Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She was doing pretty well until the topic of the mind probe came up. Yes, even through getting slapped for questioning the alternative—and utterly humorless—version of Braxiatel that arrested them, and being thrown into a dark cell alongside Narvin, and then being left there for 5.89 spans. She was almost used to this sort of treatment by now, honestly, and at least they had yet to realize anything near the truth.

They could not, whatever happened, learn the truth. This was not a version of Gallifrey that could be allowed to look for the portal.

It was funny, really, that they had finally found a world that won against the daleks, and that that wasn’t a good thing.

She had no illusions about the danger.

No, that was a lie. She allowed herself her illusions far longer than she should have.

They didn’t talk much. There wasn’t much to say.

And then the guard—she vaguely recognized her, but couldn’t place a name to the face—returned and smiled coldly and told them to enjoy a last meal before the mind probe the next morning.

The change was instant. Freezing panic overwhelmed her. She and Narvin had both stood, but by the time the door clicked shut again Romana had slid down the wall, legs suddenly weak.

“It probably won’t come to that,” he was saying with infuriating calm. “Leela and Braxiatel will—well, do something that is distracting enough for us to get ourselves out, probably.”

“I can’t.” It was barely more than a whisper.

“Really, Romana, don’t worry. I know you hate the things—I’m not actually that keen on them myself at the moment—but they aren’t impossible to resist for a short time if you keep your defenses up. We’ll get out before it’s a big concern.”

“Narvin, you idiot!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I have no defenses! I resisted one for years, and I—” she took a shaky breath that did nothing to quell the tremble in her voice. “If you wanted to, you could invade my mind right now with the barest effort. It takes everything I have to keep my thoughts to myself without anyone attempting to breach it! If they—if they try—there is nothing I can do to keep them from knowing about us.”

She felt sick, for a moment thought she might throw up. Instead, to her horror, she broke down in tears for the first time in over a century.

Narvin said nothing.

“Well?”

“This entire time, and anyone with the slightest will and disregard for your position might have taken all our secrets? That might have been useful for me to know, Madame President!”

“Oh, shut up, Narvin,” she groaned. “There’s no-no point worrying about that now. And anyway—” her mind was spinning in a way that was familiar, and old, and frightening.

“And anyway?” He sounded wary. Of course he did. Her voice had gone high and wild and not at all like herself.

“It won’t matter, because I would rather—I would rather die than go through that again. Yes, I mean that, Narvin, you have no idea…you can’t imagine…twenty fucking years and I gave them nothing! Do you know that not a single Rassilon-damned Time Lord ever bothered to say thank you or good job? Not for that, and not for beating them back with my mind when I—when I was starving and sick and half-mad!” She’d meant to keep ranting, but was crying too hard to breathe. It wasn’t even true. She had broken. She had given them plenty. Just not what really mattered.

Her eyes scanned the tiny room through a sheen of tears. She had failed to die—twice—on Etra Prime, but she had been so very weak then. She was strong and healthy now, and deadly serious—she would do anything to avoid another invasion of her mind. Besides, she would be saving countless other worlds…

Narvin was crouching in front of her, the look on his face strange and unfamiliar. “Romana.” His voice was odd too, having lost its usual veneer of professional pompousness. He even took her hand and she flinched but didn’t pull away. “Take a deep breath.”

She gasped so sharply she nearly choked.

“Take a slower breath.” His tone didn’t change—slow, soothing, authoritative. It was the one he used for new agents who were panicking. He’d seen their terror, sometimes, at the strangeness of other worlds or the depth of their responsibility to the universe, but most often they were simply afraid for their lives. Some of them were so young the very idea of a first regeneration was still frightening. None of them had ever seemed to want to die; this was out of his depth. But his first loyalty was always to Gallifrey, and she was Gallifrey. Or all he had left to represent it, anyway.

She was struggling to breath deeply. Her hands were shaking in his. He had touched her before, certainly, but never for so long, and the edge of her mind against his—completely unguarded, as she had said—felt so strange and wild it might almost have been alien. Her thoughts flickered, just out of hearing range, frantic and bright and not at all the restrained and orderly mind he expected from other Time Lords. But that was something to address later.

Right now, his responsibility was to keep her alive.

He hadn’t told her to stop taking breaths and she was still breathing deeply. Still shaking. But the panic in her eyes had come down a little. Enough to try reasoning with her.

“Listen to me. We will get out of here. Give me a little time for a plan. And, Romana, please. Promise me you won’t hurt yourself.”

“I—I can’t—they might take me f—” She couldn’t get a full sentence out without breaking off in a sob.

“They won’t take you first, trust me.” He had enough experience positioning himself to be grabbed before younger, weaker agents. That bit would be no problem. “Wait for me. You will be just fine.”

She never did actually promise, but she also stopped protesting, and they sat like that, closer together than he thought he had ever been with anyone, until the cell door banged open and she leapt back against the wall, her hands slipping out of his.

Led through a series of narrow, dim hallways, Narvin was in the mood to be annoyed by details. It kept him from being too worried for Romana—or himself. At the moment, it occurred to him to be annoyed that Gallifrey was so damned uncreative that every version they visited, despite all the differences, seemed to favor identical architecture and layouts.

Which meant that he recognized the room that held the mind probe. He’d spent hours standing there directing interrogations before Romana had shut it down. Even the straps they lashed around his wrists and ankles were familiar. Being on this side of it, however—that was new.

He had been under the mind probe before, of course. It was part of a CIA agent’s final training, to be given a piece of information to hide whatever the cost. He had passed with high marks, and wasn’t concerned about his ability. But that had been centuries ago, and since then the many times he had been locked up or tortured had all been by aliens with a much lower level of technology; he wasn’t prepared for the jolt of fear at being pinned down and having his mind attacked.

It hurt, of course. That was part of the point. It was little more than startling, for the first few minutes, as he tried to shore up his barriers and listen for anything useful the nearby Time Lords might be discussing. It quickly became impossible to think of anything but what felt like a drill in his head, and picturing every barrier he could think of to keep his metaphorical ones strong. He was definitely groaning aloud with the effort.

Difficult wasn’t the right word for it. He was more than trained for this. They would get nothing from him no matter how long they tried. But it was all-consuming. Nothing existed for Narvin but the glittering of the probe in front of his eyes and the pressure against his psychic defenses. He had gone in ready, annoyed, but soon he found himself, quite involuntarily, wishing it would just stop.

They probed at his mind for three hours before deciding to throw him back in his cell to marinate. He recognized this tactic, knew it would do no good with him, but was so tired he was just glad of the break. He walked back down the narrow halls under his own power, prodded from behind by some Chancellery Guard, but the building seemed to be tilting and more than once he found his shoulder slammed unexpectedly into a wall.

When they shoved him into the cell, he collapsed as though his legs were made of jelly. He was alone on the floor, in the dark, for a long instant, but a moment after the door slammed shut Romana was kneeling beside him.

“Narvin! No, don’t sit up yet, the worst of it will fade soon.”

It was maybe a few hours later when they came for her. Narvin could sit up by then, and had assured her his defenses had held, but he had no plan of escape. And the shaking hadn’t stopped. His muscles ached with it. He had stopped her from frantic attempts to die instead twice.

And it was about to be all over.

Romana was wild, uncontrolled, screaming in panic the moment the guard grabbed her by the arms. Narvin had never seen her like this. He knew she wasn’t physically strong, but she was flailing so hard the single guard sent for her had to send for another. He should have intervened, but he didn’t think he could stand. And besides, in the end it would do no good, even if they had to send for more backup.

He closed his eyes and tried to pretend he didn’t care about Romana’s terrified cries.

Two stasers fired in quick succession and Narvin jumped and opened his eyes, fully expecting that they had shot her. But no. Romana was sitting on the floor, her tears glittering in the low light from the corridor, while both guards lay unmoving next to her.

A moment later Leela was in the doorway, her staser held up and ready, Braxiatel huffing slightly behind her.

The two of them paused and scanned the scene. Romana, kneeling on the floor and not having acknowledged the change in situation, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. And Narvin, across the tiny cell, propped up against the wall and shaking uncontrollably.

Leela settled on Romana. Always. She set the gun on the ground and knelt and reached out for her, but still seemed startled when Romana leaned into her arms. “What happened? Did they hurt you?”

She couldn’t speak through her tears, and her head shake was nearly imperceptible.

“They hurt me, though, thanks for asking,” Narvin managed, but couldn’t inject the usual bite into his voice. He couldn’t even feel the expected embarrassment when Braxiatel of all people was pulling him up and supporting his weight off this damned planet.

Chapter Text

“This does not seem so bad.”

Braxiatel groaned. “You can’t say that.”

“Why not? You do not really believe that saying all is well will cause some mishap?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Then I should be able to say it as much as I like. This planet looks lovely! It does not smell of death, and I have a good feeling about it.”

“Leela!”

But she only laughed and twirled out of his reach.

She was right, though. Nothing jumped out as an immediate problem. The mood was lighter, too, without Narvin’s glowering and worrying, with him and Romana off investigating the Citadel. Splitting up was probably a bad idea. Brax did not care. He needed a break from people who thought they could tell him what to do.

“Halt!”

“You see what happens when you tempt fate?”

“Hush! You do not know that they are hostile.”

They looked more or less like the Chancellery Guard back home, walking with stasers raised, but casually. Not like anyone who was expected a real threat. Brax smiled.

“What seems to be the problem?”

They froze. Nearly fell over themselves in their haste to put their weapons away. Shoved one of their number forward as he shot them a bitter look over his shoulder before turning towards Brax and Leela (she had a hand on her own weapon but was practiced now in waiting to draw it).

“Forgive us, Lord President. We didn’t expect to see you here. We beg your pardon.”

Lord President! He nearly laughed. Romana would have a fit. Narvin would die. He almost regretted splitting up.

“It was an understandable mistake, Captain, no harm done. I was merely here greeting my guest, Lady Leela, who has had a long and trying trip from her House.”

The guards glanced at Leela, in her unadorned robe the color of no chapter, with a knife belt at her waist, on foot and unaccompanied. Brax made his smile sweeter, ready to field the inevitable flood of questions, but Leela stepped forward first.

“As your President said, I have traveled far and I am weary. I do not need to stand here being questioned by you.” Her accent was distinctly non-Gallifreyan, but perhaps that was only noticeable if one had actually left Gallifrey. Her grammar too was odd, lacking in certain tenses and in a rigid syntax that sounded stilted, but perhaps they took that as a sign she was from another part of the planet.

In any case, the guard shut up.

The Presidential rooms were…different. He wasn’t entirely sure he approved of his other self’s sense of style, but no one could deny the luxury. A bed draped in silks. Walls so crowded with the 3-dimensional art of Galyen IV the color underneath couldn’t be seen. Four large couches.

Leela had perched herself on the very edge of one of the couches. “We should not stay here long. We do not want to be caught by the other you.”

He didn’t answer for a moment, pulling up the screen by his bed and flipping through a few files before laughing. Well, that was convenient. Maybe Leela was right about this world not being too bad.

“I don’t think that will be a problem. Apparently I’m off-world for the rest of the month. Explains why they were so surprised to see me.”

“So what do we do now?”

“Let’s see what this world has to offer. The timeline was aborted for a reason, but you’re right, so far it seems fine.”

“Maybe they learned from their mistakes and got better?”

“Maybe. It would be nice to think that happened occasionally. Alright, let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“I have no idea.”

“They have fruit here!”

“So they do.” Brax tossed another small yellow grape-like sphere into his mouth.

“I told Romana she should convince the Time Lords to serve proper food. Eating colorless squares from a machine is not…”

“Enjoyable?”

“Yes! It is not enjoyable.”

“Did you really say that? And how did it go over?”

Leela took a bite of something purple and juicy, leaning back on the park bench, and frowned. “She said maybe, after she got the aliens in the Academy situated. But then there was the war, and Pandora, and the dogma virus. But the point is, I have not had real, good food in so long.”

Brax couldn’t help his smile. “Nor have I. It’s been a while since I had the time to do any proper traveling.”

“Perhaps we could stay here. We could live in another city, to avoid the other you. I would like to eat fruit every day.”

“I don’t think so, not long-term.”

“Why not?”

“I expect Narvin and Romana are currently discovering the details, but my alternate self is off-world, it seems, on a sort of crusade of empire. You wouldn’t approve. I don’t think I approve, actually. A little meddling, a little collecting, is one thing, but this Gallifrey seems intent on bringing other planets under its control. It seems fairly good at it, too.”

“That is horrible!”

“Yes, I know.”

“It is a pity. This fruit is very good.”

“We can have a nice day, at least, as long as no one realizes we shouldn’t be here.”

“How long until we have to meet the others for the portal?”

“We still have a long while…something like 10 spans? What would you like to do in the meantime?”

“I wonder what Time Lords that eat real food do for fun.”

“I do not know this game. What is it called?”

“I…have no idea.” That was true. Technically.

On one of the few occasions Brax had allowed his brother to talk him into an excursion to Earth, he had been horrified to find himself at a cricket game. He’d felt sick at the familiar sight of cream coats and bats (his reaction to which was no less visceral for the fact that they were unsharpened). He had never expected to see something similar on Gallifrey.

To be fair, the aesthetics were different. The uniforms were a brilliant shade of green, and the “bats” were more conical poles that required no bending to use and had no flat edge, presumably to add difficulty in hitting the ball. But the game itself was painfully similar to Earth’s tasteless mimicry.

“It is…slow.”

“Yes, isn’t it? Should we find some other sport?”

“No. I want to try it.”

“I lost!”

“Yes, you really did.”

“How could I lose?”

“The wine might have had something to do with it.”

She scoffed. He was laughing again. “I hardly had any at all. I think the Time Lords were cheating.”

They absolutely had been. That was still not why she lost. Brax kept quiet on both counts.

“How long do we have left?”

“six and a half spans. What now?”

“You choose this time.”

He stroked his mustache in thought. “If I’m only to be President for today, then let’s go enjoy my palace for a bit, shall we?”

Leela had hardly seen any of the Presidential Palace back home, even when she lived there as Romana’s bodyguard. Romana not only slept in her office as often as her bedroom, she saw no need for the rest of the extravagant building at all. Leela agreed; it was gaudy and unnecessary. Unexpectedly, however, it also turned out to be fun.

The velvet couches were soft and comfortable to lounge on while eating more proper food—real meat this time, killed and cooked and not printed—and then equally satisfying to launched herself off of, leaving muddy boot prints behind.

She thought Brax might be angry at that, but he was still laughing. They were ugly, he kept saying, he didn’t know what his other self could be thinking of.

Elsewhere in the palace, they discovered a pool—it looked so much like the one in the TARDIS—and she dove in, too fast for Brax to argue, so there was nothing for him to do but follow. It felt good to have wet hair, to vanish under clear water and into the muffled quiet, to have nothing more to worry about than dodging Brax’s childish splashes. When they finally got out, he minded the wet robes a lot more than she did, but she agreed to return to his rooms and change.

The theater, for all its added smells and sensations, she found boring. The bowling alley was enjoyable—no, bowling was not Gallifreyan, he suspected this other him had also been to Earth—as was the zero room, which Brax told her was generally used for more serious endeavors than floating about, but if you had a room you could fly in, why would you not play in it?

Everything was fine until, of course, it wasn’t.

They had about a span and a half left and, to Leela’s amazement, no one had tried to kill them yet. It was a shame about the empire building, or this might have been a nice place to remain. It still might have been worth it, but she could already hear Narvin worrying about letting them learn about the Axis and Romana coming up with endless plans to fix it that would get them all killed…

Better to try again, probably.

They were sitting down to the third meal of the day when a flustered aid rushed in without knocking. “My Lord! I have been looking for you!”

“Clearly not all that hard. I’ve been home for hours.”

“I—um—”

“Just say what it is, would you? I’m about to have dinner.”

“Yes, Lord President. I was told to update you on the prisoners.”

“What prisoners would these be?”

“Oh, were…were you not told?” The other man was young, yes, but even so seemed overly nervous. Brax wondered if he was such a tyrant or if the aid was guilty of something. Perhaps both. “Two…unusual prisoners were arrested this morning. We believe they are either aliens posing as Time Lords or some unregistered renegades. One was put to the mind probe already, but found to be surprisingly resistant.”

Oh, dear.

“Which part of that was the update?”

“The—the mind probe part, My Lord. We expected to make quick work of him but it seems we’ll have to let him stew and think about how much more he can take for a while first. We’re giving them both a chance to consider it now, and we’ll take the woman in a bit.”

Damn.

A Gallifrey at the center of an empire could not find out about the portals to other universes to conquer. And Romana…he had never been sure if she remembered admitting to him how shaky her defenses were. It was decades ago now, and they’d both been half-drunk. But she’d grabbed his hand, to show him her mind, and the memory of the frantic, pained chaos there still made him want to flinch.

“Have you learned anything at all?”

“Nothing useful, My Lord.”

“That’s not what I asked. I want to know everything!”

“Um, of course. We know little, but suspect they are either not from Gallifrey or have not been here in a long time, as they seemed confused and lost. And their clothes are odd, like nothing I’ve seen before.”

Romana and her damn sweaters.

Leela jerked like she might be about to say something, so he jumped in first. “That will be all, thank you.”

So. Much. Running. It was exhilarating, but also repetitive. Somehow, these trips always led to her being either tied down in need of rescue or, more often, running down metal corridors rescuing her friends. All of them were more than used to being imprisoned now, but no one seemed to have any bright ideas for avoiding it.

Leela gleefully dug her knife into another guard’s chest, his warm blood gushing over her hand. She felt strong, and powerful. A door clicked open ahead of her and there was screaming—Romana screaming—but she couldn't see her behind the two large guards who seemed to be struggling to hold her still. Two quick blasts from a stolen staser took care of them.

Neither of them was prepared for the scene in the little cell: Romana on the floor where the shot guards had dropped her, sobbing uncontrollably, not seeming to even notice the rescue. Leela was aware of Narvin, across the room and trembling, but it was Romana who concerned her for the moment—Leela had never seen her cry before. She set the staser aside and reached for her.

She wasn’t expecting Romana to collapse in her arms, and it was instinctive to wrap them tighter around her friend.

Of course this world would do this. Nowhere could be truly nice for very long.