Until We Burn | Dr Who

Chapter Sixteen: The Queen and I

Today is going to be good, I can feel it. A certain tension hangs in the air, like electricity on a hot day. Tomorrow might storm but at least the good weather might linger for a short while.

I practically skip down the corridors, a grin on my face right up until the second I collide with a figure stood in the doorway. A hand finds my waist. "Oh! Sorry. So sorry. Are you..."

The Doctor's words slow as his eyes begin to wander. Following them down to the lavender lace cascading right down to my ankles, I grimace. "Too garish, isn't it?"

Quickly, he shakes his head. The hand that he had used to steady me withdraws, moving instead to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck. "No. No, not at all. You look lovely. I mean, the dress is lovely. Not that you're not— I need to go... press some... buttons."

"Yeah. You do that."

My greeting from Rose is much warmer. Beaming from ear to ear, she drags me further into the room. "We missed you at breakfast. Cute dress!"

"Thanks. Sorry, I was meant to wake up early to pray but I must have slept through. I like your outfit." With the last addition, I gesture to her pink t-shirt and short dungaree dress.

She looks beyond pleased, turning to the Doctor next. "What d'you think of this?"

"For the late seventies, you'd be better off dressed in a bin bag." I can't bother yo be surprised by the offhandedness of his reply, having become far too accustomed to it by now. Sometimes I wonder if he has ever fully perceived us. "Hold on, listen to this."

He flicks a switch on the console and rock music starts to ring through unseen speakers. It isn't a genre I'm completely familiar with, since most of what I heard at the Time Agency was classical pieces I was conditioned to dislike through other agents' pretentious drivel, and the soft jazz of the forties that I can no longer stand to listen to without thoughts of my best friend and I spinning around the narrow ship we had called home for two years.

"Ian Dury and the Blockheads. Number one in 1979," the Doctor explains.

Chuckling, she follows him in his ministrations of what I assume are all the codes and settings needed to operate this wonderful ship. I started trying to memorise his actions a while back but the lack of pattern only served to frustrate me. It still does. "You're a punk!" she teases, having to raise her voice as he begins to sing along. "That's what you are, a big old punk, with a bit of rockabilly thrown in."

"Okay, that's ridiculous. 'Rockabilly'? Are you sure you aren't just making up words to confuse me?" I interject, losing trust in her slang with each passing day.

"Come, now," he scoffs, passing me in his rush around the console with a playful grin and a ruffle of my hair. "That would just be cruel. Push that thingamajig, will you?"

My eyes narrow but I do as he says, muttering, "And that's the scientific term, right?"

"Definitely. Now, Ian Dury. Want to go and see him?"

"You mean in concert?"

He seems almost insulted by the question. "What else is a Tardis for? I can take you to the Battle of Trafalgar, the Antigravity Olympics, Caesar crossing the Rubicon... or Ian Dury at the Top Rank, Sheffield, England, Earth, 21st November 1979." This time, his smile towards me seems more directed. "I promise you, Inara, you've never heard anything like it. What do you think?"

Rose and I exchange amused glances. "Sheffield it is."

"Hold on tight!"

Music blares, the engines wheeze, and he bashes a small mallet against a button as the entire ship spins wildly. The stop is just as sudden. Jarring. I am knocked off my balance, hitting the ground before I can reach for something to steady myself with.