TW// Injury detail

—

We walk back to the Tardis in silence, just him and I again. I still keep alert, scanning our surroundings. The Doctor promises that we will look again tomorrow and I know I shouldn't trust him, but I can barely think of anything else.

I slump onto the jumpseats and he joins me, a hand resting on my thigh, smoothing over the fabric of my trousers and easing the jumping of my leg. "You were right," he mumbles after a long, uncomfortable silence.

My breath hitching, I look to him in confusion. "What?"

He sits back, slouching, stripped of his usual confidence. "I've grown too detached. I haven't tried hard enough to understand the reality for the people he hurts. I've— I've become so used to travelling, just solving the problem and moving on. It's rare that I get to see the fallout." Then he looks to me, his eyes softening with overwhelming affection and guilt. He cups my cheek, stroking his thumb over my skin. "But suddenly you were there, fighting through the aftermath, living from day to day... and I didn't know how to fix it. I just want you to feel safe again. But I hope you understand, too. If there's another way to stop him, I'll take it."

"I know." Sighing wearily, I tilt my head slightly, enough to press a kiss to his palm. "And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so harsh. You're not like him."

He smiles sadly. "But I am. We're two sides of the same coin, always have been. I try to do better, though. That's all I do, just keep trying, fulfilling that promise."

"What promise?"

"'The Doctor'. That name, my name. I chose it for a reason, I fight to live up to it every day, to be what people need me to be."

He doesn't intend for it to hurt but it does. Just to hear the way he speaks of himself is like a knife to the heart. "As long you don't forget the other name you have to fight for. Because if you do, there's no point, not to any of it."

"What name is that?"

I speak his own in the softest whisper, drawing him into my embrace. I have only said it once before, when I took my vows and bound my soul to his forever. "Never forget that name. No matter what. He is you, just as much as the Doctor."

His lips linger against mine, bargaining time away for just another moment to feel our closeness. A second kiss warms my forehead. "Go, get some sleep if you can. I'll be there in a bit."

I shouldn't believe him but the thought of resting, of just holding him tonight and letting this mess wait until tomorrow, is too much to refuse.

I do sleep for some time. Until the nightmares come and I scream myself awake again, only to find the mattress cold beside me.

Wiping the cold sweat from my brow, I get up and grab a dressing gown from the chair by my side of the bed — although it rarely stays my side, the two of us moving so much in our sleep, shifting positions, waking in a pleasant tangle. Padding along the corridors, I have to keep up a mantra under my breath, "It's real, it's real, it's real." I'm only half-certain.

Through the doorway up ahead, I can see the Doctor moving around the console room. Something is wrong. His body is doubled over, his hand clutching at his side. All caution leaves me and I run to him, catching him just as he starts to fall. "Inara," he groans. "Sickbay. Sickbay, now."

Carrying him there without a word and setting him on a surgical chair, I make hasty work of unbuttoning his suit and shirt, pulling the stained t-shirt up and over his head. The source of the stain stops my heart. Several bullet wounds scatter his side, and another slowly blotches the material of his trousers.

Still saying nothing, I tie my hair back and wash my hands thoroughly at a little sink in the corner of the all-white room before pulling on a pair of gloves. He gingerly accepts the small vial of painkiller solution that I shove into his hands. Almost immediately, his rugged breathing eases a little and his head falls back against the padding of the chair.

I bring over a trolley of equipment and set to work, scrubbing away all of the blood with wipes that I toss into the small bucket at my side. Even medicated, he hisses at the harshness of my ministrations. I ignore him and get the tweezers next, picking out the bullets one by one. He yelps when I have to dig for a particularly deep one and grabs onto my arm for stability.

Once all of the bullets are out, I take a sealed glass jar and pour the contents onto him. A golden glow oozes out and onto his skin, tiny flecks of light swarming around the wounds. Slowly, they seal up until all evidence of injury is gone. With a flick of my hand, they return to the jar and I set it back on the trolley.

Still, we say nothing. He lies there, motionless and out of breath. I can feel his eyes follow me back to the sink, watching me scrub mercilessly at my hands. The gloves had protected me from getting any blood on myself but I can feel it still, and picture his injuries clearly in my mind.

Finally, I wet my lips and break the silence. "I'm just wondering... why you thought you had the right to do something as awful as this," I say, dangerously quiet. I turn and lean against the sink, arms folded, my glare burning into him. He has quickly lowered his gaze to the floor again. "I mean, what, was everything you said just a lie to get me out of the way, so you could go on your heroic mission?"

"No." Sitting up a little too quickly, he winces. "No, of course not."

"Well, forgive me for having a hard time believing you."

"Oh, come on. I'm fine, I got away."

"Barely."

Huffing, he continues to watch closely as I head back over to him, snatching up the steel bucket of bullets and blood-soaked wipes to dispose of in a nearby rubbish chute.

I slam the hatch shut and turn on him again. "I mean, just how selfish can you possibly be, Doctor? How selfish to think that you can just go swanning off whenever you feel like it, getting yourself shot, knowing full well that there is a prophecy about your death? How bloody selfish to think, even for a bloody second, that your death only affects you? You swore to me! You made an oath before the Gods that you would be there for me — with me. I am your wife, for Minerva's sake! Does that mean anything to you? Because it means everything to me. Everything! So don't you dare think that you can just accept this."

He looks close to tears again, biting down hard on his bottom lip, determined to burn a hole in the floor with his unrelenting glare. "I've already learned, these things can't be changed. Adelaide taught me that."

I scoff, "And maybe Adelaide was a complete moron and you had actually found a way to safely alter the timeline. You don't know if it worked, she died before you even got a chance. You don't know if the good outcome of that was probable or one in a million. But that's the kind of chance I am willing to take."

"Well, I'm not. It's too dangerous."

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I curse sharply. He is adamant that he won't meet my gaze so I approach, promising my presence. "Doctor, you have dedicated your life to saving others. I've seen you fight the Laws of Time themselves just to save lives. Are you really going to tell me you won't fight that hard for yourself? Do you hate yourself that much?"

He doesn't say anything to that. It comes to me that, maybe, he doesn't know what can be said.

I soften even more, nudging his legs over so I can perch on the edge of his chair. "What happened?"

"I went to look for him," he croaks after a moment.

"And did you find him?"

He nods. Sighing, I rest my hand on top of his, clasped over his bare, reddened abdomen. "Yes." For a while, that is all the information he is willing to offer. Then he speaks up again, searching my face for reassurance, "He's a mess. Whatever happened when he was resurrected, it went wrong. He's a creature now, starving. And he showed me what it's like."

At that, panic strikes me. "'Showed' you what? Doctor, what did he show you?"

His eyes gloss over and he clutches my hand between his. "He made me hear them — the drums. It was just a second but... Inara, I couldn't bear it. It scared me. Do you really hear that?"

I nod reluctantly. "Back in the Year That Never Was, do you remember when he tricked me, when I— when I tried to fight him? He filled my head with it. I couldn't take it, I passed out. Then I woke up in the dark. That was the last thing I heard before he broke me, and I never got it out of my head."

"But you didn't break," he gently insists. "You remember all of that, all of the suffering. Do you know what I remember? I remember that little spark of hope I felt every time you were brought out onto the bridge. I could see your pain but that hope, that promise that I could see you again, it kept me going when nothing else could. And I also remember hearing every single time you refused to give in to him and order the massacres. You were never broken, not really. You're unbreakable, Inara. Stronger than I could ever hope to be."

Letting out a whimpering laugh, I practically throw myself into his arms. He hugs me back without hesitation. "But who shot you? Did he do this?" I ask after a while.

"No. Somebody else was there, a whole team of them. They wore tactical gear and masks, I don't know who they were. They drugged him and took him away. I tried to stop them but they took me down. Barely managed to crawl my way back here."

The news sends a chill through me. "Anyone who wants him must be up to something bad. We've got to stop this."

——————

"Doctor, I don't think this is a good idea," I plead, following the Doctor out of the Tardis and onto the pavement. Donna's house is just across the road. Even with the tall privet bushes hiding most of the windows on the ground floor, we are too exposed.

He ducks behind the ship and pulls me with him. Peering around the corner, he mutters, "Just a second. We need Wilf."

Huffing anxiously, I pull him back and fix his tie. It took an unusual amount of persuasion for him to understand that going about in clothes still stained with his blood might raise questions, so now he wears his favourite suit — the classic brown pinstripes that he wore on the day of our wedding, right down to the star-embroidered tie. "You know, there's this incredible invention, fantastically simple, only came out a century and a half before this era. I think it's called a phone?"

Just as he is about to reply, we hear a door open and shut. Wilf strides hastily towards us, glancing over his shoulder. We meet him in the street. "I lost him, I was unconscious," the Doctor explains. "He's still on Earth, I think I can still smell him, but he's too far away."

"Listen, you can't park there. What if Donna sees it?" This is the angriest I have ever seen him. It's so ill-fitting on such a kind face.

"You're the only one, Wilf. The only connection I can think of. You're involved. If I could just work out how..." He steps closer, his determination scaring the man. "Tell me, have you seen anything — I don't know — anything strange, anything odd?"

His anger fades in an instant and he begins to stammer. "W-Well, there was— there was—"

"What is it? Tell me."

"Wilf, what did you see?" I plead.

"There was— No, it's nothing."

He groans in frustration, grasping Wilf by the shoulders. "Think, think, think. Maybe something out of the blue, connected to your life, something."

He pales. "Well, Donna was a bit strange. She had a funny little moment, this morning, all because of that book."

Alerted, I glance nervously at the Doctor. "What book?"

He seems unsure of what to say. Then, beckoning urgently, he leads us towards the house. We hide from the windows, waiting for him to emerge from the side door with the book in question. Its cover shows a man, arms crossed, looking proudly at us. He is dark-skinned, haughty, and dressed in a fine, silk suit. "His name's Joshua Naismith."

The Doctor takes it from him, pointing insistently at the man and holding it for me to see. "That's the man. We were shown him by the Ood."

"By the what?"

"By the Ood."

"What's the Ood."

"They're just the Ood. But it's all part of the convergence, maybe— maybe touching Donna's subconscious." Brightening with realisation, he smiles. "Oh, she's still fighting for us, even now. The DoctorDonna."

Before we can duck out of sight, Donna's mother appears in the doorway. "Dad, what are you up to?" Her eyes widen when she sees us. "You!" she hisses. "But— Get out of here!"

"Merry Christmas," he replies. I elbow him.

"Merry Christmas." She returns to her hushes tirade, "But she can't see you. What if she remembers?"

As if on cue, we hear her voice, "Mum, where are those tweezers?"

She shoos us away. "Go!"

"We're going."

"Me, too." Wilf hastens to follow us out through the garden gate and back into the street.

"Oh, no, you don't." We hurry, hoping that she won't catch up. "Dad, I'm warning you!"

He waves over his shoulder. "Bye, see you later."

"Stay right where you are!"

Pausing at the door, the Doctor frowns at him as I try to unlock the Tardis. "You can't come with us."

"You're not leaving me with her."

"Dad!"

He grimaces. "Fair enough."

Disappearing inside, we head straight for the controls. Like every time before, we have become so used to flying together, we run around the console, knowing every switch the other has already dealt with and dodging each other with ease. It takes me a moment to notice that Wilf hasn't moved. He clings to the book, staring around at the ship in a mix of wonderment and absolute terror.

"Naismith! If I can track him down—"

"Darling," I warn in a sing-song tone, "new passenger."

"Ah. Right. Yes. Bigger on the inside. D'you like it?"

He scoffs nervously, still rooted to the spot. "I thought it'd be cleaner."

We both look up, offended. "'Cleaner'?"

The Doctor wags a disapproving finger at him as he races to the other end of the console. I could take you back home, right now."

Yanking him out of sight behind the pistons, I whisper to him, "Look, is this a good idea? Maybe we should take him back. I mean... is this too much? He is a bit... older than the usual companions."

"I'm over nine hundred. I'm sure he'll be fine." Despite his words, he spares a glance at the man.

"Listen, Doctor," he says, "if this is a time machine — that man you're chasing, why can't you just pop back to yesterday and catch him?"

"I can't go back inside my own timeline, I have to stay relative to the Master within the causal nexus. Understand?"

He shakes his head wearily. "Not a word."

Grinning, the Doctor shakes his hand. "Welcome aboard."

"Thank you."

——————

Stepping outside, we find ourselves in a stable. Wilf stumbles around, gaping at the change in setting. "We've moved! We've really moved!"

"You should stay here," the Doctor says, looking anxiously out the windows.

"Not bloody likely!"

"And don't swear."

I frown. "I can swear."

Meeting my amused gaze, he arches an eyebrow. "What, you think I'd stand a chance getting you to stop? Hold on." With an aim of his sonic screwdriver, the ship vanishes from sight. "Just a second out of sync. Don't want the Master finding the Tardis, that's the last thing we need."

With that settled, he leads the way out into the courtyard of a large, brick country house. An alley lies up ahead. Just as he steps into it, I yank him back, spotting the two armed guards patrolling past the other end. "That book said he's a billionaire," Wilf tells us. "He's got his own private army."

I smirk. "Proving that he's weak on his own. An easier target."

"Oi," the Doctor pleads, tugging lightly on my sleeve to get my attention. "No unnecessary risks, you hear? We get this done and we leave. Down here." Creeping into the alley, he opens a small hatch with his sonic and ducks into it. We reluctantly follow.

Along the end of the dim corridor ahead, a green glow catches our eye. "Miss Addams," a voice sounds, muffled by some sort of comms link, "we're getting encouraging results from the ratio-foldback. Can you confirm?"

A woman replies, just up ahead. "The man's a miracle. All the systems are slotting back into place. The shatterthreads have harmonised, the friable links have densified, and the multiple overshots have triplicated."

The Doctor takes the opportunity to stick his head around the corner, to where a young woman in a lab coat stands, surrounded by all sorts of computers. It seems to be some kind of basement lab, lit up green. A large, glass structure stands at the end of the room, made of parallel panels of glass and wires. "Nice Gate!"

Wilf waves sheepishly. "Hello. Sorry."

"Don't call security, or I'll tell them you're wearing a Shimmer," he declares, striding arrogantly into the lab. "'Cause I reckon anyone wearing a Shimmer doesn't want the Shimmer to be noticed, or they wouldn't want a Shimmer in the first place."

Smiling innocently, she clasps her hands together. "I'm sorry? What's a Shimmer?"

"Shimmer!" he chirps, pointing his sonic at her. Her façade drops to reveal her vivid green skin and bald head covered in spikes. She groans, shoulders sagging in defeat.

Wilf lets out a little squeak. "Oh my Lord. She's a cactus!"

I dig my elbow into his side. "Don't be rude."

"Miss Addams? Miss Addams."

All at once, the computer screens light up with various warnings, all in a font of green, spiked circles. The Doctor races over to them. "He's got it working."

Frowning, I peer over his shoulder. "What's working?"

"Haven't the foggiest."

Another scientist, this one male and as tall as me, hurries in. He stares around at us in alarm. "What are you doing in here?"

Without sparing him a glance, the Doctor aims his sonic again. "Shimmer!" Like Addams, he turns green and spiky. "Now, tell me quickly, what's going on? The Master, Harold Saxon, Skeletor — whatever you're calling him — what's he doing up there?"

They share a confused look. "J-Just what he said he'd do, fixed it."

"You think?" I scoff.

"But I checked the readings. He's done good work, it's operational!"

Only now does he spare them his attention. "Whoa re you, though? I met someone like you. He was brilliant, but he was little and red."

Addams rests her hands on her hips with an impatient sigh. "No, that's a Zocci."

"We're not Zocci, we're Vinvocci. Completely different."

The Doctor seems to want to question that but I send him a sharp glare. "And the Gate is Vinvocci," Addams continues. "We're a salvage team. We picked up the signal when the humans reactivated it and as soon as it's working, we can transport it to the ship."

"But what does it do?"

"Well, it mends," the other awkwardly replies. "It's as simple as that. It's a medical device to repair the body, it makes people better."

Eyeing them warily, I head over to take another look at the screens. "Either you're lying or there's something bigger, 'cause the Master's involved. He wouldn't care about this unless it could do something more."

The Doctor nods in agreement. "Every single warning says he's going to do something colossal."

"So that thing's like a sickbed, yes?" Wilf asks, pointing to the structure.

"More or less."

"Well, pardon me for asking, but why is it so big?"

Peering at some papers through his glasses, he