Geneva's used to feeling...sub-par around the Inspector. It's not that he does it on purpose, in fact most of the time she thinks it's just gut reaction. Gut reaction to mock her or roll his eyes or let his upper lip twitch so subtly. She's not an idiot, but she is stubborn and all she wants to do is show the Inspector that she can do this, she can be a good companion even though she's not as big or tough or male as those that have come before her.
You see Geneva knows that the Inspector becomes icier and icier when she can't quite force the Darsit doors open or hold back whatever alien they happen to be fighting. She also thinks though, that if the Inspector just let her explore, if he explained how space-time worked more than a non-committal wave of his hand- then she's sure she could astound him.
It hits a point one day, the pair running from something with huge green spikes protruding from all their major joints, that she doesn't quite reach the Darsit in time, that she can't quite pull the doors open fast enough, and with a screech and a surprising amount of orange goo (she thinks it might be blood), the Inspector, her Inspector is on the ground; light building in his palms as it rapidly fades from his eyes. She knows it isn't her fault, well only her fault, but she's holding the only man she's ever wanted to impress this much and is seeing disappointment, feeling him twitch away from where her hands are holding him.
That's how he ends up regenerating: with her, tears on her face, hiding against that stupid red door that she couldn't open in time.
She’s crying and not really watching as the aliens drop one by one from the force of the light coming from the Inspector as he dies, is crying and not watching and crying and not realising that someone’s got her under her arms and is dragging her inside the Darsit, the doors of which open with a click. She vaguely thinks that might have helped to know, might have saved the Inspector but then she’s recovering and looking at this person carrying her and oh.
She needs to learn a whole different vocabulary. She’s looking into two blue eyes, bluer than anything she may have ever seen and they’re new but so so old and, somewhere amongst her brain’s giant freak-out, she realises that this person carrying her is her Inspector. The hair is longer and the eyes bluer and the frame lighter and the-
Her Inspector, the man she’s been trying to impress and live up to and help for the past and future- is a woman. He’s a woman cursing like no tomorrow and he’s cursing about how much heavier she is and Geneva is still stuck somewhere between her Inspector dying and now being alive and a woman to point out that it’s probably not her who has suddenly gained mass but the Inspector who has suddenly lost a hell of muscle.
She wants to yell stop and maybe ask if they can go back in time because she hasn’t caught up yet but the Darsit is already making its beautiful noise and she’s been deposited on the floor. The Inspector always had such a clever way of making the small space of the Darsit seem huge, him taking up his space and leaving her away in the corner somewhere but this Inspector (still her Inspector, she tells herself) is taking up so much more room, despite being nearly a whole head shorter. She’s crumpled and on the floor and the Inspector turns to face her and blue eyes bore into her own so closely that she can scarcely breathe.
Her mouth is wide open, eyes probably more so and the Inspector levels her with a smirk so reminiscent of another face that any lingering doubts of this not being her Inspector fade and she’s left wondering why, when a smirk on a different face left her annoyed and stubborn, this one leaves her breathless.
The Inspector’s eyebrow rises slowly and she drawls, for there is no other way to describe such a tone of voice.
“Gosh darling, I can’t look that bad.”