could imagine it in the summer time, with every room bathed in daylight from the first kiss of dawn to the twilight hours. But now, with the whistling wind and dreary night outside, the antique furniture was bathed in the flicker of yellow candlelight from the many candelabras that still hung there; to the eternal irritation of the housekeepers I'm sure – they had electricity, but when it came to ambiance, they could surely afford to waste time and resources on a such pretty sight.

I had to keep up with the skittish house-maid, who surely must've known the in's and out's of the house like the back of her hand. And to do so without being commended for it – that's how servants lived in big houses after being employed by rich families. To be unseen and unspoken to.

It was a shame, I wanted to ask her what had her rushing. To question why she was in such a state?

I suppose the answer to that had arrived when we did – at the entrance to the dining room.

Just a quick glance and I could see the room was exquisite, to say the least. The walls were covered with shimmering gold paper and the furniture was high end and bespoke. Every piece was hardwood and harked back to the Pakistani equivalent of the Victorian era, but not a scrap in the house looked more than a year old.

It seemed that I was fashionably late, seeing as every chair but the last, at the long table, was filled. It seemed not to be a trend that was appreciated here, since as the room held a tension that you could've cut through like butter.

Should I bow? Wave a general hello?

Already etiquette had presented itself as my first major hurdle – though, remembering my roots and what I knew of Pakistani culture, I simply kept my eyes lowered and with strides that were as even as possible with all eyes on me.

I sat down at the dining table still reeling from my surroundings.

The fabrics of the seats were spotless and colour coordinate in muted natural hues. It looked practical but by no means plush. Sitting there for stiff conversation was easy enough to imagine but sinking in with a good book less so.

The room was the perfect place to entertain polite company.

Which is what I was, I assumed. Going by the guess they all thought I was some holy being – I'd say that made for one interesting guest.

Along the stretch of table, the pretty daughters that made up the majority of room's population, all sat poised – but they were devoid of the life they had before. Instead of chattering amongst each other like social doves, they sat quiet, as if in anticipation, waiting for an invisible wire to snap.

They youngest sister, who had fed me sweets with a glimmer of kindness in her eye, now refused to look up once, acting as if I were a plume of smoke – invisible. My mother – at least her doppelganger, sat next to the youngest, one seat away from me. Her curious mind seemed bolder – the corner of her eye darting to me sporadically.

Along the other end of the table, directly opposite of me, sat a man. The only man in attendance this night.

He was older than any other there, that much was clear by the white on his head. And yet, the frailty and sickliness that came with age seemed to allude him.

His back was straighter than his daughters, as if he had been whipped into never budging. The clothes he wore were without ruffle or wrinkle or speck – they were pristine weavings of silvery white, and I did not have to doubt the reality that he had platinum stitched into everything he wore. His jaw was set, forever bound, and he had a severe look to his face – a notable lack of laugh-lines and crow's feet.

His eyes were the kind of blue that the Doctor's never could be.

They were unloving and unfeeling.

This man was the head of the Shah family – if his intimidating aura didn't stress that enough.

I gulped down my discomfort. I had yet to notice any inaccuracies to my own world.

My grandfather. He was just as cold as my mother's stories made him out to be – and the woman next to him, with kind eyes and salt peppered braids extending long past her willowy frame – my grandmother.

I felt sick, surrounded by ghosts from my past.

It was then that I noticed why exactly the air was set as taught as a bowstring – it was because of me. Because of what the head of the family must be thinking of me. I was practically an intruder here, and without the Doctor's aid, it seemed ever more the like.

Waiting for someone to say something, I hardly noticed the food that was set before me – and despite the fact that yes, I could have gone for a five-course meal – I had no idea how I could even begin to eat when it felt like every eye in the room was on me.

Only when everyone else reach for their utensils did I as well, reaching out and picking at the dish as if it were poisoned, lifting the front of my niqaab and manoeuvring small forkfuls past my chapped lips.

My first bite almost fell from my mouth when the man spoke.

"They call you Parishta. And yet I see no more than a girl, no older than one of my daughters – made of flesh and blood," he appraised, his voice wringing with authority he clearly cultivated for himself. "You consume human food – you seem to have quiet the impressive knowledge of human cutlery."

Well, if I wasn't shitting myself before, I was now.

His eyes fixed me to my seat. They demanded an explanation from me, and yet dared me to never speak in his presence. It seemed to be how his wife and daughters felt around him too.

The stare didn't last long until he was speaking again, as if he had already carefully considered his questions – aiming to intimidate and embarrass me until there was nothing left.

"The prince who found you tells me he presides from Denmark – he has the seal to prove such a claim. He has not been with us for very long, yet, it is almost a matter of fate, as humorous as fate can be, that he would happen to find you. A week before tonight, he comes to me, determined to go searching for someone, out there in the ice," he recounted, stone-faced, without an ounce of emotion. "I call him mad, he calls me impatient."

I nearly laughed.

Even just the thought of the Doctor giving back-chat to this man was incredulous to me – a battle of prides and I wouldn't know who'd win.

So I may have felt the oncoming of a giggle, but the look on my grandfather's cold face had me gulping down any sense of amusement I could muster

"Prove to me then, Begum Parishta. Enlighten me with knowledge of the heavens. Earn your right to eat at my table," he challenged, leaning forward. Sitting there dumbly, not expecting this line of questioning, nor how to answer, I could only star at him wide-eyed and mute. He put on a jeeringly amused look. "What? Tongue-tied? Have you simply forgotten? Tell me, now, what is stopping me from throwing you out into the snow?"

The way he stared me down made me feel like I was still in my mucky, sweat and snow-wet clothes – unfit to be in the luxury of all he was trying to present. It made me feel small and I shrivelled, thinking I was over feeling that way – but this wasn't like how it had gone with Nine. With the Doctor there had still been hope, and the knowledge that it wasn't inbuilt for him to be so hateful. He had seemed to hate himself all the more, every time he had put me down – and yet, with this man, he was enjoying every minute of making me feel like the dirt on the backs of his servants shoes, because I doubted his had any.

After receiving no response from me, he waved a final, absolute hand, as if I'd proven my irrelevancy. "Send word to the neighbouring households and into town – some family has lost their ungrateful runaway daughter–"

"Baba, if I may," A sudden voice interjected.

The light, polite stop had come from the only face I felt any kinship to here. My mother had not stood, needing only her clear voice and bright eyes to seek out her father's attention.

"There was a light – unlike any lightning – a beacon from the sky. I saw it, along with Azbah and Ansharah, they saw it as well, from my balcony. We saw it and we believed it to be Nur, the light of God. To have sent such a light, to have delivered this woman to us – it must be a sign, Baba–"

"–Quiet!"

The sharp sting of his demand echoed in through the room and I raised my hackles immediately. The way he was glaring at his daughter had my danger warnings going off. Just the barest hint of an argument against him and he was looking as if the young girl had disgraced this family. The man's wife, against what seemed to be her naturally sweet disposition, was glaring knives at her husband, like a wolf ready to tear at his throat.

A tense minute passed in which calmed down by a fraction, if nothing but for propriety's sake.

"Angel...Star... Gift from God... Some hapless girl who happened to wander into a stranger's home – it does not matter to me. You are what the prince has come for, and so, in the morning, you will leave with him – and you will leave this house," The man concluded, his voice dark and heavy with finality – as if I were just a stain he wanted to wash out.

It was only when he raised his glass and begun his meal did everyone else resume, breaking the silence with the clinking of silverware – marking an end to any more confrontation.

I was beyond relieved, exhaling a long breath I didn't know I was holding.

Of course, if I really was some orphan who had stumbled in, looking for a hot meal and a warm bed, I would have been doomed – seeing as this guy had no problem sending me off with the Doctor, who he thought, was a complete stranger to me. Yikes, what a worrisome thought.

It wasn't until I made out the sweet smell of lingering jasmine did I feel like a shot of adrenaline was sent right to my heart, tearing me from my thoughts. The girl, my mother, had leaned in close to me while I caught my breath – adorned in newly fancier garments, the same emerald to match her eyes. She was smiling at me, too sweet for anything I'd done to deserve.

"Please do not take offense to my father, my lady. Despite what it seems like, we are all so very grateful to meet you." She said in kind. "I was not able to introduce myself earlier. My name is Liyana. My sisters are still shy, but please know that you may rely on us if it pleases you."

Liyana – though I'd obviously always known her name, to know I'd have to use it felt wrong. I was aided in the thought that yes, it was a very pretty name.

I stared back at her, the newly sprouted, sappy smile hidden behind my veil. My heart beat heavily with how much I missed the grown version of this girl, my head unable to wrap around how unabashedly good she was.

I could only nod back at her, more grateful than she could possibly know.

On a stomach that was a quarter full of food too expensive for my tastes, and the rest a melting pot of residual anxiety and tension – I had left the dining room after everyone was dismissed.

With a final warning look that promised my departing in the morning, the head of the household retired for the night, accompanied by his wife who shot me an apologetic look. What a shame, I would have much preferred getting to talk to the grandmother I had never known, over her much grouchier lesser-half.

I was surprised that none of the sisters wanted to talk to me still, or walk me back to my room, after their father had vacated the premises. I suppose they were all too shy, as Liyana had mentioned. The girl who's name I would have a tough time stick to, rather than accidentally calling her 'Mum' out of the blue – looked antsy once dinner was finished, as if she had some urgent plan to go and complete – and so, who was I to try and stop her?

I was heading back the way I vaguely remember coming from when a hand covered my mouth from behind.

Shrugging instead of screaming out right – already suspecting who my assailant might be, I stepped heavily on his foot for good measure, worming my way out of his hold.

The Doctor silently groaned into his fist, looking painfully down at his newly crushed toes. He was dressed with two more layers than I was accustomed to seeing – looking like some sort of yeti they had dragged out of the snow.

"Where the hell have you been?" I quickly demanded – all types of pissed off with him. "You left me here with a paper thin alias and I had to have dinner without you! God, the questions..."

Despite the pain I had undergone due to his absence at the dinner-table, he didn't look to care a whole lot.

"That's all very nice," he confirmed, "but if you'd just take a moment to see what I've found–"

"–Hold that thought." I interrupted, pausing as I heard the faint echo of approaching voices. I bit my lip, suspecting it to be some of the sisters from before. They thought me to be a mute angel, based on how I was at dinner, so I couldn't have any of them see me bringing hell down on the Doctor just yet.

I motioned to him with a whisper. "Can we talk about this somewhere else, people are around."

He flashed into regarding his surroundings, as if he didn't even notice them coming – and yet, upon hearing them, he adopted an opposite sort of reaction to mine.

"Oh well if people are watching, we'd better make it entertaining for them!" He remarked, the picture of mischief. Grabbing my hand, just in time for us to see a group of gossiping young women turn the corner and pause as they saw us – the Doctor performed a dramatic bow and kissed the back of my hand, as if we were performing on Shakespeare's stage for the queen herself.

Rolling my eyes at the scandalised gasping and the self-satisfied smirk that seemed to stick to his face, I pulled heavily at his arm. He followed my direction as I led us to the space behind the staircase. It was just dark enough to hide us from prying eyes, and away from possible travellers, seeing as most residents had begun heading to bed.

Pulling off my Niqaab with one hand and not letting go of the Doctor's hand with the other, I quirked a sudden, worried brow.

"Were you outside? In the snow?" I asked like a mother hen, holding his large hand up to my face so I could huff and rub some warmth back into his red fingers. "Jeez, your hands are ice."

"Returning the favour?" He suggested, inching closer to me. Just the proximity was enough to remind me of how things had been the night before.

"Shut up," I muttered weakly, pink surely blossoming in my face. I debated letting his hands drop – justice against his poking comments, yet against better judgement, I held on.

The Doctor sighed, as if he loathed to interrupt me. "As much as I'd love for you to keep that up, Moore, I must show you the answer to all your questions."

Taking back his hands he reached behind him, to a small container he had attached to a body-slinging harness he hand on. He then held up a small cage, no bigger than the sort you would use to trap mice in your home. The metal wires held a small creature inside.

I almost immediately recoiled. In the faint darkness, it just seemed like the Doctor had presented me with a naked rat of sorts – but I kept my worries intact, watching how it moved and quickly realising that there was something off about it.

It had no hair or fur, which was already strange enough for a rodent. Its fleshy skin had a sickly green pallor to it, as if it had never seen the sun before. It had large ears, the better for hearing with – yet its eyes were beady like a moles, and the way in which they reflected in the dark, like a cat, told me the thing could see at quite well at night. Last thing that caught me were its hands – proportionally much larger than its own head, they were human-ish hands, with long fingers and pronounced knuckles.

I stared at the otherworldly creature in slight awe.

"The thing is a Time-Pest," The Doctor told me. "I came here after hearing some stories, a few towns off. Miners were refusing to go into work after they went in one Sunday afternoon – got to work as usual, but just before they could start – they heard knocking. Deep within the cave walls. Too odd to be a coincidence."

I nodded along, finding the story oddly familiar.

"Tommyknockers." I muttered under my breath. Seeing the Doctor raise a brow in question, I explained.

"Well, it was only ever just a story us kids told in passing. That long ago, some time before they shut down the main mining tunnel – the men working down there remember the sound of knocking. It would come in three's. It carried on for a full day from deep inside the walls. They waved it off, not thinking much of it – machinery often bugged out and made noises like that.

Just before they started work again was when the knocking stopped, and they heard voices instead."

It was that moment when the wind outside decided to rattle something fierce – and in response, the Doctor jumped in a half-flinch.

I grinned at the embarrassed look that shortly proceeded. "Gee I wonder when exactly I'd switched genres to horror."

The Doctor huffed. "Yes, that's all well and good. At least now it's confirmed that these trouble-makers are what are causing all this disruption.

"Yeah but see, that's the thing," I argued. "The voices were like chirps, calling out warnings to the miners. They all went home and decided not to go in the next day. And good on them. The tunnel collapsed, and no one ever found out how."

I hummed to the story, remembering the theories we'd think up. "Us kids would say that, whatever lived in those walls, could see the future. And that's how they knew what would happen."

"Poppycock," The Doctor blew off the sentiment entirely. "If anything, this little trickster is what caused the cave-in. Which is why I'll be taking him back to his own planet – they're not supposed to be here in the first place, Moore."

I understood that at least – a small bit of satisfaction growing in me at the thought of such a mystery being solved. How many fables and myths were just accounts of aliens landing on Earth, I wondered. Unicorns, fairies, gnomes, the Loch Ness monster? The possibilities were endless.

Staring down into the creatures clever eyes, I was taken aback when, in a twittering, bird-like voice, it began to sing.

~ Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?
With silver bells and cockle shells, and pretty maids all in a row. ~

"Hush, you," The Doctor chastisted the poor thing, flicking the cage to throw the Knocker slightly off balance.

"Wow," I gleamed through a smile, almost feeling the need to bow in thanks to the small creature. "Consider me charmed."

"Well, that's enough of that," The Doctor concluded then, hooking the Tommyknocker back to his sling after covering the cage with a cloth. "Suppose we ought to decide what to do now."

I deflated a bit, realising that the Doctor had gotten what he had come here for. Mission achieved – and so we had no reason to stay. So I asked. "Aren't you going to say we can't stay here? You're normally a stickler for the rules."

He took my words as a challenge. "Can't? You once said there's no such word."

"Well, it would be wholly problematic to stay. Disastrous even. Can't imagine what mental implications it may have on me to say the least," I rambled on, joking. I didn't want to expose that part of me that wanted to stay, at least until we were kicked out against our wills.

The Doctor seemed to take my jest with a heavy dose of consideration. "Yes, you make a very good point. Let's find the TARDIS then. There's bound to be fun had elsewhere."

He had begun to take my hand when I pulled back, stressing.

"But that's my mom. Not really, but sort of I guess," I nearly squealed the words, excitement wringing out. I found it funny how much I could relate to Rose right now – watching her in the episode, you feel like telling her that the parallel versions of her parents aren't really hers to claim – but here I was, in the same set of shoes, guiltily feeling the same way.

The Doctor didn't seem to budge under my cheeriness, or the sweet, pleading look I was giving him.

"And I'm your protector, who's saying no."

"I don't think of you as a protector," I smiled at him coyly, flashing my teeth. I leaned in closer, my voice lowering against my command.

"More so a welcome distraction."

That seemed to get him, as he extended a hand to pull down his hat, as if to cover his face. Two could play this game – but honestly, to keep making the other blush would soon enough endanger us to some variant of skin irritation.

It was then, in the midst of our secret back-and-forth, did a sight suddenly catch my eye from behind the Doctor's impossibly long back. I roughly turned him, as words had evaded me.

There, quiet as mice in the dark of night, Liyana and no more than two other sisters, were swiftly climbing out of a window. Wrapped head to toe in thick black, they were moving with a practiced grace – off to who knows where.

The Doctor's befuddled face turned back to me, almost as if to say 'did you see that shit or am I having a stroke?' if he ever grew past the pg-13 stamp he seemed to have labelled on his forehead.

"Now you're curious," I grinned, snapping my fingers at him to regain his attention. We'd found it. A new reason to stay – a new spark of adventure calling out to me.

I felt the wind, touched my fingers to the breathtaking crystals, closed my eyes to take in the perfect aroma of cleanliness. In front of me now was a still slate of white – it had stopped hailing and the winds had since calmed a fair deal.

I took a minute to realise. There was no place on earth like this – and to be here was a privilege few would ever experience. It was a funny thought. This wasn't some abandoned planet, stranded on some isolated space belt, light-years away from us. And yet, this one spot on Earth, accessible to any human who wished to come here if they caught the right plane, seemed impossible to reach.

That's how I felt when we left for America – As I tried to find comfort in myself on that cold 4 a.m flight.

It was a thought I distinctly remembered – how far home forever seemed, the more miles got put in between us.

And the cold now, despite its familiarity, its prettiness – still reminded me of the lesson I was taught of as I child. Out here, you needed to know better. A stupid move made, in the middle of winter, meant death.

So, my mother's reason to trudge through snow, risking that fate – it must've been for something quite important.

The Doctor and I watched ahead – trailing the women slowly, keeping enough distance and hiding behind what sparse shrubbery we could find. I had an inkling to where she was going, if this world was anything like mine – but even I couldn't be sure.

She was a shadow, wrapped in that dark shall with curtains of jet black hair whipping in the wind – a stain on the untouched snow.

From behind me – slowly disappearing into the snowy fog, was the memory of my childhood. The castle was bold on the blue beyond. That soft stone grey chateau with it's slate cone shapes projecting into the ink blank sky are the inspiration to every princess story book I ever read. It stands, as perfect as the day it was built.

I hoped we'd be able to come back to it, at least if only to say goodbye.

And while what laid behind us was nostalgic and familiar – the promise of what was to come, of secrets unveiled – with none other than my favourite, mystery-solving companion at my side, it rang of a much more thrilling story.

Parishta - Angel.

Sitaara - Star.

Nur - The religious idea of a light, sent by God. In the Quran, it's said that the Angels are made from such light.

Begum - Miss.

A/N – Wow, this chapter was a long time coming. It ended up longer than I thought it would, and still there's some left to go in the continuation, next chapter – let's hope I finish that soon *fingers crossed*. (I've been working on my new art insta that I've mentioned down below, if you'd like to follow me on that endeavour).

I hope everyone's safe, doing well and staying at home during these scary times. If you're in as lucky as a place as I am, I'm mostly just home reading fanfiction to pass the time, so let me know if you'd like how this time's been treating you.

Thanks to Lunammoon (There'll be some early doctor's coming up soon, so yessss that's exciting), ( thank you so much for such nice words! I'd love to do a proper book one day, but wow I wouldn't even know what to write it on). Angelycious, Carly Carnations, MikaBlue, ThatBlueStrawberry, Faery66, DarkBalance, Falling Right Side-Up, Secret618, Alikai, C. S. Stars, bored411 all you guys for leaving reviews.

9779sassy – oh man, thanks so much for such a nice review! I'm so glad you like everything. Imo, not enough people think of Nine as their doctor, but man I'd never seen the show before him and to not write him well would've hurt me inside. I'm so happy you felt good about the subtle hints to being bi – i haven't overtly stated anything because a) she doesn't know about 13 yet, and when they meet properly I hope to address it, and because b) I feel like whenever there's someone bi, or pan, or anything not solely straight, it feels like it needs to be shouted from the rooftops in stories – where in real life, it's just something that's there, no biggie. Doctor who's being doing it so well and so casually in stories for years honestly, it's great, so yessss – thanks for coming to my tedtalk.

The Timeless Child – What a great idea! I really like that perspective and example – it's weird how when you're first watching the werewolf episode, it's all so fun, but then you watch it back and realise how genuinely horrified you'd actually be if you were there. I hope to capture some of that going forward J

Until the next chapter, seeya chumps.

Btw – I recently started putting up art on my instagram account at finis . free (remove the spacing). I'd love if any of you would check it out, since that's where a lot of my effort's been going this quarantine.