Until We Burn | Dr Who

Chapter Thirty-Eight: When in Rome

A few days pass in relative silence. We share meals and pass each other in the library, exchanging the odd few words. My conversation with Sarah Jane offered me some comfort but I'm still left with so much to think about and no clue as to how I even begin to speak to the Doctor again. After so long spent apart from each other, I don't quite know if we can go back to how we used to be, or if we should. Maybe a change would do us good. Maybe we just can't pretend like none of it happened.

On the fifth day I venture out of my room with a toolbox, praying that there will be something in need of fixing. Most of the repair panels remain shut for me. It proves my suspicions: the Tardis holds grudges. We had gotten along perfectly fine before, I'm fairly sure most of the issues I tried to repair were simply created by her to give me a distraction, but not anymore. Leaving the way I did must have upset her, so much so that she treats me like a complete stranger.

It's only after an hour of aimless wandering that I finally give in, dumping the toolbox on the floor. "Come on, Old Girl," I sigh to thin air. "I left and I shouldn't've and I'm sorry. Okay? I'm really sorry. Gods know it was a mistake even thinking it would have worked. But I'm back and I guess I'm here to stay. I'm just... sorry."

A hatch in the wall swings open. It creaks softly, understanding. In her way, I suppose it is almost like an offered hug, an extension of an olive branch.

I give the wall an affectionate pat and a quick press of my lips before setting to work. Under my breath I begin to hum an old Capitian tune. I have sung it a million times before to her but this time she seems far more receptive. Down the corridor I can hear the rushing of the pistons and the hum of the engines, almost in tune.

One bolt on the inside of the repair hatch is particularly hard to unscrew. I try again and again, putting all of my strength onto the wrench in the hopes of getting it to budge.

"Oh, don't start now."

Giving it a second, I twist it again as though truly expecting the element of surprise to help. It does. The bolt moves with a loud squeak and I stumble. Only, the sound doesn't stop. I can hear it echoing all the way along the passage, picking up in volume. The mesh floor quakes and something hisses. I wheel around just in time to see the door on one side of me shut.

I race over but it's too late. The sheet of metal won't move, sealed into place. Another low hiss is enough warning for me to sprint out of the way of the next door.

There's no time to hesitate. If I do, I will likely find myself trapped. I don't want to know what happens then. Already, I can see the lights flicker, a siren rising from the distance. My next thought is of the Doctor, if he knows, if he's searching for a solution, or for me.

That keeps my mind silent for a moment. I brush it off and keep running. Of course he would be more concerned with stopping whatever this is. Only, now I wonder if I can find him - for the purpose of getting out of there, I remind myself.

I reach a fork in the path - right or left. There's no chance I'm going back the way I came with the doors still closing. Memories of this place still rebuilding, I wrack my brain for an idea of where each direction might take me.

The other night the Doctor and I went right to get to my room. Left would lead me down a few more twists and turns and then, I recall, the Archives. Of course. The Archives store all of the rooms that once belonged to his previous companions. That means that they should be offline and separate from rest of the systems. If I hide there, I can take my time to figure out what on earth is wrong with the Tardis without risking some system failure depriving me of oxygen or simply vacating me from the ship.

Left it is.

Every turn puts me more on edge. I glance back a few times but the doors keep closing, rapidly catching up.