The Time of Change

"Everywhere."

I hear him shuffling about near the console, and when I look there, he's wiping some dust from between the buttons. I smile to myself as I stride up the ramp, my toes tingling as the feeling floods back into them. After a moment, he stops and looks at me with a thoughtful expression. "You know what?" he says randomly. "I have done you a great injustice, Annalise."

I raise my eyebrows.

"No, really!" he persists. "I have, and I'm sorry. I always ask, right up front, where the person who is travelling with me wants to go. Where is their dream place to visit, what have they always wanted to see, when is their favorite time period? That kind of stuff. I never asked you. I can't believe I never asked you, of all people!" He smacks himself on the forehead with the palm of his hand. "Anyway, go ahead. Ask away: anytime and anyplace. All of time and space to explore. Where should we start?"

I stroll over casually and open up his jacket, plucking my glasses from the inner pocket. Now I pinch a bit of the fabric of his shirt between my fingers; without looking at him, I clean off the smudged lenses. Pretending not to notice how he's tensed up and gone quiet or how hot my face burns, I put my glasses on and push them up my nose.

"Everywhere."

I force myself to meet his eye, and he beams at me. "Now that's what I like to hear," he says. "Let's see the worlds, shall we?" He stumbles away from me and starts making destination-less trips around the control panel. "I think I'm just going to press 'Scatter,'" he muses. "That's pretty much just like the 'Shuffle' option on a music player. It's random - sends us anywhere and anytime in any universe. Exciting, isn't it?"

I nod, grinning. Setting my heels down beneath the curvature of the panel, I step closer to the levers and pulleys and stare at them apprehensively. I want to help, but how? I hear the sound of him pressing buttons on the other side. My eyes traverse the console's surface, and to my immense surprise, I recognize a few things. The engines, the time warp, the wormhole generator.

The same voice I imagined I heard earlier speaks again, soft and encouraging. Don't be afraid of me, Teacher. You know what to do. Let me guide you when you're uncertain, but you can do this. We both know it.

With trembling fingers, I twist the lever for the time warp about seventy degrees just like I've seen him do countless times both in this life and probably my others. Then I gently push the translucent gray button that is the wormhole generator; a familiar whirring resounds from above my head in response. I look up, a sensation of pride swelling in my chest.

All at once I notice the Doctor has stopped moving, and I glance at him. He stares at me with a mix of shock and happiness plastered on his face. I give him a weak smile. Without a word, we meet in the middle of the console at the temporal flux lever. I reach my hand out at the same moment he does, and we twist it in unison. The mechanical scraping starts up again, prompting a thrill to run through me. I gaze at him on my left to see him watching the disk in the cylinder rotate and slide up and down. His eyes twinkle with that infectious adventurous streak he's got running through him. I feel it surge through myself as well, and I grin.

Quickly I bend to grab the heels and half-jog up the steps and down the hall to the Wardrobe Room. I run my fingers over the beautiful fabric of the dress before tearing it off my body. I take a deep breath, instantly thankful to be out of the corset. A few minutes pass in which I dig around for another outfit. I unearth a leather jacket, white V-neck tee-shirt, and black jeans—exactly my cliché style. I change into the clothes, slipping on socks and zipping my spiked boots up over my ankles.

I jog back down the steps and ramp and go to his side as the TARDIS jolts. I lose my balance, but he catches me just before I hit the floor. I stare up into his eyes, feeling myself blush bright red with embarrassment, and push with my legs to right myself. He examines my clothes and nods his approval, but his raised eyebrows suggest mild shock. I touch his arm with my fist lightly and say, "I like the edgy look."

"Shy and edgy? Quite oxymoronic. You never cease to surprise me."

I shrug with a cocky smirk.

"Y'know, you may not be able to wear that, depending on where we've landed," he adds after a moment.

With arched brows, I reply, "I'm wearing it regardless. People'll just have to think I'm a witch."

He laughs, sending an enormous group of butterflies whooshing up out of my stomach.