The Defender of Time

Thirty-Six

Alessia took a sharp breath in, and felt dust make its way straight to the back of her throat, forcing her to roll onto her stomach and cough dryly onto the metal ground.

After a minute or so, it died down, and she looked up.

This was inside of TARDIS. She could recognize the patterns on the walls and the feel of the floor, but Alessia had no clue where she was. The console room was nowhere in sight, although there wasn't any conceivable way that she could have ended up there. The last thing she remembered was standing next to her father, and now...

Something, far away, chimed loudly. Logically, it was TARDIS calling out, but in her head it sounded like the clock on the mantelpiece in her mother's bedroom back in London. Her hand flew to her back; no Oliver. She needed him to be alright. She needed her parents to be alright. They were. A voice in the back of her head told her that they were alright.

And then, Alessia realized how quiet it was. There were no ghosts. It took a quick full turn to realize that August and Amaryllis were both gone. The silence was eerie and echoing, so she called out: "Mum? Dad? August?"

TARDIS chimed again, but nobody else said a thing.

But the only way to go was forward, wasn't it? Alessia took a few steps; timid, at first, and then more purposeful, further down the hallway. There weren't even any doors. She'd never been deep enough into the TARDIS to find a hallway which was void of rooms. With the living room, and the kitchen, and all of the bedrooms and bathrooms, and the swimming pool and the library, there was nowhere she could imagine was without doors.

There was a clattering ahead of her, and Alessia slunk against the wall behind a support. She counted to thirty, and then peeked out again. There was nothing, still.

"Come, Alessia. It's cold outside, you need to wear something heavier."

It was her mother's voice, coming from straight ahead. It was rather hot, actually. Maybe it was colder further down the hallway. "Mummy?" She called as she inched up the hallway. "Are you there?"

A child giggled lightly behind her, and Alessia turned around to see. It was herself. Much younger, granted, maybe six or seven, wearing nothing but a nightgown and a pair of bloomers. "No!" The little Alessia squealed. "I don't want to!"

There was movement on her other side, and Alessia turned to watch her mother, draped in a black bustled winter dress with her hair in an intricate bun. She raised her eyebrows and walked further forward, completely ignorant of the older Alessia. "You'll freeze your bottom off if you go outside in a nightgown. If you want to go and play in the snow, then you need to put warm clothes on!"

Little Alessia crossed her arms and stuck out her tongue. "I need to move my arms."

"You can move your arms just fine in a dress."

"No!" The little girl began windmilling her arms around to prove her point. "I can't do this in a dress!"

Clara sighed and propped her hands on her hips. "How about a nice pair of trousers, then? I'll borrow a pair from Digby for you."

With another jut-out of her tongue, the younger Alessia began running toward her older counterpart at full speed. Alessia flinched, awaiting impact, but then the little girl and her mother faded away, and the ringing silence was back.

Alessia's breath caught in her throat as she processed what she'd just seen. She could remember that argument. She'd gone out in the snow in a pair of bloomers and one of Digby's winter jackets, and then come down with a cold the next day.

Slowly, still, she began to move forward. Her footsteps echoed off of the metal walls and ricocheted back at her, making her feel what could only be described as claustrophobia. She tried calling for her parents again, fruitlessly, before stopping in her tracks. She had to be somewhere recognizable. There was no way she could have been flung so far away from the console room in one swoop, and yet there was nothing in either direction but metal walls and red warning lights.