TW// Panic attack

—

I walk alone. The Tardis corridors span out in front of me and, with each step, seem to stretch further and further. I think nothing of it.

"Inara."

The voice is familiar. It carries a recognisable sneer. I gasp, looking over my shoulder. There is no one there.

"Inara."

I turn again. Still, I am alone. In the far reaches of the corridor, a light goes off. Frowning, I step closer, peering into the shadows left behind. The next one along flickers out. Then the next. Getting closer and closer.

There is no question. I break into a run. My feet pound against the mesh floor, the sound resonating in my head with my heartbeat. The two rhythms merge into four beats repeating over and over. Ba-ba-bump-bump. Ba-ba-bump-bump. Ba-ba-bump-bump.

The doorway to the console room appears in my sight. I press on, moving faster than before as the darkness continues to chase me. It is slow, though. Slower than me. A glance over my shoulder confirms this, as it's almost lost around the corner. From here, I can see the Doctor at the console. My hand reaches for him despite the distance. It closes around the doorframe just as I am grabbed from behind.

A scream drowns out the drumming. I try to push away my attacker, crying out for the Doctor to help. A rough pull forces me around, coming face to face with a dead man.

The Master grins. He takes my face in his hands, cradling it with unnerving strength. "You should've taken me up on my offer, my sweet, fiery, Inara."

Then he transforms as I had seen him do so many times, his smile turning to a glare. He takes me by the arm, shoving me back. Back down the corridor, towards the dying of light. I start to scream again. I manage to push myself away only to hit the ground, feeling no impact but realising with dread that he has started to drag me back by my ankles. My fingers claw against the floor, trying to secure a hold in the meshwork to stop myself. Blood stains them with ease and I watch helplessly as it forms a trail before me.

"Doctor!"

His receding form does not react. He doesn't look up from the console. There is no indication that he even heard me.

The Master cackles and gives me a harsh pull. The light is already fading around us. "When will you learn? Your precious Doctor can't save you. Not from me. Certainly not from yourself."

"Doctor! Doctor, help me! No!"

Still, I scream. I don't stop, not even when the drumming and laughter grow so loud that I can't hear myself. Not even when I am plunged into the pitch black that I return to every night.

"No! Please, no! No!"

"Inara? Wake up, Inara." Feeling someone start to shake me, I frantically push against them, still screaming at the top of my lungs. It takes time to recognise the voice. Even then, I squirm when a pair of hands cup my face. They recoil. "Open your eyes. Inara, please. I won't hurt you. Please. Open your eyes."

Realising the cause for the persistent darkness, I cautiously open them. I see the crystal lampshade on my bedroom ceiling and the bright light that surrounds me. The Doctor sits beside me. He watches me with what I realise to be fear. The same emotion keeps me paralysed.

Memories of my nightmare keep my mind captive, playing it over and over like it was real. And it was real. It happened and I can never escape it. My breathing remains rugged, and when I realise, it worsens. I gasp, dragging air into my lungs, but it doesn't sustain me. There isn't enough oxygen. My heart pounds in my ears and the noise blurs into that same rhythm. I try to free myself but the duvet tangles around me. My brain interprets it as yet another attack. Whimpering, I writhe and kick, trying to free myself. I can't see past the blur of tears, nor the haze of my own panic.

The Doctor struggles to pull the covers away as I continue to writhe. He leans over me, doing his best to smile. "Hey, it's just me," he soothingly whispers. "It's me. I'm here. You're safe, I promise. I swear on my hearts, darling, you're safe."

Taking another gulp of empty air, I choke out the words, "Can't m-move."

"I know. It's just the duvet. You're safe. Can I help?"

I nod after a moment. One hand rests on my cheek while the other carefully untangles my trembling body. He inhales deeply, prompting me to copy him. I try but only manage a few gasps, my shoulders jerking with the effort. He smooths his hand over them and inhales again. It takes a while before my breathing slows but I'm still shaking, unable to speak, unable to think of anything but that darkness.

Another sob escapes me and he hushes me. "You're here, you're safe. Doing so well, darling. You're almost out. Keep going. What can you see?"

The question urges me to take a look around. My hands dare to let go of him, long enough to wipe my eyes. They dart around and my lips quiver. "You," I begin. Then I look around us. "Rainbows on the— on the ceiling. Necklace b-by the bed. My shrine. Your coat on the chair."

"Brilliant. And what can you feel?"

Not sure, I reach for him. My hand comes to rest on his chest but I flinch away at the sensation of that familiar rhythm. He takes hold of it with a squeeze. I shut my eyes for a moment in concentration. "Your hand, and— and my rings and..." At my hesitation, he takes my necklace from its dish on the bedside table and closes my fingers around it. I focus on the coldness of the silver, the teeth of the Tardis key. Then I bury my other hand into the pile of bedding beside me. "The sheets."

He smiles and feels them too. "They're nice, aren't they? Silky. Now, what do you hear? Just three more of these. You're already so close but let's keep going, yeah?"

Nodding again, I attempt another deep breath. My crying gets in the way, causing a soft hiccup. The sound is embarrassing and I can't help but chuckle. "Well, I d-definitely heard that," I mumble.

"And you laughed. Always good, laughing. Love a good laugh. Love your laugh."

I hide my face against his shoulder and hiccup again through my weak giggles. Already, I can feel the anxiety ebbing away. I try to think of one more. "The Tardis," I say after a moment. "I can hear her engines humming. It helps me get to sleep."

At that, the sound gets a bit louder. He cradles the back of my head and rubs my back. "Good. Smell?"

I inhale deeply, taking in his signature scent of chocolate and time and me. Before I speak, I steal another sniff before pulling away from our embrace. "You smell amazing." My hands still shake as I point to the vase on the bedside table. "And those lilies. Not as amazing, they're a bit— a bit s-soapy."

Finally, he stretches across to the armchair for his trench coat. Producing a little enamel box painted with a starry night, he opens it up and offers it to me. "Take your pick."

With another teary laugh, I take a purple jelly baby and pop it into my mouth. I chew on it as I shuffle closer to him, my body practically collapsing against his as exhaustion hits. "S-Sorry."

"What on earth are you apologising for?"

I shrug and wearily rub my eyes. "Woke you," I mutter hoarsely.

He settles back down into our bed and hugs me to him, kissing the top of my head. "Darling, you can wake me whenever. If it means you feel safe, don't even hesitate. Not that you have to hesitate ever. Just... please, don't apologise. I will never be angry with you for needing help."

——————

"You're sure the signal was coming from up here?" I ask, wandering hand in hand down a busy London street with the Doctor.

He nods and offers out his other hand, cupping a mess of crumpled gold foil filled with brown shards. "Definitely. Somewhere on this street, there's a tiny little hole in reality."

I take a chunk and nibble on it, grimacing. "Where did that come from?"

"The hole?"

"Whatever's in your hand right now. Where's it from?"

"My pocket," he replies, confused. "Well, Poundland, originally. It's chocolate."

"Barely," I mutter under my breath. Still, I take another nibble of it despite the clear lack of cocoa. "And... why?"

Pausing, he shrugs, caught off guard by the question. "Well, it's Easter Sunday, isn't it?"

I test another shard. "Right. And this... stuff is an Easter staple for humans?" My eyes widen with realisation. "Oh, is this the Eton Mess I keep hearing about? Honestly, I used to think that was just a political nickname."

"No! Not exactly. It's an Easter egg."

"Made of chocolate?" I slowly reply, eyeing it distastefully. "Humans are weird. I mean, what is it about some guy's ritual sacrifice that makes people want to eat egg-shaped chocolate?"

He sends me an odd look. "Wasn't exactly a ritual. And the sacrifice was more of a precursor for the really important bit. If you ask me, people completely misinterpreted what really happened."

Whatever tangent he goes off on, I don't hear. My attention has been caught by the swarming police officers around the large gallery on the other side of the street. "Wonder what's going on there."

Sighing impatiently, he pulls me along. "Not our business. Look, there's a bus!"

We manage to flag it down just before it can drive off. "You're just in time," the driver tells us. The Doctor scans his psychic paper against the Oyster card reader. He slips it to me and I do the same.

It's early evening and the bus is almost empty, with just a few people on the bottom floor — a black-haired girl, an older woman on her phone, a boy with his hoodie pulled right up to his chin, and a couple in their Sunday bests. The Doctor heads straight for the girl and sits in front of her, turning in his seat to offer her some of the so-called chocolate. "Hello, I'm the Doctor, this is Inara. Happy Easter!"

The bus takes off. She gives us a judgemental look and returns her gaze to the pavements glittering with rain.

I try to act normal, watching the road ahead like all the other passengers, but my attempt is somewhat undermined by my husband still holding out the foil mess over his shoulder. "Funny thing is, I don't often do Easter. I can never find it, it's always at a different time."

Giving up, I pinch another piece and toss it into my mouth. "Wait, really? Maybe they're not as weird as I thought."

"'Course not. Although, I remember the original."

"Ooh, how about that for the next trip?" I chime in. "You, me, trip to Nazareth. I bet we'd get on great. Maybe we should time it for a bit earlier, though, just in case—"

A sharp beep interrupts me. He passes the poor woman the rest of the egg and starts to rummage through his impossibly deep pockets. "Sorry, hold onto that for me. Actually, go on, have it, finish it. It's full of sugar and I'm determined to keep these teeth."

I roll my eyes. "Or you could go to a dentist like everyone else. The Tardis infirmary can't do everything and I'm definitely not qualified enough for that."

He takes out one of his many gizmos and shouts, "We've got excitation. I'm picking up something very strange."

The other passengers glance warily over at him and the woman blinks, still holding the chocolate in her leather-gloved hands. She peers anxiously out the window. "I know the feeling."

"Don't mind him," I say. "He's mostly harmless — I mean, technically speaking, that's a classification officially resigned for you lot, but it applies. Sometimes it's best to just smile and nod. He likes feeling clever."

He holds the gizmo up and looks around us. The streetlights have disappeared as we pass into a tunnel. "Rhondium particles, that's what I'm looking for. This thing detects them. The little dish should go round, that little dish there."

"Darling, you're scaring the humans." Seeing the young woman glance out of the window again, I follow her gaze to the police car following us, its siren and lights on full. My hand opens before him, making a grabbing motion. "Oh, for Minerva's sake. Psychic paper, please."

He tosses it in my general direction, still fixated on the gizmo. I just manage to catch it. "Right now," the woman mutters, "a way out would come in pretty handy. Can you detect me one of those?"

I get to my feet just as I hear the Doctor exclaim, "Ah, the little dish is going round!"

"Fascinating."

"And round." It sparks and emits a small burst of smoke. He stands, dodging around me to get to the front of the bus.

The lady in front of us wafts the cloud from her face, spluttering, "'Scuse me. D'you mind?"

"Sorry. That was my little dish."

"Can't you turn that thing off?" the dark-haired girl snaps.

He looks to her with newfound urgency. "What was your name?"

"Christina."

"Christina, hold tight. Everyone, hold on!"

The bus lurches forwards and we are plunged into darkness. A scream leaves me before I know it and I reach for the Doctor, pulling him back down as the shaking worsens. The window closest to us shatters, spraying us with glass. Lightning flickers outside.

And it stops.

Panting, I stumble to my feet. Everything has suddenly become quite bright. While everybody remains frozen still, too shocked to move, the Doctor and I force the doors open. There is nothing outside but sand. Just sloping dunes of it for as far as the eye can see.

He hums, curious, and digs his hands into his pockets. "End of the line. Call it a hunch, but I think we've gone a little bit further than Brixton."

The rest of the passengers follow — Christina, the lady, the boy and another young man from the upper floor. While the Doctor lies on the ground, sifting handfuls of sand through his fingers, I scrutinise each of them. "Anyone hurt?"

They're too dazed to reply. The lady stares at the pale blue sky in amazement. "That's impossible. There are three suns. Three of them!"

"Like when all those planets were up in the sky," the teen gasps.

"But it was Earth that moved back then, wasn't it?"

He groans. "Oh, man, we're on another world."

Seeing that not everyone is out yet, I head back into the bus. The driver's hands are shaking too much to open the barrier, so I do, helping him out onto the sand. "You all right?"

"Oh, I'm fine," he says, waving me off. He looks up at the crumpled roof, still smoking slightly. "It's still intact though. Not as bad as it looks. The chassis is still holding together. My boss is gonna murder me!"

"Can you still drive it?" the lady anxiously asks. She hugs her winter coat around herself regardless of the heat.

"Oh, no. The wheels are stuck. Look at them, they're never gonna budge." Sure enough, they are half-buried in the sand.

Once sure that he is stable enough to move on his own, I head back inside to check on the couple. The man paces agitatedly, the woman cowered in the corner, whimpering. I answer his guarded look with a smile. "It's okay, I'm here to help. Is she hurt?"

"I— I don't know."

I head closer, kneeling on the seats in front of her and offering my hand out. "Hello, I'm Inara. What's your name?"

She looks up at me in alarm, then her gaze softens. Her eyes are a warm brown, the same as her skin, but there is something else in there. Fear, or recognition. She accepts my hand with a squeeze. "Carmen."

The man pats her back affectionately. "And I'm Lou. Listen, where are we?"

"I don't know exactly, but trust me, we do this kind of thing a lot. We'll try our best to get everyone home."

Before anything else can be said, another flash of light comes from outside. I rush to the window just in time to see the driver disappear into a giant ripple in the air. The further he passes into it, the louder his screams become. The last we see of him is the form of a charred skeleton and a green glow, then nothing.

Forcing the couple one more smile, I hurry back outside and towards the group that has gathered around the Doctor. I pull him aside, hissing, "What in bloody Tartarus just happened?"

"Um, that tiny little hole in reality? Well, it's not very 'tiny' or 'little' anymore. It's grown a bit. And he tried to walk right through it."

"Right. Good to know."

Behind us, the teen throws his hoodie aside, pointing at the space where the driver had just disappeared. There is no sign of the rift anymore. "He was a skeleton, man! He was bones, just bones!"

The lady sobs and is pulled into a hug by the other young man. Now wearing his glasses with shaded lenses, the Doctor turns back to us. "It was the bus. Look at the damage, that was the bus protecting us. Great big box of metal."

"Rather like a Faraday cage?" Christina suggests.

"Like in a thunderstorm, yeah?" the young man says. "Safest place is inside a car, 'cause the metal conducts the lightning right through. We did it in school."

I nod. "Good. Very good. If you're gonna get stranded, best to do it with smart people."

"But if we can only travel back inside the bus..." Grimacing, Christina peers at the vehicle over her sunglasses. "A Faraday cage needs to be closed. That thing's been ripped wide open."

The Doctor comes to stand beside her, looking over it as well. "Slightly different dynamics with a wormhole. There's enough metal to make it work, I think — hope."

"Then we have to drive five tonnes of bus, which is currently buried in the sand. And we've got nothing but our bare hands. Correct?"

He shrugs in response. "I'd say nine and a half tonnes, but the point still stands, yes."

She sighs and picks up the large rucksack by her feet. "Then we need to apply ourselves to the problem with discipline. Which starts with appointing a leader."

"Yes, at last. Thank you. So—"

"Thank goodness you've got me. Everyone do exactly as I say. Inside the bus immediately."

The young man frowns. "Is it safe in there?"

"I don't think anything's safe anymore, but if it's a choice between baking in there or roasting here, I'd say baking is slower. Come on, all of you. Right now. And you, 'the Doctor'."

He itches the back of his neck awkwardly. "Yes, ma'am."

I join them, offering my hand for her to shake as I introduce myself, "Inara Luscinia — scientist, engineer, strategist. Take it you've formally met the husband, then?"

"I suppose I have. Good to know I've got someone clever on my team. How does 'second in command' sound?"

Over my shoulder, I smirk at the Doctor. He arches an eyebrow in response. "Sounds great."

—

The heat is already getting to everyone. I am used to warmer climates but even I have had to shed my jacket, rolling up the sleeves of the Doctor's shirt I'm wearing to let my skin cool. Leaning against the luggage rack by the front of the bus, I cross my arms and listen to Christina's speech. "Point five," she continues, looking out at the miserable faces before us, "the crucial thing is: do not panic. Quite apart from anything else, the smell of sweat inside this thing is reaching atrocious levels. We don't need to add anymore. Point six, team identification. Names. I'm Christina, this is Inara and this man is apparently 'the Doctor'."

He smiles around at everyone, his feet resting on the seat in front of him. "Hello."

"And you?"

The young man waves half-heartedly. "Nathan."

"I'm Barclay," the teen says.

"Angela. Angela Whittaker," the lady timidly adds.

"My name's Louis, everyone calls me Lou, and this is Carmen."

She grins. "Excellent. Memorise those names, there might be a test. Point