Lost In Time: A Doctor Who Fanfiction

Chapter 18 - World War Three, Part 1

Finally feeling ready to at least consider the thought of moving, Lyssa opened her eyes to an empty Cabinet Room. Instinctively going to draw a deep breath as she prepared to sit up, she choked as her throat protested, seeming to close in on itself. She coughed uncontrollably, trying to rid her airway of a nonexistent intruder as involuntary tears filled her eyes from the pain. 

When she at last managed to suppress the useless urge to cough - she couldn't very well get rid of the swelling that was no doubt the source - she drew in a slow, deep breath, letting it out again in the same manner. It was arguably one of the hardest things she'd done, keeping her breathing even until she no longer felt the urge to take great gasps of air that she knew would only start the process over again. 

Slowly sitting upright, she ran her fingers experimentally along her neck, wincing when even the tender touch was enough to cause pain from the bruises. But it was only that - bruises. She frowned. Margaret/Blon had the secretary, Indra or whatever his name was, in the show, and he had died after only a matter of seconds. So why hadn't she?

She reluctantly grabbed the wall for support to help her stand up, still feeling a little shaky. Sliding her hand into her pocket, she felt the little mirror compact next to her diary that she had placed there in case she ever jumped and met a weeping angel. For her, it was now a legitimate concern. Pulling it out, she flipped it open and held it close to her neck, pulling down her purple scarf in an attempt to see the damage.

She winced as she saw the dark purple bruises already starting to form, wrapping around her throat. The Doctor would freak when he saw those. She tugged the scarf back up, pulling it higher so that it covered the bruises as much as possible, but keeping it loose and away from her bruises; then tilted her head slightly downwards to cover the rest.

Surely she was a master of disguise and would never be found out.

Well, actually she would, and probably the very first second he saw her. But that was a problem for future Lyssa.

Her next - current - problem was that if the bruising was already that severe, it had gone deep. Which meant her vocal cords had likely been damaged as well. She opened her mouth to test, but couldn't even get the first syllable out before being forced to stop as pain wracked her throat - and all the effort had only produced a breathy croak.

So speaking was out, then. The (silent) question was, how exactly would she be able to pull that off with the Doctor, then? If he was anything like his future selves, he would no doubt notice that something was off, and then there would be trouble. Maybe if she pretended she wouldn't speak, to maintain the timeline or something?

As if drawn by the mention of trouble, the Doctor came barreling into the room, closely followed by Harriet and Rose. The Doctor ushered them behind as several Slitheen came charging in. Sweeping a bottle of brandy off of the table, the Doctor held up his sonic screwdriver to it threateningly and blocked the doorway.

"One more move and my sonic device will triplicate the flammability of this alcohol. Whoof! We all go up. So back off," he warned. The aliens hesitated, forming their own barrier just on the other side of the doorway opposite him. "Right then," he smirked. "Question time. Who exactly are the Slitheen?"

"They're aliens," Harriet informed him, her tone sounding torn between trying to be helpful, and wondering how he could have missed something that obvious. Lyssa felt her lips quirk up in a smile. Obviously they hadn't noticed her yet, and she was content with hiding in the background. On the bright side, she thought she'd make a rather lovely stage prop.

"Yeah, I got that, thanks," the Doctor retorted impatiently, rolling his eyes.

"Who are you, if not human?" One of the males inquired, sparking a less than hushed conversation between Harriet and Rose about the Doctor.