The Only Mystery Worth Solving
Written by Janine Rivers
Set shortly after The Day of the Doctor
It was a summer’s evening – bright and warm; the sky a deep orange, the long grass outstretched with life under its light. The old man flexed his aching fingers and relaxed onto the chair. There was tightness in his chest. He scraped for breath.
The girl approached him. He couldn’t remember her name.
“That’s… that’s a nice dress,” he remarked in his croaky rasp of a voice, keeping his volume lower to ease the pain.
“I wore it yesterday.” She smiled considerately. Carefully she lifted the tea from her tray and placed it into the old man’s hands were cupped around it with a sturdy grip. He lifted the tea to his lips but it slipped from his shaking hands.
The effects were drawn out. First, the mug fell and smashed on the floor. It was a waste of a benevolent gesture. The old man cursed himself. Then he looked down and saw the stains of spilt tea over his newly-worn trousers. Damage, again – by his feeble hand.
“It’s okay,” reassured the girl, sensing his anguish. “It’s just tea.” She bent down and picked up the largest pieces of shattered china. Each one was in itself a complex piece of art. Jagged edges, strange shapes, peculiar curves.
She gathered them all up in the palm of her hand. Looking up to the old man, she laughed. “They never break in two,” she observed. The man was unresponsive – his eyes looked dully into space. They were insipid. She’d become acquainted with their ageless, soul-sucking, heart-reading quality. They were wise eyes.
She shook him. “Doctor? Doctor?” He was unresponsive. His hand had stopped shaking. She checked for a heartbeat, for a pulse – for anything which could act as a confirmation for the continuation of the impossible man’s seemingly endless life. “Doctor!” She ran inside and picked up the phone, hammering the digits 999 as if her own life depended on it – as if it would make any difference.
The Doctor was dead.
***
THE FLOATING RINGS
“Where are we?”
The TARDIS had materialised outside of a small cavern. The Doctor and Clara carefully scrambled down the scarlet-tinted rocks to take a closer look at the horizon. Clara had stood in civilisations made entirely of glass and had flown through anti-gravity waterfalls. She’d even, as she often reminded him, journeyed through the Doctor’s timeline and witnessed impossible phenomena and unimaginable horrors. Granted, each new horizon still bore an element of wonder – each new destination brought about in Clara a quality of intrigue and childlike excitement. Yet this time, it was different – it was even more spectacular.
In the distance was a massive, radiant ball of electric cerulean light. The rest of the land stretched around it: long pastures of blue grass, small village communities dotted with wooden antique houses and mystical forests, characterised by long, stretching bridges and twisting, winding branches like something out of a Disney movie.
“Welcome back to the Rings of Akhaten.”
“But it’s so…” Clara breathed in the new world. The scent of fresh fruit and foreign spices; the sounds of strange whistling creatures. “It’s so different.”
“You made it, Clara. After you helped me save… try to save,” he corrected himself, “my own world, I thought I’d show you what you’ve down. It’s not just me you’ve saved. Akhaten would be a lost civilisation without you. It would have been oppressed forever. Thanks to you, Clara… thanks you your heart…” he smiled. “It was saved.”
They started along the field, heading towards the teeming township ahead of them; their faces illuminated by the vibrant blue light of the giant plasma ball.
“With Akhaten destroyed,” explained the Doctor, “the asteroid belt faced extinction. So they used their own power to make a source of gravity and light for the darkened worlds. That source being Akhaten’s new sun – genetically engineered by the people for the people. A statement of comradeship and freedom. Now the Floating Rings are renowned for being the most peaceful civilisation in the universe.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s ingenious. The science behind it is…” the Doctor was getting excited; waving his hands about like an agitated child. “…magnificent. I’d love to have a pint with whoever came up with that one.”
“So, where are we going first?” asked Clara, bouncing up and down with eagerness.
“I was thinking that way…” said the Doctor, gesturing to the wooden huts.
***
The Doctor had given Clara the freedom to wander around the market after he was drawn to Dinita Serjievski’s science stall which Clara had decided to pass on for a number of reasons.
She found herself attracted to a particular stand. It was the smallest of the huts and the greasy-haired, red-faced woman inside was huddled up on a stall in her blanket, despite the radiant warmth of the place. There was something on display which Clara somehow couldn’t take her eyes off of. It was a blue crystal with an enchanting, dazzling light scorching off of it.
“How much?” asked Clara.
“Sentimental value,” replied the woman in a broad cockney accent. “It’s expensive and it depends whe’va you’re willing to pay.”
Clara stood thoughtfully, biting her lip in contemplation. She looked over at the Doctor, still laughing at Dinita’s inexplicable way of making tradrillium out of lithium, water and her (three) hands. Reaching into her pocket she pulled out a house key. It was to Angie and Artie’s place, but now they had a full-time nanny she wouldn’t need it any longer. Still, it would be a blow to lose it. A major part of her life finally behind her. Sentimental value, she thought to herself. It’s all I’ve got.
Reluctantly she handed it over. The woman gave it a sniff and nodded. “Take ya’ pick.” She gestured to collection of crystals. Clara picked up the blue one she’d had her eye on. “Straight from Metebelis Three,” she remarked. “Good choice. It has some qualities ‘n ‘alf.”
“Yeah…” Clara examined the crystal before moving on. “Thanks.”
***
Dinita Serjievski was becoming predictable now. The Doctor sighed. Street performer, that’s all she was. He turned around and stood up on tiptoes to look for Clara. He couldn’t see her. Turning back, Serjievski was gone as were all her spectators. “Eh?” he said to himself. “Clara!” he cried out. “Clara, get over here now!” He spun around again, and when he turned back this time was confronted by a vicious ball of fire which submerged his whole self.
***
“Geronimoooooooo!” yelled the Doctor, hammering at the TARDIS console. “Oooh”, he commented. “I might keep that one.” Throwing off his old jacket and untucking his shirt, he darted around the console room thinking to himself. Hundreds, thousands of brand new thoughts. Regeneration was a bizarre thing. He understood why he’d feared it so much this time, but he understood from the perspective of a stranger. One of the strangest new sensations was an overwhelming hunger. Thinking about all the fruits he could try, the Doctor remembered where he’d placed his screwdriver and ran over to his jacket which he’d so carelessly slung over the railings. “There you are”, he said. Unexpectedly the doors swung open as the TARDIS jolted suddenly, throwing the Doctor outside. He gripped onto the ledge with his life, still overwhelmed by new sentiments.
Over London he flew, controlling the TARDIS with his sonic screwdriver, at one point nearly having brand new bits of anatomy chopped off by a protruding steeple. Finally he pulled himself up in all his tiredness, closed the doors behind him and sat down with a sigh of relief. Then the biggest jolt came.
***
“Can I have an apple?” asked the Doctor, pulling himself up over the side of his beloved ship to be confronted by a small red-headed girl. “All I can think about. Apples. I love apples. Maybe I’m having a craving! That’s new. Never had cravings before…” He leant over, looked down at the engines and wafted the smoke away. “Whoa! Look at that.”
“Are you okay?” The girl was Scottish.
“Just had a fall,” explained the Doctor. All the way down there, right to the library. Hell of a climb back up.”
“You’re soaking wet,” observed the girl.
“I was in the swimming pool.”
“You said you were in the library.” She was indignant.
“So was the swimming pool.”
“Are you a policeman?” she asked.
“Why…” the Doctor eyed her suspiciously. “Did you call a policeman?”
“Amelia!” came a woman’s voice from inside the house. “Amelia, get inside now!”
“Is that your mum?” queried the Doctor with an alarmed expression.
“Yeah… she’s so bossy…” Amelia stropped off inside the house. Alarmed that the woman might see the TARDIS, the Doctor leapt back inside, ensuring he used the last of the TARDIS’ power to turn her invisible before setting off, never to return to the village of Leadworth again.
***
Death, again. The Doctor had tried so hard this time, he truly had. Summoned by the illustrious Prime Minister, he’d done his best to convince him of the Ironsides’ true nature. Instead, he had fallen into a trap that had destroyed him. He’d defeated the Daleks for good but at the cost of the Earth. The one planet he’d sworn to protect. He clenched his fist in anger, simultaneously kicking the console unit. Compassion. That was what he lacked. He couldn’t understand humans; it had let to the extinction of their species. “I’m never going back to Earth”, he vowed to himself. “I can’t bring myself to do that… to see it before I let die. Ashes, before its time.” He shook his head. “I’ve changed the whole world. Curse, you, time. Curse you for being in flux. And…” he reached up to wipe a tear from his eye, but one failed to form. It felt wrong. It should have done. “And curse me too.”
***
“There are always other planets you could retire to,” suggested Dorium. The bar had closed up for the night. Chains hung from blood-soaked doorframes and broken glass was littered over the floor. Another night; another fight.
“And I pretend I’m just an old man,” replied the Doctor, sotto voce. “They don’t know that I let a planet die… that I even destroyed my own.”
The thought of Gallifrey distressed Dorium. He straightened up his back and frowned. “That was a long time ago, Doctor. You can’t keep blaming yourself.”
“I had a choice, recently…” the Doctor shook his head; buried it in his hands. It was another unwanted memory. “I went back. I was given the option to change the past. I didn’t. I’m supposed to have changed… supposed to have got better for my experiences.”
Experiences. The Doctor grimaced. The Fall of Arcadia, the Nightmare Child, the burning Earth.
“I’m still a monster. Monsters don’t hide.”
“Monsters don’t have regrets, either…” Dorium closed his case. “I’m going home, old friend. Perhaps you should give Trenzalore a try. It’s only a backwater planet, I know… but it’ll give you time to think. Take your pick – the poles of Trenzalore have year-long seasons. Summer, winter – what do you need now?”
Trenzalore… the Doctor stroke his chin. I know that name.
***
Spring. A new breath of life onto the world. A light shining through a dense miasma of despair.
There were luscious hills for miles – they reminded the Doctor of the Earth. He stood under an ancient tree, watching the orange-tinted evening sky. It reminded the Doctor of his home. Memories flooded his head – peculiar senses; enigmatic recollections. Days that never were.
The Doctor had been struck most of all by an absence of something. It felt as if an entity was missing from his life, but he failed to recall what. He’d reach out his hand, sometimes, expecting it to be clasped. He’d look down; curl up his fingers to protect himself from the cold that surrounded him. There was no companionship for him any longer.
It was a yearning, as best he could describe it. He was a grief-stricken old man, blemished by his past and saddened by something which he couldn’t place. If only there was something, anything…
A leaf fell to the ground. A. He picked it up and held it in his hand; droplets of water cascading onto his palm. It was a delicate thing but flushed red with life. He stared into it with his penetrating eyes.
“Clara…” he whispered. “Clara.”
***
The Doctor sprinted energetically down his TARDIS corridors. They passed by him as blurred light. He felt an experience that was novel – something he hadn’t felt for years. Direction.
And there he found it. Her room. He entered, respectfully; like a mother to the room of a son lost in battle. He couldn’t bring himself to move anything. He didn’t know how he’d lost her but he felt an ache in the centre of his heart. Memories flooded back; lost, precious memories, then – there it was. A tear, forming in his eye.
“How did I forget you, Clara?” he sobbed to himself. “How could I ever forget you?”
“You forgot ‘er because you ‘ad to.” The Doctor turned around to face a middle-aged, plump woman. She was garbed in a thick winter coat.
“Wait… don’t I know you?”
“It was me, weren’t it?” she replied coarsely. “I sold Clara ‘er crystal. In return she gave me ‘er life.”
“Of course…” the Doctor clicked his fingers. “Akhaten. Well, there’s no point hiding behind that disguise. Psychic projection, nice – but, come on. Don’t be rude now.”
The woman spread out her arms and a venomous cloud of black smoke wrapped around her like a ribbon. The cloud disappeared leaving a layer of mist, behind which stood the Trickster.
“The Pantheon of Discord,” said the Doctor in greeting. “What an unexpected pleasure. Wait, don’t tell me… let me work this out.” He grinned modestly. “Sherlock Holmes – bit of the old deduction. So… you work on bargains, right? Yes, of course you do. Normally you bargain for someone’s life – good man for a bad man – or, should I say, a good man who’s maybe not as good as he should be. But this time, no, it’s different. You literally bargained. And, of course, Akhaten – wham! Sentimental value. An object which bears a strong enough emotional residue for you to use to erase someone entirely from time. I’ve got to admit…” the Doctor took a step closer to the creature. Its presence was sinister – its shadow stretched over the entire room; its eyes were sunken into its colourless, emotionless features. “That’s good. But now, it has to end. The game is over, dear.”
“The TARDIS remains unchanged to my interferences,” hissed the Trickster. Its voice had a booming, controlling quality. The room spun with each vibration.
“It would do… it doesn’t exactly exist inside of time.”
“Clara’s death brought… chaos.” It spoke as if it was justified. A teacher explaining to a student. “The destruction of the Earth and the sun of Akhaten, raging, consuming entire galaxies.” It laughed – or in a more accurate description, roared; a twisted grin on its face.
“And you feed on chaos.”
“There is no way of bringing Clara back now,” assured the Trickster. “You know that. She can only exist inside your mind. You would need both a telepathic link and an object identical to one connected to her at the moment of her departure. It cannot be done. It is impossible.”
“She’s my impossible girl,” uttered the Doctor. “Anything can be done.”
“It’s a pity that she’d dead.”
With that, the being vanished; sucked up into another whirl of smoke. Consumed into darkness, it prepared to manifest. It had entered the world – and at such a cost.
***
“There must be something I can do!” cried the Doctor, hammering at the console. “There must be another way.” He lowered his voice and spoke shakily. “There has to be.” The TARDIS groaned. The Doctor stroked the console unit. “I’m sorry, old girl. I’ve let you down…”
He took a step back and sat on his chair. The TARDIS continued to lament.
“Don’t even try old girl; don’t even –“. It suddenly struck the Doctor. He jolted his head upright and opened his enlightened eyes. “Oh…” He jumped out of his seat and started pulling at levers. “Oh, yes! You genius!” He leant forward and planted a kiss on the time rotor.
“You still there, Trickster?” he cried out, darting around the TARDIS in triumph. “Are you listening?”
“What do you want, Time Lord?” The creature’s voice resonated around the room – but it did not stop the zealous old man.
“I’ve told people in the past,” he bellowed, “never try and tell me what not to do. Well, you’re a clever bunch, you Pantheon. I wouldn’t put that past you.” He flicked another switch and hammered a button in the centre of another panel. “I wouldn’t ask you to tell me I can do anything, either. I’m only human…” he grinned. “Well, actually, I’m not. There’s only one piece of advice I’d give you. Never…” he yanked at a lever and the TARDIS hummed healthily, spinning across space-time. “Tell me…” Then he stopped and stood marvelling at his admittedly nifty idea. “…how to save the day.”
“Your plans have failed,“ thundered the Trickster. The room fell dark. He was beginning to manifest. “What could you possibly do to me now?”
“A telepathic link?” queried the Doctor. “Because you wouldn’t remember Trenzalore, would you? No, of course not.” He gestured to the cloud of smoke that would undoubtedly become the Pantheon of Discord any second. “You erased it. But the TARDIS, as you said, exists outside of time. She remembers anything.” He clasped his hands together proudly. “So, in theory, she’d also remember being telepathically linked to Clara before we came to Trenzalore, yes? Well, if I might say, sir… bingo!”
A swirl of vapour and the Trickster appeared in front of the Doctor, his shadow slowly elongating to span the entire room. He chuckled insanely and pointed his metallic finger at the Time Lord.
“You think that just because you have a telepathic link, you can bring her back?”
“No,” said the Doctor, almost a tiny bit offended. “Don’t tell me I don’t listen. You said an object identical to one on her at the time, yes? Well, lucky that she gave me a spare key.” He reached into his pocket, fumbled around and pulled out the door key to Angie and Artie’s house.
The Trickster laughed throatily again. “You have made two mistakes, Time Lord.” The Doctor frowned. The Trickster exhibited his animal-like teeth. “One – you failed to remember that Clara handed the key over to me. Two – the object is not identical. It has no sentimental value. It is… immaterial.”
The Doctor kicked the floor. The Trickster was right. He had indeed lost. Another mistake. First Gallifrey, then the Earth – then his best friend. The Doctor thought back to seeing Clara’s room. It was so impeccably clean. “She always tidied up,” he murmured. “She always tidied up…” And again it hit the Doctor like a potent bolt of lightning.
“I’m sorry?”
“I never tidy up.” The Doctor whirled around, scanning the room with squinting eyes. “I never… tidy… up. It’s been years since me and Clara helped Emma Grayling rescue her descendant from a Pocket Universe, yet I still left that crystal…” he vanished down a corridor before returning, a bright light shining from his hand. “…knocking around. Good choice of a ‘tempting Christmas gift’, I’ll give you that.” He casually tossed the gem into the air. The light followed it. “But really – you should have kept an eye on where you acquired it from.”
“What do you mean?” bellowed the Trickster. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, big guy – you’ve lost.”
***
It was a summer’s evening – bright and warm; the sky a deep orange, the long grass outstretched with life under its light. The old man flexed his aching fingers and relaxed onto the chair. There was tightness in his chest. He scraped for breath.
The girl approached him. He couldn’t remember her name.
“That’s… that’s a nice dress,” he remarked in his croaky rasp of a voice, keeping his volume lower to ease the pain.
“I wore it yesterday.” She smiled considerately. Carefully she lifted the tea from her tray and placed it into the old man’s hands were cupped around it with a sturdy grip. He lifted the tea to his lips but it slipped from his shaking hands.
The effects were drawn out. First, the mug fell and smashed on the floor. It was a waste of a benevolent gesture. The old man cursed himself. Then he looked down and saw the stains of spilt tea over his newly-worn trousers. Damage, again – by his feeble hand.
“It’s okay,” reassured the girl, sensing his anguish. “It’s just tea.” She bent down and picked up the largest pieces of shattered china. Each one was in itself a complex piece of art. Jagged edges, strange shapes, peculiar curves.
She gathered them all up in the palm of her hand. Looking up to the old man, she laughed. “They never break in two,” she observed. The man was unresponsive – his eyes looked dully into space. They were insipid. She’d become acquainted with their ageless, soul-sucking, heart-reading quality. They were wise eyes.
She shook him. “Doctor? Doctor?” He was unresponsive. His hand had stopped shaking. She checked for a heartbeat, for a pulse – for anything which could act as a confirmation for the continuation of the impossible man’s seemingly endless life. “Doctor!” She ran inside and picked up the phone, hammering the digits 999 as if her own life depended on it – as if it would make any difference.
The Doctor watched as a spectre passing through. This is where I’d have ended up.
“I had no idea that you meant… oh, Clara. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”
***
When the Doctor opened his eyes, he was back on Akhaten watching Dinita Serjievski. Clara was beginning to fidget. He seized the moment.
“Clara,” he demanded. “Wait there. Don’t move.”
“Sure thing, captain,” she laughed. “But don’t make me watch this much longer. It’s a bit beyond me.”
The Doctor darted off into the distance, approaching the small wooden hut. When the woman turned around, the Doctor carefully pulled the crystal out of his pocket and swapped it with the one on display. That way, the paradox was complete. Trust Clara to be the centre of yet another one. I can barely keep track these days.
“Clara,” beckoned the Doctor. “Can I just borrow you?”
The Doctor was stood in line for a gadget stool. Strange instruments and dilapidated Cyber-limbs hung from nails above the stall. A diminutive Cyborg served them.
“I’d like to buy that one,” asked the Doctor, gesturing to a flickering Cyber-head in the corner. And as my credit-“ the Doctor reached into his pocket and flashed an ID card in front of the Cyborg “-will this suffice?”
“Of course, your majesty.” The Cyborg handed over the head and the Doctor admired his purchase. It would do him for company. He’d just have to think of a name.
“Do a bit of your own shopping,” suggested the Doctor. “Stay out of trouble. I hear you can buy some nice crystals around these parts.”
The Doctor admired Clara as she walked away. She may have been aware of her own talents but she had no concept of her importance to the universe. He’d miss her, but he knew that he’d have to take her home every now and then. She had her own life. It was why the Doctor had brought himself some new company.
Handles. That would be a good name. Handles.
The Doctor patted the Cyber-head lovingly. “You’ll stay with me, won’t you?”
Written by Janine Rivers
Set shortly after The Day of the Doctor
It was a summer’s evening – bright and warm; the sky a deep orange, the long grass outstretched with life under its light. The old man flexed his aching fingers and relaxed onto the chair. There was tightness in his chest. He scraped for breath.
The girl approached him. He couldn’t remember her name.
“That’s… that’s a nice dress,” he remarked in his croaky rasp of a voice, keeping his volume lower to ease the pain.
“I wore it yesterday.” She smiled considerately. Carefully she lifted the tea from her tray and placed it into the old man’s hands were cupped around it with a sturdy grip. He lifted the tea to his lips but it slipped from his shaking hands.
The effects were drawn out. First, the mug fell and smashed on the floor. It was a waste of a benevolent gesture. The old man cursed himself. Then he looked down and saw the stains of spilt tea over his newly-worn trousers. Damage, again – by his feeble hand.
“It’s okay,” reassured the girl, sensing his anguish. “It’s just tea.” She bent down and picked up the largest pieces of shattered china. Each one was in itself a complex piece of art. Jagged edges, strange shapes, peculiar curves.
She gathered them all up in the palm of her hand. Looking up to the old man, she laughed. “They never break in two,” she observed. The man was unresponsive – his eyes looked dully into space. They were insipid. She’d become acquainted with their ageless, soul-sucking, heart-reading quality. They were wise eyes.
She shook him. “Doctor? Doctor?” He was unresponsive. His hand had stopped shaking. She checked for a heartbeat, for a pulse – for anything which could act as a confirmation for the continuation of the impossible man’s seemingly endless life. “Doctor!” She ran inside and picked up the phone, hammering the digits 999 as if her own life depended on it – as if it would make any difference.
The Doctor was dead.
***
THE FLOATING RINGS
“Where are we?”
The TARDIS had materialised outside of a small cavern. The Doctor and Clara carefully scrambled down the scarlet-tinted rocks to take a closer look at the horizon. Clara had stood in civilisations made entirely of glass and had flown through anti-gravity waterfalls. She’d even, as she often reminded him, journeyed through the Doctor’s timeline and witnessed impossible phenomena and unimaginable horrors. Granted, each new horizon still bore an element of wonder – each new destination brought about in Clara a quality of intrigue and childlike excitement. Yet this time, it was different – it was even more spectacular.
In the distance was a massive, radiant ball of electric cerulean light. The rest of the land stretched around it: long pastures of blue grass, small village communities dotted with wooden antique houses and mystical forests, characterised by long, stretching bridges and twisting, winding branches like something out of a Disney movie.
“Welcome back to the Rings of Akhaten.”
“But it’s so…” Clara breathed in the new world. The scent of fresh fruit and foreign spices; the sounds of strange whistling creatures. “It’s so different.”
“You made it, Clara. After you helped me save… try to save,” he corrected himself, “my own world, I thought I’d show you what you’ve down. It’s not just me you’ve saved. Akhaten would be a lost civilisation without you. It would have been oppressed forever. Thanks to you, Clara… thanks you your heart…” he smiled. “It was saved.”
They started along the field, heading towards the teeming township ahead of them; their faces illuminated by the vibrant blue light of the giant plasma ball.
“With Akhaten destroyed,” explained the Doctor, “the asteroid belt faced extinction. So they used their own power to make a source of gravity and light for the darkened worlds. That source being Akhaten’s new sun – genetically engineered by the people for the people. A statement of comradeship and freedom. Now the Floating Rings are renowned for being the most peaceful civilisation in the universe.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s ingenious. The science behind it is…” the Doctor was getting excited; waving his hands about like an agitated child. “…magnificent. I’d love to have a pint with whoever came up with that one.”
“So, where are we going first?” asked Clara, bouncing up and down with eagerness.
“I was thinking that way…” said the Doctor, gesturing to the wooden huts.
***
The Doctor had given Clara the freedom to wander around the market after he was drawn to Dinita Serjievski’s science stall which Clara had decided to pass on for a number of reasons.
She found herself attracted to a particular stand. It was the smallest of the huts and the greasy-haired, red-faced woman inside was huddled up on a stall in her blanket, despite the radiant warmth of the place. There was something on display which Clara somehow couldn’t take her eyes off of. It was a blue crystal with an enchanting, dazzling light scorching off of it.
“How much?” asked Clara.
“Sentimental value,” replied the woman in a broad cockney accent. “It’s expensive and it depends whe’va you’re willing to pay.”
Clara stood thoughtfully, biting her lip in contemplation. She looked over at the Doctor, still laughing at Dinita’s inexplicable way of making tradrillium out of lithium, water and her (three) hands. Reaching into her pocket she pulled out a house key. It was to Angie and Artie’s place, but now they had a full-time nanny she wouldn’t need it any longer. Still, it would be a blow to lose it. A major part of her life finally behind her. Sentimental value, she thought to herself. It’s all I’ve got.
Reluctantly she handed it over. The woman gave it a sniff and nodded. “Take ya’ pick.” She gestured to collection of crystals. Clara picked up the blue one she’d had her eye on. “Straight from Metebelis Three,” she remarked. “Good choice. It has some qualities ‘n ‘alf.”
“Yeah…” Clara examined the crystal before moving on. “Thanks.”
***
Dinita Serjievski was becoming predictable now. The Doctor sighed. Street performer, that’s all she was. He turned around and stood up on tiptoes to look for Clara. He couldn’t see her. Turning back, Serjievski was gone as were all her spectators. “Eh?” he said to himself. “Clara!” he cried out. “Clara, get over here now!” He spun around again, and when he turned back this time was confronted by a vicious ball of fire which submerged his whole self.
***
“Geronimoooooooo!” yelled the Doctor, hammering at the TARDIS console. “Oooh”, he commented. “I might keep that one.” Throwing off his old jacket and untucking his shirt, he darted around the console room thinking to himself. Hundreds, thousands of brand new thoughts. Regeneration was a bizarre thing. He understood why he’d feared it so much this time, but he understood from the perspective of a stranger. One of the strangest new sensations was an overwhelming hunger. Thinking about all the fruits he could try, the Doctor remembered where he’d placed his screwdriver and ran over to his jacket which he’d so carelessly slung over the railings. “There you are”, he said. Unexpectedly the doors swung open as the TARDIS jolted suddenly, throwing the Doctor outside. He gripped onto the ledge with his life, still overwhelmed by new sentiments.
Over London he flew, controlling the TARDIS with his sonic screwdriver, at one point nearly having brand new bits of anatomy chopped off by a protruding steeple. Finally he pulled himself up in all his tiredness, closed the doors behind him and sat down with a sigh of relief. Then the biggest jolt came.
***
“Can I have an apple?” asked the Doctor, pulling himself up over the side of his beloved ship to be confronted by a small red-headed girl. “All I can think about. Apples. I love apples. Maybe I’m having a craving! That’s new. Never had cravings before…” He leant over, looked down at the engines and wafted the smoke away. “Whoa! Look at that.”
“Are you okay?” The girl was Scottish.
“Just had a fall,” explained the Doctor. All the way down there, right to the library. Hell of a climb back up.”
“You’re soaking wet,” observed the girl.
“I was in the swimming pool.”
“You said you were in the library.” She was indignant.
“So was the swimming pool.”
“Are you a policeman?” she asked.
“Why…” the Doctor eyed her suspiciously. “Did you call a policeman?”
“Amelia!” came a woman’s voice from inside the house. “Amelia, get inside now!”
“Is that your mum?” queried the Doctor with an alarmed expression.
“Yeah… she’s so bossy…” Amelia stropped off inside the house. Alarmed that the woman might see the TARDIS, the Doctor leapt back inside, ensuring he used the last of the TARDIS’ power to turn her invisible before setting off, never to return to the village of Leadworth again.
***
Death, again. The Doctor had tried so hard this time, he truly had. Summoned by the illustrious Prime Minister, he’d done his best to convince him of the Ironsides’ true nature. Instead, he had fallen into a trap that had destroyed him. He’d defeated the Daleks for good but at the cost of the Earth. The one planet he’d sworn to protect. He clenched his fist in anger, simultaneously kicking the console unit. Compassion. That was what he lacked. He couldn’t understand humans; it had let to the extinction of their species. “I’m never going back to Earth”, he vowed to himself. “I can’t bring myself to do that… to see it before I let die. Ashes, before its time.” He shook his head. “I’ve changed the whole world. Curse, you, time. Curse you for being in flux. And…” he reached up to wipe a tear from his eye, but one failed to form. It felt wrong. It should have done. “And curse me too.”
***
“There are always other planets you could retire to,” suggested Dorium. The bar had closed up for the night. Chains hung from blood-soaked doorframes and broken glass was littered over the floor. Another night; another fight.
“And I pretend I’m just an old man,” replied the Doctor, sotto voce. “They don’t know that I let a planet die… that I even destroyed my own.”
The thought of Gallifrey distressed Dorium. He straightened up his back and frowned. “That was a long time ago, Doctor. You can’t keep blaming yourself.”
“I had a choice, recently…” the Doctor shook his head; buried it in his hands. It was another unwanted memory. “I went back. I was given the option to change the past. I didn’t. I’m supposed to have changed… supposed to have got better for my experiences.”
Experiences. The Doctor grimaced. The Fall of Arcadia, the Nightmare Child, the burning Earth.
“I’m still a monster. Monsters don’t hide.”
“Monsters don’t have regrets, either…” Dorium closed his case. “I’m going home, old friend. Perhaps you should give Trenzalore a try. It’s only a backwater planet, I know… but it’ll give you time to think. Take your pick – the poles of Trenzalore have year-long seasons. Summer, winter – what do you need now?”
Trenzalore… the Doctor stroke his chin. I know that name.
***
Spring. A new breath of life onto the world. A light shining through a dense miasma of despair.
There were luscious hills for miles – they reminded the Doctor of the Earth. He stood under an ancient tree, watching the orange-tinted evening sky. It reminded the Doctor of his home. Memories flooded his head – peculiar senses; enigmatic recollections. Days that never were.
The Doctor had been struck most of all by an absence of something. It felt as if an entity was missing from his life, but he failed to recall what. He’d reach out his hand, sometimes, expecting it to be clasped. He’d look down; curl up his fingers to protect himself from the cold that surrounded him. There was no companionship for him any longer.
It was a yearning, as best he could describe it. He was a grief-stricken old man, blemished by his past and saddened by something which he couldn’t place. If only there was something, anything…
A leaf fell to the ground. A. He picked it up and held it in his hand; droplets of water cascading onto his palm. It was a delicate thing but flushed red with life. He stared into it with his penetrating eyes.
“Clara…” he whispered. “Clara.”
***
The Doctor sprinted energetically down his TARDIS corridors. They passed by him as blurred light. He felt an experience that was novel – something he hadn’t felt for years. Direction.
And there he found it. Her room. He entered, respectfully; like a mother to the room of a son lost in battle. He couldn’t bring himself to move anything. He didn’t know how he’d lost her but he felt an ache in the centre of his heart. Memories flooded back; lost, precious memories, then – there it was. A tear, forming in his eye.
“How did I forget you, Clara?” he sobbed to himself. “How could I ever forget you?”
“You forgot ‘er because you ‘ad to.” The Doctor turned around to face a middle-aged, plump woman. She was garbed in a thick winter coat.
“Wait… don’t I know you?”
“It was me, weren’t it?” she replied coarsely. “I sold Clara ‘er crystal. In return she gave me ‘er life.”
“Of course…” the Doctor clicked his fingers. “Akhaten. Well, there’s no point hiding behind that disguise. Psychic projection, nice – but, come on. Don’t be rude now.”
The woman spread out her arms and a venomous cloud of black smoke wrapped around her like a ribbon. The cloud disappeared leaving a layer of mist, behind which stood the Trickster.
“The Pantheon of Discord,” said the Doctor in greeting. “What an unexpected pleasure. Wait, don’t tell me… let me work this out.” He grinned modestly. “Sherlock Holmes – bit of the old deduction. So… you work on bargains, right? Yes, of course you do. Normally you bargain for someone’s life – good man for a bad man – or, should I say, a good man who’s maybe not as good as he should be. But this time, no, it’s different. You literally bargained. And, of course, Akhaten – wham! Sentimental value. An object which bears a strong enough emotional residue for you to use to erase someone entirely from time. I’ve got to admit…” the Doctor took a step closer to the creature. Its presence was sinister – its shadow stretched over the entire room; its eyes were sunken into its colourless, emotionless features. “That’s good. But now, it has to end. The game is over, dear.”
“The TARDIS remains unchanged to my interferences,” hissed the Trickster. Its voice had a booming, controlling quality. The room spun with each vibration.
“It would do… it doesn’t exactly exist inside of time.”
“Clara’s death brought… chaos.” It spoke as if it was justified. A teacher explaining to a student. “The destruction of the Earth and the sun of Akhaten, raging, consuming entire galaxies.” It laughed – or in a more accurate description, roared; a twisted grin on its face.
“And you feed on chaos.”
“There is no way of bringing Clara back now,” assured the Trickster. “You know that. She can only exist inside your mind. You would need both a telepathic link and an object identical to one connected to her at the moment of her departure. It cannot be done. It is impossible.”
“She’s my impossible girl,” uttered the Doctor. “Anything can be done.”
“It’s a pity that she’d dead.”
With that, the being vanished; sucked up into another whirl of smoke. Consumed into darkness, it prepared to manifest. It had entered the world – and at such a cost.
***
“There must be something I can do!” cried the Doctor, hammering at the console. “There must be another way.” He lowered his voice and spoke shakily. “There has to be.” The TARDIS groaned. The Doctor stroked the console unit. “I’m sorry, old girl. I’ve let you down…”
He took a step back and sat on his chair. The TARDIS continued to lament.
“Don’t even try old girl; don’t even –“. It suddenly struck the Doctor. He jolted his head upright and opened his enlightened eyes. “Oh…” He jumped out of his seat and started pulling at levers. “Oh, yes! You genius!” He leant forward and planted a kiss on the time rotor.
“You still there, Trickster?” he cried out, darting around the TARDIS in triumph. “Are you listening?”
“What do you want, Time Lord?” The creature’s voice resonated around the room – but it did not stop the zealous old man.
“I’ve told people in the past,” he bellowed, “never try and tell me what not to do. Well, you’re a clever bunch, you Pantheon. I wouldn’t put that past you.” He flicked another switch and hammered a button in the centre of another panel. “I wouldn’t ask you to tell me I can do anything, either. I’m only human…” he grinned. “Well, actually, I’m not. There’s only one piece of advice I’d give you. Never…” he yanked at a lever and the TARDIS hummed healthily, spinning across space-time. “Tell me…” Then he stopped and stood marvelling at his admittedly nifty idea. “…how to save the day.”
“Your plans have failed,“ thundered the Trickster. The room fell dark. He was beginning to manifest. “What could you possibly do to me now?”
“A telepathic link?” queried the Doctor. “Because you wouldn’t remember Trenzalore, would you? No, of course not.” He gestured to the cloud of smoke that would undoubtedly become the Pantheon of Discord any second. “You erased it. But the TARDIS, as you said, exists outside of time. She remembers anything.” He clasped his hands together proudly. “So, in theory, she’d also remember being telepathically linked to Clara before we came to Trenzalore, yes? Well, if I might say, sir… bingo!”
A swirl of vapour and the Trickster appeared in front of the Doctor, his shadow slowly elongating to span the entire room. He chuckled insanely and pointed his metallic finger at the Time Lord.
“You think that just because you have a telepathic link, you can bring her back?”
“No,” said the Doctor, almost a tiny bit offended. “Don’t tell me I don’t listen. You said an object identical to one on her at the time, yes? Well, lucky that she gave me a spare key.” He reached into his pocket, fumbled around and pulled out the door key to Angie and Artie’s house.
The Trickster laughed throatily again. “You have made two mistakes, Time Lord.” The Doctor frowned. The Trickster exhibited his animal-like teeth. “One – you failed to remember that Clara handed the key over to me. Two – the object is not identical. It has no sentimental value. It is… immaterial.”
The Doctor kicked the floor. The Trickster was right. He had indeed lost. Another mistake. First Gallifrey, then the Earth – then his best friend. The Doctor thought back to seeing Clara’s room. It was so impeccably clean. “She always tidied up,” he murmured. “She always tidied up…” And again it hit the Doctor like a potent bolt of lightning.
“I’m sorry?”
“I never tidy up.” The Doctor whirled around, scanning the room with squinting eyes. “I never… tidy… up. It’s been years since me and Clara helped Emma Grayling rescue her descendant from a Pocket Universe, yet I still left that crystal…” he vanished down a corridor before returning, a bright light shining from his hand. “…knocking around. Good choice of a ‘tempting Christmas gift’, I’ll give you that.” He casually tossed the gem into the air. The light followed it. “But really – you should have kept an eye on where you acquired it from.”
“What do you mean?” bellowed the Trickster. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, big guy – you’ve lost.”
***
It was a summer’s evening – bright and warm; the sky a deep orange, the long grass outstretched with life under its light. The old man flexed his aching fingers and relaxed onto the chair. There was tightness in his chest. He scraped for breath.
The girl approached him. He couldn’t remember her name.
“That’s… that’s a nice dress,” he remarked in his croaky rasp of a voice, keeping his volume lower to ease the pain.
“I wore it yesterday.” She smiled considerately. Carefully she lifted the tea from her tray and placed it into the old man’s hands were cupped around it with a sturdy grip. He lifted the tea to his lips but it slipped from his shaking hands.
The effects were drawn out. First, the mug fell and smashed on the floor. It was a waste of a benevolent gesture. The old man cursed himself. Then he looked down and saw the stains of spilt tea over his newly-worn trousers. Damage, again – by his feeble hand.
“It’s okay,” reassured the girl, sensing his anguish. “It’s just tea.” She bent down and picked up the largest pieces of shattered china. Each one was in itself a complex piece of art. Jagged edges, strange shapes, peculiar curves.
She gathered them all up in the palm of her hand. Looking up to the old man, she laughed. “They never break in two,” she observed. The man was unresponsive – his eyes looked dully into space. They were insipid. She’d become acquainted with their ageless, soul-sucking, heart-reading quality. They were wise eyes.
She shook him. “Doctor? Doctor?” He was unresponsive. His hand had stopped shaking. She checked for a heartbeat, for a pulse – for anything which could act as a confirmation for the continuation of the impossible man’s seemingly endless life. “Doctor!” She ran inside and picked up the phone, hammering the digits 999 as if her own life depended on it – as if it would make any difference.
The Doctor watched as a spectre passing through. This is where I’d have ended up.
“I had no idea that you meant… oh, Clara. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”
***
When the Doctor opened his eyes, he was back on Akhaten watching Dinita Serjievski. Clara was beginning to fidget. He seized the moment.
“Clara,” he demanded. “Wait there. Don’t move.”
“Sure thing, captain,” she laughed. “But don’t make me watch this much longer. It’s a bit beyond me.”
The Doctor darted off into the distance, approaching the small wooden hut. When the woman turned around, the Doctor carefully pulled the crystal out of his pocket and swapped it with the one on display. That way, the paradox was complete. Trust Clara to be the centre of yet another one. I can barely keep track these days.
“Clara,” beckoned the Doctor. “Can I just borrow you?”
The Doctor was stood in line for a gadget stool. Strange instruments and dilapidated Cyber-limbs hung from nails above the stall. A diminutive Cyborg served them.
“I’d like to buy that one,” asked the Doctor, gesturing to a flickering Cyber-head in the corner. And as my credit-“ the Doctor reached into his pocket and flashed an ID card in front of the Cyborg “-will this suffice?”
“Of course, your majesty.” The Cyborg handed over the head and the Doctor admired his purchase. It would do him for company. He’d just have to think of a name.
“Do a bit of your own shopping,” suggested the Doctor. “Stay out of trouble. I hear you can buy some nice crystals around these parts.”
The Doctor admired Clara as she walked away. She may have been aware of her own talents but she had no concept of her importance to the universe. He’d miss her, but he knew that he’d have to take her home every now and then. She had her own life. It was why the Doctor had brought himself some new company.
Handles. That would be a good name. Handles.
The Doctor patted the Cyber-head lovingly. “You’ll stay with me, won’t you?”