The funeral party marches in silence, marked by a single, repeating bell toll. They wear solemn expressions, all in black against the white expanse of the snowy street. Before them, the horse-drawn hearse rolls on.

We peek through the bars of an iron gate, out of sight from the Doctor and Rosita yet close enough to overhear them. "The late Reverend Fairchild," we hear him say, "leaving his place of residence for the last time. God rest his soul. Now, with the house empty, I shall effect an entrance at the rear while you go back to the Tardis. This is hardly work for a woman."

"To be clear," I hiss, "I don't care if he's you. He says something like that in front of me and I'll slap him right into a new face."

"Trust me, you'll hear no complaints."

Rosita seems to be of the same sentiment. She scoffs, "Oh, don't mind me saving you life. That's 'work for a woman', isn't it?"

"The Doctor's companion does what the Doctor says. Off you go."

Beside me, he chuckles. "Oh, that'll be the day."

I practically drag him after me, asking a passer-by the directions to the late Reverend's house. Standing guard, I wait for the Doctor to unlock the front door using his sonic. It opens easily, welcoming us into the musty building. Movement by the window catches my eye. "He's coming. Back door."

By the time we make it there, the handle is already turning, the lock picked. The door swings open and we greet him. "Hello."

"How did you get in?"

"Oh, front door. I'm good at doors. Um, d'you mind my asking? Is that your sonic screwdriver?"

He smiles, holding up an ordinary, wooden-handled tool. "Yes. I'd be lost without it."

We share a glance. "That's a screwdriver," I note.

"How's it sonic?"

"Well, er, it makes a noise." To prove it, he taps the handle against the doorframe. "That's sonic, isn't it?"

I clench my jaw. "Yeah, everything 'sonic' if you hit it hard enough. Are you sure this is the Doctor?"

He seems a little surprised by the sharpness of my comment but dismisses it from his thoughts, glancing over his shoulder. "Now, since we're acting like common burglars, I suggest we get out of plain view."

As they make their way back into the main house, I pull the Doctor back. "I don't trust him."

"He's me."

"And?"

Huffing, I lead the way. We come into the parlour — a large, airy room with a red Turkish carpet and ornate furniture. A Christmas tree decorated with unlit candles, ribbons and dried orange slices stands in the corner. "This investigation of yours, what's it about?" my Doctor asks as we hurry after the man's retreating figure.

"It started with a murder."

"Oh, good." Earning a strange look, he quickly corrects himself, "I mean, bad. But whose?"

The man returns to his investigation, opening one of the draws of an ornate writing desk and perusing through the pages and pages of notes and books within. "Mr Jackson Lake, a teacher of mathematics from Sussex. He came to London three weeks ago and died a terrible death."

I take one of the books from him and turn it over, weighing it in each hand and flicking right to the back page. "Cybermen?"

"It's hard to say. His body was never found."

The statement surprises me. I look up sharply. "So how do you know he's dead?"

"Well, that's when it started. More secret murders, then abductions. Children stolen away in silence."

The Doctor's interest grows. He looks around curiously, eyeing a rather ugly taxidermied raven perched in the middle of the room. "So whose house is this?"

"The latest murder — the Reverend Aubrey Fairchild. Found with burns to his forehead, like some advanced form of electrocution."

We lean together against the desk and I whisper, "Deleted, no doubt."

He hums in agreement, crossing his arms. "But who was he, was he important?"

The man pauses. "You ask a lot of questions."

"I'm your companion."

My withering look goes unnoticed by his future self. "The Reverend was the pillar of the community, a member of many parish boards, a keen advocate of children's charity."

"Children again," he notes. "But why would the Cybermen want him dead? And what's his connection to the first death, this Jackson Lake?"

No response comes. Instead, he approaches, eyes narrowed, scrutinising the Doctor. A far-off look comes across him. It reminds me of the Doctor's thousand-mile stare but something is missing. "It's funny," the man says quietly, "I seem to be telling you everything. As though you engendered some sort of... trust. You seem familiar, Mr Smith. I know your face. But how?"

He has the same look as his future self, that same curiosity. "I wonder." His gaze drifts to the chain hanging at the man's waist. "I can't help noticing you're wearing a fob watch."

"Is that important?"

"Don't," I warn as he comes closer, still eyeing the chain. "We don't know what we're dealing with."

But he ignores me, taking another step closer. "Legend has it that the memories of a Time Lord can be contained within a watch. Do you mind?" It is offered to him without a word. I curse under my breath and begin to pace, afraid to consider what might happen if we meddle with time so flagrantly. "It's said," my Doctor continues as he carefully takes the watch, "that if it's opened..."

The lid flips open and a few loose cogs fall out. No energy shines from within. The Doctor sighs disappointedly. "Oh. Maybe not."

The man smiles awkwardly. "It's more for decoration."

"Yeah. Anyway, alien infiltration."

They part ways, pacing around the room once again as if that strange moment never happened. "Look for anything different, possibly metal. Anything that doesn't seem to belong, perhaps a mechanical device that could fit no earthly engine. It could even seem to be organic, but unlike any organism of the natural world."

As he speaks, I see the Doctor slip his sonic out of his pocket, subtly scanning the room with his back to the stranger. I hurry over to him and try to snatch it away. "What do you think you're doing?" I hiss.

"Just looking."

He easily moves it out of reach but I grab for it again. "If he sees..."

"He's only me," he reasons with a shrug.

"Have you forgotten what happened the last few times the chameleon arch was used? We don't know why he doesn't remember, we don't even know if he's you. You could put the entire world in danger if you wake him up."

Still, he tries to use the sonic screwdriver. We silently wrestle over it like a couple of children, batting each other away and trying to secure possession of the device. The Doctor manages to press the button and the soft whirring fills the room.

"What's that noise?"

I take advantage of his distraction to steal away the device and hide it behind my back. We both turn to the man, faking innocence. The Doctor stammers out an excuse, "Oh, it's just me... whistling."

He demonstrates the noise. Rolling my eyes, I pocket the sonic in the trench coat I still wear and head to the writing desk. Inside a small compartment sit two silver pen-shaped devices. I clear my throat and hold them up. "Bingo."

They both hurry to my side, admiring it. "Different and metal, you were right," the Doctor says, taking them to examine. He passes one to the man, ignoring my warning glare. "They are infostamps." Receiving a strange look from the man, he corrects himself, "I mean, at a guess. If I were you, I'd say they worked something like this."

He presses down on the narrower end and an image is projected out of the other end of the cylinder, hitting the mirror behind him. The image changes every second, showing black and white photographs of people, places and events.

"See? Compressed information. Tons of it." Putting on his glasses, the Doctor takes a closer look. "That is the history of London, 1066 to the present day. This is like a disk, a Cyberdisk. But why would the Cybermen need something so simple? They've got to be wireless."

The man slumps down on a chair. He stares at the device in his hands.

"Unless... they're in the wrong century, they haven't got much power."

I crouch beside the man, hesitantly resting a hand on his shoulder. "Doctor?"

"They need plain old basic infostamps to update themselves," he continues.

I look to him over my shoulder. "Oi. Would you stop geeking out for just a second?" I snap, a little too harshly. Squeezing the man's shoulder, I try again, "Doctor, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he murmurs.

The next glance towards my husband is far gentler, filled with worry. He joins me on the floor, looking anxiously up at the man. "No, what is it? What's wrong?"

He turns the infostamps over in his hands. "I've seen one of these before. I was holding this device, the night I lost my mind. The night I regenerated." His voice trembles, close to breaking. "The Cybermen, they made me change. My mind, my face, my whole self." Before I can stop him, he rests a hand on the Doctor's cheek. "And you were there," he says, overwhelmed with fear and anger. "Who are you?"

"A friend. I swear."

"Then I beg you, John. Help me."

With that, I know there is no turning back. We're in this, now. He knows it, too. "Ah. Two words I never refuse." Then he stands abruptly. "But it's not a conversation for a dead man's house. It'll make more sense if we go back to the Tardis — your, uh, Tardis. Hold on, I just need to do a final check. Won't take a tick."

I stand, keeping a hand on the man's shoulder. "Whatever happened to you, we'll figure it out. I promise."

"Inara," he whispers.

"Yes?"

But he only repeats himself. "Inara. Why do I know that name? All this information reeling through my head and that one name is at the centre of it all, in the eye of the storm. Never a question, only a fact." His eyes dart up to meet mine. "Why is that?"

I am saved from answering when my Doctor speaks again. "There's one more thing I cannot figure. If this room's got infostamps, then maybe, just maybe, it's got something that needs infostamping." He opens a door at the edge of the room and promptly closes it again. "Okay. I think we should run."

Not a moment later, the door crashes off its hinges. A Cyberman lumbers into the room.

"Run! Now, Doctor!"

He ushers us through the nearest exit and seals it behind us with his sonic. We don't make it far along the dim corridor before another Cyberman steps into our path. "The Doctor will be deleted."

Grabbing the man's hand, I lead the way through another door and into the entrance hall. There are a few of the creatures now, all coming closer. "Stairs! Can't lead them outside!" the Doctor shouts to us. We do as he says and make a run for it up the steps but he doesn't follow, fumbling through a pot beside the bannister for some kind of weapon. He comes up with an umbrella. Tossing it aside, his attention is caught by something rather different.

He draws a sword from an ornamental scabbard fixed to the wall and brandishes it. "I'm a dab hand with a cutlass. You don't want to come near me when I've got one of these. This is your last warning." They don't falter, coming closer still. "No? Okay, this is really your last warning!"

"Delete."

"Duck!" He does so just in time as I hurl a large vase at the Cybermen. It shatters against one of the creature's metal hide. It pauses, dripping with water and rose petals, then continues to advance on us. It's still enough time for the Doctor to run halfway up the stairs.

"Okay, I give up," he tries. "Listen. Whatever you're doing stuck in 1851, I can help." One tries to reach for him and he deflects it with his sword. "I mean it! I'm the only person in the world who can help you. Listen to me!"

I push the man further out of the way. My hand closes around the sonic screwdriver in my inside pocket but I don't take it out yet, still nervous about what the consequences may be.

They try to attack again. The sword forms a barrier but the Cyberman is too strong; he won't be able to hold it off for long. "I'm the Doctor," he says, struggling to hold off the creature's hand with the flat of the blade. "You need me. Check your memory banks, my name's the Doctor. Leave this man alone. The Doctor is me!"

"Delete."

A kick to the Cyberman's chest is enough to push it back, knocking into the others behind it and almost tumbling down the stairs. It only buys him a few seconds, running further up, closer to us. He parries again. "The Doctor, remember? I'm the Doctor! You need me alive! You need the Doctor and that's me!"

They're almost at the top of the stairs. Their strength is too much for him and he falls back onto the landing, winded. I take up his fallen sword and point it at them in one hand, the other aiming the sonic. "Stay back! Stay back or I swear to Gods I will use one of these, and trust me, neither's a good option."

"Inara, be careful."

"When am I not? Now, find us a way out of here. I'll hold them off." The Cyberman closest to me tries to swipe at me and I dodge out of the way, bringing the sword down on the gap at its wrist joint. The hand comes clean off, leaving severed and sparking wires. "Warned you. Doctor, why are you just standing there? Come on!"

My brief moment of distraction is enough. The creature closes its other hand around my throat. "Delete."

I brace myself for the surge of electricity that I have seen kill countless others. Instead, the hand loosens and the creature cries out. Light beams out of the infostamp in the man's hands, shining right into the face of one of the creatures. The signal transmits until all of them scream, clutching at their heads.

I stagger back and draw in a gasp for air. The Doctor helps me up, moving me as far away as possible. But it's over in a matter of seconds as the Cybermen's heads explode, shrapnel flying everywhere. He hugs me tightly, laughing when he sees what has become of our attackers. "Infostamp with a cyclo-Steinham core! You ripped open the core and broke the safety. Zap! Only the Doctor would think of that."

But the man has grown pale. He leans against the doorframe, staring at the device in bewilderment. "I did that... last time."

Gently pushing me into a nearby chair despite my protests, the Doctor takes out a stethoscope from the pocket of the coat wrapped around me. "Come here, it's okay. Let me just check," he says to his future self.

"You told them you were the Doctor. Why did you do that?"

"Oh, I was just protecting you."

Panting and weary, he eyes the stethoscope as it is pressed against one side of his chest. "You're trying to take away the only thing I've got, like they did. They stole something, something so precious. But I cant remember." He draws in a sharp breath, shaken with his tears. "What did they do?"

"We'll find out. You and me, together."

——————

We follow the other Doctor through the streets of London, darkened by the oncoming night. Hearing my laboured breaths, mine comes to a stop in front of me. His brow furrows as he regards me with concern. "You're hurt," he realises, fingertips grazing my neck. I wince at first, but then a warmth melts away the pain. My next breath is easier. He smiles. "There. All better."

But I grab his hands, concealing the last glimmer of gold energy in case it is seen. "What in Minerva's name were you thinking?" I hiss.

"I should ask you the same thing. Almost got yourself killed."

"Yeah, but I didn't, did I? I was helping. But this?" I nod to his hands for emphasis. "You can't just do this without asking. You can't. That's your life force and you're just giving it away for stupid injuries that I can easily heal on my own. You don't even give me a choice in the matter!"

He frowns, his voice softening with what almost sounds like hurt. "I was just trying to help."

I huff, "Well, sometimes, people don't need your help." At the look on his face, I soften, guilt creeping in. "I'm sorry, that was harsh. I just worry about you. I don't want something happening to you because you gave away all your regeneration energy."

"I know," he mumbles, lowering his gaze.

My hands cup his face, bringing his gaze to meet mine. "I'm sorry, Doctor. Just, please, for the love of all the Gods... ask before you go and do something so reckless, and know that sometimes I just have to heal myself."

"I know," he says again. It isn't just to placate me, his regret is clear. Hoping to make him smile again, I give the tip of his nose a sweet peck and take his hand, hurrying after his future self.

At the end of the alley, Rosita paces agitatedly. Her frown fades when she sees us. "Doctor!" she cries, racing up to us. "I thought you were dead."

The man seems surprised when she hugs him, awkwardly patting her on the back. "Now then, Rosita. A little decorum."

"You've been gone for so long." She looks to me, rolling her eyes. "He's always doing this, leaving me behind, going frantic."

He flushes with embarrassment. "What about the Tardis?"

"Oh, she's ready. Come on."

We share a glance and he squeezes my hand. "I'm looking forward to this."

I shrug. "As long as it's our girl at her core, I suppose I won't mind some minor cosmetic changes. Just hope you've kept the pillars, I like them."

Oblivious to our conversation, the other Doctor follows her lead into an old stone stable, cluttered with all sorts of equipment, wooden crates and knickknacks. "You were right, though, Rosita," he remarks, rubbing his hands together to fend off the evening chill. "The Reverend Fairchild's death was the work of the Cybermen."

We look around at the interior of the building. The barred walls of the paddocks to our right have been hung with evergreen and candles flicker on every surface. The man steps into one of the paddocks, which has a small bed and a table with a wash basin and chamber pot. "So you live here, then?"

"A temporary base, until we rout the enemy. The Tardis is magnificent but it's hardly a home."

I frown but he discourages me from saying anything with a small shake of his head. "And where's the Tardis now?"

Bending over the basin, he wrings out a washcloth and sends a distracted nod in the direction of another set of doors. "In the yard."

Looking around, I see a pile of leather suitcases piled up in the corner. "This all yours?"

"No, ma'am. Evidence. The property of Jackson Lake, the first man to be murdered." He dries off his hands, still not truly facing us as he continues to speak. "Oh, but my new friend is a fighter, Rosita, much like myself. He faced the Cybermen with a cutlass."

The Doctor itches the back of his neck and tilts his head towards me. "Oh, well, I tried. Inara, here, did the real fighting, took one of their hands clean off. Not to mention the vase manoeuvre — nice one, by the way."

I smile modestly. "Thanks, dear."

The other seems a little unnerved by the thought, likely caught on the period's patriarchal values — although it has never happened to him before. But he smiles at me nonetheless. "Yes, yes. I'm not ashamed to say they were braver than I. Quite brilliant."

Taking out his sonic, which he had retrieved while I was down, he starts to scan the room. I have given up trying to stop him at this point and simply rest my hands on my hips as I watch him.

"Are you whistling again?"

He hastily hides it behind his back. "Yes. Yes, I am, yeah. Yeah." But Rosita had seen him. Catching her eye, he silently shushes her.

We head