I didn't wake up so much as I was jolted back to consciousness by the pounding in my head. Opening my eyes was torture. Any movement beyond that was simply out of the question.

"At least have the decency to pretend to be hung over," I croaked. Sprawled in a chair across the room, the Doctor stretched his legs out before him, cupped his chin in one hand. He wore only his boots and his leggings and the bloody bandage around his middle. He smiled at me, and I closed my eyes again and groaned.

Ayren

I was shivering with excitement as Will Scarlett led us down the wide stone steps to the great hall of Nottingham Castle. This was history come alive, the past made present. People were living here in this castle: those men in chain mail standing guard over there would go home to the soldiers' barracks; the young scullions rushing back and forth with trays heaped with steaming chickens and loaves of bread would probably sleep among the dogs and goats tonight, and be thankful for the warmth of other bodies.

Ayren

The TARDIS gave a little shudder. I leaned over to check the navigation panel -- everything fine -- and then turned back to the data cubes.

The Doctor had a definite head start on me: I half woke in the middle of the night to see him sitting up in bed, pillows propped at his back, the icy blue light from the cubes glinting off his half-rim glasses. I struggled to wake fully, but he lay a hand gently in my hair and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "Go back to sleep, love," he whispered, "and dream of Robin Hood and Sherwood Forest."

Ayren

The Doctor was trying to get the maitre d's attention.

Planet Souverane was very much in the centre of this era's multicultural, interstellar society, so it was not that unusual that humans were a minority at the bar -- where everything from Aldebarian brandies to Romulan ales were served -- and that it was necessary for the Doctor to tell the android maitre d' that we would like to be seated away from the methane breathers, please.

I signalled the bartender for a refill on my wine. "Perhaps it's developed a short," I suggested, but the Doctor was twisted around on his bar stool and he didn't hear me.

46.9 hours earlier (Earthtime: Monday 5:17pm Eastern)

The Doctor

Earth. In jeopardy. Again. And it was all my fault.

Tristan didn't protest as I hauled him bodily into rush-hour traffic on Riverside Drive -- he just hung limp in my grasp, resigned and despondent, as I stalked us across four lanes of jammed-up, honking vehicles.

Of course it would be Earth that would be so at risk from my own child's untutored ignorance. Because of course it would only have been a human of Earth who would be his mother, a human of Earth whom I would have fallen in love with and produced a child with -- however in Rassilon's great realm such a thing could have happened. And so of course it would only have been here that that child would be present and capable of doing such unwitting harm.

A few minutes later, Peter was standing over me with scowl on his face.

"Ayren," he said, "if you can't stand up, I'm calling an ambulance over to take you to the hospital."

"Look, I'm standing, see?" I shoved away the Doctor's helping hand, and Peter's, but I did lean against the building, just a little, as I rose to my feet. "I'm okay." I staggered a few steps away from them, and out into the street, to prove how okay I was... and then I moaned a little, and they both materialized at my side again, their hands coming gently to my elbows and waist.

But it wasn't my throbbing head that jolted me to a halt: it was the sights around me. The two corpses near us had not, thankfully, been joined by others, at least not that I could see, but though the older man's face was now covered with what looked like Peter's suit jacket, the gaping hollow in his midsection was bare, which seemed indecent somehow; the younger woman was, of course, now dead, her body draped from head to knees in a paramedic's blanket. The police had blocked off Times Square to regular traffic, but there were news vans everywhere, and cameras and microphones were shoved into the faces of bewildered office workers and tourists perched on curbs and abandoned cars, sobbing or holding gauze to bloody lacerations or muttering dazedly into cell phones that they were fine.

43.7 hours earlier (Earthtime: Monday 4:42pm Eastern)

The Doctor

"...and this projects the waveforms that excite the molecules in the groundwater," Tristan rushed on in his breathless explanation, pointing here and there at the various juryrigged doodads on his workbench, "and this reads the resulting--"

"That's a quantum spectrometer," I said. "With a digital readout. That's clever."

"I like making things," he said defensively, as if my admiration were an accusation. Perhaps I'd been wrong about him being coddled -- perhaps he was, instead, being discouraged in his natural inclinations and pushed in other directions he didn't want to go in. And the way he glared at me, his blue eyes flashing with a fury undercut by fear, told me he was terrified I was here to take this amusement away from him.

And maybe I was.

Out on Eighth Avenue, while Michael tried to hail a cab, I called Peter.

"I'm sorry I missed your calls last night," I said when he answered, before he could say anything himself.

"Yeah, that's not like you," he said. "Everything all right?"

"Oh, I don't know," I sighed.

"So you weren't just too busy having a good time, then?" I could hear the grin in his voice.

32.1 hours earlier (Earthtime: Monday 4:18pm Eastern)

The Doctor

I swore in Gallifreyan.

The TARDIS had arrived in the spacetime vicinity of early-21st-century Earth, and the transdimensional hazard alarm had started blaring, and I could only bark out a bitter laugh at my rotten luck. It was the same alarm the Nestene had set off months earlier, and I couldn't ignore it: what good would Ayren do me if her planet was reduced to a molten heap of slag by genocidal androids from a parallel universe or whatever it was that had set the TARDIS to screaming in terror?

26.8 hours earlier (Earthtime: Monday 4:03pm Eastern)

Alone.

The TARDIS yawned empty.

The dimness of the console room was like a cave, like a place used and abandoned: hollow, rocky. Empty.

I wasn't there.

I was screaming myself hoarse in the temporal trenches of the Montigan Rift as weaponized timeloops razored my own cruel memories through my head again and again over endless nanoseconds.

Just an ordinary Tuesday of my new life that, a decade and a half into it, was no longer so new. But it was a day on which the strangeness of this new life had struck me unexpectedly, as seemed to happen at random every now and again. I'd stood in the market picking over fruit, and suddenly found myself marvelling that this fuzzy green one no longer existed when I'd lived my previous life, and found myself aching for one particularly delicious fruit not yet known here, on this still lovely world, in this impossibly distant past.