My Magician

It was hours before he returned. I didn’t wait for him.

I wandered down eerily familiar hallways, dragging a hand along the wall as I went. Like a loving mother, the ship guided me to the wardrobe and to a room where I could bathe. I felt disgusting. The smell of the Dalek sewer was following me, in my skin.

Laying in a clawed tub, watching bubbles pop as quickly as they formed, I found myself contemplating what we’d witnessed on that cursed planet. Although the Doctor had turned the remnants of their past against them, there was always a chance that some rogue group of Daleks had attempted a temporal shift at the last moment. I didn’t even know if Davros had died, in the end. I had been too caught up in the misadventures of a madwoman to face him, myself. I certainly would have ensured his death, had I been there. I knew that the Doctor’s better nature sometimes got the best of him when lives were on the line. Holding my breath under the water, just sitting in the stillness, I wondered if letting that creature live would be more or less forgivable than whatever he’d done to my family.

My hair sat, damp, on my shoulders as I wandered the halls, again. I pulled my robe tighter around me as I glanced into the library. It clearly stood stories taller than it ever had before. I tried not to contemplate the implication. More time had passed in this place than I wanted to admit to myself. I had never meant to leave him traveling alone for this long.

I hadn’t been ready to face him, either, though. There was a reason that I’d left both Time Lords to their TARDISes and their fighting, years ago. I’d needed those decades to recover from the war and to figure out who I was becoming. So much of myself had been lost to the cause that overtook me. My time in the military had smothered the person that I was before it.

Part of me feared that the war had changed too much. I had been afraid that I would go looking for the man he used to be, only to find that he died with everything else. Looking back, it had clearly been the Master who planted that idea in my head, spinning stories of violence and grandeur. I hated how easily he had always controlled me, using me to his benefit. I hated how I hid myself away where he dumped me and waited, like a trained puppy, until she called me back into her world. I let her use me as a strategically placed queen in her own game of chess.

After finding myself a change of clothes and a cup of tea, I wandered back to the console room, trying to adjust to the difference. The last time I’d been here, it felt more like a home than a ship. Now, there was a sterile, almost empty feeling to the place.

I closed my eyes, picturing wooden walls and flooring. We’d had elegant, tall ceilings and dozens of candles spread throughout the room, as if we needed them. Although there were still clearly bookshelves in the redecorated room, there had been a gorgeous library to the side of the control room before. I could almost smell the overwhelming aroma of old paper and melted wax. There had been overgrown plants, hanging out of their pots after years of love. A small area with a desk had allowed us space to work and experiment, without being too far for our companions to find us. Every open surface had been covered with scattered memories.

When I reopened them I was still in this new, empty place. Where had the life gone? I felt a niggling urge to dig through his things to try to figure out how old he was, now. Fighting this down, I reassured myself that I could ask him. He didn’t enjoy real conversations but like hell was I going to let him walk away from this one, again. I oriented the monitor toward the chair I’d been sitting in before, settled with my cuppa, and waited.

…

I watched him approach, alone, radiation gun hanging weakly in his grasp. He looked as tired as I felt. His gait slowed as he came to the door, looking at it with trepidation. I tried to prepare myself for whatever was about to come next, steeling my nerves. He hesitated, waiting for a few seconds too long, betraying his conflict. I didn’t rush to turn off the screen. I didn’t care if he knew I’d been watching. His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath.

The door clicked open and there he was, more real than I could ever have anticipated. He didn’t meet my gaze, quickly turning to shut the doors behind him. Another moment went by, stretched out just a bit too far. His back to me, I could still read the tension in his shoulders. Was he afraid to face me?

He turned, slowly, tossing the weapon he’d been holding to the side before wandering up the incline to the console. He didn’t even acknowledge me until he reached the controls. The screen that I’d been watching was pulled around to him and he switched the monitor off. There was another moment of thick silence where I tried not to feel ignored.

“How are you feeling?” he finally spoke, only looking at me for a second.

“Better,” I said, evenly. “Why did you save him?” He blinked at me, seemingly surprised that I was bargaining for an answer.

“To save you,” he simplified, like it was obvious, “By instilling mercy in him as a child, I changed the DNA of the Daleks.” He found my half empty teacup placed on the console, long cold, and made a face. “A tiny piece of mercy survived. It’s what made me recognize you.” He was always more comfortable when he was explaining things that I already understood. “You had tea?” Finally, he met my eyes.

“Yes,” I spoke, trying not to chuckle. That was exactly what he wanted. “I had a bath and a walk, as well. You were gone for quite a while.” I wouldn’t fall back into this.

“Was I?”

“Did you take him home?” I raised my eyebrows, silently challenging him. No matter how blue and begging those eyes were, I would not be so easily swayed.

“Yes,” he lied before reconsidering, “Well, near as I could. He’s safe from the hand mines.” I nodded, accepting this. He hesitated, again, making me nervous to think on what he could be formulating. “Do you want me to take you home?”

And there it was, the question that I’d known was coming, in one form or another. It was the one thing that I didn’t have an answer to. My heartbeats picked up as I recognized the way he scanned me with his eyes. I tried not to let my emotions play out on my face when the decision settled in my mind.

“Why would I want to go home?” I could play his favorite game, avoidance, as well as he did, when I needed to.

“Why wouldn’t you?” came the quick response, his own pupils blown wide. It was clear that he was a mess of chemicals, from where I sat. I still didn’t know if he’d thought that I was dead this entire time. Surely Missy would have told him, I reasoned. I was sure that the sight of me wasn’t too far off.

“I did come to save you,” I defended myself, not including the fact that I’d been dragged along against my will. Slowly, I rose to my feet. Making my way to his side, my muscles were feeling much stronger than they had only hours ago. “Do you even know where home would be for me?”

He glanced to my wrist, where the vortex manipulator had been, as he told me, “I imagine somewhere in the fifty-first century. The human time agency, probably.” I hated that he was right on the money. “You’re rather clever, you’d have gotten your hands on time travel, one way or another.” The corner of his lips twitched into the smallest, fond smile. I tried not to feel flattered. “Why did you come to save me?”

“Missy,” I told half of the truth, inching to him as I did, “She appeared one day and recruited me. I wouldn’t have even known that you were planning to die if it hadn’t been for her.” Now I had him right where I wanted him; open, close to me, and answering my questions. “How old are you?”

“What?”

“How old are you?” I repeated, staring up into those ancient eyes. “How long has it been since the war, for you?” I added, to clarify. His gaze was flickering away from mine, again. He didn’t want to answer me.

“A long while, now,” he told me, to my dissatisfaction. I shook my head, begging him with my eyes to admit that he’d known what I’d meant.

“How long?” I pressed. He was drawn back into himself but I wouldn’t back down just because I was afraid he would run, not anymore. If he ran he was a coward, and that was that.

“A few centuries,” he tried, backing a step away from me, thoughtlessly.

“Doctor,” I was done waiting, “How many centuries?” I stepped forward for each he took in reverse, following him, like a ghost. I would do more than just haunt him.

“Sapph,” he searched me for something, looking back and forth between my eyes. He was trying to tell me it would be less painful if I didn’t know. “Too many,” he settled, voice low and heavy with the weight of it, as he inched away. Determined, I held his gaze. Tell me, I wanted to beg. “I’m an old man,” he insisted.

“How old?” I murmured, fully stepping into his space, as he came to a halt. He let out a sigh, accepting that I wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“I think,” he prompted, almost toying with my interest, “If I’m not lying, I honestly can’t remember if I’m lying about my age, anymore-”

“Doctor,” I urged him back to the subject.

“Two thousand.” The answer hung in the air. “I think I’ve just gone over…” I tried to hold back the shock from my features, “Two thousand years.” Saying it twice didn’t make the words any easier for me to process. I had been able to tell from the look of the place that it was significant, but I never would have imagined that it had been over a thousand years since he’d abandoned me. Everything was so distant to him, I was realizing. All the time that he’d known me now added up to less than half of his life.

“Two thousand?” I repeated the words, myself, testing them out. The way he was looking at me told me that I hadn’t done as well at concealing my emotions as I’d hoped.

“Well,” he was quick to start spouting off again, backing away. He began checking dials that didn’t need to be checked and pushing buttons that didn’t need to be pushed. “I knocked about. I spent a bit of time living on a cloud in Victorian London,” he rambled, “Then I was living with some monks. Oh, and then there was this town called Christmas– the whole place was encapsulated by a truth filter.” His hands flailed about as he spoke. “You’d’ve loved it.”

It might have been his choice of words, or the fond tone in which he said them, but a chord deep inside of me was struck. My eyes were flooded against my will, tears pushing at the creases, in an instant. I sobbed through the epiphora, trying to shake the physical response from my body.

The Doctor didn’t seem to know what to do with himself when he looked up to find me crying, uncontrollably.

“Oh,” he fussed, “This is why I didn’t want to tell you.” He waved a hand vaguely up and down, in my direction, to indicate my state. “Now you’re leaking,” he complained. Although, he finally came back to me, instead of trying to get away. Just as they had when I was in the belly of the Dalek, his hands found my face and brushed the wetness from under my eyes. Fresh tears fell as soon as they were clear, but the affection behind the action was undeniable. “I’m still me,” he promised, making me sob, again. “Really,” he told me, “Same silly, old Doctor.”

“That’s not it,” I tried to explain, shaking my head until he dropped his hands. Immediately, he reached to take one of mine, instead. I let him, gripping like I was holding the only lifeline tethered to a boat in the middle of the raging ocean. “Doctor,” I tried to figure out how to say what I meant, but those eyes were more distracting than I remembered. “All those years, all that time, all those experiences…” Another tear ran down my cheek.

“Yes?” he urged me on, cupping my hand in both of his own.

“I just…” I choked up as I struggled to get the words out. They remained, caught in my throat, like a large pill. I tried to clear my thoughts, to think critically, but everything was so clouded. I was at war with myself, now. “I can’t help but think,” I shook my head, looking down at my feet, “They were supposed to be ours.” I didn’t look back up, no matter how badly I wanted to search his eyes for confirmation. Irritation at Missy’s thoughtless, selfish behavior rang in my voice, “And you lived all of it alone. Those days were mine and I came home to find out that my future has gone on and happened without me…” My shoulders shook.

He tugged me forward, pulling me against him. My arms wrapped around his middle, like instinct, as I pressed myself into his chest. Clara’s words about hugging to hide your face echoed in my mind and I wondered what expression he didn’t want me to see, this time.

He held me for a long moment, letting me shake and hiccup against him as I came to terms with the distance between us. I told myself that the warmth on my cheek was only his, bleeding through his shirt. The fabric creased, soft, but textured. The feeling somehow cemented that I was here, in this timeline. This was real. I could feel his solid, living form. I’d taken the short route. In my ship, in his arms, I was home at last. I’d dreamt of this moment a thousand times during the worst days, but never like this. Everything was different, but the same.

One of his hands found the back of my head, holding me against his pounding hearts. An eight beat tempo rumbled between the two of us. I knew those hearts. This was my Doctor of War, long retired, spending his days living on clouds. He had mourned and grieved and moved on, because that was what time did. She was a wild beast that we had tried to ride. It didn’t surprise me that I was the one who couldn’t keep my grip.

“Can you honestly tell me,” I asked, when I had sobered enough to find the breath and the courage, “That you don’t miss me more than you remember me?”

“I could never forget you,” he told me, instantly, well knowing that it wasn’t what I asked. I let myself pretend that it was.

A pause and a deep breath settled me before I pulled away, stepping out of his arms. With respect, they fell the second that he felt my resistance. Our eyes met again and I wanted to scold myself.

“I should have known,” I thought out loud, “I think part of me did.” He just looked at me, quietly questioning my statements. “Your eyes,” I clarified, only to watch them widen at their mention, “Colored, yes, but also aged like the sea.”

“Really?” he asked. I watched the nerves crawling their way up his spine. How long had it been since someone had spoken to him in poetry? “Can’t say I feel the same,” he rushed, hands dancing along the console, again, “You don’t look a day over two hundred.” A laugh bubbled out of my lips, despite the wetness still lingering in the corners of my eyes. Of course, that was exactly what he wanted.

“You’re not going to get away with that,” I told him, resisting the urge to cross my arms.

“With what?” he feigned indignance.

“Making me laugh. Flirting,” I accused, “To keep me from thinking about how upset I am.” He didn’t acknowledge this, stepping closer and reaching for my hand, again.

“Will you come away with me?” he asked, suddenly, fingers somehow finding their way to interlace with mine, in my paralysis.

“What?” He sighed at my response.

“I’ve answered your questions,” he reminded me, mischief playing behind his gaze, “Now you have to answer mine.” I was left at a loss for words. In my mind I was back on Gallifrey, several lifetimes ago, following him through a museum with Susan only a few steps behind us. The corners of my lips turned up at the memory of the moment that had started all of this. My answer would always be the same. I already knew. “Don’t go back to the Time Agency,” he insisted, “At least, not yet.”

“Not yet?” I goaded. Something bright lit up behind his eyes.

“You’re right, I’m old!” he announced, to my confusion, manic with excitement, “I’ve had time to take a good, long look around at the universe, now!” Had he always been standing so close to me? “And there is so much that I want to show you. There’s still so much I haven’t seen that I want to see with you,” he continued, as if his point hadn’t long since been made, “The Fifteenth Broken Moon of the Medusa Cascade, the Great Discorian Chamber Orchestras, the diamond coral reefs just off Cyberaltuna City… There’s starfire, right now, over Meta Sigmafolio. The sky there shines like oil on water.”

“For how long?” I asked, despite both hearts having taken root in my mouth. I needed to know what he thought this was.

“As long as you want,” he told me, promising something that I couldn’t name with his eyes. There was something so unfair about telling me I was free to come or go, as I pleased. “If you decide you want to leave, I’ll take you anywhere.”

“Alright.” There was a pause as my acceptance didn’t seem to register for him.

“Alright?” he questioned the word.

“Alright,” I confirmed.

“Alright!” His eyes lit up with what I was loath to call hope. Already tight fingers squeezed mine impossibly tighter. A manic laugh bubbled up his throat. The weight of his gaze was both crushing me and bringing me back to life. My hearts fluttered, skipping a set of beats.

“S’pose we should stop and get Clara off of Skaro,” I reminded him, desperate to be relieved of the pressure that his full attention put on me.

“Right,” he recalled, as if he just remembered that there had been anyone else traveling with him. “Of course,” he continued, “Naturally.” Then, just as I thought he was about to release me and get to setting our coordinates, he stopped in place to add, “You’re sure?” I raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure you want to come with me?” he clarified, “I only want you to come if it’s what you want…”

“Oi!” I scolded, unable to take it for a second longer, “You got your yes.” My face warmed as the words came out of my mouth. “Don’t push your luck, boy. I won’t say it again.”

He beamed the most ridiculous grin at me. In the sweetest way, he both unsettled and charmed me.

Flying her was nostalgic. I figured out the routine of the updated controls with ease, letting the ship guide me, as I always had. The Doctor hesitated as he moved around the other side, like we were performing a dance that he hadn’t learned the choreography to. Fearful hands didn’t want to make assumptions. I didn’t mind taking the lead, setting the coordinates for only a few minutes after we’d left.

Clara was furious when she burst through the doors, raving about ‘duty of care’. I wanted to let the two of them have it out, sensing that it wasn’t my place to interject. I averted my eyes as they bickered. Fussing with the settings, I aimed for somewhere in deep space, a very long time earlier. I decided that I didn’t want to stay on Skaro for any longer than we had to.
“I’m sorry,” I heard him settle, eventually, “I had something I had to do.”

“I’m sure you did,” her response came, riled with innuendo. I glanced up to find her eyeing me up and down. I didn’t understand the scandalous implications of my wet hair and changed clothes, but I saw the thoughts passing behind her eyes, nonetheless. The memory of how intimately his hands held mine played behind my eyes and I supposed that her suspicions weren’t completely unfounded. As the heat on my face betrayed me, I wondered if jealousy was the emotion playing out. I considered that she and the Doctor may have been involved, before I’d stepped back into the picture. They might still be involved, for all I knew.

“Not like that!” he protested, exhaustion playing in his words. “Humans…” he muttered under his breath, to my amusement, “Always minds in the gutter…”

They argued a bit more. Although, I was getting the impression that this was how they showed affection for each other.

Finally, as I launched us off into deep space, Clara hurried off down the hall to shower and change.

“She’s clever,” I commented, when she was out of earshot.

“Yes,” he agreed, immediately.

“I like her. She’s got moxie,” I told him, “Your screening process has come a long way since Dodo.” He only tensed at the mention of her name. I was sure he hadn’t thought about Dorothy in centuries.

“Missy gave her my number,” he dodged the shared memory like a bullet, avoiding my eyes. “I didn’t pick Clara. She just sort of was.”

“Makes sense,” I teased, “She’s way out of your league.”

…

“Where do you want to go?” he asked us, when she had returned. Clara and I were left to glance at each other.

“You’re coming with us, then?” she asked, scanning my more casual clothes. Although, it didn’t feel like I was the one being asked a question.

“Is that a problem?” he interjected, drawing her eyes back to him.

“No,” she said, quickly, “No, not at all. Just an observation.” His eyebrows were drawn together, making him look a bit like an angry bird.

Curious to see if I could make them draw further in, I asked, “Are you married, Doctor?” A bang echoed through the room as he hit his knee on the console.

“What!?” his shock echoed, as well.

“The ring on your finger,” I told him, with a laugh.

“Oh,” he looked down at his hand like he’d forgotten he was wearing it. “Well,” he muttered, “A bit, yeah. Once or twice. Thrice if you count Marilyn.” He considered it before adding, “Technically, I think I’m the King of England.” I looked to Clara who was reluctant as she nodded in confirmation.

“I was there,” she told me, “Elizabeth the first. Beautiful ceremony. We didn’t stay for the reception.” I only laughed at the idea.

“Me too,” I admitted, unable to tame the sly smile on my face.

“What?” The eyebrows had actually shot up instead of coming farther down.

“Just this woman I met at the Time Agency,” I told him, feeling fond as I remembered, “You’d love her. She’s absolutely brilliant.” He nodded, doing his best to look casual as Clara followed him around the console. Her eyes spoke of all the ways she was dying to tease him.

“She’s probably very worried about you,” he addressed me, directly, avoiding her eyes, “Do you need to stop in somewhere and tell her where you’re going?” A small moment of shock sat in my hearts as he offered to do something so thoughtful for me. He would take me to say goodbye, if that’s what I wanted. Of course, he and I both knew it was easier to let go of a story if you never read the last page.

“It’s a time machine,” I reminded him, thoughtlessly, “I can go back and see her ten seconds after I left, anytime I want.” He smiled to himself, like he’d had a thought that he knew he’d better not share.

“That’s what I said,” he muttered, too quiet for human ears, not meeting either of our eyes. Despite the weight of those words, he moved on, dancing around the console. “Anyway!” The curtains were rising. “We have all of time and space at our fingertips. Anywhere and anywhen in the universe!” He was as eccentric as he’d ever been in this regeneration. “We can see anything, do just about anything, answer any questions we might have…” I considered his words, knowing that our ship was paying attention too. She always seemed to put us exactly where we needed to be.

“What questions haven’t you already hunted down for an answer?” Clara teased him absentmindedly, leaning against the railing behind her like she was growing bored.

“The Bootstrap Paradox?” I offered, to his delight.

“The Bootstrap Paradox!” he cheered.

“The… Bootstrap? Paradox?” The human was clearly looking for clarification.

“Have you ever heard of Bootstrap Bill, the pirate?” I asked her, disappointed when she shook her head.

“That’s a terrible example, anyway,” the Doctor told me.

“Bootstrap Bill is a bad example of the Bootstrap Paradox?” I challenged, disbelief thick in my voice.

“Well, if you walk around calling yourself ‘Bootstrap’, what else are they going to tie the cannon to?” he argued, “No. Beethoven is a much better example.”

“What? Beethoven?” I was confused now.

“So there’s this man, he has a time machine,” the explanation began, “Up and down history he goes, zip, zip, zip, zip, zip. Getting into scrapes.” Clara and I shared a disfortunately knowing look as he ran up the stairs, but we let him continue. I felt much like I was watching a performance that I’d seen once, centuries ago. I could almost recall the next scene, if I tried. “Another thing he has,” he announced, shuffling through some papers and records, “Is a passion for the works of Ludwig van Beethoven.” He turned around, proudly displaying his own copy of the man’s music. I was starting to understand where he was going with this. “And one day he thinks, ‘what’s the point of having a time machine if you don’t get to meet your heroes?’” He waved the record about as he briskly walked to a bookshelf on the other side of the ship. “So, off he goes to 18th-century Germany,” he told us, acting concerned, “But he can’t find Beethoven anywhere. No one’s heard of him. Not even his family have any idea who the time traveler is talking about.”

“You didn’t,” I muttered under my breath as he turned back to the railing. He lifted up a bust of the man in question. With a side by side, for reference, I found myself considering what the Doctor’s hair might look like if he grew it out a bit longer.

“Beethoven literally doesn’t exist.” He carefully took each step down toward me, Beethoven’s marble head still in his arms. “This didn’t happen, by the way,” he told me, as he approached. I didn’t believe him. “I’ve met Beethoven.” He held the bust up, facing himself. “Nice chap,” he commented, “Very intense. Loved an arm wrestle.”

“I’m sure,” I didn’t conceal my sarcasm.

“The time traveler panics,” he stepped closer. We were locked onto each other as he continued, staring right into me, “He can’t bear the thought of a world without the music of Beethoven.” An excess of feelings, unspoken, were laced through the words. “Luckily,” the spell was broken just as quickly as it was cast, “He brought all of his Beethoven sheet music for Ludwig to sign.” He turned to Clara, who was listening intently. “So, he copies out all the concertos and the symphonies and he gets them published.” The girl’s wide eyes reminded me so much of my granddaughter. “He becomes Beethoven and history continues with barely a feather ruffled.” I watched, amused, as he grabbed his electric guitar and plugged it into the amplifier that sat on the lower level. Distorted sound resonated as he switched it on. “My question is this,” he announced, swinging the strap over his head. For whom he was performing, I wasn’t sure. “Who put those notes and phrases together? Who really composed Beethoven’s Fifth?” To exemplify his point, he strummed out a few chords of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5, embellishing it with a tremolo on his little whammy bar.

Rolling my eyes, I pulled the lever, sending the ship into motion.