𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐬
𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐱

from the eyes of
— 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐉𝐀𝐃𝐄 —

Noise.

It was everywhere. It was everything. It was inside my head, rattling around like a thousand screaming voices clashing in some chaotic symphony, an unrelenting storm of static and whispers and echoes of things I wanted—needed—to forget.

I was drowning in it.

The noise had been building for days, creeping in through the cracks I refused to acknowledge, pushing and pressing and suffocating until it was all-consuming. Thoughts twisted together, fragmented memories bleeding into one another, faces I had forgotten and voices I had silenced all clawing their way to the surface.

Let me out.

A shudder rippled through my body, my breath catching in my throat as I sat up with a start, the suffocating weight of sleep and panic pressing down on me in equal measure. My hands curled into the soft, moon-dust-like surface beneath me as my eyes darted around, taking in the vast, endless sky stretched above me. Earth hung in the distance, a glowing blue jewel suspended in the void, its light reflecting against the artificial lunar surface of the TARDIS latest wonder.

I had accidentally dozed off on a moon. A fake one, sure, but the way it cradled me, like some cosmic blanket woven from dreams and stardust, was almost enough to trick my mind into believing otherwise.

But it wasn't real.

None of it felt real anymore.

I scrambled to my feet, forcing myself to move, to do something, anything, before the weight of my own mind crushed me completely. The door was there, just beyond the horizon of this tiny fabricated world, blending seamlessly into the scenery like it didn't want to be found. I stumbled towards it, fingers shaking as I pushed through.

The corridor outside was dim, bathed in the quiet hum of the TARDIS' night cycle. She only fell into a 'night-cycle' AKA dimmed her lights if most of the inhabitants were asleep—Amy, Rory, maybe even the Doctor, though that was less likely. He only ever rested in short bursts, if at all.

He was awake for days on end before he eventually slept for a few short hours. As was the biology of a TimeLord.

I exhaled sharply, trying to steady my pulse, but the moment I stepped into the hallway, the feeling returned.

Something was watching me.

I turned sharply, scanning the shadows. Nothing.

But it was there. I felt it.

The Below. It hummed at the edges of my mind—forcing me to remember its horrible place. Ellery... Isaiah... countless others from Wallins Creek I had never met but still felt terrible about.

My breathing hitched. I wasn't in the Below anymore. I knew that. I knew that. And yet... I wasn't sure. Because the shadows stretched too long, the air felt too thick, and the corridors seemed to stretch into infinity. I took a step back, eyes darting in every direction, my fingers twitching and thoughts spiraling towards my backpack, where the full force of The Polaris Jade was locked away.

One move. One pull of the zipper and I could fix this.

I could fix myself, and become strong once again. But even with such a force, was I ever truly strong? Stronger than I am now, sure. But even when I was one with it—I had still been pushed around.

I shook my head, snapping myself out of it and then I ran.

I didn't think—I just moved. The halls blurred around me as my feet pounded against the floor, my breaths coming in ragged gasps as I was chased by nothing. But that didn't matter. The fear was real. The feeling was real. I could hear my own heartbeat, a frantic drum against my ribs, and it was all too much—too loud—too close...!

The archway appeared before I even registered it, and then I was crashing through, breaking into the console room in a breathless, desperate sprint.

The room was warm, humming with quiet life, and in the center of it, the Doctor stood, completely oblivious to my sudden arrival. He was too focused, muttering to himself, bent over the console, a toolbox at his side, his sonic screwdriver flickering as he waved it at something unseen. He was in his button-up, suspenders, bowtie—but missing his tweed jacket.

He looked... at home. Perfectly in sync with the soft glow of the TARDIS, his fingers trailing along her controls with absent affection.

I barely had time to catch my breath before I heard him sigh.

"Oh, who am I kidding? I've been trying to fix this for nearly seven hundred years!" He huffed, running a hand through his fluffy hair before shaking his head. "I like the police box look too, dear; yes, I know it's iconic now... but surely I can fix whatever is wrong with the outside cloaking mechanism."

There was a beat of silence as he tilted his head as if listening to an unheard response. "Oh, fine, fine. You win this round. We'll keep you blue for another few hundred years! But I will figure it out one day!" He proclaimed happily, affectionately patting the console.

What a fucking weirdo... but still... something about it had me smiling on the inside.

I didn't move. I didn't breathe.

The noise in my mind dulled. And I tilted my head in amusement as I watched the big green-eyed TimeLord.

My mind slowly calmed, turning and shifting from a chaotic mess of thoughts screaming over each other. There was just him—completely wrapped up in his own little world, talking to the TARDIS like a lover, utterly, infuriatingly himself.

The Doctor.

And it was calming.

I exhaled slowly, my hands unclenching, my heartbeat beginning to steady as I stood there, watching him. Letting the storm in my mind quiet.

A small sound echoed behind me.

It was nothing. Just a simple thud—one of the many minor noises the TARDIS made when drifting through space. The kind of sound I had heard a thousand times before, the kind of sound that meant absolutely nothing. The kind I usually would barely even notice.

And yet...

The moment it reached my ears, my heart jumped into my throat. My stomach clenched. My entire body jerked as though someone had jammed a live wire into my spine, and before I could even think, I spun on my heel with a strangled scream, yanking a gun from the waistband of my pants.

Okay, maybe I had been more than a bit on edge this entire week. But hey, up until now, nobody had noticed that I was carrying a gun on me 24/7.

The Doctor barely had time to look up before I started shooting.

Gunfire erupted from the barrel, a deafening, flashing explosion of chaos. Each pull of the trigger sent a violent kick through my arm, the bullets tearing into the empty corridor ahead of me. My breath came out in ragged gasps, my body shaking as my mind screamed at me to keep firing.

Somewhere—far, far in the background—I heard the Doctor's startled yelp, the clatter of tools hitting the floor. Then the pounding of his boots as he ran straight toward me.

"What the hell are you doing?" He asked before a sharp command. "STOP SHOOTING!"

I barely even noticed him until his hands were on me, one gripping my wrist, the other steadying my shoulder as he wrenched my aim downward, forcing me to stop. My breath was harsh, my chest heaving, my pulse roaring so loudly in my ears that I barely heard him as he shoved himself in front of me, flipping out his sonic and scanning the corridor frantically.

"What is it? What's wrong—what'd you see?" His voice was sharp, urgent. His entire stance was protective, a shield between me and whatever he thought was lurking in the corridor.

Which was stupid.

I frowned, my grip tightening around the gun even as I started trembling, realization creeping over me in a slow, sinking wave. I didn't see anything. There had been nothing there. Just a sound. Just—it was nothing.

I really am insane.

The Doctor's frantic scans caused the sonic to beep and chirp. His expression flickered, glancing down at the sonic with a growing frown before flicking his eyes back up to me. "Wait—there's nothing?" He spun toward me, baffled. "What were you shooting at? What's wrong—please, tell me... I can help... let me help..."

I opened my mouth. No words came out.

The world around me tilted, suddenly unfamiliar. The Doctor, standing in front of me, brows furrowed in concern—he wasn't the Doctor anymore.

He was a corpse.

A body—a dead, rotting thing—standing in front of me, clothed in flesh that should not move, bones that should not stand.

No.

That's not the Doctor—it's not the Doctor... it's Isaiah.

His ruined, twisted body, his vacant eyes locking onto me with something far worse than hatred. A shattered, anguished thing. His lips parted, his head tilting as if questioning me. His voice came out a deep fucked up Southern drawl.

"Why didn't you save me? Why did you let me come with you when you knew my mother was already dead?"

A breath hitched in my throat. My fingers went numb. The gun slipped from my grasp, clattering against the floor as I staggered backward, my entire body suddenly cold, shaking.

"No—no—I didn't know! I swear... otherwise... otherwise, I wouldn't have..." I cried out, shaking my head, and continued to scramble backward, away from that thing.

The corpse—no, the Doctor—it's just the Doctor! He took a step forward, alarmed. "PJ—?"

I screamed.

I didn't even think—I just turned and ran.

The world blurred around me. My feet pounded against the metal floor, my lungs burning as my entire body demanded I get away. I heard him calling after me, his voice frantic.

"PJ! Stop! Please! Talk to me—Cooper!"

I didn't. I couldn't. My breath was ragged, strangled. I was drowning in my own head, my thoughts consuming me like flames, choking out every sense of logic, every rational thought. The walls of the TARDIS corridors stretched and shrank around me, twisting in ways they shouldn't, warping into something wrong. I wasn't on the TARDIS. I wasn't safe. I was back in the Below. I was trapped....

A blur of movement ahead. Two figures stumbling from a doorway, bleary-eyed, confused.

Amy and Rory.

I barely registered the sharp gasp Amy let out as I tore past them, nearly knocking Rory sideways.

"Oh my god!" She yelped, whipping around just in time to see the Doctor sprinting after me.

I didn't stop.

I made it to my bedroom, slamming into it with enough force to rattle the frame. My fingers scrambled for the lock, twisting and wrenching it shut just as the Doctor reached it. The door handle jiggled wildly as he tried to open the door.

"PJ!"

A fist slammed against the door. Then another.

"PJ, let me in!"

I backed away. My head spun. My breath heaved. The walls around me felt like they were closing in, shrinking smaller and smaller as my vision blurred, my ears ringing.

I vaguely heard the sound of arguing and then the frantic knocking ceased.

Another knock. Softer this time. A different voice.

"PJ?"

Amy.

I still didn't answer.

I barely even registered the sound of my own breathing—ragged, unsteady, teetering on the edge of a scream. My hands clutched at my head, fingers digging into my scalp, my own pulse slamming into my skull.

They kept knocking.

Go away!

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing them away.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't block out the noise.

I opened my eyes and twirled to stare at my backpack. It eased my nerves—took off the edge just slightly.

The weight of it was enormous, yet it sat there so innocently in the corner, like an old friend waiting for me to come home.

One movement. One unzip. That was all it would take. One unzip.

I could feel it—the presence of what I'd been without for eighty years. The other half of my soul, waiting in the void, screaming for release. It had been trapped, adrift in nothingness, severed from me for so long that I could barely remember what it felt like to be whole. But I knew it would be furious at being left for so long.

Which was funny. Because technically, that meant I'd be furious with myself.

Wouldn't that be a sight? Reuniting only to immediately start arguing. With nothing—because I'd only be mad at myself.

Trippy.

I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. My mind spun in erratic circles, the pros and cons blurring together. I could be complete again. Powerful again. Unstoppable, really. Only a handful of beings could even pose a threat to me at full strength.

But the cons really sucked.

The Destroyer would most definitely shackle me like a pet. Again. Phenomenal cosmic power... with some strings attached.

I snorted, an awful, choked laugh breaking free. Because of course, of course...! But that was the reality, wasn't it? I could be powerful, yes—but that power came with a price. A gilded cage. If I remerged, people—beings—of the multiverse would notice within hours. The Destroyer would notice. And then what? Where does that leave me?

Trapped and playing my existence away. Again.

A failure at bringing the end to the ultimate game.

I laughed again, softer this time. But it wasn't the kind of laugh that came from amusement—it was terrible. Terribly hilarious, really. Because who would've thought? Me. Cracking. Breaking.

After everything I'd done, everything I'd survived, after clawing my way to freedom and running for years—it wasn't some battle or great cosmic enemy that finally did me in. No, it was my own mind.

That was actually the worst part.

To know that something like the Below had ended up getting me in the end—truly pushing me off the cliff and into insanity.

I barely noticed the shaking of the door at first.

The pounding was distant, but the voice wasn't. The Doctor's voice.

"PJ, open this door!"

That voice. The one that made armies turn and run, that made stars burn brighter and civilizations crumble. The one that sent shivers of delight down my spine because fuck, was it terrifying and beautiful all at once.

But he wasn't angry. No, this wasn't rage. This was something worse.

His worry.

His concern.

For me.

"PJ!" Another pound. "That's it—"

I heard the unmistakable whir of the sonic screwdriver.

Shit.

Pure instinct took over. I lunged, snatching up my backpack. My hand shot out for the Vortex Manipulator sitting on my desk, grabbing it before I could even think.

The door lock clicked.

I moved fast, dropping to my knees, scrambling to the floor. The sheets hanging near the edge of my bed were long enough to hide me. I wriggled underneath, tucking myself into the tight space, pressing my back against the floor.

The door burst open.

Footsteps. Three sets.

"What? She's not here?" Amy's voice. Still laced with sleep, but worried.

"How—" The Doctor sounded frantic before he paused—footsteps stalling over at what I realized was my desk. "She had to have used the Vortex Manipulator. It's gone!"

"She wouldn't," Amy countered. "She wouldn't leave like this. Out of nowhere!"

"She's not thinking straight," The Doctor shot back. "I should've done something. I should've seen this coming. Knew this was what was happening, why she was acting so distant. That place she was in—it's known to mess with the mind, mess with sanity—no one is meant to be there! But no, I gave her space. I thought—" He exhaled sharply. "Who knows where she is now? And in this state? She could get hurt—she could hurt someone else."

I heard Amy step forward, no doubt placing a firm hand on his arm. "Doctor, breathe," She said gently, her voice steady but insistent. "We'll find her..."

He shook his head, seemingly barely hearing her. "You don't understand—she's not thinking straight! I should've—"

"Doctor." Amy squeezed his arm tighter. "Panicking isn't going to help. You know that better than anyone. We need to keep it together, yeah?"

The Doctor stilled for a moment, his hands still clenched at his sides before he began to fiddle with his bow tie.

He sighed heavily. "You're quite right, Pond... quite right... alright, let me think—let me think..."

Rory, standing off to the side, cleared his throat. "Well... maybe try looking under the bed?"

Amy shot him a look, but before she could say anything, Rory had already dropped to his knees and lifted the edge of the bedspread. His voice was muffled as he peered into the shadows.

We made eye contact and I huffed at him. Amy's fiancé gave me an awkward smile in response.

The Doctor blinked, his wild train of thought momentarily derailed. "Rory, I hardly think she'd be under the bed! Honestly, what kind of idea is that? You think that my PJ is hiding under the bed?!" He scoffed as though it was the most preposterous thing he'd ever heard.

Rory sighed and looked up in annoyance. "Why don't you tell that to her?"

Another silence.

"What?!" The Doctor gasped and there was a shuffle of movement.

I squeezed my eyes shut as more weight settled on the floor beside me. God fuck.

I didn't have to open my eyes to know the Doctor was there, stretched out on the ground, peering into the dark space I'd wedged myself into. I could hear the relief in his voice, thick and unfiltered as he sighed, running a hand over his face and through his floppy locks.

The second I popped one eye open Amy's face appeared next, upside-down as she bent down to look under the bed too. "Oh, thank God. See—I knew you wouldn't just leave..."

I glanced down at my Vortex Manipulator, pursing my lips in thought. The Doctor immediately noticed, his voice coming out a low warning.

"No—don't you dare," He clicked, once again turning into the bossy TimeLord that had me rolling my eyes and huffing.

Shaking my head, I looked away from the Manipulator, still clutching it tightly, and pressed my forehead against my knees, curling into myself. "Go away," I muttered. "I'm fine."

"Yeah, not buying that," The Doctor responded immediately. "Do you have any other weapons on you, dearest?"

"No," I pouted, my voice coming out bitter.

The Doctor mumbled something, his shoulders once again sagging in relief.

Amy then sighed softly. There was a quiet exchange of glances between all three of them.

"We should go," She said after a moment, voice hesitant but understanding. "Come on, Rory. Back to bed? We'll see you both in the morning—Doctor... PJ..."

"Quite right," The Doctor sighed as she got off my bed and Rory stood up. "We'll see you two later..."

A hand patted the Doctor's shoulder. I still didn't look. This is so embarrassing.

393 years old, physically 26 or 27, and here I am hiding under the bed like a pussy.

The room was silent again as they left.

For a moment, I thought—hoped—the Doctor might just leave too.

But instead, I heard more shifting.

I peeked an eye open just in time to see him start to shimmy his way under the bed.

I scowled. "Are you seriously crawling under here?"

The Doctor let out a yelp and made a multitude of odd noises as he wriggled the rest of the way inside. It was an absurd sight—his limbs all angles and elbows, barely fitting in the space. But eventually, he settled, lying on his side so he could face me. He was huffing from the exertion of it—green eyes wild as he smiled at me in a manner that screamed he was proud of himself.

We were inches apart, eyes locked intensely—I could smell the tea in his breath.

"Yes," He answered simply. "Very comfortable hiding spot. Hope you don't mind the company."

I huffed. "You're an idiot."

"And you are currently curled up under your own bed like a frightened child," He countered, tilting his head. "Which, if I'm being honest, is a little unlike you. Actually‚ very unlike you..."

"Gee, thanks for pointing that out." I closed my eyes angrily. "This is so fucking embarrassing... I'm fine, just let me be... I'm not going to leave the TARDIS. You don't need to worry about that."

His voice softened. "PJ."

I swallowed hard, gripping my backpack tighter. So close...

And the Doctor, the Oncoming Storm, one of the smartest men in this universe had no idea.

"Talk to me," He urged. "Please. I'm right here..."

I clenched my jaw.

I couldn't.

Not yet.

Not when the noise was still there, whispering, clawing at the edges of my mind.

Instead, I squeezed my eyes shut and whispered, "Just... stay? It's so loud..."

For once, he didn't argue. Somehow, it seemed he knew exactly what I was talking about. Understood just what I meant.

"Of course," He murmured, his voice warm and steady. "C'mere..."

I didn't resist as he reached for me, pulling me close. The soft fabric of his button-up brushed against my cheek, slightly wrinkled but comforting, warm from his body heat. That ever-present scent of him—tea and stardust and something inexplicably electric—enveloped me like a cocoon.

Without thinking, I buried my face in the crook of his neck, pressing into his safe, solid presence. His arms tightened around me, and one hand stroked slow, soothing circles against my back. His other hand moved up, and his fingers threaded through my hair, smoothing it down with a tenderness that made my chest ache.

He cooed at me softly, a hum that was barely above a whisper, a string of words I couldn't quite catch but didn't need to. It was the sound of comfort, of quiet understanding. A brush of lips against my temple, light and lingering, and then another, like a promise—I'm here.

I could not be sure how long we stayed like that—thirty minutes, at least before I found the courage to move my head out of the crook of his neck. I did not want to move, it was peaceful, and it was finally quiet—the unhinged madness was gone.

Not completely, it never was, I am a mad woman, after all. But it was quieted to the fun little tremor that it typically was rather than engulfing my being in a storm of fire.

This really is embarrassing. I don't need to be comforted—nobody should need to be comforted to this degree about anything, not ever. Especially me.

I am stronger than this.

If anything, I should be consoling the Doctor about his dead planet and his grief about committing genocide on a massive level... actually, I'm not sure that he knows I know about that.

Yeah, that might be another thing that is better left unsaid unless he brings it up.

Looking up, I slowly met his gaze which was already on me. He moved a hand through the tight space, brushing a stray piece of hair that had fallen from my bun. His wide eyes kept searching my face in a manner that had me cringing—it was too soft.

"You have the prettiest eyes..." He muttered like the loser he was. "...And the most mesmerizing face..." He added, seeming careless in the way he spoke as he continued to examine me.

Who uses the word mesmerizing?

He caught the way I was looking at him, the quirk of the brow I sent his way. "Oi, don't look at me like that!" He blushed. "It's just the truth..."

This loser... and yet despite myself, I was pouting and also looking away—fighting the red on my face.

"Are you blushing?" He asked me proudly.

"Shut the fuck up..." I hissed.

All I got in response was a low chuckle and fingers brushing over my cheeks.

It was quiet for another few moments, the two of us cuddled close together. Both out of choice and because of how tight the space under the bed was seeing as we are two fully grown-ass adults.

It was comfortingly warm under the bed—our shared air tickling my skin kindly.

"Why didn't you come talk to me?" The Doctor finally asked through the silence. "You could have come to me—I would've helped you. You didn't need to lock yourself away..." The man sounded sad; his voice tight and in pain.

I breathed sadly, looking up and meeting his old and sad eyes. But still—this incarnation of the Doctor had a naturally youthful soul full of wonder. And so, despite his age: all that wonder combined with his young-looking face, the man in front of me seemed almost innocent. Yet, I knew that this was far from the truth.

"This isn't something you can just help, Doctor, you know this..." I said, trying not to sound annoyed but my voice came out snappy. I did not mean for it to; it's just hard to talk about... my feelings... ugh, gross! "The space between realities... it's typically full of nothingness... not that concerning... but that portion of it that we were in, it was was actual hell, Doctor. You don't... you don't understand... it messes with the mind, fights against pure existence... and I am fine with bad—I can do horrible... but this... it was—I don't even, I can't..." I stuttered heavily, becoming angry once again.

This is pathetic‚ it wasn't even that bad!

The Doctor didn't interrupt. He just watched me, letting me talk, letting the words spill out.

"You didn't see it," I whispered. "All those bodies. Some just hanging there, strung up, like ornaments in a display." My voice shook despite myself. "Some weren't even bodies anymore. They were just... parts. Scattered. The smell of it, Doctor—" I swallowed hard, squeezing my eyes shut as if that could block out the memory. "It was rot and blood and something worse. Something wrong. Like the Below itself had its own scent. A sickness you could breathe in."

The Doctor remained silent, his grip on me steady, but his jaw was tight. I could feel it, the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself back from speaking. From comforting me. Because he knew I didn't need that. Not now.

"And then Lucas—" I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. "Lucas' body fucking woke up. Just—eyes snapping open like a fucking horror flick, not a second of hesitation before he went for Ellery's throat. Tore her apart. And we just left her."

"PJ—"

"No," I shook my head. "We had to leave her. I know that. But we were lost. If we'd stayed, if we'd tried anything—" I sucked in a breath. "It would've just been more bodies. More parts scattered."

The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy, only broken by the sound of our breaths. He did not question how I knew what the Below was, but then, it was not such an absurd concept for a woman who was raised in space and has a Vortex Manipulator to know such a thing.

The Doctor's voice was gentle when he finally spoke. "And Isaiah?"

The Doctor knew about Isaiah because his name had come up quite a bit. He knew about everyone who was involved, even if he had not had the opportunity to meet Ellery or Isaiah.

I swallowed against the lump in my throat. My fingers clenched where they rested against his chest. "He died."

The Doctor hesitated. "How?"

I exhaled sharply through my nose. "The monster... it killed him, Doctor."

His eyes searched my face, something understanding flickering in the ancient depths of his gaze. But he didn't push. "And how did the monster die?"

I turned my head away, pressing my forehead against his shoulder. "It just died."

"You can tell me."

"No." My voice was steel. "I can't. The monster is gone—I told you, I killed it with kindness." I said the word kindness in a way that was anything but.

Another pause. A long one. Then, to my surprise, he sighed and said, "Alright."

I blinked. "That's it?"

He nodded, his chin resting lightly atop my head. "I can only question you so much—I've been questioning you since the moment I met you. At this point, I can only hope that you'll tell me when you're ready. But PJ..." He tilted his head, just enough for his lips to brush against my temple again, soft and fleeting. "Know that secrets eat you alive. And one day, I am going to find out whatever it is you're hiding. I always do..."

Something inside me twisted. I clenched my jaw, keeping my voice even. "You've got more secrets than I do, Doctor."

His expression shifted—amused, but only just. "Only my name is a secret. Everything else is just things left unsaid."

Something ugly—extremely ugly and mean twisted inside of me. Rage, not at the Doctor, but at everything burned through me. Hate, so much hate and anger. And the Doctor's words, despite the truth they held and I knew he was not saying to be mean, but it pissed me off even further.

And it caused a meanness to stir within me, and it bubbled up... up... up... until it spewed out of me in ugly daggers made of words targeted directly at the person in front of me. And I never miss a shot.

I scoffed. "Like you committing genocide on your entire planet? Your entire race?"

Oh... oh, that was low. It was low and messed up, especially coming from someone like me toward someone so kind like the Doctor.

The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I shouldn't have said them. It was cruel. It was cutting. It was unnecessary.

He was only trying to help, he'd only been trying to help since the moment I met him.

The Doctor stilled against me, his arms locked, his breath catching for just a second—just long enough for me to regret every single decision I'd ever made.

Then, low, raw, grinding through his teeth: "Exactly."

He sounded haunted—heartbroken.

I felt sick.

I wanted to take it back. I wanted to erase it. But I couldn't. Because I had said it. And there was no excuse. No justification.

The Doctor, though, he understood. He knew I did not mean it, that it was only my anger and pain about this whole situation talking. He knew he did not deserve to have it taken out on him, but he still let me. And that was somehow worse.

I didn't say sorry. I didn't know if I should. If it would even mean anything. Those words aren't something you can just apologize about.

Instead, we sat in the thick, unbearable weight of the silence.

Because the thing was, his genocide wasn't even really a secret. Not to someone who traveled time. Not to someone who had been around the universe. If you asked the right people, poked at the right stories, you could find out just about anything about the TimeLords and the Doctor. How he had destroyed Gallifrey. How he had burned it all—his own home, made the ultimate sacrifice to save the rest of the universe.

His humans—the companions he traveled with—people like Amy and Rory, they only thought he had so many secrets because... they were... to be frank—they're fucking civilians. Civilians from 21st-century Earth, a rather primitive time in the grand scheme of it all.

It's probably why the Doctor liked his companions coming from such a time period. They knew so little about him, about the entire universe unlike people would if he took a human from—say—the 51st century.

He never needed to explain himself to the happy 21st-century humans. The only thing he needed to explain was the wonders of the universe, and that was probably like a big old prize to him.

The only true secret the Doctor had was his name.

And now, we sat here, still close, but the warmth had changed. The silence had shifted.

The tension wasn't just in the air; it was inside him. I could feel it, pressing into my skin where he still held me, where his fingers clutched just a little tighter like he was trying to anchor himself. Remembering his decision, no doubt, the ultimate universe-saving but planet-destroying one.

My anger had awakened his own demons. He was stuck in his own mind, his own guilt. Because of me—because I had shot him right in the heart and didn't miss. I never do.

And now, neither of us knew what to say.

The silence stretched between us, thick with regret, heavy with things that could not be unsaid. I knew I should say something, but I didn't know what.

So, I blurted the first thing that came to mind, my voice humorless. "Here's a secret—well, not a secret, but something I didn't mention."

The Doctor's head lifted slightly, his brows furrowing as he looked at me. I broke eye contact, swallowing down the sudden lump in my throat.

"Back when River got me and we traveled for that month, before—when we killed that vampire..." I exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the tight space beneath the bed as if the words would form themselves there. "I didn't just kill him... I orchestrated the destruction of the remaining Ylivad. So, in a way, I caused a genocide too."

The silence that followed was different from before. Less suffocating. More uncertain.

And to my utter surprise, the Doctor didn't let go of me in disgust. He didn't pull away, didn't look at me like I was some kind of monster. Instead, to my utter shock, he chuckled—a low, humorless thing, but a chuckle nonetheless.

Then, with his lips brushing against my temple, he whispered, condescendingly at that, "I know."

I snapped my head up, staring at him. "You know?"

He met my gaze, and there it was—his smug, knowing expression, tempered only by the sadness lurking beneath.

"Mmhmm," He hummed.

"But—" I struggled for words, swallowing anxiously. "How? You didn't—you didn't say anything!"

He snorted. "Do you really think I didn't go and check on what you and River Song did for that entire month with my TARDIS?" His expression turned thoughtful. "If anything, I disapprove of all the heists rather than you convincing the human race to stand up for themselves against a parasitic species that would've just killed them all in the end."

I searched his face, trying to find some sign that he was lying, that he was just saying what he thought I wanted to hear. But there was only honesty in his eyes. He knew this whole time and had not held it against me.

"But—no—dearest," He continued, tilting his head, "I really don't think that's the same thing."

I thought of the hundreds of universes I'd destroyed, the things I had done that I would never tell him about. But I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut on that one. Instead, I let out a dry chuckle. "Should've known."

The Doctor smirked. "Yes, my 'naughty girl' should've figured."

I gasped, immediately smacking his arm. "You heard about that name too? Are you the one that starts it?!"

His snickers were infuriatingly smug. "I don't know, but I sure hope so—that was the funniest thing I've ever heard."

"Whatever, I hate you."

"You really don't," He murmured, and to my absolute shock, he leaned in and burrowed himself closer to my neck, nuzzling into me like some oversized, needy house cat. "You're one half of my naughty girl duo. The other half I don't know so well yet..."

He was referring to River Song, the woman who was still much a mysterious to us both. However, I arguably knew her better than the Doctor at this point seeing as I had been with her for an entire month.

The Doctor, to my knowledge, has only met her twice.

"Fuck you," I muttered, and just like that, the tension was gone.

We stayed there, tangled up together, our shared warmth making the too-tight space under the bed feel more than comfortable.

Minutes passed before I finally broke the silence again. "There was a moment in the Below," I started, voice quieter now, hesitant. "When I opened one of the doors. And it led to... a gaping hole. Just—just nothingness."

The Doctor stilled against me, listening intently.

"And I heard a voice," I continued, feeling the weight of the memory settle over me. "It sounded like you. Telling me to jump."

His whole body tensed, and his grip on me tightened as if he could physically keep me here, away from whatever that thing had been. "PJ..."

"I almost did," I admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I almost jumped. It almost messed with my mind enough—tricked me into thinking that you were down there, waiting for me..."

The Doctor pulled back just enough to look at me properly, his hands moving up to frame my face, his expression more serious than I had ever seen it. "I need you to know something," He said, his voice firm, grounding. "I would never, ever tell you to do something like that."

I swallowed hard, searching his face for some kind of answer. "Then why did I hear your voice?"

For the first time in a long time, the Doctor hesitated. He stuttered, unsure, his mind clearly racing to find an answer, to make sense of something that didn't.

And then, because I couldn't stop myself, because I needed to know—I asked the one question that had been lurking in the back of my mind since I met him.

Straightening, I looked him in the eye and asked, "What was I to you?"

His brows furrowed slightly.

"In your past," I clarified. "My future. When I left, what was I to you—what will I be to you?" Silence. "Would you catch me if I jump, Doctor?"

He swallowed but didn't hesitate in answering this time. "You were—are—so much and so many things to me. One of the most important and cherished people to me. And I will always—always—catch you, whether you choose to fall or jump, I will catch you, I swear."

He did not say it outright, he did not need to. His words implied more than enough, and yet, it was not enough. I wanted—craved—to hear him say it.

"Have you ever been in love, Doctor?" I asked.

"Many times," He breathed back.

"Are you in love right now, Doctor?"

"More than you will ever know..."

I only watched him with a bemused twinkle in my eye as he brought his hands up to cup my cheeks. Of course, THE POLARIS JADE would make an ancient TimeLord fall in love. And; of course, of all the damned creatures in existence, the Doctor would be able to do much the same.

To say that I was in love with the Doctor made me uncomfortable. I knew that I was somewhere near it, and I knew that no matter what—I certainly held a great love and respect for him.

Is it worth it to jump? I am not stupid enough to fall—I would never slip, I control my own choices, so should I choose to jump? Even knowing it was bound to end in fire and chaos and destruction? Knowing that not only would I be hurting myself in the process, but I would be filling this kind old TimeLord's heart with blood?

Could I be so selfish? Of course, I can; everyone is selfish in their own right.

Decisions... decisions...

I could see it now—as I peered my head over the edge and into the deep abyss. Despite it all—despite the fog that filled the abyss, I swear I could see a being of many faces waiting down with his arms outstretched.

I suppose I do like chaos... but is it worth it?

To jump or not... for now, I settled on sitting at the edge; smiling and waving down into the abyss, teasing the kind being trapped within. Surprisingly, the being only laughed in return—staring at me with a knowing gleam in its eye—as though knowing that such a being of destruction myself, there was no way I would be able to resist the pull of jumping headfirst into the abyss.

Finally, I settled with a small laugh, bringing my own hand up and stroking the Doctor's cheek while watching him curiously.

"Who might you be in love with, Doctor? Another Space Lord?"

The Doctor chuckled, closing his eyes briefly and shaking his head.

"I think you know the answer, dearest..." He said right back, reopening and staring into my eyes much too intensely.

In a way that was foreign to Eleven but also so much like him—like the pure being of the Doctor. And that moment, I did not just see Eleven, I saw him as a pure being of time and space and existence that existed with many different faces and all kinds of personalities with so much stuffed inside of it that he—she—they might as well be a God.

"Do I?" I teased. "It must be River Song then... she is quite epic, I don't blame you..."

The Doctor once again chuckled softly. "Perhaps one day, but not today—not now..."

"Not now?" I mocked. "Amy then?"

"That's just wrong..." His brows furrowed in disgust. "She was a little girl not that long ago..."

"Rory?"

"Not my type..."

"I thought you didn't have a type..."

"That was a clever lie to save face," He goaded back. "My type simply changes with every incarnation—but certain things that I like never change..."

"Like what?"

"Like bold people from space... punky attitude-ridden disaster-bound girls for example," He brushed more hair out of my face. "Never been able to resist. Bad girls—never been able to resist no matter how hard I try... bit embarrassing, really."

"Ah," I clicked my tongue in mock obliviousness, "No physical type then? Just red-flag-not-quite-sane personality types?"

"You call it red flags, I call it fun..." He murmured amusedly. "And to be clear, I'm not all there myself, dearest,"

"Never said you were nor did I say it's not fun; keeps it interesting, I suppose," I hummed. "Good ole madman in the box... you must truly be mad to have your hearts flutter at someone even more insane..."

"That is the understatement of the year..." He keened. "But no—I've never had a set attraction to anything specific... other than attractive beings in general, I suppose, but isn't everyone?" The TimeLord sighed as though it was the worst thing in the world.

"Yeah, I guess I've only met a small amount of people that are attracted to ugliness..."

The Doctor laughed. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, dearest, you know this. Besides, everyone is a bit ugly—whether it is on the inside or the outside hardly matters,"

I rolled my eyes and clicked my tongue. "Then I am quite ugly,"

"As am I," The Doctor breathed back. "And if that is the case, then I suppose I am attracted to someone quite ugly..."

"Everyone is..." I tittered and the Doctor somehow moved even closer, his eyes flickering down to my lips desperately. The already warm air grew even hotter as I spoke my next words. "But I can't say that many people love the ugly..."

"I do," He argued, voice taught as though a drawn bowstring. "So much that sometimes it hurts..."

"It's always bound to hurt when it comes to loving someone ugly..."

What I really meant was that it's always bound to hurt when you're in love with someone like me. But then again—was it not the same for the Doctor?

"A risk that seems to be well worth it, especially when love is perhaps the one force in all of existence that cannot be controlled no matter how much we try..." He reasoned.

"Oh, isn't that the ugly truth, Space Lord?" I closed my eyes, feeling his face come nearer to mine.

"Speaking of ugly truths," He was so close I could feel his breath, his nose nudged against mine, "What're some of yours?"

"What are yours?" I shot right back. "Is your name ugly? Is that why you don't tell it to anyone?"

He once again laughed a hum, brushing his lips against mine. It was not a kiss, close but not quite—a simple brush before he pulled back a centimeter to respond. He did not want to be the one to kiss me first; he made the move to bring his face this close and did not want to finish what he started. He wanted me to do important work and finish it out.

Yeah... no...

He started this, he gets to finish it. Besides, how pathetic would it be if I gave in—surged forward and kissed him desperately. Under this bed and in his arms and simply allowed our beings to meld together until we were practically one—driving each other mad with passion.

"My real name is anything but ugly... it's quite epic, in fact..."

"I am sure it is..." I chortled. "Personally, I am still betting on it being Walt..."

"Yeah, because a name like Walt would make the universe shake..." The Doctor said back sarcastically.

My arms were thrown over his shoulders in the next instance, his hands resting on my hips. My backpack was crushed between us, the Vortex Manipulator somewhere forgotten between our bodies as well. Our legs were tangled together—faces so close our foreheads rested on each other's.

"It's never about the name itself, Doctor, it's about the power behind the name..." I bit back.

"Oh, don't I know it," He said, hand squeezing my hip and then trailing his hand down until he was holding my thigh.

The fuzzy pants were soft as he squeezed it.

"Doctor, you do realize that love is meant to be peace... right?" I asked, staring him in the eyes.

"Is it?" He questioned rhetorically.

"It is... according to most, and it can be peaceful. It should be peaceful. But to some, for those of us crazies, love is—well, it's blood and bombs and hellfire..." I told him. "That's what it's like with me..."

Like the madman he was, he once again brushed his lips over mine. "Sounds like the adventure of a lifetime..." He hummed. "And I suppose—given my track record—that's what it's like for me too. Despite the words of the universe, I am not a man of peace... I never have been, and I never will be. It's time I stop striving for something that never was—that'll never be..." He spoke, the words coming straight from his old soul. "And that's my ugly truth..."

I released a shaky laugh, clutching him harder—closer. "You don't know what you're doing, Space Lord..."

"I'm 'fraid that I've already done it, dearest..." He mumbled in a crazily happy manner. "There is no going back now... and if there is anything I am not—it's a coward..."

"Turning back isn't cowardly, it's smart, you old man," I shook my head. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into... you don't understand what you're saying..."

He reached down, bringing my hand up to his lips. "I don't care, if anything, it makes it so much more fun. The greatest mystery—one that I live to solve..." He said it whilst pressing feather-light kisses to my knuckles.

"You're an idiot..."

"As are you, dearest..."

"It's the greatest game then..."

"Oh—the greatest one for sure..."

The Doctor's fingers curled against my thigh, his breath ghosting over my lips, and for a moment—just a fraction of a second—I nearly did it. Nearly surged forward, nearly closed the infinitesimal space between us, nearly lost myself to the madness that clung between us like gravity.

But neither of us moved.

It was a battle of will now, of push and pull. If either of us gave in, we'd never stop. The second our lips met, it would be a declaration—of what, I wasn't sure. But I knew it wouldn't be something light, something fleeting. It would mean too much.

So I did what I always did. I pulled back just enough to smirk and bat my lashes at him. Trying to goad him.

"Nice shoes, by the way," The Doctor suddenly muttered, his voice rough and amused all at once, like he was trying to shake himself from whatever trance we'd fallen into.

I snorted. "You're only just noticing?"

"Oh, I noticed," He drawled, glancing down at my feet. "Nike Dunks, fuzzy pants, and a white wifebeater. Stylish."

"It's called comfort, old man," I shot back. "Besides—y'know I look great in it..."

"I just never thought I'd find myself hopelessly entangled with a terribly hot woman wearing fuzzy pants under a bed. I'll admit, it's a bit of a first for me."

"Must be your lucky day then."

"Mmm, or the beginning of the end," He murmured, his hands flexing against me like he wasn't sure if he wanted to hold on or let go. "Either way—it's more than worth it..."

Neither of us made a choice.

Instead, the air between us settled into something quieter, something softer. The tension didn't dissipate, but it shifted into something bearable, something unspoken but understood.

And somehow, that was enough.

We didn't speak as exhaustion crept in, as the adrenaline ebbed away, leaving only the warmth of him against me, his steady breaths lulling me into something dangerously close to peace.

The last thing I felt before sleep claimed me was the Doctor's arms around me, the warmth of him bleeding into me. But deeper than that—beneath skin, beneath thought—something reached.

A tether. A force.

The Polaris Jade stirred from its place in the backpack, stretching toward him, and in my half-asleep haze, I felt it—felt the pull of something inevitable.