A knock on the door rouses me from my sleep. "You've got to come out at some point."

"Have I, though?"

My face hides under the covers again. I take a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scents of the trench coat that engulfs me. One hand hides deep in the pockets and fidgets with the jumble of knick-knacks and gadgets inside, far more than should logically fit in one pocket. The other rests on the pillow beside me, a gold ring beaming cruelly back at me.

Another knock. "Inara, please. I mean it."

Maybe if I wait long enough, she'll go away.

"I'm not going away, so you can give up whatever cunning plan you have. I'm serious. I will open this door one way or another, so help me—"

In the space of her words, I have reluctantly forced myself to my feet, trudging across my room to open the door. Martha waits for me, arms crossed. Her usual clothes have been replaced by a long, black dress and white apron. She smiles, the kind that fails to hide all of her built-up concern.

Then she sees the coat. "Inara..."

"Don't. I don't care what you say, I'm not getting a job at that awful school and I'm not seeing him. I've forgiven the Doctor, doesn't mean I ever want to see his face again. Staring stupidly back at me. Not even knowing who I am, who he was."

Her glare softens and she raises her hands as if in surrender. "Okay. I really am sorry, though. This isn't fair on you. But it'll be over soon. Just—"

"Three months to go?"

That's nothing compared to how long I waited last time. I just don't see why this has to hurt even more. Although I suppose having a whole universe separating you is likely easier than knowing you could walk fifteen minutes to see someone with the face of your...

Whatever he is to me now. I don't even know.

I head back to the bed and slump into it. Martha takes more time. Her eyes travel over the length of the room, over the shrine and my loom and all of the bookshelves. A new kind of smile takes over, far warmer and void of the pity that was there before. "I'm sorry for what I said before. I know it's easier to stay in the Tardis where everything's familiar... I just— I can't. Not when he's not here. It feels... wrong."

"I know," I practically whisper.

Sighing, she falls next to me. "I did mean some of it, though. You can't stay here on your own, it'll tear you apart. The village is nice — for England in 1913, that is. I'm sure you could find something here for the time being, find a house and make some friends. You've got a lot to offer."

I nod. It doesn't convince me.

Feeling the familiar sting in my eyes, I blink my tears away and roll onto my side to face her. "I've lost him before, you know. Really lost him, I mean."

A glimmer of panic crosses her eyes. "How d'you mean, 'lost'?"

"A while ago, something went wrong with the Tardis and we crash-landed in another universe — one parallel to ours."

She chokes on her own breath, staring at me in bewilderment. "I'm sorry, what?"

I can't help but grin at that. "I know! Most things were the same, only there was no monarchy and they actually had a bit of a grasp on climate change — lots of zeppelins, mind. Everywhere. Anyway, I found out that there was a version of the relic I'd been searching for. We only had a few minutes to get back to our universe and I didn't have time to grab it so—" The memory constricts my throat, leaving my chest aching. I force out the last of my words, "So I stayed behind."

She takes a moment to process before asking, "How long were you there?"

"Five years. I thought I'd never get back, there was no way. So I made my own way. For him, it had only been a few months." The memory of our talk at that failed wedding reception comes rushing back. A sad smile pulls at my lips and I murmur, "Fifty days."

"That sounds awful."

"It was. But I had my friends, Mickey and Jake. I got a job at Torchwood and was put in charge after a while, rebuilt the Institute, made a home until I could return. I thought he'd've forgotten about me by then."

She scoffs, rolling onto her back. "Doubt it. I'd reckon, to him, you're pretty unforgettable."

It hits her only a second later. She winces. Apologising will only make it worse so she stays silent I also move onto my back. The way the paint swirls on the ceiling looks like clouds on a sunny day, forming a maelstrom around the crystal lampshade. It refracts tiny rainbows across the room.

"How do you do it?"

I wait for her to say more but she doesn't. "Do what?" I ask.

"See all these things and keep your head. I mean, it's all so... so... big. It's amazing but I feel like I'm on the edge of screaming my lungs out from the absolute terror of it all. It's wild!"

Chuckling, I hold my hand out in the gap between us. She takes it, curling her fingers between mine like she's finding her anchor. "Nothing seems quite as big and scary when I remember that it was all created by the Gods. I know them and they know my destiny. Whatever happens has to bring me closer to what they've planned, even the bad stuff. I just have to trust."

For a moment I think I've gone too far but then she laughs. "You know," she breathes once she has come down from it, "you're the first person I've met who actually believes any of that stuff. Like, really believes. Used to have all that God-talk when I was a kid but when your dad cheats on your mum and they don't love each other enough to stay together, you sort of realise that all those rules and expectations never meant much to them. And then it doesn't mean much to you and you give up. But you talk about the Gods like they're really real."

"They are!" I protest with mock indignance.

"Yeah, but I mean that— that you actually feel things about them. You believe they did stuff and they have your back. Nobody's ever talked about God like that to me. If they did, I never trusted it. Just seemed like a lie they were telling themselves. Guess that's bound to happen when you only meet a few true believers."

My smile fades a little with a sad understanding. "There are sceptics in every religion in every corner of the universe. Believe me, I've had my fair share. Even I had doubts, right up until I got the prophecy that made me leave. Sometimes you just have to wait for your calling to come, whatever it may be."

—

The Tardis sits in an old shed in the middle of the forest. Alone. Almost forgotten, save for only two people.

My hand presses against the door. I lean in for just a second, my forehead resting against her. I inhale the woodiness of her scent mixed with that little bit of time travelling magic. My home.

"Hello, Old Girl. How have you been?"

From the recesses of her being, she sighs.

"Don't blame you."

With a gentle tap on her surface in apology, I enter. It looks just as it did when we left. Most of the lights are out now but she brings some of them back on as I walk up the ramp. Her energy is clearly depleted in his absence.

I spend the next while pottering around, cleaning her surfaces and mending odds and ends. The doors open again a while later as I lie under the console and I hear Martha call out, "Fancy seeing you here."

"Well, it was either this or murdering the next man who looks at me funny for knowing how to check a bloody pulse. You throttled any of the students yet?"

"Near enough. Give it a day or two."

Getting to my feet, I greet her with a hug. "Sorry about last night. I saw—"

"No, I get it. It's fine," she hastily interrupts. "Can't be easy. How are you holding up?"

I shrug. "As well as I can be. Maw's baby is doing well, and they've all been keeping me busy."

Chuckling, she heads around the console to fix the screen in place. "Was meaning to ask about that. And what about the guy you were leaving the pub with? What's going on there?"

I don't miss the slight suggestiveness of her tone and roll my eyes, huffing, "Nothing. Just hanging out."

"Does he know that?"

"Well, I'm trying to give him hints. Doesn't help, the way he was looking at me when I was holding Lawrie. What is it with men in this era and marriage? Minerva's sake, they're obsessed!"

She doubles over with laughter, clutching at her sides. It only takes a moment before I'm joining in. Her hand reaches out to grip my shoulder, steadying herself. "I know! Seriously, though, you have to tell him. Think it might be a tad upsetting if you disappear into the night the second we're safe."

The thought of those creatures is sobering enough. I try to think back to that day, to what we saw. All I can remember is a green light and eerie voices.

Our laughter dies down. Swallowing thickly, she purses her lips and presses a few buttons along the side of the screen. I step away before the Doctor's face can appear, taking a seat on the floor with my legs pulled right up to my chest.

"This working?" he asks. A quiet tapping can be heard, probably him poking at the camera. I bring a hand up to cover my mouth before a smile can dare to form. "Martha, before I change, here's a list of instructions for when I'm human. One: don't let me hurt anyone. We can't have that; you know what humans are like. Two: don't worry about the Tardis, I'll put it on emergency power so they can't detect it. Just let it hide away. Four— No, wait a minute. Three: no getting involved in big historical events. Four: you. Don't let me abandon you."

I scoff, "Yeah, that worked out fantastically, didn't it?"

"And five—"

She turns a dial and his voice speeds up into gibberish. "But there was a meteor, a shooting star. What am I supposed to do then?"

"And twenty-three: If anything goes wrong — if they find us, Martha — then you know what to do. Open the watch. Everything I am is kept safe in there. Now, I've put a perception filter on it so the human me won't know. To him, it's just a watch. But don't open it unless you have to. 'Cause once it's open, then the Family will be able to find me. It's all down to you, Martha. Your choice. Oh, and thank you."

I've heard it before. There's no use waiting for him to acknowledge me. I suppose it's his way of mercy, of making me feel as though I owe him nothing, as though I have nothing to worry about. Of course I do. He's the Doctor. It's impossible to not worry.

The message cuts off.

"I wish you'd come back."

——————

The village is quieter in the afternoons. I often like to take a stroll around, picking up groceries and passing through the Green. This time I have company, in the form of Baby Lawrie, tucked up warmly in his pram. Maw Cartwright is still ill but insisted that I take him with me for some fresh air. His eyes flutter between sleep and wakefulness as I lull him with my singing.

"Low, low
The nightingale, she flies
Over the hills and the misty skies,
Down to the babe with silver eyes,

"What is it, child, that has scared you so?
Why do you weep for the sun's last glow,
In the arms of Mother Juno?
Low, low,
Low, low."

He giggles when I stop by the doorway of the local shop, leaning down to tickle his little nose with my fingertip. He latches onto it, his hand closing around one finger with surprising strength. I pretend to struggle for its freedom. His bald brow scrunches in concentration and a little drool forms in the corner of his mouth. With one last theatrical pull, I free myself from his grip and gasp, "Wow! Aren't you strong?" More laughter reaches my ears like a melody. Beaming fondly down at him, I take a handkerchief from my pocket to wipe down his face. "And messy, too! I've never met such a messy little baby."

"You're good with him."

Jumping, I utter a rather loud curse that I'm glad nobody understands. Art shuts the door behind him before approaching, his green shop apron still tied around his waist. "You're looking particularly fetching today, Mr Clark," I tease.

His cheeks flush again and I take pride in my skill. Scratching the back of his neck, he grimaces down at the apron. "Don't tease. One of the only reasons why I hate my job."

"That's how you see it. Like I said, very fetching."

His lips curl into a smirk. "I think the word was 'particularly'."

"I changed my mind."

Rather put out by the sudden lack of attention, Lawrie starts to cry. "Oh, I know. You've been forgotten about! I'm so sorry, sweetheart," I coo, lifting him into my arms. His face hides against my shoulder as I start to rock him. My hand pats his back gently, careful not to hit too hard since he has eaten recently and I rather like my coat. He quietens almost immediately.

Art steps closer. His green eyes, like two precious stones, meet mine and his smile widens. "You're really good with him. Did you ever have children before?"

"Oh, definitely not," I guffaw, careful not to be too loud in case I startle the baby. "Never had the time."

"Not even with your husband?"

He knows right away that he's made a mistake but I brush it off before he can apologise profusely, as he has a tendency to do. "No. We never had that conversation. He was a father once, a long time ago... but that's over now. No need to dwell on it when he's gone too. Just me now. And Martha."

Nodding, more to himself, he strokes Lawrie's head. A few blonde zigzags shine atop it. I imagine he might have hair like Art when he's older — a mess of golden curls. That's another thought I have to push away quite quickly. I can't start thinking about sticking around, not even to see this child grow up. He won't remember me anyway, I'll be gone in another month.

"What language was that?" he asks after a while.

"Huh?"

He shrugs, diverting his attention to the baby even though his eyes find mine again and again. I really should look away. Or take a deep breath. "Well, I'm assuming whatever that was when I came out was... indelicate to say the least."

I chuckle. "Very."

"And that lullaby. I didn't know you could sing."

"Not well."

"Very well," he counters.

There's no use arguing. "It's an ancient form of Latin. I pray in it, it's an old family legacy."

We keep walking for another while, not really chatting, just saying the odd comment and marvelling over the precious life tucked up below us. The next time he moves, his hand rests hesitantly beside mine on the handle of the pram. He inhales shakily. "Miss Luscinia, I hope you know I— I think very highly of you. You are an intelligent and— and— and witty and incredibly beautiful woman."

"Thanks."

"A-And, if you'll do me the honour... I would like to— t-to ask you if— if you would— if—"

The next events unravel in a bizarre chain. A milk churn clatters into the path of the pram, dislodged by a flying brick. The piano that a few delivery men had been trying to move through a window on a pulley system falls only a metre away, breaking with a shuddering crash. Right where we could have been walking right that second.

A panicked shriek is pulled from me before I can stop it. I look frantically around for what could have caused the milk churn to fall, saving us. And there he stands. John Smith, with that woman from last night — Matron Redfern.

It isn't her fault. But I very much dislike the sight of them together. It makes my blood run cold and my stomach turn. His eyes don't leave me. He seems almost surprised. By his great feat or my appearance, I can't tell.

The wailing of a baby finally brings me back to the present. Gasping, I gather Lawrie up in his blankets and hold him close, ignoring the shaking of my hands as I soothe his cries. "It's okay. It's all right, my love."

Art has already burst into action, checking us for damage and cupping my pale cheek as I stare at him. My ears still ring a little from the shock of it all. "Are you all right?" he urgently repeats, the first few times going unheard.

"Y-Yeah. I'm fine. Just— Just didn't expect it. We're fine."

I've been faced with far more shocking and horrific things than a falling piano. It must be the thought of Lawrie being hurt. Or all the built-up tension from seeing the Doctor's face staring back at me like he still knows me. Both are scary.

More chatter ensues, with several people including the delivery men who practically grovel at our feet with their apologies. I don't process the majority of it. Until Art turns to me with a new look of confidence, his eyes suddenly ablaze. "Miss Luscinia, will you come to the dance? With me?"

I gape at him for a moment.

"I— I, uh... guess I c-could— Yes. Yes, I will."

——————

And so, just like that, I find myself racing down to the door at six o'clock in a dress I managed to track down in the Tardis wardrobe and a pair of era-appropriate heels. My hair is simply pinned up, piled atop my head in curls.

I still can't fight off the guilt that burns in the pit of my stomach as I preen in the mirror. I remind myself that the Doctor is gone, he won't be back for another month. It's not like I didn't do this when I was trapped in the parallel universe.

That was very different, though. The night will be strictly platonic. I don't want anything from Art. I don't want him to come home with me, I don't even want to kiss him.

I just want to feel like a person again for just one night, not some empty shell wandering about this tiny village day in and day out like a background character in a video game. I want to feel human — for lack of a better word.

A knock startles me out of my thoughts. Ensuring that my necklace sits right and my hair is as perfect as it can be, I hurry to the door. Art grins back at me. Missing his signature flat cap, his curls look particularly healthy and golden. His usual tweed has been replaced with a smart suit, a greyish rosebud pinned to his lapel and a larger bouquet of them clasped in one hand.

He follows my gaze down to it with a slight pout. "Closest to silver I could get."

Stunned, it takes me a moment before I shrug sheepishly and look at my dress, all silvery satin and lace trimmings with a slight train at the back. "Well, I think I've got enough for the both of us," I joke, nervously hoping he doesn't hate my efforts to look presentable.

Instead, he smiles even wider. "You look beautiful, Miss Luscinia."

"Please," I huff, "call me Inara. I'm not dancing with someone who calls me a teacher name. Been there, done that, did not care for it. Children are a nightmare."

"You like the Cartwrights just fine."

I roll my eyes at his cheeky remark, lightly batting at his shoulder. "Yeah, but they're as good as family at this point. The rest, however?" He doesn't seem to fully believe me, chuckling to himself and shaking his head. I almost forget all about the flowers until he holds them out to me. "Oh, thank you! I'll just put those inside. Please come in this time, it's freezing."

With that in mind, I pull the trench coat from its hanger on my way back to the kitchen in search of something akin to a vase. The best I