Until We Burn | Dr Who

Chapter Sixty-Four: A Little Help from My Friends

While the two Doctors argue over the flight of the Tardis and nit-pick about various details — with mine doing most of it —, Martha and I head over to the other companions. My focus immediately zeroes in on one of them. "Yaz? That's why you were being so weird!"

"What, you've met her?" Martha asks.

The woman nods gingerly. "Yeah, sorry about that. We didn't mean to land here, it just sort of happened. The Doctor remembered that she'd been here before so she sent us to make sure you were all okay. I sort of... panicked. Saw him and didn't want to get caught out."

I chuckle, waving it off. "Don't worry. I'd already clocked onto you with all those odd questions."

Now we look to the two men standing beside her — one young, tall and dark-skinned, the other older and fair. The taller one shakes our hands, "Ryan. This is my granddad, Graham."

We greet him too. "This is Martha. I'm Inara."

"Oh, right! The Doctor's missus!"

Judging by the way the others hurriedly motion for Graham to be silent, this is important information I was not supposed to know about. I glance down at my ring and then at the two versions still discussing their many differences. Oddly, I'm not that surprised. It's like I had expected it. A warmth glows in my chest.

The Future Doctor now fixates on his trench coat, tugging lightly on its collar. "Ah, that suit. Such a good suit. Miss that suit."

His eyes widen in horror and he practically screeches, "You got rid of my suit?"

"Oh, it's still in there somewhere. Probably. Maybe."

The pistons quieten. When I rest my hand on the console, though, I hear a contented hum. It takes me a moment to realise that it is still bursting with sparks. With a twist of guilt, I am reminded of the morphine I had been given for my injury just last month, and how it had felt so wonderful that I couldn't focus my complete and undivided attention on our situation. This feels like that. All I can see is him — them. I don't know whether I should be concerned or amused.

"I think we have bigger, non-wardrobe-related problems right now."

Ryan grimaces at Yaz's comment. "Yeah, just a bit."

"Oh, trust me, we know."

The Future Doctor points between them and cheerfully says, "Really very obvious when you take a look at what's been going on."

"Just as smug as ever," I mutter.

Oblivious, they turn to each other only to declare different issues in a blended shout of, 'Autons' and 'Weeping Angels'. Then, "What?"

Her eyes narrow slightly as she tries to explain it away, "You mean the Weeping Angels dropped you in 1969."

He scratches the back of his head. "No, I mean the Weeping Angels are in 1969 — at least one is. Just saw it."

"The Doc's right... Doc," Graham pipes up.

"Well, Inara, Martha and I just saw loads of Autons in the shop she works in. Right, gals?"

"'Gals'. That's a new one."

Far more concentrated than me, Martha raises her hands to warn off any confusion. "I saw crazy living mannequins that tried to attack us. Don't know what they were."

Ryan stares between all of us, completely baffled. "You telling us there are statues and mannequins coming to life?"

"Attack mannequins do sound like the Autons," my Doctor says. "But did you—"