Until We Burn | Dr Who

Chapter Seventy-One: Voyage of the Damned

TW// Bit of injury detail and blood

—

"What?"

The Doctor scrambles to his feet, tossing the rubber ring aside. With the spinning of a small wheel on the console, he manages to reverse the damages. The ship slowly moves away again and the Tardis walls mend. We make a safe landing.

"What in Minerva's name was that?" I shout, following him out into a small supply cupboard.

"The Titanic, by the looks of it."

We lean around the door, finding ourselves in a large and luxuriously decorated room. The walls are mahogany, matching the ornate furniture. Everyone seems to be dressed in early twentieth-century dress to match the formality of the space. Champagne flutes clink and laughter echoes tauntingly all around us.

Attempting to blend in, we walk around a little. I earn some strange looks for my jeans and t-shirt.

At the edges of the room stand golden statues robed in white. Their gloved hands joined in prayer. Atop their heads are halos. When I move in to get a better look, one of them turns stiffly. It fixes me with an empty stare from completely black eyes.

"Okay..." I mutter for only him to hear as we stop in front of a Christmas tree hung with candles and glass ornaments. "Now, I was here a while back — one of our self-cleaning cons. Obviously, I didn't get much of a chance to look around, being busy... but I don't remember there being any robot angels."

"Me neither."

That catches my attention. I chuckle disbelievingly. "Do you think we ever ran into each other?"

"Trust me, I would've remembered."

Our attention is soon caught by the three-foot-tall creature with red, spiny skin walking past. I don't remember there being other aliens, either.

I nudge the Doctor, pointing to the nearest window. Stars twinkle outside and, far below, the cold aura of Planet Earth illuminates the darkness.

"Right..."

The Tannoy beeps and a polite voice announces, "Attention all passengers. The Titanic is now in orbit above Sol 3, also known as Earth. Population: Human. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Christmas."

—

I examine myself in the mirror that stands against the jumbled array of clothes in the Tardis wardrobe. My casual slacks have been replaced by a black evening dress. Its material is sheer, covering a white, lacy shift beneath. I have made a clumsy effort with my hair but each attempt only brought me close to tears as I try to stop my hands from shaking. Giving up and leaving my hair loose around my shoulders, I try to close up the back of the dress again. The zip is too small for me to get ahold of. Every time I try, a sharp pain stabs up from my fingertips.

"Everything all right in there?"

I freeze. The Doctor's shadow lingers behind the changing divider. Hurriedly sniffing and wiping my eyes, I manage a choked out, "J-Just trying to get this dress to cooperate."

Another attempt causes me to wince, kicking the divider in my frustration. It rattles loudly but doesn't fall. His shadow shifts closer and he gently offers, "Would you like me to help?"

I hate feeling useless and weak. I hate not being able to even dress myself. After a year of having my food, my clothing, and even my senses dictated, I just want to be independent again. But I remind myself, he is not my enemy. He is my friend and he just wants to help.