The woods at the edge of the school act as a perfect cover. Martha remains by my side and Art refuses my requests to walk on my own.

"Doctor!" a voice calls. We peer out from behind the trees to see Mr Clark and his scarecrows in front of the school. They stand guard around the Tardis. "Come back, Doctor! Come home. Come and claim your prize."

He is joined by the rest of the Family, their cruel eyes scanning the treeline. Baines is the next to shout his provocations, "Out you come, Doctor. There's a good boy. Come to the Family."

"Time to end it, now!" Jenny joins in.

Martha meets my anxious gaze before looking at him. "You recognise it, don't you?"

"Come out, Doctor! Come to us!"

"I've never seen it in my life."

If she is frustrated, she doesn't show it. Instead, she continues to gently push, "Do you remember its name?"

Matron's eyes close for a moment in a moment of grave understanding. "I'm sorry, John, but you wrote about it. The blue box. You dreamt of a blue box."

"I'm not—" His voice breaks, trembling with the weight of his fear. "I'm John Smith. That's all I want to be. John Smith. With his life and his job... and his love."

That word crushes me. I wince, hiding in the warmth of a trench coat that reminds me horribly of who he is meant to be.

"Why can't I be John Smith? Isn't he a good man?"

"Yes," she whispers. "Yes, he is."

"Why can't I stay?"

He wipes away his tears, his fingers raking down his cheeks as they fall. I need to stop looking for signs of recognition. Signs of anything.

Still, Martha forces a pained smile, watching Joan rubbing his back, soothing his anguish. "But we need the Doctor."

He stops, looking pleadingly at her. "And who am I, then? Nothing? I'm just a story."

She doesn't need to answer. He already knows. And he leaves, the rest of us running to catch up with him. As we hurry along the dirt track road, Art calls the others' attention to a fork in the path. "This way."

——————

We come to a stop outside a cottage I recognise instantly. My breath stutters and I tug on Art's collar. "Not here. Please. I can't face them."

The others seem oblivious to it. Panting, the Matron beams around at us, rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed. "It's a long time since I've run that far. I say, Art, is this what I think it is?"

He nods solemnly. John frowns and looks between them and the house, with no lights in its windows and no smoke rising from the chimney. "But who lives here?"

"If I'm right," she remarks, "no-one." We follow her inside. The table is set for tea with their finest but nobody seems to be around. "Hello?" We receive no response. "No-one home. We should be safe here."

Art brings me over to the empty rocking chair and pulls the coat around me to stave off the unnatural coldness of the place. Then his solemn gaze lands on the Matron. "Where are they?"

"Where are who?" John huffs.

Martha recognises it better now from inside. A grieved expression takes over. "The Cartwrights."

"That little girl at the school, she's Lucy Cartwright. Or she's—" the Matron draws in a trembling breath "—taken Lucy Cartwright's form. If she came home this afternoon, and if the parents tried to stop their little girl, then..."

I clap a hand over my mouth, stumbling for the door in the corner despite their protests. "N-No. No, no, no. No! Bertie? Bertie, are you here? Bertie!"

"What is it?" She seems startled by my panic, following me along into one of the side rooms. Two small beds occupy it, scattered with ribbons and carved wooden toys. "Oh my Lord."

"She had two brothers — Bertie, he was only four, and Lawrie... Oh Gods, please, no. Lawrie!"

Martha tries to pull on my arm. "Come on, Inara, you're hurt. You need to rest. I'm sorry—"

"My friends and their children were just murdered, if you think I give a—"

I cut myself off. She goes to speak again but I raise a finger to silence her.

We wait.

It comes again, a muffled wailing. My heart leaps. "Lawrie?"

Ignoring the heat tearing across my abdomen again, I run from the children's shared bedroom and into their parents', using the walls to catch my fall each time before pushing myself on. The crib's curtains have been drawn. I throw them open.

Inside, the small and tear-stained face of the baby boy stares back at me. His eyes are bloodshot and his cheeks reddened from the strain of his cries. Immediately scooping him into my arms, I hold him close, showering his little head with kisses. My knees shake violently. The others only just manage to catch me, leading me over to the bed.

"Thank the Gods," I breathe out. Juno must have taken pity on the Cartwrights. The protection of the child is nothing short of a miracle.

The makeshift tourniquet around my chest was torn at some point when we ran. Seeing the blood, the two women manage to convince me to pass the child onto Art so that they can finally tend to my wound. It is a severe burn as opposed to a hole torn by a bullet and therefore can't be sewn shut. Instead, it is cleaned with alcohol from Mr Cartwright's stash and smeared in honey and aloe before being dressed again. I am bombarded with urgent promises from Martha that she will see to my injury properly once we can return to the Tardis. She repeats her order to rest, tucking me into the bed with plenty of blankets

The Matron returns with chamomile tea and another dose of morphine which she brought with her just in case. I receive both with gratitude, now alone with her in the quiet of the room. John has left to be on his own and Martha followed Art to the outhouse in search of weaponry to protect ourselves.

Lawrie stirs and nudges his head further under my chin. She smiles as she readies the needle, sitting down beside me. "I'm sorry that you had to go through all of this. It can't have been easy."

All I do is nod and sip my tea, careful not to let it spill.

I can feel her studying my face. After a moment, she chuckles, "I can't believe I didn't see it before."

"See what?"

"There were a lot of drawings in his journal, of all manner of creatures, but one image kept cropping up. He talked of a woman named Inara, with silver eyes and unwavering faith in the Roman Gods... and the Doctor." I listen for any pain or anger in her voice but there is none. One thing is clear, however: she knows what he means to me.

Absentmindedly drawing circles on the cotton of the child's gown, I croak out, "I never hated you, I hope you know that. I thought I did at first but now I know it was just jealousy. Matron—"

"Joan, please."

"Joan... I want to thank you."

Her fair brow creases and she bows her head, fixing some loose strands of blonde behind her ears. "Why?" she asks, genuinely confused by the gentleness with which I speak to her.

I shrug. "You made that man happy. He may not be my Doctor, but he still means a lot to me. And, regardless of who he is or how he sees me, I will always hope for him to be happy. No matter what."

Joan's grey eyes flit up to meet mine. This time, she offers a small inclination of her head. She frowns again. "If he does change back... do you think John will remain? Even a small part of him?"

"I'm sorry. I don't know."

We fall into silence for a while.

Clearing her throat, she takes up the needle. "All right, let's get this over with. I'm afraid it will hurt again. After that, I can't say you'll be up to much — you're already on the last legs of the dose before, I imagine you might be rather out of it. Let me know if you start to feel unusual."

"Oh, I already feel perfectly unusual all the time. Now, come on. Give me the drugs."

She laughs again, more hearty this time. She takes advantage of my distraction to peel the bandage back in one swift motion. I curse, holding the baby closer to comfort myself. "You really are a rather extraordinary woman! I heard how you gave the Headmaster a good dressing down, it was quite inspirational."

"Well, when you've seen the things I have, something as small as gender seems bloody stupid to care about. Don't take nonsense from anyone, Joan. Not a soul."

—

From the bed, barely conscious, I hear a familiar voice. "I must go to them. Before anyone else dies." My smile vanishes quickly. I must remind myself that it isn't the Doctor, only John.

They are all still in the kitchen, trying to form a plan. Joan huffs, "You can't. Martha, there must be something we can do."

"Not without the watch."

"And what about that magic screwdriver thing? Couldn't you use that to stop them?" Art suggests, still hopeful.

Martha hesitates. "If we can, I don't know how."

"You're this Doctor's companion, can't you help?" John suddenly snaps. I have to clamp my eyes shut just to fight off the turning of my stomach. "What exactly do you do for him? Why does he need you?"

Lawrie wakes with a soft cry. Leaning over to his crib, I dangle a finger inside and feel him grip it. It comforts him somewhat.

"Because they're lonely — him and Inara."

"Ah, yes, the woman he so readily left; whom he made no attempt to fight for. That's what you want me to become? Cold, uncaring?"

My heart sinks. He couldn't be more wrong. If he only understood that we were left with no choice, that his true self is far from the monster he imagines, perhaps it might make it easier to accept all of this. I am, however, well aware of how hard people will fight for life.

There is a knock at the door.

The entire house goes still. The Matron shakily whispers, "What if it's them?"

"I'm not an expert, but I don't think scarecrows knock."

Her footsteps echo off the stone walls. I draw the curtains to Lawrie's crib and grab the candlestick from the bedside table, bracing myself in case I have to fight. I hold my breath.

The door creaks open.

"I brought you this."

In a sudden rush of movement, the door shuts and an extra pair of footsteps can be heard moving about. I can't keep sitting here like this. Taking an old walking stick from the corner of the room, I use it to help me through to the kitchen. Timothy freezes, his eyes going wide when he sees me. Tutting, the Matron briskly escorts me over to the rocking chair.

Martha takes the fob watch and looks sternly at John. "Hold it."

"I won't."

"Please, just hold it."

Timothy gently speaks up, "It told me to find you. It wants to be held."

At his words, the Matron stiffens. "You've had this watch all this time? Why didn't you return it?"

"Because it was waiting, then because I was so scared... of the Doctor."

"Why?" she cautiously asks.

I glance over at John but he won't tear his gaze from it. "Because," the boy says, "I've seen him. He's like fire and ice and rage. He's like the night and the storm and the heart of the sun."

"Stop it."

"He's ancient and forever. He burns at the centre of time, and he can see the turn of the universe."

"Stop it! I said, stop it."

But the boy takes another step. "And he's wonderful."

I close my eyes. I won't cry. Not here, not now.

Joan pulls something from her coat. "I've got it — the journal."

"Those are just stories."

"Now, we know that's not true. Perhaps there's something in here."

A far-off explosion shakes the room. She rushes to the window in alarm, seeing the streaks of fire that rain down on the horizon. "They're destroying the village."

Art runs a hand through his hair in agitation. "We have to stop them. What the blazes are you waiting for? Open it!"

"The watch," John gasps, snatching it from Martha.

"Can you hear it?"

Stumbling to the far side of the room, he cups it delicately in his hands, mesmerised by the sight of it. "Like he's asleep. Waiting to waken."

Timothy eyes him warily. "Why did he speak to me?"

His face scrunches up in dismissal. I'd know that glimmer in his eyes anywhere. "Oh, low-level telepathic field, you were born with it. Just an extra synaptic engram, causing—"

And just as quickly as he returns, the Doctor is gone again.

John gasps, tears threatening to fall. "Is that how he talks?"

"Yes," I practically laugh, relief easing the weight in my chest. I long to hear him voice again.

"All you have to do is open it and he's back."

His expression quickly transforms into one of anger — far weaker than what I have seen from the Doctor, diluted by terror. "You knew this," he spits, turning on me. "And you, you weren't even there. You did nothing while Miss Redfern and I..."

It spreads over to me as if infectious, a burning fury. "You think we had any other options? You think I wanted any of this? I love him!"

Then it hits me. Slumping back, I realise what I have just said. Nausea takes over and I stifle a quiet sob against the back of my hand. "Oh my Gods... I love him."

"And he left you to watch a stranger with his face fall for another woman? What sort of a man is that? And now you expect me to die?"

The two of us are the only ones who seem surprised by my outburst. Both Art and Joan bow their heads, tensing up but saying nothing. Martha's pitying gaze only leaves me as she explains, "It was always gonna end. The Doctor said, the Family's got a limited lifespan, that's why they need to consume a Time Lord. Otherwise, three months and they die. Like mayflies, he said."

He shrinks further back from her, his hands closing around the watch in a fist as if willing it to break. "So your job was to execute me."

"People are dying out there. They need him, and I need him. 'Cause you've got no idea what he's like. I've only just met these two. It wasn't even that long ago, but... he is everything. He is just everything to me."

The shaking is getting worse. Art races through to the bedroom to fetch Lawrie. I know that it won't do much good, though. If we are hit, none of us will survive. Not even him.

With a sudden realisation, John stumbles closer to the door. "I should have thought of it before! I can give them this! Just the watch. Then they can leave and I can stay as I am."

"You can't do that!"

Fear grips me, leaving me breathless. "I swear to Gods, if you even try..."

"If they want the Doctor, they can have him."

She takes a threatening step towards him. "He'll never let you do it."

Emerging into the middle of the argument, Art sets the child down in my arms and swipes for the watch. John cowers away, scurrying to the other side of the room, closer to the door. "Don't you dare, you stupid man!" he bellows. "I'll not have you do this, you'll kill us all!"

"If they get what they want, then— then—"

"Then it all ends in destruction." Silently pleading, he looks to Joan. She sighs and holds up the journal. "I never read to the end. Those creatures would live forever, to breed and conquer. War across the stars. For every child."

His shoulders shake, his bottom lip quivering. Tears threaten to fall properly this time as he stares at her. Each sob is a knife to my chest.

I am reminded of the day we lost Rose, seeing him in front of these white walls. It was the first time I had seen the Doctor look so very small. Powerless. Compared to that, John is tiny.

"Could you leave us alone, please?"

Reluctantly, Timothy leads the way. Martha takes the baby so that Art can carry me out. I am grateful, I don't want them to know that I can barely stand now. I want nothing more than to reach out and hold him.

But it isn't him. It's John Smith.

There is a bench just outside the cottage. We all sit in utter silence, side by side, watching as the bombs fall in the distance. Those trees I had marvelled at in the days before look far more like claws now, some already smouldering from the heat of the destruction.

Still, Lawrie sleeps. I pray that he won't wake up just yet. Kissing the top of his head, Martha wraps her free arm around Timothy. I hide my face against Art's shoulder as I continue to fight my tears.

There is only one living person I have allowed to truly see me like that. Nobody else has ever felt safe enough.

Now, I suppose, it makes sense.

It feels like hours before the door opens again. And I know the man who steps out. He still glows with a golden aura.

Our eyes meet. I try to force a smile. It doesn't come.

——————

One final explosion shakes the earth. Peace returns. For just a little longer.

I don't ask what he does to the Family.

The village is in ruins. Only a few buildings remain standing, including — by the will of the Gods — my house. Not a home. But it came so very close.

I bask in the last few moments of my one chance at normality. Martha has packed all of my things up, bringing them to the Tardis so that I may have some rest in the quiet of the morning.

Sat on the bed in the long, grey dress I wore the first day I came here, I lie Lawrie in my lap. He is still so tiny that his head rests just above my knees. He gazes up at me with his big brown eyes, flecked with amber.

I hate how much I see of him in this child sometimes. It makes me wish for things I can't have.

Cooing, I pretend to struggle with pulling my finger from his gasp, widening my eyes in mock surprise when I succeed. It begins again, our little game. I hold on for a little longer this time. Afraid to let go.

"Low, low
The nightingale, she flies

A floorboard creaks. I don't need to look to know who it is.

I listen to the soft thud, thud, thud of the Doctor's footsteps. The mattress dips as he sits beside me.

He says nothing. Just takes in the peaceful silence. Watches the baby attempt to regain my attention by gnawing on the end of my finger with bare gums.

I manage a weak smile and stroke his head, playing with his wispy curls. We return to our game but my mind has already begun to wander.

Tongue darting out to soothe my cracked lips, I finally speak. "It took me a week to come out of my room, a month to leave the Tardis. Martha begged me every day. She could see it was hurting me. You came to me in a dream and said it was time. Who am I to deny a message from the Gods? So, I found a house in the village."

Still no reply. I am grateful for it. I need this — just to talk.

My mouth is still so dry after the medication, it hurts to talk. I sigh, "The first day, I met Art in the shop. He tried to sell me some honey from his father's hives. Maw Cartwright overheard me say that I was new to town. She invited me round to tea. That's how I met the family. She was seven months pregnant at the time, fit to burst."

I chuckle hoarsely at that. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his lips twitch slightly upwards. His head inclines in a small gesture for me to continue.

"Well, I told her I had experience healing so she pointed out that they have to go to the next town over for a proper doctor. Said everyone was too desperate to care that I was a woman. So I got myself a kit and borrowed some books to catch myself up." I clear my throat and continue, "She was my first patient. Everybody loved her like a mother, though, so it didn't take long for the village to follow. It was good for a while."

Evidently I haven't been paying close enough attention to Lawrie. He starts to whine, his chubby legs kicking in the air. Knowing what comes after, I pick him up, holding him against me. He